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Being a high school nearly-dropout in a house with an abusive step-father, an alcoholic mother and baby sister had dictated much of Eggsy's future, because the choices he had to make as soon as he was 14 were based on two basic needs.
1) survival through avoidance and
2) keeping his sister fed and clothed by any means necessary.
So he worked whenever he could, however he could. Anything that could keep him out of the house for extended periods of time. At first that had meant any odd job at any 7-Eleven or McDonalds, but Dean's thugs had always found a way to figure out where he was working and antagonize him incessantly on the job. That was, until he met Roxy on his 19th birthday.
When he met Roxy, it was like a religious experience, it was like finding God, a light at the end of the tunnel. She had been drinking at the Black Prince being harassed by drunk chavs when they met; long story short, when they both grabbed either side of the guilty John's collar and threw him through the back door of the bar, they knew they had found kindred spirits. It was truly a pity neither of them saw the other in a sexual light.
Roxy was brilliant. She provided a place for him to stay when he didn’t want to go back to Dean's, she was someone to talk to about all his frustrations and woes, she adored Daisy, but most of all, she had got him a job as a croupier at one of London Playboy's casinos, specifically in one of their luxury Salon Privés. This meant late nights away from the house, fat paychecks, and best of all, bouncers that would never allow lowlifes like Dean and his gang to enter and make a stink; It was strictly members-only.
The outfits he got to wear were even better. Snappy waist coats over long-sleeved white collared shirts, and fitted slacks and shiny (literally shiny) shoes? The first time he put them on, he'd felt like all the dirt of his gutter-snipe life had just fallen away and he was a clean slate, like he was worth something. The halls of the casino had become a sanctuary to him.
Of course sometimes he was rudely reminded of his position by less than polite patrons, but the rarity of it was worth the trouble.
There was some sort of modeling thing going on by some fancy fashion-design agency called Kingsman. According to Roxy (who was rich, had connections and honestly worked as a croupier for the fun of it rather than an actual need for money) they had booked the entire Salon Privés for a night.
There had been cat walking and performances and Eggsy was honestly feeling starry eyed and giddy from all the beautiful people walking gracefully from one side of the room to the other. The fashion being modeled that night hadn’t been the flashy, gaudy Lady Gaga type runway things, but beautiful flow-ey dinner gowns and classy three piece suits.
“You enjoying the view, then?” Roxy nudged him as he gazed longingly at the suits being walked about by the men on the stage. “I feel a bit like Oliver Twist looking in through the window at a party of the rich and famous people, to be honest.” he muttered. Roxy had said something after that, but in that instant Eggsy felt his vision tunnel. A man, a lot older than all the other models there, stepped onto the stage and began walking. Lord almighty, was he a sight to behold. Not to say he was out of place, though he did stand out, but instead the difference between him and the others was striking. He walked more gracefully than any other the other women who had strutted about. His head was held high in easy confidence, but not arrogance. His suit fit him perfectly, and his body itself was lean and tall and beautiful. He looked warm and welcoming and nice, and yet too good to approach, because how could anyone be good enough to do so, how could anyone come close to his perfection? In short, he was a class above the rest, even being quite a bit older than the other models, and Eggsy could feel himself getting hot under the collar at the sight. He looked like the textbook excerpt of a gentleman.
“Oh sir, may I please have some more?” Roxy purred, clearly riding on the whole Oliver Twist thing, as the man walked back up the runway to disappear behind the curtain. Eggsy tried to come up with a comeback, but after opening and closing his mouth blankly, he could only croak out “Bloody hell...” in awe. She chuckled and shook her head, heading to her own craps table, telling him to get his head in the game. “The modeling is done, they’re going to come out and play the floor.”
The first group of models, an assortment of young people in business attire, were exiting the backstage area in their various outfits and were mingling now. Eggsy smiled amiably and did his job, taking and placing bets as fast as they were being made. A rather noisy group from the audience and a model, all of whom felt like Oxford douches, were currently taking up half his table, and cheering loudly for their ‘star model’ Charlie. Eggsy was quite used to loud patrons, but really their shoving was getting a little much, and he was already noticing a correlation between their rowdiness and the amount of alcohol they seemed to be inhaling. And if he felt a little insulted that they considered this man the star model instead of the clear star, the gentleman from earlier, he would never mention it.
He knew he was bound for a rough time when Charlie started on a losing streak. It wasn’t above blue bloods to blame shit luck on the man behind the table, Eggsy knew as much. The others at the table seemed to be getting the same inkling and soon the rowdy bunch of young people were all that was left at the entire table. He was five losing-bets in before Charlie pointed a finger at him. “What’re you looking at?” He demanded. Eggsy tried to reign in his expression, but he knew his jaw was clenching from the minor furrow in Roxy’s brow that he could see far off at her own craps table. “I’m waiting for you bet, sir. Will you be participating in the next round?” he asked, and he knew he had his best polite-voice on, and his passive smile with his dead-fish eyes. Because of that, he was rather shocked when ‘star model Charlie’ tossed a chip and hit him smack between the eyes with it.
Charlie was in the middle of saying something to do with plebeians having the gall to insult him, and then moving on to accusing him of having a hand in his losing streak (really? Just, really?) when Eggsy felt the nearly irrepressible urge to lunge across the table and smack his pretty little ‘star model’ face. Luckily enough for him, he held off long enough for someone to come up behind Charlie and rest a hand on his shoulder firmly. Everything (Charlie’s shouting, his friends jeering, spectators whispering, time itself) seemed to stop as Charlie turned and there, knight in shining pinstripe, was Eggsy’s model, the gentleman. (Don’t be stupid, Eggsy, he’s hardly your model).
