alameda

[themissing-linc]

People pass you by, passing up the chance to know you. They're irregular, in the usual way.

BIOGRAPHY | PINTEREST | SPOTIFY | MUSINGS | CONNECTS

NAME: lincoln ray welch NICKNAME(S): linc LABEL: the whisper AGE/BIRTHDAY: 28/august 6, 1997 BIRTHPLACE: blue harbor, il NEIGHBORHOOD: weaver ridge GENDER IDENTITY: cis male, he/him SEXUALITY: bisexual ETHNICITY: irish/english FACE CLAIM: paul mescal TLDR ; Born and bred in Blue Harbor, Lincoln has known the unsightly charm of Weaver Ridge for most of his life. His parents loved each other dearly, and they fought loudly. Early on, Linc nurtured his love for music and has since belonged to two bands, The Beast's Insides with his high school friends and Fisthead, his most serious post-graduate endeavor. Things were going well for Fisthead with a second album in the works when Linc's father got sick. A year ago, he returned home to Blue Harbor to support his family. BONUS ; listen to Linc's solo album, "Reveries," here and Fisthead's debut album, "At the Bottom of Everything," here.

[isabelguzman]

Isabel nods her head, a smile curving her lips. "Of course I do. Have I ever lied to you a day in our lives?" He's probably the one person she never would lie to, her eyes focus on him as she tries to figure out what's going on in his head. Her gaze drops down for a second as she thinks about how they had to leave LA. But she never blamed him or even held resentment toward him. She scoots closer to him, raising her hand to touch the side of his head and gently brush her fingertips in the strands of his hair. "It didn't do anything to me," she says softly. "There is no music career without you, Linc. We are a pair. It's always going to be that way. Understand?"

@themissing-linc

[themissing-linc]

Linc broke into a sheepish smile, nodding like she'd caught him in something. Maybe she had caught him in a particularly strong bout of grief at the idea of filling in his father's shoes (figuratively) at the grill-- and how that reality might not be so far off. He knew it wasn't helpful to think about those things, but it was inevitable. "You haven't," Linc confirmed, affection clear in his tone. Moments like these were... confusing, to say the least. Blurring the lines between friendship and what they almost were, not so long ago. Still, Linc couldn't bring himself to pull away from Isabel. "What happened to never lying to me?" he teased, a temporary reprieve from the weight of their conversation, and his own guilt. "I do, I just..." he sighed, meeting her eyes, "I don't know if I can ever do that again, in the same way. I can't promise that." He was starting to sound like a broken record, but it was important to Linc that he was clear with Isabel, that he set her free if that was what she wanted.

[hvneymelons]

“I did not.” they said, glancing at him with a raised brow in question. How did he even know such a thing? Juno was sure it was probably public knowledge for anyone who cared to look, though they didn’t know why anybody would. Other than beer aficionado’s perhaps, which Lincoln didn’t exactly seem like one to them. But what did they know. “Did that knowledge aid in your new found interest in the beverage?” They couldn’t picture themselves drinking something they didn’t enjoy the taste of, simply in the hopes that somewhere along the way they might develop a taste for it. Seemed a little masochistic if they really thought about it.  His words made them feel warmth which they absolutely hated… right? Their lip twitched almost as if to smile at the compliment, but they refrained from doing so. “It took a really long time.” they said instead, picking up one of the small pieces and tracing a finder down its curvature. Juno could still find things about their art to perfect, as any artist should, but if they truly took a step back they could see the beauty in it all. Their errors added on a layer of uniqueness to each piece that they truly loved. “I do not know what you mean.” Juno said, turning to look at Linc who was much closer than they had expected and blinked. “High school version?”  It went without saying that Juno loved every single Tim Burton film that had been released, holding a stronger preference for his artistic claymation films even if there were other better directors out there. He was simply a titan among the rest. “We should watch it.” they said, holding out one of the pieces for Linc to touch. “Whenever you have time. I mean, I wouldn’t mind it… it’s an autumn tradition for me, you could say.”  His line of questioning made them pause and press their lips. A thoughtful look crossing over their features as they found the words to speak, “I think the scene itself speaks loudly about love and betrayal, and what people would go through in order to have or avenge it.” Not that Juno was versed in any matters of the heart, but they could find beauty in its depiction through books and television. Love wasn’t something they ever really expected to experience outside of family, and probably wouldn’t know how to properly approach. The thought alone made their insides turn.

