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Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot and for auld lang syne?

He raises his cup and gives the last cheer for good, foolish men. He utters the song of farewell, but it means nothing. More kick the bucket as he downs the amber vice. Stupid, unplanned violence achieves nothing. He could do better than them.

The Underworld came to know of him by the name of Bodach. When the time is right, he would ask for a single favor, "It's fer aw th' times that Ah helped yoe, so dae me a solid..." Like the creature he is named after, he would foretell the next person, be they a member or a stranger in his way, to die.

Stubborn || What was that saying again? Stubborn as an ass? A goat? Whatever the correct version of the idiom is, it encompasses this Scotsman very well. The moment he makes up his mind, he's going to follow through until the very end... for better or for worse. He won't admit that he's wrong in a given situation, and he continues keep an act up to convince even himself. He tells himself that family is no big deal, and that it doesn't matter. Now, it would be more convincing if he didn't need to remind himself of such thought every now and then.

Temperamental || Unstable is what some people might call him as, but such word is merely an exaggeration (that does have some basis). He could show up perfectly calm and composed, hell even in a good mood, before just one thing could flip everything upside-down. It is much easier to provoke Iain rather than try to calm him down with what his short fuse and ability to keep a grudge that could last for weeks or years. Most should tread carefully on what they say or do when around him for their own good.

Grouchy || If he's not putting a smile in front, then most of the time Iain is already in a rather bad mood. He perpetually wakes up on the wrong side of the bed and prefers to approach others rather than to have them come to him. It seems as if there are too many things in the world that could make the Scotsman lose his patience, and family is one of them. He turned cynical in his view of the world in his teens, and such perspective have stuck with him ever since. When he means business, he keeps it professional.

Aggressive || It's easy to anger Iain, and it's easier to provoke him into action. On a particularly foul mood, it's more likely to see him stirring up trouble in a bar instead of drinking himself to the point of unconsciousness. He plays the friendly man, but when debts are unpaid and the mercy's off the table, he'll be sure to leave a good impression before anyone would try to wiggle past him and his rules. Like another mafia leader who found his place in Glasgow, crucifixion is a preferred method to get it to the minds of all the debtors that time is ticking. One nail through the hand and into the wooden floors, one in the other, and for the feet as well. He offers out a hand to the gang members and individuals, and with the other he hides behind his back with a knife in its grip.

Spartan || Despite the amount of illegal money he had gotten his offered services, Iain still continues to live as frugal as ever... or at least tries to. He buys what he needs unless it pertains to either alcohol, his line of work, or even golf. You won't see him clipping coupons but if there's a sale in the supermarket near by you can bet your ass that he'll be there. His flat reflects his lifestyle: nearly empty save for basic necessities such as a bed and a table to have his meals on. In fact, it would seem as if he would spend more money for his dog than he would on himself. He saves, not because he lacks money, but because he wants to.

Ingenious || On the surface, people might akin him to the more stereotypical Scottish man: hotheaded and more prone to action instead of dialogue. They might as well assume that he would see things at face-value and accept them as is, trudging through life with the most straightforward of solutions. Ah, but Iain is clever, much more than he would let most people come to realize. He might seem as if he acts upon impulse, but many are deliberate with planned outcomes. The Underground should have known his game by now and hardly anyone can survive the convoluted mess without thinking outside the box. Aside from his legal business, the redhead had dabbled with and aided in creation of plenty of front firms to turn dirty money 'clean' as well as keep up with bank accounts--most are offshore.

Nationalistic || There's a pride when it comes to being Scottish... and then there's pride that can reach to dangerous levels. After all, looking back upon history was it not an overflowing amount of nationalism that brought up conflicts between groups of people? But for Iain, it isn't about who is the more superior one. Home is where his heart is, and yet it's being used by other people. It's about freeing his home, to serve Scotland.

