Post by pete on Sept 27, 2012 18:21:51 GMT -5
Rupert Royston-Fellowes[/b] was merry, but only in the sense which referred to his psychological state as a result of excessive alcohol consumption. There was certainly nothing happy or jolly about his demeanour, and even the pleasant alcohol-and-drugs buzz was beginning to subside, replaced with an infuriating mixture of outrage and panic which Lord Fellowes[/b] would most certainly not approve of.
"Man up, Rupert"[/b], he had thought to himself, as security led him from the room among the other revellers. And manned up he had; no sooner was he downstairs than he had begun to give the hotel manager a piece of his mind. Sadly, that had only made the situation worse; the insignificant worm had commanded his hired goons to escort him out, and it had taken a timely intervention from Nigel[/b] - with a threat to call his uncle - to prevent them from undignifiedly chucking him and his entourage out on the street. "I should like to see them try"[/b], he had thought then, a touch of his haughty confidence regained after Nigel[/b]'s successful intervention. For once, however, he had known to keep his mouth shut, and let his friend sort out their predicament.
And so they had come to the present situation. Half the partygoers had gone home, still buzzed or hung over, Rupert[/b] and Nigel[/b]'s predicament of little consequence to them. The other half had gathered loosely behind him, discussing the situation and throwing the manager a venomous glare now and again. Nigel[/b]'s newest conquest was presently dangling from his own shoulder, and Nigel[/b] himself had stepped away to conduct a call to his uncle, the owner of the chain of hotels the lads had been lodged at. Rupert[/b] could hear him now, explaining the situation to Lord Attenborough[/b] as he paced stressfully back and forth:
Nigel Kensington III: We were just having a party, Uncle...yes, that was all...no, we were not bothering anybody, we kept to the penthouse...yes...I see...I shall put you through at once.
To Rupert[/b]'s delight, his lifelong best friend then stepped forward to hand his iPhone 5 to the hotel manager:
Nigel: Here, Basil Fawlty. My uncle wants to speak to you.
As the subordinate took the phone in his trembling hands ("careful, do not break it!"[/b]), the two Englishmen shared a discreet smirk and a low-five. Then, they once again turned their attention to the hapless manager, who seemed to be getting an earful from the company CEO. They had only a moment to enjoy the spectacle, however, before an unmistakably British voice rang out behind them:
Voice: Rupie...?!
Rupert[/b] whirled around. Nobody aside from his Mother had called him that in at least ten years. Who was this person to presume...? He could feel the vein in his forehead begin to throb as he came face to face with a short, but commanding middle-aged blonde, in an impeccable business suit.
"I know this bird. Who is she? Think, Rupert, think!"[/b]
Mental effort on his part was, however, not necessary, as the woman promptly introduced herself, leaning forward for an air-kiss:
Woman: How *are* you, *DAR*-ling! You do remember me? Kerry Buckingham? I interviewed your father numerous times, when I worked at 'OK'! Wonderful, *won*-derful man! And you? Oh, I remember you from when you were *this* tall!
Already visibly uncomfortable, Rupert recoiled, lest this batty old crone should try to pinch his cheeks or somesuch. Sensing his embarassment, Kerry chuckled:
Kerry Buckingham: Oh, *DAR*-ling! Did you really think I would do that to you in *public*? How perfectly silly! Maybe in private, yes, but never in *public*!
She winked at him, and Rupert[/b] had a horrifying thought. "Is she flirting with me?"[/b] Immediately afterwards, however, a flood of concurrent thoughts washed that one from his mind. "She *is* British, and she seems easily manageable, and she *does* know Father...yes, this one could be useful to keep around."[/b] He smiled at the journalist, who flustered. "Even easier than expected"[/b]. Then, he waved a hand towards his partner, who had just retrieved his phone from the harried hotel manager:
Rupert Royston-Fellowes: This, of course, is my associate, Mr. Nigel Kensington the Third. His uncle is the proprietor of this hotel franchise. Nigel, Mrs. Kerry Buckingham.
Ms. Buckingham[/b] smiled up at Nigel[/b], who nodded politely in response.
Kerry: Charmed. And Rupert, dear, it's Ms, not Mrs.!
Rupert [/b] smiled smarmily:
Rupert: Is that so...?
To his delight, Kerry[/b] flustered again. "This old hag's in the bag. They're not bad, slappers. And this one looks like she hasn't had a shag in a while."[/b] He composed his most sullen expression:
Rupert: I should love to take our introductions further, but I am afraid we find ourselves in a little predicament...a slight altercation with the Staff...
The journalist, however, merely dismissed his concerns:
Kerry: Don't be silly, darling!
Then, turning to the manager:
Kerry: Jonathan, dear, these two chaps are with me, all right?
Not bothering to wait for a reply, she then swivelled around on her heels, beckoning the two young Brits to follow her:
Kerry: Well, that's settled then! Now, I don't know about you two dears, but I'm *STAAAAR*-ving! In fact, I was about to head to this delightful little restaurant downtown...would you care to join me?
Seizing his chance to bury the hook in even deepr, Rupert[/b] gave the Englishwoman another disaming smile:
Rupert: Of course! And I should be more than glad to cover the tab. To celebrate our new friendship!
