Thread: A Royal Catastrophe (Mali and Quix)

I think the clerk was probably so stoned that he immediately forgot our conversation once we departed the lobby. Ben had called over his shoulder as he passed her. Plus, I'm not a wham-bam, thankyou ,'Maam type of guy. I prefer to leave my conquests properly satisfied. The last sentence had been completed just after he'd swiveled to shoot Sky a wink, and just before he'd shut the bathroom door behind him. If she could taunt, so could he. With his gaze locked on her a few minutes later, subsequent to his exit from the bathroom, the colour drained Ben's face not that, with his English complexion, much change would be evident when Sky increased the volume on the television, and her legs gave way. Then he grit his teeth, and glanced up to be met with the smiling image of Sky's mother, and couldn't help but wonder how she'd cope with the shock it must have imparted, and the knowledge that soon the entire country would be on the lookout for her. Any immediate thoughts of the potential damage to their, yet to be discussed, escape plan were pushed to back of his mind when the man was suddenly overwhelmed with compassion for Schuyler. This was the very last thing she deserved to be awakened to. Even if the woman had stolen his tea. He waited for her to crack completely, and break-down in a flood of emotion, however, although tears streamed from her eyes, Sky remained mostly composed, and that served to confirm Ben's earlier impression that she possessed a serious inner strength, for which he was grateful. She'd require it to cope with the situation at hand, and whether she was aware of it or not, it was a quality the people would look for in their future Queen. One that would gain her the respect of her Fiefdom if she decided to accept the role. If your Mother was anything like her daughter, I'm sorry that I never had the opportunity to become acquainted. Ben replied with a soft, sympathetic smile when she eventually approached, and nodded in acquiescence of her choice of hair colour. Where ever we go, and whatever happens, she'll be with us in spirit, and we'll do all in our power to make her even more proud of you than I'm certain she already is. The man trusted his utterance didn't come across as condescending or false, because Sky's flat emotionless tone and demeanour had hit a nerve, and he meant every word. Bem maintained eye contact for a little while after his voice dissipated, then gripped Sky's arm, and led her out through the door to the elevator. Shit. That was the first utterance that slipped from his mouth when they reached the foyer, and he noted the same clerk from the previous night staring bug-eyed at a television monitor suspended from the roof in one corner. It displayed a full-screen photograph of the face of the woman who accompanied Ben. It's her. The wonder in the young man's whisper was akin to that you'd expect from a five-year old child on Christmas night waking to discover Santa Claus in his living room, and the shock only increased when he finally reacted to the ping of the elevator and his head shot around to be confronted with the real-life visage of Schyuler Lassiter. It's you. The Hooker. His arm shook as a trembling digit lifted to point. Fuck, I thought it'd take them longer. Ben glanced sideways at Sky with an expression of annoyance pasted across his features, which swiftly morphed to one of concern when his attention was attracted by the sound of door hinges squeaking, and he watched a black, wing-tipped shoe step through the entrance. Shit. The British Spy's normally extensive vocabulary continued to remain that of an eighth grade bully as he immediately realised the danger, and swiftly gripped Sky's elbow with more urgency, dragged his companion behind a large potted-tree, and held a finger to his lips in a signal to be silent. From that viewpoint, his gaze moved up from the black wing-tips of the new arrival to the black suit-trousers that accompanied them, and the same coloured jacket, then came to rest on the Slavic features of the man they adorned. As the Russian slowly walked to the check-in desk, Ben released his grip on Sky, and whispered in her ear. Behind you, six feet to the left. Fire exit. I'll meet you outside. Scream if you get into trouble. Without waiting to see if she would obey his command, or if she were even capable of moving, the MI6 agent stepped from the foliage of the potted plant, and, with the youth still staring, drew back his jacket to briefly reveal his gun, motioned to the Russian, and shook his head. Excuse me, young Sir, I'd like to lodge a complaint. I ordered a blonde, not a brunette. Ben could only hope as he then approached the duo at the counter, and gave the potential assassin a cheery shrug when the man turned to see from whom the words had emanated, that his bulk, and the plant foliage, obscured the woman behind him, and the emergency exits weren't alarmed. Or that the clerk, whose expression was becoming more apoplectic and confused by the second, wouldn't suffer a heart-attack.