Reggie is, on his worse days, just sort of a layabout drunk. Might he be an alcoholic? Certainly, that might be one's suspicion after exposure to him. But then he has these weird bouts of sobriety, too. His hands don't shake, and he doesn't get angry with anyone. On the contrary, he tends to be somewhat manic. It's been like that off and on for the past several weeks. He'll disappear into the pole barn, and for hours there will be nothing coming from the barn but blaring tunes from the 1940s and 30s. That, and the racket of machine tools and the crashing of steel. And then finally, today, Reggie comes waddling out of the polebarn in his coveralls, stained with paint and beaming, only to practically drag Esther back out again. He positions her in front of one of the closed garage bay doors and instructs her simply, "Close your eyes."
Let's be honest, Etsy has a casual relationship with marijuana that is more than passing, and really loves cheeroot, which has a mildly narcotic quality. These things happen when you're a high-Wyrd oracular mermaid who's worried about the fate of the ... everyone. And so when Reggie comes to drag her out, she's wearing a fluffy-comfy dress made of nicely-drapey fabric, and is mildly high on cheeroot, having had her afternoon nap in the salt water tank. "Ooooh, is a surprises?" she gasps, wrapping herself up in a warm, fluffy robe and floofing after him. The mrbl doesn't follow: it sulks in the house. It doesn't like being around when Etsy and Reggie do the Kissing Thing. Dutifully, the mermaid closes her eyes and trails light-footed after him. "Okays, is having a closed eyes!"
Reggie then rubs his hands together vigorously and waddles back to the garage door, poking in the security code. It slowly rolls upward, treating the ears to some rather loud Charlie Parker tune. What is slowly revealed to those who might be peaking is a brand spanking new bi-plane, positioned somewhat crooked in the bay so that the viewer has an ideal view of the craft. It's not a very large plane-- bi-planes tend not to be --and it doesn't look particularly built for speed. On the contrary, it's sturdy and strong and looks like it might float if you were to breathe on it too hard. Plenty of wing to weight, big plump control surfaces, and a sixteen cylinder engine fronted by a broad two blade propeller. It has been expertly painted to look something like a crashing wave from tail to nose, fading from azure blue to seafoam green to a frothy white. The roil at the cowling carries with it a sultry mermaid who perches upon the curling water like a cherry on a sundae, looking coquettishly over her shoulder. It carries the name 'Siren's Song' and has the name 'Esther Swift' painted alongside the cockpit. It has no registry number yet, not having been inspected. But what hasn't been painted the color of water gleams in fresh chrome. Except for the coning on the nose, which has a big obnoxious bow on it.
"Okay," Reggie says once the door finishes opening, "You can look."
Oh, she doesn't peek. These are important things, secrets. And so she knits her fingers together, carefully, because of the webbing, and rocks gently on her feet, back and forth, back and forth. Etsy hums to herself while she waits, rocking back and forth in time with the Charlie Parker. She hums an elaborate countermelody to the song in question, almost dancing in place and not paying much attention to anything but the song.
It's one way to make sure a siren stays distracted, put on good music.
And then he tells her she can open her eyes, and ...
... well, they don't call the noises that police use on their cars sirens for nothing. The sound that comes out of her is high-pitched and her hands start flapping and flailing and she might scare dogs if there are any nearby. And if there were any doubt as to how she feels about all of this? Her eyes have turned a color that can only be described as Carribean blue, the sort of blue that is so clean and perfect that you can see every grain of sand by your toes standing in water that blue. Reggie sees that color other times, too.
It's just usually that he sees that color riiiiight up close. And naked.
"You enjoyed flying so much, you know, and you can't exactly drive yourself around without using my car and driver, and I thought I could give you a little autonomy back. You can travel this way and that, visit other states and so on. Or just go up for a joy ride. I'll need to fly it in for an inspection and to get its registry number and so on, but since I have an instructor's license, you can come with me and we can log those flight hours towards what you will need for your own license. You'll need to practice, of course. But this baby is almost impossible to stall and hard to over-fly. I even put the rudder controls on the wheel, since your fins wouldn't make pedals very comfortable. It'll take me some getting used to, but..." Reggie could natter on for hours if he allowed himself. Instead, he removed his newsboy cap and grips it before himself with a hopeful grin, "I know it's early, but Happy Christmas."
