Topic: Wind Chimes

Tag Sentry

Date: 2016-09-19 13:39 EST
(( Thanks to FinMack for the play. All posts in this thread done opposite that player.))

Usually, the dark man was occupied, but Penny was older, now. Ame was older, too, less fragile but still a child. So long as his diaper was changed and he was fed before Tag left, it afforded a window of one to two hours to step away for groceries or something else.

Armed with a cellphone, Penny could now dial him if there was trouble, though she seemed largely annoyed at the prospect of doing so. Tag checked and he double checked before leaving. This hindered her sense of being independent and otherwise trusted, but she was patient enough for a girl of twelve. All too early she had understood that her dad was a little different from the other fathers. That he took some explaining but more importantly she had come to realize that he didn't disappoint her.

Tag always found a way. Penny believed that. She could handle watching an infant for a small amount of hours to earn more allowance.

That was how Tag had secured the daytime business hours to step away from his property and to the forge that Fin worked. With his comfortably fitting old leather jacket and a scarce wind at his back, he paused at the yawning entrance. Should he had sent a text first?

Fin kept both bay doors open during business hours, to help air flow and to encourage people to walk in. He normally faced the front of the forge while working though his attention was frequently cast down at the metal in his hands. In this moment, he'd just set a piece wrought iron into the wooden bucket of water he kept nearby, a hiss of steam rising. It was quickly whisked away by the large industrial fan kept over near the sink, to keep the smith from getting too overheated. Covered in a sheen of sweat, damps ends of his hair brushed his brow and ears, frequently swept back with his arm.

He felt like he was sweating a lot more, lately, and then there was the curious incident of steam rising from his flesh yesterday during the afternoon. Strange, anomalous quirks that had him a little jumpy. Hyper aware.

It was nearly lunch time, good as any to stop for food. Still unaware of the figure lurking in the bay door, Fin wiped his hands on the leather apron decorating his front and then turned to the sink. Used to the flavor of metal in his food, he didn't need to celebrate it.

http://i466.photobucket.com/albums/rr28/CorrenLaine/FinsShopLayout.jpg
Layout of Fin's shop, compliments of FinMack

Tag had been to a forge before, but not one of this commercial-sized magnitude. The issue with swords was that few could afford them and they required great artistry. That was for the larger forges. The smaller ones pounded out nails and horse shoes and other common objects on occasion. Fin's set up was something else entirely, a scene he had never witnessed before.

With Fin's preoccupied appearance, his knuckles rained on the wood of the door in an idle pattern that called for his attention. It said that he was here. That there was a person fleshed in the doorway before his stride worked towards Fin in a careful, deliberate way. This was his workplace, after all. Assuming it was safe to travel would have been folly.

Just finished drying his hands, Fin glanced up to see someone stepping inside hesitantly. The smiled picked up instantly - ready to greet a customer - but it deepened, warmed to see a friend. "Good afternoon, Tag. Please, come in," waving the man forward until they were close enough to shake hands. The smile was replaced in a blink with a concerned frown. "Is everythin' alrigh'? Madi an' the bairns?"

"Bairns..." The word was unfamiliar at first, but only a second. There was a shake of his head no and he smiled, quickly, "Penny is watching Ame and I will meet Madison at the bar... and she will head home afterward." The closing duties of tidying up didn't require her. Besides, it allowed her time with Penny and Ame that might otherwise turn into her arriving after their bedtimes to peer over them, the wind whispering of secret adventures, as she wondered who they were becoming. This way, she could be part of it more.

"I was... curious. Of your work." A look to the mouth of the dragon and then back to Fin. The heat radiated like a half-hearted warning. It was lazy enough that Tag could smile partly towards the threat of fire. No doubt with proper stoking Fin could rouse it into crackling and sparkles.

The concern eased once his fears of an emergency situation were laid to rest. Shoulders eased from his neck though a touch of tightness at the corners of his mouth implied he heard that Madi was heading home from the bar by herself. Tag was going to stay? Was that a new arrangement because they were having issues or were they merely being pragmatic? He wanted to ask but felt it would be an imposition to Tag. The two men were friends but Tag wasn't the type to talk about himself or invite prying into his personal affairs. Like all of Fin's other male friends. No wonder they got along.

"Aye? Are ye curious abou' anythin' in particular? Did ye need anythin' made for ye, for the bar or at yer home?" He plied Tag with questions while turning toward the great fire that fed his creativity, paid his bills. "Did ye ever receive a tour?"

Madison and Tag had an obstacle, but they were tackling that hurdle together. She had a nagging sense of wonder. About herself. About what would happen next. He had swore to her he would be there for it and if there was anyone he kept his promises to, it was her. They slept in the same bed, they had sex that was both fire and forgiving. Gentle bruises from the kissing stayed along their necks with the whispers of fingernail claw marks tracing over chests and backs. Wild lions taming each other just enough.

In short, the household was full of solidarity and love. Tag could not have known of Fin's concerns, or how genuinely he might have cared. Even if it had been said, words did not affect him so profoundly. Tag was the sort that needed to see it, to feel it, to know it was more than a con artist's promise.

"Not... a personal tour." He had seen the forge before when it first opened, but now that it was just the two of them it felt larger and less familiar. There was a short motion of his hand, "Show me."

Madi and Tag had become Fin's family unit to which he'd attached himself. Desperate for a sense of belonging, he cared very much about their shared future together, for their sake and for his own. It went hand in hand.

A crooked smile quirked one corner of his mouth higher than the other, nodding as he spread one arm to indicate the whole of the forge. "Well, this be where I work," the glance he flashed at Tag wry. "I be workin' on a staircase railin' for a customer now, wee bit o' wrought iron here an' there. I get to be creative," which was his greatest joy in working with metal. When he could put a little bit of himself in someone else's life. "Are ye familiar wit' smithin' work?"

For more than just Fin, Tag and Madi were a north star. In some ways, it was cathartic to see that there was more than smiles and smooth sailing between them. They had their tribulations but were not lost for it. That was saying something.