Independent || There are many things that Iain does on his own without wanting or needing support from those around him. While his childhood originally started out as pleasant, the Scotsman took a step back and started to act on his own. With his strained relationship with his mother, he often took it upon himself to do what needs to be done. This is shown when he decided to move to Glasgow right after graduation without consulting a single member of his family and by his own hands ended up where he is today. This also extends to the smaller things in his life, such as fixing his own appliances and cooking his own meals. He's very much a "DIY" kind of guy.

Loyal || Or rather, loyal to himself... most of the time. He plays this dangerous game of working between different gangs not because he felt some sort of connection to either side. No, no, he does it because he wants to achieve his own goals. He stands by his principles whenever he can, even if they're rather skewed in the eyes of normal society. There are those however, that he's willing to go to great lengths for. The outcome at times might not be worth it, but it's the least he could do. Help him genuinely, and somewhere in the future you can be sure that he'll return the favor to the best of his ability. If he won't forget grudges so easily, then he too won't forget showcases of unexpected kindness.

Devious || While it could be said that Iain would seem to be a very no-nonsense sort of man, with what his serious demeanor and easy to anger attitude, there are times when he knows how to take jokes and to let loose. His sharp smirk and shining eyes tell others that there is trouble brewing within his mind, be it his next harmless prank or a truly dastardly scheme. He doesn't make it a habit to reveal exactly what he's planning to others, so those around him could only hope that whatever he's cooking up, isn't too dangerous.

☆ Animals || Be they the smallest of critters or the largest of their kind, Iain has the soft spot for all of them. But of course, he has a preference for large dogs and the more livestock sorts.

☆ Whisky || With no 'e' might I add. Add some to your milk and honey, add it to your oats and yogurt, drink it straight or on the rocks. Hell, use it to sterile your tools or pour over your gashing cut! Whisky is the miracle liquor.

☆ Romanticism || He might be somewhat of a romantic sod, but this isn't what Romanticism is about. Most wouldn't have guessed it, but Iain is an avid reader of novels and poetry that stemmed from the Romantic movement. Blame it on Robert Burns.

☆ Duct Tape && WD-40 || The miracle spray that is WD-40 and the miracle tape that is duct would be a combo that no engineering student would ever forget to leave at home. Iain is serious when he means by he's a professional; blessed by the baptismal cleaning of water from all of spark-plug wires and faith made stronger by pure adhesive strength, the Scotsman reached enlightenment.

☆ "Grunt Work" || Not actual work that grunts do, but Iain enjoys doing a lot of heavy lifting when he has to. Moving around is a hell lot better than just sitting in front of a desk and screen for nearly the whole day. He rather do a job himself instead of having other people do it for him.

☆ Golf and Football || Iain loves playing golf, and don't go telling him that you find it boring or how he's going to throw his back out. Golf is perhaps one of the only sports the redhead is willing to part money with, and that's saying something. A full set of clubs and everything else that goes into that one golf bag (at the cheapest can be around £60) was paid with his hard earned money. Then there's the other sport: football. He might not be one to participate in a game of kicking a ball around, but boy does he get fired up when it comes to watching The Ragners F.C. play-- even if they're not in the Ladbrokes Premiership anymore.

☆ Highland Games || If these events are not the embodiment of absolute Celtic masculinity, then Iain isn't sure what else would be. Throwing a long log that was held vertically in such a way that it flips and digs into the ground with its top? Throwing stones that weigh about 12kg the furthest you can? All the while wearing kilts with almost 20 pipe bands blaring their music and marches? Now that's what he's talking about.

☆ Saving Money || He's not cheap. It's called being economical! Why spend extra pounds on one item while a much cheaper version can certainly do the job just as well, if not better? And you know what? With those extra pounds saved, they could be used for something even more useful. Like cigarettes, junk food, and whisky.

☆ Unicorns || They're manly as hell. Drinking the blood of virgins and tearing apart women who pretended to be one. Brutal.

