still more than meets the eye

Who: Mickey and Feo
Where: Feo’s shop
When: late morning

As tired and sore as he was from everything, Mickey was true to his word. It wasn’t even noon before his truck was pulled up in front of the butcher’s, materials needed to repair the door loaded in the back of his truck. The limp was worse as he got out of the truck, leg sore from too much movement, not to mention the bandage around his hand and the second black eye so now both were dark with bruising. The cut over his eye was also bandaged and he looked rough, though he continued to smile, eyes bright. It was hard to believe he’d just survived another tragedy outside of the obvious injuries.

Feo had arrived at the shop early that morning, keen to get out of the apartment after the night’s rather strange encounter. It meant sacrificing sleep, but that was fine. Hardly the first time. There were plenty of tasks she could keep herself busy with, the mundane day to day runnings of the place. Hearing the truck pull up, Feo rounded the counter to meet Mickey at what was left of the door. She watched his strained walk and as he drew closer, it became more apparent that he’d obviously got himself into another round of trouble. Something she found quite interesting. “Was the black eye lonely?” she asked, bypassing a hello or bothering to find out if he was alright. He was still standing. That signalled being alright enough to Feo.

“Something like that,” Mickey said, flashing a small smile. He set down his tool box, opening it up for the crow bar to pull down the work he’d done the day before, boarding up the door. “Turns out I find trouble wherever I go.” How fitting had it been that he’d finally found his way into nicer society and he’d wound up in a brawl? It had him thinking of Eily again, and the way she’d said he looked good like that, bleeding and disheveled. He still didn’t know what to make of it, but didn’t really know if he appreciated the compliment fully.

It was almost funny. Bar his now roughed up appearance, he didn’t look like the type. Still, Feo knew enough about judging a book by its cover to understand that it didn’t necessarily mean anything. “Where did you find it this time?” There was a slight sense of annoyance in the fact that these events were somehow missing her. Apparently she wasn’t moving in the right circles.

“Art gallery down in Little Haven,” Mickey explained with a bit of a grunt as the boarding came down and he set it aside. “Went for an opening and wound up in the middle of an attack.” There was no avoiding the wince as he moved back to the truck, but he managed to turn his face away from hers. “Armed muggers. Not sure what they wanted, but...well it wasn’t pretty.”

There were few times when Feo was genuinely surprised. This was one of them. Whoever would have thought that some gallery would attract such attention? Chances were it was a one off. Otherwise she may have to start attending these things. “What happened?” A keen interest was evident in her tone. She figured it wouldn’t seem out of place as people were always wanting to know the gory details. Feo’s actual interests were just a little different from theirs, that was all.

Mickey paused for a moment, eying the woman. Her interest was curious, but not becuase it wasn’t unreasonable to ask, she just didn’t seem the type ot care. She wasn’t quite rude, but distant she was. “We were there, drinks, mingling, artwork. Whatever I suppose typically goes on at those things, and then the door opened with a crash. A stream of masked men came in, clubs and knives in hand and spread out causing chaos. Hurting people, tearing things up. Some of us fought back,” he said pausing, thinking of the kid they’d arrested who had shot people. Someone around his age, who actually looked familiar, from school he guessed, but not someone he was familiar with. “Some just got hurt.”

Sounded like shooting fish in a barrel. Most of them probably didn’t even know what had hit them. She wondered if it had been for the pure thrill of it or if there was something else at work. One had to wonder these days. Feo glanced down towards the ground. “Doesn’t seem like anywhere’s safe.” A prospect she found quite exciting. “I hope no one was hurt too badly,” she said, looking pointedly at him. Really she couldn’t care less if people were battered, bloodied or resting in the morgue. It was just a good way to elicit further details.

He glanced at her again, watching that body language, not sure what to make of it. “I don’t think it’s that bad yet,” Mickey said softly, trying to be reassuring. It was getting there though. “There were a few dead, but mostly attackers. Some were hurt bad enough to justify staying at the hospital last night,” added.