"I can do a drives," Etsy answers, once she can breathe again. "I had to learn to do a drives to become a Couriers." Of course that's the sort of thing that she would say first. "Do not have a cars anymores, should get a cars but ... oh! Is such a way to become a flying mermaids!" Her hands clasp together in front of herself again, and she draws them up to her chest. Her eyelashes flutter delightedly, and she listens to Reggie talk as if every word that drops from his lips is a radiant ruby glowing with the might of a thousand Springy suns. "... you... you made it so... "
Her hands cover her mouth for a moment, and Etsy's eyes brim over with tears, running down her pale face, its cheeks shimmering with subdermal patterns much like scales. "... marry me," she squeaks quietly. Hopefully she means Reggie, and not the plane.
"I'm sorry, what?" Reggie knows what he heard but he's pretending he didn't hear what he heard because he's British and also an avowed lifelong rake and bachelor. Adventure is his bride! Well. Adventure and really good sherry. "Now? I haven't anything to wear. And there's no Vicar. Are there even Vicars in Vermont? We'd have to go back to England. Or into Canada. Can you imagine being married by a Canadian Vicar? Constantly apologizing and speaking with rounded vowels. Do yooou take this man, Reginoold Dangoor to be your laoowfooly wedded husband? Eugh. I couldn't get through it without laughing. Or drinking. And it's winter! No good flowers in winter, and we shan't have a wedding without proper flowers. And I need enough time to leak it to the press so that I can appear put upon when we're photographed leaving the parish, on our way to the airport for a two week vacation to the south of France for topless bathing and excellent seafood." Reggie counts on his stubby little fingers, "Not till June, surely. Oyster season. And then there's the lobster. Can't have off season lobster at the wedding, that's all anyone would talk about. Our decidedly unimpressive winter lobsters."
There's a long look from Esther at Reggie, then, and she tips her head to the side, her teeth catching her lower lip. And her eyes shift from that soft Carribean blue to their usual brackish-green, a rather confused color, as well as something close to the default green that they so often are. "... we don't have to have a doings," comes the mermaid's soft reply, almost inaudible. Because clearly what Reggie is doing is making excuses and putting her off. You know. Like every other guy has ever done.
Now it is Reggie's turn to be bemused by her reaction. "Well, if you're going to get married, Esther Swift, you should do it properly. That's all. There ought to be a ring, and announcements. Planning. A honeymoon. I have lots of important people behind my career, you know. Now that Leonardo has his Oscar, I'm sure he's waiting only to receive our ricepaper encased gilt scripted wedding invitations. He still owes me for the Aviator, you know." Reggie takes a pair of steps forward, covered in paint and clothed in the clothes of a common workman with grime under his nails and everything. "Shouldn't a fairy-tale lady have a fairy-tale wedding? What's the point in marrying rich if you can't have a truly disgusting wedding with all the trimmings?"
There's a long pause, and then Esther's lips, all soft and pale blue, part slowly. The color of her eyes slides from brackish-green back to that lovely blue that's so close to the color of the sky. On a perfect day in the Carribean, the delineation line between sea and sky is almost impossible to determine. It's that kind of blue. Fitting, really, given the givens of plane and half-breathed proposal. Her hands fold in front of herself, then drop down to in front of herself, and Etsy shakes her head a little bit. "Would marry you without one dollars," the mermaid asserts. Despite the fact that she's quite happy to let him spoil her, this is, apparently, the unvarnished Fairest truth. Her Mantle, all sprawling vines and tiny white flowers, the breath of Spring filling the air around them and twining with his own Mantle, grows and grows once she's sure he's serious about all of this. And then she realizes, folding her hands over her mouth. "Oh no! You are a traditionals! Is not supposed to be a mermaids-ladies!" What a terrible faux pas!
"Well, I don't think anyone needs to know just how modern a woman you are, Miss Swift," Reggie demures politely, taking another step or two closer to her. "It can be our little secret. It's not as though I've any family left to speak of. Not that I could invite them if I had. On account of being officially dead, and all."
Reggie and Etsy are standing just outside of the pole barn. One of the bay doors is open, and Charlie Parker music is playing over the stereo inside. The open door reveals quite a lovely bi-plane. A trainer, to look at it. All fat wings and small body, enormous control surfaces and so on. But it's freshly painted, and what isn't painted glistens in chrome. It fades from azure blue at the tail to seafoam green, then into roiling white like a crashing wave near the nose. It's been painted with a coquettish mermaid on the nose cone, and been given the name 'Siren Song'.
