Open - Content Warning The arrangment
#1
CW: Sexual frustration.. he's looking for a guy

He had spoke to one of the farmers today, looked at their field to see how it took to the harsh winter and jotted down his thoughts. After that he hit up another farmer's property and did the same thing.  The process took a while and all he could muster up was two per day. He didn't want to drain himself of all his energy trying to knock everything out in a day. He had five days left for the business trip and he wanted to use his time wisely. He would address those with crops and livestock on the  last day and present his offers to them. He had always treated them fairly in the past, this time around would be no different. He sat in the Inn with a drink in hand. His eyes moved when someone entered. HE followed the person with his eyes to the back of the room, which is where he saw a man, possibly mid twenties to earlier thirties. 

Aahir was not great at telling ages or sexuality, but maybe that was because he portraying to the entire world that he was a straight married man. He loves his wife and his wife loved him, it was why they had their arrangement. She slept with whatever woman she wanted and he slept with whatever man  as long as they kept it out of the public eye and ears. His eyes moved away from the man and back to  his own corner.
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#2
CW: James is a typical British man of his times and therefore quite racist/sexist/etc. All of his posts in this thread are likely to have racist overtones and some racial slurs. Apologies in advance.

James was disappointed. Sorely disappointed. He'd reckoned that he'd find no ghosts at Madswitte Castle. He'd reckoned that Madsmoor village would be as dull as ditchwater. But he had also reckoned he'd find some.... interesting bit of...something...to wile away at least some of the long, boring hours while he was basically exiled to the moors of Yorkshire. So far though, even with a manor house full of servants, he hadn't gotten even one little nibble. That girl Molly, now she'd caught his eye right off. But apparently there was nothing doing in that quarter. The footman that had been assigned to valet him during his stay, and who had turned out to be a useful asset as a 'ghost hunting assistant' was good looking, but far too meek. James wouldn't have been at all surprised if the man wasn't even acquainted with his own hand, let alone the intimate parts of another person's body. No, despite there being a handsome face here or a nice set of tits there, he'd not found anyone that he either wanted to lure into his bed or who seemed willingly disposed in that way.

Which was one small part of why he'd taken himself down to the village pub. But it was only part. His ghost story in the making was going nowhere. Nothing sensational like....a dead body....was ever likely to pop up in a place like this - although that would certainly be serendipitous. Being Johnny-on-the-spot in a salacious murder scandal would see his reputation as a journalist skyrocket! But that was too much to hope for. No, he was stagnating here, and that was exactly what his editor was counting on, wasn't it? The blighter! In near desperation, James had come down to the village, to see if anything - anything - ever happened in this backwater village!

He had taken a seat in the corner, specifically because it gave a great view of what little there was to see, in terms of who was coming and going. He sat smoking a small cigarillo, a bottle of rye whiskey and a glass in front of him. There was one occupant here whose looks had caught his eye - simply because the man seemed so out of place. The fellow looked exceptionally Asian - from India, perhaps, or Mandalay, or Afghanistan? An Arab? A Sikh - no - they wore a turban and did their beards up. This man looked quite...wild...ferocious... like he'd just ridden down from the Khyber Pass, although he was certainly dressed like a very proper, and wealthy, son of the Empire. James was intrigued.

He was watching the fellow, on and off, and when the other man's eyes strayed in his direction, his curiosity grew. He had no real idea that the man could somehow provide him with anything that might be worth writing about. But that was the beauty and the bane of journalism. One just never knew - and so to leave any rock unturned might mean missing the story of the decade. Being a man of action, James rose and took his glass and bottle with him. He moved to where the darker skinned fellow sat and asked with a polished smile, "Do you mind?" nodding at the seat beside him.
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#3
The man had a nice smile, built and still skinny, the native from India sized him up as someone that would not enjoy a nice evening filled with Indian cuisine and barebacking for desert. Aahir's eyelids lowered slightly as the man walked in his direction. He was always intrigued by the ones that were not afraid to approach him. Even in India, though mostly because people knew who his father in law was, he had mothers hide their kids from his appearance. This action happened more in winter than any other season.

It is true he let his hair get a bit uncivilized during the winter, which only made his scar under his eye look worse. When he would come back in the summer, during the rainy season in India, he looked like a completely different man, only to be recognized by the scars on his body. "No, by all means" the accent slipping from his lips. He hadn't seen him around these parts last summer or the winter before that. If he had been from here, then Aahir wasn't as observant as he thought.

"but only if your sharing" It would be incredibly rude after all to sit down with someone with a bottle of alcohol and not share, at least that was the thought that immediately crossed his mind. His eyes looked at the man's hand which was clutching the bottle. There had to be a game afoot, very few people came up to him. Either he was about to be told off or he may have misjudged the type of person this man would aim for.
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#4
James grinned and chuckled, sliding into the seat with all the assurance of the cocky rake that he was. "By all means. Allow me." He set his own glass, still half full, down and then tipped the bottle up to pour a generous amount into his new drinking companion's glass. "Hardly Glenfiddich, but it'll serve the same purpose, in the long run." He gave the man a cheeky smile, sitting back, and poking the cigarillo back between his lips, for a quick puff. He eyed the man through the smoke that rose from the tip of the tiny cigar.

