"A pleasure to meet you, sir," Edwyn says to Fothergill with a nod, his mouth curved into a strained smile. As the gentleman turns away, however, the detective looks over at Sal and silently mouths a rather pointed one-word question. Ogre?
"That's some serious hardware you've got there," he remarks, a little wide-eyed when Sal breaks out the sniper rifle. Their little armory was large enough to make some terrorist cells blush - not that he would know anything about those. Just a year ago this would all register as a giant red flag to his detective brain, but now it just looked like Christmas.
”I know a thing or two about peashooters,” Edwyn elaborates as he reaches into his jacket, withdrawing his Glock. He promptly unloads it before holding it out to display, practicing sufficient gun safety to keep the real enthusiasts from cringing. As for the firearm itself, it is, well, basic. ”Not that mine did much against those fish people. But people in my profession don’t usually carry around machine guns and flamethrowers.” He nods toward the sword Kenneth just pulled out of his hat for her. ”Or magic swords.”
Considering Danny's invitation, Edwyn sighs woefully. He felt like most of the amazing booze he's come by today has been wasted on him. "I think I've drunk more today than I have in the past month, but what the hell."
He turns to Danny and says, "I made ye a potion tae dae that. If ye need more than that, maybe join the White Council? Though I dinnae ken even a centuried-old poxy wizard can beat anything intae that skull."
"Yeah, well, that's fair." Danny admits wryly.
"Although, COULD you really do that? Make a potion that give my illusions more, substance? I mean,... I don't NOT like wizards. But to be honest the few I've met haven't exactly done much to dissuade me from agreeing with you about them. So no, I don't think I'll be joining the White Council anytime. Soon. But,.. having a one-shot backup for some extra 'OOMPH' the next time we face spooky things that might not be afraid of a few flashy lights is a good idea too. Isn't it?"
Danny eyes the guns on the table, and the bottle in his hand. With an obvious (and perhaps a TRIFLE) belabored effort of will, he sets the bottle on the table too.
"SO, Sal, show me which of these babies packs the biggest bang for the buck. I'm talking 'Dirty Harry, put a quarter-inch hole in your chest, and the Holland Tunnel in your back' kind of gun." Danny says, in a passable imitation of Clint Eastwood.
The singer doesn't even LOOK at the 'looks' that brings.
"WHAT?!? I AM a decent shot. I just dont want anyone to expect me to be able to pick the flea off a dog's back at a 100 yards, while said dog is in the middle of a race. And let's face it. We are going up against things that GO bump in the night. A few spooky effects from me MIGHT not scare them off. Backup is always good. I dont care how tough you are. A big hole in your chest should at least make them stop and think for a moment. I hope."
"And since the White Council takes a 'Dim' view of magic being used to harm people, I've heard that even wizards carry 'backup'. And the Fae dont care HOW you get something done. As long as it gets done. And makes you look cool doing it." Danny adds with his usual swagger.
"Yeah, I mean, I know which end is the DANGEROUS end, and I'm smart enough to point it at the OTHER guy. I'm not even half bad on a shooting range. But the range isn't usually shooting BACK! In a firefight, with everyone mixing it up, with the supernatural? I'm as likely to be causing a friendly fire incident as taking out a fish-face. I'll stick with my fluffy illusions, thanks."
"SO, Sal, show me which of these babies packs the biggest bang for the buck. I'm talking 'Dirty Harry, put a quarter-inch hole in your chest, and the Holland Tunnel in your back' kind of gun." Danny says, in a passable imitation of Clint Eastwood.
Sal covers the pile of blue steel beauties and bats Danny's hand away.
"Aaahhh... let's look at you on the range before we hand you any "do you feel lucky" weaponry, OK? You know slugs go through allies and walls and bystanders, right? And there's a fire discipline when working in a group. Why don't we plan on checking you out and training you a little first, hmmm? Even though you say your illusions are big, fluffy pillows, they're effective, which is what matters."
She sits back and regards him seriously. "I'm not trying to be hurtful, Danny. These are a lethal hazard to everyone around you, particularly if you don't know what you're doing." Suddenly, she smiles. "Now, if it was just a hazard to you, that would be different."
