January 9th, 2015
Normally, Fin enjoyed the winter because it was a time of peaceful evenings spent by a fire, enjoying warm food (when it was available) and good company. At least, that was how he grew up. That notion changed drastically once he left Kintail, Scotland and was taken to a place that had no winter. Only the unrelenting heat and despair that had engulfed him for nearly a decade. Now he was back in a place that had real seasons again and that had his spirits lifting despite the surroundings. Rather than go to the Red Dragon, he was slowly but surely exploring more of this neighborhood where he worked and sometimes lived.
The clientele wasn't well off. Bunch of working stiffs that spent what little coin they had here to get warm and forget how crappy their lives were for a few hours, pretend they had another life or were another person. Beer and women were aplenty though the former was weak and the latter was well used but Fin hadn't really come for either. He was just sitting at the bar, listening. Getting a feel for the pulse of West End and the other types of people that lived here. The bartender had given him the side eye until he gave over good coin for his ale and then he was mostly ignored. A few regulars looked at him warily but Fin just nodded and kept himself to himself until he got his bearings.
Just like the rest of RhyDin, the people here were a very strange mix of old and new. West End was on the border between Old RhyDin and the other part where the nexus brought people from other times and worlds. Though he'd stumbled into it accidentally, it was perhaps the best place for Fin to be because at least there were things familiar to him that helped him to feel comfortable while trying to figure out everything else. Even wary locals and weak ale made him feel a little more at home, a little more comfortable as he surveyed the men and women, young and old, modern and antiquated.
Ketch was waiting. It was something he did often these days: waiting on, waiting for, waiting 'til. By dint of his own history, he knew it to be a passing phase, and so his patience was well stoked and further aided by the bottle of beer he sipped from occasionally. Next to him on the bar sat a small brown gift bag with a confectioner's label blazoned on the front; whether or not the contents of the bag would be a sweet surprise was a matter of relativity, but he suspected it would be well-received at the least.
It was habit the way his gaze passed over the crowd at regular intervals, a system of surveillance so innate that he hardly even noticed the movement anymore. Mind working through a system of calculations and blithe, blank-faced assessment that weighed the perceived capability of each body in his immediate radius: the one in the crewneck tee would fold easily, the older gentleman in rumpled shirtsleeves was a scrapper who'd put up a good fight, the blonde in the dress two yards past decent...well..she was no human at all, and it was a tactician's scrutiny rather than desire that kept his attention on her the longest. It made the time pass faster, at least. Fin's appearance was noted during one of those sweeps, although he refrained from an immediate greeting. It was odd, sometimes, catching someone out of context and in unfamiliar surroundings, and the last time Ketch had seen the man, Fin had appeared angry or distraught--Ketch hadn't had enough time to gauge which before he and Antonia vanished.
Instead, he waited until a wizened man appeared from the back hall and hobbled up to the bar next to him. Ketch turned away, studied the TV playing old sports reels with sudden interest and waited two beats before turning back to ensure the package was gone.
It was then that he angled his body forward slightly over the bar, out from behind the shadow of a tall fellow that was spewing cigar smoke between uttering broken syllables into a cellphone until he found Fin's profile. Ketch muttered to the bartender who produced a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass that he filled and set in front of Ketch. Ketch promptly sent it sailing down the bar in Fin's direction, past the cigar-smoker, the shady blonde and a host of other stiffs looking to get laid or get numb. Maybe both. It was less about the liquor (which was a shitty well brand) and more about a greeting with a touchstone of familiarity, since he had offered the man a shot previously. Ketch was not infallible with his aim, but he felt pretty sure that the glass would stall somewhere in Fin's vicinity, and should Fin happen to look, either out of curiosity or irritation, he would find Ketch with a devil's smile that was all sun-warmed western-world charm.
Fin wasn't waiting for anything in particular, just...soaking in the people and the place. Letting it all wash over him without influencing anything with his presence. Once the regulars figured out that he wasn't going to start anything and was going to sit quietly with his ale, they went back to ignoring him. For his own part, he completely missed the presence of Ketch in there but then, the man was trying to be missed and so did a good job of it, sort of hidden behind someone taller than himself. Fin's attention was elsewhere, idly glancing to his left as the bartender chatted and laughed with an older gentleman missing some teeth but the noise of the shot glass scraping over the bar top did draw his focus. And the attention of everyone it slid past, surprising them. It stopped a few inches before Fin but that stool was empty so...could it be for him? Brows rose and he glanced up, blue eyes trying to fix upon the point or person of origin.
There he saw Ketch leaning forward, smiling right at him. Fin even looked behind him to make sure there was no mistake; his memory was on the shitty side and so it took him a moment to realize that the man seemed...familiar. Like he'd seen the face before. Brows puckered and his head canted to one side in confusion before the truth slowly dawned on him. He had seen the man at the inn, albeit briefly. Expression smoothed out into a smile and the shot glass was pulled closer, gesturing for the man to come closer, join him at the bar and share a drink with him.
