Still Waters Run Deep

His voice was smooth as it slid through the speaker of her phone and into her ears. Well, he was right about that, she thought with a huff. “Why can’t this just be a courtesy call?” She asked. She hadn’t seen him in a while and while she wasn’t exactly missing him, per se, she did enjoy his company and the sound of his voice. He was a sweet man, kind and gentle but she had seemed the mischief in his beautiful eyes. He was not at all what he portrayed himself to be. She always liked someone with layers. 

“It’s not enough to just phone a friend to see how he’s doing? I have to need something?” She wasn’t offended, but it did make her look bad to think that the only reason she was calling was that she needed something from him. She didn’t like looking bad. She put a lot of work into her image. 

The tapping of her fingers stopped and she leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other. “Alright, fine,” she said with a soft sigh. “You got me. I need your help with something.” 

Laslow laughed softly into the phone when he heard her sigh resignedly, the sound reminiscent of rain drops pattering against panes of glass.  In all fairness it was hard to get the drop on a Clairvoyant.  He clicked his tongue when she finally admitted to her need for his assistance.

“There now, was that so hard?” he said, his tone entirely teasing.  Now, teasing Rayne Travers was akin to prodding a sleeping lion, but he really couldn’t help but tug her proverbial tail a little.  No one had ever accused him of being the wisest witch around after all.  He leaned back against the cracked, water-slick brickwork of the low property wall behind him, cradling the mobile between his neck and shoulder while he fished out a new cigarette.  “You can’t fool me, Kisa.”

She would no doubt hear the tell-tale snick of his lighter as he brought it to the tip of his smoke, letting it catch before he puffed it to life.  He hummed contentedly as the Russian brand tobacco slid into his lungs.  It wasn’t perfect, but it still had its small comfort.  “Now then, what can this old witch do for you?”

Taking his boss’s feigned indignation in stride, Mathis just grinned, “Glad I’m not just imagining it, then.” The day Laslow and Mathis couldn’t be honest with one another was more than likely the day they both got into trouble. Though their interests outside of work varied, they both took more than their fair share of risks. Looking out for the other helped them to get away with it all. Perhaps Laslow had sensed that sort of kindred spirit two years ago. He certainly wouldn’t have had any other reason to offer Mathis a job, particularly given the incredible pressure from the magical community to shun him.

Thankfully the coven just didn’t have the influence it used to, Laslow’s business had thrived in spite of their disapproval, and the two witches had become close friends. The risk his boss took was never very far from Mathis’ mind, however, nor was his gratitude. The distillery made life in New Orleans possible (if not exactly preferable), and there really wasn’t anything Mathis wouldn’t have done for its owner at this point. Offering to lighten the older witch’s workload after he’d been scrambling for weeks seemed the least he could do - even if said offer was a thinly veiled bid to get to the bottom of what was going on.

In fact, the odds of actually getting any work done decreased with each finger of whiskey poured. Mathis was something of a lightweight and usually abstained from drinking on the job for that reason, but obviously this was different. It may very well be necessary, given the turn the conversation just took. Tilting his head after accepting his glass, the wide-eyed Savoie only belatedly remembered to take a sip. He was familiar, of course, with the recent difficulties obtaining ingredients and even certain supplies. It seemed just about every week for months now, they’d been striking someone off the menu that was no longer available.

He wasn’t surprised Laslow had decided to tackle the problem head-on. He just wouldn’t have guessed he would partner with the veritable queen of the Chicago underworld to do it. “You… wow. Really?” Mathis had heard of Rayne Travers. He’d even seen her in person once, albeit at a distance, when he’d been living in her city a few years ago. She was indeed stunning, as most vampires are, but her standing is what truly set her apart. Even by immortal standards, the woman was powerful. Mathis wasn’t surprised she could help them, but as he settled himself against one corner of Laslow’s overflowing desk, he did have one burning question: “What it is she wants in return?”

Laslow could feel the mood in the room darken as Mathis’ eyes grew wider and wider as he revealed just what kind of deal he’d made in Chicago all those weeks ago.  The water witch sighed heavily and downed the remainder of his glass in one burning swallow before pouring himself another liberal amount of whiskey.  He stood and moved to stand in front of the far window, peering through the slatted blinds on the darkened street below.  The rain made it nearly impossible to see, but watch the droplets running down the panes of glass put him a little more at ease.

