[mini-fill] Because I'm pretty sure it would go something like this.
anonymous
August 21 2011, 09:28:01 UTC
"Tea?" Mycroft asked, adding a lump of sugar to his own cup.
The Goblin King huffed, refusing to sit down (truly remarkable, how very many persons... and, ah, non-persons... persisted in believing that height was the only or the most important nonverbal advantage to secure in negotiations).
"On reflection," he said instead, "it is quite apparent that thirteen hours to negotiate a topologically variable labyrinth is hardly reasonable."
Mycroft hummed noncommitally.
"It would be my very great pleasure," the King added, leaning forward on the last word and giving it a weight on his tongue reminiscent of nothing so much as the radio advertisements for the concert Mummy had sadly told Mycroft she couldn't possibly let him attend, not when Sherlock had driven off another nanny, "to give you a... personal... tour of my castle."
"Honoured as I am by Your Majesty's suggestion, I doubt I have the strength to ask so great a favor; I have only just finished tidying up the house, and I suspect the most my sinews will permit me to be to sit here and enjoy the peace, and silence, and lack of interference with my tea. I suspect it could grow to be quite addictive."
The King slammed the heel of his hand down on the table (in plenty of time for Mycroft to casually lift his own cup and saucer out of the way), making the rest of the tea-service jump. "Do you expect ME to bring that brat of a brother of yours back to you?"
"Well, that would depend." Mycroft sipped his tea, focusing on the movement of the milky liquid within the delicate cup to mask his moment of preparation for this delicate stage of the most crucial negotiation. Besides, it blocked his view of one of the most blatant intimidative and/or mating displays since the well-deserved fall from fashion of the codpiece. "What concessions is Your Majesty prepared to offer me in return for my possible reclamation of Sherlock?"
The Goblin King huffed, refusing to sit down (truly remarkable, how very many persons... and, ah, non-persons... persisted in believing that height was the only or the most important nonverbal advantage to secure in negotiations).
"On reflection," he said instead, "it is quite apparent that thirteen hours to negotiate a topologically variable labyrinth is hardly reasonable."
Mycroft hummed noncommitally.
"It would be my very great pleasure," the King added, leaning forward on the last word and giving it a weight on his tongue reminiscent of nothing so much as the radio advertisements for the concert Mummy had sadly told Mycroft she couldn't possibly let him attend, not when Sherlock had driven off another nanny, "to give you a... personal... tour of my castle."
"Honoured as I am by Your Majesty's suggestion, I doubt I have the strength to ask so great a favor; I have only just finished tidying up the house, and I suspect the most my sinews will permit me to be to sit here and enjoy the peace, and silence, and lack of interference with my tea. I suspect it could grow to be quite addictive."
The King slammed the heel of his hand down on the table (in plenty of time for Mycroft to casually lift his own cup and saucer out of the way), making the rest of the tea-service jump. "Do you expect ME to bring that brat of a brother of yours back to you?"
"Well, that would depend." Mycroft sipped his tea, focusing on the movement of the milky liquid within the delicate cup to mask his moment of preparation for this delicate stage of the most crucial negotiation. Besides, it blocked his view of one of the most blatant intimidative and/or mating displays since the well-deserved fall from fashion of the codpiece. "What concessions is Your Majesty prepared to offer me in return for my possible reclamation of Sherlock?"
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LOL captcha says kingstri mean. Mycroft you meany! Poor Jareth has no idea what he's in for.
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Great voices in this piece.
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