All That's Green Is...[Plato]

[Samson Krahn]

Time was only just scratching away at six in the morning, and the day had yet to really start, darkness a blanket that wasn’t likely to come up for another hour and a half at least. It was, without a doubt, Samson’s favorite part of the day. His father used to say ‘anything you get done before the sun comes up, son, is bonus.’ And then there was the ride of that old Helios himself. Those first few moments of light, when Earth’s life-giving star began to rise above the horizon line, were powerful. He could feel it on his skin, and deep inside his soul. Like some higher power was yanking right on the core of him, telling him to get his *** up and do something. And yet it was this simultaneously calming experience, that left the faintest tingle rippling through his powerful body; felt like goosebumps on his back, all the way down his arms, to the very tips of his fingers.He always took time away from whatever he was doing to watch it.

His home was a small cottage, that looked like it had been made out of stone, with dark wooden singles on the roof, and surprisingly large windows, to allow in ample natural light. The ivy had been allowed to grow over the pale rock, and from the lowest hanging part of the roof, out on the front porch, were numerous flowers and herbs, dangling either from the roofline itself or in hanging planters. For the most part, nature had been left undisturbed, because that was how Samson preferred it. His little slice of paradise was carved into a clearing with a little creek running through it, though all of his water came from a well. Electricity came from a generator, which was housed in its own containment area outside of the house, designed to look like a rock with little vents for the carbon monoxide to dissipate. He’d soundproofed it all the same, because he wasn’t too keen on the mechanical noise in his periphery. He eventually planned to swap to a mix of solar and microhydro, but having a generator as back up never hurt, so that had been the first system installed.

He was in his galley kitchen, with a hot pot of coffee to one side, and the stove on in front of him as he took a wooden spoon to some eggs in his skillet. He’d already cooked up some sausage, and the eggs were soaking up their grease nicely. The sound of Fleetwood Mac played softly in the background, and they were telling Samson he would never break the chain. Overall. However, beyond that, there was almost no sound. That was what he loved most about living away from the city. It reminded him of his childhood. How there was true stillness out in the forest. It was even better in the mountains, where trees sprang up green and lush with life. Where you could sit in silence for hours without ever once being disturbed by man or their offending noises. There was a serenity to living like that which was woefully undervalued, in his humble opinion.

But all serenity had a natural end, and Samson heard a yelp coming from outside. He glanced up from the food he was scraping onto a plate, and in a second, he was at the door. His gaze dropped to Missy (short for Miss Sunshine), a Golden Retriever who normally had the biggest, happiest face in existence. Noted. She was on the lighter side for her breed and with all that fur, she occasionally looked like a dopey cotton ball, but that was beside the point. One of her hind legs was twisted the wrong way about halfway down. She was getting older, but still liked to play rough with her brothers, so chances were, she had been trying to show off, and had managed to mangle it. Maybe from a particularly high jump or something.

He immediately went to calm her, handing her off a bit of the sausage he’d made himself for breakfast, his other large, mitt of a hand moving through her fur. Moments later, he had her picked up, leg supported, and carefully scooped into his truck. He knew there wasn’t going to be any vet office open this time of morning, but he wasn’t about to wait to see his little girl treated. So he went the one place he was pretty sure would see him.

Doctor Plato Albany lived a little out of the way by most standards, but he was surprisingly close to Samson. The man seemed to have his own nice little plot of land, and honestly the only reason Sam even know about the guy was because he passed his place whenever he went to town. Didn’t matter that it was six in the morning. Didn’t matter that the guy probably had an actual office somewhere in the city. Mr. Krahn was the type of man where, when he put his mind to something, it was almost impossible from doing exactly what he was set on. It didn’t take a few more minutes and there was a tall behemoth of a figure standing in the doorway of a house, knocking at it with enough force to visibly shake the entire frame, with a golden retriever held like a baby in his other arm.

[Plato Albany]

W E A R I N G

Bare feet padded through the hall from the bedroom where the sheets were still warm from the single occupant body that reluctantly left it behind. Dark charcoal and black influenced the backdrop of king size high count cotton lined with white. It had everything in the generous space divided and defined in sharp lines leaving it appearing clean, minimal and impactful even in the absence of natural lighting. It didn’t end there. The castle and the man who ruled it was comfortable in his own skin. Perhaps too much so for some people’s comfort. Less is best was his motto. Except when a frantic knock was working on his door.

Speaking of skin. Why not? His could be counted on to be consistently warm in its tone, welcoming even in color. A size ten and a half right shoeless foot gave way to the leading and dominant left stepping over the gray self-cut and hand installed flagstone beneath. He was a hard worker and the interior of his home confirmed it. Quality. It was everywhere including his physical presence. All of him was routinely and thoroughly exposed to the healthy dose of daily outdoor rays that left no lines and even less to the imagination. The man of the early hours was well groomed but sporting the physique that could perhaps move a small mountain or two if needed. A bit of this and a whole lot of impressive that had him walking a fine line that would have those taking notice wondering if he was a city or country boy at heart. It didn’t matter. He was the real deal. So was his heart that would keep on beating.