"Only a little," he had scarcely done any of the work, but he had seen the forges before. The setup was familiar enough to him. One hand reached out to touch some of the cool tools that were on the table. There was a pause, looking at Fin, "Have you always... been interested in this? Do you know the Damascus blade?"

Fin set about closing the bay doors with a loud rattle that thundered over the noise of the fan. They were locked in place (he was still a wee bit paranoid about people tampering with his things when he wasn't here) and then gestured for Tag to follow him. Fin trooped back through the office that connected home and work, leading Tag into his little apartment. It was still larger than the crofter's cottage in which he'd grown up so though it was cozy by RhyDin standards, Fin felt it was like a palace.

"I learned at m'Da's knee. He was a smith in our village. Ardelve." The fridge was opened and he grabbed two beers, the only thing he had to offer in the way of refreshment without ordering something or taking a trip to the market. Tag's bottle was left on the counter for him to take as he pleased while Fin popped off the cap and took a swig. "I knew Damascus steel, o' course, but I did no' have the fortune to be able to work wit' it until Master Oliver, rest his soul. He helped me to remember everythin' I had forgotten, an' a wee bit more," smiling over the memory of the gruff older man.

"I be feelin' hungry, would ye like to take yer midday meal wit' me?" He was already pulling out a pizza delivery brochure and fiddling with his phone.

Tag Sentry

Date: 2016-09-19 13:50 EST
"Back home... it was usually the same. Sons following their father's trade." Sometimes the sons could surpass the skill of the father or sometimes they lived in the shadow of him. The best one could hope for was to be equivalent so that no one noticed the new generation taking up the torch and that the sense of the trade 'always having been this way' was instilled. He had followed Fin, a foot or two of space between them as his dark-eyed gaze absorbed the world he worked in. Back home, some of those that worked the forge were honored as if belonging to the noble class if what they made was exceptional. In a pre-industrial world it was the expert craftsmen that could make men bow.

It was only when Fin took a swallow that he realized that he was thirsty and hadn't taken up the offer, yet. He reached for the bottle, the same popping noise followed just before he downed a half swallow and then a full one. At the mention that he had worked with Damascus steel, Tag's eyebrows lifted up. The expression of short lived surprise and respect for his experience moved behind his gaze. As a swordsman, it was difficult for Fin's abilities to not capture his imagination.

"I would like that." He looked for the nearest seat and drew out a chair, sinking into it. There was a curious look on his face when Fin pulled out the brochure but it wasn't enough to prompt him to say anything just yet. He drew his cellphone out of his pocket but the screen didn't update him to anything.

In the Scot's mind, Geordie Mackenzie was near to a saint and there was no way that Fin's craftsmanship could ever replace or surpass it. But then, he had a very different take on it, tending toward the more creative and decorative rather than concentrating on weapons because he could, because there was a market for it here as there had not been in 18th century Scotland. To fight the English, one needed swords and knives and what scant armor the Scottish deigned to wear; in RhyDin, Fin could concentrate on railings and fences and repairs and horseshoes rather than focusing solely on the machines of violence. It was refreshing and had him stretching his creative wings in ways he never could have dreamed of at his father's knee.

It was beer they were drinking - Fin had just run out of water unless Tag wanted to get from the tap - but he'd make sure to order more drinks. The pizza place was dialed and when it answered, they knew who it was from his greeting. A smile curled his mouth, nodding along with what they were saying on the other end of the phone. "Aye, an' add a plain one wit' only the cheese." Because he didn't know what Tag liked.

Fin had just added a wee two-person table and two rickety chairs that didn't match though the smith hardly cared. He took the other seat across from Tag, letting his legs sprawl in front of him while he slumped against the wall. Took another guzzle from the beer before he glanced at the other man. "Were ye wantin' me to make ye somethin'? Or repair somethin'?" Blue eyes roved Tag's features curiously.

He didn't drink much, but enjoyed an occasional one or two at the inn. Usually it was brandy, the sort of drink people expected to be sipped on. He paused after a swallow to turn the drink around in his hand as if confirm what the label on it would say. The froth of it lingered in his mouth in a suitable way, the mismatched chair giving a wooden knuckle pop when his weight adjusted.

"I was curious." He admitted that first, his eyes lifting away from openness of Fin's face to their surroundings. Still, there was always something that needed to be made or repaired. A thought churned, digging up something old when he asked, "Can you repurpose the metal of something already made?"
Used to his surroundings by now, Fin didn't look away from his guest. Bright blue eyes rested on the man's face, able to take in the features and study him in a way that wasn't normally available to him. It wasn't terribly often that they had conversations one on one without the distraction of family or patrons at the bar. In fact, Fin realized in that moment that he really didn't know much about Tag - his past or how he came to be in RhyDin.

"It be possible but it depends upon the make an' metal, wha' it be now an' wha' ye be wantin' to make it." He needed more information, please and thank you.

He was generally in the study of people. His quiet consumed the details of Fin's modest surroundings, which he took to be similar to his own when he'd been a bachelor. The possessions of a man could reflect his heart, what it was prepared for and inviting in.

The details of him under scrutiny spoke of a common ground between them. Callous hands and shoulders given bulk from the work they did. Some recognized that he was half Japanese, it showed in his night hair and starless gaze. The temperature of his skin leaned towards being tan. A red ribbon was tied at his wrist, faded with time and stained by the work he did. A metal gleam of his wedding band was the newest thing about him. He liked to get the surplus or outdated military clothes because the pants were tough canvas and usually had pockets. Today was no exception. Old green military pants with any insignia removed. A black shirt that didn't show much staining. His posture tended to relax only a little but was otherwise rigid and proper. That was all an observation could really say about the dark man.

"I was wanting you to make a wind chime. There is an old bear trap and perhaps... The pieces of it could be cut down. Could be made to make that." Another lift of his beer for a drink. Their gazes met, he searched Fin's eyes for possibilities.

