Re: dock: atticus and mal
The Joel he was listening to was '77. Still before his time. Definitely before '99. But a classic was a classic. Was into classics. Hoped his musical taste was still solid when he was an old man. Assumed it was. Wouldn't accept that he developed a preference for Barry Manilow or Yanni. Would be worse than knowing he ended up drowning himself in a bottle and miserable.
Wasn't expecting the man to have a British accent. Hadn't heard one in a while. His parents' circles had included a lot of expats, but you didn't find that many in Repose. Even the Capital had been devoid of people from over the pond, at least in his circles.
Noticed the hesitance when the hood was pushed back by the man on the dock. Young man. Blond. Wasn't familiar with that face. Didn't know him. Wasn't a big surprise, since he didn't find himself in this town for another two decades.
"Don't mind conversation," Atticus said truthfully. Reached forward to turn down Billy. "Billy's a great musician, but not much of a conversationalist. Can take you for a spin around the lake," offered, then chuckled. "Sounds like a serial killer pick-up line, doesn't it?" His smile was wry, lazy. Didn't look like a serial killer, but look at Bundy. "Can also sit on the dock and talk from there, unless you'd rather be alone." Found, as a rule, that people in this town liked to talk about their troubles. Had a lot of trouble, Repose, and Atticus was willing to benefit by listening to people's stories.
Hoodie looked like he had a story. "Atticus," he offered. "Atticus McVickers," he added, motioning behind himself and toward the island. The fire he'd started on the beach was just visible. "Live on the island."