Participants:
| Scene Title | Your Mother |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Finn and Kara pay a visit. |
| Date | February 13, 2019 |
A house in Providence.
It’s a bit chilly out today in Providence — well, it’s winter, after all, in New Jersey which as we all know is the literal worst place on Earth — but it’s not snowing, at least, so that’s good. Thus, Max is sitting out on his porch in a very ‘get off my lawn’ type of position, except he’s also playing a guitar, so it’s a lot more inviting than that.
”I’m an old man now,” he sings as he picks out the tune skillfully, “and I can’t do nothin’.” He looks out at the path in front of the little house that’s been claimed as his own for a while. ”Young folks don’t pay me no mind.”
The house has been cleaned up quite a bit since he’s gotten it — the porch steps have been fixed, and the whole thing’s been whitewashed so that it looks a lot nicer than it had. There are flower pots on the porch, and though the plants in them aren’t in bloom right now, they look well-cared for.
“Well, self awareness is a fine start,” calls out Finn merrily enough, his usual broad grin firmly in place as he approaches from the side on a horse that looks like it’s annoyed to be out and about and carrying this lug of meat on a cold day.
The pilot, who also looks like he’d rather not be on a horse of all things, hops off with a lot less grace than he has at any other time in his life, and well aware of it. He takes the reins to loop around the rail of Max’s porch, giving the mouth of the creature a wide berth like it might bite him at any moment — and probably for good reason too. “You met Wilma yet? She’s a bitch,” he says of the black mare, who bares her teeth at him by lifting giant gummy lips.
He takes the steps up to the porch and drops into the seat beside Max uninvited, pulling out a flask and taking a sip before handing it to the preacher. “What sort of depressing nonsense is that song? And you probably think rap is terrible.”
"She's a mare," Kara provides helpfully as she slides off the side of her own horse, one who she trusts to not wander off. She's probably well-aware the term Finn used wasn't meant to be correct, but she feels the obligation to try and cover for him regardless.
Just as likely, it's just her own brand of humor showing through.
She keeps a more polite distance, standing at the bottom of the porch. "Afternoon, Max." Kara greets. You know, politely, like one would tend to do when rolling up on someone else's home. She shifts a pointed glance to Finn after, trying to keep a straight face. "I'd like to see you do any better, Shepherd. Your taste in music isn't something I'd brag about." Her expression cracks after she snorts in amusement, a small grin starting to form before she turns back to the man of the house.
Max looks up when he hears someone approaching, and a huff escapes him when he hears Finn’s words. He stops singing, though his fingers don’t stop playing. “A start to what?” he asks, as though he’s actually curious and taking Finn’s words seriously. “The downhill slide to the grave?” He doesn’t look anywhere near that level yet, though — at least, not from natural causes.
The comment about the horse can’t be let go, though. “Maybe she’s just mad at you ‘cause you don’t treat her right,” he continues with a grin, though the tone is light, pretty clearly teasing the younger man. He might’ve said something else, too, but there’s a nod to Kara instead as she comes up as well. “Hey, darlin’,” he says, “how are you?”
Through all that, he’s continued to play. “If you’re gonna come to my house,” he says as he turns back to Finn who’s now seated next to him, “you’re gonna have to listen to my music.” However, he does stop playing then, accepting the drink and taking a sip. It’s small, more in acknowledgement of the gesture from a friend than an attempt to get any substantial amount, before he hands it back. “Thank you.”
“To doing something! As opposed to nothin’. Listen, it’s your crappy song, don’t judge me,” Finn says with a laugh. He leans his head back and stretches out his legs to prop them up on the railing, taking back the flask and taking another swig. “She’s not mine. Just trying to get her broken in a little more. I prefer things with motors, most of the time.”
His green eyes narrow on Kara. “My music taste is just fine, missy. I’ve just got an eclectic taste. There’s nothing wrong with seeing beauty in the fine musical stylings of both Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody and the iconic Who Let the Dogs Out by the Baha Men. I am a bon vivant, and I refuse to apologize for it.” He offers her the flask.