The surface of the dark man did tell its own story but that was a story that Fin already knew. He was looking deeper, beyond the starless gaze to the quiet and the well from which it sprang; the calm that always seemed to envelop the man in any given surrounding and how it was maintained. Tiny clues that could be picked up and read, if one had the patience to look for them and tuck them away, allow time and association to put them in order to see a larger picture.

Fin was wearing a sweat-stained white T shirt (because a pack of them was cheap) underneath his leather apron, the tattoos on his forearms easily visible. His bottom half was clothed in the traditional dress of his people: a worn kilt and deerskin boots that hugged his calves. He found the hanging fabric easier to contend with when drenched in sweat, it didn't pull or twist as britches did.

A wind chime! He'd made one of those before for another friend and perked at the idea of fabricating another from scratch. Emptying his beer bottle, he left it on the table to collect more condensation, a hand raking through his damp hair. "Aye, I would love to make somethin' such as tha' for ye. But I would need to see the state o' this trap an' judge the metal. Pure iron could be too heavy, no' make the music ye be lookin' for. But I will draw up a sketch for ye so tha' ye could judge it before I do anythin', aye?"

It was likely they bought the same white shirts. Their line of work made a fool of anyone who tried to dress it up more than it was. Cheap, comfortable, the sort of cotton that got softer and kept the impression of their frame as time went on.

"It is fine if the sound is inappropriate. You can add to its... song with whatever you have, if you think it needs it." There is a small give at the corners of his mouth. It says that he is glad for the light in Fin's gaze. Perhaps he had expected a man who knew Damascus steel to be disappointed at the request. Fin's enthusiasm felt genuine, though, which was what prompted his smile to appear faintly.

"The state of the metal is poor. It is probably be steel." There was a pause and the secondary detail came, "It was a bear trap." Sometimes those old reminders could grow and come to have a new life. That usually involved another person in your life, someone like Fin, to help rewrite its meaning. At the mention of a sketch he gave a nod of agreement, his lowered head not rising up from the motion as his mouth returned to that of his beer.

The Scot was genuinely excited. He especially enjoyed making things that brought others enjoyment, something that had meaning, that would cause the owner to pause in their steps or daily routine and think of something deeper in the moment. That gave Fin a particular joy that smoldered and lasted in his chest. Even better that it might be something he could come and see for himself at the house.

"Did ye have any shapes or anythin' tha' ye wanted to see in it? I ha' seen some tha' have the shape o' wee birds or butterflies or the like. Glass baubles tha' catch the light as well as make music. How...elaborate are ye thinkin'?"

Was this really for Madi or Penny, or the both of them together? Did Tag want something pretty to look at or was this more about keeping the integrity of the original use after refashioning?

"It should still be what it is." Did that make sense when he said it? Tag set down his beer, hands motioning to the invisible and not yet made chime, "When they see it, it is important that they know it had been the bear trap. But there are some pieces which could be changed to..." Tag paused then, a recollection gripped his shoulders, "the shape of a coin. I could bring you some as well to add but just the pennies."

His hands lowered, the puppet show involving all the invisible materials for the idea gone now that he had finished speaking. Their eyes kept locking, both men checking time and again that they were walking the same path together.

Tag Sentry

Date: 2016-09-19 14:01 EST
That made total sense to Fin. The smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes implied that recognition, as did the nod that followed. "Aye, I can have it lookin' as the prettiest huntin' trap tha' eyes e'er laid upon." The idea of the coins intrigued him, mind spinning already to think how to arrange them, how to hang them and where they should fall. "Aye, I like tha'. Still the same bits o' metal, all holdin' their old forms to make somethn' new." The artist in him loved it. He held up a finger to indicate Tag should wait a moment while he pushed to his feet. Disappeared inside the office through which they'd walked, reappearing with a notebook and a pencil.

"How soon can ye bring the trap an' how soon were ye wantin' it made?" Timelines were important to Fin though otherwise, he tended to lose track of the passing days without a purpose to give them meaning. Just as lips parted to ask another question, a knock sounded to the back door. Food! Fin jumped up and grabbed his wallet from his bedroom before opening the door. "Hello Patrick," grinning to his normal delivery boy. Fin asked after the kid's girlfriend and cousin, who he lived with, and made light conversation before tipping generously. The Scot brought three boxes of pizza into the kitchen and set them on the island, paper plates pulled from a cabinet. "Please, help yerself." There was a meat-lover's, a veggie pizza and plain cheese so that Tag could have his pick.

"The trap itself is not... " He wanted to say that it wasn't inherently beautiful. That it had acquired something other to it. There was the motion to wait and while Fin was gone he drained a more substantial swallow of the beer. A little under half way. At his return he set it aside, peering curiously, "Just cut up some of the pieces of it so that it hangs and can be the wind chime." The knock came and he tensed as if having forgotten that delivery orders were made. With Fin's words about the food there was the smallest drop of his shoulders to say he had eased.

Rising to his feet he moved to the kitchen, peering at the three options and trying to make some sense of it, "You don't cook much for yourself?" It ended up being the veggie pizza slice he took, sliding it onto the paper plate but... was stopped by curiosity at them. One hand holding the plate and pizza, the other gripped the edges of the stack of paper plates, his eyebrows knitting. It was a simple thing and perhaps Fin might have realized he'd never seen a paper plate before.

No, instruments of death were usually not inherently beautiful unless the maker took the time to put something else into it, something to catch the eye. Bear traps didn't usually fall into that category, they weren't really labors of love. "Aye, I will take it apart an' make it as pleasin' to the eye as I can." Without turning it into spirals and whirls, looking more like a mobile for Ame than anything else.

He saw how Tag eased the tension in his shoulders after Patrick left and wondered at it but didn't call attention to it. Yet. "Eh, for m'self, no. I will eat just abou' anythin'," a crooked smile flashed before his mouth was stuffed with half a slice of the meat pizza, crust dipping under the weight of the sausage and pepperoni and Canadian bacon. He at least had the grace to finish chewing before he continued. "Had I known ye were comin' by, I would ha' made somethin' for ye. Ye do no' care for pizza?"

