Finn was fifty, a handful of years Magnus’s senior. They were both raised in Christian households that practiced a stoic religion, eschewing the pomp and circumstance of the Catholics or the dramatics of the Baptists. They were raised to not drink, smoke, or rely on doctors beyond the ER, though each was subject to interpretation in certain circumstances and moments. And it was at one of these services, dressed in Sunday best, that their then-wives became friends and introduced them. 

The domestic partners gradually fell away from the conversation, as Magnus and Finn both needed distance to cope with their familial disappointments, increasingly pursuing far-flung adventures, often spurred by research only the most curious of souls would pursue. Finn liked speed on “Jacket,” his 1200 GSA, and altitude alpine climbing and skydiving. Magnus wasn’t averse to either but preferred sea level and below. Finn looked more the part of an Indiana Jones with a dash of Bond; Welsh by birth, tall and lean. His icons were T. E. Lawrence and George Mallory. Magnus was more of a British/French Jason Bourne, barrel-chested and stocky but quick of foot and wit. His icons were Chick Parsons, the undercover phenom of the Philippines, and, perhaps, Alexander Dumas’s character, D’Artagnan. Finn was raised on the East Coast of America, among but not always directly benefiting from the trappings of Brahmin privilege. Magnus was raised in the Midwest of humble means, escaping his steel town by invitation to play ball at a boarding school. Finn’s escape was the Navy, where he excelled as an Antarctic Pararescue precision skydiver onto glaciers and the polar plateau before his discharge and benefits allowed him to attend acting school and eventually pursue a career on camera. 

Magnus was a first adopter in all things tech, spoke romance languages, and did calculus in his head, while Finn’s answer to most foreign languages was a big smile. He had a similar response to big numbers and complex formulas. Magnus was a sixth-generation Mason but was a little reserved about it, despite Finn’s curiosity to learn more about his friend’s unique fraternity. They both loved food. Magnus could cook as well as eat. Finn could really eat. Magnus was prone to hangry bouts when blood sugar was low.

When meeting new people or new challenges, or when utterly bored, they liked to play “two truths and a lie,” a creative bluff game that was ideal for their “truth is stranger than fiction” lives. Neither of them were hirsute, though Finn had a funny way of protruding his jaw and twisting a fake mustache like Hercule Poirot when a farcical mystery was afoot. Magnus, for his part, had a comical wide eye that silently said “whoa, look at this” and a hysterical brow arch when he just wasn’t buying something.

Finn’s superpower was the conviction in his “let’s get serious” voice. “If you want to live, follow me,” was an example he used more than once. Magnus’s real superpower was creating those situations Finn was so adept at getting them out of. They were, above all, friends till death and constantly testing the timing of same. And as time passed, the stories only got more surreal.