“This is a pretty view,” he says, with a nod for the land laid out in front of them. “Except for the fact I’d probably murder a man for a peppermint mocha from Starbucks, I don’t much miss the city. Probably because last time I was in town, I got the shit beat outta me at Staten.”
Kara nods stiffly at Max when he greets her, not with any real severity to the short gesture. It's just how she is. "Doing just fine," she assures with that small smile, likely extended in time due to the ribbing he's been giving Finn. She does adopt a more serious expression shortly after. "Would be doing better knowing how things are around here." Her head tilts just slightly. "If there's anything needing done we can help with, too."
Her attention shifts back to Finn at that point, shoulders lifting up into a high shrug. "Eclectic is a word for it," she concedes skeptically, stepping onto the porch to accept the flask without yet drinking from it. She's not normally the most talkative to begin with, but it's like there's a sudden void of sound at the mention of Staten Island. It continues until she drinks from the flask, offering it back out to its owner. "You know, I didn't care much for Staten, either." she confesses casually.
“Hm.” The noise from Max comes after Finn’s remark about not judging him, and he levels a rather pointed look at the younger man. “There’s someone judgin’ around here, but I ain’t sure it’s me.” His tone is light, though, and there’s still a smile on his face as he reaches over to clap Finn on the shoulder, before he sets his guitar down carefully, leaning it against the side of the bench.
He leans back then, shifting to rest an ankle on the opposite knee as he turns back to Kara. “Things’re pretty good,” he continues. “Still got a few projects on my mind to do, but they’ll keep. More so the church than here. Been thinkin’ about some community projects. Might be fun. We can get DJ Solo over here to spin, since he doesn’t like my choices.” A look back at Finn then, accompanied by a wider grin.
“Staten’s not for everyone,” agrees Finn. “I can usually have a good time. Win some money. They paired me with some hot girl who fucked me up pretty good at The Crucible though. Vomiting, fever, pain. Can’t combat that with a bit of luck and a strong left hook.”
He takes the flask and takes another sip, then sets it out on the railing for anyone to grab, should they want it.
“For the church, huh? I don’t mind helping so long as you can promise me the floor won’t turn to fire and brimstone just for my walking in on it. And so long as you don’t expect me to show up for anything resembling a sermon after we’re done working,” Finn says easily to Max — he knows better, but perhaps he likes to lay out the bylaws of their friendship from time to time, just in case the preacher decides it’s time to try to take the Shepherd into the flock.
Wincing in sympathy at the description of the Crucible bruising, all Kara can do is nod. "Not sure how all that works, what the limits are, but wouldn't it have been just a lucky thing if her ability had had no effect on you?" She reaches out for the flask one more time to take a smaller sip before setting it and her own recollection of Staten aside aside.
Kara's grin returns when the conversation shifts to the community, her eyes shifting toward Finn as well. "Maybe we find you a nice turntable and everything," she remarks with a click and a cant of her head. "Make your debut something worthwhile." Head shaking, she gestures stiffly back toward Max. "Let us know, we'd be happy to help. For what it's worth, we might have a line on some solar panels. Potentially." Her mouth quirks to one side in thought before she follows with, "Depends on how reliable the source for them is, though."
Max laughs, shaking his head as he picks up the guitar again with another look at Finn. “I can only tell you I ain’t seen nothin’ like that happen in fifty-two years,” he says. “So I think you’re safe.” He starts to pick out another song now, though this time once the melody can be recognized it turns out to be Carry On My Wayward Son. Whether either of them actually recognize it is another story, but maybe they do.
He turns to Kara as he plays, continuing, “Thank you, darlin’. I will. But don’t waste solar panels on me, I can get by fine without ‘em. Sure there’s someone else doin’ something where they’d be more needed.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Finn tells Max, lifting one boot to cross over the other ankle as he leans back. Apparently whatever work they had been doing is going to wait a while.