“Charles, I believe you’ve had quite enough to drink. Now, control yourself. You’re making a scene.” Charles spluttered momentarily, before shoving the man’s hand off. It was quickly placed back onto the shoulder, this time the grip causing ‘star model Charlie’ to wince.
“I advise that you do as I say this instant, Mr. Hesketh. You may be Mr. King’s protege, but I must remind you that he is gone and I am the new Chairperson of Kingsmen. Your position is precarious as it is, with your previous misdemeanors under Mr. King’s watch, so truly...I can fire you right now, or you can take your leave for the night. The choice is entirely up to you.” the gentleman stated the options in a low voice, just bordering on a whisper (oh he sounded lovely).
Charlie was looking exceptionally pale, but the alcohol seemed to have drained from his system as he pursed his lips and nodded, moving to leave. “Do send your regards to Merlin on the way out. You know how he is when he feels ignored.” The gentleman called over his shoulder as though the previous threat had not happened; and as far as the rest of the room were concerned, it truly hadn’t happened. Charlie’s friends stumbled after him in varying degrees of inebriation, leaving Eggsy to an empty table with the gentleman standing in front of him.
“I do apologise for that. He’s one of our more unruly models, and he tends to get ahead of himself when he drinks too much.”
“I’d say he gets a head start on himself stone-cold sober.”
Eggsy blushed at the muttered words (really? This is how you impress someone, you behave rude when they’re apologising? Oh Gods, Eggsy!)
The gentleman just laughed at his words, though, and shook his head with a sigh. “You’re right. Gods, you’re right. I have no idea what to do with him.”
“Charm school, maybe?” (Oh my god Eggsy stop!)
This seemed to make the gentleman laugh even more, which made Eggsy smile sheepishly. “How rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Harry Hart.” the gentleman (Harry...) stated, extending his hand for a handshake. “Gary Unwin. But everyone calls me Eggsy.” Eggsy stated, taking the hand in his. “Well, Eggsy, I must say, you showed a lot more decorum than my model did; not many can hold themselves back when being verbally abused. I must apologise once more.” “It’s fine. Occupational hazard and all that; Charlie certainly won't be the last. Roxy has it worst, most times.”
That seemed to make Harry’s expression thunder all the more. “I’m not sure which I find more disturbing; that you’re belittling the attacks made on you by customers, or that your managerial staff appears to let it happen to both you and your other colleagues.” “Well, it was lovely to have someone come and rescue me from the drunken clutches of one of my customers.” Eggsy teased, if only to placate the man. “Well, it was my responsibility. Tonight is the last night I’ll be a simple model; tomorrow I’ll be that young man’s boss and I could not in good conscience let him behave the way he did.”
“What a shame…”
They both stared at each other a moment, and it took Eggsy a few seconds to realise that he had just bloody well said that aloud, and his face promptly flooded with colour.
“Beg your pardon?” the man asked, looking confused.
“I…er…I meant what a shame, that you won’t be a model after tonight. You’re a bloody good one. Best I’ve ever seen…not that I’ve seen very many.” He muttered, and he was sure his ears were going to set his hair on fire for how they were burning. He could just hear Roxy’s voice chiming ‘the beacons have been lit! Gondor calls for aid!’ as she always saw the need to do when he blushed like that. He ducked his head and arranged some of the chips in front of him, trying not to peer up at Harry from where he was looking. Harry cleared his throat for a moment before speaking.
“Well…thank you, Eggsy. That’s very flattering of you.”
“No problem.” (Just keep your head down, Eggsy)
“And it was an honour to rescue you from your first drunken customer of the night.”
“Yeah, thanks again for that…” (Oh God, don’t look up. Don’t even peek)
“It was lovely meeting you, Eggsy.”
“It was nice meeting you too.” (Just let him go, Eggsy, he’s too far out of your league)
“I’d like to see you again, if that’s fine with you.”
“Yeah, that’s-” Eggsy looked up quickly. “What?” he was aware he sounded exceedingly stupid, but really, how else was he to react? He thought the man had just said-
“I said I’d like to see you again.”
Ah, but he can’t mean-
“I’m asking you on a date, Eggsy.”
“Well, shit!”
The shocked response was out before Eggsy could stop it, and from the snort coming suspiciously from Roxy’s direction, he was certain it had been rather loud.
“I don’t know if that’s a yes or a no, Eggsy.” “It’sayes! Uh…I’d love to go on a date with you, Harry.” Eggsy was sure his face was going to split in half from how hard he was grinning, and though far more reserved, Harry’s smile was well on its way to twinning his. They both exchanged numbers before Harry left to say his farewell to his people, leaving Eggsy standing there, staring at the strip of paper in his hand. He’d put it in his phone as soon as he went back to his locker.
A couple of players sat at his table, forcing him to shove the number into his pocket and continue working, but he couldn't begrudge them the interruption. A few hours from now, he'd be shooting a quick text Harry's way (forget the three day rule, its a load of bull) and his day would truly begin.
He'd have to thank that 'star model' Charlie Hesketh one day. He'd make a damn good matchmaker, if he ever thought of leaving the modelling industry.