The truth was that Marty was good at the job he’d had during the day, yelling theatrically at people as they passed. He actually enjoyed all the disgusted looks he got from patrons before making their way into the show tents. He had to play it differently behind the stage because having to listen to that all day long would be too much for anyone. At least while the show played he had the opportunity to get away from, well, people. At it’s best people in large groups could spread chaos easily, at its worst people could also spread joy and that was the worst feeling of all.
Marty bloody loved nicotine and was all the more satisfied by it because it couldn’t kill him like it had with so many people he’d known over the years. Maybe he should have become a tobacco lobbyist instead. He grabbed a smoke out of its pack and put it between his lips when he realized he didn’t have a lighter. Finding the closest person he could be tapped him on the shoulder. “Oi mate, you got a lighter handy?” He asked the slightly shorter man.
Usually his day was filled with taking various orders for supplies from the crew or filling in for anyone who needed a break or decided to just up and leave their post. That particular day he was wandering, keeping watch for anyone who may need to take a few minutes to rest or recuperate. It wasn’t a cold day - the heat was bearing down upon all of them but Caspian did this best to stay in the shade and wait for something to come along that may give him a few moments to keep busy between tasks.
When the tap on the shoulder came, he turned. Blue eyes would focus on the man who had inquired and instinct had him fumbling for the Zippo kept in a pocket.
He didn’t smoke, hated the habit actually, but a lighter could initiate conversation and that was why he carried it. “Ay, actually I do. Let me get that for you, mate,” he chimed, flicking the thing so the flame was exposed.
Marty leaned in light his cigarette before leaning away to regard him. He couldn’t place the accent, almost as if he were half Brit and half Irish yet there was a hint of American in it. “You some kind of Aussie then? Weren’t aware there were any of you around here.” He took a drag and blew the smoke up so as not to hit this interesting stranger in the face.
“Or was that a jab at my ridiculous accent, if so no notes, you bloody well nailed it.” He teased and offered a chuckle.
“Aussie?” Caspian repeated, blinking. “Do I sound Australian?” He didn’t think so, the dialect was different but maybe it was the bit of American squashed into the accented mix he already possessed. “Bit of a mutt, but absolutely not Aussie.”
The lighter would find its way back into a pocket, already forgotten.
“Clearly you need a checkup, mate. Accents aren’t always easy to catch. Mines a bit of Irish and British, perhaps it’s harder to tell.” He never claimed to really be of either lineage, hating both of his parents equally enough to never bother with loyalty.
He chuckled again. “Well suppose it makes since I’m absolute crap at this accent I still insist I pull off.” Of course it was his real accent but Marty would go anywhere for a good joke. He pushed his hand out toward the stranger to offer a shake. “Names Marty.” He offered, giving the man’s hand a firm shake. Humans had this thing where they took character cues from handshakes. He didn’t understand the whole thing but he always made sure it was a good one.
“You from the 1920’s then too? I have had no luck with any of my pop culture references.” He sighed, it really did make him look like a total nutter to some of his co-workers.
At the gesture to shake, Cas found himself obliging if only to keep up with the conversation. “Caspian Finn, at your service,” he greeted, keeping the handshake brief. There was something about this fellow, something odd that he couldn’t place mostly because he lacked the experience to decipher what it was.
“No no,” Cas began, shaking his head. “Twenty twenty, I am. Pop culture at its finest, a world in a mess. I rather fancy this place. Easier to deal with. I bet nineteen twenty is a real peach compared to what was going on in the modern era. From your comment I’m assuming you’re from the same time, too, yeah?”
Well that was a loaded question from what seemed to him like one of Zion’s rare regular human beings. “Well, yes that’s where this place picked me up but if I’m totally honest, I’ve been to the 1950’s before. It’s quite boring really but I do love a good leather jacket.” Though judging by their guests they were mostly still in late 1940’s garb, oh well, at least it wasn’t the prohibition.
“Well I’ve also been to the 1850’s and I guarantee it’s not nearly as fun.” He quite enjoyed the air of Doctor-who he gave off, though he wasn’t exactly any more of a time traveler than anyone else at Zion.
With a bit of awe at the revelation, Cas listened to the explanation of the ages travelled. “Well, for us other folk I suppose who aren’t as worldly, it takes us a bit to get our bearings. I will say that so far, though, I quite like this time.” The fifties weren’t all bad, it was simpler there. He supposed it was probably less complex in 1850, as well.
This guy wasn’t so bad after all, at least for now. Anyone could change as quickly as the breeze but then he often tried his best to give the benefit of the doubt.
Caspian Finn had magnificent blue eyes and if Marty could read his mind then he would have insisted that he was, in fact, a very bad guy. But he didn’t read minds, he read body language and Caspians said he was comfortable. “Oh it’s alright, but if I were to prefer a particular decade I’d say the 1970’s were the most fun.”
“Honestly it’s just nice to meet another newbie. I feel like I missed out on loads of chaos.” Which he loved and he so did hate to miss some good chaos. “What were you doing in Louisiana?” He asked, puffing away on his cigarette.