He smiles at Kara and lifts his shoulders. “I can’t quite explain how it works, but I don’t think it can fight something like that. I get flus and colds the same as anyone else, so it’s not something internal. But if you’re shooting at me, I’m probably going to come out of it fine, or maybe with a graze or two, unless I stop trying and stand like a lame duck.”
He reaches for the flask to take another sip. “Other things — let’s say I’m playing some putt-putt and want to make a crazy lucky hole-in-one shot… that I can sometimes figure out, if I can think about it for a minute. Like shooting out those asshole’s battery packs.” He passes the flask off to Kara again. “Can’t win the lottery though. Is there even a lottery anymore?”
"Well, we'll see about that." Kara remarks about the panels and where they'd go, turning back to Finn to consider the explanation about his ability. It's not something she puts any serious amount of thought into, head shaking as she suggests, "Maybe it's just you change your own luck, then. Things that specifically relate to you? Who knows. All of that's always been a bit of a mystery to me anyway." There's a twinge of amusement in her expression as she volunteers, "I'm no scientist or anything."
She looks thoughtful enough as she adds, "Sure there's a lottery." The assertion is half-hearted. "I'm sure out in civilization they have all kinds of things back we'd never have expected. Life bounces back and normalizes easier than we ever want to give it credit for." That's more honest, and her head tilts as she thinks back on something.
“You already won the lottery, son. You get to hang out with all of us.” Max grins, adding a little flourish on the end of a guitar riff, before setting down the instrument again and standing up. “Y’all want somethin’ else to drink besides liquor?” he asks. “Water? I got some sun tea, too. It ain’t iced, sadly.” There’s a real look of sadness on his face then, as though he’s acutely feeling the loss. And there’s probably not much sugar in it, either, all things considered. “Feel like I’m bein’ a bad host. My mama’s probably rollin’ over in her grave about now.”
The sudden waxing philosophical by Kara makes Finn look her way, his head tilted a little as if he’s trying to figure out what’s worth thinking about so deeply, but then Max is up on his feet and playing proper Southern host, or trying to.
His brows draw together and he feigns a bemused look as he shakes his head slightly. “There’s something to drink other than liquor?” he asks, before the affectation falls away and his expression is broadened by his wide, easygoing grin. “It’s too cold for ice anyway, padre. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll drink a bit of tea. Might go really good with this whiskey, come to think of it.”
Finn leans his head closer to Kara to murmur, “I am trying so hard not to make a ‘your mama’ joke right now, you don’t even know.”
"Kind of you to offer, but we should be on our way," Kara says, at least before Finn starts to take up the offer for tea. She reconsiders the statement with a cant of her head and a look to him that says, Well, at least I should be. Her shoulders arch back in a kind of shrug before she breathes a quiet laugh. Murmured almost incoherently in return, she mutters at him, "Your momma doesn't have to try to not make a joke. She is the joke."
Brow arched, the quip is offered up almost as a dare to follow after her as she steps back off the porch. Get back up on the horse that hates him and have the opportunity to throw similar jokes back at her on the ride back… or stay here with the non-alcoholic drinks.
Or, you know, both. Just yell at her from the porch as she rides off.
"Always a pleasure to catch up, Max." Kara says after swinging back into the saddle, adjusting the length of the reins once she's settled. "Stay warm out here, let us know if you have any problems." Us being the group that travelled from far West to resettle in Providence. And some from farther than that.
“We have to get going,” says Finn to Max in a mimicked woman’s voice — unlike his impression of Iago, this one isn’t great, too high-pitched to be Kara’s voice, but a typical ‘shrew’ voice instead. He sighs as he pushes himself up from the deck chair and then narrows his eyes at the ‘your mama’ joke coming from the woman.
“My mother is an amazing human being who cannot be objectified by a cultural meme,” says Finn loftily, but it’s clear this too is a joke, given the smirk he wears. “Rain check on the tea, Rainy,” he tells the other man. “See ya at poker tomorrow night.”