Fion had become a more regular visitor at the Clockwork Stag of late. She tended to sit at the bar, nursing a gin or a whiskey and pretending she was down on her luck. It was not difficult to believe at the end of the day, when her hair was mussed and her eyes were drooping. Sometimes she would let herself drift off while leaning on her hand, lips parted in the slack pout of the sleepwalker and her ears open. She had listened to Gannon, kept his voice as her beacon, trying to make his measure in her own mind.

He was a strong man, seemingly a kind one. He had only ever been polite to her. She liked his wit. He seemed the type, if the Resistance had one. She didn't think that he would falter. If she'd had more spirit left in her, she would have said she had faith in him. Luckily her cynicism had eroded her faith and all that was left were sharp eyes and quick feet.

Fion would not be caught again, by surprise or hands or cuffs. She raised her hand to catch Gannon's attention. It was late and already the place was emptying, letting the cool air from outside in.

She had talked to him before and would again. She wanted to see if she would feel that spark within her that let her trust people. If she did, she would give him what he needed to know and let him out into the dark. She hoped it was what he wanted.

Gannon had noticed that Fion was becoming a regular. He, of course, welcomed it. More customers meant more income...meant more that the gollies took in taxes.... Well, she was certainly an improvement in scenery compared to these Soot District drunks even if she looked bone-weary most evenings. And who didn't?

He'd never tried to strike up much conversation with her. After all, they were familiar with each other, but one drunken conversation was hardly the grounds of a close friendship. He'd grinned his best at her and served her drinks and mostly left her to herself. It was slowly becoming a familiar pattern as with all the other regulars: nod greeting, grin, ask for order, deliver order, refill when requested.

Tonight was probably to be another such night, as before and the time before that. And when she calmly raised her hand—later at night than typical, a time more akin to their first meeting when many others were gone—he nodded in acknowledgement and walked her way, not even pausing in stride as he hollered at a departing customer to close the damn door and stop letting the heat out. He stomped to a halt before Fion, spreading his broad hands across the other side of the bar.

"Evenin' again, Mz. Fion." his lopsided grin resumed its usual place and his frown lightened into something that looked like comfortable nonchalance, perhaps even friendliness. "What cn' I do fer ya'?"

Fion returned the warmth of his greeting, lips perking up at the side. She was careful not to look calculating, as she always was. She glanced towards the door, she could not see too well outside but she could hear the rain. It was heavy.

"I know it's close to closing but would you mind if I had another gin and waited for the rain to quiet down?" If not that excuse she would have had something else.

She pushed her empty glass towards him.

"How have you been?" She asked, meaning to start a conversation.

"'Closing time' is always a rather tricky idea when in this business...Posting hours would be a useless idea round a place where ever man seems t' need a drink to get to the next day." He shook his head and waved a hand, dismissing that reply. That was depressing.

"I've been well enough..." his rummaging for the correct bottle anciently spit out a rather thin bottle of vodka, which he caught before it could tumble to the floor. He huffed quiet relief and went back to searching. "Hmm...yeah...well enough. The taxes have been...interesting and more...gouge...ish, lately...buuuuut--" Gannon never seemed to realize his change in speech pattern when on the hunt for alcohol--"HAH!" He procured the desired bottle with a victorious fist, his one eye momentarily a little wild. He walked back her direction. "But it won't put the old girl and me under yet, not if I can help it....I'll just be eating a little less these days. Heh." The barkeep tried another grin on that last note out for size, but bravado hardly seemed to fit in, even coming from him.

He quietly poured her drink. And cleared his throat. "You?" he inquired, trying to return the polite conversation.

Fion had seen her own days of uncomfortable poverty, though they were largely behind her now. Her own recent excursions had put a strain on her finances but still she survived. The taxes were an annoyance she would have preferred not to experience, so she nodded along to Gannon's complaints, trying to catch onto words that might be important.

"I'm pretty good at stretching a budget myself." She said, taking note of his joy at finding the bottle and his energy, which was possibly being chained down by working inside.

