(1937-09-26) A Fop for Dinner
Details for A Fop for Dinner
Summary: While Annie and Tim share an elegant date, Eddie attends to a drinkable meal with Monty. And then his friend Damien. Fopping ensues.
Date: September 26, 1937
Related: None

Tim hasn't let go of Annie's hand since they made it through the floo into London. He lifts up the little hand in his to kiss the back of her hand as she murmurs something to him. He just gives her a big shy boyish grin and a little shrug that says 'Guilty and don't care!'. They are lead to a nice table with privacy but a view of the rest of the posh cafe. The hostess removes the 'Reserved' sign from the table and Tim moves to slide out Annie's chair for her. There is also on her plate laying on it's side a bouquet of rainbow roses with clover leaves as the 'filler'.

Eddie had even forgotten she AGREED to a dinner with Monty tonight, until the brief owl came saying he'd been her here that evening. Then the blonde recalled the strange conversation that happened in the office, as he did his best to give some advice to her department and she did her best to tell him the Auror's hand it under handle. And then dinner was agreed upon. How had that happened? Either way, she's here now. Eddie has put her gray Auror's robes away for the day but is in a deep, curves hugging emerald suit with a matching, mostly flat, ovular hat that sits precariously tipped on the side of her head. Her lips are perfect and red, as always, eyes popping blue, just enough pink to her cheeks, and heels deliciously high. She looks like money, class and femininity all rolled in one, right down to the seams up the back of her silk stockings. "This the place?" She asks Monty as they head inside. "My brother just took me here. It's nice. Good to see Diagon getting a bit of class."

Annie's eyes widen as she spies the roses on the plate, and she slides into the offered chair, smoothing her skirt as she sits. Her voice is low and pleased, "They're beautiful, Tim." The flowers are picked up and brought to the young witch's nose for a sniff at their delicate scent. Blue eyes are still wide as Annie looks around. "It's dead posh here, isn't it?" She feels like Cinderella, actually, out of her ordinary world with the Handsome Prince at her side.

"I think it must be," Monty replies, looking around and whistling softly. "Anywhere else just wouldn't fly, after all— too close to the Cauldron, ruin the effect. Difficult for even the best nose to appreciate a cup of tea and a glass of gin in such close proximity." He's dressed decently, for once - cream-colored jacket and slacks, black bow tie, random shoulder decorations that were there when his house elf first picked it out for him - though his hair is visibly bristling at the idea, tangled up in itself even worse than usual. As for why they're here together? Well, he mentioned he was going, she mentioned she was doing the same; it seemed the only polite thing, at that point.

Tim grins all the wider when Annie enjoys her surprise so much. "Florist was goin mad on about this meaning that and that meaning this. So I chose them, cause you mean a little of everything to me." It's said with complete genuine adoring. He sits himself down and takes a look about. "It is really posh. Maybe a bit too much so?" He asks with a bit of worry, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable or out of place. "Least it's nice for a once in a while thing?" They are both rather cozy up on a couch and sip tea and watch the fire blaze sort of people. So it looks like even he's feeling a bit misplaced. But he wanted to do something very nice for their first date. "S'all down hill from here." He jokes with a smile.

"Yes, this is true. Though the Cauldron has it's place, it's certainly a relief to get out on the town some nights. Well, shall we sit at the little bar, or actually take a table?" She doesn't actually take his arm or stand lovey close to him. The body language from Eddie's entire stance says business dinner, but she's not entirely certain what business they have. So, she reaches into her jacket and pulls out that silver cigarette case with the stylized M on it, popping it open so she can drawn out a long cigarette and stick it between her lips. "And you're buying the first round." She murmurs with a grin as she uses her wand to light the end of her cigarette.

Annie shakes her head slightly, "No, I don't think it's too posh." But she does grin at him sheepishly as she goes on, "I'm just not used to such fancy things. I did say that yeh spoil me." Tim could give her nothing and she would still adore him, clearly seen in the way she looks at him. "And of course it's not all down hill from here," she chides gently. "We've only just started."