"Yes mama. No mama. Of course you're right, mama. Yes mama. Mama, listen, y'all don't need to, y'see, Ah'm a grown as.... yes ma'am. No ma'am. Of course not, yes ma'am. Of course." A pause as B-Ray is speaking around a cigarette - unlit, a cooler dragged behind him with fresh grilled meats and a bottle of gin, a Wal-Mart martini set, Bud on ice. The small man almost seems like a kid again as he responds to the verbal whiplashing. "Heya Uncle Ke... yes. Uh huh. Really. OK. Yeah. Sure. Yeah, tell 'em ah said .. yep. Oh Lord no, please. Tell 'er ah love her. Yessir. Course. Ayup," he says as he hands up the phone and steps in, whistling wide and low. "Look at that!" he says, "That sucker c'd rock twin fifties easy 'tween the propellers, two bomb racks, an' that paintjob!"
"You can do a proposes properlies, if wants to," offers Etsy. Well, he did just offer to do up all the pageantry, didn't he? "Am not so moderns, anyways. I am an old ladies. I am older than you ares, almost twenty years." She's facing Reggie, looking rather contrite and hopeful all at the same time. "So... um. Yes."
Etsy might have said more on the topic, mind, but then there's Billy Ray, who does apparently have living family.
"It's my plane," she half-whispers to Billy Ray, covering her mouth with her hands, as if she's afraid something will hear and destroy her plane before she even gets to fly it. "He makings it with hand controls so I can do a flyings without having to pushing a pedals with a fins."
"You can do a proposes properlies, if wants to," offers Etsy. Well, he did just offer to do up all the pageantry, didn't he? "Am not so moderns, anyways. I am an old ladies. I am older than you ares, almost twenty years." She's facing Reggie, looking rather contrite and hopeful all at the same time. "So... um. Yes."
Etsy might have said more on the topic, mind, but then there's Billy Ray, who does apparently have living family.
"It's my plane," she half-whispers to Billy Ray, covering her mouth with her hands, as if she's afraid something will hear and destroy her plane before she even gets to fly it. "He makings it with hand controls so I can do a flyings without having to pushing a pedals with a fins."
"I think twin 50's would stall her out," Reggie opines of the little plane. "She's a trainer. Good for getting from place to place, sure, but nothing like my racer or my stunt flyer. Good to see you again, Billy-Ray." Reggie slides an arm around Etsy's waist and tucks her into his side. And now she has paint on her robe, so there. "Once Etsy's got her pilot's license and logged her first hundred hours, I'll get her something with a little more kick to it. A fine thing for a courier to have, don't you think? A plane?" He seems justifiably proud of his handiwork. Trainer or not, she's pretty to look at. "All's well with the family, I trust, Billy-Ray?"
"This is amazin', Miss Etsy. Y'got yerself a fine, fine piece 'a work here," says Billy Ray approvingly. "Ah dunno, if'n ah did the right kinda ventin', it'd work out jes' fine, Mister Reggie. This is some plane, an' did ah hear proposals? Do ah gotta break out my fine china an' tuxedo cigarettes?" he asks the pair as he grins, cracking open a Bud before he grins wide at Etsy, "She's pretty'er'n sin, Miss Etsy, she's a great plane, good an' proper. Well," he drawls to Reggie, "Ah got an uncle - kinda, not blood, sorta, anyway, it's complicated. He got my mama to call, which is it's -own- thing but he jes' referenced two names, th' name of the fella in Georgia that taught me when ah came from mah Durance an' well, ah think ah may got a family member comin' down here fresh from a Durance to spend some time here. Mama don't know. She thought ah guess he was tryin' to get me to date his brother in law's daughter or somesuch. Or vote fer the Petty team fer NASCAR, which le's be honest, jes' plum ain't gonna happen! Dale Jr, son. Y'knowwhatahmean?"
She doesn't say anything for the time being, just... sort of stares, and blushes blue, the color creeping up into her cheeks, as the enormity of what she's just discussed with Reggie finally hits home. Oh, wow. Her hands cover her mouth, and she leans in against Reggie, blinking wide-eyed. "Oh, goodnesses," she murmurs softly to herself, chewing on her lower lip with her sharp teeth. "She is so prettinesses, and look, has a mermaids on!" Another slow nibble on her lower lip. "We can looks after a family members of newness," she assures Billy Ray, totally skipping the question about the proposal. Guess Reggie gets to field that one...
"We're getting married. Yes. June, probably. I need to make a big deal about it, you see. And we're planning a Honeymoon in France. No sense doing that unless you can enjoy the azure coast, you know?" Reggie makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "In any case, I quite agree with you about Dale Jr. For of a fan of European racing than stock cars, but his pit crew are quite excellent by all accounts." Reggie snaps his fingers at this point and points Billy Ray's way, "This reminds me. I'm looking to get some hedgespun weapons installed on my Fae Mount. For strafing and dogfighting and so on. Bonus points if I can dismount it from the craft and crew service it in an infantry setting. Think you could take a look at her and see what you can cook up?"
