[OTA] To The Day

[intotherough]

Thirty-eight years ago in Aberdeen, Scotland, Benjamin Caillean Mackinnon was born to Anthony Mackinnon - a cardiologist affiliated with the hospital his only son was born in - and Sine Barrie Mackinnon, a historian. The date is no secret, and was neatly noted by the Diamond who met him at the Castle four years ago, when he arrived in Deck.

Still, Ben isn't really one for throwing a birthday parade, and so he's gone through his day the way he goes through all his days. Up in the morning and out with Charlie, because that dog has more energy than Ben does even under the influence of an entire pot of coffee. Then to the pub, to frown at inventory and the books and open the place up in time for lunch business. Then he's largely busy; his birthday went and fell on Friday this year, after all, and that's the day that everyone seems to be coming by.

Sometime in late afternoon, though, he leaves the pub in the semi-capable hands of his cook and goes for a wander in Town. He might buy himself a book or a blade, or just end up at one of the cafes for tea and - probably, because he was human - cake. He does have birthday rituals, even if they're not flashy ones.

One of them involves not working the entire day.

Comments

[intotherough]

There's a brow arch at that. "You think not?" He asked. "Murder rates are more'n a bit higher Outside than they are here."

[messire_messer]

"Also spread out over a much, much larger population, I think. And a grossly larger area." Such an angelic smile. Scallions are still capable of that. "I expect it must be different for different places, or classes or some such."

[intotherough]

Rates were, Ben knew from personal experience, calculated as a ratio of homicides and population. But he also suspected that arguing with Rap was akin to arguing with a Joker. Pointless, in a word, unless one wanted a headache. "Oh, certainly," he says dryly. "Different in places where firearms are allowed too, of course. And where one might might certain tensions. All sorts of variables, really. It's complex mathematics."

[messire_messer]

What a magic word, Ben. Look how it makes his expression curdle. "I'm sure it would graph out beautifully if anyone cared to. One of those auto-graphing doohickeys. Always my favorite part of that subject."

[intotherough]

It's truly magical. Ben hadn't been sure anything would, when it came down to it. "I'm certain that there's just that sort of thing precisely for that purpose." Beat. "Not a fan of lines and standard deviations, I take it."

[messire_messer]

His tea is not making his expression any better, alas. "Standard deviations are distinctly the work of the devil, didn't you realise?" Or, well. The work of the fiendish-minded. Close enough.

[intotherough]

"I've a history degree," Ben says. "Only had to take one statistics class to fulfill my mathematics requirement. Still, I expect they have their uses." This entire defense of mathematics?

An exercise in trolling.

"I've heard it's useful in building, for instance."

[messire_messer]

"I'm aware. It remains a blessing that I've not done anything more complicated than division so far in the bridge planning." So noble. So tragic. He is doing a service to the community with his work.

"Anyway, people have been building for years without need for anything a thirteen-year-old wouldn't know."

[intotherough]

"Do you really think so?" Ben said blandly. "Well, I daresay we'll see when your bridge goes up."

[messire_messer]

Huff. Huff and huff and more tea. "With your help, I'll remind you."

[intotherough]

"Aye, 'twill certainly have the most artfully carved posts of any bridge ever built," Ben says agreeably. Whether it would stand...

Well, it probably wouldn't, since neither one of them know what the hell they're doing.