A/N: Much love to the peeps at Ravelry & Unicorn Unlimited, Ravelry Fan Fiction, Saturday night chat group, I bow down to Betafishy, thanks for letting me bother you endlessly and Knittingfynatic... and your loving red pen. I heart you all hard.

This story is part of In the Days of Auld Lang Syne, a larger, multiple-author universe with dovetailing but independent storylines.

This story is named after Jimi Hendrix's song Bold as Love. This song discusses many colors: "In shiny metallic purple armor; fiery green gown sneers at the grassy ground." Because of Hendrix' inability to read music, he would often describe emotions (and music) in colors rather than more descriptive words. Jimi was a very emotional and colorful person, and in this song he really brought out his emotions in a wild imagery that at first glance can be easily misinterpreted. So Each of the Chapters will have have colors that deal with the psychological properties of that chapter.

This story is rated M for language only.

All Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer... I own nothing.


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1 Red Bar & Pink Roses

Red - Positive: Physical courage, strength, warmth, energy, basic survival, 'fight or flight', stimulation, masculinity, excitement.

Pink - Negative: Inhibition, emotional claustrophobia, emasculation, physical weakness.

Edward POV

Katy Perry stood on a black stage in a beautiful skin-tight black dress, all lights on her, and a gold envelope-- and the answer to everything-- in her hands.

"And the Grammy goes to..." she started, pulling the envelope apart; she opened her mouth to announce the winner, and suddenly, as I sat in the audience with an uncomfortable tuxedo cutting off my circulation, all I could hear was the loud ring of a cell phone. Who the fuck left their ringer on at the Grammys?!

I turned around to stare daggers at Nick Jonas, but he shrugged and mouthed, "Not me, man!" while the ringing continued unabated.

"WILL YOU TURN OFF THAT FUCKING PHONE SO I CAN GET MY GRAMMY?!" I roared, and all eyes turned to me and silence descended immediately over the Shrine Auditorium except for that damn ringing…

"Fuck," I groaned as I beat the alarm clock's snooze button. I forced one bleary eye open, staring at the bright red figures on my alarm clock, and idly wondered why I couldn't read them. Was it due to the already-bright sun shining in my bedroom window? No. Why couldn't I—oh, yeah. My hand blindly groped about on my nightstand for my Buddy Holly-style glasses, sifting through the detritus of scribbled playlists, back issues of Rolling Stone, and my iPhone. I put them on, making reading the time on the clock face and the quest for my TV remote much easier.

I rolled over and turned the TV on. It was 10am—well, that explained why the sun was so fucking bright-- and the news reporter was prattling on about a fire or a lynch mob or something else equally unimportant to me. It was finally my weekend, and while any other day I would have heaved the alarm clock at the wall, I needed to get up -- even though it was my weekend, I had work to do. I sat up cross-legged in the middle of my bed, rubbing my face, and ran my hands through my hair. It was going to be a long day today, so thank God it was Boys' Night tonight.

Boys' Night was something my best friends and I started just after we'd graduated college. Everyone was so hard at work trying to be 'real grownups' that my friend and roommate Emmett McCarty—yes, that Emmett McCarty…the man, the myth, the legend-- owner of Ursa Major, the place for Seattle's greatest sports celebrities to work out, decided that no matter what else we had going that week, every Thursday night, we would hit up a local bar for what Em proclaimed the "Triple B": babes, beer, and bullshit. We ended up choosing a dive bar called Red's that was just off-campus, and near to the house. Emmett, my other roommate, grad student and psych-lab drone Jasper Whitlock, and myself could walk to this bar, hit the hole-in-the-wall diner called Howl at the Moon a block away, and stumble home afterwards.

The bar is owned by these three Russian women who are attractive in a JUGGS-centerfold kind of way, more Emmett's cup of tea than mine...but it was the first place that picked me up as a DJ, and

they are nice, and they give us free beer. Mostly because they are flirting, and because Emmett knows how to bring in a crowd.

I figured into the whole mix because I was a DJ at KNDD. The station's special-events manager had rather bluntly informed me that he'd hired me to "bring the pussy in". Classy, I know. Listen, if it brought in the cash, and it let me stay close to the music, I was all for it.

