Fic: Finding Love During War
Title: Finding Love During War 1/2
Author: gatechic
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Riley/Brenna, mentions of Garrett and Wyatt.
Spoilers: I don't think so, but after all this time, does it count as spoilers?
Summary: Pre-series. This would be set towards the end of Road to Nowhere. Riley meets Brenna.
Word Count: 1,189
Disclaimer: Tin Man characters belong to the SciFi Channel, RHI, Steven Long Mitchell and Craig W. Van Sickle. But Travis, Isabelle, and Garrett belong to me (and I'll even loan them out). I also borrow from L. Frank Baum, Gregory Maguire and Rachel R Cosgrove (Payes). This is purely for fun and I’m not making a penny off of this.
A/N: This is written for the BDPT and for erinm_4600. She requested the story of how Riley and Brenna met. Prompt word is 'contest'.
Anorion? What an odd name for a Winkie town, Riley thought as he and his fellow Resistance Fighters rode into the small town. The town was situated in the southwestern part of Winkie Country and even though Winkies were normally friendly, the townspeople eyed the group of riders with caution. When Riley noticed the charred marks on most of the buildings, he knew that a Longcoat patrol had visited the town. The townspeople were rightfully watchful. He saw a few buildings that looked brand new; another stark reminder that Longcoats had once searched the town, and maybe more than once.
Gods, he hated Longcoats, and one Longcoat in particular. He glanced up at the blue sky, “One day, Pop, one day”, he mumbled. He gripped one end of the long red scarf around his neck, brought it up to his face and wiped the sweat beading on his brow. “Gods, I could use a bath,” he said and gave his underarm a quick check. He made a face and looked at his horse. “I don’t know who smells worse, you or me.”
The Fighters turned their horses and stopped in front of the general store. Riley slid down the saddle and wrapped the reins around a hitching post. Men sitting on rocking chairs watched him through narrow eyes. Riley touched the rim of his hat with a finger and nodded towards the men. “May your hearth be warm,” he said, greeting the strangers in the standard way. If one of the men knew the code, the townspeople would learn very quickly they had nothing to fear from the riders. They were not Longcoat sympathizers or highway bandits. Not everyone knew what the red scarves meant and the Resistance wanted it that way.
Riley walked through the opened door and gave the place a quick once-over. The tactic served three purposes: find exits, possible hiding places in case a firefight broke out with Longcoats or their sympathizers and to find the supplies they needed quickly. Riley often thought that giving a place a once-over was a tactic taught at the Academy. He’d seen his Uncle Wyatt glance around whenever they entered a store and it drove his father crazy.
“Wyatt, relax, it’s a bakery. I’m sure the fresh baked loaves of bread are not going to attack us,” Garrett said, rolling his eyes at Wyatt’s very noticeable surveillance of the bakery. “And can we not sit at the back of the shop?” Waving his hand towards the back, Garrett continued, “I hate sitting near the kitchen, it’s too hot.”
“You just like sitting by the window, watching the women walk by,” Wyatt retorted.
“I do not.”
“Do too.”
“Do not.”
“You do.”
Garrett stared at Wyatt. Wyatt stared back. Riley switched between looking at his uncle and his father, waiting to see who would win the contest. The young Cain raised a brow just a second before the two older men blurted out in unison quickly: “Youowemeawhiskey!”
Riley glanced down at the floor, shook his head and chuckled at the memory. He raised his eyes and spotted someone watching him with arched brows. He looked around, hoping that no one else saw him or the evidence of his embarrassment glowing from his cheeks. “I uh-“ he reached behind his neck to scratch at the imaginary itch, “-was just thinking of something-“ he waved his hand, “-a memory.”
“Glad it was a funny one,” the young lady replied, placing a jar of preserves in her basket. ‘He’s kind of cute, beautiful green-eyes, nice smile, nice color in his cheeks…’ she thought as she went through her mental checklist. She turned away, ‘Be leery of strangers, Brenna,’ she heard her father’s voice in her head say. She gave him a second glance and noticed the red scarf. ‘But he’s Resistance.’ She blinked, hearing a voice speaking to her. “Sorry,” she shook her head, “-I um…did you say something?”
Riley waved his hand around the store. “I was just wondering if you knew where I could find a coffee pot?” he said, giving her a quick smile.