"A pleasure to meet you, sir," Edwyn says to Fothergill with a nod, his mouth curved into a strained smile. As the gentleman turns away, however, the detective looks over at Sal and silently mouths a rather pointed one-word question. Ogre?
As they pilfer the weapons lockers, Sal tells Edwyn, "Fothergill seems like a sweetheart, but don't cross him. I've never seen it, but he gives me the impression he could throw down. After all, he's butler to an SAS guy. Look at that posture -- I'm betting he's retired military."
"That's some serious hardware you've got there," he remarks, a little wide-eyed when Sal breaks out the sniper rifle.
Sal pets the weirdly skeltal and tiny rifle with the big barrel as if it were a cat. "This is my baby. She's been with me through a lot." Clearing the weapon, she hands it to Edwyn. "This is the gun that took out the Poppy Court Queen," she says proudly, as if the gun had done that by itself.
”I know a thing or two about peashooters,” Edwyn elaborates as he reaches into his jacket, withdrawing his Glock. He promptly unloads it before holding it out to display, practicing sufficient gun safety to keep the real enthusiasts from cringing. As for the firearm itself, it is, well, basic. ”Not that mine did much against those fish people. But people in my profession don’t usually carry around machine guns and flamethrowers.” He nods toward the sword Kenneth just pulled out of his hat for her. ”Or magic swords.”
"It does the job and it's what you can handle," Sal nods approvingly at the Glock. "It's perfect! Pick up some ammo and... have you cleaned it since firing? There are cleaning kits in that cabinet."
”Or magic swords.”
Kenneth shakes his head, "Nae, this isnae a magic sword, it's.. well... solid flame in the shape ay a sword. Might sound impressive, but 'tis useless in a fight after a single strike. Mayhap two, if I were willing tae push myself and channel enow flame tae burn me from the inside when I made it." He taps the steel blade on his hip, "There's a reason I carry this, and spend the time tae keep it sharp. Aye, it's laced with the power Brigid lends me, but it's also a bloody well balanced sword, the kind that kept pushing back the English ba...er, kind visitors to our land."
Sal pets the weirdly skeltal and tiny rifle with the big barrel as if it were a cat. "This is my baby. She's been with me through a lot." Clearing the weapon, she hands it to Edwyn. "This is the gun that took out the Poppy Court Queen," she says proudly, as if the gun had done that by itself.
Kenneth shakes his head and says, "Nae, lass. 'Twas you that did that. This is just a tool, even if it be a bonny one."
...[Kenneth] spins the thing in his hand, then offers it to Sal, "A claighbeag, though a few inches shorter than mine. It willnae last long, but test the length and weight, see how it feels in your hand... and we'll ken what tae look for when we fetch you one made ay steel."
"Wooooaaaahhhh," Sal breathes. "How did you... yeah, magic. That's quite the party trick."
She reaches for the blade with the look of a teenager who's being handed the car keys. "For me? How do I... I don't even know how to hold this thing right."
Kenneth shakes his head, "Nae, this isnae a magic sword, it's.. well... solid flame in the shape ay a sword. Might sound impressive, but 'tis useless in a fight after a single strike. Mayhap two, if I were willing tae push myself and channel enow flame tae burn me from the inside when I made it." He taps the steel blade on his hip, "There's a reason I carry this, and spend the time tae keep it sharp. Aye, it's laced with the power Brigid lends me, but it's also a bloody well balanced sword, the kind that kept pushing back the English ba...er, kind visitors to our land."
"What a shame," Sal breathes as she gets the feel of the hilt in her hand, just shifting it around to feel the balance. She's leery of trying any sort of vigorous motion, knowing how she'd feel about a tyro waving around a loaded gun.
Kenneth steps behind Sal, and uses his long arms to reach around her, adjusting her arms slightly, "I didnae want tae insult a fine warrior like yourself with a wee little rapier... and, tae be fair, I'd likely be a poor teacher.... But, close your hand around the hilt, firm, but not too tight. You dinnae want tae be white-knuckling it or you'll feel every little bump... plus, a body cannae hold such a grip that long.... Raise the blade, gently, hand lower, blade pointed upward... and. just feel the weight... the blade is an extension of yourself..."
