[Tom is smiling. It's pleasant, airy, and extraordinarily polite. He is standing in his kitchen, eyes moving over the counter, before he reaches out with a hand to pick up an apple. He looks at it thoughtfully, before he tosses it upwards, catching it neatly.
It's then that he speaks, with a remarkably peaceful tone.]It would appear that Sherlock
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[Text. How intriguing. And Tom doesn't recognize the feed.]
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What was he like?
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[Tom, in actuality, would rather cut his own eyes out than admit such a thing -- but it was the truth. And praises were polite, were they not?]
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But the fucking event won't let him say so.]
Naturally.
I don't think we've met. Your name?>
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[He knows by now that a random citizen won't know him by his false name, so he continues.]
A magician in the elite circle of the government presiding over Great Britain.
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A magician?
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[rofl, Nat is sooooo happy he's not hit by this event.]
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[Read: lol w/e who the fuck uses the word 'magician'.]
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In a manner of speaking. Your name?
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