Chapter 3

"What are you on about, Parry?" Alex wanted to know. "Are you going to make me call you out?"

Lucas blinked. He tried to turn around again, but had just as much luck this time as he'd had the last. Meaning none at all. And those smeary streaks of light were flitting about his vision again. He reached for his spectacles, missed, and tried to discreetly turn the idiotic-batting-at-the-head into a suave-smoothing-down-the-hair, but he suspected it lost its polish when accompanied by oops-knocked-the-spectacles-off.

"Mister Booker!" Parry harrumphed, indignant, though Lucas could swear that when Alex retrieved Lucas's glasses for him and carefully perched them back on his nose so he could see again, Parry was smirking. "I assure you, I have no designs--"

"Feh!" said Alex. "I know your 'designs' too well, Parry. And I seem to recall Mister Tripp once remarking to one of your more explicit overtures that the only way you'd ever find out if 'the carpet matched the drapes' was if you were to get him so blindingly drunk he forgot how to say, 'Bugger off'."

Had Lucas said that? Seemed a bit crude, but Alex said so, so he must've done. Funny that Alex would remember it when Lucas didn't, but Alex's tone seemed almost jealous, so maybe--

Awww, Alex was jealous. Lucas got a little teary. "Parry said I stole you," he put in helpfully. Alex merely blinked at him, tilting his head in that cute way he did that always reminded Lucas of Bramble. Since Bramble was Lucas's dog and, according to Alex, a "hapless devil pony," Lucas hadn't mentioned that to Alex yet. He was saving it for when Alex pissed him off. "From Clara," Lucas explained then snorted, puffed out a laugh that was actually closer to a belch, and covered his mouth. "Nah y'll nennah mee fee neh fill--"

Alex gently pulled Lucas's hand away from his mouth. "Say again?"

"Now you'll never see the silk ribbons on her petticoats." Lucas held up his hand and stuck up four... five... four fingers. "*Four* layers of petticoats." He waggled his fingers for emphasis. "Four! And all of them have to have *silk* bloody ribbons!" He felt like crying.

"Mm, yes." Alex caught Lucas's hand and gave it a pat. "Perhaps we shouldn't be distressing Mister Parry with your sister's petticoats."

That made Lucas pause. "Am I talking?"

"Petticoats?" Slade put in.

Lucas whipped his head around--he really needed to stop doing that--and felt his cheeks flush bright red. "Oh, Slade, I'm so sorry, I didn't.... Please don't tell Clara." Oh God. "Don't tell my mother!" He turned back to Alex. Damn it, he really needed to stop doing that. "Alex, tell him. I didn't mean to--"

"Of course you didn't." Alex patted Lucas's hand again and gave Parry a sharp glance at the same time. "You've no head for ale, love. Slade understands."

That seemed... a little condescending. Lucas scowled and took his hand back. "My head is fine, thank you." Except for the part where it kept doing that swimmy thing every time he turned it. "Now, if you'll excuse me"--he made it deep and commanding, gathering his dignity about him--"I need a piss."

...So. The dignity hadn't lasted long.

Scowl going darker, because... well, just because, Lucas hauled himself up from his chair and pretended not to notice when Alex grabbed his elbow. Because if he didn't notice, he wouldn't have to shove Alex off and risk face-planting into his flagon, because whoa, damn, the whole pub was doing loopy things that couldn't possibly be good for the structural integrity. Lucas gave it a moment to decide which way was up then straightened his... well, he *meant* to straighten his coat until he remembered it was hanging over the back of his chair. So, he straightened his... blast, where had his waistcoat got to? He still had a shirt on, didn't he...? Whew. That was one in the "win" column.

"Lucas?" Alex said slowly. "All right, there?"

"Was I wearing a waistcoat?" Lucas squinted up to see Alex looking down at him with something between concern and amusement. It was the amusement that made Lucas remember his earlier pique. He'd been thinking seriously about nabbing that lick, now that Alex was handy, but decided it would only send the wrong message, considering. He jabbed a finger at Alex's chest. "No licking for you!"

With a "hmph" and a firm nod, Lucas shoved his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and snatched up his coat off the back of the chair. He was still trying to jam his arm into one of the sleeves when he more or less lurched into the door, vaguely grateful that he miraculously hadn't managed to trip over anyone or anything on his way.

The abrupt chill of the evening hit him right away, ale and cigars and sweat giving way immediately to the warm, friendly scents of wood smoke and pine and dying leaves on the brittle-sharp air. He hadn't realized his eyes were burning; now they widened a little, his vision seeping into somewhat clearer focus as he peered up at clots of stars until the lenses of his spectacles fogged with the chill. No faerie ring around the moon, so that was good; a frost right now would be disastrous. Lucas stuffed that back into the murk of his head with all the rest of his everyday worries and breathed in deep, found he was hanging on a little too desperately to the knob of the door and so pried his hand away. The spongy path into the yard tried to steal his shoe, and Lucas cursed the stupid weather out of habit as he flailed and windmilled accordingly to keep his balance. Perhaps he should have stuck to the safety of wood flooring.

He hadn't exactly meant to come outside. He'd been aiming for the gents' in back of the pub. But this would do, if he could stay upright. The nip in the air was already doing him some good. Because he should probably be at least a little bit coherent for whatever was brewing between Parry and Alex. In fact, he probably shouldn't have stumbled out as he'd done. Who knew what might happen if he wasn't there to step between them, because Parry was a bit of an ass, and Alex was--

Awww! Alex was *jealous*.

Lucas snorted, swatting at the stray strands that had come loose from the messy tail at his nape, and tried not to feel too smug. Alex--rich, handsome, charming, what-are-you-doing-with-mousy-little-Lucas--Booker was *jealous*.

Filling his lungs with a bracing breath, and redoubling his efforts to get into his coat, Lucas headed off toward the small brake of bushes that enringed the side yard of The Drunken Duck Inn with a small, smirky grin.

The coat. Would not. Cooperate. Not only could Lucas not get it on, but now he couldn't get it off, either. Three clumsy-quick moves and he was stuck, one arm half in, one arm half out, trying to flap them both as he tottered into the bushes, because he needed both hands for his placket, and now that he was out here, and the whole I-need-a-piss thing had been at the front of his mind for several moments, the need was growing a little more needful. And now one tail of the coat was flopping over his head--ah, it was upside down, that explained a few things--and the bush had sort of snatched at the other and snagged the tail and the right sleeve awkwardly over Lucas's head. A hawthorne bush, now that he was paying attention. The kind with all those spiky, spiny things sticking out them. The kinds of spiky, spiny things that could take hold of, oh, say, a person's coat, and pin him up like a somewhat short, bespectacled scarecrow.

Well, then. This was dignified.