Hemingway. (ernestoic) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2013-06-10 18:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed, ~john mitchell (oe) |
Who? Hemingway, Fitzgerald & Mitchell.
Where? The pub
When? Sunday evening
What? Mitchell gets some new customers
Status? Closed, ongoing
Rating? Hmm... Medium?
The situation that Hemingway had found himself in was most perplexing. Scott's explanation about the possible bad batch of Absinthe the night before made perfect sense, however. It wasn't the first time he had awoken in a strange town with no memory of the night before. At least he wasn't alone this time. And with the way things had been with Hadley, it was really no wonder that he'd turned to the booze.
And, well, that solution was sticking with him, apparently. The pub had been his first stop, sitting down at a table and trying to work out how to use the strange sort of a typewriter he had come across. A most marvelous invention. He didn't need to put in any paper, and the responses appeared immediately in front of him, like some extremely advanced form of telegraphy.
Once he'd got in touch with Scott, he'd relaxed a little more. He left the magic typewriter where it was, and headed over to the bar at last- they probably would think him so rude for failing to order anything thus far, but he'd had more pressing matters on his mind, and no one had asked him to leave. It was fine.
"Good evening, my good fellow. A bottle of red and two glasses, if you would be so kind," he told him, pulling out his wallet, and then realising his mistake. "Ah, hang on, I only have Francs. If you wait until my friend arrives, he should be able to sort you out."