Sitting on the Dock of the Bay

Title: Sitting on the Dock of the Bay
Time Period: July 18, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: They say there's a fine line between genius and insanity.

Twilight in these summer days comes late; the sun has finally sunk beneath the horizon, taking with it that ridge of gold and leaving only a blue sky that deepens from a deep periwinkle in the west to indigo in the east. Most of the shipping boats have returned but for the stragglers; most of the men have gone home to their wives or to the inn for a drink. It's quiet but for the keening cries of seabirds and the constant lapping of the water at docks.

Beisdean walks along the harbour road and seeming to murmur to himself now and then, or shaking his head to some query or another; a nod, a shrug.

Out on a dock, Idgie sits alone with her guitar on her lap and bare feet hanging off the edge to dip in the water. The music is a slow, haunting tune and quiet, as if she were playing for the water. But in the near emptiness, it carries all the same.

She notices the murmuring as he passes her, and she watches him or a few moments, head tilted. "Hey," she calls out to get his attention, "You lost?" Not that she knows Dornie all that well.

Somehow in his dialogue with seemingly himself, he hadn't noticed her, despite her music drifting along like fog on the water. He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them and chuckles. "Hard to get lost here," Beisdean says, the words clear, no longer as hushed as they were a moment before.

"Lived here most my life." He watches her for a moment, before adding, "You're new," he adds, suggesting not much else is.

"Only to Scotland," Idgie says with a grin. Her fingers play just a few more notes, slowing down to a stop as she looks him over. Approvingly, apparently.

"I always heard only two types of people talk to themselves. Geniuses and folks with a troubled mind. The cure for both is the same, though." She nods toward the spot next to her on the dock, a silent invitation to accompany her words. "Distraction."

"A bit of irony in that," he says, regarding the solution, but he moves to sit beside her, glancing with interest at the guitar. He crosses his ankles and rather than dangling feet in the water, resting his elbows upon his bent knees.

"You talk," he says after a moment, "like the people in the movies." He's more well travelled than many a Dornie citizen, having been to and from from England a couple of times now, but he hasn't met anyone with quite her brand of accent.

"Trouble and genius, they both need a break now and then." Idgie chuckles, amused and most certainly making up her bits of wisdom as she goes. Which is probably why she's amused.

His observation widens her smile as she nods deeply. "That's a touch of coincidence, since you look like the people in the movies." It's a compliment! "What kinda movies you got out here, to hear an accent like mine?"

"I may have a bit of both, but I actually wasn't talking to myself," he says, grinning a bit at what seems to be a compliment. "Well, you don't sound like all of them. But we have 'Some Like it Hot,' 'Mama Mia!,' 'The Godfather Two,' and 'The Good the Bad and the Ugly.' You sound like some of the people in those, maybe. More than we do here, anyway. There's another one, but it's Chinese. You don't sound like them."

Blue eyes look up from where he'd been watching the water to peer back at her. "America, then? You're a long way from home"

For a moment, Idgie takes a glance around the area, seeming genuinely curious. "Well, I guess we'll have to test your genius some other way," she starts, a little distracted, but she turns to focus back on him again, "Just who were you talking to, then?"

She leans an arm on her guitar, laughing a bit at which accent she doesn't sound like. "Long way from my origins, yeah, but I think of myself like a snail. Carrying my home with me."

Her question is left aside for a moment, as he chooses to focus on her simile. "A small estate then, or at least a very lightweight and portable one, aye?" he asks, with a smile. "I understand. My horse and my books are all I require, really, to consider myself home anywhere. Or at least as much of a home as I ever can hope for." If he plans to explain that, he doesn't, perhaps distracted by the sudden sound of Darklight's voice in his head.

You leaving someone out of that list, brother?

Beisdean chuckles and looks to the sky where he knows the familiar is soaring in some avian form. You're a given.

Blue eyes return to her face. "As for who I'm talking to — you'd find out soon enough, I'm sure, though I rather like talking to someone who thinks it's because I'm a genius. It's a shame to ruin the illusion so soon."

"Small, but welcoming, I like to think." When he gives his list, Idgie smiles a little softer. "Guitar, my rabbit's foot, two things I can't go without for too long. Can't say I ever saw a book, though." It gets a whistle, that he has more than one, even.

She laughs as he goes on, her head nodding in understanding. "Fair enough. I promise when I find out, I will still consider the possibility that you have a bright mind up there. At least until you prove me wrong," she adds with a tease.

His smile broadens at her whistle, and he shakes his head. “It’s about all I have of any worth. I used to keep shop, where I lived last. Books, you know. Making and repairing them. It was a good job for me — mostly quiet work, and always something to read.”

Beisdean nods to the guitar. “You play well. Or at least as well as I’ve heard anyone play, which is a fine but short list. What brings you to Scotland, or Dornie in particular?”

"Ah, see, it's all I have of any worth," Idgie says with an affectionate pat to the guitar and a crooked smile in his direction. "Music and woodwork, my eventual legacy. Books sticking around, that'll be yours, huh?"

The complement draws a wider smile out of her, and her fingers slide gently over the strings. "Been learning since I was a little thing. And traveling, well. Got lots of time for practicing." Her smile turns more amused as he goes on, and she lifts her eyebrows playful as she replies, "A boat, mostly."

The quip makes Beisdean chuckle. “Well, I didn’t think you came in on the wings of a dragon, lass,” he replies, but then unfolds his long legs to stand.

He tips his head to where the inn’s lights glow in the distance. “I’ll buy you a drink, and you can tell me more, aye? Or at least get off the water here before the fog rolls in to ruin your small estate.” The guitar, he means.

A hand is held out to help her up.

Idgie looks at the offered hand for a brief moment before she takes it to pull herself up. Her shoes must be elsewhere, because she leaves her feet bare and dripping. It's possible she didn't plan on being out all that long.

"You talked me into it," she says with a light smile. "Inviting me to talk, you may live to regret that. Especially after a drink." But she doesn't seem too serious about that warning. There's time for a last glance over the water before she follows Beisdean off toward the inn.