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Lawrence sipped his pint and avoided eye contact with the man sitting across from him. He couldn't figure out how he felt about his new partner. Certainly he felt good about the decision to work with him. He'd never ended one night with so much coin in his pocket. But he had hoped that this Harpswell would be a friend as well, and that was something he needed even more than the crowns.

Unfortunately, his new partner seemed to be bold and intriguing only when in the act of stealing. The way he worked tonight! Rough strong fingers maneuvering quickly into pockets and purses as he moved around the dance floor. It was truly impressive. How could a man so daring and sharp in his work be so timid and dull in his celebration? He'd barely made it through the first pint Lawrence had bought him, and the only time he spoke was in response to something the other man had said.

Making another attempt at conversation, Lawrence decided to stick to their proven common ground. "You've got to be the best pickpocket I've met. How long have you been doing this?"

Harpswell looked down at his pint of ale and swirled the last few dregs around nervously before taking a sip. He winced at the bitter taste, but swallowed it nonetheless -- he wasn't usually one for ale (he preferred his drink a little sweeter) but Lawrence had bought it for him, and he felt like he should at least try to oblige his new partner in crime. And perhaps the drink might serve to loosen up his tongue.

At the question, Harpswell looked up at Lawrence and shrugged. "Most of my life, thought certainly not in this, uh...quantity...until recently." He chewed on his lower lip subconsciously for a moment, a nervous habit. "I've just got a knack for doing things with my hands, I suppose." Harpswell was also a fairly good lockpick and could sew beautifully -- not that he would
mention that last bit to Lawrence, of course.

Lawrence looked at the other man's hands and could very well imagine them doing a variety of things -- they were strong, slender, and rough, unlike his own pale somewhat delicate ones.

"So," he said, shaking himself out of the beginnings of a poetic reverie, "What did Mater and Pater Chancery think of their son running about picking pockets?" He waved over the barmaid. "Another, Harpswell?"

Harpswell shook his head at the barmaid -- another ale would certainly do him in. "Cider, perhaps, if you have some?" he asked instead, before turning back to Lawrence and shrugging again, the motion apparently a familiar part of his body's vocabulary. "They don't think much at all anymore, I reckon. Both dead now -- never knew my father, and my mother didn't look amiss at a few extra coins coming in if it meant more food on the table. There's no 'mater and pater' Chancery though. 's just the name of the street we lived on when I was born. Chancery Lane. My mom didn't have a proper surname of her own, and no one knew what my father's was, so the registrar just wrote it down."

"No surname? Strange. I spent my entire childhood being reminded that I was a Wheildon and should behave accordingly." Lawrence took a gulp of the overflowing tankard that had been set before him, eyeing the other man's cider suspiciously. "Are you not fond of drinking then?"

The pickpocket took a long drink of his sweet cider, feeling refreshed. "It's not that I'm not fond of drinking, I just tend to get a little..." he paused, searching for the right word. "...careless...when I'm inebriated." He laughed nervously. "Most of the folks who frequent this type of establishment," he gestured vaguely around at the tavern full of cheats, theives, and rogues, "aren't the kind to take it lightly if they catch you cheating at cards."

Curious, Harpswell eyed Lawrence. "There's a lot of poor folks around Palisade with no surname whatsoever...I count myself fortunate I wasn't born on Pigswallow street." Taking another drink of cider, Harpswell tried not to sound too awed in his next statement. "You're a Wheildon? How on earth did you end up in this line of work?"

"How indeed." Lawrence took a long sip as he tried to figure a way out of this awkward corner (it seemed he always ended up in awkward corners around Harpswell). "It would actually do me much good if you didn't go around saying I'm a Wheildon. I haven't necessarily been the pride of the family, if you can believe it." Lawrence paused, composing his words. "My debut as a thief came shortly after my fall from grace with my family and the royal navy. It's rather a long story," he lied.

