Who: Lou Parkinson and Mac What: Two people commiserating about Mandatory Fun When: Thursday 21 September 1888, evening Where: The Osiris Club Warnings: None
The Osiris Club was one of those places Lou had to go to be seen, and so others would see that he was seen. Nominally it was social, but Lou had other places he preferred for actual sociability. Osiris was for making nice to clients. Not that the people here couldn't be interesting, even fascinating, but Lou was very aware he was a publication of Parkinson & Co, and particularly of his father, and less of a person in his own right, when he was at Osiris.
There was being 'Parkinson' the way he was to his friends and being Parkinson, the supernatural face of Parkinson & Co., and they were two very different things. Lou understood the difference.
He looked round as he entered the club in the hopes of finding a relatively friendly face to keep company and pass the time with. There had to be someone pleasant to talk to, even if what made the discussion pleasant was Lou's own relative insignificance.
Mac didn't go to Osiris often, mainly because it usually bored him to tears. But being in a political job meant he had to at least occasionally go to the club and mingle, especially in these times. It was a good way of getting the pulse of the wealthy and well connected in supernatural society. He’d gathered good information more than once by enduring a few hands of cards, being willing to forgive gambling debts (what use did he have for their money?) and generously buying drinks.
This evenings work done, he loitered in the main drawing room by the fireplace with a whisky in hand. Perhaps in another half hour he'd politely make his excuses and leave. With a different glamor and a switch in accents he could join groups of musicians performing in the Irish slums and have a far more enjoyable time.
Lou spotted Mac by the fireplace. Here, at least, was someone he knew who was well-disposed to him and as something other than dinner, metaphorical or otherwise. He made his way over toward the fireplace with a smile, actually a rather warm one. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here, Mr. Mac Ruadh." Which he knew was not really Mac's proper name, but it was the one he had for banking purposes, so it was close enough. "I hope the houses of Parliament aren't treating you too badly this week."
Mac smiled at the youngster and nodded his head. “Parkinson.” The young man was far wiser than his older brother. He’d managed to talk Mac out of hexing the older sibling and closing his accounts a few years back. The other man had offered an insult that a few centuries earlier would have seen Mac disembowel him. That he'd allowed Lou to talk him down was unusual, he must be getting soft.
“I’ve had worse weeks, they haven't made me angry enough to want to kill someone.” He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his drink. “And yourself lad? Had your fill of buttering up clients for the day?” Though the fact the young man was there talking with him meant he wasn't quite finished with work.
Lou never quite knew whether Mac was joking when he said such things, but it was entirely possible Mac had disemboweled someone in the past. That was a thing about people who lived forever, or at least longer than you could imagine; you could never check the veracity of their stories. "Mostly," Lou admitted, "but I'm down to the social part of the work, at least, which is significantly easier as these things go. It's not like office hours; at least I can have a drink." He gestured to Mac's own glass, and unsurprisingly someone showed up almost immediately to ask Lou what he wanted.
"I'll have what he's having," Lou said, because if there was one thing he could be sure of, Mac had a line on the best whiskey behind the bar of any establishment.
“Smart choice.” Mac agreed, then added: “And bring me another while yer at it.”
He turned his attention back to the younger Parkinson. “So lad, how’s your family? Keeping out of trouble I hope.” And keeping the older brother far away from actually interacting with clients, for sake of his health.
"This year has been all about Charlotte and the grinding process of finding her a husband. My mother has more work lined up for my sisters, my sister-in-law and me, too, to help her out than I like to think about. My father and brother are wisely keeping out of the way and their mouths shut, except for when they're called on to pay for things. Then they retreat to the study and smoke cigars and complain out of earshot of the ladies." Lou grinned wryly at Mac; he imagined the Sidhe lord must have some equivalent experience, even if it had more to do with politics than domestic finance.
"We're past the Season proper, of course," he added, "but there's still hunting entertainments to be had. I'd see that you were invited to some if I thought you were interested. And not worried about being mistaken for an eligible bachelor."
“Hah. Glad I never had tae deal with that.” Mac chuckled. The last time he’d been worried about that sort of thing had been hundreds of years before when human society had been very different. “If I wanted a bride I just negotiated with her father and that was the end of it. There wasn’t this ‘season’ you people have these days.”
