On the edge

Chapter 2: All the good stories

Another week had gone by absolutely eventless, and since February wasn't really the best time of the year for businesses whose survival relied for a great deal on tourism, there were moments when Sue seriously thought about what other jobs she would be accepted for with a high school diploma and an uncompleted Bachelor's degree in marine biology.
"Maybe I could move to London and work for Sea Life," she thought.
"Like, feed the fish or something. Nobody needs a degree for that."
It did sound like an actual plan to the young woman, but upon looking at her father's portrait, she postponed it for... Well, later in life. For when everything and everyone else would fail her.
"And who would listen to Jim's strange stories?" she reasoned with herself.
Only yesterday, he had told her about how much he hated it that such an obnoxiously arrogant character as James 'Jim' Moriarty did not only have the same first name as he did but also went by the same nickname; and how relieved he had been when said villain had shot himself; just before becoming aware of how wrong that sounded.
"Not like I was relieved that someone died, God no!" he had tried to explain himself
"It's just like, you know, he's so very detestable and-..."
"It's a movie Jim, I get it," Sue had cut him off and tried to calm him down.
"Don't worry, I'm not thinking that you're some kind of bloodthirsty psychopath just because you were cheering at the death of an antagonist on TV," she had said.
"Series," Jim had corrected her.
"What?"
"Series, not movie. In the movie, the latest version, Moriarty falls off a balcony and, at least supposedly, drowns," he had told her, and Sue could only frown, for he had absolutely and completely missed her point.
"He would probably start talking to himself and go completely crazy," Sue thought.
Then again, maybe he did speak to other people, and she assigned a bit too much importance to her role I his life; whatever exactly it might have been.

"You're still hanging out with Jimbo-Weirdo?" a young woman inquired.
She was of the same age as Sue and had long, mahogany brown hair, to which her warm, azure-blue eyes stood in great contrast. She was slightly taller than her red-haired friend and slim, skinny even, in comparison to Sue, who immediately denied any relationship with James.
"We're not hanging out!" she exclaimed and took a few big gulps of her beer.
The two were sitting in the tiny bar they had already been going to when they were still teens. It was a small establishment with half a dozen stools at the bar and about ten tables with three chairs each. The interior was almost entirely made out of wood, and Sue suspected that it had simply never been refurbished since its building in the late nineteenth century. On one of the walls hung a fishing net and on another a ship's steering wheel and the portrait of the Captain of said ship. According to legend, Sirens lured the poor man too close to the cliffs; he and all his men drowned; all but one, the Captain's first mate, who was saved by the youngest of the Nymphs. Apparently, that first mate immediately fell for the beautiful creature and convinced her to join him for a live ashore. He took her as his wife shortly after and they had many children; some say ten, others say twenty – at least. And ever since, the coast of Dover was safe for ships to travel; as the Sirens no longer sang but wept and mourned the loss of their sister instead. The bar owner, now around fifty years old, liked to tell the story to travellers and tourists, and some surely believed it. Besides that, he, namely Brian Thorpe, had always been the bad uncle kind of person. He'd let the kids have a beer or two and never tell a parent. He'd give out cigarettes too, which probably was a rather irresponsible thing to do.
"He just comes in to get some water, that's all," Sue said.
"But you do talk," the brown-haired insisted.
"Of course, we talk, Joanne," her friend replied a bit nervously.
"He went to school with us and has been buying his lunchtime water bottle at my father's shop for fifteen years now. I honestly think it would be absurd to not talk to him, and very strange; not to mention impolite."
Joanne thought about Sue's words for a short moment before replying.
"True," she admitted.
"And if he ditched those glasses for a pair of contacts and did something about the hair, he'd be quite a bit of eye candy too," the brown-haired added.