These are not my hands.

then an explosion of sound: the banker’s table scraping against the half-rotted floorboards and colliding with the wall in a crash. callum’s hand wrapping around michael’s jaw, willing the words back into his mouth. their chests are almost close enough to touch, callum’s heaving, michael’s still. 

“was me won the war, mickey. me! and all the other sorry bastards who were there in france, in belgium, in the fuckin’ desert, in flesh and blood! while you stayed back, cowerin' cunt, playin’ pretend. playin’ the fuckin’ sargaent of this — this —” 

he loses the words, and in his frustration, shoves michael roughly back. it surprises him that no one outside rushes to see what threat has befallen their dear leader. 

"You- were a skeleton, Cal. You didn't breathe right, couldn't stand straight, couldn't keep yer drink down, that Christmas you spat pieces out onto the fucking carpet." Michael's breathing comes quicker than he'd like. He forces it steady. "So I called the doctor. I was-" His gaze puckers, but slides away whenever it may meet Callum's eye. "scared, all right?" The edges of both their sockets are a hollow grey, but the rest of him - them - are ruddy, blood vessels daggered up to the surface like raw static. "Scared it would be me that let it happen. Me that sat there that watched."

It angers Michael that no help comes. Makes him afraid. Makes him think. Makes him jerk his forehead forward, aiming for Callum's nose, but only manages to bruise his own jawbone on their grip.

"For whit?" Cathy mutters.

She sits stiffly on the edge of the bed, fighting with the buttons of her boots. Her feet are swollen something awful, pressed raw inside cheap leather gone stiff with rain. She gives the laces a sharp tug, then curses softly when they refuse to loosen.

he's silent for a long time.

probably a masseria goon. or a goon of masseria's goons, being that he isn't italian. folks up there are intense about their enclaves. richard never bothers figuring out who works for who out of new york. gets too complicated. doesn't concern him.

just his characteristic grunt first, towards the choosey bampot. he hears the pistol lower more than sees, on his left side. the hammer clicks back into place, but it isn't put away.

Sights and sounds of the harbour suck and swell around the ankles. Gulls cry, men start unloading, rolling oil drums of single malt onto the procession ford carts. "So - what gave the man the reason to gnaw your bones down like a rabid dog?" He can cop a boundary. Push the line down, compress his knuckles with the rope til Richard proves him right: that the world was exactly as hostile as he'd decided it to be.

“aye. something’s been following me. another man’s name is a heavy thing to carry, mick. you should know — you’ve done it all this time, too.”

in callum’s stare lingers the intensity that his flat affect conceals. thus far he’s kept his distance, his back pressed against the door to michael’s office. now, though, he steps slowly forward until he’s poised at the center of the room. in his left hand he holds a manila envelope: wrinkled, grimy, even more so than the documents therein.

not that she could be certain, but … “yes.”

it seemed unwise to answer. more so to remain silent.

her ring finger pops up from where both hands collect tightly around the handle of her supplies basket. it’s a small diamond with two sapphires set on either side. one size too big, but she hadn’t held it against eddy. he was clueless about these sorts of things.

annis eyes the stain.

send one to have our muses meet for the first time.

“Sorry, were you just talking to me?”

“I think you dropped this.”

“You look lost. Need some help?”

“I don’t usually talk to strangers, but…”

“You’re sitting in my spot.”

“Whoa! Careful!”

“We’ve never met, right? You seem familiar.”

“Is that seat taken?”

“Sorry, I think I just spilled something on you.”

“You’re blocking the doorway.”

“Were you just staring at me?”

“Excuse me, do you know the time?”

“Wait — are you the person I’m supposed to meet?”

“I’ve been sent to find you.”

“Please don’t be alarmed, but I think we have the same bag.”

“Do you work here?”

“I’m fairly certain that’s mine.”

“You’ve got something on your face.”

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“Do you know the way to ___?”

“You’re hurt. Do you need help?”

“That’s a fine ___ (cloak/hat/book/etc.). Where did you get it?”

“This might sound strange, but can I hide behind you for a moment?”

“You look like you could use a friend.”

“I think your dog just stole my lunch.”

“Hey, you dropped your coin purse.”

“I think we’re stuck in here together.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear, but…”

“Are you the new neighbor?”

“First time in town?”

“I’m not sure if this belongs to you, but…”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’ve been hearing a lot about you.”

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“I think you’re in the wrong place.”

“You seem… out of place.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you following me?”

“That was a close call.”

“Not to alarm you, but someone’s watching you.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

“You look like you’re in trouble.”

“Was that your doing back there?”

“You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

“That was impressive. How’d you manage it?”

“I’m guessing you’re not here by accident.”

“Do I want to know what just happened?”

“You might want to keep your voice down.”

“Is it always this strange around here?”

“I have a feeling we’re about to become acquainted whether we like it or not.”