He glanced at Tag and saw the other man staring down at the plate. Immediately cursed himself for ordering food that Tag hated (ignorant of the paper plate issue). "Eh, I could call another place if this no' be to yer likin'?"

"Oh." He was used to preparing food for himself, though the portions had increased and become less traditional than his home fare. That had more to do with RhyDin being more of a port of market than of fishing.

"Penny really likes the cheese." A nod to the other pizza before he took a bite. Penny walked in between worlds. Not a woman, not a little girl. Not Japanese like her father though she spoke some of the broken tongue with him. Not trained in the sword or the gun. At the question of enjoying the pizza he swallowed the bite he had been working over before speaking.

"I like it well but..." A final run of the pad of his thumb on the thick, crisp edges of the paper plates, "We have some extra plates." That happened when two adults came to live together. Things came to exist in duplicate or in clashing patterns. Maybe Fin had just not finished moving into this work space of his. "You can't wash these..." His hand withdrew from the paper plates, still uncertain of what to really make of them. The idea that they would be inexpensive and not require cleaning hadn't dawned on him.

Fin was as moved in as he was going to get, the paper plates were merely a matter of convenience. And perhaps a nod to his emotional maturity as well as the person that had guided him through the latest period of darkness and sobriety. Ketch hadn't been much for washing up, or eating for that matter. Fin always had the lion's share of both appetite and food.

"I like to make food for others, to see them enjoy it, to lure them o'er for company," chuckling around the food in his cheek. "But for m'self, do no' bother much." There were other pleasures that took priority, like his smokes or beer or working. It didn't dawn on him that Tag was offering those extra plates to him or that there was anything wrong with the paper off which they were eating. Two clueless men, passing curiosity back and forth, neither truly fit for this world. They were both in good company, at least.

"Eh, no, ye do no' wash them. Ye throw them in the bin once ye be finished usin' them," nodding to the trash can over by the small fridge. It led to a greater question, one that had been weighing upon Fin's mind for some time. There hadn't been a delicate way to work it into conversation yet so the Scot chose to just blurt it out and get it out of the way. "Where are ye from, Tag?"

"What is it you make as bait?" The use of the word bait wasn't entirely correct, but had seemed like the right word in response to Fin's description of luring in company. There were sometimes quiet pauses after Fin spoke. It was partly thoughtful but also a careful processing of his accent. Each day they spoke that pause became shorter as his meaning translated faster.

He was chewing on the next bite of pizza, thinking that he hadn't thanked Fin for sharing lunch with him. It was what he was preparing to say when the question came. A look of concentration followed as he searched for it, "Land of the Rising Sun." It had many names, but he had also heard others call it, "Japan." That made him and Fin relatable in terms of their home town being Earth. For Tag it was also a preindustrial era, which accounted for his struggles with the chirping black box.

A bark of laughter between bites and then he grabbed another beer from the fridge. "Depends on the creature I be lurin'," blue eyes twinkling with mirth. "For Lucy, somethin' light an' mostly for m'self. The lass does no' eat much on a good day. For Ketch, I would put out some whiskey an' a wee bit o' simple food. He would likely drink more than he ate. For Ben, I would no' bother anythin' for he be better at cookin' than m'poor skills an' always has something warm at the fire." Really, his grandest cooking experiments had been for himself, just to see if he could do it. Tag and his family had received the brunt of Fin's group cooking skills.

He didn't know Japan or its euphemism so he held up a finger again while he went into the bedroom and rooted around for something in the closet. He came back with an old globe of the Earth, a sleepy wolfhound shaking off slumber behind him. Liath had been asleep in the bedroom but the smell of food and voices had woken her so she stretched and ventured into the kitchen. Pausing for a moment at the sight of Tag, the dog came straight for him for a thorough investigation via sniffing. Fin crooned something to her in Gaelic before setting the globe on the counter next to the cheese pizza.

"Could ye show me?" He wasn't even positive Japan was on Earth but it was worth a shot.

The laughter made his eyes widen before he was given to a partial smile. At the names and the foods provided he nodded, but there was never a glow of familiarity to him. Despite how long he had lived in RhyDin, the dark man was somewhat difficult to accompany, much less get to know. It was through Madison and Charlie's bar that a friendship could be forged.

The dog was a surprise but then he thought Fin had mentioned her before. He couldn't be certain, it might have been something mentioned at the dinner party or some aimless evening of conversation at the inn porch.

Truthfully, he had learned the globe and other places because of Penny. Her homework provided education for the both of them and more often than not, he learned it alongside with her. Had it not been for that, he would have struggled a great deal more. He wiped his hands off on the legs of his pants before his fingers pressed and turned the world. Mountains and oceans swiveled gently until a smallish country turned into view. Two places, though, were pinpointed.

"This is you." Higher up on almost the other side of the globe was Scotland. Another island country. The globe turned slowly, gracefully as if he had the hands of Atlas. A new finger pin pointed the other place, "Japan." He waited until Fin made note of both and then his hands lifted away. The pizza was lifted back up for another bite as he observed Fin's study of their shared world.

Tag Sentry

Date: 2016-09-19 14:15 EST
He didn't think that Tag would know the names but rattled them off easily for they were written deeply in the folds of his own heart. The Scot had a sort of thoughtless affection, including those that spent the time to get to know him, that he judged to be of good character and the type that he would want to get to know in return. He spoke of Madi and Tag in the same way to others, letting their names roll off his burred tongue.

Liath made a study of everything she could smell on Tag, even licking at the spot where greasy fingers were wiped. Fin's lips pressed together when he saw it, hiding a smile before nudging his dog. Gained her attention with two pieces of crust. That occupied her for a few moments, at least, as she took them over toward the futon to eat her food away from the reach of others. She'd been raised at Ben's where the population of animals outnumbered that of people.

