Barty wrinkled his nose at his friend’s belch, comedically waving a hand in front of his nose. He had always been a bit of a dandy by comparison. Perhaps that’s what made the two such a pair: a trashed, testosterone-filled yin to a silky-voiced, dainty-fingered yang. He snickered as Humph peered down the woman’s blouse, continuing to titter as the woman hurried away with blushed cheeks.

“Your socks are foul enough to pickle a man’s eggs,” Barty teased, nose still wrinkled, “Now our little friend’s on the other hand…” Barty considered with presentational exaggeration, tugging his little pouch of coins from where it sat on the edge of the bath—for tips and the like, “You know how these working girls are, Perky. Anything for a bit of sparkle…” He took out a solid gold coin and tossed it through the air to Humph in anticipation of the girl’s return.

“Oh you know me, Perky,” Bartholomew grinned, taking a swig of his drink, “I’m always more than happy to take up the rear.” He delighted in his own double-entendre, drawing circles on the rim of his glass as he waggled his eyebrows at his friend. Humph’s greatest asset is that there was no low he would not stoop to, so Barty never had to worry about putting a step wrong. It was liberating—to say what one thought, to act on their impulses, not to be judged. If only Mummie knew…

“Supposedly there’s some hidden fancy-man’s whore house in this city. New thing—all the buzz,” Barty said lazily, “Clean women, I hear. And fine liquor.” He did not know he was talking of @eliot’s establishment at all, though that's where the rumor he was spouting had originatedd. It was simply a little bit of gossip he was testing the waters with.