Pub hopping, is apparently the call of the evening. And where else would the trio be found except at Davy's own pub, naturally. Rounds are already set on the table, even as they head over to their usual corner. One with a good view of the stage, but off the beaten path enough that there's no constant interruption.
     Here, Davy's Girls have the timing of rounds down to a science. There are rumors that there's a pool based on what happens within the first five minutes of Rose, Davydd, and Edward arriving as to the pacing of the entire affair.
     Rose has the inner cubby, comfortably arranged in the corner in her white cashmere turtleneck and black suede pants. This, my darlings, is as close as she'll come to slumming. At least she deigned to wear boots. Hair pulled up in a tail, she'd get carded anywhere else as a co-ed. But, then again, that's one of the reasons to pick a familiar haunt.
     "Edward, we need to get you a skirt."

     "I've already had two," Edward replies, finishing off his current single malt and swinging the double-old fashioned around for another. He exhales something rather vile, then reaches into his leather jacket, pulling out a silver case. A thrill for any wolves.
     "Why do you care, Rose?" Edward asks, setting the case done once a cigarette is retreived. As he waits for his answer, Edward flicks oper a lighter, and with a tilt of his head and cup of his hands, lights it and immediately inhales.
     "You offerin'?" Edward asks, tipping his chin up with the cigarette hanging from his lips. "I always knew you weren't Davy's type."

     Hands are up and mouths are open, that's the way it is with These Two. There's nothing by half measures here. Two famously mouthy men, famous in their own rights and ways, joined together, in one grand conflagration of Attitude, Mirth, Mouth and Style. Edward Meurelle and Davydd ap Owain (Llywelyn). Two peas in a fucking pod.
     And cigarettes always lit, boyos. Cigarettes always lit. Davydd exhales smoke through his nose like a proper dragon, a sidelong smile cutting across his features. Boyish roughness is tempered by just...roughness as the beard appears to be making a comeback after some formal outing the previous evening. And no, it doesn't just pop back right away like it does for Other People. Unless he wants it to. "Don't set him up," Davydd rumbles, "I'll have to play nursemaid for some poor sobbing girl when he breaks her heart."
     Dark forest eyes cut between the two of his mates in a flash, and likewise the streak of a comet-born grin. Davydd settles back in the booth, flicking away dead ash before shoving the fag back in his mouth. "Hey, I only have One Type. Breathing." And he laughs. Vibrant, rumbling, smoke billowing dragon's laugh.

     Rose reaches over to filch Davy's cig from his very hand for a drag before handing it back, shaking her head. She, of course, holds it between two outstreatched fingers. And never lights her own, why would one bother when you can ride off someone else's? Blowing out the long ribbon of smoke in an elegant sigh, she observes, "It would be nice for me to be able to have someone to discuss the finer points of life with, you know. And take those girly trips to the ladies."
     This from the woman who can't stand most other women, honestly. She goes on about how they're entirely to fluffy. And soft.
     She shrugs, picking up her ale again, "Fine, have it your way." Winking over at Edward she adds, "And you know I'm only along for to gaze at you, muffin."

     Edward waggles his brows, still puffing on a rather pendent cigarette. "All for you, doll," he says, then nods at the waitress who brings him another two whiskys. "Good on you," Edward calls, somehow willing his cigarette to say in his mouth as he yells from the unattached side.
     "You two should quit," Edward halts, watching some woman go by, "...livin' through me. Get your own lives. That's what I say," he completes, blowing out a massive column of smoke in the air through half-parted lips.

     "Get a room," Davydd cracks at both of you, his own head dipping and eyes making a momentary survey of the room. He raises a hand and gestures to one of The Girls. Black and Tan needs refreshing.
     "You should stop smoking," he notes to Rose, holding his cigarette out of range with a grin. "... else you'll start croaking out tunes like Marianne Faithful. Coo, what a voice she had on her when she was sixteen. Seen her lately?" Fiery eyebrows cock up and he gestures to Rose with a cigarette. "It's these that's done it to her," he chuckles.
     "If I didn't live your life, Meurelle, I'd have no life at all." As if! Davydd snorts, relenting and offering Rose his cigarette at this point. "I mean, apart from the cigarettes, posh girlfriend in her posh house, the sports cars, pubs, parties... well, truth be fucking told," he leans in toward Edward, "... I can't stand the soirees, shoving feet into pointy shoes like a fucking giant elf," ha! Riot! "... the great sex," he laughs, "...I have no life at all."
     The snakebite (or Black and Tan) arrives and Davydd hails its entrance. "Gods be praised! A drink! In a pub! Who'd have thought of such a thing." He exhales smoke from the last drag and reaches to take up said drink. "Besides, if you weren't around me, who would I get into bar brawls with and make the sunday Times?"