[themissing-linc]

"Oh, um..." Linc laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. He was embarrassed, but at the same time, felt like he could freely admit any number or 'embarrassing' things to Juno. They always had a way of putting him at ease and this, like... almost permanent non-judgement about them. "I actually got into it because I studied abroad in Ireland in college?" Linc said, cheeks pink. "I hated it at first, if I'm honest, couldn't stand the taste, but I felt like I had to.... learn to like it? To be true to my heritage or something?" he laughed, shaking his head. "It's stupid."

He was grateful to see Juno's watchful eyes turn from him to their figurines. He was almost convinced they could read his mind if they looked hard enough-- not that he had anything particularly thrilling going on that would make for good fodder, or anything. "How many hours does one take you?" Linc asked, wanting to reach out and pick one up himself, but he hesitated. Art could be so personal, he felt lucky Juno was even letting him look over their shoulder. "Oh, yeah, like the drama kids put it on? I think it was the spring musical when I was a junior... or, actually, maybe senior year?"

Linc nodded quickly at the idea. "I'd like that," he smiled, admitting, "I'm not very educated on his stuff, so, broadening my horizons and that." Almost as if they'd read his mind, Juno handed a figurine over and Linc took it gingerly, afraid that even the slightest pressure could cause it to crack. Still, he pulled it up close to his face, turning it right and left to really admire the delicate brushstrokes. "Wow, Juno, this is..." he shook his head, letting out a breath.

"Huh," was all he said, setting the figurine down in its rightful place and bending to get a better look at the miniature scene, the set design. "I like that." Linc took a swig of his beer, wistful look overtaking his features, "What would you do for love, Juno?"

[damianesco]

Christ, Damian thinks morosely. That means Louis probably crashed this party, which doesn’t bode well for his mental state. Rubbing at his face a little tiredly, Damian offers the guy a grateful smile, small as it is. “Thanks,” he tells him when he offers to help him ask around. It’s the best he can do under the circumstances, he guesses — he gives his phone another glance to make sure Louis hasn’t texted back. He hasn’t. Fantastic. God, he misses his couch. 

Following the man into the bar, he scans the crowd to see if he can find him — but for the most part, all of these people blur into one, and he doesn’t see anything that would indicate Louis’s presence at all. “No,” he replies to his question, frowning. “Not from here, anyway.” He feels a little bad, making a stranger look for someone he doesn’t know with him — especially considering this seems to be his party, and he should not be wasting time with a recovering alcoholic’s issues. 

He turns to the guy — not Leon, as he’d mentioned, so probably Linc, if the banner is anything to go by — and offers him a tight smile. “You really don’t have to stick around and look,” he promises, the bar’s atmosphere already setting the hairs of his arms on end. That hasn’t really been an issue until lately, what with all the bullshit going on. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he asks, “Where are the bathrooms? I’ll check there.”

[themissing-linc]

When he was stone-cold sober, Linc was pretty perceptive. Phoebe had once asked him what hypervigilance meant in a leading way, and it had sent him on a whole rabbit trail about how he probably was hypervigilant-- but after a couple of beers? Linc's awareness was fuzzy around the edges, like he was fumbling around in his kitchen in the middle of the night... but in an emotional sense.

But even with bleary eyes, Linc could see that the man was uncomfortable about something. He just couldn't be sure what it was. "Yeah, man," he said, still scanning the entirety of O'Shea's and wondering if the stranger was supposed to be wearing a beanie or a beret. He couldn't quite remember, but the thought of some dude in a beret brought a goofy smile to his lips.

"Listen, are you okay?" Linc asked, when the other attempted to dismiss him. "I'm not... there's a lot going on and all, I don't mind having a breather, honest," he said, then wondered if his status as a stranger was deterring the other. "I'm Linc, uh... bathrooms are down the hall and to the left," he said, completely neglecting a conjunction or an attempt at coherence.

[just-foster]

He wasn't actually here — just dropping off some of Phoebe's old clothes he'd found buried in his closet, trusting that Leon would get it back to her because he didn't have the nerve to text. Foster very pointedly felt like he didn't have a claim to O'Shea's, and considering all the memories, he wasn't sure he wanted to. He would be in and out, hopefully without even a word to Leon, whose loyalties he didn't care to test but suspected they veered towards Phoebe.