“Oh, um-“ she stuttered and then pointed to a general area, “-they’re over there. They have all sizes. Do you need coffee, too?” Her smile faded slightly. “Coffee is scarce around here; the Longcoats seized a supply wagon. They don’t care about the people; all they care about is making sure their troops are cared for.” She glanced at him and saw the look on his face. His eyes had narrowed and his lips pursed. “You had a bad experience with the Longcoats, too?” she asked in a hushed tone as they walked to the aisle with the coffee pots.
Riley breathed heavily, thinking back to the day his father was killed. In his dreams, the scene plays out repeatedly. He slightly nodded, “Yeah, I did,” he said, not wanting to give a stranger too much information. He gave the young woman a quick glance. Her features were soft and friendly. People who were unkind carried themselves differently and had harsh facial expressions, generally, they looked unhappy. His father taught him that lesson annuals ago and now it was very useful these days.
“Brenna Toma.” He hadn’t heard her clearly and he turned his head sharply, as if startled. “Sorry?” he questioned apologetically.
“I was introducing myself. My name’s Brenna Toma. If I’m going to give you a tour of the general store, I might as well introduce myself.” She smiled. “I don’t want you Quadlings to think that Winkies are no longer a friendly people.”
Riley glanced down and smiled. “I left my kilt at home.” She laughed and waved her hand at his clothing. “No self-respecting Winkie would do that,” she said in a tone meaning she didn’t believe he was a Winkie. “What part of Quadling Country do you call home?” She guided him down an aisle and stopped in front of the coffee pots. All two of them. One large and one small. “Have your pick, though, as you can see, we’re on short supply here.” She gave him an apologetic smile.
He waved his hand acknowledging no apology was necessary. “Southern,” he answered her question, “My family were farmers.” He glanced at the coffee pots and reached for the large pot.
His use of past tense didn’t go unnoticed. “Sorry,” she said. It was the same story she has heard one too many times: farms taken away, families split up and taken to work the mines or the factories or worse. If it didn’t happen to your family, you know someone who did.
“Kurt Steedly.” It was her turn to be off in thought when he introduced himself. “Sorry?” she asked, shaking her head.
“Well, I reckon since you introduced yourself, I should at least tell you my name. It’s Kurt, Kurt Steedly.”
She looked him over. “Uh-huh. Kurt Steedly,” she said in a disbelieving tone, but she was going to play along. It was common for some Resistance Fighters to go by a different name and she knew what the practice meant: he didn’t want to be found by anyone.
Author: gatechic
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Riley/Brenna, mentions of Garrett and Wyatt.
Spoilers: I don't think so, but after all this time, does it count as spoilers?
Summary: Pre-series. This would be set towards the end of Road to Nowhere. Riley meets Brenna.
Word Count: 1,189
Disclaimer: Tin Man characters belong to the SciFi Channel, RHI, Steven Long Mitchell and Craig W. Van Sickle. But Travis, Isabelle, and Garrett belong to me (and I'll even loan them out). I also borrow from L. Frank Baum, Gregory Maguire and Rachel R Cosgrove (Payes). This is purely for fun and I’m not making a penny off of this.
A/N: This is written for the BDPT and for erinm_4600. She requested the story of how Riley and Brenna met. Prompt word is 'contest'.
Anorion? What an odd name for a Winkie town, Riley thought as he and his fellow Resistance Fighters rode into the small town. The town was situated in the southwestern part of Winkie Country and even though Winkies were normally friendly, the townspeople eyed the group of riders with caution. When Riley noticed the charred marks on most of the buildings, he knew that a Longcoat patrol had visited the town. The townspeople were rightfully watchful. He saw a few buildings that looked brand new; another stark reminder that Longcoats had once searched the town, and maybe more than once.
Gods, he hated Longcoats, and one Longcoat in particular. He glanced up at the blue sky, “One day, Pop, one day”, he mumbled. He gripped one end of the long red scarf around his neck, brought it up to his face and wiped the sweat beading on his brow. “Gods, I could use a bath,” he said and gave his underarm a quick check. He made a face and looked at his horse. “I don’t know who smells worse, you or me.”
The Fighters turned their horses and stopped in front of the general store. Riley slid down the saddle and wrapped the reins around a hitching post. Men sitting on rocking chairs watched him through narrow eyes. Riley touched the rim of his hat with a finger and nodded towards the men. “May your hearth be warm,” he said, greeting the strangers in the standard way. If one of the men knew the code, the townspeople would learn very quickly they had nothing to fear from the riders. They were not Longcoat sympathizers or highway bandits. Not everyone knew what the red scarves meant and the Resistance wanted it that way.