Sir Albany was one of those rare warm, strong and willing individuals that at any given moment would step up, sleep deprived or not, to rise and do what needed to be done. It was one of the first things a stranger would pick up on which is why his door was having one hell of a time staying secure at the hinges supporting its current placement. He was a giver of time, patience and a few other things. Suffice to say if there was a fire raging behind his round top old world wood door then it would get it’s cool down in due time. He was working his way to offer that up if need be but everything worth waiting for needed it’s prime time.

Prime it was. The golden glow of early sunshine and the kiss of fresh air slipping in through the open windows had him questioning why he had not woke an hour ago. Closer to the need calling him he stretched one leg then the other while fastening the buttons that closed up the fly on his distressed black jeans. While all that was going on he happened to be leaving that hard to miss earth and spice, non-toxic, cruelty free and no sugar added scent. This, of course, was well trained at following him brought on by none other than the eight hours old application of the ingenious Phlur’s Hanami. Plato smelled delicious.

The flesh that gradually went about being covered was given careful consideration in its maintenance and care. Visible smooth shoulders stood out for their shape capped with the movement of thick cords of muscle working to disappear into the black loose weave sweater that was in his capable hands. The very same hands that worked far quicker after a cup of coffee but that wasn’t how it was going to play out. Not this time. Someone or something was about to be saved by the only vet in a hundred mile radius who still accepted house calls to his residence twenty-four seven three hundred and sixty five days or nights a year.

Plato Albany had been accustomed to the interruption of door bells going off and the barrier to the outside world being rattled with emergencies that couldn’t wait till he was in his office. Odd hours and moments of desperation were a thing since he went into private practice years back. A decade of building up his patients had him seeing it all. The three in the morning Toucan with a bad case of Skittles consumption came to mind as he moved through the dark space and found the warm morning rays greeting his unprepared eyes.

A massage of a right hand delivered a bit of relief while the left raked through what could be gathered of the mane of auburn that needed a decent brushing to work out the chaos that a night of sleep fashioned it into. Like anyone else passionate about what they were committed to in their chosen profession his surroundings were supportive of his given work. Shadows moved lazily brought on by the random in sleepy transit exotic and domestic canine sources. A tiny ball of hard to make out mass sat in a far corner next to a small pet door that was carved into the heavy wood that permitted it to be used all year round. It didn’t move as the door shook in response to the force of banging on the other side.

Plato may have been standing in his modest place outside Harper Rock but he was far from where he started out and where he was born. How many in the town he now called his permanent base could claim to have been born on one of the Thousand Islands in Ontario? Not many. He knew this because he had been asking. While pausing in front of the door Plato’s hands stretched through the weaved black cuffs that allowed him to reach for the buttons on the hip length sweater that could close things up. A few fumbles of his fingers had him giving up and left the job undone. Dr. Albany arrived to the point of no turning back as he took hold of the first of a series of deadbolts and released them one by one. Far from the islands that he grew up discovering and even farther from what he was expected to be, Plato was opening the door and exposing what he really was. A man with a heart and a soul that was dedicated to the creatures that most didn’t take the time to listen to. Human and animal alike.

“Morning.” His hand reached up and curled to hold the wood trapped between his fingers. Eyes that wore the hue of brilliant steel forged into the richest evergreen landed on a familiar dog he had seen before and in much better shape. Eyes were everything and his slowly worked their way up because there was no choice but to do so if he was going to get a good look at the unexpected visitor towering on his doorstep. Something could be said for being larger than life. Actually more than a few things. “You are just in time for coffee.” He stepped back with his hand dropping from the door and gave the duo the room needed to enter his living room without a second thought. His mood may have came off far more relaxed with the sight coming through than most would be but that was all part of what made Plato successful at getting to the bare bones of any issue presented to him. “Follow me.” He called out over his shoulder figuring that the door would close and the neighbor behind him with injured charge in tow would catch up with him as he headed to his onsite exam room conveniently off the kitchen.

[Samson Krahn]

Wear...ing?

In nearly every circumstance in life, Samson was an extremely patient man. Working with his hands his entire life had taught him that. When making something from wood, for example, the best result meant hours and hours of work. The cutting, the sawing, the details, the sanding and staining, and wood glue. If one was joining two pieces together, one had to know the best way to do it, and literally every aspect of the project took time if it was going to be of any real quality. A man who didn’t demonstrate a certain amount of craftsmanship and pride in what he did wasn’t the sort who earned a high opinion from Sam. Even when he, himself was injured or sick, he didn’t tend to raise much of a fuss. If he got cut, he just cleaned it, maybe stitched it up if it was bad enough. In fact, the only time, in the past two decades he’d ever seen a doctor were during the times when it was required before he had to go off on another mission across the globe. When his immunizations needed to be up to date, or he needed to be checked for potential disease. Other than that though, he knew his body better than anyone, and there was very little a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix.

But he wasn’t the one who was injured. So the rules changed. See, this wasn’t a story about Samson, but rather about Missy, who had been his companion for a little over a decade - who had traveled with him across the world, and who had been one of his few constant friends. Call him sentimental, but he wasn’t about to take chances.