He gently helps swing her arm back and forth, trying to help her get a feel, then says, "...eventually, it becomes second nature. You'll just ken where it is, like you do your arm, or leg... and how far you can reach. From what I recall at the classes I actually attended at the U, your brain starts tae treat it like a real part ay yourself as a body gets used to it. Well, they were talking about monkeys with sticks, but I'm sure it transfers, ye ken."
Sal is very distracted from the business at hand, but manages to follow directions on shifting her grip and stance. "I think you're a fine teacher," she states loyally, though in a somewhat strangled voice. Clearing her throat, she continues, "Makes sense, this is your weapon of choice."
"It's not as heavy as I expected," she says after a moment or two, when her brain has focused more on the task at hand. "Must be because of the good balance. And I imagine it would get heavy fast in combat. Fighting takes a lot more energy than most people realize."
"We're all just monkeys with sticks," Sal grins. "You said this will go away? Where would I get one made? Oh... I think you're going to have to help me order, because I have no clue what to tell the bladesmith."
"And here I thought flames just burned things..." Edwyn murmurs lamely, eyeing the sword with a tinge less incredulity than he did seconds before. As Sal starts her swording lesson, he preoccupies himself with digging out one of those kits she mentioned, unwilling to admit that he's been neglecting the poor Glock.
Poppy Court... he thinks as he starts to disassemble the firearm, a delayed reaction to Sal's humblebrag. Now that sounds familiar.
At Sal's final, friendly jab, Danny sighs theatrically. He Deliberately picks the brandy bottle back up, salutes her, and takes another, long, swig.
[b]"I'm not sayin' yer wrong luv. And I ain't sayin' your right, I'm just saying I like the idea of redundant backups! Have you ever had a computer crash on you? NO such thing as too many backups!" he says cheerfully.
Danny watches Kenneths display with cheerful curiosity, and what may be a teensy bit of jealousy. Or maybe that's because of how close he's standing to the attractive Sal and their friendly flirting. Either way, it doesn't seem to be anything another gulp of Brandy can't fix,...
"Of course, always a good idea to have something up your sleeve. I'm happy to check you out on a range and give you instruction if you need it," Sal offers, gingerly making a few cutting motions at Kenneth's direction, and looking not at all unhappy about any corrections he gives. "Edwyn might be able to help, too. Shooting is easy. Unlike... this..." She is obviously not good at the varions pokes and prods she's attempting.
"I'm no stage magician, But I LIKE having 'Something up my sleeve'! Just in case. I'll take you, and Ed, up on that offer!" Danny says cheerfully, saluting Sal with the bottle once more.
"Shooting may be 'easy',... but swords and such are FUN!" Danny declares, suddenly going into a theatrical lunge, as if stabbing a bad guy, then standing back up and saluting with his invisible blade.
"I'm not an 'expert', but I know a little bit about a LOT of different weapons. I took some fencing, played around in the SCA, but I trained for years at college with stage combat Fightmasters. Granted that training was mostly how NOT to hurt each other with pointy things, so we could do the show again the next night, but it was all about controlling the weapons and making them do what you want. Telling the story, creating dramatic tension, making the audience watch you instead of the special effects guy peeking out from behind the curtain, and most importantly,... looking good while doing it! Like Errol Flynn!"
Danny jumps into another dramatic swashbuckler pose, assumes a wry smile, and drawls in a pseudo-Euro-Spanish accent,...
"MY name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare,... to die."
Kenneth brings Sal's arm up slightly and says, "This? 'Tis but a touch ay practice. It's almost more about confidence and awareness, and a touch ay muscle memory, than form." He leans in and nods, "The fact is, you already ken how tae fight. That's the hardest thing tae learn."