Ah this one wanted a chat.
Fortunately for him there was nothing pressing on the horizon just then and he could readily oblige a bit of a chin wag.
“Perhaps we will get there. Who knows where we are headed next.” The rumor was that nineteen twenty was the destination in mind but then he’d heard wild tales aplenty in his time and it was far too early to assume which decade would be slotted into their wheel next. He found that the idea, though, of the seventies was intriguing.
“We are well met then, I suppose. Newbies and all.” A shrug and he considered the answer to the question posed. “Definitely not enjoying the humidity,” he laughed, “but the food was good. I was merely wandering around looking for something interesting and I came upon this Carnival.” His arms would extend out in a gesture as if to say and here I am.
There was definitely more to that story than he was letting on, and Marty was intrigued. “So, you were wandering aimlessly in the Deep South and you decided ‘Hey, why not join the time traveling carnival’ and just up and left your life?” Although Caspian could argue that Marty did the same, he’d make it back to 2020 in one way or the other.
“Can’t say I blame you, bloody humid swamp was really starting to get on my nerves. Do you know most of the magic there is utter crap? Like come on, at least get some real magic…” he searched for the word, magician didn’t seem right but he didn’t know what else to call them. “...people, I suppose.”
“Aye, you nailed it, friend.” It was all he would admit to or confirm. At least for now. His fellow was no different to him than Adam and it was none of his business really why Cas had ended up in New Orleans and the carnival. It wasn’t as if that were the same story many of them shared - up and leaving for whatever reason to start a new life.
The part about the magic was interesting. “Can’t say I know much about magic. I will just take your word for it.” He would have to, at that point. New Orleans was rumored to have a penchant for hoodoo magic, at least in the modern age, anyway.
Caspian blinked. “Magicians?” Magic people.
After taking a drag of his cigarette Marty wildly waved his arm in the air, letting all the smoke leaking from his mouth disperse. “No, no, no, no I’m not talking about wankers who pull rabbits out a bloody hat.” Marty definitely had a flare for the dramatics so he threw his cigarette on the ground and stepped it out like it had a demon inside of it. Though the truth was rather the opposite.
“Magi?” He said aloud and then chuckled as he slapped his knee. “That’s it! Magi! Squirmy little fuckers.” That last part slipped out. He’d hunted a few of them before and they were some of the hardest to kill but he usually got them in the end.
It was more a human answer. His experience with magic was nil and that seemed to be a problem needing rectifying. With mild interest he watched the display unfold though he pretended not to be impressed with it. “Ah. I see. Apologies.”
“Are they squirmy?” That didn’t sound right but then he lacked the real experience. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to really know the details of that story.
Shit. Well that wasn’t the takeaway he was hoping for. Still, he needed to improvise. “Yes...in bed.” Marty offered him an exaggerated wink. “Makes for some very very good sex. Anyway I could use a sodding drink and it’s a shame they want to take us all the way back to the prohibition.” Good cover, everyone liked a good change of subject, right?
“Do you drink then?” He thought about what might be this man’s choice of drink. A rye whiskey perhaps? A gin? Maybe he just drank lager like the rest of bloody Americans did.
There was a shift; it was so subtle but he was able to pick up on it though he made no move to give away that it’d been picked up on at all. “Ah, sounds like a good time then.” And then the subject changed.
Caspian shook his head. “No, I don’t actually. Boring, I know.” He didn’t want to end up the drunken fool like his father, always chasing the bottom of the bottle and never quite finding what he was after. “But please don’t let me stop you from indulging yourself, friend.”
He chuckled again and shook his head. “Not much right with a bloke who doesn’t drink.” He offered but nodded his head as if he admired that. He didn’t. People who didn’t drink were only missing out on the great pleasures of life, even if that evolved into chaos.
“But I’ll let it slide just this once, if you agree to be there while I drink. The need to talk about film and pop culture is doing my head in and I could really use someone like you to listen to me spill my thoughts on the Big Lebowski because I have a LOT of thoughts on the subject.” Fucking Big Lebowski.
Caspian would offer an amused grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Aye, I can do that. Support and all.” He doubted this one would get too pissed on his bender but you never did quite know.
And finally he laughed. A hand would come up in a wave, dismissive but friendly. “Alright, alright. You have my word - we shall talk about things of the modern age while you get bleeding wasted. Sounds like fun.”
“Perfect mate.” He offered Caspian a smile and and turned back to the carnival. Another show was letting out soon and he had to get back there. “I’ll be getting wasted every night this week in the sleeping tents. Come find me.” It wasn’t like he did much else. Certain events were in motion but it involved a whole lot of waiting.
He gave Caspian a little wave as he walked away. “See you later Caspian.” He offered with a wink as he went back to his work.
“Until then,” he managed, offering a nod. Odd fellow that one, but he felt a sort of draw without knowing why. Perhaps it was curiosity or maybe he liked to watch the world burn. Whatever it was, he knew he would be there at the tents to watch Marty waste away.
A wave would be offered in return and once he found himself alone again he turned back to what he’d been doing before, surveying the employees to see who may need some much needed relief.