1886 — Pub in Seedy Magical London

"Can I tell you about the shop?" Monk asked hopefully. He and the older man had settled into the booth just a moment earlier, and Ewan had already fetched them both a pint. Ewan rolled his eyes. Can't we even order dinner first? Monk deflated slightly. He'd been keen to tell his partner about his first day at a new job — one he thought he maybe liked, though it was too early to tell — but this was his third failed attempt, and he was beginning to think maybe he'd better drop it. The first time had been right when Ewan walked through the door — Monk's fault, really, because in hindsight he knew better. Ewan never wanted to talk about anything right after he came home, and today was no exception. Christ, give a man five minutes, would ya, before you start in? I'm stressed. Monk had been with Ewan long enough to understand what stressed meant: he was in a poor mood for the foreseeable future, unless Monk did something to put him in a better one. So he'd given Ewan some puppy-dog eyes and put his head in Ewan's lap and prattled on about how grateful he was for everything Ewan did for the pair of them — which he was, genuinely, because living with Ewan was better than living in the labor boarding house. And then when Ewan seemed a little less rough around the edges Monk undid his belt buckle and took him first in his fingers and then in his mouth, until Ewan finished and his bad mood disappeared.

After that Ewan was doting, as he usually was after he came. He ruffled Monk's hair and kissed his forehead and offered to take the pair of them out to dinner so neither of them had to cook, and Monk readily agreed since he was a shit cook. They'd been walking to the pub when Monk had brought his day up a second time, and Ewan had scowled. You want to stop in the freezing street and tell stories? C'mon, knucklehead, let's get to dinner. Once they'd been settled at the table Monk had thought it safe to ask again, but now he was kicking himself — he should have known to wait until after dinner was on the way. After dinner had been ordered, but before it arrived was the ideal window— if he waited until the food was here Ewan was liable to complain that all the chatter interfered with his digestion.

But now he didn't think he'd bring it up again. He'd already struck his third match, as it were, and it had fizzled out. If he brought it up a fourth time he would probably be accused of nagging. He didn't want to get Ewan into a bad mood again, and ruin dinner — particularly because Ewan's bad moods weren't so easily addressed when they were out in public and Monk couldn't get on his knees to fix them.

I need to piss, Ewan said, and left the table. Monk, left alone with two pint glasses, heaved a sigh and ran his finger through the condensation on the side of his glass.

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Monty Morales

  

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there's something wretched about this
something so precious about this
don't you agree?

Monk

The crew had performed profitably as of late so Monty had thought it fitting to give them a great reward. He had invited Ishmael but he didn't know whether the vampire would actually join them or not. Monty often thought of the other as being rather cat-like, coming and going as he pleased. If he had to be honest, it was part of what made Ishmael so intriguing.

His mood soured when he realized who had just walked into the pub. A memory from 1880 and 1881 that he would rather forget. He had been younger then, more easily impressed, more easily charmed. Now, he did not see how. He had put up with it embarrassingly long and had really only broken out of it when he realized just how squid-like Ewan was when compared to someone with such feline grace as Ishmael, whom he'd met during his relationship with Ewan. There had been other factors too such as being demanded to cut off friendships he had formed such as with Abernathy and disparaging the gang he was a part of. He had not particularly enjoyed that nor had he ever had any intention of following through. No one told Montgomery Morales what to do.

He had become better off after ditching Ewan. He slept with whomever he wanted, was now leader of his gang and had a rag tag group of do-gooders that he enjoyed heckling but also genuinely liked as human beings. Though he would sooner stick his hand into acid than admit that.

It was like watching a version of himself he did not like as he watched Ewan leave a young man that could have been no older than eighteen behind at the table. Feeling a rare instance of compassion and empathy for a fellow human being, Monty sauntered on over. "I've literally been where you are, you know," he said, helping himself to Ewans drink because honestly... Ewan could screw right off.

  

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magic by mj

Monk hadn't been paying much attention to his surroundings, knowing that he had a few minutes before Ewan came back. The only one who might bother him before then was the waitress, but even that would be incidental; he would order until Ewan was back anyway. Ewan always ordered for both of them (once, Monk had found that sort of sweet). The man approaching the table startled him, and he was even more taken aback when he grabbed the drink.