To his delight, the old crone flustered again. This was getting easier by the minute. So much did he fancy his chances, in fact, that he went as far as to slip an arm around Kerry's waist as he, her and Nigel[/b] exited the dreaded hotel. And when she voiced no complaint and raised no objection, he knew he had her won.
"Man up, Rupert"[/b], he had thought to himself, as security led him from the room among the other revellers. And manned up he had; no sooner was he downstairs than he had begun to give the hotel manager a piece of his mind. Sadly, that had only made the situation worse; the insignificant worm had commanded his hired goons to escort him out, and it had taken a timely intervention from Nigel[/b] - with a threat to call his uncle - to prevent them from undignifiedly chucking him and his entourage out on the street. "I should like to see them try"[/b], he had thought then, a touch of his haughty confidence regained after Nigel[/b]'s successful intervention. For once, however, he had known to keep his mouth shut, and let his friend sort out their predicament.
And so they had come to the present situation. Half the partygoers had gone home, still buzzed or hung over, Rupert[/b] and Nigel[/b]'s predicament of little consequence to them. The other half had gathered loosely behind him, discussing the situation and throwing the manager a venomous glare now and again. Nigel[/b]'s newest conquest was presently dangling from his own shoulder, and Nigel[/b] himself had stepped away to conduct a call to his uncle, the owner of the chain of hotels the lads had been lodged at. Rupert[/b] could hear him now, explaining the situation to Lord Attenborough[/b] as he paced stressfully back and forth:
Nigel Kensington III: We were just having a party, Uncle...yes, that was all...no, we were not bothering anybody, we kept to the penthouse...yes...I see...I shall put you through at once.
To Rupert[/b]'s delight, his lifelong best friend then stepped forward to hand his iPhone 5 to the hotel manager:
Nigel: Here, Basil Fawlty. My uncle wants to speak to you.
As the subordinate took the phone in his trembling hands ("careful, do not break it!"[/b]), the two Englishmen shared a discreet smirk and a low-five. Then, they once again turned their attention to the hapless manager, who seemed to be getting an earful from the company CEO. They had only a moment to enjoy the spectacle, however, before an unmistakably British voice rang out behind them:
Voice: Rupie...?!
Rupert[/b] whirled around. Nobody aside from his Mother had called him that in at least ten years. Who was this person to presume...? He could feel the vein in his forehead begin to throb as he came face to face with a short, but commanding middle-aged blonde, in an impeccable business suit.
"I know this bird. Who is she? Think, Rupert, think!"[/b]
Mental effort on his part was, however, not necessary, as the woman promptly introduced herself, leaning forward for an air-kiss:
Woman: How *are* you, *DAR*-ling! You do remember me? Kerry Buckingham? I interviewed your father numerous times, when I worked at 'OK'! Wonderful, *won*-derful man! And you? Oh, I remember you from when you were *this* tall!
Already visibly uncomfortable, Rupert recoiled, lest this batty old crone should try to pinch his cheeks or somesuch. Sensing his embarassment, Kerry chuckled:
Kerry Buckingham: Oh, *DAR*-ling! Did you really think I would do that to you in *public*? How perfectly silly! Maybe in private, yes, but never in *public*!
She winked at him, and Rupert[/b] had a horrifying thought. "Is she flirting with me?"[/b] Immediately afterwards, however, a flood of concurrent thoughts washed that one from his mind. "She *is* British, and she seems easily manageable, and she *does* know Father...yes, this one could be useful to keep around."[/b] He smiled at the journalist, who flustered. "Even easier than expected"[/b]. Then, he waved a hand towards his partner, who had just retrieved his phone from the harried hotel manager:
Rupert Royston-Fellowes: This, of course, is my associate, Mr. Nigel Kensington the Third. His uncle is the proprietor of this hotel franchise. Nigel, Mrs. Kerry Buckingham.
Ms. Buckingham[/b] smiled up at Nigel[/b], who nodded politely in response.
Kerry: Charmed. And Rupert, dear, it's Ms, not Mrs.!
Rupert [/b] smiled smarmily:
Rupert: Is that so...?
To his delight, Kerry[/b] flustered again. "This old hag's in the bag. They're not bad, slappers. And this one looks like she hasn't had a shag in a while."[/b] He composed his most sullen expression:
Rupert: I should love to take our introductions further, but I am afraid we find ourselves in a little predicament...a slight altercation with the Staff...
The journalist, however, merely dismissed his concerns:
Kerry: Don't be silly, darling!
Then, turning to the manager:
Kerry: Jonathan, dear, these two chaps are with me, all right?
Not bothering to wait for a reply, she then swivelled around on her heels, beckoning the two young Brits to follow her:
Kerry: Well, that's settled then! Now, I don't know about you two dears, but I'm *STAAAAR*-ving! In fact, I was about to head to this delightful little restaurant downtown...would you care to join me?
Seizing his chance to bury the hook in even deepr, Rupert[/b] gave the Englishwoman another disaming smile:
Rupert: Of course! And I should be more than glad to cover the tab. To celebrate our new friendship!
To his delight, the old crone flustered again. This was getting easier by the minute. So much did he fancy his chances, in fact, that he went as far as to slip an arm around Kerry's waist as he, her and Nigel[/b] exited the dreaded hotel. And when she voiced no complaint and raised no objection, he knew he had her won.