She took a sip of her drink and smiled, closing her eyes for a moment just to feel the warmth trickle down her throat. She sighed upon swallowing. It was decent gin.

"I'm doing well enough. There're patrols going on in my neck of the woods. They haven't checked my house yet but it makes me worry. It's just me and my boy, I don't know how I feel about them turning over the place while I'm on my own."

Fion was not at her most subtle but her voice was soft and even, tinged with annoyance at the allusion to seventen. She could easily have just been using the barman as her confessor, as humans often seemed to do. She knew what Gannon was like, particularly when it came to women and honour. She hoped this would be the conversation starter she needed.

The first thing out of Gannon’s mouth, after his brows dropped down in confusion, was: “You’re not married?”

Sure he always called her “Ms.” Fion. Though who honestly took the time to pronounce that second syllable? Not most of those in the Soots with their chronic gutterspeak. And when your regulars were exactly such people, it tended to make a mark on the personal vernacular. So, “Mz. Fion” it had become, as he’d never learned her surname. He still didn’t know her surname.

“Ah…mmn…” Gannon mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing at the walls, and then loosely slapping his palm back to the bar. He realized belatedly that his brash question was a little odd of a response, so, in hoping to save a bit of face, he tried his best to recall what else she’d said.

“Yeah,” he continued, growling softly at the mention of the so-called “peace” force. “Th’ sev’nten ‘v been lookin’ at my place like a common lurker. Ent had none show up in my place yet, thank th’ gods.” And if they ever did…. The bartender’s gut tightened when he thought of his home up in smoke.

Gannon decided to make another brash move. Some sort of wild retaliation burned his blood and forced itself out of his mouth without registering past anything that resembled reason in his mind.

He frowned suddenly and gave her a solid look, his black eye harder than the counter he leaned over. Gannon’s voice turned low. “You ever get th’ notion that you an’ yer son’re in real danger from them uncles—” he stabbed the wood with a huge finger, “—you come here.”

Although meant as a friendly offer, coming from him it sounded more like a demand.

There were better things he could have said.

"Not anymore." Fion replied, a cold front sweeping in and over her voice.

It was a lie but an old one and one she'd told for years. She wasn't going to give it up. She had loved and lost but it was the undercurrent of failure that was most offensive. She could've married if she'd wanted to. She had not.



Oh, men. Fion thought, nodding along as Gannon ordered her to rely on him. He was a good man, not that she wanted his help. She wasn't sure exactly what he planned to do with those officers of the seventen but it was a good sign.

"I surely will." She said, smiling a bit, the climate of her mood becoming milder.

Well, it was time to dip deeper, then.

"What would you do? If they did come to your place." She tilted her drink with her index finger, so it rested on the base rim.

She shifted it left and right, looking up to see just what Gannon had to say. She looked slightly curious, though not too involved just yet. This was a casual, bored and slightly dangerous conversation, that was all. Two people talking about the political weather because they needed some company after a long day.

It was hard for him to keep his eye straying to the door--though he imagined it looked like nothing more than a tired barkeep staring into space. He could almost imagine those arrogant green-clad galdori marching in, stone-faced, tight-lipped, fields crackling as their eyes zeroed in on the lesser being who owned the humble establishment.

What would he do? Of course, he knew in the bottom of his gut that it circumstances might change things. For instance, if people like Fion and her son were taking shelter within. Knowing that lives depended on you always made one fight all that much harder. But what if it was just him? What if, one night, they slipped in after hours and pulled him out of bed for questioning of some sort? What if they tried to trash his place looking for something that wasn't there? Gannon's gut hardened. Even if the Stag was empty of others, it was still his home.

And he'd die before another home was taken from him. Like Bastia. Like the farm. Like his Uncle and Aunt and cousins. Gannon took a deep breath, filling the bellows if his lungs before replying.

