Buried in the outskirts of Detroits Downtown district, at the end of Park Avenue, was a humble looking public house. The windows are tall and finished with a green frame and set against a mahogany exterior wall. The premises itself is built into a row of terraced houses, so it is clearly visible, though does not match the height of its neighbouring businesses. Reaching across the top of the pub was a broad sign, on which 'Brennan's Cellars' was written, along with the address in bold, carved letters. 

2450-2462 Park Ave, Detroit, MI 48201, USA

Inside was dark and welcoming. Within the shadows you could either hide or light up the evening. Across the walls were photos from days gone by, men sat playing cards, horses dashing in competition and nostalgic locations from across Dublin and Ireland. Splashes of green and orange removed any doubt where the heritage of the house lay, and a small flag flew proudly over the counter. 

There were instruments laden across the shelving, violins, guitars and pipes, all with stories to tell of drunken folk revelling long into the night. Stout barrels sat high over the bar, for decorative purposes of course, and the back wall was generously stocked with glassware.

Among the stools and tables , on the old wooden paneling, Tammy Brennan swept the last of the dust with a smile and a softly whispered song.

"I've been a wild rover for many a year
And I spent all my money on whiskey and beer,
And now I'm returning with gold in great store
And I never will play the wild rover no more.

And it's no, nay, never,
No nay never no more,
Will I play the wild rover
No never no more."

A man wearing a dark gray overcoat slipped through the front door, tipping his hat at the kind, but worn looking woman taking care of the establishment. He quietly walked over to the corner of the bar hidden in the shadows of the homey building. After meandering the streets of Detroit mostly all day, he had decided to rest for a while before heading back home.

He motioned for the barkeep, "A root beer, please," he gently inquired.

With a soft sigh he turned back into himself and waited for the cold drink.

She props her broom up and smiles at the entering gentleman, almost certain she has seen him before. Wiping down the polished surface, she overhears the order and moves to collect it herself, hoping to get a better look at the man. The beer is poured, however as she steps away from the counter, the broom slips and clatters to the ground.

"Ah for 'fecks sake"

She sighs softly before stepping over to the table.

"Ah, mista yyyyyyyyyy! I've 'nah seen you in some time, how have ye been?"

"Oh hey there, Tammy! Suppose you spent some of that payout on this here fine place, huh. Anyways, I've been good, ya know? Things are going. Although I suppose I have cause to be a tad sad, just learned one of my carrier pigeons died on its way back from Las Vegas, his name was Adam."

He paused for a sip of root beer. Shaking his head: "He had a long life ahead of him, used to run messages for the coast guard over in Maine, had him imported special." 

"Jeez, I don't know how things like that happen." 

A slight pause.

"Well, nevermind me, how are you? This place is looking wonderful! You coulda told me you were into the bar biz or I woulda been here with my boys earlier!"

Listening intently, she nods, perched on the side of the table.

"'Dat's truly sad. I did'nah know 'dat folk still used birds to deliver 'dere messages?"

She picked herself up and straightened her dress, reaching down to collect some muck from the floor. A wrapper of some kind, looked like tobacco. Scruffs.

"I've been searchin' tha country lookin' for a nice place ta properly explore me heritage, an' 'dis place feels like it could proper do 'dat. I hope ta have some sing-songs as tha nights wear on, would ye be up for 'dat?"

Still trying to make heads or tails of what she'd just witnessed at the Russian banya, Mercedes slips into Brennan's Cellars, a new watering hole in the business district that KateLogan had mentioned. 

If KateLogan mentioned a place, you went. The woman was rarely wrong about anything.

As she takes a place at the bar, she notices a woman she assumes to be the proprietor, speaking to yyyyyyyyyy. Smiling, she made a mental note to buy him a drink. Her former LHM had helped pull their crew through a small war, and she would be forever grateful for his support in the days prior to her little...breakdown. Staring at the musical equipment arranged along the walls, she wondered if people actually played them, or if they were simply part of the decor. 

After another day out of Detroit on business, he needed some sort of drink. To unwind, he had heard of the Russian Banya, but at this current moment, he didn't feel like getting a massage. Entering the building with the sign 'Brennan's Cellers' handing atop it, he looked around and was intriguing with the design.

'A nice setup the owner has around here, I just hope the decor is as good as the drinks on offer.' He thought. Approaching a table he sat with his back to wall and looked around, he saw what looked to be Mercedes_Kompressor and yyyyyyyyyy. He seemed to be in talk with what seemed to be the owner. While Mercedes was waiting for the bartender to approach her. 

