"Who's gone to Majorca?" Theodore asked, glancing around the shop and assuring himself that the radio was the only possible object of Tracey's frustrations. He scarcely needed her to confirm it, for -- despite his occasionally backwards thoughts about women and their stranger tendencies -- he was reasonably assured that she'd never given him any evidence to believe she was delusional. At least not in any overt sense (he didn't pretend to understand what went on in women's minds). Arguing with commentators that couldn't hear her was an entirely different realm of insanity, and one he could appreciate, especially if she wanted to abuse anything related to the Ministry.
This was one of the few safe places they could do so, after all -- a locked shop with the radio turned up loud and only each other as witnesses. It certainly beat his thin-walled flat and snooping neighbours, who seemed convinced that if he was given the opportunity, he'd murder them all in their sleep. It won out, too, over any of the public pubs and cafes that he typically patronised throughout the week. Once a place of politics and bawdy dissent, they'd dimmed over the last few years as the Ministry's arm grew steadily longer. He scarcely bothered to even think about politics these days, unless they were related to a bit of case-work. This was how governments crushed free thought, he knew; it was detailed in history and literature alike: remove the ability to speak freely and the ability to think freely will soon follow.
Theodore didn't like the idea that his thoughts were being suffocated -- and so he quite enjoyed visiting here.
He set a bottle of wine upon one of her counters with a dull clunk and helped himself to a chair. He didn't care of they were ragged and worn -- they were comfortable and spoke to a far more domestic atmosphere than anything he could find at home -- and neither did he care about her language or risqué attire. He knew what to expect when visiting Tracey.
"Thank you. I'm well. My robes are well. Everything is well except this commentary it seems." He glanced at the radio over his shoulder, waiting for the colourful summary that must surely ensue.