Many years before Embra was born, her father, Angus Walter, was a student studying

abroad for a semester at the University of Edinburgh. He admired Edinburgh's castle and

cobblestone streets and was charmed by the cozy pubs where he and his classmates

enjoyed endless discussions over "hunners o' pints."

It was in one of these pubs that he first heard the word "Embra" spoken with a lyrical

Scottish accent, and was captivated by this simple word. When he asked a classmate,

he was surprised to learn that "Embra" was local slang for Edinburgh.

He recalled that word the moment his baby was born, delivered by his wife, Sally, who

smiled when he suggested they name their little girl Embra. To them, it had a soft, bright feel,

and oddly, it was unknown as a girl's name, or anyone's name, for that matter. And thus

begins little Embra's adventures.

Embra hated Scotland.

Well, she reckoned she would've liked the place a lot more if it wasn't for the yearly holiday's she'd be dragged on, where her father would spend a week in Edinburgh with her, telling stories about his semester abroad, the drunken discussions at every pub, the origin of her name. When she was little, she liked the attention, she liked feeling special, like all of Edinburgh had been named for her, and she was a princess with her own kingdom. Now, she was 19, and being dragged up and down the cobbled streets and pretending to laugh at all the jokes and anecdotes she'd heard before, sitting in pubs and coffee shops that as her father drank and ate more chips that she thought humanly possible for a man of 45 to eat.

By the time they got back to the hotel, Embra felt like her smile muscles had atrophied. Her father was still buzzing, still talking about the pub they’d visited that afternoon, “the one that wasn’t here when I studied here, but it’s got the same spirit, you know?”, and she nodded along, letting his words wash over her like static. She excused herself early, claiming jet lag. Angus didn’t question it; he was already halfway into reminiscing about a ceilidh he’d once stumbled into by accident.

In her room, Embra shut the door, leaned against it, and exhaled. The silence felt like oxygen. She kicked off her shoes, flopped onto the bed, and stared at the ceiling. Nineteen years of Edinburgh trips. Nineteen years of the same stories. Nineteen years of being named after a city she wasn’t sure she even liked.

Her phone buzzed.

A notification from Instagram: “TONIGHT ONLY — secret gig, The Caves. Doors at 10. Limited entry.”

She sat up.The Caves. She’d heard of it: a venue carved into the old stone vaults beneath the city. Nothing like the polite pubs her father dragged her to. She checked the time. 9:12 p.m. A grin tugged at her mouth. For once, Edinburgh could be hers. She changed quickly, pulling on black jeans, boots, a jacket that she had tried to put studs on last summer and now hung off the collar like droopy metal petals. She tied her hair up, grabbed her phone and a twenty-pound note, and slipped out of the room.

The hallway was quiet. The lobby staff barely glanced at her as she strode past, heart thudding with the thrill of doing something she absolutely wasn’t supposed to. Outside, the night air was cool and sharp, smelling faintly of rain and fried food. The city hummed with tourists, students, music leaking from doorways and trhe smell of rain radiating off the pavement. Edinburgh at night felt different. She was beginning to like it much, much more. She followed the directions on her phone, weaving through narrow closes and down steep steps until she reached an unmarked door with a bouncer standing beside it.

“You here for the gig?” he asked.

She nodded, trying to look like someone who did this sort of thing all the time.

He stamped her wrist and pushed the door open. Heat and sound spilled out, drums, bass, voices shouting over the music. The room glowed with red lights reflecting off the walls as people danced and laughed, pressing closer together in the cool stone cavern. It was chaotic and alive and nothing like the Edinburgh she’d been force-fed her whole life.

Maybe she didn’t hate Scotland. Maybe she just hated the version of it she’d been shown.

And as the band launched into a new song and the crowd surged forward, Embra stepped into the crush of bodies, letting the music swallow her whole. Tonight, she wasn’t Angus Walter’s daughter, walking anecdote, a novelty from his student years. Tonight, she was just Embra; whoever that turned out to be.