Ketch had an excellent memory, which was a gift or curse depending on the situation, but had proved useful more than once in the labyrinth of alleys that veined the city. He watched the vague recognition dawn on Fin and iron his expression into something more welcoming, and since Ketch had no game plan beyond making sure the gift bag had gotten into the proper hands, it was easy enough to vacate his position and relocate alongside Fin, offering a placating shrug to those whose drinking had been disturbed by the traveling shot glass. He signaled the bartender for another glass and passed a small wad of bills over to him so he'd go ahead and leave the whiskey bottle as well. Even if Ketch had no intentions of drinking it dry, he'd rather not have to continually wait on the bartender for a refill. He spun the glass once on the counter, watching the way the liquid was jostled within before he angled slightly towards Fin, "You look a damn sight better than the last time I saw you." Instead of offering his hand for a shake, he tipped the rim of his glass in Fin's direction instead. "I'm Ketch. Fin, right? I gathered this by verbal pummeling Antonia dealt me for what she felt was a suggestion on my part about her bruises." The woman had upbraided Ketch in a way he hadn't known since he'd been a kid outrunning his mother's switch, and the memory twitched a brief grin that was erased by the astringent burn of whiskey as he tossed it back.
Delighted to see that the man was coming to join him, Fin waited patiently while the other man got comfortable and signaled the bartender for another glass. Brows rose a bit when he saw the amount of money being passed over, figured it was for the bottle, but just smiled gratefully. Who was he to turn down a free drink?
Unable to remember when he last saw Ketch and why Fin might have not looked so hot, the Scot just shrugged a little and took it as a compliment. "I thank ye for it." Couldn't remember the man's name and was eternally grateful that he thought to offer it up first, before things got awkward. But after that first shot was thrown back, the edge of his woolen cloak was flipped back so that he could offer a hand to shake. "Finlay Mackenzie, it be a pleasure to meet ye," his Scottish accent rolling out unmistakably, but not so thick it was difficult to understand. The name was still knocking around for a split second longer but it all fell into place when he mentioned Antonia. His eyes lit up and his smile widened. "Oh! Ye be Antonia's friend, Ketch!" Hey, give the Scot a prize! "I forgo' tha' we had seen each other before, at the Inn. But please do no' take tha' personally as I have a shite memory," grinning warmly as he poured them a second round of shots.
His glass was lifted and he tapped it to Ketch's. "To m'wee angel," toasting Antonia since she was the reason they knew each other and then it went down the hatch.
Spotting Fin's look, Ketch slid the bottle to the side a bit so that it sat more evenly between them, a silent offering for the man to take as he pleased. Fin's mannerisms had a certain warmth to them that put Ketch more at ease in surroundings that usually kept him edged in tension. The softening line of Ketch's shoulders and the resulting slump of relaxation was something he hadn't felt often since his return to the city and, inexplicably, he felt a momentary flicker of guilt over it.
"A proper Scottish name," Ketch returned, taking the man's hand in a brief, but solid grip-- no pumping action:that was for businessmen and ladies trying to shake like a man. There'd been a time when Ketch would've judged a person by such a thing, but experience had taught him that it was unpredictable at best, that liars and saints too often both shook the same way. Ketch chuckled at Fin's admission to having a shite memory and curled the second shot within his hand. "Friend," he repeated with a slight scoff. "I imagine she'd probably disagree, but she's good with cars and can be sort of...uh......" what was the word? He was clearly choosing carefully, "..refreshing..when she's not hurling insults in my direction." Suffice it to say, those moments had been few and far between. "Apparently I say the wrong thing a lot, at least to her mind. Usually sounds like normal conversation in my head." Ketch didn't appear particularly disgruntled by this, though; his smile was still fully greased and more so as he lifted his glass in preparation to toast Fin. The words that followed, however, lifted such a raucous laughter that several of the nearby patrons turned their heads and glowered in the duo's direction. Clearly joviality was not the norm in this bar. Ketch quieted and peered at Fin, thinking maybe that wasn't a joke after all. "You must know the right things to say. To your wee angel, then, with the mouth of a demon." How was that for a compromise?
Fin was just Fin - he tended to treat everyone the same way unless prompted otherwise by their behavior. He genuinely liked people, liked to get to know them and interact with them. He also didn't try any pump action in that handshake - that wasn't a thing in 18th century Scotland. Just a firm grip and then he released because there was whiskey to drink.
There was affection blatant in his expression as they spoke of Antonia, not minding at all that Ketch didn't have quite the same view of the woman. Few did because that was how Antonia wanted it but Fin knew this and wasn't offended when others didn't think of her in a squishy way. "I be certain she would disagree, as well. The woman be contrary for its own sake," lips twitching with humor. "But wha' I have learned is no' to pay so much attention to wha' be comin' out o' her mouth. Ye can judge the woman more on wha' she does for others." Antonia would definitely disagree with what he just said but again, she didn't want others thinking she was nice. Fin knew better. "She migh' hurl insults at ye but she continues to help ye wit' yer car. She keeps spendin' time wit' ye. Those be the things tha' count wit' her." He paused and his grin widened. "But, eh...do no' tell her I said all tha', aye?"
Ketch's laughter made him grin, not insulted at all but no, he also wasn't joking. He felt the eyes on them but paid them no mind, keeping his focus on Ketch. "Aye, the mouth of a demon,? chuckling lightly. ?So where are ye from? Ketch be an interestin' name, I canno' place it as ye can m?own."
