(1938-10-16) New Drinking Mates at Blackfriar Pub
Details for New Drinking Mates at Blackfiar Pub
Summary: Frid and Tim have typical beer chat over a couple of pints at the Blackfriar Pub.
Date: Wed Oct 16, 1938
Location: Blackfiar's Pub, Black Friar's, London

Nine or so in the evening, and the initial evening rush of 'quick one after work' drinkers have begun to thin out, leaving those who either arrived late, intend to drink the night away regardless of work commitments the next morning, or those simply passing the time over a beer. Frid belongs firmly in that latter category, nursing, as he has done, his beer for the last hour or so, sat over at the end of the bar with his tie loosened (but not removed).

Tim comes in after holding the door open for a departing couple. He gives them a shy smile and a nod before he steps in and starts to pull off his gloves after he's ruffled most of the excess rain out of his hair while out of range of splashing anyone. When the gloves are off they are shoved in his trench pockets. The trench is then peeled off, folded vertically and then horizontally to take up less space when it's put on the bar beside him. A press badge for the Daily Prophet was meant to be tucked away, but it popped out in the folding and now dangles exposed for at least Frid to see. Up on a stool he slides and he's a regular here enough that soon without ordering the bartender brings him a shot of irish whiskey and a pint of the black stuff! With a grateful sigh the shot is taken and chased with the stout. The sigh turns from grateful to just blissful. In that small ritual the trials of the day just wash away.

Frid glances aside as Tim moves in next to him, gaze falling on the press pass for a brief moment before he simply greets the other man with the customary lift of his chin and lift of his glass. "Long day, mate?" he queries, taking a sip of his bitter before setting the glass down, only mere traces of the head left by now, which speckle the empty upper half of his pint mug.

Tim looks over towards the voice and there is a moments pause as Tim get distracted by Frid's appearance. But then he gives a shy boyish smile and keeps his brogue at bay when he says, "Never thought doing nothing at all could be so tiring." He takes another drink of his draft and then does the polite thing and tries to keep the conversation going by returning with, "Yee?" Okay, there the brogue slipped.

"Can't complain, can't complain," Frid confesses, resting an elbow on the bar. "Odd looking paper, that," he notes quietly. "Not exactly the Evening Standard, is it?" He glances once more to Tim, looking the man over before reaching to tuck the press pass back into the folds of the other man's crumpled coat.

Tim gives a puzzled sound a moment before he reaches to help tuck in the badge, his hand sliding over the back of Frid's and the touch causes the photojournalist to blush a little and clear his throat and take another gulp of guinness. "Well, it's just a small little paper, more like a pamphlet, astrology…horoscopes an' shite." He waves his hand a little dismissing the matter in a false cavalier way. "But it's work. Aye?"

Frid nods slightly to that, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. "And god knows anyone would be a fool to turn down work that's not down the pits these days. Go on, then. What's mine?"

Tim possibly appreciates the excuse to give Frid more of a closer look. A careful examination of the older gentleman. His brows pucker and he leans back and then to the side to check signs of this and that. "What's which sir? What do yee do? Or are yee asking for your stars told?"

Frid smiles a little, corner of his lips pulling up. "My horoscope, man, my horoscope. Am I going to meet the woman of my dreams, or come into a great fortune? Inquiring minds want to know. Sagittarius or capricorn, your pick. I'll take the better one of the two, please."

Tim chuckles and looks sheepish and he ruffles his hair and decides to just play along instead of just confessing he just takes pictures. "Aye, Lover beyond imagine, wealth abounding…" He fades into a chuckle, "Sorry to disappoint mate but divinations nae my forte. I just take the pictures."

Frid grins more broadly, scratching at his beard. "Of course, of course. I should have guessed by the powder." He takes another sip from his bitter, before nodding to a serviceman further down the bar, sobering somewhat. "Mind, I give it six months before we're all dressed in khaki again, regardless. The huns don't look like they're about to back down. Another pint of Guinness, mate?"

Tim wipes at his hand and smirks a bit. "Good eye." The irishman as well gives the soldier a respectful nod before sighing in agreement with Frid hunch. "It is looking like the grand scheme of things is shifting that way doesn't it? Oh, aye, cheers." He quaffs the last remaning gulp of his Guinness and sets it on the bar. "So what do you do for a living?"

Frid lifts his chin to catch the barman's eye, ordering another pint of IPA for himself and a stout for his companion, pulling out his wallet to slide over some coins. "Valet," he responds simply. "A gentleman's gentleman, under usual circumstances, although my current employer is a lady. I shall have to acquire a copy of your publication for her, I think."

Tim lifts up his new pint when it arrives in a toast towards Frid. "To pictures and butlering…keeping us out of the pits… and hopefully khakis." He then takes a sip and sighs, "So what's that like? Working as a Valet for a woman? She rich an' beautiful?"

"But of course," Frid responds with an easy smile, rubbing absently at his wrist as he takes up his fresh pint. "Every valet's employer is the most handsome or beautiful person in high society, and rich as Croesus with it. We wouldn't dare speak otherwise. Mrs. Fairfax, though, is an absolute pleasure to work for. Definitely beautiful, or certainly was in her time, I would think."

Tim smiles as he takes a good drink of his free drink. "If I bring yee one of my work's papers… can I have your job? I'll put in a good word for yee at the press…" The smile grows as he peeks over at his drinking companion a moment before he sighs and licks his lips, "Hits the spot, getting full enough that I just might have to hit the cobbles soon. Won't Mrs. Fairfax the fair and faxy miss yee soon?" Towards the end he was fading off and shaking his head, hating himself for the pun the second it's out of his mouth.

"Not a chance, son," Frid responds easily, taking another swig from his glass. "I'm nowhere near nosy enough to work for the press. I'll stick to keeping Mrs. Fairfax out of trouble. Apparently this evening she's out dancing with new friends. I imagine I may need to take the car to find her in the morning."

Tim cocks up just one eyebrow just a bit when he's called son. But then he's smiling again. "What I do is just stand back and capture what goes on around me. Somehow I think yee know exactly how to do that. Aye? Good, glad to hear she's lucky enough to have someone lookin' out for her. Dancin' hmm? So yee taking a night for yourself. That's nice. Get many of those? Night for yee."

Frid nods once. "More than you'd think, if I'm fair," he admits, leaning an elbow on the bar. "She's not one of these demanding employers who insist that your time is theirs and theirs alone. I get one evening off as standard every week, and then more than the occasional odd day here or there when she's decided to go to some theatre or dance hall or out for dinner or drinks or whatever. How about yourself? Contracted or self employed?"

Tim takes the last of his drink and pulls his jacket down into his lap. He's not leaving just yet, but he's making the beginning preparations. "Next round is on me if you're having." He makes the proper gestures and the bartender nods. "I do a bit o both. Steady pay from the paper keeps me funded for more personally enriching pursuits in the more artistic photography world." He drains his glass put it down and reaches his hand over. "Tim by the by. Thank yee for the drink and conversation." Seems he's not used to being approached like that. "Maybe see yee here again. I'll bring yee a subscription that can be filled out for the paper…"

Frid wipes his hand, then shakes Tim's. "Fred. I'll look it up next time I'm back down in London. Look after yourself, mate."

Tim gives the hand a good shake and then slides his jacket on. "Yee as well. No pits, no khakis." With that he flips up the collar of his trench and then ties up the belt. "Yee have a good night there Fred." He gives a nod in farewell and leaves money for his first drink and another round for Fred when he's gone.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License