Re: dock: atticus and mal
Usually, someone drifting this close to shore would be preparing to disembark. Not so the man on the boat, who stayed afloat and greeted him back.
"Spot on," he said. It was a little strange to talk over a broad gap, and he stepped slowly up to the dock, coming a little nearer, getting a better look at the man's face. For whatever reason, he'd assumed someone listening to Billy Joel and drifting around late at night was an old man - he'd been wrong. "I just can't resist a temperate night."
Mal was still cautious to show his face too much. Yes his quarry was in the run from him - yes, it was unlikely that she would be foolish enough to come for him in his own town, where he was most prepared. But the habit of years was hard to kick, and he did hesitate before pulling the hood down. It was nonsense, of course. If he didn't want to be recognized, there was no point starting a conversation with a stranger - how many men with an English accent were there in this town?
It was still very dim, so pulling back the hood was more a show of politeness than anything else. He'd only had a couple pints at the bar at the edge of town, so his buzz was fading as the night cooled. "You're a lucky man to have a boat, music, and a quiet lake tonight. Should I leave you to it?" He was muted, tonight. He'd spent a little too long in his own thoughts. More bad habits. The conversation was a welcome distraction. He hoped the man in the boat would say no, which was probably a little desperate. He hadn't talked to anyone at the bar, but here he was, chatting with a nighttime sailor.