With Kingsman headquarters moving to the Statesman-owned distillery in Scotland, it seemed only fitting for the tailor shop to expand its line into traditional Scottish kilts and regalia - along with liquor sales, of course. Both additions proved popular options, especially the combination of actually doing your Scotch tasting during your fitting.
Eggsy grinned to see a few patrons taking advantage of just that, as he breezed in through the shop front late one afternoon, after an easy local fact-finding mission. But what stopped Eggsy short was not the glimpse of one man near the back, sporting a familiar bald and clean-shaven aesthetic (Eggsy had finally gotten past doing a double take at every single bloke in the UK who looked like that) — but rather it was the glint off the man's high-tech-looking metallic prosthetic legs, revealed by the kilt he had on.
"Merlin?" The name was out of Eggsy's mouth well before he even had a chance to think about being discreet. (Kingsman's finest, bruv.)
From behind, as Eggsy approached, he could see the man's ears rise a fraction, the exact way that Merlin's did on the rare occasions that he smiled. A pair of spectacles were pulled out of a breast pocket then and donned; the man clearing his throat as he turned to face Eggsy.
"So much for th' surprise, aye?" Merlin smiled, eyebrows knit in chagrin.
"But how—? How's this—? Guv, how're you even—?" Eggsy sputtered, shaking his head. He'd dreamt of something like this happening, but…
"Mm. Well, wha' if I tell y'bout it all t'night — tha' is, after we scare th' livin' piss out of Harry." Merlin's grin had turned into something a wee bit wicked. "Or should I be callin' him 'Arthur', aye?"
"You can tell he's not used to it yet, guv." Eggsy smirked back, " 'Cause honestly, it's pretty obvious that he likes it when I call 'im that… So you know he's gonna absolutely love hearin' it from you."