The door opened finally, and his head tipped down. That wasn’t uncommon for him. Samson was a big man, even bigger when he bothered to wear boots. Of course, he’d been barefoot in the kitchen back home, so he hadn’t had time to put anything on his feet before getting into his truck with Missy. So there he stood, on the other man’s front porch, with his feet on the welcome matt. He had opted for jeans, because that’s what he always put on as soon as he slipped out of bed. Well. Except for during the really warm summer months. Then he usually didn’t bother with anything. He lived in the middle of nowhere, so who was it hurting? But it was beginning to turn a little bit cooler, the leaves around his home starting to turn from green to different shades of red, brown, orange and gold. He considered it one of the most beautiful times of the year, save really only for spring. He didn’t even realize that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, because of how rarely he did (except when he knew eyes were going to be on him, but again, with a hurt canine companion, the rules changed). With Missy tucked against his chest, the only real part of his upper body visible was both arms, including a number of tattoos on his right arm, creating a cuff from his elbow to his wrist. The curve of one shoulder was visible, and one firm pectoral. The rest though was obscured by fur and an expression that was less pained than bemused.

He stared immediately into Plato’s eyes, and was a little shocked. With a name like that, he’d been expecting someone older. Someone with grayed hair and wrinkles. But Dr. Albany was lean, and handsome, and smooth. Smooth, but not soft, by the look of things. One dark, fur-like brow lifted to ask a question that never left Sam’s lips. His lips parted to offer a greeting, but that didn’t come out either. Instead, he heard a hello, and then they were moving. He had to duck to get through the door, and turn a little bit - but again, that was normal for him. One of the reasons he built his own home and lived by himself was that he had to custom make everything. He had once tried to live in a pre-made home, and had hated it. The cabinets were all kinds of wrong. How was a man supposed to get anything done, having to hunch over a counter and with the lowest shelves on a bottom row of cabinets requiring mechanic’s creeper just to get at them?

“Mornin’, neighbor.” He finally managed to get out, his voice evidently rarely used, given it always had that sleep roughened quality to it. The faint rasp, that gave it a husky quality when mingled with the depth of his tone. There were times when he sounded like his father might have been a barrel of aged bourbon. It was as he passed immediately where the doctor had been that he grinned, a warm scent sending soothing ripples through the briefly troubled mind. Maybe it was because he was more animal than man at times, but Samson was a man who trusted his nose, and something smelled absolutely edible. For a second, he was pretty sure it was just something from the kitchen. But then as he traveled along behind Plato, he realized that wasn’t the case at all. Since there was no discrete way to lean closer and inhale, he decided against that.

“Sorry to trouble, ya so early. Missy here got herself in a real bad fix.” He explained as they made their way into the kitchen. His words came out at a slow beat, with the natural drawl he and all of his family shared. And his gaze followed the other man’s movements, from the way his hair seemed to almost float, to his broad shoulders, and the way that button down sweater clung in some places, like at the bicep, where he could make out hints of skin through the knitwork, and yet hung in other places. Like at the hip, where it draped and bunched where it met another set of curves that drew Samson’s focus like a stag in rut. He averted his gaze a moment later, attempting, with the fumbling of someone less than half his age, to make it seem like he hadn’t been staring at all. It was at that moment he realized he was going to be really grateful for a mug of coffee or three. Something to perk him up and get him nice and focused on the problem, or task at hand. Not that Missy was complaining at all. As a matter of fact, she had moved past the point of confusion and was vigorously licking Samson’s shoulder, something that happened so often that he essentially habituated it and hadn’t even noticed.

And when she wasn’t doing that, she was glancing towards the new friend, trying to get close enough to sniff him. They made their way past the kitchen, into what looked like a home exam room. It was cosier than he would have thought. But the thing he noticed first was that it didn’t smell like a normal vet’s office. For one, there was none of the odor of animal leavings, and none of the harsh chemical cleaners used to try and fix the previously stated problem. In fact, it smelled a lot like Samson’s home. Layers of dog and man scent soaked into the furniture, along with the peace and comfort that the two brought to each other. There was something immediately relaxing about it. Not clinical, but very humane in a way that Samson had never really seen before. So he wasted no time in carefully setting the little lady down on the exam table, which she took as an invitation to get closer to the doctor and not only make sure he was friendly, but immediately demand attention. She was, after all, a princess, and that meant all eyes had to be on her every minute of every day.

[Plato Albany]

Plato had his back turned and his feet anchoring him in front of the sink to cleanse his hands. A vigorous rotation of his palms together moved outwards, fingers weaving loosely and creating friction as they shifted top to bottom then back again. His fingertips focused on each palm with the rotation of his wrists and finished with working beneath each nail bed. This first step had him ready for the best but prepared for the worst case scenario. His wide shoulders rolled back as he worked the soap free from his hands. Everything was fluid, quick and efficient. Something about him would hint that he had a bit of a routine he followed with the start of every procedure and visit.

Ritualistic perhaps, or just a man that was thorough and confident about the way he did things. Either way it stood out. Whether it be how he pulled the recycled towels from the dispenser and dried his hands, or hooked his thumb beneath a jaw to get a deeper look into a set of eyes he was intending on possessing, he did it with clear and direct purpose. Plato was one of those silent strong types that didn’t wait for the green light to go. Sometimes there was a risk in that but so was a thrill worth gambling on.

