Teague's clear, strong voice rang in the air, as he sang a song known only to himself and his guitar, Lucinda. The lyrics were strange, and half the time they didn't rhyme, but the voice singing them was downright enchanting.

Sitting cross-legged on the cold sidewalk, playing and singing, with his guitar case open beside him in case anyone wanted to make a donation - Teague couldn't be happier. He was slouched over his guitar while his fingers danced on the strings, his windblown black hair bobbing along with the tune. He had on a simple t-shirt and jeans, both torn and faded, and his sneakers sat, empty, behind him because he'd gotten tired of wearing them.

His blue eyes were, at the moment, hidden by his hair. They might not even be open. He was having such a good time, he could maybe be forgiven for singing with his eyes closed.

Isn't normality a lovely thing?

Dave was taking a walk--a long one--because his bike was out of gas. Actually, he was walking to the gas station, after stashing the bike somewhere that it (hopefully) wouldn't be stolen. It did have an alarm, and it was pretty well safe, as it was locked up. So he wasn't too worried.

Thus, as he wasn't worried, he paused to listen to the singer on the street corner. Now, Dave himself doesn't sing, but he does know a thing or two about music, and he can tell that this guy's pretty good.

His hair's buzz cut--and we needn't explain why it's so short, unlike his old haircut--and dark brown, the same color as his eyes.

He tossed a five dollar bill into the guitar case.

"Not bad." His voice might remind Teague vaguely of Alexander, if he talks much more.

Teague paused in his singing long enough to say, "Why thanks,-" and then paused long enough to stare at Dave, eyes slightly narrowed and a searching look on his face. "Don't I know you...? Or someone like you?" he asked, tightening his grip on Lucinda.

"No, don't think so. 'less you've come to performances over at the Bay Street. 'm a tech, over there." It wouldn't surprise him; he'd probably seen most of the city's inhabitants at one point or another.

His inflections are occasionally similar to Alexander's, but not at the moment. Can you really imagine Alexander Barclay saying anything with as many contractions and dropped sounds as all that?

The good professor used to scold Dave for that rather a lot.

"I haven't been there in the past few years," Teague shook his head, still frowning as he scrutinized Dave's face. His eyes lit up in recognition. Though not a pleasant connection to have made, he was glad that he'd figured it out. Or thought he had.
"Would you be related to a certain English professor...?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Not that I know of. All my relatives are idiots who couldn't teach first graders. 'Less you know one I don't."

As far as he knows, he's not related to anyone in Bayfield.

(He does know about Alexander, as it happens. However, he knows of Alexander as 'that distant cousin who disappeared without a trace before I was even born' and doesn't even know the man's name. Which is actually very logical, because Alexander changed it.) After Az changed his sex.

"Ah. Really?" Teague replied, sounding disappointed (and looking it, too). "Just wondering, 'cause I met this guy - name of Alexander Barclay, he teaches English at Keaton - and he looks like you. Eerily so, actually. You really think it's coincidence?... "

He smirked, his grip on his guitar loosening just a little. "Not that I mind. The guy freaked out and snapped my guitar in half 'cause he didn't like what I was playing." Teague went on, neglecting to mention exactly why his music was so offensive.

Dave shrugged.

"I had--an' failed--his class my first semester at Keaton. I got that, sometimes, but usually people didn't notice. Except when I was imitating him." He grinned. "'I don't know why I bother with you, Tuckey. You're bright, but I might as well be talking to a wall for all you listen. You failed the test, again, because you didn't listen to a word I said about it in class.'"

Anyone who knew Alexander could have recognized the tone and words.

"Waitasec. Dr. B. broke your guitar? Holy shit, you must have made him mad. Wish I coulda seen it; he was always so damn in control, I wanted to make him snap just to see if he had some kind of a heart under there."

Teague laughed at Dave's impression of the professor, but grimaced when the subject came back to Lucinda's little 'accident'. "Oh, I made him mad all right. Should have known when to stop - but yeah, he got extremely pissed off," he explained, frowning. "And he does have some kind of a heart in there. Somewhere-"

He paused, looking down at his guitar and toying with the strings. "Buuuut, that's not really either of our business, is it," he said, in a sing-song voice.

"Since when's that stopped anybody?" Dave asked rhetorically. "How d'you know he's got a heart? I mean, I know he sometimes likes students--the smart ones, anyway--but I've only ever met one person who he liked 'nough to be normal."

You know, Dave probably wouldn't have enjoyed seeing Alexander as angry as he had been at Teague. That was as much desperation as it was fury, after all.