Speaking of... Foster didn't have to wonder where Linc's loyalties lay, and as they made eye contact, he felt his stomach drop. Still, he numbly took the seat when Linc offered it to him, not quite sure what he was playing at when really he should be asking him to meet him outside. "Been better," he shrugged, and it was halfway honest. In truth, he was shattered, absolutely destroyed, but somehow I don't think Lincoln or Phoebe would take solace in that fact. "You?"

[themissing-linc]

So he hadn't exactly thought through what he would say to Foster. Honestly, Linc was surprised they'd gotten this far. It might've made more sense for Foster to pretend he didn't hear him, walk away unscathed. Not that Linc would... er, scathe him. "Yeah," Linc acknowledged, nodding and fixing his eyes on his beer for a long moment. "'m okay, you know, can't complain," he answered honestly, though Linc felt a pang of guilt for it given what Foster was probably feeling.

He cleared his throat, glancing at Foster and offering, "Can I buy you a beer or something, man?" It was like an olive branch. One he wasn't sure he should even be extending, but... as far as Linc was concerned, Foster was still the best of Phoebe's exes. He'd fucked up, majorly, but after seeing her through Spencer and a string of guys who didn't even try to deserve her, Linc was just grateful Foster wasn't, like, flipping his shit, trying to make it all her fault. "I'm not gonna yell at you," he added, pushing the drink menu in the man's direction. "Not my job."

[themissing-linc]

[haleyatwell]

SEX AND THE CITY (1998–2004) 6.13 Let There Be Light

[themissing-linc]

who: Linc & @thephoebeyates where: Phoebe's apartment

There was a fine line between post-breakup care and downright stifling, and Linc was inching closer and closer to crossing it every time he saw Phoebe. She was fine, he knew. She was strong-- and she'd certainly seen worse things in her life. But Linc couldn't keep his little brother instinct from rearing its head in such a time as this, which is how he found himself at her door for the third night in a row, holding a paper bag filled with fresh-sliced sourdough and three different cheese options.

"I swear to God, if you're watching Dirty Dancing without me I'm going to go postal," Linc called through the door as he let himself in, dropping off dinner in the kitchen and joining Phoebe in the living room. "Hey, kid," he smiled, bumping her knee with his own. "What've you been doing today?" He busied himself immediately, plucking up a couple empty glasses and dirty dishes from the coffee table and retreating to the kitchen to wash them, hoping she wouldn't notice-- or at the very least, wouldn't fight him on this for the third night in a row.

"Hey, also, my mom sent over ingredients for... mug cakes?" Linc said, sticking his head out from the kitchen with a confused tilt. "Have you heard of that? Something she saw on Pinterest. I guess you can make, like, a mini cake in a mug."

[d3cad3nce]

who: liam & linc @themissing-linc where: farmer's market

IT WAS SLIGHTLY DISORIENTING to try and navigate crowded places, especially for liam, whose heightened sense of awareness sometimes felt like a double-edged sword. he had promised several people ( maya, els and cal to mention a few ) that he would start eating better and healthier. he could go to earthwave, but something about the memory of going to the farmer’s market with his mother on weekends tugged at him. he wanted to experience it again, to see if it was still as abundant and lively as he remembered. he was determined to find some good veggies and maybe some meat if he was lucky, but the amount of people crowding the narrow aisles made it difficult. he could hear the shuffling of feet and the occasional murmur of conversations, but the noise made it challenging to get his bearings. suddenly, he felt the shift of someone stepping into his path, and before he could react, he barely missed crashing into them. liam turned quickly and threw the person an apologetic smile. "oh, sorry, dude. i didn't see you there."

[themissing-linc]

I'll just be in and out, Linc promised as he ducked out of the still-running Volkswagen. Dad was half-in and half-out of his afternoon nap in the passenger seat, the early autumn breeze kissing his face while Steely Dan played softly on the radio. It was kind of a perfect scene, true serenity, and Linc would've stayed and appreciated it if he wasn't on a mission-- and terrified of Mom's wrath if he didn't get home with pecorino and basil by the time the potatoes were done baking.