Ten-fifteen now. I needed to get this show on the road. I flipped off the bedding, and shuffled into the bathroom. Popping in my second contact, I caught the perky reporter's last words just before I turned on the shower: "Red Bar owner Tanya Denali was too distraught over the burning of her bar to speak to the media. Back to you, Dave."

My breath caught in my throat. "Excuse me?" I said to the flat-panel TV that hung from my wall, my toothbrush limp and forgotten at my side. I couldn't believe it. The images that flashed across the screen were horrifying. There between Stacey's Flower Shop and the vintage clothing shop "Play it Again" was a blackened hole, smoldering with wisps of white and gray smoke climbing the air. The screen flashed orange as the live feed cut to playback of the bar completely engulfed in blaze. I visibly flinched at the sight of it all. It couldn't be true! This was our bar! Our sanctuary. Our home away from home. I threw my shorts back on and raced down to the TV room, yelling for my erstwhile brothers to wake up.

"WHAT THE FUCK, MAN!" I heard Emmett roar as I passed his room, pounding on the door.

"DOWNSTAIRS, NOW!" I bellowed and started to run again, this time to Jasper's part of the house. He met me in the hallway—he'd been in his office.

"What is going on?! Why're you hollerin' like someone lit your ass on fire?" Jasper followed me down the stairs, only to be followed by the sound of rolling thunder; Emmett made sure to accentuate his dismount down the stairs by jumping off the last step and making the entire 5-bedroom house shake to its foundations.

"Jeeeze, Em, leave the house upright, would you?!" I glared at him. It was MY house he was trying to destroy with his Bruce Banner imitation-- I just let him live here.

"Fuck that. This better be fucking good, Mase...I was having a dream about Heidi Klum and German chocolate cake...mmm, Klum and cake." Shit, he used my middle name... never good. Woke the sleeping bear on this one, too bad. This was important.

"Shut it. Look," I said, flipping on the TV. Silence for a few seconds—then a very high-pitched shriek, like that of a girl who'd seen a rat scurry out of her Vuitton handbag, suddenly came out of Emmett's mouth. Emmett had definitely seen the breaking news.

"Oh. My." Jasper ran a hand though his curly hair. I noticed he was still fully dressed in yesterday's clothing; he'd slept in it -- cowboy boots (hey, you could take the man out of Texas…), dark jeans, rumpled white button-down, pinstripe vest, and a loosened tie. I was sure he'd been working on his master's thesis. It was getting down to the wire for him.

"Come on...we should go down and see if they need anything," I said somberly, still trying to hold in my laughter at Emmett's grand-mal hissy, and ran up to my bedroom to change clothes, back in jeans, tee and a hooded sweatshirt within five minutes. Pausing in front of the bathroom mirror, I ran a hand through my dirty hair; a shower was going to have to wait. As the three of us made it out to my car, I quickly grabbed a black knit cap and pulled it over the rat's nest quickly growing out of my head.


The bar was still smoldering when we pulled up, the huge amount of white smoke just obscuring the skyline. I noticed Tanya's two sisters and their cousins sitting at the Starbuck's across the street while Tanya sobbed and flailed amidst the fleet of firefighters and policemen.

Before I could put the car in park Emmett flew out of the Volvo, leaving the door swinging in the damp Seattle air. "EMMETT, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!?" I yelled after him. He was heading straight for the blackened wreckage, strong-arming his way past some firefighters who were nowhere near strong enough to get him back behind the tape in his current state of mind, and raced up to the edge of the destroyed building. It was a smoking husk, and all the remaining debris had been broken down into a heap.

"Sir!? Sir?" I could hear some poor sap of a firefighter apparently sent to control the giant of a man. Good luck, I thought blackly, and got ready to call a lawyer to bail Emmett's ass out, since he was about to assault an officer of the law. But then I saw Jasper, quickly walking up past the firefighters, next to Emmett. I could see Emmett's hulking form slowly relaxing as Jasper played mediator. Hmmm. I decided that maybe the lawyer could wait, and started to walk up behind the two men and the Incredible Hulk.