"Looks like you got your guitar fixed okay, though. Sounds good."

"Meh." Teague shrugged, now shutting up on the subject of Alex's hypothetical heart. He turned the guitar slightly so Dave could get a better look. "Yeah, he did a great job fixing it. Well, whoever fixed it did a good job, because there's no way that he could pull off a repair job like that by himself. Lucinda was in pieces."

"Shiiiiiiiiit. How'd he fix that?"

Remember, Dave is determinedly ignoring the magic he's encountered. As far as he's concerned, the Rose incident was a nightmare, and the one with Keye's demon was a hallucination.

He's Unnish, but by a hair. He knows magic's out there, but he won't accept or admit it. I imagine he can come up with an excuse for just about anything.

"I'm not one hundred percent sure," the guitarist shook his head, running one finger along the line where a crack or a seam should have been, had the guitar gone through a conventional repair. Of course he wasn't one hundred percent sure.
He was about ninety-four percent sure.
"But the important thing is, she's fixed."

"Guess so. So. How d'you know there's a heart in there?"

Obviously, Dave didn't much like his professor, and the chance to acquire some kind of juicy gossip about the man is too good to pass up. It's not so much that he's malicious, more that he's just incredibly curious.

It would be amusing if he learned of his relation to the older man. Especially when you consider why Alexander disappeared.

"Hhhmmm, well,... depends why you're asking," Teague said lightly. Yeah, he'll sing songs about people's deeds in public, about the most secret plans- but that's of his own choice, and he knows no one listens anyway (mostly). Ask him a direct question and - well, actually becoming involved can't be far behind. That's the sort of thing he'd prefer to avoid.

"Curious. 's all."

Wouldn't you be?

Anyway, Dave isn't going to just blabber this to anyone he happens to run into. It's mostly for his own interest. Mostly.

"Oh. Well."

He blinked up at Dave, his gaze drowsy and amused. "See... I was taking little stabs at him, about his, hmm, let's say affection for one of his students. He was pretty irritated about that, hes good at pretending he doesn't have a heart. It's a pathetic excuse for one - I mean, the Grinch has nothin' on Barclay - but it's there."

Dave chuckled. "Maybe he'll get some loony idea in his head 'bout messin' up Christmas, just like the Grinch, and then he'll suddenly discover that a heart's okay t'have. And maybe he'll turn into a gorgeous supermodel, too."

In other words, Dave was of the opinion that whatever heart Barclay did have was unlikely to grow any larger than it was. Assuming it wasn't shrinking, of course. Which was always a possibility with someone like Alexander.

Teague started to laugh, quietly, but it soon stopped. "You know, I wouldn't put it past him. Trying to steal christmas, I mean. ... and... You know, he probably could be a model. For like, business suits and stuff," he said thoughtfully, "But not a supermodel."

"No way could Dr. B be a supermodel. He's not pretty or girly enough." Not to mention the fact that most supermodels have this idea in their heads that they have to eat like little birds--if they eat--and Alexander is too fond of his sweets. 'Course, Dave doesn't know that.

"But now that you mention it, I bet he could do that. One of those high end men's clothing stores or something."

"Yeah,... but I'm sure he has more important things to do than strike poses," Teague said, somewhat sarcastically. He began playing his guitar again, albeit quietly, running over the notes of the forbidden song. He could always recycle it, and put a different story to the music. He rather liked the tune.

"Yeah, like failing students. I got a B- in the class I took after him; I think he just didn't like me."

Of course, Dave had also taken a rather less strict professor the second time around. Alexander was never the sort of teacher that one takes if one wants to blow off the class, or just get it out of the way. He wanted his students to be interested in what he was teaching, and if they weren't, well...

"Though, y'know, he poses a lot behind that podium."

He blinked up at Dave, with a bemused expression. "Ya failed? Ah, I dunno. Maybe you just aren't that good at English," he joked.

"I never took his class," Teague shrugged. "And from what I've seen of him, if I ever got the chance to, I sure as hell would not take it. He's a scary, scary guy."

"He's just a stiff necked old bastard who thinks too much of his importance. Nuthin' scary 'bout him." Of course, Dave has never been on the receiving end of a death threat from the man, nor has Alexander destroyed something important to him.

Also, Dave is remarkably immune to intimidation; it seems to be something of both a weakness and a strength. He doesn't always know when to back out of a situation, but he doesn't give in when he doesn't see any real danger. (Or when nothing unnatural is going on, which explains his reactions to Keye's demon and the ghost in the theatre.)