The Scot chewed pensively, staring with a slight frown between his brows while Tag turned the globe. He was surprised and impressed that not only did Tag know of Scotland but could find it on the globe. Blue eyes glowed with warmth for the recognition, smiling at Tag before he glanced down at the turning of lands beneath them. He leaned closer, mimicking the other man in wiping his hands on his apron before running a callused fingertip over the island nation. "An island," he murmured. "Like m'self," glancing up at Tag as he forged another mental bond between them, flushed with the simple pleasure of it. "Eh, d'ye know the year tha' ye lived there?" Were they also from the same time, separated only by land and water? "I was born in the year of our Lord 1715," the old phrases rolling off his tongue by habit.

The question was a difficult one. He hadn't been asked that specifically, though educated guesses landed him in the proper realm. His thoughts so focused on it that the dog?s curiosity and licking almost went unnoticed.

"What Lord?" He had thought that Fin was referring to a time period as one might a dynasty. In the year of our Lord Thomas Jefferson. Scotland had its bouts with its kinsmen, but the battles that came with Christianity were not ones he had intimately known. There had been Zen and there had been Buddhism. There had been branches that mingled the body with faith in Thai Chi types of expression. There had not been a God or looming judgment day.

"It was the year of our Lord Tokugawa." He had put it in terms Fin might understand, or so he thought. It was not a specific time frame since the family had ruled from 1600 to 1868. Tag had experienced life at the beginning of western influence, just prior to Perry's arrival in 1853 when the social unrest between the classes began to mount, then burst.

What Lord? That question gave him pause, staring for a moment with wide eyes. Even Ketch had known Christianity, despite his more modern birth and growing up on a Reservation. Fin didn't know how to explain Christianity to someone that was ignorant of it. He couldn't believe that any from Earth were merely because it had shaped so much of his people, all the religious wars fought in Europe before and after his time.

"Eh...Christ? D'ye know Christ an' God? D'ye..." He paused again, chewing on the inside of his cheek while trying to figure out how to bridge this gap between them. "D'ye know the number o' the year ye were born?" Or had they not numbered them that way? This was harder than he thought. "Is Toe-koo...eh...the word ye said, is tha' a number in yer language?" Fin assumed that Tag had grown up speaking another language, as he had in the Highlands.
"Oh, God," this was a concept he had some knowledge of. The first he had learned of it had been when someone swore 'goddamn it' and at some point years ago. Missionaries were few and he had little exposure to them. The many names for God was slightly confusing and at times it was partly explained. Needless to say, Madison was not taking him to church.

"It is the name of a ruling family." The year. He wasn't sure how to translate that and so he did the best he could, "Tokugawa 250." It wasn't going to translate over very well and he seemed uneasy that he could not be properly clear. Penny didn't have a class that taught him how to connect the two. It might have been something Madison could help with. He chewed thoughtfully on his pizza. At least Fin wasn't having to explain God.

Fin was not a church goer at this point in his life, either. Slavery had done much to chip away at his faith in anything great or merciful until there was nothing left. Those wells had not yet refilled themselves but until they did, Fin believed in few things, least of all himself. "Eh, d'ye think tha' ye could write tha' name an' number down for me? I have a friend at the library tha' could help me figure out wha' it means." Annie was sharp, sharper by far than the Scot with all of her education and hunger for knowledge. She worked at the city library and Fin often tapped her as a resource when trying to research things he didn't understand.

Since the subject of time was an impasse, Fin moved on to something else that perhaps they could both understand. "Did ye have a trade when ye lived in yer home? Wha' did ye do there? Did ye live in a wee village or a city such as this?" lifting his arm to indicate all of RhyDin.

Write it down. Tag finished off the last of his slice of pizza and tried his best to think of how to spell that name. How did it translate and what letters should be used? In a language where Sherman's and Sureman's was also quite nearly Shurman's, the request was slightly more daunting than Fin might have realized. "I can try." The paper and pencil from before were in the table, paused in the midst of a wind chime discussion. His difficulty with pinpointing his place in time was compounded by the fact that Tag's life in Japan had been largely illiterate.

There was a drinking motion of his hand to ask for something else to drink. The question of his trade came up and he blinked. It had been something which loomed over him with the weight of a storm he thought everyone could see. Perhaps it stayed, somewhere in his eyes.

"I was a bodyguard." The sentence felt so small, a fragile little thing compared to the enormity of what it meant. He thought there should have been a clap of thunder, a stumble in the air to make the statement more impactful. Instead it was just there, a dart that pinned a tiny bug to the wall.

"The pen and paper," he wrote with an invisible pen on invisible paper in the air. It was a way to excuse himself back to where they had been sitting. Upon doubling back he bent over the table, picking up the pencil and pausing painfully to consider how Tokugawa might be spelled. He opted to keep it as simple as he could. Toe-koo-gah-each. 250. At least the numbers translated smoothly.

Fin had also grown up illiterate, only rectified that situation within the last year but since then, his curiosity was an avid thing, always feeling as if he must catch up. Even the smallest of children here received more education in a year than Fin ever had in his life and sometimes, he was embarrassed by that fact. Knew it was by circumstance more than anything else but he feared being judged as simple or stupid.

"A bodyguard?" he asked, brows rising. "Did ye defend this Lord ye spoke or, or another? So ye were a soldier, o' sorts? How did ye fight?" With a gun or sword or something completely foreign that Fin had never heard of?

While Tag went back to the table, Fin stuffed down one more slice of the veggie and then tossed the crust to Liath, who reached for it lazily and chewed slowly, content with the company and her small role to play. Then he crossed the small space and stood next to Tag, watching the man struggle with the letters. It never occurred to him that others might suffer from the same lack of education as himself. Kicked himself mentally for not thinking of such an eventuality.

"Eh...ye could write it in yer own language, if ye like," speaking softly with a sheepish smile. "I be certain tha' Annie would know it," or know how to translate it.