Emmett bent down and picked up a charcoal ball; his massive fingers wiped away the soot, showing that it was actually the cue ball from the billiards table on which I myself had lost at least $1,000 over the span of a year playing against my roommates. Jasper was a regular pool shark and after Emmett lost almost $500 to the head-shrinker-in-training, he vowed to never play him again.

"Come on big man. Let's go back to the sidewalk, before we all get arrested," Jasper said, pulling on Emmett's massive arm. Emmett said nothing, just walked absently, looking completely crushed, holding the cue ball and letting Jasper lead him back to the car, rubbing his back and easing him down. It was exactly what Emmett needed. I've never really seen him so broken up. I understood on some level. I mean, we had been coming to the Red Bar since before we'd been legally able to drink. There were a lot of memories in that pile of ash for me, too.

A wailing broke me from my memories of the bar. My eyes searched out the source of the cries. I should have known who it was when I saw that shock of strawberry blond hair. This was not going to be a good day. Tanya was pulling out all the stops. Dressed in a pair of those stupid Ugg boots, soot smeared jeans that were at least a size too small, and a large bubble jacket that came to midthigh, she was fake crying to a police officer. The officer was buying it hook, line and sinker, the poor sap. Now, not to put down the officer's intelligence, but Tanya was a pro at conning men. So whatever it was she was telling the officer, was a half truth, because Tanya was well aware that even the most convoluted stories often have a grain of truth in them. Time was Tanya's downfall in getting men to do her bidding. The longer a man stayed with her, the quicker they were able to pick up on being swindled.

How did I know? Because I'd known Tanya for as long as I had, I had been there and back. I knew her game, and could call it like a Cubs announcer.

She started to cry. The officer would console her, which he did. She would then start to giggle, and flirt with the officer. He would blush and smile, which he did. She would then touch him gently on the upper arm. His smile would just get bigger, because why would a woman of Tanya's caliber be interested in him for? Yep-- there went the smile. She would step closer and pull her phone out, and ask the poor man for his phone number... there was the phone. Hook, line, and sinker.

Jasper walked up as I watched as the officer punched his phone number into Tanya's cell phone. "Tanya?"

"Yep, she's caught another fly," I said nodding to the officer that was now holding Tanya's hand. "Sucker," Jasper snorted. "Come on, bro, let's go get something to eat. Maybe some food'll soothe the savage beast in your backseat."

The three of us went to a local greasy spoon called Howl at the Moon, owned by some of the people from La Push, the Indian reservation not too far from Seattle. The Moon, as locals called it, was about a block away from the bar, and open 24 hours. We'd been coming here to eat off the hangovers for years, so they were used to our goofball antics. Today was different, though, due to the fact that we were in mourning. Emmett walked in first holding the cue ball, and caressing it like Lennie with his bunny named George. Jasper was behind him, pushing him on and talking to him kindly, and I brought up the rear. Jasper forced Emmett into the bathroom to clean himself up, since his hands and face were covered in soot and ash.

Taking a seat in our usual booth, I waited for Frasier Crane and his patient to come out of the bathroom. They both came back quickly and sat down. Emmett sat and rocked the cue ball occasionally, repeating the words "happy place". Jasper rolled his eyes, and I just shook my head. Sally, the owner, finished winding her graying jet-black hair into a bun and walked over to us, not even bothering to hand out menus. "The usual, boys?" she asked, her dark eyes twinkling, and a kind smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. She reminded me of Rosie O'Donnell or Kathy Bates. A pleasant face, but commanding in a 'you don't want to mess with me' way.

"Yes, please," and "Yes, ma'am," Jasper and I chorused.

"Can I have a corndog?" My head whipped around so fast, I was sure I had given myself whiplash. Did Emmett "Carbs Are Satan" McCarty just ask for a corndog?

"Yeah, honey. Bad day?" Sally asked with a sympathetic smile, writing down the order.

Emmett nodded his head, his lip pouting in childlike assent, as if someone had just stomped on his puppy. "The Red Bar caught fire down the way."
"So that's what all the commotion was," Sally said knowingly, and left us to get our drinks. I just sat there and watched Emmett pet the cue ball.

"So, now what?" Jasper asked. We both just sat there, staring at Emmett and the cue ball.