✘ Vulnerability || Keep a brave face; keep a hardened face. Iain does not make it a habit to reveal boiling emotions unless it's anything related to pure fury. He will not cry, he will not shed tears. But sometimes, he just loathes his own insecurities, and having no shoulder to cry upon taught him to not be weak.

✘ Dependency || What's more worse than being made to rely on someone? To be the the rock and foundation that has to carry that weight. As much as Iain knows he hates imagining himself run away to others, he isn't particularly fond of having others run to him. His words are blunt and his gestures aren't gentle. To him, he feels as if he isn't even made for such a task and that there are certainly others that can do a better job than him. But of course, this is only in regards to emotional dependency.

✘ Braveheart || Iain had to admit, the action was good, the drama was okay (in his humble opinion) and it was really cool how the movie actually included real members of Clan Wallace as extras... but the historical inaccuracies ruined most of the experience for him. Hell will be brought if someone decide to show up in his home with a copy of the movie.

✘ Doctors and Medications || Ever true to his frugal beliefs, Iain would see that doctor visits and medicine to be a waste of both money and time. As a younger lad, hardly would he ever needed to go see one, save for the vaccinations his mum would force him to go through. Not that he has a fear of needles, but damn were most of those trips unpleasant. Also fuck them for trying to say that he should stop smoking. The same could be said for medicine, be they from the shelf or prescribed. He understands that yeah, those syrups and pills do help people, but so can a good hearty soup of meats and veggies.

✘ Tourists || Och yeah, gang aheid. Donner up tae heem in th' middle ay London wi' yer Hawaiian shirts an' yanny packs an' ask heem tae spick th' Queen's English. He dares ye.

But seriously, do not lump him with the rest of the English around him together under one big umbrella. He's looking at you American tourists.

☆ At least five pets || Dogs are great; dogs are amazing. They're more loyal than a man could ever be and damn he only needs to pay them with food (and shower them with walks and love). Iain technically grew up with dogs, seeing how often he went to Uncle Cailean's ranch--and it's damn guaranteed that there was always at least one or two herding dogs around. Sure he might have distracted those dogs from their work and got scolded for it once, but that deter the Scotsman from having his own. Currently he has a Scottish Deerhound known as Aiden, but on his very specific list, he also wants a Westie, a Smooth Collie, a Bearded Collie, a Sheltie, and a Scottish Terrier. But the man lives in the middle of a sprawling city, how the hell can he have five dogs? Ah, but there's another critter a part of this list, that isn't a dog. One Scottish fold, a chubby cat with folded ears would make home a bit cozier.

☆ Scottish Independence || Take advantage of this political uneasiness. Make those British politicians realize that without Scotland, their power would be much weaker as other separatist parties through Europe would follow lead. Iain knows well of the tactics they've used to make the people just begrudgingly content rather than completely satisfied. 'Give those Scots a little bit more wiggle room. Let them have better control of welfare rates over their own people. Give them some more fiscal independence.' He understands those risks it takes for a new 'nation': instability in both the economy and government... but nothing is worthwhile unless there's a risk involved.

☆ Unification of All Glasgow's Gangs || A part of Glasgow's Underground is already under his thumb, with what everything he has done and proven. It would be extremely helpful if he could get the whole bloody place under it now. Iain sees this in-fighting between the members to be unproductive, as there are plenty of other things were that violence could be directed at.

✘ Dependency || He pushes himself away purposefully from others, and only those who are persistent enough usually tend to be the closest people he got. Those kinds of people, are few... fewer than the number of fingers on a hand even. He'd rather keep it that way. Dependency was something he loathed seeing in others, and even more so within himself. He hates, to the point of nearly denying and fearing that he will eventually get too emotionally attached, to the point it would ruin him. He has seen it in his mother, he doesn't want to end up like her.