Embra was beginning to like Scotland.

Getting to experience it for the first time on her own terms was--exhilarating. Maybe this was the part of Edinburgh she could identify with---not the dreary pubs, or the quaint shops her father always dragged her to. The atmosphere was electric. The air inside the venue smelled of many different colognes and perfumes, alcohol, and bar food. The live band shredded on their guitars sending shock waves through her body. People bumped into her in the crowded room as more people poured in through the door, she got swept further inside.

Embra's boots stuck to the ground---empty cups lay scattered everywhere. Embra found herself in front of the bar. Her father had never allowed her to get a drink in Scotland---even though she'd turned eighteen before they came to Edinburgh last year. of course she's drank with her friends back in the states, but this was different somehow. She ordered a beer---one of the many on tap---and waded back into the sea of people.

The night went on. she found herself dancing with strangers---a young woman with a septum piercing and purple highlights, a young man with black shoulder length hair and a bedazzling outfit. Embra spun and twirled through the crowd, lost in her own world. It was as if she had found herself for the first time---here at this location, in this moment in time nothing else mattered.

Embra found herself dancing with a man wearing a shirt with a cake on it, the letters on the cake read happy nineteen.

"Is it your birthday?" Embra yelled over the noise.

The man looked confused for a second, then he blushed. "Yes. When one of the friends in my group have a birthday we celebrate and force then to wear this---he gestured at the shirt.

Embra had never had any close friends, this experience was rather foreign to her.

"I'm Finley," he stuck his hand out awkwardly, saying something that sounded like "We're too late?"

Embra shook his hand. "What?" She shouted.

What's your name?

"Oh. I'm Embra."

Like--Edinburgh?" Finley asked.

Embra dropped her eyes to the floor. The excitement she'd felt a moment ago seemed to evaporate---there it was again. She supposed it had to happen sooner or later; this was the longest she'd gone in Edinburgh without being reminded of her nomenclature.

Finley must have realized this was a sore subject; he gave her a sympathetic look. "Let me buy you a drink?"

Finley seemed kind, he was one of the first people Embra had met here who didn't pry into her name sake. his warm chocolate colored eyes melted her a little. "Ok," She Effused.

When they reached the bar Finley said. "Amy, whisky sour please, and whatever for the lady."

For some reason Embra found herself blushing from Finley calling her a "lady". Embra couldn't think of what she could order. Before Embra could stop herself she blurted out "same as him." Oh real clever Embra, she thought to herself, blushing profusely.

Amy the bar tender leaned toward Embra, "save yourself the trouble and run from this one before it's too late." She smirked in Finley's direction.

Finley's warm-brown eyes burned with protest. you're not still on about that time I helped you take the garbage out, are you?

"Amy looked back at Embra---a mischievous smile tugged at her lips. "One night Finley helped me take the garbage out after close, everyone else had left earlier, leaving me with the cleanup. While I was doing other stuff he hauled the garbage out back to sort it into the bins. You would not believe it, somehow he managed to throw all the recycling into the garbage bin, and all the garbage into the recycling bin!"

"In my defense the bins are very similar!" Finley interjected---His ears turning pink.

Embra noted he was cuter when he was flustered.

"I spent half of the next day sorting everything out. That was the last time I ever let him help with anything, he's offered though, but I know better now. Amy mused.

Finley's face began to flush too. Embra had thought he couldn't have gotten cuter.

Amy finished the drinks, setting them on the counter. "On the house, happy birthday Finley.

Great, Finley grumbled, as he turned away from the bar.

"Oh, one more thing," Amy called from behind them. "Jessica and Blair told me to tell you they went outside."

Finley gave her a thumbs up without looking back. "Want to meet my Friends?" Finley asked.

Embra thought he still looked a little flustered. "Ok." Embra was so glad she decided to come here, this was shaping up to be a night to remember. She followed Finley toward the door of the cramped Venue.