“A way into the city,” Laslow answered after a pregnant silence.  He turned back around, leaning against the sill as he faced Mathis.  “More specifically someone who can put her into contact with the right people to make that happen.  New Orleans is to become her next conquest.”

Laslow’s dark eyes flitted down to the tattoo on his inner wrist, the twin-headed eagle staring back at him darkly.  Mathis knew something of what he’d seen and been through in Serbia during the Yugoslavian wars and the Bosnian crisis - that he abhorred war in all of its forms.  He wasn’t surprised to be greeted with a measure of shocked silence.  They both knew full well that Rayne Travers coming to the Crescent City was a declaration in and of itself.

“Look, I know how this sounds my friend...you know how much a detest needless violence,” Laslow said lowly.  “But you and I both know that whatever Rayne Travers wants, she gets and she’ll take this city with or without my help.  But, she wants to approach this diplomatically if she can - if I can help her do that, to prevent senseless fighting and bloodshed, shouldn’t I do that?  Or am I really just being an old fool?”

Quick wasn’t how this plan of hers… and Jude’s would go. She knew that. It was going to be a process. Just the act of getting into the city was going to take an act of the devil. Lucky for her, she had two on their way into the states at the moment. It would take time, but Adrian and Beau would be a driving force to get through the defenses of the city and breach the hunters. She didn’t always see eye to eye with Beau, but the man was unrelenting and unapologetic. 

People expected her to be deadly and ruthless, she’s made her name on the fact that that was exactly what she was but Adrian and Beau were a different kind of deadly. They were almost in a completely different class than Rayne. Adrian, he was more like her. Cold, ruthless, clean. Beau, though, Beau was the kind of creature nightmares were made of and she was bringing straight to New Orleans to make those nightmares come to life. 

However, to do that, she knew she needed help. Not just from the harbingers of death she had coming all the way from France. Once she’d sent Jude away, she’d sat down in her desk chair and picked up her phone. She had a lot to think about, but her first call was to her contract in New Orleans. 

Her fingers clicked on the top of the desk as the phone rang in her ear, waiting to hear his voice on the other end of the line. 

It wasn’t exactly the wisest course of action to walk the French Quarter so late at night, but for him there was little to fear.  He’d become as much a part of the city as the late night fog, and the darker creatures of the city’s seedier underbelly knew to give the brew master a wide berth.  He was known for being a genial fellow, but he was a force to be reckoned with when threatened and that had become a well known fact over the years.

He hadn’t even realized that he’d pulled his cell phone from his coat pocket until it began to vibrate in his hand.  Laslow huffed a laugh - it was one of the quirks of his Clairvoyance that he found terribly amusing; he would do things without realizing it, things that had no rhyme or reason and yet in due time it was always benefited him.  He pushed the answer button with a smile.

“Now, I can’t imagine this is just a courtesy call Kisa, so tell me - how can I help you this evening, hm?”

Her fingers, perfectly polished and manicured, drummed a gentle beat on the top of the smooth and lacquered table they sat at. So many times at meetings of this nature the person she was meeting with dropped the ball in one way or another. They were never fully prepared to enter into a business deal with her. This man, though, seemed more than ready. He’d done everything she needed plus a little more. Her eyes racked over the numbers in the portfolio and over the deed he had just gifted to her. “Vitaliy will have this finalized for you in a day or two. Once that’s done will officially be in business,” she said as she reached for the folder. Her fingers grasped the leather and flipped it closed before sliding it into her satchel with the other folder he had given her. 

“What you have offered is more than generous and will cover the dangers of overseas cargo nicely. I can’t bankrupt myself on a few shipments. What kind of a businesswoman would I be if I allowed that? It’s not like you can get assurance for the cargo from an insurance or surety company, now is it?” Her business wasn’t the kind that Insurance and bonding companies took chances on. She was okay with that, though. She much rathered to make her own insurance rather than deal with the government. 

