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Tweak says, "Don't stop till you get enough"

Ernest Hemingway (papahemingway) wrote in spinningcompass,
@ 2019-10-21 21:23:00

Entry tags:

joe o'hara, ~ernest hemingway 2

Who? Hemingway & Joe
Where? Bad Things
When? Early evening
What? Talking to the new arrival.
Open? Ask first

Ernest was still on something of an upswing. The sparring with Shep had helped, and he supposed he would consider a return to the anti-booze club, at least for the camaraderie of it. He wasn't ready to put down the bottle entirely yet, he was holding onto that as something of a lifeline. He had reduced, though, gradually, on Dr Cuddy's recommendation. He trusted her.

Despite that, getting a drink was his go-to way of meeting up with people. He was that kind of guy - it was always a fishing trip, a boxing match, or a drink. Coffee didn't have the same ring to it. Dinner made it sound like a date. So, a drink it was - and he was intrigued by this man from 1940. It didn't hurt that he knew of him, nothing like a bit of an ego rub in the morning.

So, Ernest was propping up the bar. He was dressed simply in khaki pants, and a light blue button down shirt, sleeves rolled up. He'd made himself a whiskey and soda, the bottle still propped on the bar within easy reach, and he had a small notebook opened in front of him, that was occasionally scratching a pencil against as he waited.

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mybestmaterial
2019-10-21 09:43 pm UTC (link)

Since Joe had arrived, he had been helped out by Bucky, given a crash course on the station and been taught a little bit about how to use the technology they had. In particular the communication devices they used. Which had been useful but Joe was still a bit in shock after everything that had happened before he had arrived on the station. He could still smell the smoke, even though he had changed his clothing since then. He had found an apartment he could live in and when he woke up, found a couple of bags of his belongings, sat on the living room couch.

After trying a shower for the first time, Joe shaved with a razor he was familiar with, and changed into some clean clothes. Smart black trousers, a white shirt, suspenders, a waistcoat and matching jacket, and last but not least, a pair of newly shined shoes and a deep blue tie. His hair had been combed neatly too.

He walked into Bad Things, and looked around for the other man. It had taken some effort to actually find the bar. The station was so big and intimidating, more so than London even. He was from a small place in Illinois and London seemed big to him. The station seemed to dwarf it, even without tall buildings.

"Mr Hemingway?" Joe asked as he approached the man at the bar. "Joe O'Hara" he smiled holding out a hand.

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papahemingway
2019-10-23 08:03 pm UTC (link)

As he heard his own name, Ernest looked up from his notepad at the other man and give him a quick up and down glance. He noticed the outstretched hand, placed down the pencil, and got up from his stool for a moment to give the man a solid handshake.

"Well, it's a pleasure, O'Hara!" he greeted him in return, with a genuine warmth about him. "Gotta say, you've got me feeling a little underdressed now. Very smart, man about town. What is it that you do, Joe?" he asked him, gesturing to another stool for him to take. "And what can I get you to drink?"

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mybestmaterial
2019-10-24 10:48 pm UTC (link)

Joe returned the firm handshake and smiled, joining him at the bar. "I like to make sure I present myself the way I want to be seen. A consummate professional" he replied. He sat down on the stool and replied. "Bourbon. Straight."

Joe noticed the notepad. It was sort of to be expected from a man like Hemingway. He could only imagine the sort of tales he could tell about the station. Joe also carried a notepad and a pencil around with him. He'd take notes on things he needed to report on, speeches and the like he would give on his radio show. But his radio show was far behind him, back in London. He hoped that everyone was okay but he feared for the worse. The air raid sirens had become a daily feature and the fear was always hidden behind British bravado. They were strong because they had to. That was what he had been told once and he wouldn't forget it.

He placed his cigarettes and lighter on the bar, along with his own notepad and pencil.

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papahemingway
2019-10-25 09:03 pm UTC (link)

"Oh, sure. Me too," Ernest agreed, with a sly smile and a conspiratorial wink. Hemingway was clearly presenting himself as a bohemian, if one were being generous, and a drunk, if one were not.

"A professional what?" he asked him pointedly, then got up to grab a bottle of decent looking bourbon for the man, and a fine cut crystal glass, because he looked the sort that was used to it. "I guess someone already explained the everything's free part, at least?" he checked as he poured it out in a decent measure, and slid the glass across the bar towards him. He screwed the top, and left the bottle on the bar for self-service from there on in.

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mybestmaterial
2019-10-25 11:41 pm UTC (link)

Joe was quite similar. When he wasn't working at the radio station, he was working on the next story and while he was doing that, he was typically getting drunk. He remembered asking if he had truly racked up such a large bar bill the day he originally intended on leaving the Halcyon hotel and how shocked he had been about it. So knowing that he didn't have to pay for his drinks on the station was a major bonus. He was starting to think he might have had a slight drinking problem after all...