"Uh, you can't —" he started, but the stranger already had. Monk stared. Was Ewan going to notice that someone had taken a sip off his drink? If he did, how was Monk going to explain that? It would be his fault, however he framed it. If he said a stranger had just waltzed over and picked it up Ewan might think he was making up stories. If he believed him, he'd ask why Monk hadn't done anything to stop it. Maybe after this guy was done Monk could pour some if his own beer over to hide it.

It took a second for him to process what the man had said, since his actions were so distracting. When he did, he quirked an eyebrow. "Like, in this booth?" he asked, confused. Was taking Ewan's drink some sort of weird power play in return for Ewan and Monk having taken his usual spot? It wasn't as though Monk had anything to do with where they'd sat... but he was rather used to having to solve problems he had no hand in creating, by this point.

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there's something wretched about this
something so precious about this
don't you agree?

Monk

He chuckled at the others confusion, setting the glass down and tracing the rim with one of his fingers. "Sometimes, in this booth. With Ewan," he said, distaste clear in his tone. "Was he so very stressed today?" He asked in a mock-baby tone before taking another swig of the glass.

The other looked downcast, he'd seen the look in his eyes when he had taken the drink, the way the other had even walked into the pub with Ewan. Had he really once also been so pathetic? Because of Ewan? The thought was nauseating. "You could so so much better."

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   Brigadier General Abernathy

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magic by mj

Not someone who was looking to try and fight them for the booth, then. Monk stiffened at Ewan's name — said with familiarity but also with disdain. He knew some of Ewan's friends, and some of Ewan's not-exactly-friends, and he didn't recognize this person — but his tone didn't seem friendly, so maybe that was no surprise. The mention of Ewan's moods left little room for doubt as to exactly who this person was to him — or had been. Monk felt his insides clench slightly at the idea that he really might have been replaying the same tired scene that someone else had already been through years before; he had always expected his life to be more than that. Maybe he'd never had grand aspirations, never dreamed of getting onto the Wizengamot or inventing new spells or sculpting a masterpiece, or anything, but he had expected to at least be interesting; not just one in a long line of entirely interchangeable spare parts.

Monk swallowed. "He's not so bad," he said, but he knew it was a lie; he had been in this relationship long enough to know it wasn't good. What he meant was it's better than the alternative, because the alternative was going back to day labor and a cot in a shared room — or maybe even to the streets, living rough, if he couldn't pick up a job as easily as he had before. And yes, Ewan had moods, Ewan was stressed, but he also let Monk live in his flat and only occasionally asked for money for rent or food — and sometimes he was lovely, when the mood struck him. It wasn't all bad.

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there's something wretched about this
something so precious about this
don't you agree?

Monk

Monty made a scoffing noise as the other said that Ewan was not so bad. Perhaps Ewan had changed in the past few years but Monty seriously doubted it. Especially given the youthfulness of the man before him. The mannerisms.

"That is what he tricks you into thinking, isn't it? But there is so much better out there. Better people, better sex," Monty glanced back at his table, slightly disappointed that Ishmael had not arrived. He swallowed the feeling down because it was ridiculous. "What keeps you here when you look like you're half-dead sitting there already?" Ewan was a leech that sucked the light out of youth as far as Monty was concerned.

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   Brigadier General Abernathy

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magic by mj

Monk grew panicky at the mention of sex. It wasn't as though the other man had yelled it out loud enough for the whole pub to hear, and honestly most people in a place like this wouldn't have cared regardless — too focused on surviving their own lives to worry about anyone else's — but it still wasn't the sort of thing discussed openly, except by people who made their living through sex. Monk wasn't a rentboy, but having someone else talk about his sex life made him feel like one — like everything he'd done to date was cheap and meaningless. Which, he supposed, it was. He hadn't slept with anyone prior to Ewan. Ewan had been fun at first, but Monk wasn't kidding himself by this point — he knew he was mostly staying with him for the flat. Which was just half a step up from being a rentboy, wasn't it? The only difference really was that he had a consistent john instead of a rotating cast.

Monk wasn't sure what to say. He was feeling a little despondent, a little annoyed — maybe more with himself than this stranger. He had the feeling that he ought to have clever things to say, ought to put up more of a fight than just weakly protesting that Ewan wasn't that bad, but he felt like his legs had been knocked out from under him and he was being sluggish to regain his footing.