A glint sparkled in her sapphire eyes at his flirting. She wasn’t often one to indulge in a client’s flirting, though she was used to it, there was something magnetic about this gentleman that tended to appeal to her. Still, he wasn’t her typical choice of handsome. Though he was older, like she tended to prefer, he seemed much softer around the edges. He relaxed her, with his calm energy rather than wound her up with anxious energy. She was rarely drawn to the calm ones, likely the thrill of chaos far more, but for this man, for the night at least, she could indulge. “Well, Mr. Novak, I’d say we can drop the formalities and perhaps get to know each other a bit better, that way we won’t be unknown to each other anymore.” 

Laslow barked a low laugh when she flashed him a smile and suggested they drop the formalities.  Oh, this girl was a charmer and she knew it.  Of course, he had quite the fondness for bold types and she certainly had that in spades.  He nodded, acquiescing to her request.  “Well alright then.  You are more than welcome to call me Laslow.”

He raised his glass to her, in a little toast at giving her permission to use his given name, not that she really needed it in the first place.  Ever since he’d seen that first spark of mischief in the icy blue glacier fields of her eyes he’d been quite taken by the lovely vampire.  She handled herself with grace and pride, tempered beneath a polished, diamond-hard exterior, not at all phased or daunted by the complexity of his request nor the capital required to make it a reality.  True, she was probably older than he was several times over at least, but she still had a lively spark that age and time clearly hadn’t dimmed.  Deep below the cold sea of her calm exterior he was willing to bet that there was a tempestuous spirit

and he’d always been one for storms. 

Busy, certainly. Secretive, Mathis wanted to believe they merely hadn’t had the opportunity to catch up. After all, Laslow knew far more about him than he probably ever really wanted to. More than once the older witch’s teases had turned the Savoie red as a beet, but surely nothing related to the distillery would be so incriminating. Then again, Laslow was full of surprises. Mathis had more or less learned not to assume anything, even if it meant letting the curiosity kill him for a few weeks. He just had to pounce on the opportunity to get answers when it presented itself, and pounce he did, grinning as he was invited to join him upstairs. 

Following Laslow to his office, he closed the door while the water witch lowered the blinds. This was typically the point that one of them grabbed a bottle of some ridiculously overproof reserve from the top shelf, but Mathis did his best to keep it professional even as he laughed, “Wha-at? It’s not my fault I used to be right-handed. Anyway, you can’t possibly think I haven’t noticed all the trees you’ve been killing lately. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Mardi Gras was in September.” He cocked his head to one side, his eyes fondly searching his boss’s weathered features, “Ever since your trip to Chicago, you haven’t sat still. Should I be worried, or just buckle up for the ride?”

Laslow barked a laugh at the young man’s brazenness, but then again he’d always encouraged Mathis to be candid with him.  They both knew far too much about one another to even attempt formality anymore.  Boss or no, they were both fiends when it came to mischief and their relationship was rather more akin to partners in crime rather than employer and employee.  Grinning the Serb plucked a bottle of whiskey, the type of which definitely wasn’t served down below at the bar, and two tumblers, pouring them a couple of fingers worth each.

“Good to know you’ve been keeping such a close eye on me,” Laslow huffed good-naturedly as he took a drink of the dark amber liquid.  “Alright, to be completely honest Mardi Gras would be much easier to contend with than what I’ve currently gotten myself into.”

He downed the rest of his glass in one scalding swallow, promptly pouring himself another liberal amount before he continued.  “That trip to Chicago - I told you it was for business and it was.  To tell you the truth my boy, with all this tariff and radical law your current twat of a president is throwing around, my business is going up shit creek - it’s getting near impossible to get some of our supplies through official channels so I looked up someone who could help us get them...unofficially.”

Laslow stared into the depths of his drink for a moment, pondering his next words.  “I’m sure you’ve heard of Rayne Travers, yes?  That’s who I met with and she’s generously agreed to help with our little shipping problem.  Of course, she’s demanded a mountain of work in return but...well, when have I ever been able to say no to a pretty face?  And moj bože that woman in stunning.”