Riley walked through the opened door and gave the place a quick once-over. The tactic served three purposes: find exits, possible hiding places in case a firefight broke out with Longcoats or their sympathizers and to find the supplies they needed quickly. Riley often thought that giving a place a once-over was a tactic taught at the Academy. He’d seen his Uncle Wyatt glance around whenever they entered a store and it drove his father crazy.
“Wyatt, relax, it’s a bakery. I’m sure the fresh baked loaves of bread are not going to attack us,” Garrett said, rolling his eyes at Wyatt’s very noticeable surveillance of the bakery. “And can we not sit at the back of the shop?” Waving his hand towards the back, Garrett continued, “I hate sitting near the kitchen, it’s too hot.”
“You just like sitting by the window, watching the women walk by,” Wyatt retorted.
“I do not.”
“Do too.”
“Do not.”
“You do.”
Garrett stared at Wyatt. Wyatt stared back. Riley switched between looking at his uncle and his father, waiting to see who would win the contest. The young Cain raised a brow just a second before the two older men blurted out in unison quickly: “Youowemeawhiskey!”
Riley glanced down at the floor, shook his head and chuckled at the memory. He raised his eyes and spotted someone watching him with arched brows. He looked around, hoping that no one else saw him or the evidence of his embarrassment glowing from his cheeks. “I uh-“ he reached behind his neck to scratch at the imaginary itch, “-was just thinking of something-“ he waved his hand, “-a memory.”
“Glad it was a funny one,” the young lady replied, placing a jar of preserves in her basket. ‘He’s kind of cute, beautiful green-eyes, nice smile, nice color in his cheeks…’ she thought as she went through her mental checklist. She turned away, ‘Be leery of strangers, Brenna,’ she heard her father’s voice in her head say. She gave him a second glance and noticed the red scarf. ‘But he’s Resistance.’ She blinked, hearing a voice speaking to her. “Sorry,” she shook her head, “-I um…did you say something?”
Riley waved his hand around the store. “I was just wondering if you knew where I could find a coffee pot?” he said, giving her a quick smile.
“Oh, um-“ she stuttered and then pointed to a general area, “-they’re over there. They have all sizes. Do you need coffee, too?” Her smile faded slightly. “Coffee is scarce around here; the Longcoats seized a supply wagon. They don’t care about the people; all they care about is making sure their troops are cared for.” She glanced at him and saw the look on his face. His eyes had narrowed and his lips pursed. “You had a bad experience with the Longcoats, too?” she asked in a hushed tone as they walked to the aisle with the coffee pots.
Riley breathed heavily, thinking back to the day his father was killed. In his dreams, the scene plays out repeatedly. He slightly nodded, “Yeah, I did,” he said, not wanting to give a stranger too much information. He gave the young woman a quick glance. Her features were soft and friendly. People who were unkind carried themselves differently and had harsh facial expressions, generally, they looked unhappy. His father taught him that lesson annuals ago and now it was very useful these days.
“Brenna Toma.” He hadn’t heard her clearly and he turned his head sharply, as if startled. “Sorry?” he questioned apologetically.
“I was introducing myself. My name’s Brenna Toma. If I’m going to give you a tour of the general store, I might as well introduce myself.” She smiled. “I don’t want you Quadlings to think that Winkies are no longer a friendly people.”
Riley glanced down and smiled. “I left my kilt at home.” She laughed and waved her hand at his clothing. “No self-respecting Winkie would do that,” she said in a tone meaning she didn’t believe he was a Winkie. “What part of Quadling Country do you call home?” She guided him down an aisle and stopped in front of the coffee pots. All two of them. One large and one small. “Have your pick, though, as you can see, we’re on short supply here.” She gave him an apologetic smile.
He waved his hand acknowledging no apology was necessary. “Southern,” he answered her question, “My family were farmers.” He glanced at the coffee pots and reached for the large pot.
His use of past tense didn’t go unnoticed. “Sorry,” she said. It was the same story she has heard one too many times: farms taken away, families split up and taken to work the mines or the factories or worse. If it didn’t happen to your family, you know someone who did.
“Kurt Steedly.” It was her turn to be off in thought when he introduced himself. “Sorry?” she asked, shaking her head.
“Well, I reckon since you introduced yourself, I should at least tell you my name. It’s Kurt, Kurt Steedly.”
She looked him over. “Uh-huh. Kurt Steedly,” she said in a disbelieving tone, but she was going to play along. It was common for some Resistance Fighters to go by a different name and she knew what the practice meant: he didn’t want to be found by anyone.