"What does 35 look like?" Karen asks, mirroring his arched brow as she asks, as if emphasizing the question. It's not the first time someone's expressed surprise at her age. She's pretty sure it's just down to using moisturizer and not spending a lot of time in direct sunlight.
"Well, I figured it was fair game since you asked first," she points out, a hint of warm humor in her voice.
"Oh, is that how that saying goes?" Karen asks, smiling a little as he gives her that quick once over. "How can I make it up to you?"
His theory about her dancing on the pole kept her in shape prompts another quick laugh, and she gives her head a shake. "I think it's actually a combination of uh, adrenaline and anxiety?" she suggests, in a way that sounds like she's making a joke that might have some truth behind it. Her life has been known to occasionally get...high octane.
He's happy to make her laugh again, it's a nice sound but when she admits to the actual reason behind her slim figure he tilts his head ever so slightly.
"Adrenaline I can understand but what are you anxious about?"
"I'll do my best," Karen answers, giving the answer as solemnly as she can despite the absurdity of the situation.
His question is met with a reassuring smile, and she reaches across the table to rest her hand on his arm. "Nothing right now, don't worry. It just goes hand in hand, I think, with the kind of investigation I do? Like I can't imagine doing anything else, but there's definitely still times I've thought I was in over my head."
He suspects it's a lot more than that but now is not the time to start talking about anxiety and fear, he'd rather have a pleasant date with her so he places a hand over hers and gives it a reassuring squeeze and then circles back to her question about the pool.
"There aren't too many people who have pools in London, but I once did it in a jacuzzi tub so should I take a half sip?"
The particulars of Karen's career tend to (correctly) alarm people when she gets into it. She's glad when he doesn't ask more, and instead returns the squeeze as he takes her hand. There's a slight smile at the corner of her mouth.
"I think you can be allowed a full sip for that. You shouldn't be penalized for lack of access."
His offering of a round does prompt a laugh, mostly at the turn of phrase. "I don't think I've ever heard someone refer to it as 'the splits.'" Nevertheless, she picks up her glass to take another sip of her drink. "I think I'd pull something if I tried to do it now though. That's the real way you know I'm 35."
It's an obviously joking reference, and she keeps her glass in hand, looking thoughtful. "Never have I ever gotten a tattoo."
Karen's not sure that half way would be that impressive, but she still looks amused. Largely by the mental image of herself trying to do a split at Josie's. Not that she'd voluntarily touch the floor in there.
Even so, she's visibly surprised when he says that he has not one, but two tattoos. "I wouldn't have pegged you as a tattoo guy," she admits, smiling. There's a momentary pause, and she lets out a laugh, her face turning pink. "I almost asked 'can I see them?' instead of 'what are they of?'" She's not even feeling tipsy yet - just apparently quite comfortable in his company.
The look of that blush sweeping across her cheeks is very charming and beautiful and he tips her a wink, "I'd show you but I don't want to get Josie overly excited. Unless you think that would help us get another round of beer..."
And speaking of beer he takes another sip of his, motioning at his left bicep. "The one here is of a jungle rat, something I got with two other lads in my unit."
"The one on my back is my family crest, I got it after my father passed away."
She wrinkles her nose at him when he winks at her, albeit in a playful way. And then she lets her eyes drift over to the bartender, who appears to be making a drink with a pickled egg in it despite the fact that she's never seen pickled eggs in the bar. "Honestly, could go either way with her."
While he explains his tattoos, she listens, taking a sip of her own drink. "I have to guess the jungle rat was either an in joke or a nickname in your unit." That often seems to be the way with the people she knows that have served. The mention of his family crest gets an understanding look, and her hand finds its way back to give his a squeeze again. "I don't think you mentioned that he passed when we briefly talked about family before. I'm sorry. It never gets easier, does it?" There's only a moment of hesitation before she continues, "my mother passed when I was 16." There's - so much more to it than that, but that's exactly when her life starts to get messy. It's not a stone she's eager to flip over.
Much like her there's more to the story of his father's passing than he's willing to divulge at the moment but her kindness means a lot and he laces his fingers through hers.
"It doesn't." He says, his eyes growing sad. "I didn't always have a great relationship with him but I'm grateful we somewhat put things to rest before he passed a few years ago."
Clearing his throat he circles back to something slightly less upsetting, his army tattoo.
"The tattoo is a bit of an in-joke, we were stationed in the jungle and were always mucking about in the dirty parts. Thus the rats."
"I'm glad you were able to have some resolution with him," Karen answers, sincerely. Part of her suspects that they should actually talk about their families one day. The circumstances are different, but there's absolutely an understanding there. Not just with the loss of her mother, but her and her father will never have a relationship more than 'distant' and 'barely cordial' again.
She leaves her hand entwined with his as he goes back to the topic of his service tattoo, smiling a little. "Sounds like you were deployed with a good unit. It's always seemed to me like that kind of camaraderie and trust is really important."
Thankfully Alfred still has a good relationship with his Mum, if he didn't he would probably be getting into even more trouble than he already does but the fact that he can call and talk to her helps a lot. No one loves him like his Mum does.
"Important and necessary, they're literally the people you depend on to keep you alive. My unit had a lot of good lads, not all of them made it, but thankfully my two best mates did. Bazza and Daveboy."
"Bazza and Daveboy?" Karen repeats, a smile slowly returning to her lips at the obvious nicknames. They've effectively pushed away any other thoughts, at least for the time being. "Sounds like they could host a really successful drive time radio show together." Something with a lot of sound effects and punchy outros.