He successfully located a wedge of pecorino and narrowly avoided the woman talking him into buying a half-pound of parmesan. Suffice it to say, Linc was feeling good. As he rounded the stall in search of basil, he stopped short to avoid the other. "Oh, no problem..." Linc said, automatically waving it off, though the words died in his throat when he recognized the offender. "Liam. I didn't know you were in town." His words were clipped at the edges, and though Linc didn't think of himself as a particularly unkind person, he didn't exactly have the warm-fuzzies about someone who'd left one of his closest friends heartbroken not so long ago.

[mournfulroses]

Simone de Beauvoir, from "Inseraparable: A Never Before Published Novel,"

[themissing-linc]

& dante ( @hvneymelons )

[clementinebriar]

[ OUTGOING SMS 📲 BABERAHAM LINCOLN 🎩 ]

CLEM: hey handsome 🫶 CLEM: can a girl get $30 @themissing-linc

[themissing-linc]

LINC: lmfaooo LINC: hi, clem LINC: yea sure, venmo or zelle? LINC: are u okay??

[scarlettrxse]

[ SMS : lincoln logs 🎶 ]

scarlett: excuse me scarlett: do my eyes deceive me scarlett: are you in blue harbor???

@themissing-linc

[themissing-linc]

linc: omg!!! linc: yea i am!!! have been for a year or so!! linc: are u here???

[saulweissberg]

availability / @themissing-linc / randomizer task! location / pie numbers timeline / friday, september 13th, 2024 at 7:08 pm.

saul wasn’t really a fan of pie numbers. he knew that was practically sacrilege in blue harbor, but he was a new yorker! pizza in the midwest—especially the dreaded deep crust chicago-style—just didn’t measure up. that wasn’t to say that he hated pie numbers and their pizza, it just wasn’t on the top of his list of favorite places to eat. that wasn’t the case on that friday, however. maybe it was due to it being the thirteenth—saul wasn’t a superstitious man, but perhaps there was some credibility to bad luck on that particular date. maybe he was just in a bad mood because it had been over two week since he heard from his son, and though he promised everyone he would stop trying to contact micah, it annoyed him that he had to. couldn’t his son just pick up the fucking phone, just once? so, maybe it could be contributed to his bad mood, or the date, but he was looking for something simple to have for dinner and what could be more fuss-free than pizza?

waiting for his food, saul stood off to the side of the counter with his arms crossed over his torso. there was his now-familiar deep frown set onto his face, and while he normally cared what other people thought about him, lately he couldn’t care if he looked unfriendly in public. that frown disappeared the moment he spotted phoebe’s friend, lincoln. saul smiled politely at the younger man. “hey, lincoln, right?” he greeted him by name, banking on him remembering saul from earlier that year when they crossed paths before. “this is great, i was actually hoping to run into you or one of phoebe’s other friends. i’m planning her birthday party later this month and i wanted to get some ideas. what’d you think?”

[themissing-linc]

Pizza Fridays were a sacred ritual in the Welch household. It started in kindergarten, a reward for colicky Linc to be brave and go to school for a whole week without his mom, and carried over into high school. It was rare that he'd miss Pie Numbers at the kitchen table, regardless of whatever party was happening that night, or gig the band was playing. When he moved home last year, it was the one shred of normalcy that persisted, which was shocking given Mom's hyper-attention to Dad's diet. On pizza Fridays, there was no mention of cancer, or bills, or chores-- it was like their oasis.

So, like every other Friday, Linc called in their order. One large sweet pig, one medium vegetarian, and three Ceasar salads with extra croutons. Like every other Friday, he was quoted thirty minutes (which really meant forty-five), so Linc took a seat on the freestanding red vinyl booth next to the Pickup sign and scrolled mindlessly on his phone to kill the time. At least, until a familiar face called out to him. "Yeah, hey," he smiled, standing up and stepping closer to the man. "Oh.... okay, yeah, I think Sebastian mentioned something to me. Sorry, my head's been all over the place," Linc said, apologetically. "Well, y'know, she isn't a huge fan of... attention, or anything. But she has so many friends, we'd have to accommodate a big group... did you have something specific in mind?" Linc asked, before he got too carried away thinking about all of the restaurants and bars in town where they could rent out a room.