Ketch listened with consideration to Fin's assessment of Antonia and nodded a couple of times. He was thinking back on their few encounters, the harsh invectives followed by an occasional comment that cut through the insults with the ring of genuinely helpful intention. Antonia had followed up a gruff departure from a shady car lot by depositing a handful of auto books in his mail slot at the Red Dragon. So there was that. And previously she'd helped him fix his car; of course in a move that vexed him to no end, she wouldn't share the secret of exactly what she'd done, and he hadn't entirely given up on figuring it out on his own, though he'd had no luck so far. "You may be a little biased, but you're probably mostly right. Remains to be seen, I guess. We..." Ketch stalled out again around his wording, hesitating for a moment before picking up his train of thought, "..we have similar lines of work, so sometimes that immediately raises the hackles, you know?" This was true on both counts: Ketch was as guilty of being brusque and reticent as she was, so he could hardly fault the woman for her attitude. It was a protective measure he understood.
When Fin turned the conversation in a new direction, Ketch perked a bit, not in the least opposed to sharing his roots, though they seemed to grow farther away with each passing day in the city. "I don't think my name has much root in my heritage. I'm...not exactly sure how my mom even came across it. I grew up in the West. Of the United States," he clarified. "In a place called Arizona. Lots of red and orange, lots of dust. Some Reservations. Have you been in RhyDin long?"
He had a general idea of the push and pull between Ketch and Antonia, based on what the lass told him after the encounters, but he could tell that she didn't hate Ketch. Brows rose to hear they had similar lines of work and, being that he knew what Antonia did for a living, some questions sprang to his lips but he kept them to himself here and now because they had so many ears surrounding them. "Well, the lass does have her hackles, I will grant ye tha', but she be worth the time o' gettin' past them." Ketch got clapped gently on the shoulder. "As I be certain ye are, as well." Grin! Since they were having a drink together and talking, Ketch was already in Fin's 'friend' category.
His hand fell away and Fin poured them another round though he just sipped at this one while listening to Ketch start on his biography. Considering they had similar lines of work, Ketch was much more open and easier to talk to than Antonia was for most people but Fin was glad about that, didn't feel so much like he was prying. He got a little lost with talk of the United States but at least he knew what it was now. "Wha' be a Reservation?" asked with a puckered brow. "Oh, I been in RhyDin...eh, a few months. It was summer when I arrived, I remember it was warm enough to be sleepin' in the streets as I was. But it no' be the first time I ha' been here. The other was....well, the one I remember was a verra long time ago. But then I left for another place where I...was for a long time." It wasn't that he was being purposefully obtuse but there were many things he honestly couldn't remember. Such as the name of the land where he lived with Stefin, if it was part of RhyDin or some other place altogether, as Scotland and the United States were to this tavern. He just gave a crooked smile and shrugged his shoulders in a little apology. "But I do no' think there be a way for me to go back home so...I be here for as long as it will have me. Wha' about yerself? D'ye plan on stayin' for the long term? Have ye been workin' here as ye did back in yer home?"
Fin was quite the bucket of camaraderie, especially to a man like Ketch who went entire weeks without uttering much more than monosyllabic grunts and one-word directives to people who operated much the same. It was its own spartan language, really. His instinct was always to be suspicious of others' goodwill, and yet in Fin he read it as genuine; it was such a departure from Antonia's burrs that Ketch could immediately understand the magnetic pull that she and Fin would exert on each other. Ketch had spent his fair share of time in the gore-ridden shadows of back alleys, but he was not without some sense of decorum, and a keen ability to compartmentalize made it relatively easy for him to settle into more mundane turns of conversation. He squinted sidelong at Fin. "You're kind of the optimist sort, aren't you?" This was not spoken disparagingly, but with actual curiosity.
New round poured, Ketch spun his glass idly on the counter, also slowing his pace while he thought about how to explain a Reservation. "It's like a consolation prize. A little apology made for the land that was taken from Indian tribes. See, what we call Indians are not actually Indians. They're Native Americans. The Europeans that crossed the sea fucked it up and thought they'd landed in India. But even after they realized their mistake, the name stuck." And....he'd derailed right off the track of conversation into history. He stopped himself, took a drink and restarted. "Anyway, the governing body that set up the new country gave the natives some space and sovereignty of their own as a completely inept apology, basically, for taking over. So I was born on one of those. My mom is Din? or Navajo,? this would all probably go right over Fin?s head. ?But my dad was a traveling missionary bringing the 'word of God' to the 'savages.'" Cue copious air quotes. History: by Ketch Creeley. Take it with a grain of salt and a shot of whiskey. "Anyway, that's all past tense. I came here ten-odd years ago and then left. Found my way back here again. Not sure why, exactly, but I'll go with it for awhile and see what's left here for me, if anything." That was not to say he was unsure of how he'd arrived here. That part had been of his own volition; he just wasn't entirely decided on the motivation behind it. Fin's answers were far from transparent, but Ketch was not one to pry initially and just went with it, though he did have to ask, "How'd you find your way back?" So many had stories of falling out of the sky or randomly waking up in the realm. "Did lightning strike twice?"
It was true that Fin had a sort of boyish enthusiasm about him at times, usually a friendly smile on his face and a general concern for those around him. But he, too, had seen his share of back alley gore and the depraved, soulless monsters that made those kinds of things possible. It was sheltered inside him, compartmentalized as he tried desperately to move forward. Ketch's question caused his smile to falter a little at the edges and his gaze became...pensive and then sad. Blue eyes cut away from Ketch to stare down at his drink a moment, shrugging his shoulders in a minute gesture. "I do no' know wha' I be," his tone sounding world-weary for a moment before he was distracted by the history lesson.