      Rose rolls her eyes, "Yes. That's exactly what'll happen." Davy gets a look. She is, of course, dead. It's a perk. Not having to worry about the voice going from smoking or drinking or dying of cancer or getting disgusting yellow teeth. "I'll quit when you quit, lovely."
     And that's followed by another filch, drag, and return pass.
     She chuckles at the recitation of the hard hard live of King Davydd. "But you look so fabulous in the pointy shoes, darling. It isn't as though you have to worry about those bloody corsets. And -I- never tried to push you into one even when the dandies were all in the puff about them."
     She turns back to Edward conspiratorially, "I shudder to think what he would've done if I had. Probably bolted down the house."

     Edward grins widely, taking the cigarette for the brief moment that he'll swallow whisky. He does, and he winces for it, but it doesn't deter him. "No one dies in our dusters, and so, we're not in the Times, Davy." There's a smile for Rose, but soon Edward's finishing off one of his two recent arrivals.
     "Oh, I'm goin' to see Arsenal...wanna?" He asks of no one in particular at the table. Top seats. Nighter.

     "Bah... all cleaned up," he does look fabulous, even ...*gasp* ...suave in a Cymric way, but, lord, the protests he makes. "And I'll quit when they pry them out of my cold dead hands," he chuckles to her, eyes taking their sweet time to survey her. "I'm a man of few vices, I have to have at least one." Or half a dozen.
      Or two...
     Believe that and he has some property in Orkney to sell you...
     Davydd stamps out the cigarette and takes a healthy swallow of the drink. "Arsenal? When? Tonight?" Even as the death of the last cigarette was scarcely mourned, out comes another one. He can't drink without them and can't live without the drinking.

     "No, y'wanker, in three. Friend's seats," Edward explains, "...he won't need them."

     "Sure," Davydd answers quickly, as he's prone to do. What, as if he'd ask for permission. As if. She can come or not. That's the way of it. Davydd finally looks to Rose. So, you in, ducky?

     Mmm hmmm. There's a chance Rose could name the list of 'vices' with their addresses attached. Davydd gets a terribly amused look at that. She's obviously entirely fooled.
     "Hm?" Rose finally asks, eyebrows arching up before she takes a draught, "I'm guessing it's a band of some sort? Do they play? Or beat poor innocent instruments within an inch of their lives?"

     The stare from Edward involves daggers. "You're havin' us," he laughs. "She's funny," he says to Davydd, turning to him with a smirk. A drink from the second glass is taken before Edward shoves the cigarette back into his mouth to say, "Footy's at 7. Be there at 3 or it's on ya."

     "Three? Holy christ, I'll explode," Davydd mutters. He winks, "I'll be there." He chuckles to Rose and gives her a pat. Such a shite. "It's alright, love, it's just men getting paid to run around one another in shorts. I can't imagine you'd be interested. But," an exhale, "...you're welcome to come, as long as you don't ask me questions about touchdowns or ...home runs the whole time." Green eyes glitter in the wink that chases that. "Though, when you do it at home, that's alright," he rolls out. "As long as it's not a close match." A pause. "Or I have money on the game."
     He's so fucking picky!
     He watches her smoke his cigarettes and drink his drink. "Holy Christ, woman, do you want me to order you something. I don't want folks thinking," his hand starts to wave, "...that I don't feed you or sommat..."

     She adores it when she gets that look from Edward. Really. She just beams with an amused grin, "Yes, but you should've seen that look. Lord was it priceless."
     Rose chuckles to Davydd, "Don't worry, darling, I think I'll sit it out. You lads need time to do things as men do without me around to cramp." Watching men run around in shorts as it is. "And yes, I'm sure that's exactly what they're thinking."
     She waves at the girl to have her own ale brought over, shaking her head, "Thanks for asking though, it's nice to be asked."

