Moments in time

Who: Marian and Harry
Where: The Echo
When: late morning

Marian had stayed up too late and followed it up by getting up too early. Tired didn’t even cover what she was feeling. She hadn’t felt like this since the last time she pulled a double at the diner, but someone had to stay and get the entire obituaries section of the paper put together for the morning edition because no one else remember and the paper couldn’t go out with a blank page. Especially when the dead weren’t honored.

Now she was going through mail downstairs, not that there would be anything for her, but there was coffee which she had in a mug that wasn’t hers, yawning as she turned over envelopes, looking for something, anything that might be interesting. Or an excuse to talk to one of the more important reporters about whatever working on.

The bustle and thrum of the Echo was astonishing to be around, almost terrifying with how overwhelming it seemed to Harry. He’d locked up his shop an hour ago, taking a drive through the city to deliver a rather expensive piece of repair work for one of the editors of the Echo, but once he’d signed in? Harry got lost, and fast.

The place was daunting, almost mazelike with the sea of desks and reporters, the flow of foot traffic, and the rows of office doors that weren’t always marked. He’d asked directions three times now, getting turned around over and over as he was told that the editor in question was on a different floor or in a different department. Eventually he’d ended up here, walking the hallway and leaning out of a rushing man’s way, bracing himself on a desk where a pile of mail was gradually being sorted. If anyone here knew where to find one specific person, it’d be someone who handled the mail, right? “Excuse me,” he said Marian’s way, perhaps too quietly, coughing louder a moment later. “Miss? I, ah... I’m pretty sure I’m lost, I’m looking for Mr. Reid, one of the editors?”

It took Marian a moment to look up, yawning again. “Hmm? Oh,” she said through the yawn. “Reid? Oh, yeah if you’re looking for him, you’re not anywhere near close. What do you need with Reid?” she asked yawning again as she turned to rest her hip against the desk. She probably could just show him where to go, but if it was good enough she’d actually go with him. Face time with the editor wouldn’t be bad.

“I’ve got a delivery for him?” Harry explained, seeming uncertain of even that basic statement with so much going on around him. It was hugely distracting, and he wanted to drop his business and just watch for a while, like a fly on the wall. There’d be a rhythm to it, a timing in the movements, or maybe just a futile rush to try and beat the clock itself. “I’m from Strange Aeons,” he said after a moment, snapping from his reverie. “Custom timepieces and repairs? I have his pocket watch here,” Harry explained, drawing open his coat to produce a neat little wooden case with silver inlaid on it.

Marian was a reporter, or she wanted to be one, which had her waiting when he watched what was going on around him. She just stayed there leaning against the desk until he explained himself. Delivering a pocket watch, that would do for now. “It’s this way,” she said, pointing over her shoulder, then leading the way. “Strange Aeons huh? Do you do the repairs yourself or just the deliveries?” she asked also leading into something close to an interview. She was curious and she was still looking for that next great piece.

Slipping the case back into the overlarge pocket under his coat, Harry smiled faintly as he straightened up, hiding a wince behind the smile. “I’m the owner, actually, Harry Worthing,” he introduced with a curt nod for Marian. “I also do the repairs, yes, and for our more expensive orders I personally ensure delivery.” He certainly didn’t look like much of a businessman; Harry had a perpetual look to him that suggested wrinkles. In his clothes, his smile, you name it. “And I doubt he’ll have time for me with how busy this place seems, but I’d hoped to ask Mr. Reid about the watch. It’s a remarkable piece, once the face has been taken off,” he explained, stating to trail along with Marian.

Marian tried not to judge the book by the cover, but he certainly looked a little worse for wear. “Owner huh? That’s very interesting,” she said. “Marian Grady,” she added, giving him a sweet smile as she walked. “Remarkable without the face? I’m not sure I understand that.” The look on her face, was one that was open to hear his explanation, interested despite the dark circles under her eyes.

Was she just being polite? Outside of others in his field of expertise, Harry didn’t exactly meet many people who asked about his work, period. “It’s very nice to make your acquaintance, Ms. Grady,” he said first, definitely mindful of everything around them as he followed along. “And I suppose it’s hard to really explain well, but this watch has some fascinating mechanisms to it. It’s clearly an heirloom, but the winding spring maintains as well as a pocket watch you or I might purchase today. More strangely, the toothing of many of the gears suggests German construction as opposed to Swiss.” And that was why most people didn’t ask, because only a small set would find the contrast in German and Swiss watchmaking interesting the way that Harry did.

After he started to explain it to everything in Marian to keep that attentive ear and the interested smile fixed in place. Luckily she’d picked up a knack for hiding whatever she was really feeling or thinking, so she kept the smile there even if the entire time he spoke she was completely lost. “How can you tell the difference?” she asked, still sounding genuinely interested. That seemed like the right line of questioning here.