[evigh3t]

it often felt that way, a systematic dumbing-down of the masses, but jasper wasn’t sure whether it was quite the right topic to bring up with a near stranger. they were never quite sure what to talk about it any situation—the weather? sport? what he needed was a rolodex of sentence starters, little cue cards reminding them of the standards: what’s your favorite color? where are you from? he blinked, confused for a moment, before answering, “manchester. sort of north.” it still blew jasper’s mind that america was so big; if you drove all day in england, you’d risk falling right off the end. they straightened and rested both hands on their knees, staring at the ceiling as though calling upon the heavens for help. “i . . . wow, that’s a big question. top five.” the librarian had never thought of having children, but he was as torn as he would have been if asked to pick between his own offspring, “pet sematary by stephen king, the little prince . . . ” jasper’s nose twitched, “ . . . the picture of dorian gray.” the other two would have to wait. he snapped back to reality. “well, yes. if you tell me a genre, i'll know what number it is. that's my job.”

[themissing-linc]

Manchester. Linc at least had context for Manchester, even if it was football-related. "Ah, Manchester... City or United?" he couldn't help but ask, kind gleam in his eye. He didn't know if someone so well-read would even be into sport, but maybe it was like a national thing-- like how most everybody raised in America partook in NFL Sundays. Linc chuckled at the serious expression the other took on, and even felt a pang of guilt for asking such a difficult question to answer. He might've even let the librarian off the hook, if Linc didn't actually want to know. He nodded, committing the names to memory. "Hey, I head to read Picture of Dorian Gray in high school. It was pretty good," Linc said, almost proud. "I haven't read the other two... but didn't Pet Sematary get made into a movie recently?" Linc shrugged at the librarian's matter-of-fact tone. He supposed it was part of the job, the same way Linc could all but commit a song to memory after a handful of run-throughs. "When you put it that way, it makes sense," he chuckled, standing up straight with his armful of books to re-shelf. "Um... first up is House of Leaves, which is..." Linc squinted at the cover, flipping it over to the back and answering, "Fiction."

[jacklynchh]

"Go ahead. Saves me the trouble." Jack shrugged, watching him with interest. He knew exactly what the guy meant. In his opinion there was no better way of dealing with unwanted feelings than tearing through the earth. It always felt good to do something with his hands, especially something productive. Hell, it'd done more for him so far than grief counselling had anyway. "Lotta gardeners are freelance. Easier that way." The thought of having another person or some faceless company in charge of what he did all but made him shudder. Jack gardened to get away from people, not answer to them. Self-employed it meant that at the end of the day all he needed to do was please his clients and most of them were happy to take his advice anyway.

"Glad you like it." He regarded the kid with of concern as he leaned against a nearby tree, noting again the tired look about him. "You been here since last year, huh?"

➥ tagging @themissing-linc

[themissing-linc]

For a moment, Linc wondered why he'd never started his own garden. He had the space out back, now that dad was too sick to work on cars back there and Mom'd sold all but his favorite-- the '66 Camaro-- to help pay for treatment. It might do them all some good to see something grow. "You do mostly big projects, I imagine. Stuff like this?" Linc asked, pulling out a couple more chewed-through stems. "Got any advice on starting a garden at home? For a first-timer," he added, pointing at his own chest.

He smiled, pausing so he could turn and properly look at the gardener. Something about him seemed... well, Linc couldn't help but think he was familiar with sadness, too. "Yeah. I guess it has been a year now. My dad's doing chemo, so we're in and out pretty often."

[elijahfalvey]

“Well, you know — for me, it kind of was. My mum used to play all sorts of music ‘round the house for my siblings and I when we were winding down at night. Fleetwood Mac was always a fan favorite, but she knew I loved the piano, so Songbird found its way on more often than not. Come a Little Bit Closer, too. Say You Love Me. Morning Rain? God, I can go on forever,” Elijah huffed out a laugh, painfully aware in that moment that Linc didn’t particularly ask for that piece of information, but it was as if he couldn’t stop himself. Chatter about music, in general, frequently had that effect on him; simultaneously, it frequently tended to fall on deaf ears. He was appreciative of the fact that this time, his victim seemed to understand him. “Would you?” he asked, in a miniature cloud of humble disbelief, “Maybe we can find a way to make that happen sometime. Only if you play me something first, though,” he added, the corner of his lips tipping upwards into a grin. “Equal exchange and all that.”