As he turned to find the injured Miss on the table ready for his attention he realized he was having a hard time time letting go of the palmful of damp towels in his hand. What he was staring at happened to swallow up the backdrop of the animal in need of a little tender loving care. His whiskered lips formed a silent O as he managed to toss the handi-wipes brand into the waste basket and reach for another to shut the water off. That third towel disappeared as well while his eyes stayed on the owner.

“Good day, Miss.” Plato pulled his focus from Samson and addressed the golden beauty with the respect she deserved. Missy was the man’s baby, not Plato’s. First rule of thumb in his line of work was to keep the objective and professional lines intact. Even when the mountain of impressive male accompanying her was making him warm instantly without the benefit of the previously desired coffee. “I see you have discovered a little early morning rough play makes for a painful afternoon.”

He glanced briefly at Samson as he spoke to the well aged canine. His hands stroked her fur with a warm, slow welcome sending his energy he knew he possessed to soothe any apprehensions she would have to him making contact with her. He worked his way from her neck and back down to each leg which she was receptive to. The only resistance came when he finally arrived to the injured leg. His left hand guided her to lean with his assistance then lay down giving him access to the injury.

“Has she had anything to eat recently?” The out of alignment limb was dwarfed when both of his hands curled around it. She stirred but allowed him to inspect what he was holding. “How about you?”

A smile surfaced to his lips without looking away from the misshapen form in his hands. A gentle massage found warmth in the areas that would indicate that blood was flowing without interruption and that was a good sign as well as her willingness to allow him to do so. It was the owners that dealt with the issues that brought the pets into his office far worse than the creatures themselves. His right hand allowed the limb to settle and rest over the other beneath it. A step back hand him leaning his backend against the counter attached to the sink behind him. He rubbed his whiskered jaw with a set of fingertips while in contemplation as to which route would be best for what evidently needed to be done. In this case money was not his concern. Samson could have it or not. For Plato it was no issue.

And it really never was. That was yet another thorn in his family's side that was his own doing based on his choices on how he did things. Where they saw loss of time that meant money he saw profit in the trust, balance and quality of life he could restore to those who were otherwise considered expendable when a wallet wasn't half as full as the owner's heart who considered them family. Proof was outside the front door. He had a new fence around the pasture formed out of the materials he purchased but needed help putting up. The extra hands that put it in just so happened to be a family who couldn’t afford the typical outrageous costs of their dying mare’s foal being delivered than nature had left to work with.

“I can fix the leg an hour or two tops and have her back to dancing in a couple weeks. It will be a minor surgery to set it but it really needs to done.” His eyes stayed briefly on Missy as her head perked up as if she knew what was going on. Once the beauty dropped it back down to rest once more on the table Plato raised a brow towards Samson. "Would you be okay with that?” His hands reached behind him and nudged his body free from what had been supporting him. The color wrapped around Samson's arm had him thinking of submerging himself in warm water and the complete freedom it would bring. "I am going to step out and get you a cup of coffee. I know I can use one. That will give the two of you time to discuss it and decide."

[Samson Krahn]

There was something seasoned about the way Plato handled himself. Samson might have used the word ‘meticulous’, but that seemed too clinical to describe the burst of warmth that was the doctor. And nothing cold or sterile seemed to fit with the image of Dr. Albany that was weaving itself together like a tapestry inside of Samson’s mind. He never presumed to know anything about a person. Traveling around the world had taught him that. He had seen some of the happiest people survive on little or nothing compared to the resources found in the Western world. He had seen men and women with hovels laughing at everything they had, just as he had seen people lamenting over their lack of friends on facebook or followers on the instagram. He never assumed, but that didn’t stop him from watching people. The way they handled themselves, how they treated each other, and the things around them. In his experience, one could learn a lot from just observing those little moments and back-of-the-mind rituals. And he knew almost immediately that Plato was very comfortable in his own skin. That he had done this all before, and that he both knew what he was doing and what he was about. Which only served to ease the behemoth of a man a little more. His girl was in good hands.

As far as Missy was concerned, Plato might as well have been her very best friend. As a matter of fact, by the time he started to gently pet her, she was well on her way towards deciding she was going to stay right where she was at his place, rather than returning home. Not that she didn’t love Samson, and not that she wouldn’t miss her favorite arm chair, but she was just a very friendly dog, who loved to meet new people. In fact, that was another way she had helped Sam on his travels. He struggled at times with social situations. He just wasn’t good with most people, because he didn’t see the point in things like chit chat. Add in a language barrier, and that problem was made exponentially worse. But with Missy. Well. She was more than willing to be friendly for the both of them, which often took the burden of making those short-term relationships off of the mountain man’s otherwise capable shoulders. And so she scooted closer to Dr. Albany when possible, her tongue hanging out of her mouth, in a sort of pleasant, too big smile.

“Oh yeah. I gave her a couple of little sausage links when I realized she was hurt, to distract her.” He said, and then a second later. “I ain’t had nothin’ yet.” Though he’d forgotten about that. Which was quite the feat. It took a lot to pull Samson’s mind off of food. He was in the process of growing a small garden around his house because buying organic and local was expensive, but buying cheaper wasn’t an option. He was of the opinion that you got what you paid for in life. And yet he was also a spendthrift. Which took away most of his options and left him in a place where he ended up doing almost everything by hand. Until his garden came in, he was living the life of a well fed carnivore. Carnivore because he did his own hunting, kept his own chickens. Well fed because he was constantly stuffing some kind of food into his mouth, in an effort to keep up with a tall, active man’s metabolism.