He turns his head, speaking over his shoulder to Danny, "Aye, but fencing's a different animal than swordfighting. Tae many people watch tae many movies, or the Olympics, and think that a body's supposed tae flurry their energies to parry incoming attacks. A swordfight's about conserving energy, and when the blades are heavy, parrying the way you would with a rapier could disable your arm... Especially if it's a troll or other beastie that's doing the attack - they'd as like break, or tear your arm off from the attempt. Best thing a body can dae is redirect an attack just enow tae get out ay the way... and, if you're lucky, or good, or both, mayhap your opponent's off-balance as a result, giving you time tae strike. And, what's more, what fencers need tae learn, is that it isnae about the touch. Your opponent willnae stop swinging tae cut you in twain just because you nicked his torso... and prolonging a fight tae build up tension's a good way tae end up dead."
He turns back to Sal, focusing his attention on her form again, adding, "I dae my entertaining with my axe, nae my sword... ", before adding over his shoulder, "But I'm quite sure I'm after looking good when I do either ay those things."
He chuckles slightly, and as he does he catches the faint scent of Sal - and the earlier drinks - and smiles again, Aye, sparring lessons would be a fine spot ay fun..especially in the schoolgirl outfit... He gives her a reassuring squeeze, then steps back, "As I said, 'tis good for one shot. Give it a try. I'm sure we can repair whatever you choose tae swing at."
"You sure?" Sal raises an eyebrow at Kenneth, then looks for a target. "Hope you guys won't think I'm too much of a delinquent when I say that I'm more used to hitting people with baseball bats than blades," she grins.
Moving over to one of the old wooden posts that supports the joists above, she gives the blade a swing as if she were seriously trying to send the dead tree to a new grave.
The sword vanishes after the contact and Kenneth asks, "So, how did it feel, the weight and balance? Your form wasnae half-bad, though I'd recommend sticking tae targets taht cannae fight back until you're more used tae it."
Sal laughs. "Maybe I could ask them to hold still for a moment and give me a few tries. But I could feel... I think I didn't shift my weight right. The strike felt a little off balance - me, not the blade. It's different from knife fighting or hand-to-hand. But yeah, I could learn to do this."
She moves to the post to examine the little gouge in the wood and whistles softly. "Nearly brought the house down. I'm surprised Fothergill hasn't come running down to see what happened."
Smiling ruefully at her own self-mockery, she turns back to Kenneth. "I'm excited! When do we start?"
Feeling her cheeks flushing red, she grits her teeth. Why does everything I say to this man sound like a double entendre, at least to me? Guilty conscience much?
Danny salutes Sal, and her (unintentional?) double entendre with his bottle once more.
"Well. She looked good doing it. So that's a win in my book!" he says with a grin.
"Pffft. I felt like a one-legged kangaroo," Sal grins back, meandering towards the weapon lockers. She starts fitting a backup pistol in an ankle holster, the Desert Eagle in a shoulder holster, and the weird sniper rifle and ammo in a backpack. Once the gear is all fitted to her body, she removes it and adds it to the backpack for the morning.
With a sudden thought, she turns to Edwyn where he sits cleaning his pistol. "Hey, what do you think about bringing along a couple of shotguns? Pistols take some practice to shoot, but shotguns - if something's close enough for Danny to need a gun, a shotgun will hit it, even if there's no skill in the shot. In a hard case, they'll look like a viola or guitar or whatever. What do you think?"
Kenneth smiles back at Sal, then says, "I'm thinking 'tis probably wiser tae dae that on a night it's a wee bit less drunk out. And, it depends how many favours I can call in tae get you something forged in a reasonable time frame... Some ay the smiths I know measure their lives in centuries, so they have a different idea ay what it means tae ask for something 'soon'."
Kenneth shakes his head, "Nae, you did well with your balance. As I said, 'tis just a matter ay practice and getting used tae the feel ay your extended reach... and keeping the wrist turned tae make sure he strike with the edge ay the blade."
He blinks at the idea of a shotgun, "Aye, 'tis a good idea. I'm rather certain Danny and I ken where tae find a couple ay guitar cases... or maybe we put the lad in a long coat?"
