Finished/Closed

[stonyfaced]

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?

Comments

[stonyfaced]

"Well, I certainly don't believe in hurting people to get stuff you want, but it's a fact that nearly everybody else does," Vimes replied, drumming his fingers upon the counter as he lost all sensation in the tips of his fingers. It was a pleasant feeling. "But if somebody decides to hurt me, say,to get what they want, then I won't be so forgiving." In case Ken was dull, "Meaning that I'll use violence to keep something that I want, being my life, that is."

"I guess you could call drinking wholesome, though." Vimes held the glass up to the light. It was rather pretty, if one was so inclined to think on those sorts of things, which Vimes wasn't. "S'got wheat. People call wheat whole." Everything was bad for you these days. Drinking ruined your liver. Smoking ruined your lungs. Sex ruined your genitals (given the wrong partner). TV ruined your eyes. Although, in Vimes' own personal opinion, if it mattered to anybody (it didn't), if you didn't do at least one thing that could kill you, you'd die an early death. It was just one of those things.

He was torn out of his entertaining train of thought by Ken asking what a copper was. Huh. "A metal--oh. No." He frowned. He lived, what, ten years in Italy, and he still hadn't stopped saying copper. Some people recognized the term. Some people didn't. It was sad. "It's a cop," he explained. "A policeman."

Vimes decided to pause to think about being a copper for a little while, but found the fact too depressing, so he stopped to think about liquor for the while, which was a much brighter notion. If he squinted, the bottles began to wiggle. This amused him to no end, nearly drew the cynicism right outta him, except for his cynicism would never disappear forever. It was nice for half an hour or so, or for however long he passed out for, though.

[artiglio]

Ken nodded. "Defense is alright. There's nothing wrong with defending yourself or others. Its the senseless violence I object to. Sadism for personal gain is just...wrong." He said with a small, half smile.

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.

[stonyfaced]

Wrong. Right and wrong. Nobody talked about it like that these days. Vimes had known people who talked like that. Known. Mostly other coppers, bright eyed, full of idealism, but they ended up splattered on the street. It was a good thing Vimes had met his mentor when he did, who taught him about fighting dirty, about running away, otherwise Vimes would have been dead too. Then again, if you lived, your idealism ran away and you were left as a cynical, drunken bastard. Living was better than dying, though, no matter the price, so Vimes wasn't about to complain.

"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."

[artiglio]

Ken caught the hollowness. "Ah, I'm sorry Vimes. As individuals, the police are great. They try to do their jobs with evil breathing down their backs. Its your superiors that get me." He signaled Horace for another drink for Vimes, as Ken wasn't yet finished his beer.

"Do you like your job Vimes?" He asked, looking at the other man with a smile. There was no malice or threat to his question, just simple curiosity. He genuinely wanted to know more about his conversation partner, as he seemed like a good guy.

[stonyfaced]

"Don't apologize," Vimes replied, raising a hand, his voice a growl and his face just as imperceptible as ever. "Everybody knows it."

Was this kid for real? Nobody was this, well... nice. Not for real. Looking at Ken's face, though, and seeing only honesty, was both surprising and unnerving. He was for real, wasn't he? And he'd stay this way, if he was like this after staying here. It was astonishing.

"Yeah," he said, after a pause. "I like my job." Like really didn't factor in. For as long as Vimes could remember, he was a copper. His life was his badge. He lived, breathed, ate as a copper. He went to coppers' funerals, and the only people present were his coworkers. It was his life, but it wasn't necessarily bad. It wasn't good. It was just how his life worked out. Then, in an attempt to be halfway friendly, "How about you?"

[artiglio]

Ken smiled. "I love my job! I mean, whats not to like. I have an awesome boss, great co-workers, plus I get to be out and about riding my bike. Also, I get to meet a lot of different people, and go all over the city." His voice rose and his hands waved as he spoke. He just was that enthusiastic about it. It was hard to believe a guy like this was old enough to be legally in a bar, but, here Ken was. In a bar, waving his hands about like an excited child.

But that wasn't all, Ken wasn't done. "Believe it or not, I like it here, too. I mean, sure, its a rough place, and really people are being over ridden like peasants, but the folks here are nice, they're friendly. The city is beautiful, well, in the day anyways, and I like the music they play on the street corners."

[stonyfaced]

His enthusiasm was almost sickening. Vimes frowned, wondering how exactly he managed to keep that attitude up in this sort of place, how he managed to thrum up that sort of excitement about being a delivery boy, and for God's sake, even enthusiasm for the city.

But Vimes couldn't argue with the last point, he really couldn't. Despite everything, he loved the city too. He could tell what street he was just by the feel of it underneath his boots alone, knew every dirty alleyway, every grafitti made by rogue artist. It was one hell of a city, but it was his.

...although he felt that he was missing something. Music played on street corners? News to him. The only music he heard were gunshots and screams, and the pitter-patter of his boots running after them. Or the opposite direction, as the case may be. Hey, he valued his life. He only had one of them.

"You're..." Bloody mad. "Optimistic." Same thing.

He squinted at the boy. "How old are you anyways?"

[artiglio]

"Twenty, going on twenty one in December." Ken answered with a smile. "I know, I know, I don't exactly look it, but its true!" He laughed. "I'm just glad the legal age isn't 21 here, or else I'd never get to do anything."

