Of Princes and Princesses

AvalonReeseFanFics

A/N: Alright guys! This is my very first August Rush fic. It's going to be centred around Marshall and the OC he's going to fall for. You will see August and the others, but not until closer to the end, everything that's happening right now is before the events of the movie, I'm estimating about two to three years before. The chapters are going to be short-ish for the most part and I'll be posting an update every Saturday. Please leave a review and I'll see you guys next Saturday!

1.

Working in a tacky karaoke bar was not where Marshall Connelly saw himself at this stage of his life. He saw fame and fortune, women and cars abound. But that all went down the drain when his baby brother left the band to play agent. All over some princess. Pathetic. That girl wasn't worth the misery his brother had mired himself in but he wouldn't listen to his older brother and now they barely spoke.

It had been almost ten years since he had last seen or spoken to his brother. Ten years. He tried to not be bitter. He tried to pretend that he didn't care. But deep down he did. Deep down it hurt. And because of that he was always angry. Quick to snap. Quick to throw a punch.

"The girls over at booth four have requested a personal cowboy."

God he hated his job. Having theme nights was the first of it. Having to dress up to match those dreaded theme nights was the second. Having to serenade a bunch of drunk girls or play accompaniment for their terrible renditions of popular songs was the last of it.

The table he was being sent to was a bachelorette party. They were wild and slinging tiny plastic boners at one another and there was one platinum blonde in a veil who was the raunchiest of them all. He took his guitar, took his barstool and approached them. He didn't know that this wouldn't be like any other table. Not until he clapped eyes on the princess sitting close to the end.

He couldn't keep his eyes off of the raven-haired beauty. The way her green eyes sparkled. The way they seemed to stare up at him in wonder. Those pink lips kissable turned up in a small expectant smile. She was pale. Paler than snow. His own little Snow White.

They had booked him for three songs. The first was a typical country song. A Taylor Swift song from one of her old albums, not one of her pop-ier new ones. The girls all sang along and while they were all distracted Marshall found his eyes more and more on the Snow White in front of him. If he wasn't playing he might have found his hands combing through her hair. He wanted to know if it was as soft and silky as it looked.

The second song was a pop song. The most popular. Bad Day. The bride-to-be sang that one as Marshall played the guitar. She stood beside him, arm on his shoulder like he was propping her up or they were some duo act. But he needed the tips so he let it happen.

It was the third song that had them stumped. None could agree on what they wanted to sing. Until the bride-to-be said: "How about Kate sings the last song?"

Everyone at the table cheered and the Snow White with the big green eyes stared at the bride with shock on her face. Ah, so her name was Kate? The girl beside her with the flaming red hair put a hand on her arm as if to keep the girl from bolting.

"No."

The first word she had spoken that night. Sure she had sung along but the off key caterwauling of all her friends had drowned out her soft singing. Now he wasn't certain if she was singing or lip syncing.

Still that no was absolute. Everything in her body language and her tone made that abundantly clear but bride-zilla-to-be was not having it.

"Come on you party-pooper. You can't just not sing cause something bad happened to you. You gotta move on it's been twelve years," she cried.

Kate's eyes narrowed. A glare hit her face but it was her red-headed friend who hissed: "Sophie" in a warning tone.

"What? I told you not to invite her. I told you she'd ruin everything," the bride, Sophie, snarled.

Okay this was going downhill fast. "You know singing isni for everyone," Marshall said.

Almost all the girls immediately oohhed at him. "He's Irish." "That accent." "My God," Came at him from all around the table. His accent always got Wows here in San Francisco. It was one of the reasons he pulled in as many chicks as he did. The abs and the bad-boy-in-a-band persona also helped.

But it was Kate who said: "No one asked you." And that was when he realized she was British. The scourge of the UK. She really was a princess

"Hey, I'm just tryin' tae help ya out," he replied.