He couldn’t hold back his laughter for much longer. Or, more accurately, it was almost painful how quickly the other crumbled underneath his faux scrutiny, so he figured he’d spare him a little. “You’re alright, Linc. I was only busting your chops — a little.” He’d stand by his disbelief that Linc was any older than twenty, but he wouldn’t push any further than that lest his face reddens any more. 

Although it was easy to flip that awkward feeling once compliments were thrown into the mix; he did enjoy them, but after spending a lifetime hiding behind Harrison’s confidence, it didn’t exactly get any easier to take them in stride now that he was all alone, accepting praise for work that wasn’t entirely his. “Right, yeah. Well, um — thank you, anyway.” He perked up marginally as he began to talk about his own talents, genuinely interested. It didn’t last for long, however, as he rocked his head indecisively. “Uhhh — yes? And no. Not very often for my own . . . enjoyment, I suppose. I mainly teach lessons, produce, that sort of thing.” He paused, if only for a moment, before he reached into his pocket to fish out his wallet. Tucked inside one of the pockets were a few copies of his business card, the name and address of his studio printed on the top in a bold font. “I actually own a studio in Cardinal Hill now, if — y’know —,” He extended the card towards Linc. “If you were ever interested in stopping by.”

[themissing-linc]

It was proving difficult for Linc to withhold his enthusiasm, but he nodded encouragingly as Elijah spoke. He couldn’t help the feeling of awe growing in his chest– how lucky he was to get a window into Eli’s history with music. He was sure it was more complicated than playing Fleetwood Mac to make a kid into a prodigy, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. “Oh, God, yeah– Morning Rain is another underrated classic,” Linc gushed, distinctly aware of his un-coolness– but he felt oddly comfortable with Eli. Like maybe he’d met the only other person in the world who would earnestly answer ‘what would be on the soundtrack of your life’. After a slew of unsuccessful dates in his early twenties, Linc learned that most people didn’t care that much– and that he wasn’t hot enough to ramble on for hours about what song would best fit the first time he fell off the Gulp’n’Go roof. Linc almost urged Eli to go on forever; He would’ve pledged his allegiance as a willing audience member, except he was trying to be cool.

Trying.

Linc couldn’t help but laugh at Eli’s surprise, quickly lifting his hands as if to say I’m not laughing at you. “Yeah… yeah, I mean… of course I would,” he promised. Hearing one of his all-time favorite musicians cover one of his all-time favorite songs? The fantasy halted at  Eli’s counter-offer, and Linc felt his throat run dry. What could he possibly play that would hold a candle to anything Elijah Falvey had ever touched? Still, he figured it was a fair enough trade. “Ah, shit… I guess that’s called for,” Linc breathed out, rubbing the back of his neck and chuckling, “You gotta lower your expectations though, okay? I’m serious. Low.”  

Eli’s reassurance helped Linc relax even further, and allowed enough oxygen flow to his brain that he was even able to formulate a semi-thoughtful response to the second offer. It was a wonder Linc didn’t pass out on the spot, really. “Wow, uh…” Linc ran his thumb over the embossed business card, as if he was convincing himself it was real. That Elijah Falvey just invited him out to the studio. “Sure, I would love that… I mean, I’m very interested.” Another breath, another surge of oxygen. “I mean… I’ll try not to be so weird. Next time I see you,” Linc promised with a chuckle that sounded more like he was being strangled. 

With a nod, Linc took a step backwards, eyes still glancing between the business card and Eli himself. “I really, really appreciate it. I’ll call you. Um…” he glanced at the shop’s counter, the poor cashier who’d witnessed this entire painful exchange, grounding himself in this place and time. “I’ll let you– get back to it.” He smiled, tucked the card into the back of his wallet, just behind his lucky $2 bill, and slipped out the front door.

THE END.

[doctornilayxaksoy-esfahani]

With a soft laugh, she soon shook her head. "No, no, you're okay. I promise." However, hearing his name just about stopped her again. It finally all clicked within her. How she knew him. Where she's seen him from. Granted, she's never met him until now. But she knew of his songs. At least... Some certain songs, from a certain time. "Lincoln," she breathed out. Trying to keep her smile on her face, even though her heart was racing nervously. "From... From Fisthead, right?" Izzy, I am so sorry, she thought. Wondering if her ex has told Lincoln about her or, if by some miraculous chance, he only knew of her from Phoebe. Yet, the guilt she felt didn't disappear at the idea of the second option either. She nodded, still feeling rather dazed. And nauseous. "That's alright, I understand. I've been busy this past year setting up my newest wing, but welcome back home. Any particular reason as to why you came back to Blue Harbor?"