He was famished, now that he knew Missy was going to be alright.

He didn’t even really need time to think about it. He knew that he was more than okay with anything that was going to make sure his golden got back onto her feet. Of course, he suspected that giving her something to eat had been a mistake. He’d had to get his canine companions surgeries in the past and knew that vets usually requested the dogs not eat the day of the procedure. He just hadn’t been thinking about all of that. None the less, he waited for Plato to leave the room before his attention turned to Missy. “Whatcha think, girl?” He asked, a hand lifting so he could scratch at the fur on his chin, only for his palm to drop so he could smooth through hers. “You ready put your trust in him?” Of course, what he saw when he looked into her eyes was a whole lot of trust. A whole lot of sweetness, that didn’t deserve to be hindered by an injury. “Yeah, that’s how I figured it.” He muttered. “And yeah, he does smell real nice don't he?” He asked with a smile that earned him a vigorous wag of the tail. He pulled away, because he knew if she got too excited, she was going to start barking, and cause who knew what kind of havoc. Plus, she tended to jump around when she was in a really good mood, and he doubted her limbs needed the extra burden.

“Now you sit and stay.” He said to her before following Dr. Albany out into the kitchen itself.

For a moment, he was able to just watch the other man. More of that casual observation. More of learning little bits and pieces, little snippets about the creature he was dealing with. It was weird because the sight kept his attention for longer than he would have liked. “We decided we’re good with whatever you gotta do.” He finally said, as a sort of mechanism by which to pull himself out of that situation. Because he just wanted to keep his eyeballs glued where they were, and eventually Plato was going to take note of all that attention he was getting.

So he strode closer, and he happened to be just tall enough that he could glance down over the top of the other man’s head and see what he was doing. So that’s precisely how it went. He found himself behind the vet. Not...entirely having robbed him of personal space. There was a little buffer of air between them. “Whatcha makin’?” He asked, peering down over the other man’s work. Not that it mattered. He was a guest, and he had been taught his manners from a very young age. When someone offered you something to eat and drink, you took it and you did your best to make it clear you enjoyed it.

[Plato Albany]

Doing anything was worth doing it right as far as Plato was concerned on how the world worked. Preparing an epic eye opening cup of coffee in the middle of his kitchen was no different. The random brush and pass by of a shin high black cocker mix had him glancing down. His bare foot gave a brief caress over the back that was fading from reach. He tried to trap the wagging tail with a playful pinch of his toes. It failed and the drop of his foot said as much in the wake of defeat. Soon the canine with severe separation anxiety would be reunited with his owners. They would return from their month long holiday and the bachelor pad would be back to having no prince to help rule.

Steam clouded the air beneath him as he watched the process through to its completion. A simple grasp and pour from the piping hot clear carafe demonstrated that there was enough for two exact cups of rich coffee. Coffee that was potent enough to wake a dead man on any given morning or day of the week. His hands reached out in sync to have each hot mug in his possession when he got that sneaking suspicion he wasn’t alone. His fingertips pressed inward to fix tighter to the glasses in hand.

In some situations it was all about the pass and hand off. Plato’s game was typically pretty smooth like his bare *** but in this case he was buying time and glanced up just enough to get a bug's eye view of the male towering over him. A fierce halo of hair surrounding the face inquiring what was for breakfast carried the glow of early morning light. The lengths of nearly reachable strands were tempting.

But he resisted. His hands appeared to be full and it would likely be a bit presumptuous considering the purpose of the visit was an injured dog. He felt the stretch and pull of what kept his eyes in the sockets that framed them. Plato took in all that begged to be sorted out strand by unruly strand with a set of skilled fingers. A firm grip and pull wasn’t exactly what the neighbor came over for.

His right hand did the proper thing by offering the hot beverage while rising up as he turned. A brush of knit and denim covered hip delivered a whisper soft contact that was gone almost as quickly as it happened.

“I think she will feel much better once her leg is fixed.” Plato commented on the decision that was made. “And as for what I am making…” He paused giving the man close to him an appreciative sweep of his eyes. “I think there is a good chance we can have what I like to call a Hungry Man Special.” While the trade of hot cup to free hand took place Plato eyed the outside of his refrigerator as if he had the power to see through the door and visualize what items were stored within. “Eggs, hash browns, fresh sausage and toast?” He took a slow, cautious sip from the ceramic mug. “Or… I am pretty sure there is something sweet to be had if you are more interested in going that route instead.” The counter behind him was a great support to lean back on as he set his mug in hand down. He was fully prepared to get to work if any of the offers were accepted.

[Samson Krahn]

Where Samson had grown up, there had been this winding river, which cut through the mountains. It was wide and flanked on either side by the vibrant green of old forests. At its deepest, there were places where a man could spend hours fishing, with a line cast into the water - and at its shallowest, it just barely brushed over rock, sending little turbulent ripples in every direction. He had become well acquainted with it over the years, but his favorite memories involved the times when he would go out by himself, craft together a little raft, and let it carry him down stream. He would lie there, staring up at the clear blue sky, and let his fingertips trail into the fresh coolness. So slow moving was it off of the rainy season that it would often lull him to sleep, only for him to rouse an hour or so later, needing to dock and walk his way back home. It was a treat for the summer months, when all of his work was done, and he needed to be alone with his thoughts.