"Em, stop playing with your balls," I reprimanded him, and a loud thunderous laugh erupted out of him. I gave Jasper a small smirk. I knew that would have broken him out of it. It was rude, and totally something a 12 year old would have said…which is probably why Em found it so funny.

Sally returned with our orders, and all thoughts turned to consuming our food. We seemed to be a touch better; it had felt like we lost a bit of our family history with the bar destroyed. But we were starting to pull ourselves out of it.

Emmett muttered a monosyllabic word, and I just had to laugh.

"Only you could make 'corndog' one syllable," I muttered, shaking my head in amusement. He gave me a huge grin and took another bite of the dog. My phone rang; setting my fork down, I dug it out of my jacket pocket. It was Eric Yorkie, the special-events manager at KNDD.

"Hello, Eric," I greeted him, hoping he couldn't hear me chewing.

"Edward, hi. I have a bit of a favor to ask." Yorkie was the aforementioned "You're here to bring the pussy in, Cullen" guy. Yorkie never had favors, and he never asked. He told you what you were doing, and when, and if you didn't like it, there were several lesser DJs that would leap at the chance to take over your office. "There is a pub down on Broadway called the Unicorn—"

"Wha – Is it a gay club?" I blurted out, cringing at my lack of a mental filter.

"No. It was owned by an older Scottish guy with a penchant for heraldry. Well, he sold out, and the new owner is keeping the name, but revamping the insides, wants to give the club a shiny new image—wait, I don't know why I'm explaining this to you. Point is, the owner has a gig for this New Year's. Big, BIG Deal, and I want you to DJ it."

To tell the truth, it actually sounded good. I needed something to keep me busy on New Year's. No date, no bar... yeah, I was definitely gonna need something that would take my mind off my own life, or the lack thereof.

"So what's the gig?"
"The owner's apparently doing a New Year's Eve costume party—I thought that it would rock if the fairy-tale New Year's party had THE END supplying the tunes. It's gimmicky and a total sellout, so needless to say, the higher-ups loved it. Now I need one of my best DJ's to bring in the pussy, and keep one of our newest and biggest buyers of airtime happy."

Ahh the truth comes out. The new owner had bought a ton of commercial airtime, so of course the station would bend over backwards for him. Short of changing the name of the station, if it brought us money, we would whore ourselves out for however much you wanted to give us.

"Fine, what's the address. I'll pop over today and see what he's looking for, and what I need to bring for the gig." A few moments later and I had the address.

"New gig?" Emmett asked, honestly interested. He was gonna be just fine if the Party-Scammer radar had clicked on already.

"Yeah," I started. "This dude bought some pub called the Unicorn, and they're having a big New Year's party and the station wants me to DJ it," I explained and slapped his hand away from my curly fries.

"Is it a gay club?" Emmett asked, grabbing a handful anyways and cramming them into his mouth. " 'Cause, dude, you're way too pretty to walk into a gay club alone. 'The Unicorn' sounds kinda girly. At least the Red Bar sounded manly…" His lip quivered dangerously.

"This from a man whose gym is named after a constellation which happens to be a bear? Oh, no, there's no gay symbolism there," Jasper said dryly, popping a fry into his mouth.

"Shut it. Ursa Major is an awesome name for my gym. It's a fucking bear...how much powerful and epic and manly could you get?"

"Mountain lions are kinda powerful," I said, but Emmett didn't hear it. He was already all up in Jasper's grill...which was probably what Jasper had intended in the first place. Cunning little fucker—getting Em pissed off solely to redirect him from getting sad again.

"Em, tell me, do you have a lot of big, burly guys showing up at the Ursa?" I started. Jasper made a strangled choking noise and leaned over his plate, carefully keeping his eyes from mine. Oh yeah, he knew where I was going with this.

"Yeah. It's a gym, dude. Why?" Emmett hunkered back down to his basket of fries. Jasper was quietly dying in the corner of the booth, wiping his streaming eyes on his sleeve. I could have sworn he was biting his hand so hard he was going to draw blood.

"Just wondering." I looked around and realized we were basically done. I stood and grabbed the check and walked up to the cashier so I could laugh in peace.


