LostRogers (lostrogers) wrote in plainsite, @ 2018-07-29 12:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | elliot rogers, gabriel allen, molly burroughs |
Who: Molly and Elliot (and then Gabriel)
What: Taking care of business
Where: Molly’s place, then the Plainsite lot.
When: July 17th, 2018 (backdated)
Ratings/Warnings: Medium for language, otherwise low.
Molly still wasn’t entirely used to the notion of a man living with her.
Let alone a Union soldier from the civil war.
She’d had a few roommates in college, but after, had enjoyed living on her own, and her one-bedroom was… economically sized.
He didn’t have much (any) stuff, other than the few things she’d bought for him -- some t-shirts, briefs, and jeans, a new pair of workboots, some toiletries -- and took up surprisingly little room -- the sheets on the couch were always neatly folded in the morning, and he was usually seated at the kitchen table reading by the time she woke up.
Still didn’t stop her from starting when she saw him out of the corner of her eye now and then, especially before she’d had her coffee. .
This morning, she blearily stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning, and managed to not flinch to see him sitting there.
“Mgh,” she managed, making her way over to the pot, which was all ready for her (she’d programmed it to brew an hour earlier than usual in deference to her guest? Roommate? Whatever.) and poured a mug.
“Good morning to you as well.” Elliot didn't bother hiding his amusement.
The first day had been rough. He'd allowed himself that time to get drunk (he'd drank all the liquor she'd had) and grieve the loss of his old life, but no more than that. What could not be cured must be endured and his practical side wouldn't let him wallow in misery and self-pity for longer than that. If he was to survive and thrive in this new century there was too much to learn to allow him the luxury of sulking about bemoaning his lot.
So each morning he'd rise, do calisthenics, shower (and have a hot one every time, marvelous!) dress in the clothes she'd bought him and fold everything away. His uniform, tack, and weapons were safely stored away for now, until he decided what to do with them.
Living with a woman he was neither related to, sleeping with, nor the wife of a brother officer was an adjustment to be sure. But he'd managed, mainly by treating her as he would a fellow officer and thus his equal. At the moment he'd almost consider her a superior officer as he was essentially living off her charity.
It was something that needed to change soon for both their sakes. But there was so much to learn and do to be functional in this time it wasn't going to happen overnight.
Molly sighed as she sat, and sipped her coffee, and looked over at him after a minute of communing with her lifeline to sanity.
“So,” she said, her voice still a little thick with sleep, “what question needs answering this morning?”
He tended to prefer books, although she had introduced him to Google (“you type in your question there, in that box, and it gives you a selection of answers”). She had a few history books -- mostly history of film, but a few of her old college textbooks she’d never gotten around to getting rid of, and he’d practically devoured those, as well as the morning paper, and no end of random magazines from the corner store.
Gotta get a library card she added to her growing list -- she didn’t have one yet (she was too damn busy), and he couldn’t get one until he got on paper. But she could get hers today, and take him to the library in the process, and at the very least, it’d keep him from spinning his wheels.
He’d put the paper down and simply observed her mind wake up, with such an expressive face she made it a command performance. As much as Molly seemed to run on coffee she liked it awfully weak compared to what Elliot was used to. Practically flavored water. While he wasn’t going to criticise his host he was already thinking about how to find an ‘old fashioned’ coffee pot with a percolator so he could brew his own.
“This.” He pushed the sports section toward her and pointed to the headline about a player getting a hundred and fifty million dollar contract to play for the local team for a few years. It was an unimaginable sum for Elliot to wrap his mind around. He’d received less than five thousand dollars in pay his previous year and considered that to be a decent if unspectacular amount. “I can understand a scientist or a businessman to make large sums, but a professional athlete?? They’d just formed a professional baseball league in my day. We’ve become a fabulously wealthy country if you can afford to spend that much on one man and you have dozens of teams.”
Molly squinted, a little resentful at having to think this early in the morning, and took a sip of her coffee.
“Okay,” she said, “so this has got a couple of things, right? Like…” she exhaled. “Entertainment is big money, and sports is part of that. It’s not just a hundred people in a stadium watching the game, it’s millions watching the broadcasts, and buying things with the team name on it and…” she waved her hand “anyways. So it’s a money maker. And the players, they have agents and a union, so they can negotiate for a bigger slice of that pie, instead of having it go to the owner of the team.” She shrugged. “And then there’s the fact that they’re being paid for a lifetime of work over like fifteen years if they’re lucky, and don’t get injured too badly, and then there’s inflation, and taxes, and wealth inequality shit, but that part’s way out of my wheelhouse.” She shrugged. “Mr Allen might know more, he deals in contracts, and we’re stopping by to see him today.”
A thought occurred, and she wrinkled her nose. “Um. You know about how some of the people at Plainsite are… different? He’s one of them. I’m only saying because he might flirt at you, but he’ll flirt with anyone, and it’s sort of… part of who he is? So don’t take it too personal.”