Brows furrowed as he tried to follow along but there were a lot of things in there that sailed right over his blonde little head. He didn't know where India was but maybe he'd explore the map again. Some days he was really, really tired of feeling like an idiot, but some things did translate and he grunted, nodding his head. "Sounds much how the bloody Sassenachs treated us," he muttered, throwing the rest of his shot back and then pouring himself another. Offered to top off Ketch, while he was at it. "Yer mum was one o' these natives?" His glass clinked against Ketch's. "I be certain she was a good woman. To her," giving another impromptu toast before throwing that shot back, as well.
"Well now...the second time I got here, I was lookin' for it, the Nexus that migh' bring me back. But...eh, well I stumbled upon it accidentally, by the by. M'mind was...hazy at the time, I canno' remember everythin' but I knew when I changed over. Everythin' felt different, the air was...different," not knowing how else to describe it. "But I was happy to have found it. It no' be home but...it no' be where I was before, either." And that was a good thing.
"Ah well, we're 75% water anyway, right?...fluid states, constantly changing." It might have been an attempt to perk Fin from his momentary drift into weary thoughtfulness, or it might have been a reminder to himself. Either way, the philosophical detour was abandoned when Fin started asking questions again.
He stalled as it occurred to him that he might have forgotten an important query to be appended to the circumstances of Fin's origin. The sharp points of blue eyes narrowed speculatively upon the man. "When are you from?" The way Fin was asking questions suggested that there might well be a gulf of time separating them. He paused to give an affirmative nod regarding his mom's native status as he swallowed another shot.
And though Fin's explanation of his second arrival sounded more like a dreamscape, when the man mentioned the difference in air, Ketch gave another nod in accordance, knowing exactly what he meant. Somewhere between the burn tickling the back of his throat from that last shot and a fist knuckled against the beginnings of bleariness in his eyes, Ketch got an idea. "When's the last time you went to the public library here?" Ketch didn't look like the kind of guy that'd haunt libraries on a regular basis, so there was probably some other draw. "There's this librarian there that lets me into the archives where they have this machine that," he cut himself off again. "It's hard to explain. Better if you just see it." Granted, Ketch had only seen it in passing on the way to the darker corners of the archives, fiddled with it on occasion, but the librarian was fascinated by it, always talking about it excitedly until Ketch found the place where the hem of her skirt kissed the tops of her thighs and she went quiet.
The philosophical bint in the conversation went completely over his head so it was best left alone or else Ketch was going to have to start drawing diagrams for Fin. The next question had him straighten and give a crooked smile. "I was born in the year of our Lord 1715." That always seemed to shock the hell out of people for some strange reason, even though there were talking animals that frequented the Inn on a regular basis and people throwing magic around left and right.
The second arrival in RhyDin had been somewhere between dreamscape and nightmare but that pretty well summed up the past third of his life. It wasn't exactly a secret but Fin didn't really volunteer much information on that subject unless pointedly asked. He grinned and perked at the mention of the library. "I have no' been to the library yet but I want to go. I be much better at readin', now. Been workin' hard at it," a little bit of pride conveyed in his carriage. That Hooked on Phonics was no joke! His head canted at the mention of a machine but he was ready to go. Poured another shot, downed it fast and rose to his feet. "Let us go an' see it!" Ketch got a clap to his shoulder while Fin stood with an eager grin, ready to have an adventure. "D'ye go to the library often? Are ye friends wit' the librarian?" The other man seemed pretty confident he could get them both in to see it.
Ketch's grin cracked wide open when Fin mentioned the year 1715. "Jesus, man, you could probably school me in a few things. We've got at least a couple hundred years between us." It had been a very long time since Ketch had met someone from a different era altogether, so he was reciprocally intrigued. Somehow in a realm of living mythical creatures and talking cats, it was the guy from antiquated times that stuck out like a sore thumb. There was irony somewhere in that. "Boy, I'll bet Antonia has taught you a few things." He imagined it might be somewhat disconcerting to encounter the level of technology the realm came with. After all, there were plenty of things that went right over Ketch's head as it was.
He made a sheepish, twisted sort of grimace that bespoke humility and shook his head. "Unless ye harbor a desire to become a blacksmith, I do no' think I could tell ye much tha' ye do no' already know. When I came here, I would ha' been lost if no' for Dair an' a few others, Antonia, as well. She has shown me how t'work m'telephone an' I no' be as uncomfortable in vehicles now." They still gave him a bit of motion sickness but it was a much easier way to travel than walking all the time, he had to admit that much at least. "The...eh, television be a strange beastie," making a face because he was still trying to master the art of working the remote control. "Sometimes it all seems a dream or magic o' some sort," shrugging one shoulder. Made him feel lost and out of place on bad days.
Another lengthy study followed Fin's mention of working at reading, but Ketch made no comment, just rose from his stool, shoulder bumping against the descent of the man's hand to his shoulder with a resounding smack that had him chuff a laugh as he moved towards the door, assuming Fin would be right on his tail. "We'll catch a cab. 'Cause I ain't walking and I left my car behind." Outside, the frigid air bit against exposed skin, and Ketch was quick to hail a cab before shoving his hands in his pockets and turning back to Fin with a slightly smug smirk compliments of the alcohol. "I don't go often anymore, but I used to. One of the librarians, yes, we are...or were...friends in a manner of speaking." Ketch had no idea how'd she'd react to his return, but was willing to chance it. He opened the door as the cab slowed to a creep and gestured Fin inside.