That was what Plato reminded him. The way he moved. Every step was deliberate. Nothing seemed to be rash or without intention or focus. So Samson took the mug of coffee. He viewed it as a good distraction too, because the last thing he wanted was to make things uncomfortable just because he was getting hot under the collar. Especially not with his lack of artifice. He didn’t so much wear his emotions on his sleeve as he just didn’t believe in filtering what he was feeling. If he didn’t like someone, he saw no point in pretending otherwise, for example. Maybe that meant they weren’t going to be a big fan of his, but maybe it would lead to a dialogue and some kind of understanding. It was an honest way of being. One that many might have called simple.

And the way he looked at the doctor said that he wanted to return to those days on that river.

He took a sip of coffee, and it hit him hard. Potent, robust flavor. He grinned, because it was exactly the way he liked it. Able to take someone and make them go from half-asleep with grogginess to wide-awake. Alert enough to run do the running of the bulls without fear of getting gored on a horn or trampled. His eyes widened a little, and he took another swig, not minding the heat of it as it passed over his tongue and down his throat. The smell of it alone could clear out the sinuses. However, it wasn’t just what was in the mug that perked him up, evidenced in the way his gaze followed right after where Dr. Albany had just brushed against him. “You’re speakin’ my language, doc.” He said. Really anything described as ‘hungry man’ was probably going to get his attention. And having it homemade by someone else? Well normally Samson was very self-sufficient. As a matter of fact, nobody had made him a meal since his mama, some many years before, or when he would occasionally return home for a holiday.

Mama, in this case. Not ‘mother’ because that was rude. A mother was the person who gave birth to you, but a mama was the person who took care of you. And certainly not Rebekkah. He had once called her by her given name, and she had rounded on him so fast that he, standing at about 6’4” at the time, had shrunk to around a foot tall. There was something to be said for a woman who brought up a house full of men by herself and knew how to make them mind.

“She gonna be alright till surgery? She don’t need anything?” He asked, just to be sure. She didn’t appear to have been in pain when he’d left her, but he would have felt awful if she’d been suffering. He figured, since he’d slipped her some sausage before, it was going to be a little bit until she was safe to be cut into either way.

“You can’t go makin’ me somethin’ and not let me help.” He said as he drew closer. He reached past the other man to rest his coffee on the counter, only to let one hand grip the edge, and then the other. Both of them to either side of Plato, so that he could lean closer, forced to bow his back a little bit to try and get a little closer (but not quite) to eye level. He was entirely in the way, and boxed the vet in. “I want a little of all of that, but I’ll save the sweet thing you mentioned for later.” He reasoned. It was an offer too good to pass up on. And as it turned out, he really wasn’t about to let Plato do all the work. He pulled away slowly, so that he could look for the bread to toast it up with a little butter and jam or preserves. Fresh bread was actually one of his favorite things to eat in the world, but the art seemed to have been lost to most in the modern world.

[Plato Albany]

“You are missing out on one hell of a strudel.” Another sip of the hot coffee reminded him he was on the road to Alertville which meant bedtime was officially over. And the closer up view of Samson in all his love-the-mountains-and-they-will-bring-you-a-god look made that fact a crying shame. Between the coffee and the view he was so much closer to feeling fine. Which reminded him of the one who wasn’t. Golden Miss in the other room patiently waiting for some settling in until she could tolerate the surgical procedure the following morning. “Suit yourself. The grand slam it is.” He waited for Samson to make his move and when he did his eyes followed him positioned upward in their sockets more than down given the man’s height and all. “Let me get her tucked in and comfortable then breakfast it is.”

The mug was set down next Samson’s and he made his way to the exam room where the smiling, yes smiling, Miss was sitting patiently. He gave the silky head a caress as he picked up the extra large pillow bed in the corner of the room and brought it back to the exam table. A brief bend and scoop had Plato supporting the full weight of the one who he could thank indirectly for his near future breakfast dining companion.

Had it not been for the knock at the door it would have been a late rise and shine followed by the daily pre-polar bear club season dip in the nearby water just big enough to be considered a lake. He would check into his office via message service, check the security logs and video to see how the ones staying over at the office were doing. If all was clear then he would be known to take a hike, a run or even mountain bike into the city. Some sort of physical activity was how any productive day began in his book. It was then that he stepped back into the kitchen with Miss in his arms and the bed dangling from his left grip. A gentle toss had it landing perfectly out of the way but still centered where she would be able to keep an eye on her owner.

“She seems to be tolerating things well enough. Should she need anything later for pain I can take care of that here. No reason she can’t hang here until tomorrow.” The refrigerator door opened and a clear glass bowl was removed that contained fresh eggs courtesy of the hen house outside. “Not sure about you but nothing like a little rhythm to go with the creation of a feast. Pretty sure Miss favors a little jig now and then.” With that the tap of his finger as it passed by a control pad on the side of the hard wood cabinet sent the music flooding the space they were standing in. “Believe it or not it is a thing every morning.” The antisocial black cocker spaniel reappeared and the tail behind it was wagging enthusiastically. He held an egg in his right hand and motioned towards the spaniel who was clearly alternating its weight back and forth between all its feet that certainly appeared to be some sort of intentional move. “See that? Wait till her family sees that.”