Elliot nodded his understanding, of the concept of labor unions at any rate. The idea of people being willing to spend so much money on entertainment that such contracts made economic sense, well, not so much. But if the money was there he wasn’t going to begrudge the athletes for striking the best deal they could.
Both his eyebrows went up at her explanation about this Mr. Allen. He wasn’t worried about people being ‘different’, but he needed to understand what kind of ‘different’. “So is he a sodomite then?” What the proper word in this time for what Allen was he didn’t know, but figured he’d learn soon enough.
Molly paused, not for the first time with Elliot.
It was too damn early.
“First off, words. We say gay now. Or… yeah. Gay’s easiest. And… yes, he is, sort of, but that’s not what I meant. Not all gay people flirt with… right. He’s one of those different different people. Like, not human different.” She puffed out her cheeks. “I just didn’t want you to get pissed off. He’s a demon. They’re… it’s like breathing for them.” She paused, considering. “He’s one of the ones who’s been around for a while,” she added. “Like, a really long time. So he might be able to speak your language a bit? Cause he was there?”
“‘Speak my language’?” Elliot took a sip of his own coffee and eyed her over the cup, wondering what she meant by that. He understood well enough what she was getting at by different different and that Allen was likely very old indeed. But he'd thought he understood her fine.
After a moment he shrugged: what difference did it make?
“As long as he can take ‘no’ for an answer we'll get on fine.”
“Mph,” Molly replied. “Good. And don’t you give me that look. I just meant it’d be nice to… to know someone who was there too. Maybe. Whatever.” She took another sip of her coffee and winced. “He might also get you a… whatsisfuck. An appraiser. For your stuff. In case you want to sell some of it.” She frowned. “Not that you have to, but it’s an option.” She huffed. “And I figured we could swing by the library after work. Anything else to add to the list?” She asked, looking over at him.
“Understood.” Elliot nodded at the explanation but otherwise kept his mouth shut. He wasn't sure what he thought about selling his things and wasn't going to discuss it right then.
He shook his head. “Can't think of anything offhand.” He could actually, but she was already doing more than enough for now. There was no need to ask for more than immediate concerns, the rest could wait.
This led to a raise of her eyebrow, and a shrug of her shoulder, a small huff escaping despite herself. “Well, then. I’ll fetch you before lunch, we can head to Allen’s. Lemme get on my boots, and we can head.”
She knew it had to be hard for the man -- and she was a stranger, and feeling beholden was never comfortable. Still. He tended to clam up faster than she did, and that was saying something.
(Not that she wanted heart to hearts around the kitchen table, or lengthy therapy sessions… she just wanted to know what was on the man’s mind instead of having to guess.)
As promised, she swung by during the start of their lunch hour, and took him to the nicely appointed offices of Gabriel Allen, Plainsite’s longstanding lawyer, and the resident expert in how to begin to address things like…. Oh, say, a soldier from the Civil War needing a driver’s license and social security card.
Allen was one of those older creatures -- not as ancient as some, but he’d been around (in more ways than one), and Molly figured he’d know how to fake paperwork.
Gabriel looked up as they entered, and walked around his large desk, a broad smile crossing his face.
“Molly, darling, it is always a pleasure to see you,” he said, shaking her hand and leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Gabriel Allen,” he added, personably, extending a hand Elliot’s way. “A little bird told me you’ve been doing odd jobs around the place.” He winked Molly’s direction. “Among other things,” he added.
Molly spluttered a little, two spots of color high in her cheeks.
Elliot glowered at the insinuation on Molly’s reputation, but let it go as he shook the other man’s hand. He had to admit, Allen was a handsome specimen, dark haired and an athlete's build. “Thank you for seeing us Mr. Allen, I appreciate you taking the time out of your day. Molly’s been kind enough to help me with a few odd jobs and a place on her couch, true Christian charity.” The officer in him was loathe to treat the attorney as anything more than an equal, but Allen held his future in his hands.
He looked between the two of them and hesitated, unsure of how much the other man already knew. “What has she told you of my situation, sir?”
Gabriel sat against the edge of the desk, looking at the other man appraisingly as he gestured to the two chairs. “Please, sit. She only mentioned that you were in need of some paperwork. Not unusual in the least around these parts at least. Mer often come ashore without anything at all, and Fae can go centuries without poking their heads out...” he raised an eyebrow. “I’ll admit I’m curious, as I can gather you’re neither, but if you’d rather keep the particulars to yourself…” he grinned warmly. “I do consider this entire conversation privileged, of course.”
Molly looked over at Elliot and shrugged. She’d figured that the details were Elliot’s business.
Elliot eased himself into the chair and took a deep breath. Allen was less likely to find his story insane with his knowledge of things other than human, not to mention the man technically wasn’t human himself. More likely to be open minded about things.
“Well Mr. Allen, the short version is I’m a man out of my own time. A few weeks ago I was Captain Rogers of the US 5th Cavalry, in the year 1872. My men and I were chasing down a Paiute war party and ran into something...unnatural. Molly believes it might have been the work of the Fae, but I have no way of knowing one way or the other. All I know is one minute I was in the worst storm come out of nowhere that I’d ever seen, the next I was in this time. Fortunately I came across Molly, who didn’t take me as some lunatic playing dress up.”
