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It's been awhile since the last time Sallie Reynolds has been in the bar -- at least, it feels that way, on top of the work that goes into preparing the ranch for the colder winter around the corner. Winters on Shadow are short, but very bitter.

That said, Sallie enters the bar and immediately requests a cup of hot chocolate -- coffee she can make on her own; chocolate's expensive.

"Could I ask for some peppermint in here too, please?"

When she picks up the mug, there's some peppermint syrup immediately noticable -- not to mention the peppermint swirl stick peeking over the edge of her cup.

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It's this place again. Eric Finch--looking more rumpled than ever, if that's even possible--stands by the doorway and scans the room.

Or at least, he does until the door opens again and an older lady jaunts her way in, white hair bobbing as she makes her way over to the bar and sits down. There really isn't any question of her familiarity with the bar.

And she gets chocolate--real chocolate, he can smell it when he finds a seat himself a few barstools down.

It makes him smile, to himself. And precious little makes him smile these days, to himself or to anyone else.

It's a moment before Sallie notices the uncomfortable-looking gentleman -- That man needs to never wear a suit she almost laughs to herself -- noticing her at the bar.

Chocolate and peppermint are distracting that way, and Sallie orders a second cup, without the the syrup and the stick on the side.

"Here," handing him the second cup. Authoritative, but with a smile on her face like she's got some practice ordering around people who need cheering up. "I couldn't place if you'd like peppermint, but I recommend it."

He blinks at the appearance of the cup, and takes it gently. Tea with real milk and sugar is a treat, and he usually drinks his coffee black, but he hasn't had chocolate since--

Well. Not for a very long time.

He'd rather forgotten how sweet it is.

The somewhat hangdog expression relaxes a bit into something like warmth, and he gives the lady a quick nod. "Thanks. Honestly, I don't think I could tell you myself, it's been ages since I've even had the stuff."

"That is quite the sacrilege then," Sallie laughs. "You'll have to order some from Bar and take it home with you -- if you can go home, I mean."

Putting down her own cup in front of the stool next to Finch, she extends her hand. "Name's Sallie Reynolds. Nice to meet you, Mr...?"

He nods. The door didn't shut on him the last time he was here, and the evidence points to his being able to go back through again today.

And when all that's waiting for him on the other side is a trail quickly growing cold and Dominic waiting on his word, he'll take the few minutes given to sit and have this cup of chocolate.

(He won't take it home, as a matter of fact. He'd never get out the door of New Scotland Yard before someone would confiscate it.)

"Finch," he says, finally, and takes her hand. She has a firm grip. "Eric Finch."

So does he; most back off when they're shaking hands with a woman as petite as Sallie is, and it always earns them a couple demerits on their record in Sallie's mind. She smiles wider.

"Can I call you Eric?" Sallie asks. "Folk calling me Mrs. Reynolds gives me a headache 'less they work for me. Even then I don't like it much."

"Of course," he finds himself saying, but the prospect of saying no to this woman doesn't really seem possible at all.

His own smile remains more a warmth to his eyes than a movement of his mouth, which is just as well because it seems his whole face is drooping with weariness and any upward movement would go very much against the grain. "Where do you work, then?"

It sort of figures that she's the boss lady.

Sip. "I run a ranch -- cattle and horse. Cattle's the main money, though; beefsteak's more than a little hard to come by in my end of the 'verse. Horse is far more entertaining, however."

The peppermint stick is melting, and it falls over completely into her mug. "What do you do with yourself at home, Eric?"

Eric. It's so familiar--no one at Norsefire calls him anything other than his title.

"Police work." Another sip of the chocolate, and he savors it. "I'm just a glorified detective they put up for Chief Inspector." A ranch sounds nice; he hasn't been out of the city in years.

The title Fed flits across Sallie's consciousness and she beats it back like a swear word that she admonishes Malcolm for using too much.

He's too...mussed, to be Alliance.

"Do you like your work?" Sallie asks. Attempting small talk about your conversation partner's occupation = nice and polite.

Even if Sallie's occupation is far more entertaining.

Another nod, and a hesitation. Glorified police work it may be, but Finch wasn't promoted to Chief Inspector for nothing, and there's a...something about her face that puts him on his guard.

It's a shame, really, although he can understand it. After all, he can't stand Creedy, and that's who most people in London think of when they hear about the police.

"It's work," he says, short. "But I've got some good men. Nothing like running a ranch, I suppose."

Shrugging, "There are a couple things in common, actually -- checking out the background of a buyer, making sure the seller you want to work with actually owns the property he's tryin' to sell you. That's always a big one."

Twitch of a smile.

Oh, come on -- the joke is right there.

"We both deal with a fair amount of gou shi, I imagine."

Finch looks confused at the last few words, though he'd relaxed a bit at the previous ones.