"They didn't want us to read or write so that the families would have unquestionable privacy." His voice was low, it was all in a tone that echoed the embarrassment Fin knew so well. That he might be thought of as simple or stupid because education here was more than readily available-- it was free and mandatory. If Penny quit attending he would have to answer for it. He had worked at his reading and writing for years with the help of the bubbly, loving gypsy Lilliana. He had made visit upon visit to her after work and he still remembered his first sentence he wrote.

The tide waits for no one.

"She may understand it." He stood upright, pinching the beer by its neck for a swallow. What had Fin said? The Lord. To that Tag shook his head in a quick 'no.' He had not been assigned to any of Tokugawa's family but to the Nobel class beneath. To the daimyo Lord Takahashi and not to 'the' family in charge. That was an explanation that he found some in RhyDin could not fully grasp. Tag's birth had been something of an injury to his father's honor, but not so much that he was dismissed from duty. People in RhyDin were always annoyed at such prejudices, at becoming lesser for being half white.

"It was the sword. There was no... gun or electricity at the time." Tag understood that he was out of time, like Fin, and stumbling around an age of innovation. "But, yes, a soldier." It came to explain his posture and that he didn't quite have the same relaxed slump as someone who didn't have to worry about form. In previous years it had been unyielding and it was only now, nearly two decades later, that his shoulders might inch forward or that he would sink in his seat a bit more. Perhaps it was why military thrift clothes felt like home.

Tag Sentry

Date: 2016-09-19 14:23 EST
He made an mmm sound, nodding along. "Aye, I did no' grow wit' any learnin' such as children here have, either. I was raised on m'Da's trade, on the sword. On Sassenachs against us, a greater enemy than any warrin' clans." The Scot frowned for his memories, thinking on it from a different perspective before bringing himself back to the present. He picked up the paper and traced over the letters, gently enough that he didn't smear the graphite. Mouthed the word slowly, silently, trying to remember the correct pronunciation from Tag's tongue.

There was a mirthless snort as he put it back down on the table. "I canno' even write in m'own language. Only in English, as tha' was how I learned. Last year. I studied some books an' cards to help me learn m'letters, practiced o'er an' o'er. I...m'letters no' be anythin' pretty to look at but I can make them." There wasn't so much beaming pride in that explanation as a relatable kinship to Tag, acknowledging the struggle they shared doing something that others took for granted.

"I was trained to be a warrior, trained on the sword. I did no' have those other things, either. I grew up in a wee village, m'uncle was the Laird an' lived a half day's ride away at Eilean Donan. I went to foster there when I was a lad an' learned the lessons well but...I do no' know wha' sort o' clan warrior I would ha' been. I left when I was ten an' nine." And then a very different kind of lifestyle had been forced upon him, one that didn't involve weapons at all. At least, not that he was ever allowed to wield unless it was at Stefin's pleasure. "D'ye still remember yer trainin'?"

He had never met someone who carried the same shame as he. It was a specific sort, not just being illiterate but having learned some literacy and still being ignorant of the language people would have expected your strongest knowledge to come from. Fin would be unable to read Scottish as he would be unable to read Japanese or any of its close cousins. What he had come to learn was English, the same as Fin.

There was talk of the sword and at that he sat down at the table, slowly. He collected the thought and formed the words slowly. They came like raindrops, "Our father's trade, the sword, was to become our own." Yet they were housed in completely different fates. Tag finished off the last swallow of his beer, the last frothy swallow watery and melting over his tongue.

He encountered Fin's story thoughtfully and found it somewhat remarkable that on the other side of the globe there had been men going through turmoil nearly identical to his own. The story was not common place, though he had not thought of his circumstances as being all together unique. Did he still remember his training? Tag's response was a crisp nod of certainty, the sort that suggested that the memory of the sword and what it was had never gotten far away from him. He was pressed to ask him, though, "Why... leave home at such an early age?"

There was always a certain camaraderie, a respect that was carried between brothers in arms no matter what shade of strangers they might be. Fin felt it was the same between himself and Tag now, connected by a shared bond of growing up in a warrior culture. Sinking into his own chair, the Scot rested his back against the wall, one leg straightened in a stretch while the other was drawn close. "I know tha' m'Da was proud o' me while he lived, proud o' m'trainin', especially for the son of a blacksmith. But he did no' want me to...he hoped I would be a blacksmith first, warrior second. Warrior only in need for our people an' no other reason."

Instead, Fin had shamed his father's memory with his actions and he felt the weight of it on his heart every day. Possessing a melancholy mien, he stared at the beer bottle grasped loosely in the circle of his fingers. "M'Da became ill while I was wit' m'uncle. It was kept from me for some time because he did no' want me to worry o'er him but it became serious. I arrived home in time to care for him a short time an' then say m'farewell." It was a wound that would never heal, the sting of his father's loss. With a deep breath, Fin forced himself to continue.

"I left home because I was angry an' grievin'. I was tryin' to follow my cousin on some fool's errand an' I ended up here. Stupid an' arrogant. I...became addicted to somethin' called Haze an' when I could no' come up wit' enough coin to pay the man tha' sold it to me, he sold m'debt to a slaver." Now, Fin refused to look up and meet any possible recrimination in the eyes of someone he considered family.

"Then you have become as your father had hoped.... a blacksmith first." It did not seem that the drugs, that the debt and slavery were of much consequence to him. There was no change of his face, no shock or disapproval waiting in the dark expanse of his eyes. Tag reacted as if Fin was reciting a story from a book, that he was merely recounting a series of events. He was not so detached as all that.

"You are not a slave now." It was stating the obvious, but it was the last point of Fin's story that remained. There was no collar, no looming master barking orders or giving commands with little nods and smooth gestures. He had stated a fact, but more than that, he had stated the condition of things, that the identity of being a slave had passed. Fin had cleaved that part away and it was only until his admission that it made its role in his life, in his development, known.

He held a question in his mouth that he wanted to ask him but couldn't. It felt like heart surgery, sawing at the breast bone and opening it up like a pair of wood slat doors. A slight shift, his right hand came up to the back of his neck to scratch, the way he sometimes absentmindedly would do when his thoughts paraded around too much.