Marc clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Sorry I asked, mate.” He hadn’t meant to bring up bad memories in his quest for knowledge on the polite bar owner. Never was it his intention to drudge up uncomfortable or painful thoughts. He understood the kind of havoc those could have on a mind. He lived, daily, with them. Though they weren’t exactly his own, so they didn’t affect him the way they would those they belonged to. He was an outsider watching through a window, glimpsing images he had no business knowing about. Those that have been and those that would be. 

Time moved in a weird way when you could see beyond what was in front of you. It wasn’t a straight line like everyone seemed to think. To be able to see what some considered the future, one had to look back to see what had already happened. Time was circular. What was to be had already been. What had been was yet to be. It had taken him years of studying with the tribes to understand how it worked and how to understand what he was seeing. Some made a living at it. Tarot and palmistry. Crystal balls and fortune telling. Marc had opted long ago to forgo those routs. He had no desire to see peoples lives as a living. It was hard enough staring into a window of their lives as though he was some sort of intruder. 

“Just those, really. I haven’t had a chance to really get out and about, but I wanna eventually visit France. I feel a weird connection to that place.” It was weird for him, considering he was Hawaiian, but some of the visions he had surrounded a life lived in France. He didn’t really understand his own visions, but also didn’t bother questioning it. He’d figure it out, or he wouldn’t. “Have you ever been? I’ve never actually met anyone that has so I have no clue what it would be like.” 

“Bah, don’t worry about it - that was a lifetime ago,” the bartender shrugged, dismissing the apology.  He knew the bear of a man hadn’t meant anything by his question or for any uncomfortable memories that came with it.  The water witch listened intently as Marc replied with his own tales of limited travel, but his desire to go overseas to France.

“France, eh?” Laslow mused.  “Yes, I lived there for a few months actually, studying under an old wine maker.  I was still trying to ply my trade back then and figure out what I wanted to do in terms of brewing.  St. Marlo was the city I stayed in, beautiful old port town , walls around it like a castle and the water - I couldn’t get over how blue the ocean was there.  Paris is of course, beautiful, but I found the coastal towns more charming.”

He shrugged and winked at the bigger man.  “Of course, I’ve got a propensity for water so I might be a touch biased.  Great pastries though.”

She opened the folder to find all his financials, both personal and business, nestled between the firm cardstock. Her eyes glanced at the totals. Both his negative balances and his positive. His bank accounts, versus what he owed in resistance. His debt to income ratio was what she was looking for and she found, just in her brief glance that what he had would suffice for what it was he was asking for. She could and would do business with him. “I would love to tell you we do,” she said kindly, “but I’ve just one more question before I give you an answer. What will you be putting up as your collateral?” She asked as she closed the folder and removed it from the table. It disappeared into a rather expensive looking leather bag where it would sit till she could look over the minutia of the numbers. 

“Naturally I can not accept this transaction based on looks and words alone. As this is our first time doing business together, I require half now and half once the transaction is completed as well as collateral to cover the half that is still owed.” She did not often require collateral from her regular clients, but he was a new risk and she wasn’t accustomed to taking risks. She preferred sure things. So, if the risk existed, she made sure to turn it into a sure thing. It was how she had managed to get as far as she had in this business. “I hope you understand, but you’re an unknown risk and I like assurance than my investment will be returned to me.” 

She really hoped he didn’t mind the extra expense she was requiring for this transaction. “You’ll get the collateral back, once the transaction is complete, of course. This is all just standard business. A way to protect the both of us. We are, after all, unknown entities to each other.” her word was her bond, but most didn’t trust that when they first met her. She expected as much. Trust was earned not blindly given. 

“Of course,” Laslow all but purred, reaching once more into his briefcase to pull out a second leather-bound portfolio.  It was embossed with the same seal as the previous one, but this time the leather was black.  He did her the favour of opening it and turning it towards her so that she could inspect its contents.  He’d anticipated the prospect of having to put up collateral, but this time it wasn’t simply his Clairvoyance - that was a standard practice in the business world when dealing with the loaning and moving around of large sums of money, and he was asking quite a lot of her.  “There is the deed to one of my distilleries still operating in Serbia, as well there’s an offer for percentages of patents regarding certain formulas I provided to several Scotch distilleries in the Scottish Highlands that I still receive the royalties from.  Those royalties will be transferred to you until our transactions are complete.”

