"Yeah, no problem." Barney tore his eyes away from the house to see Gabe using Skull as support, and an unwarranted smile flickered over his face before he turned away. "Thank you for that game. Most of my fares don't say anything. It can get lonely."
"Most cab drivers don't respond too well to questions," Skull replied. "And I had one verbally attack me a while back because I forgot the tip. Little too busy chasing a criminal, unfortunately. I like you, Barney."
Barney blinked. "Uh, thanks. I like you guys too." He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, and then added, "maybe I'll see you at the carnival?"
"The carnival. Yes. Perhaps. Ah, thank you, Fletcher. Sixteen euros?"
Fletcher had, as far as Barney was aware, suddenly appeared at Skull's elbow. Blimey, the kid was fast. Barney hadn't even seen the teenager run back up the path. "Yep. Sixteen euros and twenty-four - "
"Here you go." Skull pushed a single note into Barney's hand. "Keep the change. Use it to buy something for your children at the carnival. They probably need it."
"My children?"
"Yes. Unless it's just one child, which does make more sense. Oh, come on," Skull continued, probably in response to the expression on Barney's face. "Why else would you go to a carnival? And working as a cabbie isn't exactly lucrative. Consider it a gift for a thoroughly enjoyable ride. I wish you the best of luck."
It wasn't until the three of them were halfway up the path that Barney, stunned and confused, glanced down at the note in his hand. Fifty euros. Fifty euros... he made a noise he couldn't quite identify, bit it back down, and swallowed past the sudden dryness in his throat.
Allie would love to hear about this. The crazy trio of generous carnie folk who moonlighted as detectives and happily involved complete strangers in their games. Maybe Barney could try to weave a story out of it. Or, more likely, his daughter would.
The fifty-euro note still clutched in his hand, Barney put the car in gear and slowly drove off, feeling very different in a way he couldn't even begin to describe. More... hopeful?
~~
For a moment, the permit swam into the priest's mind, but he impatiently dispelled it. Someone going through a crisis of faith would always take priority over paperwork that shouldn't even need to be done in the first place. "I have as much time as you need," he assured the man - Solomon. If the name was anything to go by, Solomon Wreath's parents had believed, or at least knew something of the Bible. That probably meant Solomon had just been through some personal trauma, likely involving a death, which left him with nowhere else to turn to.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Father O'Reilly began. "Having questions is something I'm certain a lot of people can say. It's only natural, and it's the first step in any process. Would you like to take a seat?"
no subject
"Most cab drivers don't respond too well to questions," Skull replied. "And I had one verbally attack me a while back because I forgot the tip. Little too busy chasing a criminal, unfortunately. I like you, Barney."
Barney blinked. "Uh, thanks. I like you guys too." He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, and then added, "maybe I'll see you at the carnival?"
"The carnival. Yes. Perhaps. Ah, thank you, Fletcher. Sixteen euros?"
Fletcher had, as far as Barney was aware, suddenly appeared at Skull's elbow. Blimey, the kid was fast. Barney hadn't even seen the teenager run back up the path. "Yep. Sixteen euros and twenty-four - "
"Here you go." Skull pushed a single note into Barney's hand. "Keep the change. Use it to buy something for your children at the carnival. They probably need it."
"My children?"
"Yes. Unless it's just one child, which does make more sense. Oh, come on," Skull continued, probably in response to the expression on Barney's face. "Why else would you go to a carnival? And working as a cabbie isn't exactly lucrative. Consider it a gift for a thoroughly enjoyable ride. I wish you the best of luck."
It wasn't until the three of them were halfway up the path that Barney, stunned and confused, glanced down at the note in his hand. Fifty euros. Fifty euros... he made a noise he couldn't quite identify, bit it back down, and swallowed past the sudden dryness in his throat.
Allie would love to hear about this. The crazy trio of generous carnie folk who moonlighted as detectives and happily involved complete strangers in their games. Maybe Barney could try to weave a story out of it. Or, more likely, his daughter would.
The fifty-euro note still clutched in his hand, Barney put the car in gear and slowly drove off, feeling very different in a way he couldn't even begin to describe. More... hopeful?
~~
For a moment, the permit swam into the priest's mind, but he impatiently dispelled it. Someone going through a crisis of faith would always take priority over paperwork that shouldn't even need to be done in the first place. "I have as much time as you need," he assured the man - Solomon. If the name was anything to go by, Solomon Wreath's parents had believed, or at least knew something of the Bible. That probably meant Solomon had just been through some personal trauma, likely involving a death, which left him with nowhere else to turn to.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Father O'Reilly began. "Having questions is something I'm certain a lot of people can say. It's only natural, and it's the first step in any process. Would you like to take a seat?"