"Unc'a Ken said the young man does lacrosse an' polo. Are those even real sports?" asks B-Ray of Reggie as he finishes checking the plane out and grins at Etsy, "She's quite pretty, Miss Etsy, yer beau there did quite the great job here! An' Mister Reggie, congrats t'ya both, y'all make a fella believe in true love. As fer the weapons, a' course. We can siddown an' talk over that gin a' yers an' a Bud. Ah'll jes' need to know what kinda range and caliber ya need, rate of fire, air to ground or air to air, what kinda effective radius y'want on the mount, that kinda thing. A grin at Etsy, "And thank ya. Ah'm sure th' young man will have a tonn'a questions." A point at Reggie as he begins to make a martini - it's not great, but he watched some videos - and offers it to the other man, before offering Etsy a small plate of some grilled meats, "And ah knew ah liked ya for a good reason, Mister Reggie."
It's much easier for Etsy to just ... stand there and blush bright blue about the whole thing, apparently very content indeed. She managed to surprise herself, and then Reggie was Reggie, and also she owns a plane. Her shoulders roll back, then, and she nibbles on her lower lip before the first thing she says is, "Is not a beaus anymores, is a fiances," in correction to Billy Ray. But then she is being given meat by Billy Ray, and that quiets her up again. Fooooood.
Reggie slips away from Etsy so that she has both hands for the eating and accepts the martini with a grateful dip of the head. He takes a rather prodigious slurp of the drink, smacks his lips appreciatively, and then toasts Billy-Ray with it. "Thank you, good sir. Just the thing, now that my job in there is done. I'll be grateful for a long bath and some time to relax, truthfully. No doubt Etsy will want to take her up for a spin tomorrow." He makes it sound as though this is some imposition, though there's a glint to his smile that betrays his tone of voice. "Any idea what sort of seeming we're looking at in your incoming relative? Might do to make sure we have a tutor lined up to help walk him through at least that much."
"That ah dunno. He shoulda be here 'fore next weekend and ah may try t'reach out through my contacts in that local Freehold, still got some friends there. Ah'd like to know if'n he's comin' here cause he's havin' issues re-orientin' himself, or he got hisself into trouble, or somethin' else," he says with a smile. "She's gonna be a beaut. Lemme know when y'all go up tomorrow and ah'll take pics for y'all from the ground!" he says. A grin at Etsy, "Indeed, Miss Etsy, Fiancee INDEED!"
One hand for holding the plate, one hand for putting food into her mouth. This is how the world is. Still, she sidles after Reggie so she can lean against him while eating. It's important for mermaids to be close to otters, that's how it works. "What about a names, in case a persons shows up at doors?" Her little slippers drift ever-so-light over the floor.
"Yes. Of course. Any family of yours is welcome to stay here for as long as they need. I have no idea how you're set up for housing guests, but we've rooms with rooms inside of them that aren't being used, here. It would be no imposition, and Thurgood can see to all the trivialities of self-care, such as doing laundry and making food. It would make for a gradual transition back to self-sufficiency." Reggie gestures back towards the Georgian mansion on the hill, there. Just in case anyone missed what he was talking about. "I should probably come and SEE how you're set up, come to that. I've been such a shut in lately."
"Ah got some cots an' whatnot at Hold Mah Beer but nothin' too fancy," B-Ray agrees with a grin at his friends. Unca Ken said ... lessee, Hayden the second, called junior? Got out two weeks ago." says B'ray. Yer welcome to come by! Sides, ah got a full shop, so y'can test yer proposed weapons there."
"Need to create them first," Reggie remind him with a grin, "but that would be a good place to start, yes. I should really get my airship properly moored over the loop trod. It's safer to do R&D of hedgespun in the hedge, I've found. But it's been some time since I've fired off a few rounds for sport-- do you hunt, Billy-Ray?" The question is asked sincerely. Who knows, maybe Billy-Ray is that rare redneck that doesn't. "I'm more of a bird man, myself. Grouse, quail and so on. I have a pair of old shotguns just for that purpose. But I've not made any friends who enjoy that sort of sport. We could make the most of them and the drinks of your choice."
"Ah do. Deer, bear, fish, coon, squirrel - y'ever had a good fried squirrel, Mister Reggie? Makes a heckuva stew as well, with corn bread in a cast iron. Ain't been huntin' in a good while though, been too busy. Done duck a few times but not too often, y'd have to show me how! But ah got some shotguns that'd blown yer mind, ah'd love t'go out with ya sometime!" he adds. "Ah'd even have some of that gin!"