Normally, Fin enjoyed the winter because it was a time of peaceful evenings spent by a fire, enjoying warm food (when it was available) and good company. At least, that was how he grew up. That notion changed drastically once he left Kintail, Scotland and was taken to a place that had no winter. Only the unrelenting heat and despair that had engulfed him for nearly a decade. Now he was back in a place that had real seasons again and that had his spirits lifting despite the surroundings. Rather than go to the Red Dragon, he was slowly but surely exploring more of this neighborhood where he worked and sometimes lived.
The clientele wasn't well off. Bunch of working stiffs that spent what little coin they had here to get warm and forget how crappy their lives were for a few hours, pretend they had another life or were another person. Beer and women were aplenty though the former was weak and the latter was well used but Fin hadn't really come for either. He was just sitting at the bar, listening. Getting a feel for the pulse of West End and the other types of people that lived here. The bartender had given him the side eye until he gave over good coin for his ale and then he was mostly ignored. A few regulars looked at him warily but Fin just nodded and kept himself to himself until he got his bearings.
Just like the rest of RhyDin, the people here were a very strange mix of old and new. West End was on the border between Old RhyDin and the other part where the nexus brought people from other times and worlds. Though he'd stumbled into it accidentally, it was perhaps the best place for Fin to be because at least there were things familiar to him that helped him to feel comfortable while trying to figure out everything else. Even wary locals and weak ale made him feel a little more at home, a little more comfortable as he surveyed the men and women, young and old, modern and antiquated.
Ketch was waiting. It was something he did often these days: waiting on, waiting for, waiting 'til. By dint of his own history, he knew it to be a passing phase, and so his patience was well stoked and further aided by the bottle of beer he sipped from occasionally. Next to him on the bar sat a small brown gift bag with a confectioner's label blazoned on the front; whether or not the contents of the bag would be a sweet surprise was a matter of relativity, but he suspected it would be well-received at the least.
It was habit the way his gaze passed over the crowd at regular intervals, a system of surveillance so innate that he hardly even noticed the movement anymore. Mind working through a system of calculations and blithe, blank-faced assessment that weighed the perceived capability of each body in his immediate radius: the one in the crewneck tee would fold easily, the older gentleman in rumpled shirtsleeves was a scrapper who'd put up a good fight, the blonde in the dress two yards past decent...well..she was no human at all, and it was a tactician's scrutiny rather than desire that kept his attention on her the longest. It made the time pass faster, at least. Fin's appearance was noted during one of those sweeps, although he refrained from an immediate greeting. It was odd, sometimes, catching someone out of context and in unfamiliar surroundings, and the last time Ketch had seen the man, Fin had appeared angry or distraught--Ketch hadn't had enough time to gauge which before he and Antonia vanished.
Instead, he waited until a wizened man appeared from the back hall and hobbled up to the bar next to him. Ketch turned away, studied the TV playing old sports reels with sudden interest and waited two beats before turning back to ensure the package was gone.
It was then that he angled his body forward slightly over the bar, out from behind the shadow of a tall fellow that was spewing cigar smoke between uttering broken syllables into a cellphone until he found Fin's profile. Ketch muttered to the bartender who produced a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass that he filled and set in front of Ketch. Ketch promptly sent it sailing down the bar in Fin's direction, past the cigar-smoker, the shady blonde and a host of other stiffs looking to get laid or get numb. Maybe both. It was less about the liquor (which was a shitty well brand) and more about a greeting with a touchstone of familiarity, since he had offered the man a shot previously. Ketch was not infallible with his aim, but he felt pretty sure that the glass would stall somewhere in Fin's vicinity, and should Fin happen to look, either out of curiosity or irritation, he would find Ketch with a devil's smile that was all sun-warmed western-world charm.
Fin wasn't waiting for anything in particular, just...soaking in the people and the place. Letting it all wash over him without influencing anything with his presence. Once the regulars figured out that he wasn't going to start anything and was going to sit quietly with his ale, they went back to ignoring him. For his own part, he completely missed the presence of Ketch in there but then, the man was trying to be missed and so did a good job of it, sort of hidden behind someone taller than himself. Fin's attention was elsewhere, idly glancing to his left as the bartender chatted and laughed with an older gentleman missing some teeth but the noise of the shot glass scraping over the bar top did draw his focus. And the attention of everyone it slid past, surprising them. It stopped a few inches before Fin but that stool was empty so...could it be for him? Brows rose and he glanced up, blue eyes trying to fix upon the point or person of origin.
There he saw Ketch leaning forward, smiling right at him. Fin even looked behind him to make sure there was no mistake; his memory was on the shitty side and so it took him a moment to realize that the man seemed...familiar. Like he'd seen the face before. Brows puckered and his head canted to one side in confusion before the truth slowly dawned on him. He had seen the man at the inn, albeit briefly. Expression smoothed out into a smile and the shot glass was pulled closer, gesturing for the man to come closer, join him at the bar and share a drink with him.