"Could always just saw the barrels off," Edwyn suggests as he cleans out his Glock's barrel. The smoky blackness on the cotton betrays months of neglect. "If your friend doesn't mind his hardware being chopped up, anyway. I mean, I could haul around a guitar case, but I'd be in trouble if someone asks me what a chord is."
"Danny in a duster?" Sal groans, giving Kenneth a very pained look. "That can't happen. He'd be walking around squinting and chewing on a cheroot and whistling music for spaghetti Westerns." She frowns at the dirty swab and shakes a 'tsk-tsk' finger at Edwyn.
"Sawed-off's a good idea, though. Might even be one here. So whaddya think, Danny? For emergencies only?"
She starts rummaging through the long gun cabinet.
"Can we start training with sticks, like monkeys, before a sword is made?" her muffled voice inquires from the cabinet where her head is buried.
"Where do fish people rank on the list of supernatural weirdness you've had to deal with, anyway?" Edwyn asks, the question open to the floor. "Like, are they worse or less worse than vampires?"
"Danny in a duster?" Sal groans, giving Kenneth a very pained look. "That can't happen. He'd be walking around squinting and chewing on a cheroot and whistling music for spaghetti Westerns."
Kenneth laughs, then nods, "Aye, you're right. He couldnae help himself."
In response to Sal's question, the bard shrugs, "Ideally, we'd practice with something with the same weight and balance, so it becomes second nature. I think I read somewhere the Romans used tae train with heavier, larger blades... getting used tae them so that their actual combat weapons would seem light and quick when they fought. A'course, they didnae use claidhmor... Could probably make 3 drusi from my blade, if I were tae ever surrender the thing."
He turns to Edward and says, "Well, 'tis hard tae say. They're something rather.... other.... than the usual monsters I'd be used tae. Individually, I'd say a vampire is worse, but these dinnae work that way... and, as much as we mock them, these are the lowest ay the Formor... Their leaders were able tae challenge, nae, kill, some ay the Tuatha Dé Danann... By which I mean, the Celtic gods..."
Sal's head pops out of the gun cabinet.
"They killed... gods? Can they do that? I mean, still. If they did, they could." She looks utterly taken aback.
Kenneth nods, "Aye. Balor killed Nuada Airgetlám, the former king ay the Tuatha -- he beheaded him. Balor was supposedly killed in the same battle."
"Well. Isn't that interesting." Sal locks the cabinet and finds the bottle Danny left for her. Cracking it open, she waves it towards Kenneth and Edwyn. "Danny's got brandy... straight from the bottle, I think. Anyone want to help me with this Scotch?"
Unlike some barbarian bards, she finds a glass and pours herself a neat shot, then splashes a little water in it. Sniffing, then sipping, she wrinkles her nose. "Whoof. A little peaty for me."
She frowns into the glass, studying the bottom. "Soooo... what do you think the odds are that some of the god-killer Fomor are behind these mooks?"
"Danny in a duster?" Sal groans, giving Kenneth a very pained look. "That can't happen. He'd be walking around squinting and chewing on a cheroot and whistling music for spaghetti Westerns." She frowns at the dirty swab and shakes a 'tsk-tsk' finger at Edwyn.
"Sawed-off's a good idea, though. Might even be one here. So whaddya think, Danny? For emergencies only?"
Danny's eyes twinkle merrily.
"Oh come on. I could pull off a duster." The singer stands up straight, tilts his head at an uncomfortable angle, squints his eyes til they are almost closed, and whistles a familiar chord progression from movies that everyone recognizes, even when they can't remember the name of which movie it was.
"Yep. Your right. Wouldn't be able to help myself." he grins.
"Hm, sawed off shotgun, for emergencies only? I actually like the sound of that. I'd only use it if they were close. And by close I mean trying to eat my face. I can talk as tough as big n burly here, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if a shot went wild and hurt someone." Danny says soberly, despite the amount of brandy already missing from his bottle.
Danny wryly, and belatedly, wipes off the top of his bottle, and pours himself an actual glass from the cabinet.HE salutes the others, and actually sips his drink instead of chugging it.