"Bear? Indeed. That must be quite the thing. And no, I can't say as I've ever dined on squirrel But I imagine the meat is quite rich, little fellows that they are." Reggie pauses to take another sip from his cocktail. "Well, I'm entirely at your leisure, as I've not got any filming or racing to do this time of year. Spring will see it all start up again, I'm sure. I imagine Esther would be quite fond of a large bear skin rug for our room. Might be quite comfortable."
"Squirrel is a deliciousness," offers Esther, now that she's finished eating the food that Billy Ray brought. She flitters away from Reggie long enough to put the plate on the front porch. Thurgood will get it from there, most certainly. Then she flitters back, floofing contentedly. There's mess and grime on her robe because she's been leaning on the grimey coveralls of one (1) Reggie, but, who minds that? Not a mermaid, apparently! "I do like a hunts." A flash of her bright, sharp piranha teeth. Oh dear.
"There we go. Ah'll get ya 'hind a nice .460 bear-tipped case hardened hollowpoint loadc', nice rifle, take down a heavy black bear," decides B-Ray to Reggie with a grin. "If y'get 'em in the spring - we c'n do it then - they gorge themselves on berries an' the meat is actually cherry red an' sweet, like berry marinated!" he tells Reggie. A grin at Esther, "An' we c'n go huntin', fer sure! So Mister Reggie, y'thinkin' crew served fer yer weapons on yer airship, or slaved to yer controls at the pilot's station?"
"I'd like them mounted so I can dog fight and strafe, but also able to be removed in the event we want to carry them on the ground and set them up to defend a position. I don't really have any personal weapons for the hedge, either. Come to that. I should at least have a pistol of some sort, you know? I've kept out of the hedge as a result, and I'm actually rather skilled for that sort of business, being a beast." Reggie welcomes Esther back by slipping an arm about her shoulders to tuck her in close again. "Esther comes and goes from the Hedge like it's her hobby, and here I am souring my liver in my stuffy old mansion!"
"You should learns to do more of a sneaks. I can teach you how to do a separates! And then we can go togethers." The idea of being able to Separate with Reggie makes the mermaid literally gasp with delight. "Can I help you do a learnings? Then you can come with me the way that I am having a goings!" Nothing could delight her more, apparently. She leans in against him, her eyes wide, blinking up at him.
"Sounds like y'got some learnin' to do, friend," says B-Ray to Reggie with a grin, "And pistol is easy 'enough. Something compact, but powerful 'nuff to punch through stuff. Ah c'n start workin' on somethin', ah'll get some measures of yer hand - and ah'll haveta get some time with ya at the range. It helps me t'see ya fire a pistol, see how ya fire, yer stance, it'll help me design the perfect weapon for ya." he adds.
"Not much for sneaking, darling, I'm a member of the Sacred Band of the Golden Standard. But I suppose I can give it a try. I'd still feel better with a pistol and a machine gun, you know? I'm a fighter pilot without a fighter to pilot. Seems a shame." Reggie lets out a sigh and slips back over to the key pad, poking in the code to lower the garage door again. Muffling the music and concealing the plane once more from view. "In any case, I should get inside and have myself that bath I'd been wanting. You could join me, if you liked. Once I'm clean that might actually be rather pleasant."
"Well, you can has a pistols and a machine guns, and is not always a necessaries to do a sneakings, I mean, without a Smokes, can still be seens. Is just... cannot be hits. And can put a hands through a boxes and pick things up, and can walk through a walls... you can go 'ha ha ha,'" explains Etsy, once Billy Ray goes off to take a phone call. She turns her attention toward the plane for a moment, giving it the sort of wonderfully-longing look that's everything that someone could possibly hope for in the way that a person might look at a present they've just been given. There are practically heartbubbles in her eyes. But then she looks back at Reggie, and the stars deep in her oceanic eyes sparkle quite literally. "I can give you a scrubs. I will make sure you are the cleanest otter," she trills, and the sonorous curling of her voice, the way she drops her eyelids and looks up at him through the dark fringe of her lashes, illustrates perfectly why sailors fling their ships against the rocks trying to get to sirens. She turns, then, and sways away toward the house, a little less floof when it's just her and her otter: the innocence slips just a bit, and her hips sway under her robe as she hums some absent tune that says nothing, but means exactly: Come crash on my strand, darling.
Reggie is only too happy to follow after those swaying hips. And all the rest of her, too.
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