We'd just gotten back on the road when Emmett asked where we were going.

"The gig is on short notice, so I need to stop by and check out the space, see what gear I'm gonna need." The iPhone chirped, and its generic female robot voice let me know I was nearing the bar. We pulled up next to a large whitewashed-brick building. A hanging wooden sign bedecked with a unicorn-emblazoned heraldic shield pointed the way to the outsized wooden doors, so heavy they looked like they'd been shipped from Ye Olde Medieval Potterie Barne.

"This it?" Jasper asked as he un-clicked his seatbelt.

"Yeah. Come on." I got out of the car and was about to shut the door when Emmett whined, "Do I have to come in?"

"Yeah, you do. I can't leave you alone in the Volvo now, can I? Or did you forget the Cheetos incident that led to you paying to replace the glass in that very window you are sitting next to?"

"Oh yeah," he said, grinning as the memory dawned in his head, his voice full of fond reminiscence. "That was epic good times, dude. Totally worth the cash."

"Yeah, whatever, asshat...come on," I muttered, shoving him ahead of me so I could shut the car door. We walked down a lit corridor, walls painted with a large-black-and-white version of the shield I'd seen on the hanging sign. No mistaking the snooty-ass attitude of the proprietor; why not just tack up a sign that said "NO COMMONERS ALLOWED"?

We walked into to the bar and almost ran face first into a wall of man. He was actually taller than Emmett, who was burly at 6'4"; this guy was fucking huge. Poor Jazz—he must've been feeling positively midget-sized…I had two inches on him and I know I did. I looked up—way, way up—to see a boyish-looking Native American kid wearing the standard bar-back's apron. His skin was a coppery tan, and his eyes were practically as black as his long hair.

"Can I help you?" His huge hands twisted his hair back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

"Um. Yeah. I. Um…" I stammered, caught off-guard. "I'm Edward, and I'm here to see the manager. I'm the DJ from KNDD; I got hired for the New Year's party?" The large man-boy looked from me to my entourage, raising his eyebrows. "And they're with me." He shrugged, clearly thinking I was a blithering idiot, and yelled, "ROSE! Your one o'clock appointment's here!"

"Send them to my office, Jacob!" A female voice rang out from behind the kid. The three of us shuffled past him, giving him a wide berth, and walked down the hall. A woman with long blond hair pulled up into a ponytail sat behind a battered lawyer's desk, Bluetooth headset blinking away and BlackBerry in hand. "Good, you found us," she said by way of greeting, without looking up from her computer screen.

"Yeah, your directions were really good." I quickly looked over to my cohorts. Jasper's feet were in the office, but the rest of him was plastered around the door frame, squinting out at some tiny chick behind the bar, his face sporting that calculating Puppet-Master look he got whenever he'd found someone who'd fit into his thesis research. Emmett was just standing there, and this unnerved me. Because I'm not blind-- the woman wasn't my type, but she was smokin' hot in that frigid country-club way, and in the face of a pretty woman, Emmett had this bizarre mojo that would click on, and women would melt... but—nothing. Not a damn thing. Worrisome. I quickly went back to the blond.

"I'm Rosalie Hale." Putting her BlackBerry down as if it pained her to do so, she flicked her eyes over me, sizing me up (and obviously finding me wanting), and shook my hand, quickly suppressing the look of distaste that flitted across her face.

"I'm Edward Cullen, the DJ from KNDD," I began, repeating my spiel to Jacob the human Colossus, "and these are my friends Emmett McCarty, and Jasper Whitlock." She gave Emmett a curt smile, quickly handing me a mock-medieval flyer with details about the New Year's party.

"Mr. Cullen?"

"Yes?" I replied, half-listening, as I turned to scope out the club, mentally calculating my gear setup.

"How long do you need to set up your gear?"

"That depends on what I need. Can I see where I'll be staged?"

"Yes, follow me." Standing, she brushed past an open-mouthed Emmett, spun on her heel and waved an airy hand carelessly toward a small stage in the corner. Hmmm….dedicated outlets for digital 'tables, new Harmon-Kordon speakers installed, even a tricked-out MacBook Pro for on-the-fly recording and editing. I was impressed, with a side of envious. Rosalie "Ice Queen" Hale knew her stuff.