He kept his gaze locked on the other man’s. “In this day and age it seems you need more documentation about who you are and where you’ve been than mine, and people aren’t likely to just take my word on it. Molly reckons you’re the person to talk to in order to get that documentation.” Elliot shrugged. “So here we are.”
Finished with his little speech he leaned back slightly in his seat and waited to hear what Allen had to say.
Gabriel paused, and leaned forward. “Mr. Rogers,” he said, quietly, “you have my sympathies. Truly. Plainsite can be an odd mismatched family, with our fair share of dysfunction, but we do our best to take care of our own. Regardless of whether this is a brief stop in your journey, we’ll try to do right by you. God knows, it’s the least we can do under your rather extraordinary circumstances.”
He leaned back in his chair. “It does sound like the Fae. I’ll try to let them know there’s a fissure -- I may have to ask you both to point out approximately where it happened on a map later, if you’d indulge.” He tapped his fingers on the desk. “I can get you a license by the end of the week, and it’ll take a month to lay down a proper trail in the system -- people rarely spring out of the ether fully formed,” he said with a small smile. “It’d be easier all around if I had your birthdate and exact age. Do you need an interest-free loan?” He added. “With Moe to vouch for you, that wouldn’t be an issue.”
“Thank you.” Elliot didn’t need sympathies, though he appreciated them. The documentation was what was needed, and it sounded like the other man would come through with that. “I’ll provide all the information you like before we leave, that won’t be any problem at all.”
As for the interest free loan...he glanced briefly over at Molly, debating. He’d been living off her charity more than long enough but he was loathe to go into debt, even at no interest. Once a body went down that path it could be difficult to leave it. How much would he need? There were more clothes to buy, an apartment to rent and furnish (at a minimum he assumed he would need a bed, nightstand and desk even if he were just taking a bedroom somewhere), and a vehicle of some kind as he couldn’t take Boy everywhere.
And there was the matter of keeping Boy fed, housed, and properly exercised. While he didn’t need a horse in this day and age he couldn’t bear the thought of selling his mount to someone who wouldn’t appreciate what Boy was or treat him with the dignity and affection the horse deserved. He hadn’t asked Molly how much it was costing to stable the animal and he honestly was a little scared to.
“I might accept your very generous offer, sir, once I have a better understanding of how much I might need and how long I’d have to repay you. While I’m far from a stupid man, my technical training by this century’s standards is woefully lacking. I’ve much to learn.” He’d familiarized himself with how to use Molly’s computer and navigate the internet but he knew there were a thousand and one things that the natives of this time would know without thinking, and he’d have not a clue they existed.
“Of course,” Gabriel replied, nodding. “Whenever you’d like to revisit, you are more than welcome. And please do consider me a resource, of sorts,” he added, a small smile rising in the corner of his mouth. “If you’d ever like to meet for a drink and reminisce, or ask questions,” he added, before seeing the look on Molly’s face and breaking into a warm chuckle. “I see Moe’s warned you. Don’t worry, darling, I’m not his type. It’d just be two old souls sharing a bottle,” he clarified, “nothing more. I’ll admit, I’d be fascinated to hear your perspective.”
“She has at that, sir.” Elliot allowed himself to smile back at the man, because he’d be a damned liar to say Gabriel Allen wasn’t one of the most charming men he’d ever met in his life. He wasn’t the least bit attracted toward him, but he could see women (and some men, he may not have the proper terminology for this day and age but he wasn’t ignorant) falling at his feet from force of personality alone. “As long as we understand each other, and I reckon we do,
there’s no harm done. I’d be right pleased to share a bottle at some point. And if there’s a way this old horse soldier can return the favors you’re doing me I’ll gladly do so.”
He glanced between the two natives of the 21st century, wondering what else if anything was needed at the moment. “I suppose that’s all then? Is there more that needs doing?” It was their lunch break after all, it wouldn’t do to spend too much time away and have eyebrows raised with him being so new. He certainly knew how his old sergeants would have reacted if one of the new men wandered off for longer than they were supposed to.
Gabriel stood. “Not on my end. You can leave your date of birth and age with Patricia, my delightful assistant. And Mr. Rogers,” he added with a twinkle in his eye, “I will be taking you up on that drink. Next Friday? O’Shaunessy’s say, eight?” He laughed a little. “I’m assuming you don’t have a packed social calendar.”
He turned to Molly. “And my dearest, should you wish to cool your heels with two old-timers, you are, of course, welcome,” he said, with a smile. “See that you take care, now,” he added, with a wink.
Molly flushed. “Right,” she said, standing as well. “Thank you, Gabriel. Mr. Allen.” She nodded her head. “We’d best get back.”
Elliot’s nostrils flared and lips curled upwards even if he didn’t quite snort. “You assume correctly sir. Very well, Friday night at this saloon of yours.” He turned his attention to Molly. “Yes. No sense being more of a cause for gossip than I already am.”