Department S-Jason King/Stewart Sullivan/Annabelle Hurst-Huddling for warmth cramps one's style.timelessapeelMay 8 2016, 14:56:40 UTC
“This really is intolerable,” Jason King complained, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Beside him, Annabelle Hurst was scribbling frantically in a notebook with shaking fingers. “It’s bad enough we have to sit so close to the fire-there’s soot on my trousers. Soot!-but for the pair of you to start borrowing items out of my wardrobe is an affront to both style and dignity.”
“We need the extra layers, Jason.” Stewart Sullivan, huddled on the other side of Annabelle, prodded at the dying embers of the fire with a poker, desperately trying to revive them. “As soon as she figures out which equations to feed her computer, we can find a way to shut down the machine that’s cut all the power in England in the dead of the coldest winter this country’s seen in years.”
“Well, it’s playing merry hell with my fashion sense,” Jason protested, holding out his arms for Stewart to see. “Look at my French cuffs! Look at them! All the starch in the world won’t put them right again.”
Stewart groaned and stood up. “We need something else to burn,” he declared, hoping the change of subject would stop Jason’s endless complaints. He eyed Jason’s bookshelves with interest. “Do you own anything written by anyone other than you?” he asked incredulously.
“The moment someone else writes something worthwhile, I’ll be the first in line at the shop,” Jason snapped, regarding Stewart suspiciously. “What are you doing?”
“Considering my options.”
“Good gracious, burning books now, are we?” Jason grumbled, cigarette trembling between blue lips. “How quickly we’ve reverted to the dark ages.”
“All we’ll have are dark ages if Annabelle can’t find a solution,” Stewart reminded, reaching for a handful of volumes.
“Not the first editions!” Jason exclaimed, trying to untangle himself from the blanket to leap to his feet. “What are you, a barbarian?”
“Do you have a better idea?” Stewart countered in exasperation. “We’re out of kindling and newspaper, and all the stores are sold out. We need fuel and we need it now. So unless you’re going to throw yourself on the fire-and I won’t stop you if you do-quit complaining!”
Jason huddled into the blanket, sulking like a small child. “Well, start with the foreign language editions, at least,” he muttered. “The author’s photo is atrocious.”
Stewart sighed and looked heavenward for strength, but dutifully pulled out a stack of non-English titles from the shelf.
“It may not come to that,” Annabelle cut in suddenly, voice stuttering alarmingly. “I think I have it! I have the equations for Auntie!”
“Then there’s not a moment to lose.” Jason sprang up, pulling Annabelle with him. “We can take my car.”
“How noble of you, Jason,” Stewart said flatly, tossing the books unceremoniously on the couch.
“Anything for the preservation of great literature,” Jason declared, wrapping the blanket a little more tightly around Annabelle’s shoulders. “Come along, my dear.”
Re: Department S-Jason King/Stewart Sullivan/Annabelle Hurst-Huddling for warmth cramps one's style.timelessapeelMay 9 2016, 13:58:16 UTC
Thank you! Happy you liked it. If things had gone on as they were, Stewart might have been forced to start burning Jason's extensive wardrobe as well. Jason would never have recovered. ;-)
“We need the extra layers, Jason.” Stewart Sullivan, huddled on the other side of Annabelle, prodded at the dying embers of the fire with a poker, desperately trying to revive them. “As soon as she figures out which equations to feed her computer, we can find a way to shut down the machine that’s cut all the power in England in the dead of the coldest winter this country’s seen in years.”
“Well, it’s playing merry hell with my fashion sense,” Jason protested, holding out his arms for Stewart to see. “Look at my French cuffs! Look at them! All the starch in the world won’t put them right again.”
Stewart groaned and stood up. “We need something else to burn,” he declared, hoping the change of subject would stop Jason’s endless complaints. He eyed Jason’s bookshelves with interest. “Do you own anything written by anyone other than you?” he asked incredulously.
“The moment someone else writes something worthwhile, I’ll be the first in line at the shop,” Jason snapped, regarding Stewart suspiciously. “What are you doing?”
“Considering my options.”
“Good gracious, burning books now, are we?” Jason grumbled, cigarette trembling between blue lips. “How quickly we’ve reverted to the dark ages.”
“All we’ll have are dark ages if Annabelle can’t find a solution,” Stewart reminded, reaching for a handful of volumes.
“Not the first editions!” Jason exclaimed, trying to untangle himself from the blanket to leap to his feet. “What are you, a barbarian?”
“Do you have a better idea?” Stewart countered in exasperation. “We’re out of kindling and newspaper, and all the stores are sold out. We need fuel and we need it now. So unless you’re going to throw yourself on the fire-and I won’t stop you if you do-quit complaining!”
Jason huddled into the blanket, sulking like a small child. “Well, start with the foreign language editions, at least,” he muttered. “The author’s photo is atrocious.”
Stewart sighed and looked heavenward for strength, but dutifully pulled out a stack of non-English titles from the shelf.
“It may not come to that,” Annabelle cut in suddenly, voice stuttering alarmingly. “I think I have it! I have the equations for Auntie!”
“Then there’s not a moment to lose.” Jason sprang up, pulling Annabelle with him. “We can take my car.”
“How noble of you, Jason,” Stewart said flatly, tossing the books unceremoniously on the couch.
“Anything for the preservation of great literature,” Jason declared, wrapping the blanket a little more tightly around Annabelle’s shoulders. “Come along, my dear.”
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