✘ Drowning/Waterboarding || Iain was never taught how to properly swim, despite the fact that he lived in a very small port town with the bay being a stone's throw away from him. The school he went to was too small to have a swimming pool, and to practice swimming meant throwing oneself into the icy waters of the north. It's a real possibility that one day, someone can decide to shove him over a bridge. By extension, even methods that simulate drowning that doesn't involve having his body at the bottom of the Thames River could gave the man a strong sense of unease.

✘ English shit Food || When he first moved to England, oh boy did Iain had a bad time. Food was pretty bad here, and they say that Scottish cuisine was worse? Iain, who of course avoided his home, would eat out most of the time... and that also meant picking the cheapest of places for his dinner away from home. Absolute horror. The Scotsman will never subject himself to that fate of eating some Englishman's cooking again.

He watched his single mother, clutching onto the phone to the point her knuckles were white. A boy of nine couldn't understand what desperation the woman known as Isobel Stiùbhard had felt. To him, this was shocking. His mother had always lived up to her namesake: a Countess who was known as Isobel, who left her husband to fight with Robert the Bruce for independence. She was stubborn, fierce, a force to be reckoned with. Iain wouldn't know what exactly happened that night until he was much older.

First name in Scots and the rest in Gaelic, Iain Lachlann Stiùbhard was born in a small port town in the Highlands of Scotland on November 30th. He lived the most of his youth as a single child. In fact, he was one of the first of the many 'Kirkland' offspring, and would learn about this motley crew of in the middle of his teens. He lived with his mother and grew up under her watch. His early childhood held memories of his father, but there was very little things he could say about the stranger before the man up and left. People were curious about his disappearance, but it wasn't as if they were legally married. But no matter, a grand pasture of green lay right outside Iain's town, and within it had many distractions for a rowdy young lad.

Just up north with a walk about fifteen minutes had an old castle; his fort as he liked to call it, playing the role of 'Lord' over the rest of those his age. To the east was Uncle Cailean's pasture--seventeen cattle and twelve sheep. He would help his mother's brother in taking care of them, grooming and sheering them, sometimes bringing them hay when the livestock couldn't feed outside. To the west was the bay that served as a home for ships making trips back in forth between the islands that dotted the waters west of Scotland. Here was where he spent days running through the harbors. Sometimes, for the sake of it, he'd make fun of the rare tourists that came in. Most wanted to see that 'dramatic' landscape the Highlands were known for... but most weren't so readily equipped for the miserable weather or that taking a swim in these waters would result in hypothermia guaranteed.

His mother was strict, and made sure that Iain did all of his schoolwork first before he was allowed to play outside or help his uncle. After dinner, she would sit him down to talk about various things. She spoke to him tales of a hunter named Finn mac Cumhaill with his band of men known as the Fianna, how the Queen of Winter, Beira, would brew storms in the cold months to prevent life to grow, raise mountains, and dug in holes for the loches, and his favorite, An Ferbasach--The Conqueror--the first king of Scots. All of this was spoken to him in Scottish Gaelic, a language in which she made sure her son knew like the back of his hand. Every Sunday after mass, she took him to take Gaelic lessons with a few other children in the church's basement.

She tried to stay strong, at least in front of him. Near the age of nine, the lack of the original member of the family did its toll on his mother. The small signs were there: waiting with her phone near her, trying to leave a voice message, checking if there was a new text every five minutes or so. Home was beginning to feel uncomfortable, and Iain begun to stay a little bit longer at his Uncle's, make up idle conversations with his classmates when it was time to go, and walk a little slower on his way home just to stall time. He didn't know what to say to his mom about what was happening, he was only nine, if not a little bit older--how can he convey what he thought into words that would make sense to him? He played this game of avoidance, and soon he would make up lies about how he doesn't have enough time for their after dinner tales. "Sorry Maw--got hamework tae dae," He would say before running into his room.

Goodbye to the mother he used to know.