The way he tried to be comforting was sweet. What a gent. “Do you think anyone will step in before it is?” she countered. What wasn’t exactly clear was whether the question was intended to be rhetorical or a query into his viewpoint. To Feo, it was a little bit of both. “I’m sure some will find a strange solace in the attackers being struck down,” she commented. “It’s close to justice.” Or equal to it. Same difference really.

“Someone might. People likely won’t take kindly to constantly being under attack. They might rise up against it,” Mickey said. “In a way it is justice, eye for an eye. Though death isn’t really something that can be celebrated. At least I wouldn’t think so.” Life was still sacred, no matter how ill used. That was how the church taught it.

Feo had to wonder if he was naive or just hopeful. Hopeful was the better of the two. Such a shame that hope would inevitably prove to be false. “Celebrated? Perhaps not. Satisfying? Yes.” There were all kinds of satisfaction to be found in death. It was one of the most turbulent yet peaceful things there was. She had always appreciated that dynamic. “And you’re right. Chances are someone will want to take matters into their own hands. Except they may end up with more than black eyes and a few scrapes.” Which she made sound like a ‘don’t do anything stupid’ warning.

“I still hate the idea of taking satisfaction out of someone’s demise, but I don’t doubt the feeling is there,” Mickey said eyes on the door as he worked. “And no, if people rise up it could be just short of a revolution. I can hold my own in a fight, but I do rarely start them,” he said in response to her warning, smiling a little even if he didn’t turn from his handiwork.

“Better to be satisfied and able to move on than sanctimonious and grieving forever.” She watched him work with a casual interest, switching her attention between the door itself and Mickey himself. “Or a witch hunt. Mob mentality isn’t known for its rationality.” As long as it quenched that thirst for blame, put a name and face to horrific deeds, it didn’t matter much if the target was guilty as sin or a scapegoat. “Though it’s good to know someone has some sense.” How rich a statement that was coming from her wasn’t lost on Feo.

She had a point and Mickey made a mental note to pray for calm in people who were grieving. Anything to avoid a witch hunt like she said. That would be a disaster. “Some sense,” he joked. “Not much but some.” He grinned, still focused on his work, but amused nonetheless.

“Don’t knock a compliment when you get one,” she chided, a hint of amusement, albeit rather dry, coming through in herself. She quite admired his apparent tenacity, the way he was keeping on going despite recent events, and that warranted some amount of pleasantry from her.

“Alright, alright,” Mickey said, putting down his hammer and pulling out the new door handle for the door. “Not one to get many.”

Feo shot him a look. “Sounds like fishing for them.” Not that she actually thought he was. He seemed a bit too modest for that. Peering more closely at the work he’d done, she gave a nod. “Though you have done some nice work there.” Even if just the door being able to open, close and lock was good enough for her. The practical things. “Expect to be back next time something breaks.”

“Hardly. Just explaining why I don’t take them well,” Mickey said, testing the door by opening and closing it. It fit fine, which in his book was good work. “I appreciate it. Work at the garage around the corner if you need something that moves fixed as well,” he told her as he packed up the last of his things. “Probably wouldn’t hurt in investing in a chain. Harder to break them in and people tend to give up after the first kick doesn’t work.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” she said. It was unlikely she’d bother fitting a chain. Took away the element of taking care of matters herself. Though a small part of her was undeniably conscious of the fact she may not always be there and what could potentially happen. Still, there were other methods that would ensure her uncle remained reasonably safe. “If you ever come by the shop other than to repair it, I’m sure a discount could be arranged.” Apparently it was a generous day for Feo. It seemed fitting that she should offer something in return.

Mickey grinned, moving to put the tool box back in his truck and leaning against it, taking some pressure off his leg. “Good to know,” he said in regard to her offer. “It was a pleasure. Hopefully I’ll see you again soon and in better circumstances.” While from most it would be lip service the comment sounded genuine from Mickey.

Despite how nice his tone was, Feo took it at face value. It was something people said because they felt they should. “Been nice meeting you too,” she said to echo his pleasantries. “Sure I’ll see you around.”

“I’m sure you will,” he said with another smile, getting back into his truck. “Stay safe,” he added as the machine roared to life. Waving once more he pulled away from the curb, headed towards Shoshannah’s gallery.