After the Storm

Drunk Fun (Part 1)

His gaze dropped by a few more degrees. "What kind of man do you take me for?"

I bowed snappily in my best imitation of a soldier's movements and grinned. "A dirty young chav."

"You," He muttered darkly, silently vowing his impending wrath on me. "Will regret this."

"Yes sir. Indeed, sir." I mock saluted and hurried off before he could fire me. I must as well be of some help around here. Maybe I could extract some useful information to aid in our mini quest.

Throughout my expedition around the dirty place, I tried to keep a close eye on my employer while occasionally chatting to the inhabitants. Almost all I managed to extract were strings of unsatisfactory descriptions of the upper class and government. Nevertheless, there were a few drunk to the world men who did share some interesting news.

I listened to one of the intoxicated lads while staring distastefully at the men who leered at the women on stage. The ladies were clothed in a few pieces of bedazzled cloth that barely covered any skin. Couldn't those male pigs keep their sick eyes to themselves?

"Tey're knobheads tey are!" My conversational partner in the one-sided interaction nudged me sloppily. "Do ye agree?"

I nodded my head and harrumphed as he rattled on like a train without brakes. The wonders of alcohol. It could turn men into blabbering fools.

My eyes continued to survey the surroundings, looking for some more interesting things to do. Half an hour had passed and Mr Ambrose still wasn't done with his frivolous interaction. Since time was money, I was certain that the blockhead had already lost a good hundred pounds. Knowledge was time so I too wouldn't be surprised if he ended up dumb as a post.

He's already stupid as a donkey for being with that superficial Miss Hamilton.

I grunted angrily at the thought of them dancing together. I expected a man of his caliber to have a better taste in women.

I threw the those thoughts out of the window when they made me too mad. I was determined to enjoy myself.

However after getting the information I wanted, it became more boring than I expected. Soaking in the gritty atmosphere was not my definition of fun. Perhaps I should have gone out to Karim and the other men where there was a chance of an exciting scuffle with thugs.

A sudden small movement at the corner of my vision caught my eye.

Mr Ambrose had his back turned to a man who appeared to be in his late thirties as he conversed with a thin lad. I rarely took notice of such tiny actions but the behaviour was fairly unusual – the man sitting beside my employer swiftly drew out a minuscule bottle from his mud hued jacket and proceeded to tip its contents into a drink ― Mr Ambrose's drink.

I blinked in confusion. What did he do that for? I had never seen such an odd movement in my life.

I stood slowly and crept towards the suspicious man, curiosity and paranoia propelling me forward. My rambling companion noticed nothing but the man with the bottle did. The moment he caught sight of me, he stuffed the slim jar back into his cloak and took off towards the exit, too quickly for me to react.

I scratched my head as a sense of déjà vu hit me. Where had I previously read or heard about such occurrences? It felt as if I should know, and being clueless caused a bad feeling to settle in my stomach. I had no experience with such low class areas but I knew for sure that being ignorant was a risky thing.

If I'm not wrong, it was mentioned in a book. Something about scandals in the East End.

It was such moments that I was glad for my inner voice.