A year later and his mother finally admitted that Iain's father had other children, "Half brithers an' sisters" as she put it so eloquently. He didn't really care, as he could care less about what that man did, but she obviously seemed bothered by it. This bringing of news didn't much to change their lives. Come the end of his childhood and the beginning of his adolescence, Iain still continued to avoid coming home, by taking on handfuls of extracurricular activities: anything that was available in their little town--Drones Club, Maths Cruncher Club, Experimental Design--he took them all. With the extra work came more excuses as to why he can't even eat at the dinner table and be forced to sit underneath the tense gaze of his mother. This only continued up to his second year in secondary education in which his mother had mustered enough courage to say that she was finally moving out of the port town. It was an insane idea. "Let's move to London," she said, and even the boy stopped in his trek to his room to stare at her.

He could guess reasons as to why she wanted to go to London of all places, since why would a bunch of country hicks jump headfirst into the steel jungle? She had no reason to go crossing borders up until now. There were no relatives (or rather, her relatives) living on the other side and what she was going to do? Start a haggis making business or a bakery? Shit, was it because that man was there? All these questions questioned the uncertainty of the family's future and his mother's sanity. Twelve year old Iain would be thrown into a grade with majority of those being a year older than him, and technically would be more serious than the previous grade levels preceding it. With begrudging farewells and meaningless promises of keeping contact, the family of two did move. Not to the city fortunately, but a more quieter borough that was close to the heart of Greater London.

Moving did a lot of things to Iain, who wasn't so keen on the decision in the first place. It was damn annoying trying to adjust his own accent to others could understand him better (a part of him just thought that they were exaggerating how deaf they were). There wasn't a pasture around, which made the young man much more buried into his studies and activities. Designing things, building things, fixing things--it passed time for Iain, and that was good. Perhaps, he could have sourced it to the time spent with his uncle's own tools and equipment, but even when he would be working with something unfamiliar, he would find the bug and fixed it. Ah, but the biggest change wasn't restricted to his habits and speech patterns.

Iain had begun to hang out with the wrong crowd, the wrong kids. No less than three years of living in Greater London had he smoked numerous packs of cigarettes, took more than a couple bottles of booze, and even shoplifted. Disillusioned and scorned, the boy who thought of fairy tales and great warriors forgot about it all. Perhaps it was the lack of paternal guidance or maybe it was the new friends he happened to make, but Iain never did really put a blame on anyone for having him to start growing an addiction to his vices. It didn't put a dent in his grades, fortunately. The boy still had enough sense in his head to know when he needed to take a step back. But never again had did he have an awkward, but innocent smile. Wild was what his smirk was described as. Wickedness colored the teen's eyes.

'Fitting in', now that was the first he had to bother doing anything like that. That was the first in where he saw differences between the two: Scotland and England, Scottish and English. Attitudes and mannerisms, a part of him felt like those students looked down on him. He pretend he didn't hear much of anything behind his back, but he's damned sure to show them that he wasn't just some bumpkin that came out of the hicks.

It wasn't a great move, but at least his mother got some sense of 'calm' from it.

After adjusting to the new life, Iain had met few of his extended family. One or two, just less than the number of fingers he had on one hand. Their first meeting went fine, but it wasn't a whole reunion. It was only when Iain was about to enter university had he was given a proper reunion. How strange it was to see the range of ages between all of them--strangers and loose acquaintances to be connected by blood because of one man. He was the oldest 'sibling' there was, but he didn't want to fill that role of being the oldest brother. Nothing went smoothly that first reunion; things never did. Divisions came, those who he knew a little bit longer he sided with, the rest he couldn't care less (and yet still he felt the need to provoke and bother them). Oh yes, he might have started a few arguments and a little bit of rough housing, but he felt justified. What was the cause of this inability to sit down to have a proper conversation? Hard to say, as some who would look outside of this family might say 'jealousy' or 'individual baggage' the members had brought with them.