Nilay sat up at his words: he ran into Elijah? For a moment, her previous worry came back. But, as Lincoln continued, her features softened and her heart felt warm. "He is?" Her voice was soft as she spoke. She wasn't surprised. Due to Elijah's success and career with Amethyst and then him continuing to produce music and even ghostwriting songs for awhile, she wasn't the least bit surprise to hear the blond musician admit that he was one of his idols. Yet it only made her happy to know that there were still musicians who regarded him highly and that they were greatly influenced by him. "He truly is wonderful, isn't he? I'm sure that he'd be happy to work with you whenever you're ready to get back into creating music."

"Oh, no, please—" The curator rubbed at her forehead, her letting out a gentle, bashful laugh. Taking one last drag of her own cigarette. "I'm just... greatly passionate about ancient history and helping to teach others all about it, as much as possible. Ancient Mediterranean and Near Eastern civilizations, histories, and cultures. I primarily focus on Egypt and Mesopotamia, due to growing up in Mardin, Türkiye and Cairo, Egypt, but I've been trained, studied, lived, and worked in all areas of that region." Glancing over, her smile was sheepish. "Like I said: I'm greatly passionate about ancient history." As he asked about Angela, she shook her head. Her brows furrowing slightly. "No, this will be the first time. She says that it's going to be the second biggest move within my career... Which, if it's almost as big as my discovery back in 2017, then it has to be quite something." She thought some more. She had an idea. It being plausible, however, she wasn't quite sure. "I have experience with singing. Maybe she thinks we could form a duo or something? I'm not sure, and it's really bothering me not knowing."

📜@themissing-linc

[themissing-linc]

"From Fisthead, yeah," Linc confirmed, laughter scrunching up the sides of his eyes. The band's name had never really represented their music well-- Fisthead being evocative of punk or hard rock, their stuff being more like a singer/songwriter with big band backing-- but there was something distinctly Blue Harbor about it. Perhaps even distinctly Weaver Ridge.

Linc couldn't figure out the look in Nilay's eye-- maybe she hated their music?-- but he was the last person who would press in with a question. Instead, he chewed on his bottom lip and realized he still didn't have a good answer to the what-are-you-doing-in-town question. At least, not an answer that didn't immediately make things feel... tense. "Oh, I just came back for family," he attempted, then winced at how dismissive it sounded. "Actually, my dad is pretty sick. He's fine right now, but Mom needed some help around the house and all."

He noted the almost immediate shift in demeanor Dr. Bailey underwent at the mention of Elijah. Linc could feel how much she loved him, how special their relationship was just from the way her face brightened. "He's... I mean, he's incredible," Linc agreed, allowing himself to be truly starry-eyed. Her offer reminded Linc of the business card he had, tucked in his wallet right behind the $2 bill his Dad gave him nearly a decade ago. "Oh... yeah he mentioned that I should stop by the studio sometime," Linc nodded, swallowing. "I guess I feel a little... intimidated."

Nodding encouragingly, Linc all but hung on her every word. He wasn't much of a history buff, himself, but Linc found it hard to resist when someone was so passionate about a topic. He figured he'd watch paint dry for an entire day if somebody cared enough about it-- so ancient history was an easy buy-in. "It's cool that you get to bring a piece of home over, and share it with everyone. I definitely want to stop by the museum, maybe get a tour or something?" Linc ventured.

The second biggest move of her career. That caused Linc's brows to shoot up, and he immediately wondered whether it was some sort of mistake for him to be here-- what could he possibly offer someone so successful, so... put together? "Wow, that's--" Linc chuckled, shaking his head, "You think they got the wrong Lincoln Welch?" The singing guess was perhaps the most plausible thing, but why would they have gone with Linc over... literally anyone else who was actively making music? Before he could voice his confusion, two people in suits opened the door and waved at them. Linc couldn't help but feel incredibly out of place. "I guess that's us?"