Monty blinks, glancing toward Edwarlinda. "Am I? I suppose I am, then." Not like he can't afford it, at least, judging from the nice threads. "And a table, I think. Best we leave the bar open for lone wolves— after all, they need a chance to acculturate themselves too, don't you think?"

Tim smiles, "Well I might not always be able to give ye fancy things, but I can promise I'll give ye everything to the best of my ability." He then picks up a menu and looks over the selection. "Never had Duck before…what about you?"

A smile is flashed warmly to the hostess. "A table then. Two." Eddie orders curtly, and she lets the small woman lead them across towards a table near to Annie and Tim. Eddie catches sight of the familiar woman and smiles a bit wider, giving her an eager little, silent wave, but she isn't going to interrupt the woman's date. She settles into a chair across from Monty instead, leaning back deeply and crossing her long legs as she practically sprawls like a pleased cat across from Monty. Awkward dinner or not, she's not going to show it. "So… Montgomery. Tell me about yourself." Her husky voice purrs out simply.

Annie's head is down to read the menu, and she looks up to answer Tim. The platinum glory that is Edwarlinda catches her eye at once, and her hand comes up to offer a fingerwiggle wave back. Annie is actually with someone who /wants/ to snog her… she's sure Eddie would be so proud. Her attention is right back on Tim, "My da went hunting a time or two. Once he brought back a duck he'd shot, and I thought Mum was going to go through the ceiling." The memory brings a fond touch to her smile. "She stepped up to it, though, and it was delicious. She wasn't one to let a bird beat her."

Once Eddie is settled, Monty eases into a seat across from her and— blinks in confusion. Not the first time today, won't be the last. "Well, that's an awfully broad question, isn't it? I might actually be able to come up with something. Let's see, I don't need to tell you about my career with the _Prophet_, of course you're familiar with that already—" Some people think before talking, other people think /by/ talking. Obviously Monty falls squarely into this latter camp.

Edwarlinda leans over, briefly mouthing to Annie 'Snog him good!', but once she's cheered her friend on, she flashes Monty a wide smile and settles her fully attention on the man across from her. She doesn't bother looking at the menu, fully expecting the man to do all the hard work here in the ordering and decisions. She's just here to relax, smoking her cigarette, watching him with those focused, slightly intense ice blue eyes. "…I'm rather curious how you got into such a field. And advice columnist. How in hells do you get qualified for that?"

Aaaaaand cue the jaunty string section that should play inside of everyone's head when Damien Huddleston enters a room. The daft man pokes his head inside the door and peers around before waddling his way inside and fully taking in his surroundings. "Oooo, rather nice in here." He doesn't seem to notice his co-worker or the lady that he's speaking with for the moment.

It takes an awful lot to out-daft Monty. Even Damien only manages it, oh, say about nine days out of thirteen? "Well, it's all to do with people, really," Monty replies, warming to the subject even as Edwarlinda flatly contradicts the last thing he said. "So many people are caught up in, oh, hunting dragons or dark wizards or cleaning up after muggle encounters. No, for a position like this? You need a generalist, someone who understands a little bit of everything. Now that's me all over." Also, they had some space to fill after a change in the layout, and Aunt Tilly's galleons spend just as well as anyone else's.

Blue-gray eyes continue staring at the man, her brow arching a bit skeptically as he comments on people being caught up in hunting dark wizards. She tries not to be insulted, but there is a vague touch of insult there. Eddie takes another drag of her cigarette, legs recrossing, the back of her high heeled shoe falling half off of her foot in a casual motion. "…A…generalist. Of course. And you think you help people with these articles? Change their lives with such advice?" Eddie asks flat out, content to do the grilling here, it seems.

Damien hears that familiar voice of Monty's and he says, "Montgomery Abercromie, is that you? You insufferable twit wrapped in the dressings of an inbred Scot who spends his days sucking on a pig's ears. How the bloody hell have you been?" He waddles his way over to the man and beams brightly at him.