Ketch had an excellent memory, which was a gift or curse depending on the situation, but had proved useful more than once in the labyrinth of alleys that veined the city. He watched the vague recognition dawn on Fin and iron his expression into something more welcoming, and since Ketch had no game plan beyond making sure the gift bag had gotten into the proper hands, it was easy enough to vacate his position and relocate alongside Fin, offering a placating shrug to those whose drinking had been disturbed by the traveling shot glass. He signaled the bartender for another glass and passed a small wad of bills over to him so he'd go ahead and leave the whiskey bottle as well. Even if Ketch had no intentions of drinking it dry, he'd rather not have to continually wait on the bartender for a refill. He spun the glass once on the counter, watching the way the liquid was jostled within before he angled slightly towards Fin, "You look a damn sight better than the last time I saw you." Instead of offering his hand for a shake, he tipped the rim of his glass in Fin's direction instead. "I'm Ketch. Fin, right? I gathered this by verbal pummeling Antonia dealt me for what she felt was a suggestion on my part about her bruises." The woman had upbraided Ketch in a way he hadn't known since he'd been a kid outrunning his mother's switch, and the memory twitched a brief grin that was erased by the astringent burn of whiskey as he tossed it back.
Delighted to see that the man was coming to join him, Fin waited patiently while the other man got comfortable and signaled the bartender for another glass. Brows rose a bit when he saw the amount of money being passed over, figured it was for the bottle, but just smiled gratefully. Who was he to turn down a free drink?
Unable to remember when he last saw Ketch and why Fin might have not looked so hot, the Scot just shrugged a little and took it as a compliment. "I thank ye for it." Couldn't remember the man's name and was eternally grateful that he thought to offer it up first, before things got awkward. But after that first shot was thrown back, the edge of his woolen cloak was flipped back so that he could offer a hand to shake. "Finlay Mackenzie, it be a pleasure to meet ye," his Scottish accent rolling out unmistakably, but not so thick it was difficult to understand. The name was still knocking around for a split second longer but it all fell into place when he mentioned Antonia. His eyes lit up and his smile widened. "Oh! Ye be Antonia's friend, Ketch!" Hey, give the Scot a prize! "I forgo' tha' we had seen each other before, at the Inn. But please do no' take tha' personally as I have a shite memory," grinning warmly as he poured them a second round of shots.
His glass was lifted and he tapped it to Ketch's. "To m'wee angel," toasting Antonia since she was the reason they knew each other and then it went down the hatch.
Spotting Fin's look, Ketch slid the bottle to the side a bit so that it sat more evenly between them, a silent offering for the man to take as he pleased. Fin's mannerisms had a certain warmth to them that put Ketch more at ease in surroundings that usually kept him edged in tension. The softening line of Ketch's shoulders and the resulting slump of relaxation was something he hadn't felt often since his return to the city and, inexplicably, he felt a momentary flicker of guilt over it.
"A proper Scottish name," Ketch returned, taking the man's hand in a brief, but solid grip-- no pumping action:that was for businessmen and ladies trying to shake like a man. There'd been a time when Ketch would've judged a person by such a thing, but experience had taught him that it was unpredictable at best, that liars and saints too often both shook the same way. Ketch chuckled at Fin's admission to having a shite memory and curled the second shot within his hand. "Friend," he repeated with a slight scoff. "I imagine she'd probably disagree, but she's good with cars and can be sort of...uh......" what was the word? He was clearly choosing carefully, "..refreshing..when she's not hurling insults in my direction." Suffice it to say, those moments had been few and far between. "Apparently I say the wrong thing a lot, at least to her mind. Usually sounds like normal conversation in my head." Ketch didn't appear particularly disgruntled by this, though; his smile was still fully greased and more so as he lifted his glass in preparation to toast Fin. The words that followed, however, lifted such a raucous laughter that several of the nearby patrons turned their heads and glowered in the duo's direction. Clearly joviality was not the norm in this bar. Ketch quieted and peered at Fin, thinking maybe that wasn't a joke after all. "You must know the right things to say. To your wee angel, then, with the mouth of a demon." How was that for a compromise?
Fin was just Fin - he tended to treat everyone the same way unless prompted otherwise by their behavior. He genuinely liked people, liked to get to know them and interact with them. He also didn't try any pump action in that handshake - that wasn't a thing in 18th century Scotland. Just a firm grip and then he released because there was whiskey to drink.
There was affection blatant in his expression as they spoke of Antonia, not minding at all that Ketch didn't have quite the same view of the woman. Few did because that was how Antonia wanted it but Fin knew this and wasn't offended when others didn't think of her in a squishy way. "I be certain she would disagree, as well. The woman be contrary for its own sake," lips twitching with humor. "But wha' I have learned is no' to pay so much attention to wha' be comin' out o' her mouth. Ye can judge the woman more on wha' she does for others." Antonia would definitely disagree with what he just said but again, she didn't want others thinking she was nice. Fin knew better. "She migh' hurl insults at ye but she continues to help ye wit' yer car. She keeps spendin' time wit' ye. Those be the things tha' count wit' her." He paused and his grin widened. "But, eh...do no' tell her I said all tha', aye?"
Ketch's laughter made him grin, not insulted at all but no, he also wasn't joking. He felt the eyes on them but paid them no mind, keeping his focus on Ketch. "Aye, the mouth of a demon,? chuckling lightly. ?So where are ye from? Ketch be an interestin' name, I canno' place it as ye can m?own."