"Nice. This should work well. I should be able to set up and do a sound check in two hours, max," I finally said, realizing that she'd been tapping her toe impatiently, obviously eager to get the smell of lowly peon out of her club.

"It should work well. I paid enough for it," she said, giving me a small, tight smile. "Wrapping things up, Mr. Cullen—should we say five o'clock?"

I chuckled dryly, acknowledging her unstated desire to just get us out of Queen Rosalie's Palace, and slowly made it back to the door. "Yeah, sounds great."

"Wonderful. Jake will see you out. Don't forget to wear a costume," she added over her shoulder, already halfway back to her office, presumably to arrange the hostile takeover of a third-world country or something.
"A what?" That last admonition had just sunk in; I jogged to catch up with her to verify what I hoped I hadn't heard.

"A costume. It's a fairy tale-themed costume party. No costume, no admittance." She tapped a neatly manicured nail to a line on the flyer. Fuck. Surprising me, Emmett quickly grabbed the flyer out of my hand. "You've done a lot with this place, Miss Hale," he said admiringly, speaking for the first time. What the hell? I looked over at Jasper, seeing the mirror image of my confusion reflected on his face. What was Emmett's game?

"Yes, I have," she said, looking slightly less impatient to be rid of him than she had been with me. Of course, that was probably because Emmett was delivering quite the little ego massage, and I hadn't.

"I've met a client or two here...Totally blew out this wall and that wall... nice. Opened it right up, lightened the wood trim. The sports memorabilia is gone...that's a shame," he finished, shaking his head in faux-chagrin.
"No, it's not. It's part of the sports pub on the second floor." Rosalie's face was smug as she pointed a slender finger toward the ceiling. Looking up, I realized the second story wasn't directly above, but around us; Rosalie had simply removed the second-story floor above the club during the reno, while preserving the rest of the original pub's bones.

"Very nice. If you'd like, I could probably get those jerseys I mentioned signed for you," Emmett offered.

"I might take you up on that." She turned a calculating look on Em—one that would've withered the balls of anyone else—before asking, "Obviously you're expecting something in return?"

Emmett shrugged modestly. "Is it all right if my friend and I tag along with Edward to your shindig? I just can't help but want to be a part of something that you put so much hard work into."

"Just come in costume," she said with a sly smirk. Damn, Emmett may have met his match in this one…

"Sure thing, sweetheart," he replied, nodding his head and flashing her the Do-Me Dimples, and I could have sworn I saw a blaze of angry fire race through her blue eyes, but it was quickly extinguished, replaced by the briskly impersonal smugness that seemed to be her default expression.

"Gentlemen, I have to finish up here and start up for the night. Jake!" she yelled, and the huge bar-back appeared out of nowhere, so silently I jumped a little. "If you would, please escort Mr. Cullen and his two acquaintances out so we can prep the house."

"Sure, sure." He clapped us on the back so hard even Emmett stumbled a little, directing us toward the door. "So, you all are coming to the party?"

"Yep," I said, straightening my beanie as we hit the cool December air.

"Cool. I'm Jacob, by the way," he said, offering up his massive paw to shake, "I work the door and Alice is training me to tend bar."

"Jasper Whitlock."

"Emmett McCarty."

"Edward Cullen, I work for KNDD."

"Shit! I listen to you all the time. Awesome!" He started to laugh. "Don't have access to anything Zeppelin, do you?"

"Ah." I chuckled. "No, I wish."

"Damn! Plant needs to man up and do another tour with Page."

"Yeah, I think the country thing has him seduced right now though..."

"Stupid. Anyway, I gotta get back before Blondie in there starts throwing dishes at my head. Nice meeting you three, see you on New Years Eve!"

The three of us were left standing outside in the cold December air. Emmett had a shit-eating grin on his face, Jasper was off in his own mind, frantically rearranging his human lab rats, and I was losing a testicle in the winter chill.

"Come on, pizza night at the Cullen hacienda," I chimed, trying to get us all back to the Volvo quickly, "And someone needs a beat down in Rock Band."