The loveliest part of it is that Monty doesn't even realize he's dropped an insult. I mean, it was the middle of three examples, everyone knows that's the throwaway position, don't they? "Well, I certainly hope—" He leaves off as someone else interrupts, though. "Why, Darren Hiddleston," he replies, offering a handshake, "as I live and breathe! I see South Antarctica has done wonders for your temperament, old boy. Mr. Hiddleston, allow me to introduce Miss Evangelica Malfoy, one of the finest of the Ministry's defence forces."

Maybe dinner might just end up a drink, at this rate. Eddie stares even harder at Monty and Damien as his other 'friend' comes up and the men ponce at each other. Were they serious? A tight smile dances across Eddie's lips as she clears her throat and corrects Monty. "Uh… Edwarlinda Malfoy, actually, from the Auror's office. Though, Eddie is just fine. For both of you." She offers one hand in Damien's direction and gives him just a slightly too strong shake, used to proving her strength around the office. It's probably not quite so necessary with these men.

Damien chuckles mildly at the man and shakes his hand, saying, "It's Damien Huddleston. Or, it was the last time I checked. Bloody South Americans and their passports and the like. It's really just a folded over piece of cardboard with a shoddy drawing on the inside." He'll return Eddie's handshake and comment, "Oh, my. You've got hands like a Siberian lumberjack who's just cut down a tree, used a drawing knife to scrape the bark from it, fashioned a fancy new hand out of said bark, and attached it to his wrist. Quite impressive."

"I've seen those! They don't even move, I mean a fellow with a bit of coal might as well have drawn them." Monty shakes his head, then scratches absently at his temple. "Could you do that, actually? I mean, not /you/ you," he adds, inclining his head toward Damien, "but if you charmed the wood so it would move—"

Edwarlinda stares at Damien. For just a few moments, the blonde is trying to figure out if the man is for truth, or if they are just putting her on. She looks back and forth between the pair, but after several heartbeats she's come to the conclusion that they are serious. She half laughs, blinking, "Ah… well… it's… Thank you… I think? Have to keep fit in the Auror's department…" She stammers out with just a bit of a laugh. And then another laugh, though warmer this time. She completely decides that this is just a night to be ridiculous. So, her shoes slip off and she sinks down a bit deeper in her chair so she can kick her feet up… straight into Monty's lap. "Gonna order us a drink, Monty old boy? 's a night to relax, after all!"

Damien peers at Monty and says, "Well, I really don't know. The extent of my knowledge is used up in where you can find a nice drink, a good meal, and a prostitute who will tell you that you look like a rather fit version of Winston Churchill for a thruppence." To Eddie's request of Monty he says, "Oh, no no no, I'll pay. Poor Monty couldn't possibly afford such extravagence." With that he orders up a round of drinks for the three of them, settling on a dry martini for himself.

Monty quite possibly /could/ afford such extravanganza, which doesn't mean he won't let Damien cover the tab anyhow. His family didn't get rich by hoarding all the generosity, after all. "If you insist, Daryl, I'll have a gin as tonic. And Miss Malfoy? What's your pleasure, if I may be so bold?" Which apparently he /may/ be, resting hands atop her ankles as they scoot up close and comfortable. Clearly she hasn't taken offense to him at all; quite the contrary.

Not exactly the reaction to her completely rude actions she was expecting. Eddie blinks, an amused smile tugging at the corner of her lips once more, but she doesn't pull away from Monty's touch. In for a penny, right? She just sinks down and gets thoroughly comfortable with his hands on her stockinged legs. Maybe this is what it was to be pure of blood! Relaxed, casual, no worries. "Well, thank you, Damien. I'll take the same…" She murmurs to his drink order, remembering his name quite well. She has a mind for detail. "And…my true pleasure tends to be the capture and collaring of dark wizards. But a dry martini is always nice."

Damien rolls his eyes at Eddie and says, "Oh, don't bog down this conversation with tales of heroism and dark wizards and the such. It's a tale as old as time and the ending is always the same. I, on the other hand, have a fantifferous story the likes of which tip-toes along the ledge of the inconcievicable and yet manages not to trip and fall into it's dark abyssym."

