shadows_have_offended | (no subject)

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harry starks,
ig

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He has work in the morning, but it's not stopping him from going out. Besides, this is hardly going out. One of his coworkers put him up on a blind date, and so he's out for that--but the other guy was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago, so Neil doesn't think he's showing up at all. So here's Neil, standing outside of a bar, smoking and feeling a bit like an idiot for being stood up.

He should probably just go. If the guy wasn't here twenty minutes ago, or even five minutes ago, it's reasonable to say that he's not coming and Neil should just give up. He pulls out his phone and checks the texts. There's the one from his coworker, describing the guy he's supposed to be meeting, and there's the one from the guy, confirming that he has Neil's number.

Maybe he'll go to a club. Maybe he'll just go home so he can smoke in a heated room rather than shivering outside. Maybe he'll get this fucking meal and send a picture to the guy; his loss. Neil's an entirely pleasant date.

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To set up a firm you have to surround yourself with trustworthy and loyal people; friends old and new. It's a difficult task here, where the people are strange and the culture is different to what he knows. But there is one universal truth; to make money you have to spend money. No return without investment. No profit without spenditure.

It's why Harry's going about the streets. He's spending money, he's making investments and he's finding out where money is made.

He's on his way to the bar down the street when he sees Neil standing outside, looking a bit miserable. Harry smiles. He hasn't gone back to the café yet, but he's pleased to see the boy again. "Are you alright?" He asks, pleasantly. He'd offer a smoke, but there's a non-smoking sign in the window.

Neil, shivering a little, still manages to find a smile when Harry stops and smiles at him. He's just finished his cigarette and is seriously considering his options for the rest of the night. Seeing the friendly British gentleman does a little bit to improve his dismal evening.

"Yes," he says, and then with a laugh admits, "I think I got stood up for a blind date."

Harry would have laughed if Neil had called him a 'friendly British gentleman' to his face. It's nice to be the cause of a smile, though.

He makes a tsking sound between his teeth. "That's bad manners," he says resolutely. "Didn't even call? Can't be difficult seeing as everyone's carrying a phone in their pockets."

"Didn't even call," Neil confirms, but he finds himself at least a little glad that he's alone. He'd enjoyed their casual, almost flirtation at the cafe, and now--at loose ends and not on the clock--it feels a bit more honest.

"I was just about to have dinner by myself," he says "But I wouldn't mind the company, if you've got the time."

That earns Neil an amused lopsided smile. It doesn't happen that often that Harry gets asked for dinner by pretty young men. "Yeah, I wouldn't mind. If you're sure you'd like me to."

He looks at the restaurant behind Neil. "Here, or would you prefer to go someplace else? Just in case." Wouldn't want to run into the failed blind date.

Neil looks back at the restaurant-bar, considers it for a moment, and then shrugs. They're already standing outside of it. And if his date does appear, then the guy will see that he missed out. No skin off Neil's nose, in that situation; he really doesn't think the guy is going to make an appearance.

"I would like you to," he says. "Here's just fine, unless you've discovered a place you like that you wouldn't mind being seen at with me."

It's such a coy reply, that Harry feels safe enough to turn the flirting up a notch. "I wouldn't mind being seen with you anywhere," he admits.

He extends an arm towards the door, motioning Neil to enter first. '"After you."

Neil's smile goes a little bit cheeky. He slips inside, shivering off the last little bit of the cold as they both step in. It only takes a second for a waiter to direct them to a booth off to the side. Neil's a little grateful for the slight seclusion; they're out of the way without being completely invisible to the staff.

If he's going to flirt in public with a man he hardly knows, who offered him a fanciful job, he might as well do it slightly away from the rest of the evening crowd.

"And what were you doing out, before I caught you, if you don't mind my asking?"

If the cold bothers Harry, it's not visible on him. He shrugs out of his coat and is reminded of the little things that are different in this world. Waiters don't necessarily take your coat here, and the informal way he walks them to the booth would not be acceptable in similar restaurants in London. But then again, he also doesn’t offer silent judgment at two men sharing dinner, which is refreshing.

He follows the waiter to the booth for Neil to sit down first before taking a seat himself.

One of the first people he met here in Darrow told him to 'fit in fast' and outwardly that's exactly what he's doing. Well, he better. He doesn’t have his pills here and he has no intention whatsoever of seeking out a psychiatrist. This is a start over. This is freedom instead of jail. Pills only get in the way. He doesn’t need them. He doesn’t want to need them.

“Gotta get to know the neighbourhood if I want to set up a club,” Harry says pleasantly. “Get to know the people, hear them, get to know what they want, what they like.” He smiles. “Also, if I want to set up, I need a place, and I’m looking into places in good spots that I can take over without too much trouble. It’s more time and effort to blow life into a slow club, but with any luck it’s less costly than starting from scratch.” Harry is nothing if not resourceful. And he’s persuasive, which helps when trying to take over someone’s life work.

“So, what sort of club do you like?”

Neil listens, rather more interested than he thought he might be to hear designs of the future. He's got no head for business, really, doesn't particularly care for the fine details, but he does find that he likes listening to Harry talk about why he was out, what he was doing, how he might pick something up.

The question drives just a bit of heat to his ears. Oh, there were a couple clubs that he liked in Darrow, but they were a very particular sort, and even if he was right in all this casual flirting, he still feels a little silly to speak the truth.

