:( PGF is making me practice writing Lachlan and Renie in preparation for That Whiter Host, because I didn't do much with the former in Vows. Bear with me in an exercise, set per her instructions (aka demands).
"The moon's beautiful tonight."
"Best enjoy it while you can, lad – twenty-four hours it'll disappear behind that London fog."
"I'm eager to see it again – been two years since I was there, one of my first foreign assignments," the reporter said, tapping a pencil against his teeth.
"Mmph. What on earth took you from London to Bombay?"
"I dunno. Just following whatever lead – and work – I could get, I s'pose. 'Til I latched onto you and got a shot at a story lead, nothin' important happened."
"Latched is right, you nagged me worse than a woman!"
"I did not!"
"You were an insufferable pest."
"All reporters are, Lachlan!"
"'Specially you, it seems."
Haight snorted. "What are you going to do when you get back to England?"
"Mm, look up a few friends, nose about for something to do, I suppose. You?"
"Tag along, naturally."
"Supposing I tell you to shove off?"
"I'm an American – we're a stubborn lot, Lachlan."
"Now that I believe. You're a veritable leech."
"And you're an old salt that's all bluster and no bite!"
Haight ducked a good-natured elbow.
"I should have left you buried in that tomb in Egypt."
"Then no one would have saved your skin in India."
"I'd have managed."
"Against 6 men with machetes?"
Lachlan scowled, glaring at the cocky American.
"Pest."
"Blowhard."