"Well, I know more about the Fae than the Fomor. If your just going for 'weird' factor, they're about average on the list. Strong bullies with gills on the necks. If your going for dangerous,... I'd put them equal with Vamps. At least. They have a lot of strengths, no famous weaknesses that we know of like a Vamp does, and from what I've heard, are operating at a level equal to government agencies that don't exist. So yeah,... I'd for sure rate them a NOT GOOD on the Bad-O-Meter"
"Are you speaking in terms of overall menace to the world, or straight up damaging them in a fight, Edwyn?" Sal wonders. "I really haven't fought against much besides vamps and now fishmen here, I don't think. There were the Men in Black, but they bled like men. Oh, yeah, and there was that dragon the very first night I arrived."
She polishes off her glass and pours another scant finger, this time with more water.
"You boys really know how to show a girl a good time."
Relaxing back into a comfy chair, she thinks for a moment about how she arrived in York. Just happening to be in London to help the SAS... the freakin SAS... defuse a nuke. And how events just happened to carry her here, where her ordinary bullet had blazed with holy blue light just before it wreaked vengance on the source of her torments. And how she happened to be here now, at the urging of a trio of women who spun, measured, and cut. How odd. What a coincidence.
"Hey, Edwyn? Quick question back at you. I'd really like to know." Sal's voice is oddly soft and even. "When I came to you in Amsterdam for help - for free help - you said no at first. Understandably. Then you came and found me and did help."
"Why? Why did you change your mind?" She barely seems to breathe, her whole being still and focused on the detective.
"Well, in my not-so-expert opinion, if the guys we're dealing with are as low on the ladder as you say, then it's unlikely that their direct supervisor is in upper management," Edwyn supposes as he inspects his handiwork. As clean as a whistle. "This all seems a bit low-key for the god-killing department. But they are trying to let loose an invincible octopus monster, so who knows?"
"Hey, Edwyn? Quick question back at you. I'd really like to know." Sal's voice is oddly soft and even. "When I came to you in Amsterdam for help - for free help - you said no at first. Understandably. Then you came and found me and did help."
"Why? Why did you change your mind?" She barely seems to breathe, her whole being still and focused on the detective.
Edwyn grimaces, having figured this question would come up sooner or later. Answering it properly would require him to divulge a trade secret, one that might have gotten him locked in the loony bin (again). But given the weirdness present in this room alone, he felt like he'd fit right in.
"Back then, I didn't believe vampires existed. Didn't want to believe it. So when you came to me with your story, well, I thought you were crazy," he admits finally, avoiding Sal's gaze as he slowly reassembles his firearm. But that much she already knew. "That would have been that, but... someone vouched for you. I highly doubt you realized it at the time, but someone followed you all the way back from Afghanistan. Someone who must have cared about you very much."
Sal's face goes ashen and expressionless.
"Ah." It's more an exhalation than a word.
Sal takes a breath.
"Well. That..."
Another breath.
"That makes sense, actually."
She clears her throat.
"Not what I expected, but yeah."
A tear streaks down her cheek and she falls silent.
Danny looks at Sal, and at Edwyn. He throws Ken a questioning glance and opens his mouth,...
But, in a rare moment of common sense, he puts his glass in it instead of his foot, and takes another sip.
Kenneth just shakes his head in response to Danny's silent question. He pauses a moment, then just gives Sal's arm a gentle squeeze, as if to wordlessly remind her that there are people who care about her very much here and now.
He then answers the earlier question, trying to give Sal a moment to compose herself, "Aye, I think the thing they're trying tae unlock is one ay their leaders... ay the god-killing, or world-killing type... Nae that we needed the reminder ay what's at stake.... Honestly, I dinnae ken what things would be like without us saving the world every few months... Sure makes a body wonder what's the bloody point ay the White Council and those poxy wizards, doesnae it?"
Sal takes a couple of deep breaths at Kenneth's touch and pulls herself back from wherever she went to listen to him earnestly.
"But that's why we're here." Certainty rings in her voice. "We're here, right where we are supposed to be, because we're moved with Purpose by Someone who needs us here to do their work. I understand now."