"Darrow has a couple of dance clubs," he says, looking down at the menu for a moment. "Not a thing like back home, not that I could have gone to a dance club or a house party if I'd wanted to back home. I'm...rather fond of them."

The Stardust has always been a cover, and Harry has always wanted it to be a place where he enjoyed having a drink. It's why he's never been too happy with the transition to a club of the naughty girl variety. It brought back the punters, but it lacked the class of the old days.

Here, he's looking at it from a broader perspective. It's not just a cover, it's going to be his main source of income. For now, at least.

He finds he likes talking to Neil. He's a good listener and if he's not really interested, he'd good at faking it. "Yeah, I've been to one or two. Not really my scene," he admits. "But maybe I'm old-fashioned."

He arched an eyebrow at the boy's admission. "And why couldn't you?" He asked.

There's a certain irony in one describing themself old-fashioned to someone who was probably born just around the same time, or a little later than. Neil smiles a bit. He thinks the big thing is just that Neil is younger, whether by chronology or deliverance.

"I was at a boarding school before I was here," he explains. "We had to have chaperones to go off campus, and we weren't allowed music or television in the dormitory. Distraction from education and God and all that."

"But you were educated. That's worth something." Harry was taught on the streets more than anything. He can't claim proper education and that's always something he's a little jealous for.

Neil does not snort, but it's a temptation. He certainly graduated, but that was here in Darrow. He won't go into that. "A very expensive preparatory education with the prospect that I would go on to be a Harvard educated doctor. And then Darrow, for whatever that's worth."

He's still waiting to hear about college, so it's hardly worth mentioning.

"To my benefit, I'm fairly proficient at Latin."

Neil clearly doesn't see his education as the privilege it is. "Any education is worth something," he assures.

"We didn't have the money for any of that. Learn how to read and write and then off to the factory." He paused for a moment. "The war didn't help either."

The truth is that Neil is very grateful for his education at Welton, for the opportunities that it would have awarded him, for the conviction it taught him. But the oversight over his life was a miserable one, the constant reminder that no matter what he did, he wasn't ever quite good enough, had colored most of his education.

"I imagine not," he says. The waiter circles over to take their drink order and ask if their ready for food, and Neil casually orders a scotch and soda. "Did you fight, or were you too young for that?"

Harry assumes with an amused smile that they're not ready for their order and asks for a scotch.

"How old do you think I am?" He frowns but amused as he isn't truly insulted. Darrow makes a mess of times anyway. "I was thirteen in '45."

"It was a reasonable question!" Neil objects, a smile and laugh on his mouth. And it is, he thinks. Everything's such a mess of time sometimes; the last person from the 1970s he met was his own age, but then he gets thinking of how old he might have been in the 1970s, and it all goes a bit sideways.

But, Christ, that does put it a little bit in perspective. They're hardly very far apart in actual age, closer than he and Guy--but then, through the mess of Darrow and the onward march of time, it's put that gap back in place.

"Well, you're younger than my father, so that's really the most important part."

Harry, amused, arches an eyebrow to that. "Yeah? Why?" he asks.

It's been said he 'likes em young' behind his back, and it's true, but there's no need for disgust in those words. He has his limits, but Neil seems old enough.

Neil's quiet a moment, looking at Harry through his eyelashes. It's a terribly charged moment, for him at least, as he considers how exactly to say what's rattling around in his head, begging to be said.

"Mostly because I prefer to avoid thinking about my father when I'm trying to think about someone's cock." Their drinks arrive a moment later, and Neil takes the opportunity to smile at the waiter and put in a food order.

Alright, so Harry was baiting the boy a little, but he didn’t expect that kind of blunt honesty. There’s a glint in his eye and a poorly disguised cheeky smile on his face as he orders his food. “If you can wait long enough for dinner,” he teases, a lot more comfortable now that the word is out.

He lifts his drink a little to propose a toast. “To not thinking of our fathers tonight,” he agrees. “That’s a good proposal on any night.”

It was rather blunt, and not perfectly the truth, but at least it kept them from beating around the bush all night. If hanging around Guy has taught him nothing else, it's to lean into his confidence again. But Neil doesn't know Harry, really at all, so there's no sense in getting into the fine details of his issues surrounding his father.

"It is," Neil agrees, lifting his glass. He certainly wasn't banking on any tomfoolery tonight, but it was in the air now, and that felt like some relief. They can drink and talk and flirt obtusely. "Here, here. No fathers tonight."

Harry takes a sip from his drink and sets it down on the table. "So, not a doctor then, but you're studying?" he asks, curiously. He has education in very high regard.

“God, no, not a doctor,” Neil laughs gently, shaking his head. Never a doctor. His smile is easy, but small. He stirs the ice in his drink with the worthless little straw in it. “I’m waiting to hear if I got into college. Library studies.”

He waits for a judgment on that, though why a mans approval means anything is really beyond him.

He has a lovely laugh. It's a little flirtatious, but it feels natural, almost accidental. It's clear he doesn't know Harry and isn't trying very hard to get on his good side, in his bed, or in his wallet. It's just a laugh and just a conversation and that's nice.

"Library studies," he echoes, with a little frown. No judgement. He just doesn't know what it is. "Never heard of that. What do they teach you in library studies?" For all his toughness, Harry doesn't mind admitting he doesn't know something and is always willing to learn.

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