fucking_gentleman | PSL

Entry tags:

jihwan,
psl

PSL

Harry is actually enjoying the sunshine by the Thames.

Well, truthfully, there's no real sunshine and no one enjoys the Thames, but he's determined to not be in the office, so here he is, sitting in the window of his favourite bakery and sipping at his coffee.

He's people watching, which was always a hobby of his, but now has become a survival mechanism to fend of do gooders and 'helpful' people who see the twisted scar along his temple, the streak of silver it put into his hair, the patch tucked underneath his glasses and they make assumptions.

And his impulse control isn't quite what it was, which means occasionally he's been known to react to a slow and loud "Can I help you?" with a leg trip and toe of his shoe into their ribs.

By accident, of course.

But now, he's mostly curious about the fellow who seems to be somewhat determinedly heading to the river's edge.

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The waitress brings over the mocha and sets it down for Jihwan.

"Yes, quite. Mistakes can be learned from and improved upon. I told a young friend of mine, we should not aim to be better than those around us, merely a better version of ourselves." He won't lecture the young man about the folly of throwing himself in the river. He seems quite embarrassed enough about it.

Embarrassed, uncomfortable, awkward...take your pick really. His Siren Sickness has alienated more than a few people, but the pitying stares when people think he's actually trying to take his own life are the worst. Harry doesn't seem to be doing that yet, but. Jihwan blinks, partway through rubbing his fingers under an eye.

"...Good advice." He wishes it were that simple.

Harry won't. It isn't his business and he doesn't really care, cold as it may be to admit, even in his own mind. Anyway, throwing yourself in the Thames hardly seems like much of a suicide attempt in his books. Especially in broad daylight.

Maybe he just spends far too much time intimately involved with death.

"Or, if you often feel a need to throw yourself into rivers, staying away from them might help remove the temptation."

"....Har har." It's actually very good advice given his condition, but to have to delivered right back at him always brings out Jihwan's best. He'll pull his pill bottle from the confines of his bag and pop it open. "I wasn't planning on going near the Thames today."

"Have you considered the merits of Australia? I understand there's plenty of living space with rivers at all."

Harry pours water from the table jug into a glass and slides it closer. Because taking pills is always easier with water. He's learned that over the last lifetime.

It's appreciated, even if the Australia comment is not so much. Mocha doesn't make for very good medicine-taking liquid. Down the hatch, and he sighs.

"I don't hate water you know." He actually rather liked it as a child, and still does. It's just what it means for him now that keeps Jihwan from going near. "And deserts are awful."

"I didn't suggest you do. And deserts have their own charm, but aren't necessary to avoid rivers. Many rainforests have little more than creeks, but a constant flow of water from the daily storms."

He finishes his tea and refills from the pot next to him.

"That's also kind of in the middle of nowhere, isn't it?" Compared to London at least.

"Yes, I'm sure that the billions of people who live in South America and the Subcontinent feel very much that they live in the middle of nowhere." He's definitely amused now.

"That's not--you know what I meant!" Jihwan sputters, nearly upsetting his mocha.

Harry's finger catches the cup and straightens it before it risks going anywhere.

"Ah, youth. So prone to exaggeration." There's still that sharp twinkle of amusement in his one eye.

Fast reflexes for an older-looking guy, but Jihwan's mostly too frazzled by his slip-up being niggled to properly think on it. His head's starting to feel a lot better though, so that's something.

"If you start with the 'back in my day' or the old man jokes, I'm out."

"No walking six miles uphill both ways in the snow to go to school stories?" This young man reminds him in part of Eggsy. He's comfortable with people outside his peerage in a way many young people never manage.

"Especially not those." He knows he's being boy now. Jihwan isn't really one for banter of any sort, but...well. The saved his life. And got his a mocha, so he figures he should at least...try. Honestly he spends more time with doctors and people older than him that it's actually easier to talk to Harry than anyone his own age.

"Ah well. As Emrys likes to remind me, tales of my youth are not engaging for those who weren't there... and those who were."

Unless they're making their way through a bottle of scotch and lamenting that surely they weren't as troublesome as today's recruits and young knights.

Surely. Because one is never as unbearable as their successors, clearly.

"Maybe you're just a bad story-teller." Jihwan's certainly not a great one. The only thing he's good at recounting are facts and information.

"Most likely," he agrees, amicable as ever. "Being a tailor hardly makes one an erudite and sparkling conversationalist."

"..." Jihwan stares for a moment.

"'pparently it gives you a crazy vocabulary though." He doesn't even know what erudite means.

"Ah, that would be very expensive and exclusive schools where you paid for the privilege of of learning exactly what everyone else did. With added Latin."

"That make 'erudite' Latin then?" Jihwan isn't even surprised about the private school thing. It fits the rather gentlemanly image this 'Harry Hart' guy has. He wouldn't be surprised if he pulled the whole chivalry thing too.

"No, simply extensive grammar and language lessons. English education, back in dark ages of my youth, was very focused on language."

And then years of lessons and constant improvement with Kingsman.

"Oh." And clearly, it's not the sort of education he's had so far. He makes a note to look the word up later though, because he actually does enjoy thing like expanding his vocabulary and picking things up like that.

There's silence for a moment as he takes another sip of his drink, and by now he can feel his medicine starting to kick in. The dull throbbing in his temples is manageable; if he's lucky, he can hop a bus back to his usual route. "How much do I owe you for the drink?"

"Please, consider it part of the care package. Or payment for keeping me company while I finished my own tea." His not inconsiderable salary will stretch for an extra mocha for a young man who needed the heat and sweet at the time.

"And consider the merits of a cab to your next destination. You look rather peaky still."

"I...yeah. I mean, I was gonna catch a bus." He's got pocket money, but cabs can be a bit expensive. he just doesn't want to say that in front of someone who's already seen him at his worst. Burying his face in the couch is starting to sound like an excellent idea again. He could use a chance to sleep the rest of this off, he always feels out of sorts after an episode.

"You sure you don't mind?"

"Quite sure, dear chap. An exclusive tailor of advancing years can afford to cover a drink for a student. Indeed, it may be considered a civic duty to provide for the next generation, especially in a time of need."

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