They didn't live together, but they didn't live far away either. Arguments, insults and teasing directed towards a particular person of the family for the day, and day ruining became common. It was something they accepted (and perhaps should have changed). Fortunately for Iain, he was off to university. Away from this family riff-raft.

Goodbye to the mother who couldn't do the same to the man who left her.

He had seen how far his own mother had fallen, and couldn't even handle the sight of her son's half-siblings. Emotionally weak, dependent on a man that probably didn't care for her; looking back on it a part of him felt disgusted. He never did kept in touch with her after he left, and he played it off that he doesn't care.

He was free. Free from his mom, his extended family. Liberation felt great. He didn't keep contact with them, with only a few handful of numbers saved onto a phone he barely glanced at. With great grades and high specialization within the sciences (while his personality might be questionable), Iain was able to enroll in a university that was known for great engineering programs, the Imperial College London. He studied rigorously, and in those were the years his old habits of drinking had toned down, just a little bit, since he was six feet deep in both work and academia. The smoking stayed with him however, often serving as a form of a stress reliever. He stuck through those four years with nothing but sheer willpower and stubbornness (and by just being a genius when it came to his field), and it granted him a Masters of Engineering.

Though, that was all he did, move through. He might have done something he liked, loved even... but he never seriously thought about his future.

A man straight out of university, with a higher degree with a prestigious name behind him, it would seem that his man could have had a bright future ahead of him; become something worth while. But alas, if there had been a few things that were different, if life had gone in another direction, he could have been great. He could have been a somebody perhaps in MI6 or MI5.

He might have listened closely to the politics, but he has no interest in working in the government.

Oh yes, there were a lot of lovely things to listen on the news today. Iain kept a close eye on the latest happenings in regards to his home country. Glasgow was, as always, plagued with crime families and Underground dealings. If he tried hard enough, he could recall his mother warning him of the dangers an urban life could tempt with when he still lived in his small town. In hindsight, there was nothing but ironic in how that turned out. Most simply committed all of the felonies because of greed, others on the spur of a moment...

Then came the interesting ones. Controversies, conspiracies-- the battle between 'them' and 'us' returns. The English media accused a few of the Scottish Labour Party to have undue influence. The Scottish Mafia they called it. The Scottish politicians had always claimed at the English had always used sweet ol' Alba for her own needs, and not for the benefits on the country's own people. Scotland wanted to be treated as nothing but equals to England--equal in the sense that she herself will be autonomous yet still a member of the Union.

Iain could see a potential in whatever political statement they were trying to make. But alas, there was no unification. What worked Scotland's Underground, as he could imagine was just separate groups more than willing to shoot down anyone that got in their way. Bang bang, they would go with two bullets to the head. Bang, one more up the arse, just for rubbing salt to a dead man's life. It was infamously known as the Glasgow send-off. They were just violent, senselessly violent, no motive save for growing bank accounts.

But in the end, those debates made clear sense for the redhead. To an extent he could relate, recalling his youth of the other children that spoke behind his back, and there were very few others that he came to know through his university years that shared similar sentiments. He was done with 'fitting in'. In a single talk with his mates and none with his family, he was off to venture into the north. Glasgow, the largest city Scotland had to offer, was known as the unhealthiest, poorest, and most violent place in the UK.

A young man who left at the age of twenty-two would return to London seven years later, changed, with better connections and newer tactics in his pockets. On the surface he lives an average life-- a modest flat in a a pretty neighborhood. He opens up a shop, meant for repairing computers and appliances and works there in the morning. At night he would be a common sight at the local bars, laughing with regulars and new comers alike. Petty crimes he has done in the past was long since forgotten. At most, he would seem like any old average man, making the best out of what life has to offer.