He didn't mind waiting, as what is waiting when a drink is the reward. So he sat back and thought about what to order.

Looking around the bar, Mercedes watches Ghost enter and take a seat at a table. She raises her glass to him, and while doing so, discreetly sniffs under her arm. Was she stinky? Why hadn't he come to sit by her?

Stealthily approaching and lightly tracing a finger across the back of Mercedes_Kompressor 's shoulders , Kate gets her to turn back the wrong way before dropping into the seat on her other side with a grin. Kate rests a elbow on the table with her chin in the palm of her hand as she wearily smiles.

"Been a long time, Mercedes. Too long."

Kate waves politely to yyyyyyyyyy and GhostFaceJr across the pub.

Stunning Kate. Always a sight for sore eyes.

"I absolutely agree. Too long," she says, still trying to reconcile the newer look with the cowgirl she'd grown to adore.

"I can't even keep up with you these days. You're a veritable flurry of activity. Whatever you're taking, doing, or using, could you share it with the rest of us mere mortals?" she asks with a sly grin.

Kate let her hand slide up to her cheek with a mischievous grin. 

"The trick, dear Mercedes, is not to sleep. Would you like to have a drink with me?"

"Always. You know, I wonder if the lovely owner might not be interested in a locally made whisky?" she replies, thinking aloud. She'd be damned if the distillery fell usunder. It was all she had left in this world.

Kate winks at Mercedes.

"Let's try their stuff and see if we can beat it."

Kate waves down TammyDeLuca and orders a couple whiskeys similar to what the distillery produces. Raising and clinking her glass against Mercedes', she locks eyes with the other woman.

"Here's to us... maybe?"

Kate was referring to a possible whiskey distribution deal with the pub- but she sees something else in the eyes of Mercedes_Kompressor for a split second before the glass obscures her vision- and Kate wonders what her own eyes had conveyed. 

Irish whiskey was indeed hard to compare to. 

As was the breathtaking blonde before her. 

Mercedes had been practicing, so it wasn't all that difficult to raise a glass with a steady hand. 

'This is good. Very good," she says, praying that Tammy isn't set on mass production. 

Kate slid her whiskey around a bit on the table, watching the glass as she adroitly shifted it between her hands. She took a deep breath, eventually glancing up at Mercedes.

"So... we never really talked. After that night. At the bar. We'd talked about some things and then...

Kate just popped her eyebrows a bit.

... everything kind of went crazy there. So... did you want to talk?"

*it was nice to see folk in the bar, specially those with a taste for whiskey. she greeted Detroits most influential and distributed glasses, before plonking the whiskey bottle on the table. it sat proudly in the centre of the table, it was worn, old and familiar.*

"If ye di'nah mind me sayin' so miss Kate, it looks like ye could do wit' lettin' ye hair down."

*she takes the violin from a shelf and places it on her neck, resting her chin against it*

"Have ye ever danced wit' a paddy?"

Mercedes listens to Tammy speak, and is immediately intrigued. Turning towards Kate, she props her chin in both hands atop the bar and grins widely, wondering what the Don was going to do in this situation.

A young man enters the building... According to the way he looks at the place it seems like the first time when he comes here. He takes a place near the bar an order a drink. When he takes off his hat he noticed a familiar face... It was Miss Mercedes. He wanted to call her but something made him stop. The boy continue his drink and order another one in the mean time...

yyyyyyyyyy had been slowly nodding off from his long trek today, and also was gradually slouching forward in his seat until his head tipped down and hit the counter. 

"ARGH I SWEAR I HAD THE MONEY!" 

After darting his head around to scan the concerned customers, he cautiously picked up his belongings before casually tiptoeing towards the door. After a few steps and another nervous glance to Tammy, he said "Don't worry folks, I'm a trained professional," before sprinting out into the street from whence he came, but not before leaving a generous tip on the counter next to his unfinished root beer.

With a elegant twirl, Tammy took centre stage between the chairs. She composed herself, a serious calm descending over her face. She closed her eyes and held the violin tight, suddenly and briefly letting out a few notes of a familiar tune . Her hand gripped the bow with tension, yet softly. A few further notes followed , teasing out a tune . She paced around the pub, using a heeled foot to kick chairs to one side, allowing for a larger space in which to dance.

"Lad's n' lasses, Miss Logan..."

Her head titled toward her boss.

"...'dis here is a lil' tune I was lucky enough ta practice in New York town quite recently, an' it's called Tha Rocky Road ta Dublin."

The instrument was brought to life, as Tammy expertly tapped her feet to the lively tune.