Ketch listened with consideration to Fin's assessment of Antonia and nodded a couple of times. He was thinking back on their few encounters, the harsh invectives followed by an occasional comment that cut through the insults with the ring of genuinely helpful intention. Antonia had followed up a gruff departure from a shady car lot by depositing a handful of auto books in his mail slot at the Red Dragon. So there was that. And previously she'd helped him fix his car; of course in a move that vexed him to no end, she wouldn't share the secret of exactly what she'd done, and he hadn't entirely given up on figuring it out on his own, though he'd had no luck so far. "You may be a little biased, but you're probably mostly right. Remains to be seen, I guess. We..." Ketch stalled out again around his wording, hesitating for a moment before picking up his train of thought, "..we have similar lines of work, so sometimes that immediately raises the hackles, you know?" This was true on both counts: Ketch was as guilty of being brusque and reticent as she was, so he could hardly fault the woman for her attitude. It was a protective measure he understood.
When Fin turned the conversation in a new direction, Ketch perked a bit, not in the least opposed to sharing his roots, though they seemed to grow farther away with each passing day in the city. "I don't think my name has much root in my heritage. I'm...not exactly sure how my mom even came across it. I grew up in the West. Of the United States," he clarified. "In a place called Arizona. Lots of red and orange, lots of dust. Some Reservations. Have you been in RhyDin long?"
He had a general idea of the push and pull between Ketch and Antonia, based on what the lass told him after the encounters, but he could tell that she didn't hate Ketch. Brows rose to hear they had similar lines of work and, being that he knew what Antonia did for a living, some questions sprang to his lips but he kept them to himself here and now because they had so many ears surrounding them. "Well, the lass does have her hackles, I will grant ye tha', but she be worth the time o' gettin' past them." Ketch got clapped gently on the shoulder. "As I be certain ye are, as well." Grin! Since they were having a drink together and talking, Ketch was already in Fin's 'friend' category.
His hand fell away and Fin poured them another round though he just sipped at this one while listening to Ketch start on his biography. Considering they had similar lines of work, Ketch was much more open and easier to talk to than Antonia was for most people but Fin was glad about that, didn't feel so much like he was prying. He got a little lost with talk of the United States but at least he knew what it was now. "Wha' be a Reservation?" asked with a puckered brow. "Oh, I been in RhyDin...eh, a few months. It was summer when I arrived, I remember it was warm enough to be sleepin' in the streets as I was. But it no' be the first time I ha' been here. The other was....well, the one I remember was a verra long time ago. But then I left for another place where I...was for a long time." It wasn't that he was being purposefully obtuse but there were many things he honestly couldn't remember. Such as the name of the land where he lived with Stefin, if it was part of RhyDin or some other place altogether, as Scotland and the United States were to this tavern. He just gave a crooked smile and shrugged his shoulders in a little apology. "But I do no' think there be a way for me to go back home so...I be here for as long as it will have me. Wha' about yerself? D'ye plan on stayin' for the long term? Have ye been workin' here as ye did back in yer home?"
Fin was quite the bucket of camaraderie, especially to a man like Ketch who went entire weeks without uttering much more than monosyllabic grunts and one-word directives to people who operated much the same. It was its own spartan language, really. His instinct was always to be suspicious of others' goodwill, and yet in Fin he read it as genuine; it was such a departure from Antonia's burrs that Ketch could immediately understand the magnetic pull that she and Fin would exert on each other. Ketch had spent his fair share of time in the gore-ridden shadows of back alleys, but he was not without some sense of decorum, and a keen ability to compartmentalize made it relatively easy for him to settle into more mundane turns of conversation. He squinted sidelong at Fin. "You're kind of the optimist sort, aren't you?" This was not spoken disparagingly, but with actual curiosity.
New round poured, Ketch spun his glass idly on the counter, also slowing his pace while he thought about how to explain a Reservation. "It's like a consolation prize. A little apology made for the land that was taken from Indian tribes. See, what we call Indians are not actually Indians. They're Native Americans. The Europeans that crossed the sea fucked it up and thought they'd landed in India. But even after they realized their mistake, the name stuck." And....he'd derailed right off the track of conversation into history. He stopped himself, took a drink and restarted. "Anyway, the governing body that set up the new country gave the natives some space and sovereignty of their own as a completely inept apology, basically, for taking over. So I was born on one of those. My mom is Din? or Navajo,? this would all probably go right over Fin?s head. ?But my dad was a traveling missionary bringing the 'word of God' to the 'savages.'" Cue copious air quotes. History: by Ketch Creeley. Take it with a grain of salt and a shot of whiskey. "Anyway, that's all past tense. I came here ten-odd years ago and then left. Found my way back here again. Not sure why, exactly, but I'll go with it for awhile and see what's left here for me, if anything." That was not to say he was unsure of how he'd arrived here. That part had been of his own volition; he just wasn't entirely decided on the motivation behind it. Fin's answers were far from transparent, but Ketch was not one to pry initially and just went with it, though he did have to ask, "How'd you find your way back?" So many had stories of falling out of the sky or randomly waking up in the realm. "Did lightning strike twice?"
It was true that Fin had a sort of boyish enthusiasm about him at times, usually a friendly smile on his face and a general concern for those around him. But he, too, had seen his share of back alley gore and the depraved, soulless monsters that made those kinds of things possible. It was sheltered inside him, compartmentalized as he tried desperately to move forward. Ketch's question caused his smile to falter a little at the edges and his gaze became...pensive and then sad. Blue eyes cut away from Ketch to stare down at his drink a moment, shrugging his shoulders in a minute gesture. "I do no' know wha' I be," his tone sounding world-weary for a moment before he was distracted by the history lesson.