"Well, don't hang on to it too long, or it'll throw you in and keep your coat for a souvenir." Monty never met a metaphor he didn't drive into the dirt. "Let's hear it, good man!" As for Eddie? Well, when a pretty young woman puts her legs in your lap unannounced, what /can/ you do but graciously accept? You have to be civil, after all.

A double blink is given to Damien as her one attempt to offer some dramatics to the conversation is completely turned aside. At this point? Eddie just gives up. She grabs her silver cigarette case off the table and pops it open again to draw out another bitch stick of a cigarette and stick it between her lips, using her previous one to light a fresh cherry going. Once that's done, her hand slips down beneath the table and, as subtly as possible, pulls her small mirror out of her purse. She pops it open, but doesn't pull it above the table, letting the little window connect through to one of her friends. "A night at the Tasseo would not be complete without some fanciful tales, after all!" She says just a bit louder. Hopefully the mirror heard it.

Damien grins broadly at Monty and claps happily as their drinks are served. He takes his glass and swirls it lightly before taking a sip. He clears his throat and hunkers down, saying, "Imagine if you will, the Amazonical Rain Forrest. The middle of July. The heat is positively sweltefering…"

Wait, Damien was supposed to have been in Antarctica. Antarctica is terribly cold! And now he's jumped to someplace else terribly hot? Monty is lost already, glancing over toward Edwarlinda in search of some sort, any sort of escape. "You can tell me about your dark wizards later," he whispers, meanwhile managing to thoroughly overlook the little trick with the mirror.

Where as Monty is as polite and proper as they come, Eddie is a dirty pureblood who has forgotten all of her training. She tilts her head towards Damien, her brows furrowing, "…Weren't you supposed to be in Antarctica? Isn't that the… coldest place on the world? Where did the Amazon come from?" She dares ask, flat out, while picking up her martini and taking a good sip. She'll enjoy his generosity even as she picks apart the holes in his story already. Monty's comment about the dark wizards actually earns him a half smile and a little wink, but it's gained him some points of her esteem.

There's a saying "A goat dressed in silks is still a goat." And thus, Sloan foregoes the silks altogether. Stepping into the little cafe dressed in worn down old leather workboots, Grey slacks held up with both a thick leather belt and matching suspenders over a plain white T-shirt. topping this off with a black Bowler hat on his head and you have Sloan. Pausing inside the doors, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his slacks, he takes in the scene quietly.

Damien manages to mix in a myriad of hand motions as he weaves his intricate web, "We were travelling through the dense underbrushery when all of a sudden-" He slaps the table, "A spider the size of Monty's rather sizable noggin drops down out of a tree…" He peers over at Edwarlinda and says, "No. Monty said I was in Antarctica. He also said my name was Daryl Hiddleston."

Monty, still lost. "Well, weren't you? You couldn't have been in Africa, then my mum and dad would have run into you. They're down there again this year— searching for a mating pair of sabertooth tigers, this time, if I'm not mistaken." Because Africa is such a small place, surely any two random wizards would be sure to cross paths.

Edwarlinda jumps half out of her skin as the man's hand comes down on the table, demonstrating that spider. She just wasn't expecting the vehemence of it all! Eddie gives a little laugh of disbelief, but falls into listening to the story a bit deeper. At least it's entertaining. She swaps drags of her cigarette with sips of her martini. "True, Damien. Continue." And then a look towards MOnty, "At least he has some panache about it all!" And a husky laugh trickles from Eddie's lips. She's sitting several tables inside the door with Monty and Damien, wearing a deep emerald, form hugging suit and a flat oval emerald hat perched sideways on her hair.

Moving further into the room, Sloan takes up a seat at the table behind Edwarlinda. a pouch of tobacco set on the tabletop, he begins rolling a cigarette in his left hand as he takes in the cafe once more.

