The Scotsman stood out on the busy street gawking at the expanse of steel and glass rising from the ground before him.
Never had he seen the likes!
At least he was on the sidewalk. He'd already had a run-in with cars and taxi's and buses and motorcycles and even those couriers on bicycles, none of it too pleasant, and to say he was flabbergasted, looking at 21st century technology with 18th century eyes, was a gross understatement.
He might have stood there forever, looking....just looking...if not for someone coming out of the huge glass entrance doors, in such a hurry they almost slammed right into him, had at the last minute to sidestep, and did that with a colorful expletive...but the gent did at least hold the door. (Thank God it wasn't a revolving door, else the Scotsman might still be turning circles!)

In walked Connor Mackensie, givin' the man a word of thanks, or he'd never have figured out how to open those doors!.....finding yet another place to gawk. An expanse of glass windows on his left were fronted by a length of continous polished and illuminated oak desk that stretched on...so he thought...fer miles. The laminated floor was so shining that the Highlander for the first moment thought he was putting his foot into water if he would step off the mat, and he knew for damn sure he couldn't walk on THAT! But as he looked at the people walking to and fro in the lobby, none of them seemed to be sinking, and they would be no better, no worse, than he.
He stuck out a tentative foot and tried it.
Solid.
Alright, then. He walked like he was walking on eggshells over to where a young man was sitting at a desk, head down, busily (or trying to look like it) staring at paperwork.

"Uh...pardon me lad...."

No response, the man just kept his head down. Connor noticed there was something in the man's ear, with a cord attached to....well, he didn't know where, it went out of his view, below the desk.
Connor raised his voice a decibel.

"I said, lad, iffn ye be pardonin' me..."

Still no response.
The Mackensie was losing his patience with the man fast. He leaned over and with a finger coiled around the cord that ran to the man's ear, jerked on that.

"Hey!" The man exclaimed and looked up, glaring at who had interrupted his steady diet of tunes on the MP3...into the face of a chesire-cat-grinning Scotsman.

"Whot be yer name, there, lad?" Said in his best and most distinguised Scottish broague.

The young man blinked, eyes growing wide, he was looking at a man who looked like he could wrestle with a bear and win....no, he was looking at a man who WAS the bear! Except he looked like Robert the Bruce, complete with that little skirt thingie, and one helluva sword slung over his back, minus the blue face paint....no place to put that amongst the whiskers that grew all over anyway. A voice that reminescent of chalk running down a blackboard squeaked back.
"B...b...b...Brent."

"Weel, now, b..b..b..Brent, lad. I be Connor MacKensie. Come ta claim me prize o' the raffle, whot be a case of brewskeys, wines an' sech from some rebellious group of gents, whot be called the Rebels of somebody's sacred and broken heart....somethin' along those words, ye kin? Reckon it be too much trouble ta ask ye ta fetch 'em fer me, lad?"

And the Highlander flashed again that gleeming, cheshire-cat grin showing all his bright-whites....overbearing canines and all.

The Mackensie, feelin like he be cast in some weird bad-arse play about a regular Highlander going through the standin' stones and endin' up in a time two centuries inta th' future in a land o' only God knows where, stood in the middle of it all with a bemused look upon his face. Truth be told, he dinna kin where ta be comin' or goin' but it dinna kin ta matter overly much. Here be a lassie wit' her hand stuck inta his chest whot like she owned this place an' maybee ev'n the rest o' the city he jest been traipsin' through an' he kin weel enuf whot ta do wit' that hand.

His big bear claw o' a hand took hers, engulfed it really, squeezin' firm but not overly sech, leastwise so's no one kin say he ha'e a handshake like a limp fish, that be a particular pet peeve o' his da who taught him that iffn ye make a point ta be shakin' a man's hand, be doin' it wit' some gumption, aye? She be a lass but he reckoned same as applied. And the Mackensie gave their clasped hands a shake together up an' down fer a wee bit. Surprised he be whot a lass would make sech an offer, but well he kin he not be in Scotland o' two hundred years ago, anymore. Times ha'e changed, stood ta reason other things had, too.

Like how these lasses o' this place dressed. Och, he noticed, he was a male, after all, an' how could he not, whot with ev'r one o' 'em showin' ankle, leg and sometimes more! The material be fairly nice an' tight ta her shape, like a plaid wrapped all proper like, but it not BE a plaid, had not pleats in it, nor bight thrown up and o're her shoulder, ta be pinned in place. Still she looked like th' other females walkin' around hereabouts, so she must be wearin' whot be proper fer the times an' sech, he reckoned.

He dinna comment on her name, either, but kept ta himself th' thought o' it bein' a wee bit unusual fer a ma ta be knowin' her baby ta grow up ta be a person whot ha'e compassion fer others so much so that she be namin' her from the get-go a thing like.....Care 'en.
He jest tried it out fer hisself.
To Connor, everyone had a first name and that be whot he called 'em by.

"Och, weel....Care 'en. Tis pleased I be ta be knowin' ye, lass! As fer Brent there, sure I am that he be a fine lad, too, ye kin? I mean, he be workin' fer ye fer a while an' not be causin' ye any disasters, ye kin? Be my guess he ev'n been a regular fair worker, lad o' the likes o' him. Whot I mean ta say is....I dinna kin he ta be inta any hot water on account o' me, ye kin? Tis sure I am he meant me no disrespect an' I be takin' none either." Connor had seen her stern expression, noticed her forcing the lad to take his seat and was sure once he had departed, things would not go well for the poor boy. He put in the best word fer the lad he could an' whotever happened afterwards wouldna be up ta him.

Twas about this time in the proceedings that a lass whot had been with Care 'en earlier, who had hustled away afore she made herself known to the Mackensie, came back to where they were standing leadin' the charge o' two soldiers in uniform who be pulling a cart on wheels (instead o' a horse or mule, which he reckoned might ha'e trouble navigatin' these shiney floors, same as he was worried o're ta the first) whot be filled to overflowin' wit' boxes and cartons, all marked (in color!) wit' the emblem o' a wee red heart sproutin' wings ta either side an' the words, "Rebels of the Sacred Heart". The little troop stopped directly behind Care 'en, in full view of the Mackensie.

"Och, lass! This be....fer me?" He whistled long and low and moved around slowly in a circle to inventory the cart, nodding in appreciation and already planning how many nights he could make use of his windfall afore he'd ha'e to be spendin' his own coin agin. He ended back beside Care 'en, having circled the wagon with admiration.

"Thank ye, lass!! I dinna kin how I'll e're be able ta drink all o' that but I'll sure do me best ta make a most honorable attempt at it. More 'n likely, I'll be needin' a bit o' help wit' the task. Say!! I ha'e an idea!! Whot say ye call all yer workers together an' we kin all share in me good fortune, right hereabouts in yer lovely....er....ah....parlour?" Was the daft Scotsman asking the CEO of Reilly Recording Inc. to drop everything in the middle of a busy work day and with her entire company of employees join him in having a wee party in the lobby of one of the most modern buildings in all of Rhydin?

Och, to be sure....he was indeed!