"If that means bullshit, then I'd say you're right, Sallie."

Sallie laughs brightly, managing a nod at the same time.

"Shi a. Yes. I'm sorry, I forget sometimes that not everyone understands Chinese here. It's very common at home."

"You're Chinese?"

He really doesn't think so--she sounds American, for the most part. But you go with what the situation presents you with.

"No -- I live on a planet called Shadow. It's just, where and when I'm from, everyone speaks both Mandarin and English."

"Mandarin's prettier sometimes, anyway."

"I don't doubt it." His own voice carries just an undercurrent of a rich Irish brogue, more noticeable now that he has relaxed a bit.

A planet. A separate one, called Shadow.

It's too much, at the moment, so he focuses on her other comment.

"You don't hear much other than English these days in London. It's a bit surprising to run across another language here."

Wait til he hears about the rest of the 'verse.

"London? Oh! I have a couple of friends from a London. They invited me to dinner at their house -- I really need to take them up on their offer." Beaming, "It'll be my first trek to Earth-that-Was."

Finch is faded and rumpled and arguably "old-fashioned" which has led to much grumbling behind his back at New Scotland Yard, but his attention, once caught, as still as sharp as ever.

"Earth-that-was?"

Oops?

"Well...in my 'verse? No one lives on Earth anymore. Haven't for a good long while."

"You mean to say there's no Earth...at all...where you're from?"

No Earth. That's too large. He breaks it down. No London.

No Norsefire.

Good God.

"...Yes?"

Almost apologetically, "There are all sorts of universes that meet up here. You're most like not living on the Earth from my past."

Maybe.

"Maybe."

He thinks of the terrorist called V, who has still managed to give him the slip despite making the possibly fatal judgement to bring Evey Hammond back to his--wherever.

It's a troubling thought. Nuclear war, biological weapons, any number of things could make an entire planet uninhabitable and God have mercy, most of them have happened in the last twenty years.

"I don't know if I'd be surprised if it were, though."

Sallie certainly understands

(30 Million On Miranda)

what mankind is capable of doing. She changes the subject.

"My son flies a spaceship and everythin'. Most folk I meet here think that's all sorts of interesting."

"Does he really?" She gets a faint smile in return, but Finch's mind is preoccupied and it shows. He takes another grip on his cup of chocolate, but doesn't take another sip.

Oddly, it brings up a very old, very sweet memory.

"My son who wanted to be an astronaut."

Sallie smiles a bit askance at Eric -- she pursues talking about Malcolm rather than inquiring about Eric's son, though she is far more interested at the moment in the latter topic.

The former is a bit safer.

"That he does -- been doin' so about a decade, now."

He smiles back, in that unsmiling way he has. "Must make you pretty proud. What's he do out there?"

"Freelance trade."

Too practiced, and she hopes Eric lets it slide.

It makes him chuckle, and he nods before finally taking another sip of hot chocolate.

"There's always call for that, I know."

"There does seem to be, yes," and she doesn't mention it again.

Sallie's mug is long since empty, and there are remnants of the peppermint stick at the bottom, which Sallie dumps into her hand.

"So -- " munch munch " -- what did you think of the chocolate?"

"I haven't tasted anything like it in years," he says, which is true, and his eyes wrinkle at the corners.

It was...kind of her, to buy it for him without even asking. The sort of kindness that is hard to find back in the bars of London, the sort Finch wasn't even certain still existed.

"I owe you."

And Sallie isn't hearing that at all.

"Wouldn't be alive if folk weren't nice every once in awhile to me," Sallie corrects, and it sounds like a teacher's instruction but a teacher you always felt like attending class for, "No point in owin' somebody for something that was free."

There was a point here where she stopped talking about the drink.

She did, and he heard it, and Eric Finch pauses while his eyes turn back to faded blue without the smile. He looks just as world-weary as the suit that hangs so poorly on him.

"You're right." It's all he says, but maybe it's enough. Anymore and he could lose his job.

And he's not talking about the drink, either.

Sallie stands, and she's short compared to Finch even when the man is sitting, but she smiles widely.

"It was good to meet you, Eric -- I have to head back home. I'll see you about here sometime?"

There's that faint, weary smile again.

"I'll keep an eye out for you. Take care, Sallie."

Still, his eyes follow her to the door and he has to chuckle again into his hot chocolate.

She's quite a lady.

A little blonde boy, very young, toddles over at the smell of chocolate and peppermint. He doesn't bother her, or he tries not to, anyway, but he watches the cup hungrily.

[ooc: crap! I'm sorry, I'd gone to bed long before this tag. And I am always seeming to miss your entrance posts! Can I take a raincheck?]

[ooc: noooo problem *g* I figured you'd gone to bed.]

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