Misery loves company (open)

[notallworthy]

Tom Jones has a tendency to blow things out of proportion, wallow in grief, and throw himself blindly into unsafe situations when he feels upset. Losing his lover certainly counts as something to be distraught over and Tom has earned every right to something incredibly stupid. But he is trying to break this habit and he is now desperately

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[abitofboth]

Childermass stands. And smirks, though at Tom. The music may actually be why he didn't just keep walking.

[abitofboth]

He looks at Tom a moment, then laughs, in genuine amusement. "You know, I do believe you are, at that. How very unexpected."

[notallworthy]

Tom blinks at him for a bit. "I beg your pardon?"

[abitofboth]

"The best respected manservant is, generally, still a manservant. Or were things so different, fifty years back?"

[notallworthy]

"I don't know, sir. I never had a manservant and it's unlikey that I ever will." Tom is still very confused.

[abitofboth]

"You aren't one, though. And you haven't the look of a tradesman."

[notallworthy]

"No, sir. I'm afraid I'm not much of anything."

[abitofboth]

"Everyone is something, sir."

[notallworthy]

"Then I am a just bastard and a foundling and not likely to be anything else."

[abitofboth]

"Then cheer up, sir. You've stumbled into a place where no one seems to care, and every wish is provided for. It seems I've almost case to congratulate you."

[notallworthy]

"Whatever for, sir?"

[abitofboth]

"For finding a place so suited to your particular situation." He inclines his head again, a bit shallower this time.

[notallworthy]

"Oh. Thank you?"

[abitofboth]

He snorts. "I doubt you currently care whether the pillow you're not crying into is silk or burlap, but it will matter again presently. It always does."

[notallworthy]

Tom scowls. "I'm not crying into pillows."

[abitofboth]

"I never said you were."