Not in the physical sense, no, Fin had no one standing over him, forcing his choices for him anymore. But he was still a slave to his guilt and his shame, the memory of the things he'd done, or the lack of memory that his imagination was left to fill in. Wondering if that memory was a hallucination or real. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Fin glanced up quickly when Tag spoke, daring a peek and relieved to find the same impassive mask. Even if the other man was repulsed, he at least didn't let it show.

"No, no' anymore," he murmured, keeping himself otherwise occupied and distracted by finishing off his beer and then collecting the paper plates to throw away. Just to keep his restless hands busy. So it took a moment to notice that he wasn't the only one around which the air thickened with tension. Sensitive to minute changes in the mood or atmosphere of a room by the grace of his God-given personality, Fin squinted at the dark man. "Eh...are ye alrigh'?" the question hesitant, afraid he was misinterpreting or overstepping.

"I was thinking," the question would have to come at another time, one where it didn't feel like open heart surgery. There was a thought, though, relevant to it all. At their age there were none that lacked ghosts, but it had been said not long ago, "We don't... forgive ourselves but we forgive the mistakes and pains of people in our life. Madison and I... have our ghosts. We struggle with our past and she has especially felt... guilt and fear, but also that she is undeserving." This was met with a concerned knitting of his brow, the hand at the back of his neck motioning through the air, "It is hard when someone you love so much doubts themself because for you there is no question that they are..." His hands settled atop the table together, thoughtfully, "what you had always hoped would happen."

This was likewise true of Tag. It didn't help that the way he had grown up had specifically instructed him to think of himself as expendable. What he thought and felt was unimportant. There was the job and only the job. The Japanese had a tendency to do that, to personify the job with their lives, especially in those more traditional times. He had not thought that he would be so important to anyone. It was so much easier to value everyone else.

Tag Sentry

Date: 2016-09-19 14:32 EST
Fin flushed at the turn of topic. It was both a relief and an embarrassment to hear his deepest thoughts spoken out loud by another. The Scot was silent for some time, staring down at his hands as they encircled the dark amber glass, the pad of his thumb worrying over a soggy crease in the label where a machine or a hand hadn't spread it evenly as the others. With a soft huff of breath, he leaned to the left and pulled a silver cigarette case and lighter from his back pocket. It was flicked open to reveal hand-rolled smokes and Fin plucked one out to insert between his lips. It was left open on the table in silent offer even though he'd never seen Tag smoke.

Only after a few drags could he speak around the lump in his throat. " 'Haps tha' is why I felt such a kinship wit' her righ' away. I feel the...same. Regardin' m'self. I have hurt so many, how can I deserve to be happy? When it came at the price of so many lives? Did they deserve to be enslaved or die as they did?"

He did smoke, there was a packet kept on top of the fridge. Madison and Penny were familiar with his restless nights. When men on horses rose through the smoke of a war. Where there were ghosts, howling along the night. It was on those evenings he would pluck a stale cigarette and step outside, wandering his little garden, occupying himself with the search for weeds as he worked on the cigarette. At times Madison would wake to not find him no longer beside her and would go to the porch and sit on the swing.

She gave him a breath, a place to sort his thoughts. When the cigarette was done he returned to the porch where her cool prairie gaze appreciated his sorrow. It was stress that usually drove him to smoke, though Lilliana had been an influence to that. She liked to drink her mead and work a clove down to its base whenever she was around.

No cigarette this time. Just a glance down at the offer and the smallest motion of his hand to say 'no thanks.'

"It is a place where the three of us live." Tag did not seem to outwardly wear his guilt as much. Then again, not many saw him tending to his garden at those late evening hours. "As you do not doubt our value... we do not doubt yours. We will serve as a reminder to each other that these feelings are not greater or more permanent than love."

The lump in Fin's throat got bigger and though he didn't notice, the condensation from his bottle of beer evaporated in a blink, as if it had never been. Fin was too busy glancing over at his dog, who loved him unconditionally, like his closest friends. Even that felt as if it were meant for another, or should be meant for another, but he was too weak and selfish to deny them. Because he loved them, too.

A few deep breaths and a few drags of his cigarette later, it was easier to expand his chest without it feeling as if there were a band trying to squeeze all the life out of him. The offer was taken with great humility and awe but he didn't have the words to say anything that would reflect that so he said something else, instead.

"When did ye leave yer home? What lured ye away?"

"There was a war. I couldn't stay." His jacket pocket buzzed, which caused him to immediately grow tense. His hand moved, digging into his coat pocket. There was a frantic look, the cellphone like an intimidating math problem before he tested the screen out with some taps and swishes and then finally, seeing that it was Penny who had texted, he eventually found the screen with her message. He had understood how to reply and wrote back "yes" to her query. Now for the swish arrow.

Squish. Into the cosmos and somehow into Penny's hand.

"She's ready for me to come home." Being twelve, she could babysit Ame for a handful of hours, but he disliked it stretching beyond three because Penny was still so young herself. Usually it was only an hour but he had lingered with Fin longer than he thought. He stood up and looked at their beers and towards the pizza before adding, "Thank you for inviting me to lunch."

Science was still magic, as far as Fin was concerned!

He wanted to ask more about the war, find out what else they might have in common with a half a world and a century of years between them, but family would always come first. "Aye, o' course, I did no' mean to keep ye so long." He flashed a smile that was partly gratitude as he rose to his feet. "D'ye want to take the cheese pizza home to Penny?" Half of it was left and they could have it for supper, if Tag felt like carrying it back with him.

His smile eased into something warmer, holding out his hand for Tag to shake, if he wanted. "It was m'pleasure to have ye in m'home. Ye be welcome here any time ye like, truly. Alone or wit' yer family. Or if ye ever need me to watch o'er them for ye," putting the offer to babysit out there once again. Liath could help him.

"She would like that." Pizza seemed to be a staple for the young. He guessed it was served in school as well and felt familiar. For him it was a strange thing, sometimes, because it varied so much between shops. It could be greasy or light. The sauce could change.