He leaned back, draining the last of his wine while he let her peruse the proposed collateral.  “If this doesn’t suffice I have more real estate I can put forward, or do you have something else in mind?  As for us being unknown entities...well I certainly hope that doesn’t stay true for long.”

Despite the obvious flirtatiousness of the comment there was a genuine note of sincerity.  This was their first meeting, but already Laslow was quite intrigued by the beautiful blonde sitting across from him.  There was a wonderful depth to her, like the pale blue sea of her eyes.  “I think...I’m going to quite enjoy working with you Ms. Travers - if you’ll have me, of course.” 

Laslow. Of course it was Laslow. Mathis wasn’t the least bit surprised by anything save for the fact that his boss had actually come inside. Normally when storms raged the man was nowhere to be found, but that was only natural for a water witch. Perhaps the Savoie would’ve had similarly wild tendencies had he been left to his own devices out in the bayou. As it was, leather and rain didn’t particularly mix and he just chuckled as Laslow soaked the towel he’d tossed him. “I don’t know if it’s possible to barge into your own business,” he observed with mounting amusement, “But, I can’t say I was expecting to see you tonight… At least, not indoors.”

Without stating it plainly, there was a question there. His boss had been even busier than usual since his trip to Chicago. Mathis hadn’t pressed for details but was having a more and more difficult time keeping his curiosity to himself - particularly when concoctions he hadn’t seen in two years were suddenly starting to reappear on the specials menu. He shrugged when Laslow inquired about his night, blue eyes skipping over to the patrons scattered about the room, “About like this. I was debating letting Carey go home, but maybe she could take over up here if there’s something you could use my help with..?”

Carey glanced over at the sound of her name and gave a little wave, apparently not opposed to either idea. She was new to the distillery but not to bartending in general, and had held her own through far busier nights than this one. Mathis was positive she could fill in for him and rather hoped Laslow would be agreeable to the idea. It had been a while since he’d had the chance to speak privately with his boss, and with potentially big things happening behind the scenes, it seemed especially overdue. Mathis had already cleared his station, dropping the wet towel into the laundry bin. Beyond that, there really wasn’t much else to be done. 

Laslow barked a laugh at his young friend’s sly quip.  It was no secret among those who knew his true nature that during storms he was more often then not outdoors enjoying the downpour with reckless abandon.  He quirked a grey brow at Mathis’ sudden suggestion that Carey take over for him, but once he caught the mischievous gleam in his fellow witch’s eye he knew immediately what the younger man was playing at.  He had been rather secretive of late, not to mention busy as all hell keeping up with his dealings with Ms. Travers.  

“You know what, I think I could use your help on this one.  Follow me upstairs, the paperwork’s in my office,” Laslow grinned, beckoning him to follow him up the winding metal staircase behind the bar that lead to the upstairs loft that he’d converted into a cozy office space.  What normally would’ve been an open balcony looking down at the lower levels was closed in by large bay style windows that still provided a bird’s eye view of the bar area and distillery below.  With a quick flick of his wrist he drew down the blinds to give them some privacy.  He turned to face Mathis with his hands on his hips and a crooked smile on his face. “Alright troublemaker, you fucking hate paperwork so let’s have your questions then.”

She gave a weak smile and nodded, “Yeah, for sure.” Swirling the rest of her drink around in the glass. She looked up at him though, prepared to hear his story. “Where you from? I’ve never been out of the states. Thought about it a couple of times but I’m not into planes and I’ve watched Titanic way to many times.” 

She touched her glass to his and nodded with a wider smirk on her face, “Everything does happen for a reason, I just wish I knew the reasons ahead of time sometimes. Who knows though. Maybe fate wanted me to walk in here today and spill my heart to a bartender. I doubt it because I’ve done that several times on my way down here but who knows.” She shrugged finishing off her drink and licking her lips. She pointed at him and smirked, “to fate, I guess.” 

“Serbia,” Laslow replied, gesturing to the tattoo on his inner forearm.  The simple, but elegant black ink marking out the image of the two headed eagle bearing the Serbian shield.  “But I haven’t called it home in a very long time now.”

