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Messages - Martin Hawksworth

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"Business expenses, my good man. You think I can afford this otherwise?" he said knowingly at Pryce with a wink.

It wasn’t as if this particular beverage was reasonable any longer, couldn’t be. The establishment itself received limited stock to avoid raids. And yet, did Martin want to meet under any other circumstances? No. The risk was half the fun.

"Darling, come on back." he called, a melodic inflection sweetening his words, as he watched the the darling thing wander back. He ordered something different, something bold, which would tide him over until they finished with 'work'. Martin wanted something to offer distraction if business got too real.

He didn't like things when they got theoretical and wordy, but honestly he didn’t like it when life turned serious either.

“How’s life treating you, friend?” he asked then, prolonging the inevitable.

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1920s London, a what-if story

The smoke filled room was stifling and warm, bodies mingling like oil and water. Summer hit hard in the city. People just seeking a cool place to rest and enjoy humanity at its finest.

Martin Hawksworth was just such a man. He sat back in his chair, adding to the haze of the room one puff at a time. Girls, they sparkled more than the glistening glasses of amber at each table. Gorgeous things. Trouble they were, but he liked trouble. Trouble kept the blood pumping and risk made breathing worthwhile. He surveyed the room and took in the noise of the brassy melodic drumming jive of the band playing on stage.

Someone was playing flat... they'd best get their part right.

He was waiting for a man, business really, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself in the meantime.

Flagging a filly to the table, he ordered a second refill. His business didn’t require the care of a sober man, and he wasn’t about to let a cup go empty for long.



(I'll edit asap if I got too silly with the descriptions)

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