"I don't need help from some wanna be rock star who's working a Karaoke bar because his own music career failed to launch!" she snapped gathering her things and standing. Marshall found himself reeling, what the hell had he done to deserve that?

"Sorry to ruin your night Sophie. I hope your cheating nature doesn't ruin your marriage like it ruined all your other relationships," she snarled and then stormed away.

The bride-to-be gasped like she had been mortally wounded and then started to cry. And it was the ugly kind of cry. Kate's friend, shot everyone an apologetic look before she too got up.

"Sorry," she said to Sophie. "But you should have known better."

He watched her go. Told the ladies he'd come back for the third song when things had calmed down and then returned to the bar. He ignored everyone else who asked what Drama was going on at his table. He tried to ignore how hurtful Kate's comment was. Mainly because it was true.

It did change the facts a little. That girl wasn't a princess she was just a straight up bitch.

-AR-AR-AR-AR-

He was lying if he said Kate hadn't affected him.

He couldn't stop thinking about her. About her hurtful comment. About her eyes and lips. He wanted to hate her, but he wanted to fuck her more. He actually dreamed of her. That night. She haunted his wet dreams and then had the nerve to linger in the morning while he tried to jerk out the remnants of that dream. What had she done to him?

He went to work that night dressed as a Disco douche. He was in the same outfit John Travolta had to wear in Saturday Night Fever. His hair was slicked back, the chilly night air was nipping at his exposed chest and he had to be super careful not to spill anything on his white suit cause he couldn't afford to dry clean it again.

He was sour and grumpy before he even came in. He hated Disco Night. Not as much as he hated their Sexy Santa Christmas outfits they had to wear all December, but Disco Night was a close second.

And then Snow White walked through the door.

She wasn't as done up as the night before but she still looked lovely while he looked like a Disco Douche. What could she want? Why had she come back? For round two? Because he'd have some choice words for her if that were the case.

Her green eyes found his and his heart leapt into his throat. She was coming over. She was here for him. Why? Oh god. Why?

He tried to make himself seem busy at the bar, but she still came over to him.

"Hey," she said once she got close enough. Marshall glared up at her from the bar he had been furiously wiping clean. He had cleaned it twenty minutes ago and they had served approximately one drink. It didn't need to be cleaned he just wanted her to go away.

She took in his dark glare and lowered her eyes to his hands. "I wanted to apologize for last night," she whispered. "I was just upset and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

Marshall stared at her. He had never had any customer come back and apologize for their behaviour. And while he was surprised by it he wasn't about to let her off the hook.

"Your apology is noted. Acceptance is pending," he said going back to cleaning the bar. But he caught her smile, the small one, the proud one. The one that made him want to kiss her all over again.

"Only pending huh?" she asked. "How long do apologies tend to stay in a pending status?"

"Depends on what the apology is accompanied with," he replied with a wolfish grin of his own.

"Oh? And is there something I could do to help speed it along?" she asked. There was a suggestive smirk on her face.

He was itching to say: Yes, a blow job. It was there on the tip of his tongue. But this was a princess and one couldn't talk like that to a princess if you wanted to keep them. And he may not want to keep this princess but he wanted to at least spend some time with her. Preferably in a bed.

So he said instead: "Well, you can start by leaving a very nice tip."

That earned him a laugh. A laugh that was melodic and wonderful. A laugh that had him straining at the groin to get her. If he thought it would have worked he'd've jumped over the bar and ravished her on the floor. No that was ridiculous, but he definitely would have tried to get her out into the alleyway for a good old fashioned tumble.

"Alright. I'll swing by another night and be sure to leave you an exorbitant tip," she told him.

"Well, you can try Friday night, it's our oldies night. I get to wear an afro," he told her, not sure why he did, but he did.

She laughed again. God he wanted that laugh. Wanted to be the one who made her laugh. "Oh now that I have to see," she said. "But right now I have to go to work. You keep me posted on that status of that apology now, you hear?"

Marshall smiled and waved her off. She was already forgiven.