Declan made his way down the cobblestone, cursing himself. He shouldn't have interfered, and he knew it, but he also couldn't let someone like her suffer because of that alcoholic pig. 
[i]That's one more person that has seen what you can do,[/i] he scolded himself. 
[i]Yeah, but that's also one less person getting hurt.[/i] 
He remembered the look on her face after she saw his sonic outburst, the fear and confusion, and found little comfort.
He hadn't done it because she was beautiful (though she [i]was[/i])he had done it because of what he had seen when he searched her heart and soul. He had done it because she was [i]good[/i]. Genuinely good. It surprised him. She had a beautiful soul.
He reached his destination, an old pub in a darker, lonelier side of Dublin. An old wooden sign read "t e Cat's Eye" with the 'h" chipped off.
He met the swiveling gaze of about fifteen old denizens when he entered, each of which squinted at him due to the low yellow light. The room was quiet, melancholy and still. There were several seated throughout the pub, in corners reading a paper, in booths sipping on dark beer, in corners alone. A barely lit stage lay forgotten-looking on the far wall opposite the door. Declan was glad that it was exactly how he had remembered it from twenty years before, and decided that it was perfect. 
The barman looked at him as he approached doubtfully."You may be in the wrong pub, boyo. This here place is for the old and dusty." He cackeled and Declan almost smiled.
"The porter."
The barman filled a glass, and Declan took it. He reached into that secret pocket in his mind where the warmth and mystery was, and grasped a metaphorical handful. [i]I'll start my set in a half hour.[/i]
The barman agreed after a short blank pause. "I must've forgotten I booked ya, boyo. Pardon the lapse."
Declan nodded agreeably and went to the stage, while over-hearing something interesting. He heard a snippet of conversation from a younger man that had returned from what seemed to be a phone call. "...stranger den all hell. He rang and said his back is right sore and dere was a strange woman in his apartment with another man. He ain't comin' out boys, but I wonder how his lass is doin'? Her credit card is still here, least barman says. Poor Patrick, but he's gonna lose dat lass o' his if she keeps havin' ta pay his tab."
Declan couldn't believe the coincidence. He couldn't risk staying too long. He'd have to play quickly and leave. 
He tuned Amie.