He gripped the pint glass tighter. Maybe he couldn't defend Ewan, but he wasn't half-dead; he could at least do a little better than rolling over and letting some stranger walk right over the top of him. "So you left him and now you're on top of the world, is that it?" he challenged mildly.

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there's something wretched about this
something so precious about this
don't you agree?

Monk

The other wasn't saying anything so Monty helped himself to more of his stolen drink. He smiled as the other challenged him. So, there was some fight left in the sad little soul after all. "Definitely. He is dead weight. And darling, you are too lovely and young to waste your best years being made to feel inferior in everything you do," Monty told the other in equal challenge. Not that he fully cared what the other got up to in life or not but the chance to both fuck over Ewan and vindicate the stupid youth he had been himself was not one he could pass over.

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   Brigadier General Abernathy

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magic by mj

It was a little mean that this fellow kept drinking Ewan's beer, Monk thought helplessly as he took another sip. Not mean to Ewan, but mean to him. If everything he was saying was true and he had been in this position before, he knew very well what the consequences of that were going to be. It didn't matter that Monk had nothing to do with it; it was going to get turned around and be his fault when Ewan came back. There was no getting around that. And even if Monk took everything he was saying at face value and took it all to heart, that didn't help with the beer. It wasn't as though he could just stand up from this table and walk away. All his things were at the flat, and granted he didn't have much, but he wasn't keen to lose what he did have. If he ditched Ewan tonight he was never getting any of it back — Ewan did not take being embarrassed well. So whether he wholeheartedly agreed with this stranger that he was better off alone or whether he didn't, he was still stuck at this table for the evening — still going to be stuck with, at this rate, a half-empty beer by the time Ewan came back from the bathroom.

And the too lovely comment made him suspicious, made him wonder about the motivations this bloke had in coming over here in the first place. Was he being hit on? Did this guy figure his self-confidence was so low he'd jump on anyone who threw him a kind word? Well, if he thought that — he wasn't actually far off, at the end of the day; it had happened twice before, when Ewan was being unbearable and someone at a pub was less unbearable. But Monk wasn't going to admit it and he certainly wasn't going to act on anything now. The aforementioned flat with all his stuff, and the aforementioned dread of facing Ewan again if Monk did anything tonight to embarrass him.

"Just mind your own business and give me back that beer," he snipped.

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there's something wretched about this
something so precious about this
don't you agree?

Monk

Monty keenly watched the others reactions, his expressions. Monty was a con artist and a skilled one. He hadn't gotten to where he was by not being able to get an accurate read on people. Of course, sometimes he got things wrong, he was not infallible much as he liked to believe himself to be.

But this? This he had a read on even if a lot of it was just him projecting what he had experienced with Ewan onto the other. Rather than give back the beer, he drank the rest of it just to see the look on the others face. So he had a sadistic streak, so what? Everyone had to have hobbies.

"Consider this. Do you think its natural to feel like you will get shit for something I am doing?" He should have castrated Ewan when he left him. Merlin knew he had done worse to a man. Stealing a full glass of beer from a passing drunk who didn't even notice where it had gone off to, he set it on the table. Not that he would have cared if he got the young man in trouble but he didn't want to give Ewan the satisfaction of having another reason to unleash emotional abuse on someone.

  

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magic by mj

Monk blinked at that. He hadn't considered it from that angle before, actually — when Ewan said things like well, why didn't you do something about it? it seemed perfectly reasonable for Monk to take some share of the blame. Framed like this it was... decidedly less reasonable. But where did that leave him? He wasn't going to walk away from Ewan tonight. He probably wasn't going to walk away from Ewan at all, not unless he had someplace better to go. He wasn't keen on going back to a shared room provided by a day labor gig, any more than he was keen on going back to day labor. He could try to find someone else to shack up with, he supposed, but there was no knowing whether they'd be any better than Ewan... and they might even be worse.

"Yeah, whatever," he mumbled, flushing. He just wanted this interaction to be over... though he was grateful for the replacement beer.

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there's something wretched about this
something so precious about this
don't you agree?

Monk