Malcolm saw no point to coming along, other than to watch the Prime Minister make an utter fucking fool out of herself.
Babysitting was not a part of the fucking job description, but what could he do? He had to make sure the party didn't look ridiculous as well as watch Nicola in case she picked up a glass of whatever wine or vodka they had. He himself had to be restrained, but he learned how to avoid the temptations of the alcoholic beverage. He reached for a glass of water, but accidentally bumped into a young woman of who he didn't know of or gave a flying fuck about. He mumbled an apology, hardly really caring. She peered to him as he leaned against the beverage table to drink. He wanted to be left alone, but that didn't seem to be the fucking case.
"Malcolm Tucker." The woman recognized him. Fuck. He did not want to make any fucking conversation with anyone, especially a lass. Press lapdogs could be anywhere, possibly taking this as an opportunity. But then again, if she was important, he'd be in trouble the following morning for ignoring her. Can't win at fucking anything.
"Who's fucking asking?" He asked sharply. The lass flinched, but kept her ground. He was surprised she was still standing there.
"Nobody, nobody at all, but-"
"Then why should I give a shit?" He cut into her sentence. The lass' eyes narrowed.
"-I just saw you over there and you seemed bored. I had thought you'd be yelling at others already. I appreciate the lack of your colourful vocabulary, Mr. Tucker. There are children present, after all." He mulled over the woman's voice and words. Lancashire. She was a bit far from home. He might as well entertain her. He would lose either way.
"I can't give anyone a good bollocking while I have to watch the Prime Cunt over there. Besides, it'd look horrid because these bastards would overreact over the smallest mention of my 'colourful' vocabulary." The lass snickered, taking a sip of her own glass of water. Her red lipstick tinted the glass slightly. "This is as boring as shit parties like this'll get."
"How bad is it?" She questioned.
"I'm in a room stuffed with high up adult bastards with pudding for brains. There's probably only four students up on that stage that I actually see going somewhere, while the rest, it just looks like they were chosen out of a fucking hat blindly."
"Which ones?" Fucking hell, she was chatty.
"Jamie, the one with the blonde hair, I see her heading somewhere meaningful. Her speech in the beginning had good points and wasn't a preachy pile of shite like a bunch of other speeches I've heard out of the PM's mouth. Atlas seems to know what he wants, even if his anxiety is showing through his white shirt. Should have had a jacket over that sweating mess. Flora has a good head on her shoulders, that stride of confidence could get her fucking somewhere. Miles seems to be a dedicated student, judging by his calloused hands and the eye bags under his eyes. All English specialists, I can appreciate that. Everyone else is lucky to get into somewhere decent, they don't look promising and that's coming from a man who practically has to deal with idiots every fucking day."
"Would you believe if I told you those four students are mine?" She asked innocently. He gave her a judgmental look and she glared at him, "They're my students." She clarified, "I'm not looking into having children yet."
"I got that lass, but, you teach?" He took a good, proper look at his conversing companion. She clearly had experienced a multitude of things despite being a little on the younger side, as well as had a bit of wit, judging by her soft expression but cold brown eyes. She definitely had many things on her mind but kept them hidden. Maybe the adults in the room weren't all complete and utter retarded cunts. It took balls to teach the most boring subject in all known history, besides history itself.
"Why, is that such a hard thing to believe? I'll have you know, I graduated earlier than most." She fired back. Ooh, she had a temper.
"Slightly, yeah. Most of the sad fucks that teach English are normally old and cranky fucks, kinda like the people at Number 10." She smirked at his description.
"Hmm...for an old and cranky fuck, I look pretty damn well. Don't look a day over 28." She gave him a look over, "You're not bad yourself, Mr. Tucker."
"Call me Malcolm." He found himself saying. Mr. Tucker was a bit formal coming from her. Ah, what the hell was he doing? Being all soft for the lass? Why? It's not like shit was gonna happen with her, but he was considering it.
"You were saying about the party?" She inquired.