The large cabinet hidden refrigerator door closed and effectively concealed its existence in the old world rustic kitchen. It whispered of places visited in Italy and of course the Tuscany wine valley. The heavy stone found in the open plazas of Umbria, the woods that were repurposed over centuries to carry on their history and stories of time served. Wrought iron handles and fixtures fashioned into sconces missing candles said part of the effect was in wait for something to be added to complete the look. Plato thrived in the elements that the world had to offer. He felt comfortable everywhere but where he stood gathering the various items for preparation spoke volumes of where he was most comfortable. A man in his own space, sharing it with another who was likewise comfortable in the skin he wore in. The random criss crossing of barefoot paths said even more about the man who was sharing his space and time.

“Any objections to a fabulous frittata open faced with nothing hidden?” Plato figured there was something to be said for asking his guest how he wanted it before he gave it to him. Before he cracked open the eggs to release them into the waiting bowl beneath his hands he glanced over to Samson who was difficult to not stare at. “I can be gentle and spare you the fire if you are more of a mild type and like to play it safe.”

[Samson Krahn]

“All the time in the world to taste a little of your strudel.” He commented with a nod towards the other man. Besides, he figured, it was incentive to come back for more breakfast. He had a task to accomplish though so he found the toaster and slipped the pieces of bread into it. He actually tended to enjoy his a little on the darker side, so he didn’t mind leaving it in a little longer while he pulled the fridge door open to pour over the contents. Butter was a staple in any home as far as he was concerned. In fact, it had been one of the first things he’d learned how to make as a small boy. His frugal senses weren’t even offended by the idea of paying a local farmer for some cow’s cream to make it. Seconds later, he pulled away from the ice box with a few supplies. Which was right about when Plato made his way back to the exam room to get Missy moved and settled. Samson couldn’t help but crack a grin at that, because he’d been just about to ask if she was okay, if they could move her. It was like the vet just read his mind. While Sam wasn’t known for any kind of deep thoughts or a particular ability to hide them, he was always pleased when someone just picked up on what he wanted. He also reckoned, as if it hadn’t already been proven, that it proved Plato had been the right choice all along. There were two quick ways to get to a mountain man’s heart after all. Through his stomach, and by taking care of his ‘babies’.

And Dr. Albany happened to be doing both of those things.

Of course, the toast didn’t take too long to cook, which illustrated the problem with Samson’s rush to try and help out around the kitchen. He hadn’t accounted for how long eggs, and sausage, and hashbrowns might take to make. He’d just wanted to get in there, and be part of it. Ah well. Cold toast wasn’t too bad. He made up for it by slathering the pieces with the creamy substance, to watch it melt right into the slices. He then cut them into triangles. He made a half turn away from the counter on which he was working when he spotted Plato returning with Miss Sunshine, who was eager to wag her tail the moment she saw Sam. He put down what he was working on so he could get closer, and give the underside of his girl’s jaw a vigorous little stroke once she and the pillowy dog bed were set down. This earned him an appreciative lick on his wrist, which continued until he pulled away. It seemed she was more than pleased to keep her eye on the pair of them from her little throne. At least. That’s what Sam was pretty sure she saw it as, given the regal way she sat up and attempted to demand all of the attention in the room.

“You’re a real life saver, doc.” He admitted as he moved back to stand from where he’d been crouched down near his dog. And then music began to pour into the room. Well wasn’t that like just at home? Samson had been raised in a house without connection to ‘the grid’. In fact, most of his youth had been spent without any electricity at all. Just a wood stove for cooking and some kerosene lamps for light in the early night or morning. It hadn’t been until he was a teenager that his father had ‘made a deal with the devil’ as he’d called it, and purchased a generator. There was one thing that came from the modern world though that Sam couldn’t do without, and that was music. Not because he was a big dancer or anything like that, but because the sound itself was soothing, because it reminded him of home. The sounds always wormed their way into his brain and made his days go by quicker, so he wasn’t about to complain. Especially not when he caught sight of a fluffy little cocker spaniel who looked like the ends of his ears should have been heavy with fur to pull him over. “Yeah, she loves a good tune. And look at this little fella.” He said, eyes trained on the dog for a moment before he glanced back to Missy. “You play nice, Little Miss. Don’t you go doin’ any silly stunts to try and one up nobody.” He insisted. Because that was exactly how he was pretty sure she’d gotten into the mess she was in, in the first place. The golden managed to look a little contrite, as if she actually knew what Samson was saying, ducking her nose against the side of the dog bed.

Which meant Samson was free to turn his attention right back to Plato. “No objections at all.” He commented as he made his way back to the toast, which was basically already done. He gave an inward sigh. Cold toast. That really wasn’t gonna cut it. So he decided the best move was to get rid of the evidence and start from scratch. He normally would have fed boys and girls, but he couldn’t feed Missy, and he didn’t believe in giving scraps to dogs that he didn’t own. He didn’t mind his pets picking up bad habits, but he wasn’t about to teach them to someone else’s. So he gathered all of the toast triangles together and carefully stuffed them into his mouth. There were several layers of them, but one of the benefits of being a giant was that he had a big mouth. Seconds later, he was swallowing them down, hastily dragging his knuckles across his lips as his adam’s apple gave a little bulge as the barely chewed food passed. He tried to pull the whole thing off quickly so Plato didn’t see. And maybe he didn’t.