Damien rolls his eyes at Monty, "I was in Peru you insufferable twit." He shakes his head and looks back to Edwarlinda, leaning down once more and lowering his voice to almost a whisper, "The area grew quiet. The sherfuffling of the leaves being our only reprieve from the deafening silence that pierced our very souls." He peers around the room and says, "Long story short, it was just a Canadian boy who had been trapped in the tree for several days. Turned to cannabalism at a remarkably fast rate. Lost our best guide. A shame, really."

Peru? Where the heck is that? Monty glances over toward Edwarlinda— does she have any idea? Or maybe that other fellow who's just sat down nearby? Then, with clarification evidently not forthcoming, he shrugs and brings up a different question instead. "Well, don't keep us in suspense forever, you rummy git! Did you find him again?" Damien never actually said those last two things were connected, afterall.

Her feet still in Monty's lap, Eddie turns her eyes back one moment to trace the ruddy man's entrance to the chair behind them. She gives Sloan a single, momentary 'help me!' look before a flashing smile is turned back to the two foppish men at the table. She blinks, eyes going a bit wide at the end of the sotry. "…Cannabalism? Dear god, his mind must not have been stable. That… well… No doubt you and your team were most brave." SHe compliments Damien before grabbing up her martini and just shooting the whole rest of it with the smallest of coughs. Them she's gazing back to Monty. "Peru? No bloody clue."

Damien looks between the two of them, saying, "It's in South America. Along the west coat." He rubs at his temple as Monty speaks and says, "Montgomery…what we thought was the spider was actually the Cannabladian. We carries him a short ways to a cliff and tossed him over. It was the least we could do, really."

Catching Eddie's look, Sloan shrugs, lights his cigarette takes a deep drag then stands once more and moves to the table occupied by Eddie Damien and Monty. pulling out a free chair, he settles into it and looks at the trio for a long moment without a word. Not attempting to stare anyone down, he just seems to be memorizing features.

Monty scratches his head, doing his best to follow along, really! Even if it /is/ one of Damien's stories, and therefore probably a load of complete rubbish from the start anyway. Let the man at least try to have his fun. "West coast? I thought you said it was overseas. So, Cardiff, Bristol? And you're right, I'm sure," he adds, "it does /sound/ like the least."

And then, abruptly, Sloan has just joined them. Eddie breathes a sigh of relief and, alas, her feet leave Monty's lap almost immediately. It didn't get the expected reaction anyway. She slips her stockinged toes back into her shoes and gives Sloan a beaming, relieved smile. "Gentlemen, this is a colleague and… a dear friend of mine. Sloan. Sloan, this is Montgomery and Damien… Monty's from the paper. I… I am not entirely certain what Damien does, but he's got some stories…"

Damien essentially facepalms at Monty's response and doesn't follow that line of conversation any longer. He gives Sloan and nod and says, "Would you care for a drink, oh stack of granite that's been shaped like a person?" He looks over at Eddie and says, "I'm a Critic for The Daily Prophet."

Looking to Eddie, Sloan offers the ghost of a smile before looking back to Damien. "Aye. Glenfiddich fer choice. Teachers if nae. Good tae know ye. Ye be th'one tha' wrote th'review fer 3 witches tae th'coast last month?"

"They're nice enough to let him attempt to use a quill every so often," Monty fills in, pleasantly unaware of the irony. "Some days, he even manages to keep the ink in the bottle. In any case, pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sloan. Call me Monty, please." Lap newly freed, he leans over and offers a handshake, fearing not the possibility of a granite grip.

They both work at the paper. That makes so much sense now. Eddie keeps that half forced smile on her lips, head tilting to the side as Sloan orders a drink, her eyes going just a bit wider. Apparently, this has now become a table for four and they're all sticking around to enjoy the night and chat away. At least she's no longer the most masculine thing in the restaurant. "Well… it's good to know the Prophet keeps such… Interesting men working there. I'm certain my family would just love both of you…" She admits with a little laugh.

