WHO: Samuel Vimes and Ken Hidaka + anybody else who arrives
WHAT: Vimes does whathe does best and Ken runs into him? We shall see!
WHERE: Miscellenous neutral sleazy bar with a few inconspicuous mobsters and coppers here and there.
WHEN: Day 177
OPEN TO: Anybody who likes to drink, or to socialize with drinkers?
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It was a bar like any other: contained depressed faces, drunken faces, faces that looked as if they belonged to rock, and an off-putting odour that nobody really managed to define. )
Parking about a block away to keep his bike safe from the fresh from the bar goers, he strolled over, hands in his pockets and humming a happy tune.
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Eventually he did get his beer, but Ken didn't seem to be moving very fast out of the way, chatting happily with the bar tender about that day's sports games.
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"'Scuse me!" A bit louder, now, but not angry. No response. "Hey!" Damn. How long had he known this bartend for? How long had this bartend milked him of his money in exchange for good drink? How many times had he passed out on this filthy floor? Vimes thought he deserved better service than this.
"Horace!" He barked, frowning at the boy sitting beside him. It was one thing to be friendly, but another one entirely to deprive a man of his drink. The bartend gave a little jump and glanced over, ( ... )
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He looked at Vimes, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry about that mister, I didn't mean to distract him that badly." He said with an embarrassed look. Dark eyes gave the older man a once over, appraising, and Ken smiled.
"Hey, let me buy you a drink, and we'll call it even, 'kay?" He thought it best to try and smooth over ruffled feelings, especially with a guy that would get THAT angry about being ignored.
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The booze must be getting to him, he thought. That sounded downright pleasant.
"And I'll never turn down a drink," he said, frankly. It was true. A free drink was a rare and treasured thing. Vimes noticed an inebriated head lift beside him in interest.
"That wasn't for you," he informed the head.
It crashed drunkenly back onto the bar. Vimes found himself strangely pleased.
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"Alright, Vimes it is then." He said, taking a sip of his beer, "I'm Ken. Nice to meet you." It was still a struggle not to add the honourifics, especially since he didn't know this guy, but his months in Italy had taught him well.
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He nodded his head and took a sip of his drink, slower now, savouring the taste as it spread throughout his mouth. In his own personal opinion, friendly conversation diluted the alcohol, but he had enough before this, so that was okay. "Nice to meet you, then, Ken."
Then, looking around him, Vimes asked (despite the risk of sounding like a man who used bad pick up lines), "Are you meeting somebody here, or do you just drop in on bars--" the light in front of them flickered and died, a man on the other side of the room, slid to the floor in a happy, drunken stupor, "--often."
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"Neither actually, I come to bars when I just want to be around people. This one's close to my house so I tend to come here a little more often then others." He said with a soft laugh and a sip of beer.
"I like meeting new people, and sometimes bars are the best place to do it." Ken continued, gesturing slightly with his non occupied hand. "You see, even though I see a lot of people at work, I don't have much time to socialize."
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He polished off his drink.
Something told him that a good conversationalist had something else to say. Something about people? Booze? Bars? Coppers? Jobs? Jobs. That was it. What do you do? The words were on the tip of his tongue.
But then it occured to him that the boy said he met a lot of people, and didn't have any time to... oh dear. If he was a, uh... escort, Vimes really didn't want to know. Really.
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"I don't understand how people can do that to each other. Its not right to hurt someone else to get what you want. It just isn't." Ken was silent for a moment, then broke back out with a smile. "Enough of that! Tell me a bit about yourself Vimes, I'd like to know."
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Vimes didn't trust the Japanese. He didn't trust Mexicans either, for that matter, or the Americans, or the Canadians, or the Chinese, or the Korean, or hell, the Italians. Vimes didn't even trust the English and he was one. But he was allowed to distrust all of them. He rubbed elbows with 'em every day. It only irked him when people didn't like them and had nothing to do with him. But Vimes had every right to distrust them. Yep. It was his right, it was ( ... )
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A laugh was brought on by the interruption of the barkeep and Vimes's subsequent come back. "Ah, but its true though, isn't it Vimes? I mean, here you are, in this bar, with a barkeep you know well enough to call by first name. Hey, at least drinking is a more wholesome hobby then some have." He didn't seem at all disturbed by this, merely amused. "Though, you probably shouldn't drink so much, its bad for your liver."
Vimes's next remark was confusing, he'd never heard that phrase before. Ken gave the older man a questioning look. "Whats a copper? I doubt you mean the metal."
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At the explanation of what a 'copper' was, Ken's eyes widened slightly. Police meant association with the AMC. There was a moment of panic before he got himself to shrug it off. If Vimes hadn't said anything about it, there was nothing to worry about. His face took on a look of mock pity.
"Wow, sorry to hear that Vimes." He said, meaning it to be a joke.
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"Hah," he said in response to Ken's joke, his mouth curling in a dry sneer and a thumb reaching up to wipe some liquid off of his stubble-covered lower lip. "Hold it in the same high esteem as everybody else does, I see. I'm sure you hear plenty about us." He laughed, hollowly - and alley oop, there was the alcohol - before remarking, "Or nothing at all."
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