"Oh I'd talk to em first, a'course..." he finally turned his attention back to Fion as he managed a tight smile. "S' always nice t' keep th' furniture un-smashed, y'know? But...gollies don't often like 'lesser races' talking.... An' I don't budge easy, Mz. Fion." He pulled Roxanne halfway out of her scabbard on his thigh, letting the cold metal of her blade wink above the bar before he pushed her back down with the heel of his palm. Gannon's grin collapsed. "This is my home."

This is what keeps my family alive.

If there had been words Fion had been waiting to hear, those were as close as any could have been. Gannon was idealistic, like they all were in the beginning but he was no fool. He wasn't off bragging about fights with their betters. He had a sensible streak within him and ties it seemed, to this place they were in. Fion didn't like the sight of the knife, she always wondered if the flash of firelight on steel was for her, not just for show.

Gannon did not seem the type for that at all.

"I heard about some people that feel the same way you do. Just a rumour, you know?" She said, tracing a line alone the grain of the bar top. "They're downtown, if you wanted to try it. Do you think you'd want to? It sounds dangerous."

It was dangerous. Terribly so. Wasn't as though she was going to come out and say it.

Eight questions and nine responses lit into Gannon's mind at once after a long pause of sluggish consideration. Gannon tried his utmost not to let the questions completely register on his face. What was this woman talking about? was the main question. Is she talking about what I think she is? was very insistent in the front of his mind as well. But more important was the question of: Why is she telling me these things?

Only days before she'd laughed at him for such talk (and after he'd served her beer, too) and now she was--Wait, wait. Easy, Gannon. You don't know shit right now.... This time he was quite sure he was regarding Fion with a changed expression.

Was she someone in the resistance? Only the resistance would be asking such questions. Right? She'd been probing, hadn't she? The idea of that made Gannon grit his teeth somewhat. He was not welcome to the thought of being prodded in a direction, no matter what the circumstance.

Though...what if she was fishing for the guilty? What if..."Mz Fion" was one of them? Working for them? Cold sped down Gannon's back and up his neck into his ears. She worked in a golly bar, after all.

That idea got squashed faster than the first one. If she were a spy...she wouldn't be talking about danger (unless she was trying to warn him off of rebellion and the like) and she wouldn't be asking him about such things again. She'd already heard more treason-talk from him than half the population of Vienda managed to mutter in a week.

Still...the former was a slim chance and not even that. Gannon had a hard time imagining Fion as a fighter for the resistance. But either way it swung, he wasn't going to be the one talking. Not much.

"Yeah?" he growled, forcing his tone above a secretive whisper until he realized it came out harsh as a whetstone on steel. He forced up a single eyebrow and held it aloof—looming and questioning heavily.

Fion's stomach dipped and rose again. Gannon did not sound so keen anymore. A spark of intuition told her it was time to leave. If he wasn't pleased, she didn't want to be bothered. She wanted to be safe. That was more important than pushing him into the ranks.

"Take it or leave it." She said, standing and slapping some coins on the table. "Don't growl at me, Mr Oranos. It's rude."

She turned. She hadn't told him about the water, she didn't think it was safe to. If he changed his tune she would, if she didn't, she was better off with him thinking she didn't know a thing. Even if it meant he had a hard time getting past his initiation.

She wasn't out the door yet. She glanced behind to see if he was following.

Playing guess and catch was not a favourite game of Gannon's, and he wanted answers, not cold shoulders from a woman. He was fairly sure that the resistance (if he was, in fact, dealing with resistance) talk involved a lot of code and other such beating around the bush, but he wanted information.

"Wait just one second," he growled, eyes narrowing as she began to depart. He leaned over the bar, almost wanting to leap it if it would mean that she didn't leave. This could possibly be the in to what he wanted, after all. "Wait! If you want to talk about that, then I want to know what's what before I stick my neck onto the choping block!"

This was not a chance he could miss. Gannon was prepared to pull her back into the Stag if need be.

New recruits. Alioe. Fion gave Gannon a look that was slightly derisive, before rallying. They were in a bar. Fion wasn't planning to leak more secrets while other ears were waggling. Currently, she'd told him a rumour and now that he was making noise, ears that hadn't cared before might start perking up.