Joe took the glass and raised it with a smile and a nod. "Cheers" he started. "A consummate professional. It was partly a joke" Joe replied. "i might be able to spin most bullshit into gold, good sir, but I am more than capable of getting my words mixed up. So long as it sounds good" he smirked. "So what are you working on?" he asked, gesturing to the notepad Ernest had been writing in.

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papahemingway
2019-10-26 09:13 pm UTC (link)

"Cheers," Ernest reached over and lifted his own glass in return. He took a slow sip, and then circled the bar to get back to his own stool again.

"Yeah, yeah, I got the joke," he told him, with a dismissive wave. "You just never told me what it was you actually do," he explained. He took another sip, put the glass down, and nodded at Joe's carefully positioned notebook. It looked so clean and organised compared to his own, with it's curled corners, ripped pages, scratched cover, pencil barely sharp enough to actually write with. "A writer, then?" he asked, based on both the notebook and his words.

What was he working on? Hem raised his eyebrows, shrugged it off like it wasn't important. "Nothing important. Not yet." With For Whom the Bell Tolls just published, he was still figuring out what came next. For now - scene studies, nothing more.

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mybestmaterial
2019-10-26 10:18 pm UTC (link)

Joe took a drink and placed the glass down. Next he took one of of his cigarettes and lit it. He wondered if he was going to be able to get smokes on board the station... That was something he hadn't really thought of.

"I'm a broadcast journalist" he replied. "And a writer" he added. He wrote his radio pieces, did the research himself. He had contacts back home to work with and he had a small team to help with the actual broadcast but no one else wrote anything for him. He was proud of his work too, even if he played it down.

He took a drag from his cigarette and thoughtfully asked, "I need to ask. How are you able to take all of this in your stride? Being in a place like this"

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papahemingway
2019-11-02 09:02 pm UTC (link)

"Ah, sure," Hemingway nodded emphatically, as if that all made perfect sense to him suddenly. "Your broadcast on the radio here when you arrived... yeah, okay, that was more polished than the usual." He felt himself relax - a fellow journalist was an easier man to drink with civilly than a fellow novelist. As much as he missed the likes of Scott Fitzgerald, those relationships tended towards the explosive.

Hemingway took a drink, quirked an eyebrow, and then gave a short laugh. "Hell, I've been in and out of these kinds of situations for... I don't know, feels like twenty years or some shit," he explained. "The days I don't take it in my stride... well, they happen. Sometimes more loudly and obnoxiously than others," he shrugged. "You learn to adapt, for the most part. You've got to."

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mybestmaterial
2019-11-03 06:30 am UTC (link)

Joe smiled, quite pleased with himself. He took pride in his work and he worked to his best efforts to always sound like a professional. Using the radio device had been tricky but he worked it out eventually, hoping his message would be heard that day, and thankfully it had. Now he was just adapting to his new home, working everything out. A part of him wanted to find out more about what happened to London after he left. What became of the Halcyon hotel and all the wonderful people he had gotten to know? He could only hope everyone was okay. They were a strong people, the Brits.

"I've heard that before" he replied with a smile. "Back in London. They didn't show any fear when the bombs were falling. They were composed. Standing in the streets while a German plane and a British plane had a dogfight in the sky, and they were standing there, cheering. I couldn't understand it at first. I didn't understand how they could react like that and take it all in their stride but I came to understand it's because they had to" he said, taking a short drag from the cigarette. "I suppose the same must apply here then"

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papahemingway
2019-11-06 10:20 pm UTC (link)

Ernest nodded in understanding as he spoke about London. "Oh, sure. Those Brits have always had that stiff upper life, business as usual, Keep Calm and Carry On attitude though, huh?" he said with a warm smile. He was teasing them, but affectionately.

"But yeah, you know, war's always the fucking same. Human beings are adaptable. They say you could get used to almost anything - it's a great gift, and a great failing, depending on the circumstances," he shrugged.

"So, what were you doing in London? Sent for work?" he asked. He knew what that was like - life on the road as the roaming reporter.

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mybestmaterial
2019-11-07 11:09 am UTC (link)

Joe remembered the posters. Keep Calm And Carry On. They were there to help keep morale. And then when the air raid sirens wouldn't stop and the threat of the bombs loomed, the British public did just that. They kept calm, they carried on. Even when the bombs started to fall. Their attitude had been rubbing off on Joe. He didn't understand at first but the more he got to know the Brits, the more it made sense to him and the easier it was to get into the spirit of things, even in the face of destruction and death.

"I was" Joe replied, taking another drag from the cigarette. "I had a small but meaningful radio broadcast. I managed to get a very lucrative offer to head over to New York and work on a brand new television show but I turned it down. Felt I was needed there in London to be the voice of the hard working men and women of Britain" he added with a smile. "I couldn't just turn my back on them and leave. I felt I had to do my part... So being here, just doesn't feel right"

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