"Stiff-necked old bastard, yes. But not scary? I wouldn't say that," Teague shook his head. "I might say, however, something like, there are one or two things about him that aren't scary. But,... oh well. Whatcha gonna do. Besides, he's not troubling me at the moment. That's what his students are for."

"What is so scary 'bout him?" Dave shrugged. "I never thought too much of his famous lectures, an' I sure got enough of them t'know." Wouldn't it be nice to be as easy going and comfortable as Dave is? (Then again, he's only like that when everything's normal. Throw anything supernatural at him, and watch him tremble. It's quite amusing.)

"He's violent. He threatens people with death. Even helpless creatures," Teague said matter-of-factly, strumming away at his guitar, loudly now, as if he didn't want to hear himself talk. He felt he was pushing his limits a little, and would prefer not to push them any further. Just because he knew things, didn't mean he had a right to tell them all - and he knew it, too.

"... he does wha?"

And Dave had only thought that the man was an overly strict professor. The idea of Alexander Barclay perhaps being actually dangerous had never occurred to him. You just don't think of your professors, even the ones you dislike, as violent men who threaten people with death.

He shrugged. "Don't ask. You heard correctly. You don't want to know more than that," Teague said emotionlessly, trying not to sound like he was taunting him. But he really didn't want to say anymore than he already had. That was going too far. It was like gossiping, something which Teague considered to be rude - and for him, very much against the rules.

And Teague's going to just leave it at that? How very cruel, to get Dave's curiosity up, and not do anything to assuage it. And now the young man's interest has most definitely been piqued.

"Oh, come on. You can't jus' leave me hangin' like that." He made a pouting kind of face, which looked surprisingly fitting, considering his age... It must be that nose. Much too cute for someone in his twenties.

"Sorry. But I can," he smiled apologetically, unmoved by Dave's pout. "Aaand, what's more important, I will. No offense, but it's really none of our business."

Note how he says, 'our'. He's aware that he shouldn't know these things either, but he does. And telling them - well, he might not like Barclay very much, but it's just not fair to go telling the professor's secrets to the first random person he meets.

Dave grumbled, but he did have to admit that Teague was right. So he changed the subject.

"Y'know, I never introduced myself. Dave Tuckey." And he held out a hand to shake, since Teague wasn't going to give him the satisfaction he wanted. Jerk.

"I go by Teague," he said amiably, implying that the name he went by wasn't necessarily what he was called. He reached up and firmly shook Dave's hand. "Pleased to meet you, Dave. Hey. Waitasec. Same Dave that was witness to Keye's little... split personality incident?"

"Huh?" The only possible answer.

Let's remember that Dave has pretty well convinced himself that that was only a hallucination brought on by too much work and not enough sleep. And too much Dante, and not enough tv.

He doesn't believe in magic. Or demons. Or anything else from storybooks.

"Ah. Is that a no?" Teague said, looking quite disappointed. "You sure? Tall guy, blond... don't know what his demon half looks like, but Keye himself's pretty easy to describe. Seriously. Tall, blond, sunglasses. Simple, huh?"

"... tall, blond, sunglasses... yeah, Keye gave me a hand in the theatre, but I don't know what the other thing you're talking about is." Really. He doesn't. And he'll stand by that, because he's not going to admit that this world is a heck of a lot more screwed up than he ever imagined before.

"Reeeally," Teague said slowly. Dave sounded honest. Teague knew as much as anyone how often people lie, and was particularly adept at spotting it. It didn't feel like a lie, though... but if this was the same Dave...? Well, then what?
He frowned, looking puzzled. "Seems funny, I'd'a thought you'd know..."

You remember that the demon left marks on Dave's neck? He hasn't been able to find a way to explain those away. They itch, sometimes. Little scabs, healing skin, in an awkward place.

Unconsciously, his hand rubs his neck, like he's reminding himself that it's safe and whole and not crushed or sliced.

"Really. Dunno what you mean."

Teague's frown lifted, and he said lightly, "Oh. Must have the wrong guy, then. Never mind. Must be some other Dave."

He didn't quite believe that himself,... but why try and convince the other man that there was magic? If he wanted to know by now, he'd know, Teague figured.
Besides, trying to force the issue would more likely than not end in a mess.

Or at least with Dave repressing yet another set of memories. Sooner or later, he's going to run out of excuses. And the Rose incident is only barely pushed aside as a nightmare--it's hard to dismiss the broken props.

"Or you've got the wrong story. 'Cause I do know a Keye. Hung some lights, took the kid to dinner. 's all, though."

Really, that's all he remembers. Honest to goodness, he doesn't remember the demon. Or anything of the kind.

... fine, don't believe me.