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There are many old and established clubs in London, where well-connected gentlemen go to become even more well-connected. To catch a meal, to socialize, to do any number of things. In one such club, a respected member of parliament sits in a chair by the fireplace, speaking in an animated fashion with a newer member. A few others lounge about, only half paying attention. It's by no means a new sight to most of them.
"And we were off through the hedge like lightning!"
The newcomer, on the other hand, seems more than a bit stunned. "You must be joking."
"Oh, I was a hellion in my younger days."
One of the other members pipes up from the corner, amusement painting his voice. "Is it that time of the evening again? Well then, Mortimer, let's all gather around the fireside, and you can tell us tales of your youth."
Bob Mortimer laughs delightedly. "Ran around with street gangs for years before I decided to stop driving my mother to an early grave and actually finished my apprenticeship and became a solicitor. I was old for it at the time, but it worked out for me."
The longstanding members in attendance smile indulgently, getting ready for yet another of Mortimer's convoluted tales. They can already tell that he's gotten someone else to fall for his storytelling hook, line, and sinker. Really, it's almost a rite of passage for any new member before he comes to the understanding that it really is just tale-telling. Nobody could possibly live the life that Mortimer describes his as. But it's completely worth it for the entertainment.
"So you went from a street tough to a lawyer?"
"Not as different as you'd think!" retorted Mortimer with a laugh. "But yes. Started with them when I was quite young and stayed there for well over ten years. Closer to twenty, when I think about it."
"That long?"
"Told you I was a hellion. Still glad I had the experience. Made a lot of friends."
A pause. "Still in touch?"
Mortimer laughs. "No, not really. But I'd definitely say hello on the street and reminisce if I saw any of them."
Someone else pipes up from across the room. "Just don't ask any of their names. You'll never be able to take him seriously again."
"Well, I have to ask now, although if you'd rather not..."
"Oh, it's fine! When I was young, aside from me, there was Stavver, Bagger, Cheesy..."
"Cheesy?"
"Long story. Got a bit older and went around with Mickey the Drink, Billy the Pigeon, Tall Alex, who eventually became Small Alex, Gentle Ken..."
"I... what?"
"What to which part?"
"How did Tall Alex become Small Alex?"
"Well, Tall Alex was short, so we called him Tall Alex. But then, some time later, another Alex joined up, just a kid at the time, really, and he was tall, so he became Tall Alex instead."
A confused blink follows the explanation. "But... if you called him Tall Alex because he was short, why didn't the new Alex become Small Alex because he was tall?"
"Well, that would have been confusing, wouldn't it have?"
"... Mortimer, this is confusing anyway."
At that, Mortimer laughs again, one of the full-bodied laughs that he can be prone to. "Fair enough. Tall Alex-- the young Tall Alex-- brought along a friend, Tim the Poet... and it wasn't much longer after that that I finally left."
"Huh. What did they call you, then?"
"Bob."
"Just... Bob?"
"Bobby when I was young. Grew out of it a bit."
"Did... Cheesy... grow out of it?"
"Of course not. Not the kind of name you grow out of, Cheesy."
This is the point, of course, at which most everyone in the room is attempting not to laugh at the expression on the face of the poor unsuspecting novice to a conversation with Mortimer.
Still, though, he presses onward, deep in the maze of Mortimer conversation. "Did you ever actually get arrested?"
"Me? No. Brought in for questioning once! Wasn't really doing anything wrong at the time, though, so let us go with a warning."
"A warning for what?"
"Scaring people."
"How?"
Mortimer shrugs. "Well, we were wearing these masks at the time that you could probably call grotesque."
"And... were you wearing them to frighten people?"
"Of course not! We were wearing them to keep warm."
"Frightening masks?"
"It was cold out. It worked well enough! It just had the unexpected effect of frightening people."
"You were wearing frightening masks... but frightening people was an unexpected effect."
"We weren't thinking of that bit. We just had them and it seemed like a good idea."
"You just had them?"
"Yes. Don't remember why."
"Could it have been for any, you know, gang business?"
"Oh, of course not! Don't want to stand out when you're doing that."
"I think I need a drink."
Mortimer laughs again, along with a fair few of the others in the room, although none of them approach his exuberance. "By all means. None of my stories are going anywhere."
"He does mean that," chimes in another gentleman. "They are never leaving. And by that I mean both the list of potential topics of conversation and the back of your mind. You will be up at night wondering how on earth he comes up with them."
"My ways are mysterious indeed," replies Mortimer with an amused tint to his voice.
The new member, as all new members eventually do, then comes to the realization that the wool is very likely being pulled over his eyes and he just laughs, matching the other men in the room. It's a rite of passage, most certainly, and they congenially retire to go grab a bite to eat, leaving Mortimer alone in his seat.
Bob Mortimer certainly does not mind that at this point, nobody believes his tales are anything more than fantastical. He certainly wouldn't, in their case. He smiles to himself as he stands and goes to retrieve his coat for the trip home. It's been quite some time since he put on that other coat of respectability. He spares some thoughts for those he left behind when he did it. Some of the new kids had good heads on their shoulders. If they survived to use them, they're probably doing fairly well for themselves now. The young Tall Alex, especially. Probably had it in him to be a tyrant of the underworld if that's what he chose.
Mortimer chuckles to himself and then puts his hat on and steps out into the night, just another respectable gentleman in London.