“I do enjoy a good hunt. But I prefer spears and bows to guns. Gives the animals a fighting chance.” He took a sip of his whiskey and regarded the young human with shrewd eyes. “What about you, Parkinson? You a hunting type?”
"I enjoy the riding but I'm not keen on the fox hunting," Lou admitted. Mac was alien enough in his own way that he didn't shrink from Mac's judgement the way he might from one of his peers. "It's not so much the fighting back part as, well, it seems like a lot of effort to kill an animal for nothing.
"Chasing the fox and getting a touch on it might be a contest of skill. But having your dogs kill the poor thing doesn't seem to prove that much. Except maybe that you can buy good dogs and good handlers. It's not like we're doing it to keep the foxes out of our henhouses, and it's not like we're going to eat them either. Not like a boar or a wild deer." Those were things Lou knew had been hunted, and certainly Mac had hunted them. "I have no idea how I'd do against either--probably badly--but at least if I did bring one down, or helped to, it would mean someone had a good dinner."
“Heh. Agreed.” Mac said approvingly. “Foxes are only doing what comes natural, no reason to hunt them unless they come after your livestock. Same with wolves and bears. If I’m hunting an animal it is for food or defending my property.” Left unsaid were what his reasons might be for hunting more intelligent prey.
“Aristocracy these days are soft, lad. Back when the titles really meant something they were usually earned.” Nowadays most were nothing more than landlords, though that didn’t mean he had any particular love for ‘democracy’.
"I can't disagree with that. Though I'm not entirely sorry I live in a world that has a slew of opportunities for a man who's not inclined to war, because I suspect I wouldn't be very good at it. On the other hand, if I'd been raised with the expectation of fighting for everything, especially as a younger son who wouldn't inherit the patrimony, who knows how I would have turned out?" Lou turned to grin wryly at Mac, one corner of his mouth lifting higher than the other, and shrugged carelessly. After all, it was a meaningless speculation.
"I know it's a leftover ritual from the days when the peers and their men were really meant to fight and hunt all the time to protect their people from beasts and other men. You'd think that with so many other little wars going on, they'd divert that to Her Majesty's actual military service to get that urge out of their systems. That's how I'm told they did it: one for the name, one for the Church, one for the Navy, et cetera. But I keep coming back round to the fact that the fox never shoots back."
“Hmph.” Mac snorted and finished off his drink, seeing the waiter coming with its replacement.
“Well Victoria doesnae ask fer my opinion on such matters, and a Prime Minister hasn’t bothered to solicit my advice since before the Americans went their own way. If it doesn’t pertain to the supernatural world we’re usually ignored.”
He wondered how, exactly they’d gotten on this topic and shrugged. Asking him about popular plays or the music of the grand concert halls would only elicit blanks stares, and he wouldn’t be so rude as to inquire about the state of his accounts with Parkinson’s firm outside of business hours when there was no pressing need.
Lou hadn't meant to turn the talk this way, really; he'd been thinking of his own prospects, a topic that was much on his mind after recent family discussions. "That's not wise on their part, to have so much experience available to them and not listen to it. Anyroad, it's day talk, so that's enough of that--unless you want to tell me what it was really like to hunt boar back in the day when hunting meant real risk, which sounds far more interesting than anything about Parliament does these days. I'm supposed to be the frivolous spare Parkinson; if people hear me talking something that sounds like politics with an MP, my reputation would be ruined.
"Or perhaps we could talk about music," Lou suggested, as something more favourable to Mac's known interests. "I know you're supposed to be a connoisseur, just not in the traditions of Gilbert and Sullivan."
“Hah.” Mac raised his glass approvingly at Lou’s wit. As for the comments, well, he couldn’t disagree but then humanity had to go its own way without interference from the Sidhe, didn’t they?
The subject change also met with his approval and he nodded. “Aye. I could be at that. Music that gets your blood up and toes tapping is more what I’m about. And the grand concert halls are definitely not the place to go for that.” He peered at the youngster, curious. “If you’re truly interested, I can show you where to go instead of just standing here listening to me prattle on.”
Lou took a look at his drink, took a look at Mac, and tossed his drink back. It was supposed to be dangerous, following a Sidhe lord into adventure, but why not? You only lived once, or most people did, anyroad, and it would beat spending a few more hours at Osiris having Mandatory Fun. And nobody could complain about him spending time with a figure of such power of multiple sorts. "Lead on, sir, and I shall follow."