He chuckled at her quip regarding the Titanic.  “Really?  That’s a shame, I think you would quite enjoy Europe.”

The water witch answered her toast with one of his own, dark eyes crinkling in a sympathetic smile.  This girl had a weight on her shoulders, a sadness that was tragic to see in one so young. “Don’t fret, fate has a funny way of tying up loose ends.”

If there was one thing Rayne hated above all other things, it was people wasting her time. Her time was money and to waste it was to lose money. Losing money was the ultimate sin to a woman like Rayne. Her business was her life and her life was her business. All her rules, all her reasons, they all linked back to the possibility of losing money. She did not take kindly to losing money. It pleased her that he had walked into this meeting with specific intentions and a clear plan. He was ready for her and she appreciated the gesture far more than she imagined he realized. 

A smile graced her lips and she sat back in her chair as she waited for him to procure his list. She held the bottle he had given her as a gift in her hand, letting her fingers run gently over the handcrafted label. It was a thing of beauty, this bottle. Lovingly made and expertly done. She could only imagine what the drink inside said about the man across from her. He clearly put a lot of time and effort into his craft and his appearance. She had not expected that when she had agreed to the meeting. She’d nearly sent Vitaly in her stead. She was glad she hadn’t.

Her fingers changed their course, swapping the bottle for the list. It was in perfect order, even listed based on importance. Oh, she did appreciate that. It meant she knew where to start and how to begin charging him. She glanced up at him when he asked if she could help and smiled. “Of course, I can,” she told him. “The mechanical things,” she said tapping on the list, “they might be the most important, but they’ll be the easiest. They transport far better than the perishable things.” Dealing with organics was a messy business. Shipments went bad all the time. “Those will cost both of us a great deal of cash. Are you sure you can afford that?”

Ah, the question of finances.  He knew it had been coming - this was, above all else, a business meeting after all.  She needed to be sure that he had the capital and was worth the time to invest in - a wise move on her part.  Being such a long-lived creature Rayne had, no doubt, acquired a vast fortune, but he hadn’t had nearly the same amount of time to incur his wealth so it was natural that she’d be skeptical regarding the state of his finances.  

“Of course, I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t,” he said, shooting her a rakish wink.  He’d been quite fortunate in his time in Scotland, getting his foot in the door at some rather prestigious distilleries and using his skills to improve their recipes in exchange for a percentage of sales - and business had gone very well.  Coupled with his own flourishing company on the American side and his monopoly on the more specialized liquors of Eastern Europe which had proven a favourite of the many immigrants in both the States and in central Canada he’d amassed more money than he could spend what years he had left to walk this earth.  “I have no intentions of wasting your time Ms. Travers, I don’t have a death wish.”

He inclined his head towards the dossier - his Clairvoyance had proven itself a lucky gift again.  It wasn’t a particular strong ability, but whenever he was struck with random compulsions he’d learned to simply do them - they’d always proven a benefit to him and generally not heeding those seemingly random ideas had proven disastrous in the past.  “Keep the dossier, I’ve got a copy - as you said, the parts for the Stills will probably be the best starting point.  So...this leaves me only one last thing to ask you then...do we have a deal?”

He considered the suggestion. It was much easier to accept a free drink between friends that it was for him to accept a drink due to his profession. He knew true heroes, had seen them in action both in his mind’s eye and in person. Police put their lives on the line, firefighters rush into burning buildings. Military men fight wars in the name of freedom. He wasn’t them. Yes, he was considered a first responder, but he was there to back up the real heroes. “That I’ll accept,” he said tipping the drink that had been served to him in a small salute. 

he hadn’t met anyone from Serbia, so naturally, the accent hadn’t been one he had been able to pinpoint, but he supposed it made sense. It had a Slovic sound to it, in so much as the movies portrayed at least. “You’re a long way from home.” He said this as a passing comment, not one meant to field accusation or anything significant. 

He tapped his temple and smirked. “I had a sudden and overwhelming desire to… see the sights.” His visions had always lacked a few key components when it came to his own life, but the second they became clear, he’d packed up and gone looking for what his future held. “What about you, Brah? What brought you here?”