"Name's Carlyle," he offered, as he plucked the cigarillo back out from his lips with his left hand, and offered his right to shake. He wriggled the cigar a little. "Smoke?" he asked, in a tone that clearly meant he'd be offering, if the intriguing stranger did indeed indulge in the habit.
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#5
"Aahir" He took the stranger's hand and judged the strength of his shake. It was odd, he could picture his wife sitting across the bar and giving a look that said go for it. His old lady didn't like the smoking, though she smoked herself and tried to keep it a secret. It really was not much of a secret, somehow her dad was still clueless though. Their relationship was definitely a strange one, wonderful, but odd.

"And please" It had been a while since he had a good smoke. The way this gentlemen dressed made him look like he would know what a good cigar was. He waited until he saw the cigar before putting out his hand to take it. "Well Carlyle, bringer of whiskey and cigars, what can I do for you?"
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#6
The name did not immediately clue James in to the nationality or ethnic affiliation of the man who took his hand. Like many in England, he was willfully ignorant of other cultures, being of the opinion that his own was superior and therefore - why learn about others?  He pulled out a fairly nice silver cigarette case, engraved with his initials (an engagement present from his fiance) and flipped it open, holding it out to Aahir to select one of the small cigars it contained. He flipped it shut again, restored it to his inner breast pocket and shrugged a bit, still grinning.

"Satisfy my curiosity perhaps," he said, taking another puff on his cigar. He had his legs crossed in that 'elegant gentleman' way, and he let the hand holding the cigarillo rest on his knee casually. The other elbow rested on the table top, and he held up his glass, idly swirling the amber contents. "I don't live 'round these parts. I'm just visiting. Staying up at the castle." He smirked, as much as to say that he didn't think very much of that old heap of bricks, nor its inhabitants. "But I dare say, you do look a little - fish out of water. I'm just curious...what's a fellow like you doing in a dismal dull dive like this?"

He used his glass to gesture to the interior of the pub, although his question might have been taken much more broadly. He took a sip of the whiskey, and set the glass back down, keeping his gaze on that rugged looking, scarred visage. His own expression was quite frankly curious, though inwardly, he may have been feeling more like a hound with its twitching nose to the ground, casting about to pick up a scent of something worth chasing to earth.
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#7
The man looked at the boy and took a cigar, clipping the end he waited or the young man to light the end of it. Placing it in his mouth with his right hand he lifted the glass with the left hand as if to toast to this unexpected meeting. Taking out the cigar he took a sip. Placing the glass back down on the table as he brought the cigar back to his lips. This particular cigar reminded him of a particular shag.

"Curiosity can kill." His accent seemed a bit harsh. "But my story is rather simple. I travel here during the winter to check on crops for my employer. He supplies small villages supplies, pays hem for crops, but makes sure the town has enough crops for themselves. The recent blizzard here means a possible cut in crops, which also means a cut in pay for the famers. But my employer will most likely send supplies that can help with a speedier recovery when he gets word."

He took a sip of the drink and then placed the cigar back in his mouth. Holding in the smoke, he waited a moment before letting it blow out the side of his lip. He then turned in his chair so he was facing the man. His legs now spread in a right angle. Aahir's arm rested on the back of his chair.

"Has your curiosity been satisfied, Mr. Carlyle?"
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#8
Curiosity might be lethal, but James wasn't aware of any journalists who had given that ultimate sacrifice for a good, juicy story. So he had no fears in sitting and talking with a stranger. He did it all the time! So his only reaction to that prelude was a smirk. He listened, attentively, even if it might appear that he was relaxed and uncaring as to what the man said. Any look of nonchalance would be feigned. He was always an eager beaver. As Aahir concluded his succinct account of what brought him to Madsmoor, and asked if James was satisfied, again the younger man grinned and answered promptly, "Oh, I'm never satisfied. I just always love to know people's stories, you know? What makes them tick. What they're about." He gave the man a sharper glance.

"For instance...it surprises me to hear that a foreigner, such as yourself, is here regarding the agricultural trade, as it were. If I've heard you correctly, your employer is running the show for some of the farmers round these parts. Now...that strikes me as a bit odd, really. I would have thought it'd be the other way around - England supplying the management of things being grown out in the Empire." He leaned in a bit, looking directly at Aahir.

"So, who do you work for, Mr....Aahir, is it?"
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#9
James reminded him of someone, but he couldn't remember who. Aahir's eyes squinted. "Uh, huh" He replied after James said 'What they are about". His left eyebrow arched and his body leaned back into the  chair a little more as he listed to the Englishmen continue to talk. Not many people were this enthused about learning about other people. Not even the last guy he dated dived as deep with the questions. He leaned in so there wasn't much room between their faces." It is..."He could have just answered the man's questions. "I think you are asking the wrong questions Mr. Carlyle"
Most people unless they were somehow could see the handsome behind the long hair, beard and scar would back away from him maybe even excuse themselves completely.
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