     There's a blink from Edward, then a return to the footy. "So, y'know, the sewer rats' route? Take it, and you'll end up there, easy peasy. No worries. Get into the tunnel and *bam*, you're gold, Davy." Edward takes a breath to take a puff, "I'll be there about then. I'll give ya a tix for the box, an' we go up. It'll be stellar. The boys should be up for it. It's ManU. Fuckin' tossers."

     "Fucking ManU," Davydd rumbles. "But... when Cardiff comes to town, boyo, it's all over anyway. But fuck the U, wankers to the last man. Breathe on them heavy and they fall to the ground looking for a ref." He laughs smoke as he billows out a the soul of a freshly slain cig. He nods on the tunnel bit. "Won't do a thing for my sex appeal, smelling like The Thames, but what can you do."
     Davydd leans back, half settling on Rose. He turns to look back at her, waggling his brows. "I'll be all spring fresh when I come home to y'... you going out with the girls? Will I have a woman to welcome me home, run my bathwater and rub my feet?" He can barely get that out without laughing. His eyes go squinty and his complexion goes ruddy.

     "That's all you want rubbed, mate?" Edward shakes his head, deciding finally to finish off his drink. "All talk, he is. Or something." Edward frowns, not really understanding the sentiments from Davy occasionally. He finishes the second -- his sixth of the night, it's young -- and returns to burning the rest of his cigarette in a single suck of air.
     "Must dash," Edward suddenly informs. "She," he tosses his head to the right to nowhere in particular, "...is calling me. And you two make me want t' heave..."

     "Oh, I'll run you something, love." Rose says with a perfectly angelic smile. And she really can look like the divine when she wants to. It's all spoiled by rolling her eyes, however. She reaches out to pinch Davydd in the side teasingly, "I've got plenty to keep me busy, don't worry your pretty little head about that."
     She chuckles and looks up to Edward, "Well now look what you've done." Grinning she gives him a wave as he starts to bail out, "Have a good night, I'm sure I'll see you."

     "Fine," Davydd grouses, "...leave me then. Go on," and then he laughs. "Fuck ya, Meurelle..." he says as he gets up. Oh, Edward's not going to be able to leave without a clap on the back. First things first, he waves off any notion of cash.
     "I'll see you at the game at least, wot?" Hand comes to Edward's back. Both Davydd and William are touchy-feely sorts. Not that anyone'd know about William. He's been gone off the island for ages now. "Call me tomorrow. Maybe we'll go out and pick a fight..."

     "Right-o," Edward grins, turning around and fishing for another cigarette even while his other hand stamps out the last. "Hey, seeya, ducky," Edward says to Rose, reaching once he has a cigarette - from the closed case in fact - for Davydd's shoulder and a pat.
"Night, love." Rose says with a genuine smile for Edward, "Take care."
     She takes another drink from her mug, using both hands to lift it despite the fact that she doesn't really need to. She is not the touchy feely sort, so stays in her seat. Probably much to Edward's relief.

     There is indeed a woman who stands when Edward does, at a table only a bit away. If they were making eye-contact, they were rather subtle about it. Edward wiggles his brows and turns about, only to find her standing next to him and smiling at you both as he leads her out of the pub.

     "You're a good man, Meurelle," Davydd says after. He resists the urge to swallow the man up in a choke hold like an older brother, and simply sends him on his way with a rough clap to the back. He's back in his seat soon, stretching out.
     "We should go home, you know. The booze is free there and the chairs are more comfortable. Besides, the dogs probably need a piddle..." That'd be the two young Welsh corgies, dogs -he- insists upon having -- Rhyddid ("freedom") and Bwci ("bugbear"), both barely a year old, fat, rolly-polly troublemakers. "That or they've gotten themselves sick on your last round of flowers."
     Green eyes turn to watch Meurelle go. That's my boy, there. Davydd looks back to Rose, bronze eyebrows cocked up. "If I stay here you'll have to roll me home...then get me upstairs..." Yadda yadda yadda, his hands make the motion, you know the routine.

Posted by rowan at October 22, 2003 09:05 PM