"I told you all I know, what do you think this is? It's not like buying a horse." You actually got a chance to look at a horse, the Resistance preferred its members blindfolded and heavily armed. "I thought you wanted to do something, go do something. That's how it is. Leave me out of it. I have a home to go to."

Chances were he'd end up in her cell and think very poorly of this conversation. If he decided to go at all. She wasn't going to stay to see. She thought there was a chance he might stew for a bit, then go try to find someone. Fion decided she was going to have to avoid the Stag for a while until she knew for sure. She didn't want to blow her cover so recklessly, although the gods knew she was reckless on an embarrassingly regular basis. She was out the door, feet moving quickly one in front of the other, as fast as she could go without running.

"The hell you're going!" he growled to himself, down in his throat. He was around the bar with speed practiced in splitting up fights...and boxing, and fighting his way out from between two thugs behind the factory every evening to save his earnings. If Vienda had taught him a damn thing, it was to move, move quickly, and grab opportunity with your teeth.

His ticket into the Resistance was not escaping.

Gannon thundered out the door and spotted her faster than one might think possible for a half-blind man. The swiftly retreating figure of Fion in her mulled green dress was fixed in his coal-dark eye; she was an unripened acorn rolling down the street amid the various other people in their shades of brown and grey. His long strides devoured the distance and his steel-capped boots made for ominous clapping against the cobbles.

"Now wait just one minute!" he huffed, making a grab for her arm with one massive hand.

Fion couldn't say if this was the most terrifying experience of her life because she was too scared to think. She'd been chased before and even though this time it wasn't a golly, that did not mean it was any less serious. Gannon, gentle though he'd seemed before, was enormous and he was grabbing her. She was too rattled to stop moving, so his hand on her arm was like a vice. The muscles in her back felt like they were snapping as his strength stopped her motion and sprang her back towards him. Fion made a sound, like a sob and a squeak and moment of pure, unhappy confusion.

Would anyone help her? She could be his wife for all they knew, out having a domestic. Her free hand, her left hand, closed over his. Her nails scratched down his skin, not deeply yet because she was still acting on instinct. Logic had flown. There was just her will to get away from him, to somewhere safe. She pulled away from him, trying not to look at him. Stupid idea, she always had stupid ideas.

"Let me go." It was barely audible over the rain. Just a hoarse cough that said less than her wide, worried eyes.

Between that plea and her nails digging fearfully into his hand, Gannon's gut tightened with a small tug of guilt. 'I'm sorry', somehow got stuck in his throat like a ball of cotton--cotton soaked with bile and crammed down his windpipe. He hadn't meant to frighten her, or hurt her. He could nearly hear his uncle's scolding voice. But...he could not let go of her. Not when she had information she seemed so unwilling to give, and so willing to dangle in front of his nose. He had to know before he let her loose.

"What were you trying to tell me, Mz. Fion? Before you got up an' left?" He didn't register that he was still growling. Gannon tried to breath deeper and calm himself. He needed to learn to control himself. Fion wasn't that bastard blacksmith, she was a small woman. He leaned down carefully, trying not to make sudden, frightening movements, and looked her straight in the eye. "I need to know."

They were in the middle of the street. Out where anyone could see or hear and he wanted to discuss the secret party he wanted to be invited to. He hadn't let her go yet. She didn't like this. She hadn't liked it before but the feeling was surely growing. Like mould did during Hamis, quick, dark and unpleasant.

"I ent telling you nothing, middle the fuckin' street, do what the fuck ye like!" She hissed, "I don't know nothin'."

A lie but she was good at those. It was her line of work to do so and well.

"Go if ye want bu' leave me the fuck out of it, you fucking bastard, tsuter, laoso prick!" Fion's voice was rising, gaining momentum and getting louder and louder. "Let me go!"

She had shouted it. Gods, he was probably a plant. Of course she would have gone for a plant. She was such an idiot. He was probably planning on turning her in. Bloody men, bloody human men. No wonder she'd never married one. They were too bloody grabby and you couldn't get away from them. They were too big. Stu never would have grabbed her. She wished he was there with her. It would've been pathetic to have him solve a problem for her but this one was getting beyond what she felt equipped to deal with.

