[Study: Atticus/Aiden]
[By the time Aiden arrived, Atticus was lounging back in his old, worn chair. His legs were on a pile of books that served as a makeshift ottoman, and there was a glass with a few inches of amber liquid left in it. Whiskey, if Aiden came close enough to smell it. A cigarette was dead in thew ashtray, and Atticus was re-reading postcards. He looked up when Aiden entered, and smiled a lazy smile, lines etched into olive skin.] Interesting look. Working? [Squinted a little, attempting to determine the region Aiden's garb was from. Knew Aiden was working. Of course, he knew the answer to that was yes.] Desert? [Motioned to the chair across from the desk, regardless.] Sit? Rest. [Held up the postcard between his fingers.] Involve yourself in this?