She turns to Edywn. "Thank you for that. Even if I'm still your client for the other stuff, I owe you for that honest answer."
She glances at Danny and Kenneth. "After I killed the Poppy Queen... and I was just as much a weapon in Someone else's hand as my rifle was... I was chucked into the river and was drowning. And I saw..." She glances at Edwyn for confirmation. "... thought I saw my old squaddies. And they said goodbye. Then they walked away. And then Lyceus saved me."
"I thought they had left me behind, and that's rule one. Nobody gets left behind. But I was wrong. They led me here, where I needed to be. They escorted me to the next mission. So I "happened" to be in London when a baby nuke needed disarming. I "happened" to be here to eliminate the Poppy Queen."
"And I happened to meet you guys, and found another family." She gives Kenneth and Danny a warm smile.
Rising to her feet, she raises her glass and takes a deep breath. "And so, gentlemen, I give you... absent friends."
Kenneth smiles a bittersweet smile at Sal's toast, "Aye... and loved ones," he adds, an image of Cait coming to him -- one that he latches on to with all of his being, trying to relive her smile, her laugh, the very scent of her before it fades away...
He raises his glass, then, sure that the smell of it won't chase away the memory, then says, "Dinnae misunderstand. I signed up for this when I accepted the Flame and took on the mantle ay Herald. You, Danny, the fact that ye dinnae walk away from dealing with the world's nightmares... clearly marks ye both as people a body is proud tae ken, let alone call friend... Nae, Sal's right... Family, even if my own experience with sibling hasnae generally been terribly good."
Danny salutes with his glass and joins in mutual sip-taking.
"Family is the best. AND the worst. They hurt you the most because they know where to push the buttons." Danny says sagely.
"But there's the family you're born with, and then there's the family you choose. To family. AND to not having to save the bloody world EVERY month or so! Otherworldy inspiration or not!" He adds with a snarky grin.
Sal drinks her own toast with a kind of melancholic happiness, then fixes herself another - this one mostly water.
Returning to her seat, she asks the group in general, "So what do you think we should do tomorrow? Maybe we should name drop and ask for Fothergill's friend... what was his name? Brother Botherall?" She shrugs. "Never hurts to have an inside line."
Danny shrugs,
"Same as usual, I guess? We need to warn them, but the entire cloister, (is that the right term?) may not be 'Official Hogwarts Staff', but still mostly Muggles. SO,... blabbing like a crazy person about fish-men and octopus-monsters to the first monk we meet is probably NOT the BEST idea. Even if it WOULD be entertaining!" The youth grins.
"Of course, the monks at the park did jump in to fight the attack. But they may not have realized what they were fighting. At first glance they DO look like 'people. I mean, big, fishy-smelling, very STRONG people, but ,... people." Danny shrugs again.
"Safe bet, just walk up, ask for a tour, and,... truthfully, say that we have a message from Fothergill for his friend. Seems to me that's the best bet for getting to talk to someone likely clued ALL the way in with the least time spent."
Sal pulls out her phone, fingers flying. "There are several tourist places in Lindisfarne. Maybe Fothergill can tell us the best place to meet his friend. We might be there a few nights, too, depending on when the attack comes. I wonder if it's too late to book..."
Her eyebrows rise. "Wait. There's a place - a restaurant and campground - called the Barn at Beale. Isn't that where Brackenthwaite said 'his boys' would be in that file we found at the office?" It's on the mainland by the Holy Isle."
Danny hops off of his perch where had gotten 'comfortable'. (As comfy as one can get sitting on wooden stands and kegs in a cellar).
"Oh, yeah. Right. RIGHT! The same file that gave the time they were hitting the monks as midnight tomorrow night?!"
"Maybe,... maybe we can do more than just warn the Monks. Might be able to mess up their plans too?" Danny says with a grin.
"Thinkaboutit! These guys are gonna be armed to the teeth, likely. Aren't the laws on THIS side of the pond considerably more, strict, than America about guns? A simple anonymous phone call to the authorities, and these guys could find themselves behind bars faster than you can say 'Next Rounds on Me!'. It wont stop whats happening, but if we can take out the human, military-type support, that should help the monks, and us, a lot. Yes?"