But he's slowly building his own empire in the shadows. He's not the leader of course, that job was up for someone else, a figurehead really. The time spent in Glasgow's streets was used to establish his identity and his usefulness. The weapons needed for gangs' buffoonery were fixed, improved, and returned, and he even lent money to those who came to him. Gangs relied upon him as a whole, and the individual members even more. Even if any of these groups could have other sources none could really match up to the services Iain provided. His mechanical knowledge didn't end up as a waste, putting together much more lethal contraptions. He wasn't some weapons smuggler, he was a creator--and not many would dare to cross a man who could blast your face into bits and pieces to the point where they'd be live... but wholly miserable.

People owed him favors. He asked for money yes, but favors were more valuable. Don't teach a hungry man how to fish, teach him to rely on you, to the point he would do anything for another meal, to where he felt obligated to pay you back. Play the friendly appearance and trap him in your iron grasp. Make him do your bidding and he gets what he wants: it's a win-win solution for all.

A gloved hand toyed with the knife in hand. Flipping, spinning, passing the time and waiting. Then came a rapping at the door and the Scotsman only looked up from his spot behind the counter, "Aye, business's closed. Read th' sign, yae divet." The person persisted, and this time Iain cursed loudly. Apparently they didn't get the memo that the sign said "closed for today" in legible handwriting.

Knock knock, knock knock.

The stranger that the door didn't say who they were. Just continuous knocking. It would seem as if the only way to get rid of them is to get off of his arse to tell it to their face. So he he withdrew the blade and pocketed the handle; his free hand took his cigarette and crushed it into the ash tray. Already mildly irritated, the man moves towards the door and promptly opened it. So fast and sudden was the action that he almost got his face knocked on.

A lad stood before him, almost a decade younger. Green eyes scrutinized the unfamiliar boy with a frown crinkling on his features. "Whit is it?" Iain's impatience was clear by the tapping of his foot and the crossing of his arms, and it did nothing to sooth whatever nerves the younger man had. Now he's the real question: why was he here? In the other's hands was a nondescript package, wrapped in brown paper. It could be what the ginger was waiting for all along, or another thing that needs fixing. People had quite a knack with breaking things, don't they?

"Pa-Package fer ye, Maister Stiùbhard." Shaking arms held out the box, and the genius was more intrigued at the other's pronunciation than whatever he was given--even if it was indeed, what he had been waiting for a day for. He took the goods and carried it under an arm, but he still had not yet dismissed the boy. His foul mood was quickly doing an 180.

"Cheers boy. Teel yer tay t'at her cookwaur will be put tae guid use." He spoke of a lie, and a glint in his eye told the boy all that was needed to be said. Eyes and ears all surround the streets of ol' London. Watch your boundaries, boy. "Why dornt ye come in? Ah got somethin' tae give tae yer tay." He moved out of the way, and with a flowing arm, gestured for the other to enter his humble business. The moment he stepped inside, the door shut and the smoke of ash and tobacco burned into the lad's eyes.

"Wait here, woods ye? Ah'll be back soon." Iain retreated to the door that said 'employees only' and placed his 'present' onto a small wooden table. This he will have to see later. This was clear that this was what he had asked for, some important piece of metal meant to finish a project or two. Building things that a 'simple' engineer shouldn't have access too was part of the trade. But yes, back to that thing he want to give to the lad's 'aunt'. 'She' had done him a great favor, and in return, would show his gratitude. Unfortunately it couldn't be anything too useful. If the Scotsman were to do that, he might as well drive himself to Glasgow 'gift' in hand. He trusted himself more than he would trust a greenhorn like the boy standing outside.

Emerald eyes gleamed at the one item he found, and he emerged from the back. "'ey, coupons up." He tossed the bottle over and the boy caught it, arms wrapping around the recklessly thrown gift out of reflex. In contrast with his actions, the Scotsman told the boy to treat that bottle delicately. There was some mighty fine scotch in that bottle and it would be a damn shame if the receiver wouldn't be able to taste it. He sent the boy off, to do whatever errands he needed before returning to Scotland's corrupted city.