Brows furrowed as he tried to follow along but there were a lot of things in there that sailed right over his blonde little head. He didn't know where India was but maybe he'd explore the map again. Some days he was really, really tired of feeling like an idiot, but some things did translate and he grunted, nodding his head. "Sounds much how the bloody Sassenachs treated us," he muttered, throwing the rest of his shot back and then pouring himself another. Offered to top off Ketch, while he was at it. "Yer mum was one o' these natives?" His glass clinked against Ketch's. "I be certain she was a good woman. To her," giving another impromptu toast before throwing that shot back, as well.
"Well now...the second time I got here, I was lookin' for it, the Nexus that migh' bring me back. But...eh, well I stumbled upon it accidentally, by the by. M'mind was...hazy at the time, I canno' remember everythin' but I knew when I changed over. Everythin' felt different, the air was...different," not knowing how else to describe it. "But I was happy to have found it. It no' be home but...it no' be where I was before, either." And that was a good thing.
"Ah well, we're 75% water anyway, right?...fluid states, constantly changing." It might have been an attempt to perk Fin from his momentary drift into weary thoughtfulness, or it might have been a reminder to himself. Either way, the philosophical detour was abandoned when Fin started asking questions again.
He stalled as it occurred to him that he might have forgotten an important query to be appended to the circumstances of Fin's origin. The sharp points of blue eyes narrowed speculatively upon the man. "When are you from?" The way Fin was asking questions suggested that there might well be a gulf of time separating them. He paused to give an affirmative nod regarding his mom's native status as he swallowed another shot.
And though Fin's explanation of his second arrival sounded more like a dreamscape, when the man mentioned the difference in air, Ketch gave another nod in accordance, knowing exactly what he meant. Somewhere between the burn tickling the back of his throat from that last shot and a fist knuckled against the beginnings of bleariness in his eyes, Ketch got an idea. "When's the last time you went to the public library here?" Ketch didn't look like the kind of guy that'd haunt libraries on a regular basis, so there was probably some other draw. "There's this librarian there that lets me into the archives where they have this machine that," he cut himself off again. "It's hard to explain. Better if you just see it." Granted, Ketch had only seen it in passing on the way to the darker corners of the archives, fiddled with it on occasion, but the librarian was fascinated by it, always talking about it excitedly until Ketch found the place where the hem of her skirt kissed the tops of her thighs and she went quiet.
The philosophical bint in the conversation went completely over his head so it was best left alone or else Ketch was going to have to start drawing diagrams for Fin. The next question had him straighten and give a crooked smile. "I was born in the year of our Lord 1715." That always seemed to shock the hell out of people for some strange reason, even though there were talking animals that frequented the Inn on a regular basis and people throwing magic around left and right.
The second arrival in RhyDin had been somewhere between dreamscape and nightmare but that pretty well summed up the past third of his life. It wasn't exactly a secret but Fin didn't really volunteer much information on that subject unless pointedly asked. He grinned and perked at the mention of the library. "I have no' been to the library yet but I want to go. I be much better at readin', now. Been workin' hard at it," a little bit of pride conveyed in his carriage. That Hooked on Phonics was no joke! His head canted at the mention of a machine but he was ready to go. Poured another shot, downed it fast and rose to his feet. "Let us go an' see it!" Ketch got a clap to his shoulder while Fin stood with an eager grin, ready to have an adventure. "D'ye go to the library often? Are ye friends wit' the librarian?" The other man seemed pretty confident he could get them both in to see it.
Ketch's grin cracked wide open when Fin mentioned the year 1715. "Jesus, man, you could probably school me in a few things. We've got at least a couple hundred years between us." It had been a very long time since Ketch had met someone from a different era altogether, so he was reciprocally intrigued. Somehow in a realm of living mythical creatures and talking cats, it was the guy from antiquated times that stuck out like a sore thumb. There was irony somewhere in that. "Boy, I'll bet Antonia has taught you a few things." He imagined it might be somewhat disconcerting to encounter the level of technology the realm came with. After all, there were plenty of things that went right over Ketch's head as it was.
He made a sheepish, twisted sort of grimace that bespoke humility and shook his head. "Unless ye harbor a desire to become a blacksmith, I do no' think I could tell ye much tha' ye do no' already know. When I came here, I would ha' been lost if no' for Dair an' a few others, Antonia, as well. She has shown me how t'work m'telephone an' I no' be as uncomfortable in vehicles now." They still gave him a bit of motion sickness but it was a much easier way to travel than walking all the time, he had to admit that much at least. "The...eh, television be a strange beastie," making a face because he was still trying to master the art of working the remote control. "Sometimes it all seems a dream or magic o' some sort," shrugging one shoulder. Made him feel lost and out of place on bad days.
Another lengthy study followed Fin's mention of working at reading, but Ketch made no comment, just rose from his stool, shoulder bumping against the descent of the man's hand to his shoulder with a resounding smack that had him chuff a laugh as he moved towards the door, assuming Fin would be right on his tail. "We'll catch a cab. 'Cause I ain't walking and I left my car behind." Outside, the frigid air bit against exposed skin, and Ketch was quick to hail a cab before shoving his hands in his pockets and turning back to Fin with a slightly smug smirk compliments of the alcohol. "I don't go often anymore, but I used to. One of the librarians, yes, we are...or were...friends in a manner of speaking." Ketch had no idea how'd she'd react to his return, but was willing to chance it. He opened the door as the cab slowed to a creep and gestured Fin inside.