Damien shakes his head at Sloan and says, "I'm afraid not. I just recently got back in the country a few weeks ago. Though, my reviews should be printing in about a week or so." He looks over at Monty and sips his martini, saying, "Contrary to Monty here who they get to tap on the table once for yes, twice for no. And those are his more lucid days." He waves the waiter down to take Sloan's order and turns his attention to Eddie, "Oh, yes…I'm actually a distant relative of the Malfoy's myself. Must be twelve degrees at least, but the blood is still there."

Looking at Monty for a moment, Sloan takes Monty's hand in his own. It was a firm handshake, the palm calloused and the backs scarred with bulging and gnarled knuckles he nods. "Sloan, Aye…Nae Mister. I've good friends tha would cut me throat tae be hearin' me called tha'." Nodding to Damien, he adds "Shame. was a good play. 'specially th'end did 'mazin' t'ings wit' a banjo an' an enchanted clamshell." Looking at Eddie, he grunts. "Gonna ha'e one dram, an then we're needed down tae White Chapel. Seems someone didn't like the way some lad's hat was fittin, so they shrunk his head tae th' size of a plum."

"Just Sloan, then." Monty will most likely forget about it well before the next time they meet, but he's got a hold of the idea for now, at least. "And do give me some credit, will you, Danny boy? That was /once/ and I was extremely drunk at the time, and they were perfectly well aware. Now hush and let me stand the next round, before the worker bees here have to run off and deal with that troublemaker. Don't get me wrong, Esmerelda, we're all dreadfully lucky to have /someone/ who can."

Worker bees? Esmerelda? Sloan can practically see the tension in Eddie rising, her blood pressure spiking as her Malfoy pride is beaten and bruised by this fop. She trembles, just a little bit, breath stopping a few moments as she does her best to reign in her frustration at the situation. But one more thing and she might just pop. Slowly, she takes a deep breath in. She lets a deep breath out. She resets her smile and grabs for another cigarette. "Of course, Sloan… we'll leave as soon as we get these drinks down. And Damien, that… well, that's interesting to hear. I'm always happy to meet more family."

Damien finishes his martini up just as Sloan's drink is brought to him. Damien puts in an order for another tasty beverage and drums his fingers along the tabletop. He peers over at Monty and says, "I thought you were always drunk, Montgomery. Or perhaps that's me. Oh, dear I seem to have forgotten which one of us is drunk all the time. Are we both drunk all the time?"

Looking between the trio, Sloan looks at Eddie. then back to Monty. "Th' Lass' name be Edwarlinda, aye?" Tilting the glass down his throat, he nods to the pair. "Evenin' tae the pair o' ye. Be charmed I'm sure. We Worker bee types be needin tae go find a murderer 'fore someone else ends up wearin a walnut shell on his head f'r 'is wake." Dropping coins on the table for the round, he offers his arm to Eddie. "Knocker's out sick. jes' th'pairin o' us."

"—-" Monty pauses, eyeing Damien closely. "At least one of us, yes. But don't feel yourself obligated to outdo me - we've established you can only hold your liquor if there's a wheelbarrow involved. Have fun chasing the nutter!" he adds, offering a cheerful wave to the other pair.

The next drink that is set before Eddie is slammed back as if it's a shot. "Sorry, boys, yes, that's all we have time for. Thank you for the drinks! The worker bees are just going to go off and do some actual work now, protecting all your lovely asses from the things that would destroy you in the middle of the night!" Eddie offers in her sweetest, most saccharine voice ever. She then is on her feet and practicely shoves her arm into Sloan's grasp, half dragging him out the door in her depseration to not cause a scene by bloodying some ponce's nose who cannot remember her name! How dare he forget a Malfoy!

Damien chuckles at Monty and says, "I drink a wheelbarrow full of Glenlivet's /one/ time and it becomes the news of the decade around the Prophet." He murmurs but smiles at the leaving Aurors, "Have a wonderful evening…or morning…whatever the bloody hell it is." He looks over at Monty and says, "D'you hear that, Monty? She thinks our asses are lovely."

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