"No need to worry about me running my mouth," Harpswell murmured, somewhat self-deprecatingly. "I'm not exactly the most talkative of folks."

He couldn't help his eyes widening a little at Lawrence's latest revelation -- it seemed like there were hidden depths to this man that Harpswell hadn't even begun to guess at. "You were in the navy?"

Eager for something to lighten the mood, Lawrence chuckled at Harpswell's self-effacing humor. It was, after all, very true.

"Yes, I was a captain." He paused for effect. "...for six months. I was only in the navy itself for a total of two years. It was not...something I excelled in." Again, not the whole truth. He had been a fine sailor and captain -- his only deficiency had been in his supposed lack of morality.

Harpswell tried to keep himself from snorting out his most recent gulp of cider in surprise but only succeeded in making himself cough in the process. "A captain?" he exclaimed, a little louder than was his wont. A few heads turned towards them as Harpswell cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "By the 'wood, what did you do?" He knew he was prying, and he could tell the subject made Lawrence uncomfortable, but even just the one tankard of ale had been enough to affect his judgement a little.

Taken aback by his new partner's sudden forwardness, Lawrence panicked, trying to find the right story to tell (something he was usually very good at). Clearly his friend grew more talkative with drink. "Well, it was nothing to do with my performance as a captain. It was more how I comported myself in my own personal time. Although a captain isn't really supposed to have that, I suppose."

Lawrence grabbed for his tankard and took the rest of his ale down in several large gulps. He tried to do this inconspicuously but was aware that it was a futile effort; his discomfort was surely visible. "I was reckless when I was younger. I think I was partially sabotaging myself," he began. "My father pressured me into joining the navy in the first place. I was not a motivated youth." He waved to the barmaid again and ordered gin from across the room. "I did enjoy the pay though. And the company, perhaps a bit too much. A friend and I got into a bit of a..." How to paint it this time? "...less than savory situation involving some un-gentlemanly amorous activities." There. He hadn't lied outright. His friend would assume that women were involved, and he didn't have to feel the guilt of fabricating yet another lie. "I was dishonorably discharged from his majesty's service and I returned shamed to my family...until my father decided it was best I leave." The gin arrived at the end of his last sentence, just in time.

Normally Harpswell would blush at the mention of any kind of "amorous activities," but with a drink in him he managed to tone down his reaction to merely an incredulously raised eyebrow. "Well that's bollocks," he pronounced finally, reaching out for the newly arrived bottle of gin and pouring an inch or so into his empty cider glass. "Surely it's not uncommon for navy men to...uh...indulge in such things." He raised the glass to his mouth and tipped it back, swallowing the gin in a quick gulp, a look of distaste on his face as he finished. He might not like the taste of most liquor but if their conversation was going to continue in this vein, then the rather innocent pickpocket would need the extra fortitude.

"Yes, well," Lawrence reached for the bottle. "It wasn't so much what as I was doing as with whom I was doing it that was the problem," he said, pouring.

Harpswell nodded as if he could sympathize. "Ah, I see." He did not. Still, that had been more than enough on the subject for the easily embarrassed young thief -- he would assume that Lawrence had been caught dallying with some rich lady of importance and let it slide. "Well, I'm sorry about your family and all, but I can't say I regret whatever circumstances brought you here. I've certainly never made so much on my own in one night." He looked sidelong at Lawrence and grinned -- an effect of the liquor, no doubt. "But then again, I've never had the guts or the wiles to talk myself into a high-society ball like that. You, sir, are one damned good liar."

Lawrence chuckled, relieved to exit that awkward conversation and enter the tentative amicability that seemed to be growing between the two men. "I've had a lot of practice. With the lying," he replied. "Besides, with the wealthy and status-conscious all it takes is a little flattery, dropping a few names, and a fashionable ensemble. Their much easier to take in than sailors or merchants. The poorer folk always mind their purses. The wealthy, when they think they're away from the lower sorts, believe themselves impervious."