"Fucking idjit!" Her fingers snapped out to poke Gannon hard at the base of the throat, where Ivan had showed her.

She knew it hurt quite a bit, she just hoped it was enough to make someone like Gannon think of letting her go.

Fion hadn't started shrieking yet, she was about to.

Admitedly, the spew of language and hurried decent into Tek and gutterspeak took Gannon aback as much as her harsh tone and yelling. But still he asked: “Go? Go where?” He had to know.



“Hrrk!” Gannon yanked back, coughing and trying to swallow his tongue in reflex. Solid shock made his hand clamp down harder, like a steel beartrap around her arm; like a a bander’s jaws around a bird. His throat was throbbing something terrible and his voice came out scratched. “Hnnk, haah!” Da-mnit woman—“ He was ready to say much more to her, when he recognized a look that crossed her eyes. He remembered Lizzy looking the same way after she saw that adder in the house and latched her arms around him before letting a screech down his ear.

Fion screaming out in the middle of the street would not be good. Some noble bastard might get smart and charge in to save the damsel from the monster barkeep harassing her.

But another though pressed into the back of his mind and made the bottom of his stomach ice over. What if she was going to signal someone? She’d heard enough from him to know that he’d willingly resist seventen officers tooth and nail. Oh gods, what if she was a spy after all? The idea of it made him shudder visibly.

Talking needed to happen. Now.

Swiftly, and not altogether gently, Gannon attempted to clamp his other hand around her mouth as he strode towards the nearest alleyway. Sometimes people, even humans, even seventeen tended to look past the alleys. They kept their eyes off them as though they did not want to see, like choosing not to look at the dirt swept under the rug. Out of sight, out of mind. He hoped to the gods that he could get here there.

“Stop trying to make a bloody scene!” he hissed, trying to be secretive for the first time in the conversation. “An’ don’t even think about yellin’ t’ whoever’s out there!” Gannon was nearly mad, now. “Golly friends you know from that Uptown bar you work at? Seventen? Huh? Who you got watchen’ me an' my bar, y' little spy?”

(( Hey, if you think this post presumes too much, PM me and tell me what's what. Since we never got past your last thread in our preditermined discussion (I hate my net) I went ahead and posted this up. TTYL. ))

(( eh, I'm pretty ok with it. I think we'll need a mod soon, we're getting a bit beyond where predet covers external reaction. ))

A nasty realisation was born in Fion's head. She was going to die here, as far as she knew. She was crying now, sobbing into the hand Gannon had over her mouth until he removed it. Her nose was running, even though she kept sniffling to try to keep it back, not wanting to get Gannon any angrier.

Her thoughts were frantic, trying to think of anything that Ivan had taught her that might get her away from Gannon now, just long enough to get back to the street. She needed to get home to Piran, fucking god, what would happen to him?

She was stuck. She couldn't think. She couldn't get away. She didn't want to make him angrier but she just... She didn't know what to say. Say or do. Curse him, hit him, kick him, flee him, run, run, run.

She was shaking her head, eyes red and wild and pointed away from him. She didn't want to look at him. She wanted out. Words were floating out her mouth, almost senseless except for one that she kept repeating again and again, over and over into the night.

"No, no, no,"

A brick wall seemed to slam Gannon to a dead stop, and hearing Fion's sobs twisted his stomach into so many knots of self-loathing. Feeling her shudder with such vulnerable terror made his chest hurt.

Gods, Gannon, how could you?!

If anything made him pull up short, it was that. Out in the Hamis downpour, Gannon was already drenched. The rain felt like Hilda's slim fists, once more hitting against his tear-soaked chest. He'd been about to leave for Vienda, announced it that night, in fact. Eight years later, his cousin's words still stung him. Somehow this was the same. He was back to wounding people; same as his time in the Basin.