“Practice,” Harry answered quickly, grinning a bit more earnestly. “It’s a common agreement that Swiss work is the finest, most precise and accurate in the world, so when you learn the trade it’s good to study what you can from them. They have several identifying traits in their gearwork, from the number of regulating gears powering the second-hand to the teeth in each gear to the number of coils in a spring. Really, most prominent nations do, so when you’ve worked on enough pieces, you learn the signs.” He’d been something of a special case there, too, absorbing so much in the two years since he left the service, but that was why Harry had the reputation that he did. He’d earned it. “It’s very dry, meticulous work, and it makes me a poor guest for social niceties? But I enjoy it.”

His grin inspired one of her own, nodding along with him as he went through the explanation. It didn’t make any more sense than what he’d said before, but she was trying to understand. “What matters is that you enjoy it,” she told him as the buzz of the room started to slack off a little as they got towards the offices along a back wall. It was still busy, but it wasn’t as hurried, just because there were less bodies to create the buzz. “You’ve been doing it for a while then?”

The setting was fitting, given how Harry was starting to feel like he was being interviewed. He didn’t mind it necessarily, it was just odd. He hadn’t been given this much direct attention since the VA hospital. “Not too long, really. I’ve had my shop for about two years, before that I was enlisted. My service time was good for mechanical know-how, and afterwards I was lucky enough to refine it.” And he was grateful, no doubt. His injuries ruled out most other lines of work, so being self-sufficient was a godsend.

“Two years doesn’t seem like enough time to learn how to tell the difference between German and Swiss mechanics,” Marian commented, light smile playing on her features. “My brother served in the war as well, he’s home now because he was injured. I don’t know if he’s found his calling yet like you have.” She wondered often if Roy would ever fully adjust to being back, but she wasn’t rushing him. What he survived wasn’t easy, she got that much from his letters, nor was it easy to deal with the aftermath of what happened while he was gone. If he’d just slipped back into his normal life without batting an eye she’d be more worried about him.

“Two years of specific time spent there is a surprising amount,” Harry corrected, “Especially if I’ve worked with other mechanical devices prior. Which branch did your brother serve in?” He was grateful for that tidbit, something personal he could actually ask after instead of just flailing like he tended to when he ran out of things to say. “I was an Air Force man, myself, but I know we have veterans from all branches in the city. Many of us tend to meet for drinks down at a small pub in town.”

“What other mechanical devices?” Marian asked, keeping up her line of questioning even if Harry had asked about her. “Roy was in the Army. He jumped out of planes.” She didn’t know everything about what her brother had been up to during the war, but they had written letters back and forth, though she was sure he glossed over the war as much as she had glossed over what was going on at home. “Roy Grady, if he’s part of your crew, but I don’t know if he would be or not.”

Shaking his head at that assumption, Harry had to smile faintly over the idea that servicemen like him all knew each other. “No miss, can’t say I knew him. But our craft was a bombadier, not a deployment. And I worked in a munitions factory before that, which is where I learned most of my trade,” he explained curtly. It had been much more life-threatening work, too, at least with the knowledge that the things he built here could end lives.

Marian nodded, not thinking that Roy would know Harry. “A munitions factory?” she asked. They were at Reid’s office now, but she was still interested in the conversation, and she wound up leaning against another abandoned desk, watching him while she sipped at her coffee again. “As in making ammunition? Or bigger?”

It wasn’t that Harry was rude or inept at being social, though he did have the odd trip-up when dealing with people. But with how busy the building had seemed in the other spaces, he was surprised that Marian had the time for such a leisurely talk. The clock was always ticking, after all. “Bigger,” he confirmed, “I worked on explosives that bombers like the one I’d serve on generally dropped, and clearly had some talent for it. When I was promoted to Specialist, I was given a detail on a flight crew.” And okay, maybe he was a little stilted when it came to being social; Harry definitely lacked ease as far as talking about himself.

Marian took a moment for that to settle in, that the awkward watchmaker in front of her used to build bombs. It didn’t quite seem to fit him, but then sometimes it still surprised her that Roy jumped out of airplanes. War must do interesting things to people. Nodding, she smiled at him again. “From bombs to pocket watches. Definitely an interesting progression. That’s Mr. Reid’s office,” she said, pointing her coffee mug towards the door in the wall near them. “Don’t let him yell at you. It was nice meeting you Mr. Worthing.” Marian stood up straight, moving to the door to knock on it for him.

And just like that, for whatever surprise he’d felt? Apparently it was over, and Harry knew he’d be back in his insular, measured and metered world again in no time at all. It wasn’t necessarily welcome, but he wouldn’t complain, either. “Pocket watches are far safer,” Harry insisted with a polite smile, nodding gratefully to Marian. “And thank you for your help, Ms. Grady. If you ever find yourself uptown, feel free to visit the shop.” He didn’t expect it, not with how strange it must’ve been for her to guide him along. Oh well. Digging out the case again, Harry stood expectantly as he waited, slipping on an expression that was only responsive to the passage of each minute.