The air was thick with smoke, curling from his pipe, leaking from under the floo. Jack was sitting on a low footstool directly infront of the fireplace, his ruddy features illuminated by the flickering light. Ron looked down at him from the doorway; he liked the image of the tall man squatting awkwardly, puffing contentedly.

"Am I the first here, Plain Jack?" 

Jack slowly drew on his pipe, and carefully exhaled an elegant ring of smoke. "The others aren't coming, Ronald. Shut the door."

Ronald pushed the door to, keeping his eyes on Jack. "If the Kolbitars aren't meeting, what will we do? Surely we won't be reading the epics, just the two of us... as much as I can't wait to wrap my tongue around those... syllables... again, it seems almost unfaithful to carry on without the men."

"I'm certain we can find other things to amuse us. Come sit with me by the fire, my friend."

Ron smiled, he dropped his books onto the table and withdrew his pipe from his jacket, setting it rakishly in the corner of his mouth. He grabbed a large bottle of dark ale and two beer mugs and headed to the fireplace. He knelt next to Jack, who took the glasses, and opened the bottle. The foam overflowed and the two men laughed, catching the rest of the beer in the mugs. Ron set the bottle down and pulled a hankerchief from his breast pocket and started to dab at the stain on the carpet. Jack laughed and kicked at his hands.

"Stop that! We're before the fire, it will dry by itself." And he used his heel to rub in what was left of the bubbles until it was just a dark wet patch. 

Ronald was left holding his hankerchief, half-spoiled and smelling strongly of beer and tobacco, he waved it at Jack then reached over and tied it onto the leg of the footstool. 

"A token, my knight." He smiled. Jack smirked, and spoke around his pipe, "M'lady."

They drank and spoke and smoked into the night. Jack filled and re-filled their pipes with his tobacco. Ron fetched and poured the beers. He had an idea that nothing could compare to the friendship of men, and he eagerly expressed it to Jack; the passionate loyalty that could withstand all trials, that could make heroes of small and simple men. The words rushed, gushed forth, Jack bouncing them back, the conversation cascading around them. They nodded and laughed at their easy, natural harmony of ideals, and the conversation surged anew. In the energy of their talk, ash spilt from their pipes, Ron paused, "Damn." and tried to clean it, Jack grabbing his hand to stop him again and said "I told you to just rub it in!". He held onto his hands and rubbed at the spot with his toes, the ash disappearing into the carpet, making another dark smudge. He looked at the stain with satisfaction. Ron looked up at him, their clasped hands between them. 

"Mr. Lewis..."

Jack threw Ron's hands back into his lap, and took another swill of beer. Laughing gruffly, but good naturedly, and so infectively that Ron was forced to join in.

Jack leaned back and sighed. "There is no sweeter sound; the laughter of men."

Ron smiled, and took Jack's hand in his own.