"Right. Fucking shite. The decorum looks as though it was slapped on and the food looks as though the chefs didn't give a flying fuck. I saw a waiter or two slip and fall- almost fucked over my suit. You would be hearing my colourful vocabulary then. I don't see why I'm stuck here babysitting for Prime Cunt. She keeps pretending she gives a shite about education, but really, they don't fucking care. She just wants to look good, which, I told her it didn't fucking matter, since I really didn't want to go to a boring as fuck party, but she wouldn't listen to the spin fucking doctor of the goddamn party when it comes to this. Cocksucking bastard doesn't know what's good for the party, I do but she won't fucking believe me!" She laughed at that, but he continued on. "You're the only decently young lass with brains in this room. I say we should leave before our brains turn into pudding too." She was about to respond, when Nicola came over. He exhaled, eyes narrowing. The lass stifled a giggle.
"Malcolm, I hope you haven't been rude to our host." Nicola said, "Clara worked really hard on this event with Oswin, you know." He glanced worriedly at the lass, clutching onto his glass of water tightly in realization. She was the pinnacle of amusement, arms crossed and brown eyes hinting she didn't really care about the insults.
"No, of course not, he hasn't. Not at all." Clara said, waving her hand as thought it was nothing.
"That's a first." Nicola laughed, "Well, Clara, thank you for keeping him in line."
"Me? In line? Look at yourself, Nicola!" He was very much aware the host of the party that he just deliberately insulted was standing besides him, so he calmed himself slightly. "Go fucking home before you fucking do something stupid. I'm not about to wake up to a scandal because you couldn't keep your hands off the liquor."
"Tch, if you didn't want to come Malcolm, you didn't have to." Nicola muttered.
"I didn't- I didn't have to?" He spluttered, laughing. "I have to watch your sad arse in hopes you don't screw this entire party down to smithereens because of your slippery mouth!"
"Malcolm. Relax." Clara said, "The main event is over anyway, Mrs. Murray. Thank you for attending, though." Nicola nodded.
"Of course, Clara, I wouldn't miss it for the world. Neither would Malcolm. Right?" He only managed to nod. Nicola raised an eyebrow to the lack of cursing from Malcolm. "And for once you aren't yelling at me, for a record of a minute. How did you do it, Clara?"
"I just talked with him." She responded cheekily, nudging the dear old spin doctor in the ribs playfully, "He's not all that bad." Now both of Nicola's eyebrows rose.
"Whatever you say, Clara. I'll be heading home. Goodnight." Clara responded with the same joy, but Malcolm was still in shock.
"I didn't know you were the hostess." He managed to say once he saw Nicola walk out.
"Thought you knew, but seeing as you didn't, I just went with it. I'm technically the secondary hostess, but since she isn't present, I'm in her place." She explained.
"So you're not Oswin." He was told that a young woman named Oswin Smith would be coming over with her husband and he was expecting to see her. He was unaware of the change of hosts. He could have made a fool of himself in front of her and fucked something up, big time if Clara took his words to heart.
"We look quite similar, but no. Oswin is taking care of her husband. Terrible case of influenza, I heard." She explained, downing the final bits of her water. She placed her glass down, "Like I said, relax, Malcolm. I don't take any offense. You complimented my students too, so you earn a good review in my book."
"Good to know." He shifted his weight between his feet. It was silent, besides the idle chatter from the still very busy party. Clara was enjoying the sight of Malcolm uncomfortable. "I didn't offend you, did I?"
"I did a lot of the planning, but no. I don't feel offended. Do you want me to feel offended?"
"No." He clenched his fists and sighed, "I want you to accept my offer to leave this place." Her eyebrows rose.
"I didn't think you were serious." His eyes narrowed.
"I'm Malcolm fucking Tucker, lass, I think I'm pretty damn serious. What do you say?"
"Give me five minutes to say goodbye to the kids and you have yourself a date, Malcolm fucking Tucker."