Carefully and slowly, Gannon pulled his hands away from Fion. He clenched them into tight fists to stop them from shaking. The big barkeep staggered back. "Gods...gods, I'm sorry Mz. Fion...." His typical barritone was a strangled croak.

Even if she wasn't Resistance, even if she was working for the Seventen or some other bunch of galdori, she wasn't the type of woman to sell a man out for a handful of concords. She would have been forced, threatened, even. She had a young son. If there was an enemy out there, prowling the Stag, it didn't make Fion the enemy, too.

"I won't hurt you...anymore," Gannon murmured hoarsly, "I'm so sorry...." He grit his teeth and wanted to vomit.

Fion was away as soon as Gannon let go of her, moving until she touched a wall, using it for balance. She wasn't sure she could go just yet. What did he want again? The street name. She hadn't wanted to give it to him.

She didn't care anymore.

"Hoskins and Bell street, go there." She croaked, voice still tremulous and quiet. "Ask for a cool glass of water."

She looked at him but she could only make it up to his feet. She couldn't raise her head anymore. He was sorry. Well bully for him. She'd believe it when he was out of her sight. She didn't care for his feelings because she was too busy with her own.

"Leave me alone." She added.

She wasn't going to be able to move, just yet. She didn't want to run past him.

Gannon felt the slightest bit of panic when she moved, only just stopping himself from reaching out again and taking her back. But he didn't. He didn't and he planted his boots firmly.



Hardly bothering to nod now that this new information had been given, Gannon looked down at the cobbled, trying to remember where exactly Hoskins was and what could be there that he should want water (and thinking that perhaps Fion was Resistance.... Gods this was a mess).

He found himself looking at the cobbles, and then, the shift of Fion's nervous looking feet. Gannon looked back up at her, wondering why she hadn't bolted like the startled doe she appeared to be. The big man stepped back slowly, trying hard to not make his massive form look intimidating. That was hard.

Hell, he wanted to say something. Sorry wasn't seeming to cut it and he doubted that it ever would. So he kept silent.

Every step away made it easier for Fion to breathe, just slightly. Soon he was far enough that she could bear to look at him. Her heart jolted for a moment when she realised he hadn't planned on going any farther.

She was angry, as much as she had energy for. She'd given him what he wanted, despite her judgement that it wasn't wise to do so. Her day had turned out fan-fucking-tastic and it wasn't even over yet. She wasn't going anywhere near him. He was too damn big.

"I'm not going over there with you here." She said, feeling all her adrenaline fall out of her like water from a net. "Are you happy? I'm gay as a lark right now, can't you fucking tell? Can I go home? I just want to go home now."

Her voice had gotten higher, more plaintive as she spoke. She was almost too wobbly to move as it was. She wanted her moment alone to compose herself enough to walk home.

Again Gannon said nothing to answer Fion. It seemed like answerless statements anyhow. She'd seemed to be pushing him back with words this whole time when physical force wouldn’t' work. It was a word wall she was constructing.

Gannon sighted into the rain as he felt it grow a little harder. He'd almost hoped that it would come down so hard that it hurt. Having something to actually fight against would be nice. The fierce desire to bridle himself for Fion's sake conflicted sharply with the urge to slam his fists hard into inanimate objects till his knuckles streamed red. He was frustrated with himself, with the situation, and even the fact that he felt so conflicted.

"Alright then..." he mumble. Gannon didn't care if she heard or not. Suddenly he wanted to go back to the Stag. Things would make more sense in there, he was sure. Unconsciously his eye flicked back that direction, his eyebrows tipping upwards in the middle.

He was unsure if he was supposed to leave and took a short backwards shuffle that wanted to turn into a walk back. It seemed that both sought to go home.

Fion closed her eyes and breathed, opening them when Gannon was truly gone. The alley felt safer without him, then slowly regained its ominousness. She swore at the cobbles, choking out every curse under the sun.

She was so tired and her clothes were drenched. She pushed herself away from the wall, wishing that she had some magic spark in her to defend herself, some strength beyond talking her way around things from time to time. She hated Vienda.

Fion walked home and did not look at anyone as she did.