Laslow grinned as the big man finally accepted the proffered drink.  The Serb raised a brow at his cryptic reply as to why he’d chosen New Orleans of all places to settle - but then again he could relate.  His Clairvoyance wasn’t very strong, nor did he have much control over it, but he knew that when his gut told him to be somewhere, he followed it.

“Yes, Louisiana is a pretty far cry from Eastern Europe,” he chuckled dryly.  “As to why I left, well it wasn’t much of a home after the war.  Why New Orleans in particular?  I honestly can’t say...I guess I’m a bit like you that way.  Something told me this was the place to be, so why not?  English was bloody difficult to master though, I’ll tell you that.”

He pulled a face at that memory - he’d picked up fragments of English in his youth and spoke other languages that were common around the Baltics, but for his first few years in America his thick accent had made conversation very hard at times given that the people here generally weren’t as multilingual as his European kinsmen.  His accent hadn’t gone away, but he’d managed to tone it down over the years which became easier as he spoke his mother tongue less and less.

“So, Marc, what other places have you worked besides this swamp and Hawaii?”

Offering Abbi a night on the house? Laslow must not know just how much alcohol the woman could put down. Many people knew she has the alcoholic constitution of a Russian moose and would avoid buying her drinks in the long run due to just how much of it it took to get her feeling good. “I’ll have to take you up on that.” Free booze. Free GOOD booze. She might milk that as long as she could.

She worked silently after that, hand and gun gliding along Laslow’s back as she nearly finished the outline of the heron, making sure to clear up and thicken some lines that seemed a bit too light for her taste before starting on the lining of the more intricate details. Feathers. As nice as they looked, they were time consuming. Setting her gun down, Abbi stretches her fingers, the machine running the gun buzzing into a soft hum. “You can stretch if you’d like. Basic outline is done. Going to work on the feather detail next.”

Laslow smirked at Abbi’s answer, knowing full well she’d accept the offer.  The girl, despite her size and slender frame, had a legendary alcohol tolerance and could easily go toe to toe with the burliest of his regulars - and he himself, if he was being perfectly honest.  They lapsed back into companionable silence after that and despite the prickling on his back, the steady drone of the gun was actually making him a touch drowsy as he sat perfectly still beneath her touch.  He was grateful when she stopped to stretch out her fingers, suggesting that he would do the same.

“Perfect,” he said, getting up from his prone position, rolling his bare shoulders to help alleviate the tension that had built up there.  he got a glimpse of the outline in one of the shop’s many mirrors and whistled.  “You’ve really outdone yourself with this one Abbi, it’s already stunning!”

Cammie nodded, “Deal, I’m always down for a free drink.” She chuckled making sure to savor the drink a bit more than the ones she would be buying. She licked her lips putting the glass down and shrugged, “no need to thank me. If anything I should probably be thanking you. I’m so sick of hurricanes I swear I gag when I smell them now.” She chuckled shiver at the thought of the cocktail, “it’s nice to find something that isn’t full of sugar.” She smiled and leaned against the bar, twisting the glass on the wood. “I work at the shop around the block.” 

Her brow furrowed as she stared at the drink for a moment, “I grew up around cars. My dad owned a scrap yard, so it was only fair that I learned to help him out.” She inhaled sharply, “Swore to myself I would never get rid of his place and look at me now. As far away from home as I could get.” Her brows raised as she raised her glass and took another drink before shrugging, “you’re welcome dad.” 

If Cammie was paying close attention to the bar tender she would have seen his dark eyes soften in genuine sympathy.  For someone who’d experienced as much regret and hardship that he had over the years, it was easy to spot it in someone else.  He gave her a knowing smile, plucking a fresh glass off of the shelf to pour himself a couple fingers of whiskey.

“Life doesn’t always go how we plan it, that’s for sure,” he chuckled, but there was a touch of bitterness to the sound.  “I never thought I’d find myself in America when I was your age, that’s for sure.”

He raised his glass to touch the edge of hers in a sardonic sort of cheers, one of understanding for how cruel life and her unexpected japes could be.  “But, I like to think everything happens for a reason and this was where I was supposed to end up.  Mayhap the fates have similar plans for you my dear?”