[log] a guy like you should wear a warning [closed]

[plundering]

Characters: Fiona and Alfie!
Location Building 56
Date: Night 143
Summary: Dumb criminals hanging out.
Warnings: Will edit as needed!

[Even with detours to search houses, Fiona makes it to their meeting place long before Alfie does. She is tempted to steal the hot water for herself, but for once she decides to be generous and hold off, busying herself with checking out the trapdoor in the closet instead. Shockingly, she makes no progress, and by the time her tablet is flashing the usual lockdown warning, she's lounging on the bed, her back against the headboard and boots kicked off as she nibbles on some carrot sticks. They're half frozen and the sort of disappointing flavorless things that come from the school, but they're better than half the stuff at the convenience store. When the door opens, she looks up, her smile already teasing.]

Took you long enough.

Comments

[plundering]

A house pretty close to the one we stayed in last night. You know, for all your talk of appropriate conduct, this queen of yours was pretty filthy.

OH WAIT this is supposed to take place in 48? oops I was assuming it was 51

[devoutish]

My talk of appropriate conduct is for your benefit. I'm trying to protect your virtue.

[But his tone is clearly teasing.]

OH SORRY YEAH whoops

[plundering]

[She's laughing at that.]

Protecting my virtue. Good luck.

[And she's holding up the book again.]

Queen Victoria didn't seem very concerned about her virtue.

[devoutish]

[He sits down on the other end of the couch, pulling his towel a little more snugly around his shoulders.]

Pornography about the queen. Now I've fucking seen it all.

[plundering]

[She drops the book in his lap, still open.]

Blushing, Alfie?

[devoutish]

[He's looking at her, not the book.]

I don't know, am I?

[He's not. Sorry, Fiona.]

[plundering]

Nope. Aren't you going to read it?

[devoutish]

And take it away from you? Never.

[plundering]

[She picks it back up, letting out a quiet, thoughtful noise.]

Maybe I should practice my British accent, huh? How does the queen talk? More like you or more like John?

[devoutish]

She was too high-class to talk like me. Do the poshest accent you can.

tries to make this as aggressively terrible as possible

[plundering]

Posh. Okay.

[Fiona flips back a few pages, then clears her throat and starts reading. Her accent isn't too bad, although bits of it are still a little too cockney, probably because she's been spending more time talking to him than to Watson the past few days.]

"Oh, Albert," Victoria said, her delicate fingers resting on the sleeve of his coat. "These lacings are so tight. I think I may swoon."

The prince turned, his eyes catching on the low neckline of her dress before lifting to her face. "Never fear, Your Queenliness," he responded, his voice low. "I shall come to your rescue."

Victoria stepped forward, rising up onto her tiptoes, her voice low and husky as she whispered in his ear—

[Up until this point, Fiona has done an admirable job of keeping a straight face and reading very seriously and dramatically, but now, she has to cover her mouth with her hand, shoulders shaking in silent laughter. She forces herself to continue, though, her fake accent faltering as she fights to keep from cracking up.]

"I'm jonesin' for your cock, my prince."

I'm glad you used "your queenliness" bc I was proud of that one

[devoutish]

[Well, this isn't too terrible. No, that's not true; it's absolutely terrible, but it's not graphic at all.

And then all of a sudden, it is. "Jonesin' for your cock"? What the absolute fuck. He has to suppress a bark of laughter himself.]

Your Queenliness. Fucking hell, Fiona - that's fucking awful.

i liked it a lot tbh

[plundering]

[Fiona bursts out laughing, because yeah, it's horrendous.]

What, "Your Queenliness" isn't what you're supposed to call a queen?

[devoutish]

Yeah, and what does that last bit mean? Jonesing?

[plundering]

Uh... It means you're craving something.

[devoutish]

We don't say that. Not in that time, at least.

[Alfie, stop Britpicking porn.]

Needs a fucking editor.

[plundering]

Yeah? Why don't you read the next part. I want to hear your posh accent.

[devoutish]

My posh accent is very unrefined.

[He says, in a barely passable attempt at a posh accent.]

[plundering]

Mine's worse. Come on, your turn.

[devoutish]

Yours is worse, yeah. But I am absolutely not fucking reading that.

I would, however, like to keep it as kindling. Will you give it to me as a gift?

[plundering]

We're gonna see what John thinks of it first, and then maybe I will.

[devoutish]

Fiona, you cannot give a man in recovery a book of pornography. He'll have a fucking heart attack.

[He's joking. You know, probably.]

[plundering]

John's tough. He can handle it.

[She nudges him in the side.]

Anyway, you can't burn literature, Alfie.

[devoutish]

I can burn anything if it gets cold enough.

[plundering]

Definitely a bandit. What would the queen think?