Tag saw the hand and was familiar enough with the custom that he didn't give it the paper plate treatment or pause before remembering what he should do. His hand just cleared the space, clapping together with Fin's. The smile that was there was the broadest he had had for the whole visit, one which reflected that sense of gratitude. Of family, of belonging. It was there that Tag felt that the undeserving, the 'bad' connected and became something more. It had been on his mind, somewhere in the back of his thoughts, since his talk with Madi. She had felt so cold, so isolated, and had not known that Tag also felt that way. Did she know that there was Fin? That the unease in her did not mark her as an outsider but a kindred spirit?

"Penny does enjoy your visits and I will need to come by again... with the bear trap. Oh, if you see Madison... do not mention it. I would like it to be a winter gift." He meant Christmas.

Fin figured that a hand shake would be better received than a hug, which was his normal for very close friends. Madi would have received one but men could be strange about that sort of thing and Tag was not one to display affection physically. Not with Fin, anyway.

"I will keep it to m'self," winking and placing a finger along the length of his nose. "Shall I come by for supper o'er the week? I will bring Liath wit' me so she can play wit' the children." Liath missed her playmates from Ben's place, Fin could tell. Reaching for the pizza box, he closed a few paper plates in with the leftover slices so Tag wouldn't have to do dishes later if he didn't feel like it. "Call me or send me a message if ye have need of anythin' else," the words ringing with his earnest intent.

The paper plates thing was still a bit disturbing, but Penny or Madison would help him sort that out a little better. Madison could see that in him, when something confused him. She usually tried to suppress the smile it caused until she absolutely couldn't hold it back.

"Yes, over to our home sometime during the week will be good." He nodded, accepting the box and feeling that he had come rudely and contributed nothing to the meal. He should have thought to bring something, he was visiting him on his lunch break.

Call or send a message. Right. "I will." And with that settled between them, he turned to start towards the doors he'd come through but stopped, seeing that Fin had shut them. His eyes moved over the door mechanism and then back over to Fin. Seemed that the dark man was trapped by shop doors.

Lips twitched but Fin, too, hid a smile to see what stopped Tag short. "Eh, best come this way," ushering the other man back through the kitchen to the back door. Fin's place sat on a corner so Tag only had to walk about around to the front side of it to find his way back. "I shall see ye soon, then. Have a good day, brathair." Brother.

They looked like they slid but... he turned at Fin's voice and nodded, seeming relieved that he wasn't going to have to get out through the rolling metal mouth of the shop. He was easily ushered to the secondary path and, once outside, he looked over his shoulder at Fin. There was his smile, faint as ever, one hand lifting to wave at him in a final motion of farewell. His black hair's color was so deep that it hinted towards blue when the sun hit it. The pizza box was held onto with both hands like he believed it was a volatile substance. The ground brushed up dry whispers of dirt when he walked.

Tag Sentry

Date: 2016-10-04 18:14 EST
Old paths were whispering secrets to him lately. There were so few moments he had that were completely alone, like the one he had now. All of the people who were woven into the fabric of who he was were not far from where he had gone but were held in deep, like pull he took from a cigarette. In these early morning hours the world didn't seem to know if the sun had come or gone, if there was a coming dusk or dawn. The shadow man knew that the light would break the horizon in a few hours.

This was an old path. Behind him, an even older memory. Ollie's bar. It had been an abandoned site at the edge of town that he had occupied up until the point that he had the money to afford his own place. The building seemed thin to him now, a broken dollhouse compared to what it had been. The light of his home had followed his steps up to a new porch and left this a hollow vessel behind him. It wasn't Ollie's that mattered, anyway. That wasn't why he had come this way, to this part of town.

There had been a path, once.

In what was threatening to become Autumn, his steps crackled under the first fallen, candy wrapper leaves. When he drew in a breath, it was an aching recollection. It was only when Ollie's was out of sight, when the woods leaned into him, that the side of his left shoe struck a piece of metal. Tag bent down, going to one knee to sweep the leaves and debris off the benign, gaping jaws of the old bear trap. The rust on it was so complete that it seemed like dirt had crawled up it, coloring the metal. Earth had started to reclaim it, his fingers had to dig at one side to try to work it from the ground. It became a battle between him and the trap, the Earth clamping down and Tag holding on more tightly. The bear trap wasn't done yet, it still had more to do, more to say. There was more than just biting and bloodshed.

At last the world relented so suddenly that his shoulders jerked backward. If he had been standing it would have been an erratic stumble. The dark man regained himself, feeling the weight of the trap in his hands and staring down at it. Even now, by the rough brown-red smudges in his hands, did it have the ability to bite. Droplets of red eased along the grip his right hand held on it. Though it was too dark to see it, he could feel the sting of being cut and the slippery lubrication of his blood on the old metal.

He carried it with him like the jaws of a shark, the teeth pointed outward and both hands clamped at the locked corners of its jaws. Steel. It had to be. The weight of it was more than he remembered while also being just as tremendous as it had felt those years ago. Leaves crumbled, his journey continued until he was past all of the old landmarks, including Ollie's bar. Goodbye again, old friend.

When the home was in sight he gave a small smile, not knowing that something so simple could encompass an entire world. Still, it was not something he intended for Madison to discover sooner than necessary. The metal jaws of the shark were put into the shed at the back of their home. Inside the petite structure, he looked down at the dried lines of the bear trap's bites, where small scraps sent dark red into the lines of where his fingers folded. It looked like a map he should have known how to read, but didn't need to. Tag knew the way already.

His breath held, his left hand worked his cell phone. The dark man's face lit up with the light of tomorrow's technology as he tapped at the keys. The sooner Fin knew he had it to give, the sooner he could remove it prior to any accidental discovery from Madison. The cuts on his hand would earn a scowl, but she expected the cuts and bruises of working the world to be on him. It was nothing a smile couldn't push off of her face and ease down the muscles of her spine unless she recognized the oral profile, if her memory dug up those old shadows.