"Hey, have you been to that park down town? Its got the best field for running around in. I often go there if there's daylight after I get off of work. The air actually smells good there." He continued, now about half way done his beer.

[stonyfaced]

Twenty. Jesus. Vimes had met thirteen year olds more weathered than he was. Hell, by the age of seventeen, Vimes was more weathered than this kid. Vimes' chuckle was halfway hysterical, low and deep in his throat. "You can get away from age laws, if you--" He stopped there. Hey, the kid wasn't corrupted, why corrupt him now?

"There's a lot of parks around," he said, non-commital. He worked the night shift for thirteen years. The parks were different, then. His most recent memory of a park was more an alleyway than a park, filled with the smell of grime and piss and other such unpleasant things.

"How long have you lived here, anyways?"

[artiglio]

"Oh, a couple of months now. I had to move from my last place, and had no where else to go. I drove my bike as far as I could take it before I ran out of gas and money, so I ended up here. I got a job to pay for more gas and ended up staying." Ken answered with a shrug. In all honesty, he was glad he ended up staying. He had grown to like this hell hole.

He drained the rest of the beer, and managed to get the barkeep's attention long enough to get another bottle. "Hey Vimes, would you like another drink?" Ken asked his conversation partner while he had Horace's attention.

[stonyfaced]

A couple of months. That certainly explained his relentless optimism in this city. And he came here the same way that most did: no money, no home, nothing but pure determination which either led you on the streets selling bad vendor food, in the mob, the street, or the route Vimes took: becoming a policeman. "I s'pose that's... all right, then."

"You know," Vimes said, noting how the words seemed to drag themselves out of his mouth and jumbled together when they burst forth, "you'll get yerself taken advantage of if you buy every poor sod you meet a drink."

There was silence for a moment before Horace poured Vimes another drink and slid it in front of him.

And, well, Vimes'd never turn down good liquor. As long as it was in front of him, he'd keep on drinking.

[artiglio]

Ken laughed. The truth was, Ken was a little lonely. Especially at home, with Elena moping about (and she was rarely home anyways), and Youji gone, the house was pretty quiet. Which drove him up the wall.

"Its alright Vimes. My generosity may be near limitless, but my wallet isn't." He said with a smile. "But a drink here and there wont loose me my house, and will always gain a conversation. Its a win-win situation!" He said, giving Vimes a wink.

"I do appreciate the warning though."

[stonyfaced]

"Yeah, well..."

Vimes had an answer to that, at one point in time. He could have sworn he did. "Yeah." Whatever. He didn't need to talk anyways. He needed to drink. Which was good. Why was he drinking in the first place? He only drank when he was depressed, to forget whatever he wanted to forget, but now he'd forgotten it and it was irritating him because now he wanted to remember and there was just no justice in the world.

It was something to do with superiors and chasing after some poor sod, he remembered, instead of going after the real culprits. Damn officials, with their... plumes, and their money, and their... bad pension plans. Yeah. Damn them!

Wait, what? The kid was winking at him, 'cos... 'cos he was being bought more drinks. Oh. Well.

"Bottoms up, then!" He exclaimed in a jolly voice that sounded completely unnatural coming from him, and tipped the glass back.

He loved Ken.

Wait, what?

Oh yeah, liquor.

Yeah.

[artiglio]

This caused Ken to laugh again. "Bottoms up indeed." He said, taking a drink from his second beer. He was glad that Vimes was so cheerful, the poor guy had seemed so depressed before. That was probably why Ken had chosen Vimes to talk with in the first place. The older man had seemed like he needed a little bit of happiness.

However, Ken figured one more drink would probably kill the old man's liver, so the next time Horace came around, the boy ordered Vimes a coffee.

[stonyfaced]

When Horace presented Vimes with the coffee, Vimes glowered down at it. "You're trying to sober me up," he accused.

"Nope, I'm not."

"I don't want to be sobered up," he continued, plaintively.

Horace held up his hands reassuringly. "I'm not trying, Sam, honest. How long have we known each other? You know I'm a good, honest man."

"No you're not!" Vimes protested, a tad louder than normal. "The first time I met you, you tried to--to bribe me, but that didn't work, 'cos--"

"--'cos Vimes' men don't take bribes, yeah, yeah, I know, hey, keep your voice down, o--"

"--and how long have I known you for, Horace?"

"Ten years, Sam, but I don't see why that matters--"

"And have I ever--ever--been unable to find my way home?"

"Well, a couple of times--"

"Bullshit, I always made it home."

"Eventually."

Vimes thought about it and conceded. "Eventually.

"Point is," Horace started, then sighed. "Sam, drink the damn coffee. Please?"

He considered this. "All right, then." He took a cautionary sip. "Could've said please in the first place."

It was okay, drinking the coffee. He still couldn't remember much.

[artiglio]

Ken shook his head. "No no, that's not to sober you up anyways, its to lessen that hang over you're going to have in the morning. That's caused by dehydration you know. Yes, I know coffee isn't the best way to do it, but it'll get you started." He couldn't help but be amused at the exchange between the drunk and the drunk enabler.

Sharp ears caught the beginnings of raised words, and a sullen sigh was preceded by the tinkling of a glass shattering after being thrown at the wall. Ken glanced over at Vimes, to see what he' was going to do, and to make sure that whatever it was, it wasn't stupid. You never knew with drunk people.