"Scotch… isn't fun."
The pince-nez glasses – wonky as they were right now – turned in his companion's direction, perched haphazardly on the nose of one Rodney Skinner, gentleman thief. His friend was one Special Agent Tom Sawyer… who seemed to be in conflict with the alcohol and liquor he had 'sampled' that night. He wobbled unsteadily, and Skinner snatched out a hand, saying, "Well, I must admit, scotch might've been a little too strong for you, but look on the bright side, kid! At least you weren't–"
"I think I'm gonna vomit…" Tom paled, and frowned miserably, glancing momentarily at Skinner, whose eyes widened behind his glasses.
"Now, now, Sawyer, take it easy. Here, sit down a minute, it'll help." Skinner eased the rather queasy spy – as funny as that was to the thief – over to the pavement, and helped him into a sitting position.
"I'd offer you somethin' to drink," Skinner began lightly, perching himself easily down beside the bowed over spy as he breathed deeply, "but somethin' tells me you'd say no."
A light laugh told Skinner that Tom was already feeling better, and the thief smiled. If there was one thing he had never really liked, it was those he called friends feeling down, in whatever way… drink, depression, and heartbreak. It always made Skinner jump to the rescue, as it were. He liked to help in any way he could.
Tom pulled in a deep breath, and then suddenly, without warning, lay down on the ground, thudding back lightly, with Skinner watching him curiously. "Sawyer… what're you doin' down there, mate? Don't think it's very clean."
"Don't care," Tom replied with a light, somewhat distant smile, and Skinner followed the line of sight for the optimistic green eyes upward, and found what was making the young man so content all of a sudden. "It's… nice."
Shrugging to himself, and smiling down at the somewhat tipsy spy he called his companion for the evening out on the streets of London, Skinner leaned back on his gloved palms, and tilted his head upward, facing the beautiful heavens. There was barely a cloud in the sky for a change, and it was reasonably quiet… peaceful and rather beautiful. He smiled wanly, in reverie of nights spent in alleys and on rooftops, just like this, without a care in the world.
Sighing, Tom tilted his head against the pavement under him, his hair falling around his youthful face, and he smiled ever so slightly, speaking somewhat whimsically and quietly, as if quoting something he had learned long ago, "We are all in the gutter," he began carefully, and then smiled fully, "but some of us are looking up at the stars."
Skinner looked down at Tom Sawyer for a moment, about to ask where the line had come from, before he refrained himself from doing so. It would ruin the moment, as peaceful, content and friendly as it was. Angling his trilby slightly, he cocked his head upwards again, and let out a sigh of gratification.
"That we are, Sawyer… that we are."