Danny gestures to Sal with his glass,
"Tease me all you want Schweetheart, but my 'pillows' won't do squat to stop flying bullets. If we can take THOSE out of the melee mix, I'D be MUCCHH happier." Danny says decisively. His voice recognizably slurring a bit now.
"To be fair, I was the only one throwing lead around in the park," Sal points out reasonably. "Fish mooks were using fists. Oh, and I think Edwyn fired a couple of times, too."
Edwyn smiles genuinely, taken by the same catharsis he always feels when met with a client's gratitude. It made him feel alive - there were not too many things he could say that about these days. He merely shakes his head when Sal mentions that she still owes him, but she did not strike him as the type to let her perceived debts slide by.
Family, huh? he quietly contemplates as he wipes his hands off with a rag, standing apart from the trio. He does not join in on the toast, partly because the scotch would be wasted on him, but mostly because the energy just didn't feel right. It did not take a detective to see how close the three of them are to one another. Small wonder, considering what they've been through together. Looks like you've found yourself a good one.
"I got one shot off," Edwyn confirms as he returns his reassembled firearm to its concealed holster. "The fishman said it tickled."
He winces at Danny's idea, coming to an uncomfortable realization. "Do humans usually get mixed up in stuff like this?" he asks. "Normal ones, I mean, like these army men we're gonna be dealing with."
Kenneth says, "I wouldnae object tae defending the monks, so long as it doesnae prevent us from stopping the bigger threat.... Mayhap we could ask Sven tae keep an eye on things whilst we're away?"
He shrugs at the mention of bullets, then says, "Aye, Danny, instead, ye can just make people shoot where you arenae. Or at each other. Seems pretty useful tae me."
Kenneth nods, "Aye... though the mortal mind tends tae resist the knowledge... given time, without re-exposure, they'll generally convince themselves it wasnae what they actually saw. Weird cultists in costumes. A bad PR stunt. Swamp gas. Weather balloon.... though, tae be fair, Vampires, Fae and the like generally prefer that -- there are a lot ay humans, with a lot ay guns, nae tae mention bombs, and now nuclear weapons. So, keeping them in the dark is generally considered the best strategy -- though, every once in a while, something slips out... Like Stoker's how tae kill Black Court vampires book... which helped drive the Blackies underground and break their power."
Danny nods at Edwyn, pointing at Kenneth.
"What HE said. People get involved with the 'spooky-side' ALL the time. You didn't think that ALL of those 'missing persons' & back-alley murder cases were the work of random muggings or child traffickers did you?"
Danny grins.
"NEVER underestimate the ability of people to ignore what is right in front of them. Especially if it's out of their comfort zone. There are people who ENJOY scary movies. They LIKE to be scared. But if they thought for more than a moment that ALL of that stuff they saw on screen were real? They'd check themselves into the nearest looney bin!"
Danny shrugs. "Easier than dealing with the fact that 'Things That Go Bump In The Night' are real. And they are both bigger, and scarier, than any movie."
Kenneth adds, "Which is one ay the reasons the Formor are so scary... tae everyone... They... dinnae much seem tae care who sees them."
Sal frowns in thought. "Well, they kinda did. At least at first. I may have been admiring a gorgeous hunk of Viking meat when he morphed into a fishman - and won't that be haunting my dreams? So they wanted to get close first, but once they were in, it was gills and goo time."
"Danny, why do you think the guys at the Barn will be human and slinging lead? The troops at the park were unarmed fishsticks."
Edwyn chuckles darkly. "I used to be pretty good at ignoring what was right in front of me. Not exactly the quality of an ideal detective. I suppose I was a little trigger happy about dismissing the impossible. I drew the line at ghosts, for some reason. They were just... more familiar."
He pauses for a moment, wondering: if Stoker was clued in about vampires, then did his buddy Doyle something too?
"But I guess I'm beating around the bush. What happens if we end up shooting regular humans dead? I don't suppose we'll be having our day in court."