for fuck’s sake. the world was surely against winnie to have this man stuck in the same pub as her. what was an aristocrat doing in the east end during these dangerous times? if asked to describe the man beside her, winnie would simply refuse. in fact, she often preferred to not divulge she had any connection to the man at all. cursing herself for not taking a second look before speaking, a gloved hand rose to shield her face from the mischievous fellow. it was a delayed response to the situation, making her look rather ridiculous.
winnie tried to approach him in a professional manner, but every time their encounters tended to lack talking. at least, now, the setting would only allow for that & a few drinks. “…mr. sinclair,” the journalist finally spoke, lowering her hand to offer a polite nod of her head towards him. as much as she disliked the situation she had thrown herself into, she was by no means impolite & had to carry on with the conversation she had initiated. “quite well, thank you,” she answered whilst signaling the barmaid & slid a shilling across the counter. “pint of stout, keep the change.”
by her expression alone, it was enough to give yves a taste of her opinion. he couldn’t help but chuckle. as much as people did avoid him (in lieu of his incessant bothering and less than appealing frivolity) it was hard to reject an aristocrat of his social standing - for money spoke loudly. the expression of bemusement remained on his fine features, simply unsurprised nor bothered by the reaction of the miss.
“no need for formalities, are we not friends?” he cocked a brow, humored. “well perhaps acquaintance if you do think me good enough just yet...” he toyed with the words in his lips.
“quite well? your face says otherwise,” he leaned forward as if they were exchanging secrets of sorts, “what’re you here for? what story this time?” he eyed the barmaid, nodding his head as if to say, one for me as well. the night would be a long one and well, drinking would certainly keep things amusing.
