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It was raining.
Of course it was bloody raining.
Eggsy’s desperately trying to keep Harry’s second-best umbrella from turning inside out and also keep the energetic and too-curious-for-his-own-good pug on the end of a leash from darting into Saville Row traffic or tangling around some unsuspecting pedestrians’ ankles.
He loves the little guy, he really does, but that wanker’s gotten him into more trouble than he’d ever had in his whole life. And he thought the three years when Mum was dating Dean were crazy. So far, there have been three rows with the police, one of which ended in the dog almost being impounded, eight fistfights, and three incidents where he had to suffer in silence while three separate elderly people whose canes J.B. had unceremoniously knocked down scolded him for being an impertinent ass who trained his dog to attack unsuspecting folk. It wasn’t his fault J.B. liked sticks. Or that he mistook canes for them.
He’d explained the same thing to Arthur King when he toured the shop on his yearly inspection. When the overly enthusiastic puppy crashed into the man’s cane and tugged at it, growling, Arthur had very calmly looked from the dog to Eggsy and said, “put a pistol to its head and shoot the little menace.”
Harry had thankfully come to both the dog and Eggsy’s defense, insisting customers liked the little gey and they’d had more people visiting the shop than ever. But as soon as Arthur left, Harry had taken Eggsy aside and insisted he had to learn to control the dog better.
He’s trying, he really is. But J.B.’s got a mind of his own, and Eggsy’s barely been able to teach him to sit. He’d found J.B. nosing around the trash bins when the little scamp was barely big enough to walk without falling over. Hiding him in the unused fitting room in the back worked for all of two hours before Harry, who’s got the instincts of a Scotland Yard detective, walked into the lobby and dropped the squirming puppy on Eggsy’s desk and demanded an explanation.
He’d been allowed to keep the ridiculously sad-faced dog on the condition that it was his responsibility to take care of it, and no one else’s. Thus the fact that no matter what, rain or shine, he’s out on the streets with J.B. three times a day.
He might feel a little less ridiculous if he weren’t wearing one of the perfectly tailored suits all Kingsman employees are required to wear to work. Harry claims it’s excellent advertising. Eggsy thinks it’s asking for a mugging. Or a lot of laughs.
Why can’t I just walk the dog in normal clothes like anyone else?
And then the damned umbrella actually does turn all the way inside out. Eggsy curses it under his breath, struggling with the metal ribs.
Harry’s always going off about how a Kingsman employee must be a gentleman at all times. But it’s rather difficult to look gentlemanly while fighting with a broken umbrella.
He doesn’t realize he’s let go of J.B.’s leash to use both hands on the umbrella ribs until he hears the rapidly receding barking.
Oh shit.
He abandons the ruined umbrella and runs after the dog, yelling at him and getting more than a few stares from the few people either determined or crazy enough to be out on the streets in this weather. When he sees where his dog’s gone, he groans.
Not again.
J.B. is jumping at a black poodle, both dogs yelping and leaping about. The poodle’s owner, someone Eggsy can just tell through the driving rain has red hair and a grey coat, is grabbing for her own dog’s leash, but both of them are darting around so much it’s an impossible task.
The poodle backs away from J.B., headed straight for the road and the cars whizzing past. Eggsy dashes up and stomps on the end of the dog’s leash as it whips past his foot. The poodle jerks to a halt on the edge of the curb and Eggsy gasps with relief.
He reaches down for the leash, but his head smashes into someone else’s, and he’s knocked on his ass in the middle of a massive puddle. And the dogs are barking and chasing each other again.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” A hand appears in front of his face. “You were just trying to help and I hope I didn’t give you a concussion!”
“No, I’ve got a pretty hard head.” He grins. “But really, this is my fault. That idiot pug’s mine.”
“He’s kind of cute.” The girl,
she’s a cute girl too, stop it, Eggsy!
, smiles.
“He won’t be if he gets squashed by a bus!” They’re headed for the street again. Eggsy scrambles to his feet, makes a flying leap, and lands more or less on top of J.B. His suit’s ruined anyway.
He keeps a tight grip on the squirming pug and tries to untangle the leashes one-handed. The girl takes them from him.
“Thanks.” He holds J.B. up and shakes him. “Now you stop it, you hear?” He turns back to the girl. “He didn’t hurt your dog, did he?”
“No, I don’t think Lance is any the worse for wear.” She smiles, handing him back his leash. “Everyone’s mostly unscathed. Except your clothes. I’m sorry.” He knows he looks completely ridiculous, covered in muddy water and J.B.’s pawprints.
“I work at a tailor’s. This wasn’t as expensive as it looks.” He shrugs. “I’m Eggsy, by the way. Eggsy Unwin.” He reaches to shake her hand then remembers his is covered with mud and dog hair. And she still looks as pristine as if she stepped out of the shop window.
“I’m Roxy Morton.” She crouches next to her dog, unwrapping the leash from around its legs.
“Do you work around here?”
Shit, that was a stupid thing to say.
“Actually, I’m taking my masters’ in International Human Rights Law from Oxford.”
Oh no.
He’s doomed. She’s pretty and smart. She’s never gonna give a guy like Eggsy a second glance. “I’m home on holiday.” He sighs.
She’s not even going to be here long.
The rain’s getting harder, and Roxy glances up at it, pushing soaked strands of her hair off her face. “Damnit. I don’t want to walk all the way back in this, but most of the shops won’t let Lance inside.”
“Kingsman will,” Eggsy volunteers.
Sorry Harry.
But it’s too good an opportunity to waste.
“Thank you!” Roxy picks up Lance’s leash. “I think we should run!” She shouts over a massive crash of thunder.
Eggsy tucks J.B. into his jacket, grinning like a lunatic. That dog’s getting an extra piece of bacon slipped into his bowl tonight.
For a little wanker, he does okay sometimes.
Roxy’s laughing, and it’s like music to his ears.
Maybe, just maybe, she’ll actually be interested in a tailor.