So he started the entire process from scratch. “I don’t think I told you. My name is Samson, Samson Krahn. I’m your neighbor.” Or as close as people got to being neighbors in the woods. “What you uh. What you got planned with the rest of your day?” His brows lifted at the question. He wasn’t very good at feigning idle curiosity so it was probably pretty clear he was asking because he wanted to see if there was any room to wedge time other than breakfast with a mountain man in. He wasn’t going to be getting Missy back, he supposed, for at least a day anyway. And the company was good. Really good. So why not enjoy it?

[Plato Albany]

Plato held two leftover baked potatoes with random curious glances to the taller male. Toast obviously had been in the works while he stepped out to bring in Miss and it was soon discovered. One thing that had him feeling all the more comfortable in his kitchen was witnessing someone feeling the same. Toast was proof. It was to be enjoyed and the food within it to be consumed without hesitation. A big guy had to have a complementing appetite so it really had no impact on Plato that he was already prepared to start things. The resident vet’s typical greeting to invited guests was to help themselves which the man obviously did. With the potatoes still in hand he stepped back to the prep space on the counter which brought him closer to Samson and the scene unfolding. Toast and a proactive guy, what could happen?

Plato expected Samson to relax and enjoy it. Perhaps sip on his coffee while he went about the steps of getting the frittata going. Instead it was impossible to miss the slight of hand trick that had the man swallowing the creatively cut toast like it was evidence that needed to be destroyed asap. Plato absorbed it as a sign and smiled a little pulling out a blade that would be used to slice and dice. Distracted he invested a moment in reaching for the mug of coffee he held claim to that was dutifully resting on the counter and took a sip. He figured the man was hungry for as fast as it all went down and more than likely after the large amount of toast he could use a few swallows of fluid before it lodged inconveniently somewhere creating a barrier that may need extraction. The power of physical suggestion didn’t get a reaction so he set his own mug down and went back to the prep.

A half a brick of expertly made Romano cheese was retrieved from the fridge along with a smaller portion of Monterey Jack. A small open dish with roasted red peppers came out followed by the last of a jar of olives and fresh kale pulled the day before from the garden. The fridge and cabinet door closed once he left the space that had been holding it open. The potatoes were sliced into sticks then squared. The peppers were sliced and the olives followed suit. The forgotten onion was plucked from a basket on the counter and peeled efficiently. As soon as it lost its unwanted layers it was diced in quick time with skilled hands and knife. A brush of his hand sent the small white sections free of the blade they clung to. Between glances at Samson he managed to pull out the grater and found another. Two for one prep meant they would be eating sooner. He passed off the brick of Romano and took up the task of shredding the Monterey Jack in a bowl large enough to collect the rewards of both hard at it.

“Samson.” He paused his hands and glanced up looking at him. “Family name?” He was given Plato for a reason so he figured perhaps there was something behind the name that was about as common as his for a first name. He was the first Samson he had come across. Then again he never came across a living Plato. The butter was quartered and dropped into a pan which was applied to the heat Plato set in motion with the twist of a knob. His arm stretched for the spatula as he used his left to guide the butter in a sliding spin around the pan. Once the squares became liquid he added the onions and began flipping them. “I like it. As for the rest of my day? I just plan on enjoying what I have of it.”

Plato wiped his hands on a nearby hand towel and wasted no time in adding the potatoes next. The sounds and scent of sizzling competed with the music in the background. A flip and shift with the spatula caught attention of a few who promptly wagged their tails in approval. A handful of precut kale went in next. The green leaves shrinked slowly but stayed strong as expected not wilting into dots of darkness like spinach was known to. A few minutes and a couple of sips of coffee later had the pepper strips landing into the pan along with the diced olives. A generous slow stirring was given to the creation while ribbons of scented steam rose for further temptation.

Six eggs were quickly cracked and whipped up like he did this as often as he brushed his own teeth. Once they were beaten into the desired consistency he added salt and pepper and mixed that in as well. A last reach into the cabinet door and the fridge hif-ding behind it had him revealing bacon and sausage diced and mixed in a bag. It was opened and sprinkled into the pan while the eggs and cooking ingredients were constantly stirred. Last to go on was the shredded cheese so he glanced over to Samson who was responsible for the Roman to Plato’s Monterey Jack.

“How are you doing over there?” Plato turned down the heat beneath the pan and stepped back. He picked up his mug of coffee and tossed the hand towel over his shoulder like he had nearly finished a masterpiece. “If you want to do the honors...go for it.” His brows lifted to encourage the distribution of cheese over the frittata. “Or you can hang tight for about five minutes while it melts and I get the toast.” He winked as he reached around Samson and pulled out some slices to put in the toaster yet again. Samson seemed more than capable of making things melt without any outside help. The thought gave Plato time to slide a finger between his chest and his sweater to pull it away from his skin.