She arches a brow, a hint of mischief in her gaze as she continues, "I have to know what your nickname was if you had one. I'm prepared to bribe you."
"Oh I doubt that, Bazza isn't exactly the talkative type and Daveboy runs his mouth every chance he gets. So it would only be successful if people enjoyed listening to a drunk Irishman go on and on while his mate sighed all exasperated in the background."
He smiles to himself, clearly warmed by thoughts of his friends.
"Sounds like the makings of a great show to me," Karen answers, smiling a little at the thought. It's obvious that he's fond of his friends. She gets that. Matt and Foggy's friendships mean the world to her.
When he owns up to his nickname, her smile widens. "Alfie, huh? That's cute. It suits you."
"It's sweet that it came from her," Karen reflects with a half smile. Nice to think that there's a through line from his childhood to the person he'd become.
Lifting her free hand, she gives it a little wobble. "Karen's not really a name you can make a lot of nicknames from. I'll get Kare sometimes. My mother used to call me Kare Bear, but I don't really like it when anyone else does." Too many memories.
Karen makes a face at that, though she can't help but laugh a little. "Pretty sure I've only heard that when I've been catcalled," she admits. A smile curves her lips. "Maybe it depends on the context. Let's hear an example."
"Wasn't expecting to have to come up with an example." He says and then pauses to think for a moment. "How about...you having a good time so far, Blondie?"
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It's not 26 he's worried about, it's if she is younger than that, sometimes it's hard to tell and he hasn't always asked before hand.
"You don't look 35." He says and then lifts his eyebrows at her, "Which is partially why I was asking. And if you must know I'm 32."
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"Well, I figured it was fair game since you asked first," she points out, a hint of warm humor in her voice.
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"And to be honest I have no idea what 35 looks like, I just know you look younger than that. Must be all that dancing on the pole, kept you in shape."
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His theory about her dancing on the pole kept her in shape prompts another quick laugh, and she gives her head a shake. "I think it's actually a combination of uh, adrenaline and anxiety?" she suggests, in a way that sounds like she's making a joke that might have some truth behind it. Her life has been known to occasionally get...high octane.
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He's happy to make her laugh again, it's a nice sound but when she admits to the actual reason behind her slim figure he tilts his head ever so slightly.
"Adrenaline I can understand but what are you anxious about?"
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His question is met with a reassuring smile, and she reaches across the table to rest her hand on his arm. "Nothing right now, don't worry. It just goes hand in hand, I think, with the kind of investigation I do? Like I can't imagine doing anything else, but there's definitely still times I've thought I was in over my head."
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"There aren't too many people who have pools in London, but I once did it in a jacuzzi tub so should I take a half sip?"
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"I think you can be allowed a full sip for that. You shouldn't be penalized for lack of access."
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"Never have I ever done the splits."
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It's an obviously joking reference, and she keeps her glass in hand, looking thoughtful. "Never have I ever gotten a tattoo."
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Her next round makes him chuckle and he picks up his glass, taking two sips.
"I've got one on my shoulder and one on my back."
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Even so, she's visibly surprised when he says that he has not one, but two tattoos. "I wouldn't have pegged you as a tattoo guy," she admits, smiling. There's a momentary pause, and she lets out a laugh, her face turning pink. "I almost asked 'can I see them?' instead of 'what are they of?'" She's not even feeling tipsy yet - just apparently quite comfortable in his company.
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And speaking of beer he takes another sip of his, motioning at his left bicep. "The one here is of a jungle rat, something I got with two other lads in my unit."
"The one on my back is my family crest, I got it after my father passed away."
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While he explains his tattoos, she listens, taking a sip of her own drink. "I have to guess the jungle rat was either an in joke or a nickname in your unit." That often seems to be the way with the people she knows that have served. The mention of his family crest gets an understanding look, and her hand finds its way back to give his a squeeze again. "I don't think you mentioned that he passed when we briefly talked about family before. I'm sorry. It never gets easier, does it?" There's only a moment of hesitation before she continues, "my mother passed when I was 16." There's - so much more to it than that, but that's exactly when her life starts to get messy. It's not a stone she's eager to flip over.
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"It doesn't." He says, his eyes growing sad. "I didn't always have a great relationship with him but I'm grateful we somewhat put things to rest before he passed a few years ago."
Clearing his throat he circles back to something slightly less upsetting, his army tattoo.
"The tattoo is a bit of an in-joke, we were stationed in the jungle and were always mucking about in the dirty parts. Thus the rats."
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She leaves her hand entwined with his as he goes back to the topic of his service tattoo, smiling a little. "Sounds like you were deployed with a good unit. It's always seemed to me like that kind of camaraderie and trust is really important."
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"Important and necessary, they're literally the people you depend on to keep you alive. My unit had a lot of good lads, not all of them made it, but thankfully my two best mates did. Bazza and Daveboy."
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She arches a brow, a hint of mischief in her gaze as she continues, "I have to know what your nickname was if you had one. I'm prepared to bribe you."
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He smiles to himself, clearly warmed by thoughts of his friends.
"No need for bribery, it was Alfie."
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When he owns up to his nickname, her smile widens. "Alfie, huh? That's cute. It suits you."
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He smiles and lifts an eyebrow at her, "What about you? You have any nicknames?"
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Lifting her free hand, she gives it a little wobble. "Karen's not really a name you can make a lot of nicknames from. I'll get Kare sometimes. My mother used to call me Kare Bear, but I don't really like it when anyone else does." Too many memories.
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From:ooc: sorry for lack of tags, had a busy bunch of days
From:no worries! hope things calm down for you <3
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From:ooc: shall we end here?
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