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(no subject)

Who: Everyone. New Feathers! Old Feathers...?
What: New Feather welcome party.
When: 18th, 6 pm onwards.
Where: Welcome Centre.
Summary: This is a party. There's food and games (if you like) but the idea behind it is basically to mingle mingle mingle. Maybe make a new friend/enemy/frenemy or two?
Rating: G-PG 13 at most? There might be kids in these things, man.

The all-day rain outside makes the entire atmosphere a little drippy, a little wet, a little miserable. But rain or not, the party must go on! Or at least, so the saying goes.

It's a cosy little setup-- food, warm drinks, tables and chairs to lounge around in. So come on in, dry yourself off, have some fun. Why the hell not? The weather outside is frightful.

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"Yeah, little overwhelming at first. You get used to it, though, being around it long enough. Chicago can be a lot worse than this sometimes."

Y'know, Dresden. I met a lady from that self-same American city just the day after I met you.

Well, there's a twist. Either there were three people from Chicago here, or...

"What was her name?"

...Miss Molly Carpenter.

"Huh. Small world."

... Small world, indeed.

...Met her as well, Dresden?

"Yeah, you could say we're acquainted."

[ curious: ] Before now, you mean?

[ because. chicago. ]

"Oh, only about ten years, now."

I gave him a grin. "Daughter of a friend. Worked with me, back in Chicago."

Ten years. Blimey.

"What? With, err, helping people?"

"Yeah. Sort of been teaching her the ropes for a couple years now, and she's already better at some things than I am. And she makes one hell of a cup of coffee, as long as you ask nicely and she doesn't think you've had too much caffeine."

Just never, under any circumstances let her cook for you.

"Coffee, eh?"

Maybe he should ask the woman for a cup of coffee. Sharpe was often more of a tea man himself, of course. But he and Molly had already done tea together and perhaps he had made the wrong choice in suggesting it. "That a large part of yours and hers occupation?"

"Trust me, it's vital to the process."

Despite Molly's insistence to the contrary. Orange juice. Honestly.

The process. Of helping people.

"The pair of you don't run a hotel, do you? Together?"

SHOT IN THE DARK. AND YOU'RE TO BLAME. YOU GIVE DETECTIN' A BAD NAME.

"No. What? No!"

Hmm. Alright. Playing coy wasn't gonna cut it, and I felt bad lying when I didn't have to. So, he'd have to settle for the truth with the squicky bits trimmed away.

I could work with that.

"Okay. Basically, we're like... private detectives. We work for people who have cases the police can't deal with. Actually, the police hire us in sometimes as well."

"Intelligence officers."

He got the wrong picture. As usual.

"Uh... sort of?"

I kinda disliked being thought of as a spy, but.

"Alright, here. Lemme give you a for-instance. A guy gets killed. They have no idea how. They call me in, I investigate the scene, maybe spot something the police can't. Or, like, somebody goes missing, and the police don't have the man-power to try and find them. Somebody could hire me to go track them down and make sure they're not staring down the business end of a gun. Right?"

"Then why haven't you simply joined the bloody police themselves?"

It was a bit of a straw question. Sharpe could understand the desire to work outside of regulations -- but he dutifully played dumb in order to coax Harry's reasoning out of him.

"Don't really suit my style. More effective solo- or working with Molly, as mentioned. Besides, there's a whole mess of other stuff the police are expected to do that I don't want to deal with. Paperwork, arresting people, testifying in court..."

Dealing with perpetrators who swear in a court of law that I conjured a gust of wind to trip them...

Paperwork. Ugh. Sharpe could sympathize with that distaste.

"Then you made the proper call."

"I haven't had a reason to regret it yet."

Well, okay, no.

"... Let me rephrase that. I haven't yet had a reason to believe I would have done better any other way."

That customary smile-that-wasn't-quite-a-smile.

"Sounds familiar."

"Why am I not surprised?"

I shrugged.

"Nah, I guess I've done a lot of good. It's just sucked beyond the telling, sometimes."

"Is it ever any other way?"

A rhetorical question; as far as Sharpe's concerned, doing good was a trial. If it was easier, everyone would do it.

"If it is, I don't remember when it was."

Of course, it could just be me. Michael Carpenter did good without fail or flaw. He was possibly the most selfless, loving man I'd ever known, and yet he still managed to have a full, rich life. Enough financial security to live with his family in comfort without excess, a functional and loving relationship with that family, a great wife, great kids, and a sense of rich, lasting peace.

The only times it ever went horribly wrong for him, I tended to be involved. No wonder his wife used to hate me.

"Couldn't live with myself the other way around, though."

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