001 - Voice

[fuckitybye]

[Prior to this, anyone near Malcom's room (level 7, room 5) will have heard him banging about in confusion for a bit; as his cabin looks like his office at No. 10, that's where he thinks he is. Then, in an attempt to page his assistant, he accidentally turns on the voice posting device and a loud Scottish voice is heard:]

—Sam? SAM? The fuck is up with putting a bed in here? This some kind of fucking joke? I can ream out that twat Nicholson just fine with him bent over my fucking desk, aye?

[Pause.]

Sam?

Oh, for fuck's sake—

[Sound of door opening. Long, stunned silence.]

What the fuck?

Comments

[Private] Scottish conspiring.

[beam-me.livejournal.com]

...but he's from Glasgow! He's practically family! D'you know where I'm from, mate? I'm from ABERDEEN. We're probably related! I bet he knows me mum's mum! What do I do? I can hear her now, "Don't be a foppish ponce, Monty! Be nice to your fellow Scotsman!"

He's... he's a monster is what he is. He sounds like a realpolitik!

[Private] Scottish conspiring.

[kingfor-aday.livejournal.com]

You're not honour bound to like every Scotsman there ever was. Although, I know the feeling. Also, I'm closer to him both in time and geography.

...I think monster is a little harsh when he's a relatively normal man who, yes, speaks in colourful language, and yes, works in Whitehall, which is worrying, but he's not that bad. He at least deserves to know what's going on.

[fuckitybye]

[Unfortunately, Malcolm is now about to take out his bad mood on Howie.]

Look, you keep on about the fucking language and I'm gonna put George Carlin's Seven Words on my iPod on fucking repeat and weld the headphones to your ears and you can spend the rest of the day hearing shit, piss, cocksucker, cunt, motherfucker, tits, and fuck until your brain falls out, you got that? And yes, I work in Whitehall. I'm only the Prime Minister's fucking Director of Communications, aren't I?

[fuckitybye]

[What?]

[Overcome by curiosity, Malcolm steps out into the hall and pounds on Angelica's door.]

[kingfor-aday.livejournal.com]

[A silent pause whilst Howie closes his eyes and tries not to lose his patience.]

It's a valid point. Nevermind.

...Seriously? What exactly does one of those do?

[fuckitybye]

Well, Martha J—

[Pause]

What, everyone heard all that?

[fuckitybye]

Well, y'see, chum, that was what they call an exaggeration for fucking dramatic effect. Containing language of a violent and sexual nature which may offend.

[fuckitybye]

[Have a dose of Malcolm's exceptional sense of self-importance.]

I keep the fucking goverment running, mate. I am the government. The sods are probably changing into the brown trousers even as we speak.

[Pause.]

There any way we can find out what's going on? Back where we came from and all?

I'm going to let Scotty forget his filter now, for the sake of torturing him.

[beam-me.livejournal.com]

D'you think mum'll forgive me if I depend on you to be nice enough for the two of us, then?

He's a monster from Whitehall, and I think that's giving the bloke a good deal of credit.

[naughtbutlife.livejournal.com]

[She's freaking out just a touch - pacing back and worth while wringing her hands and all of those fun things.

She jumps when less-dapper-Charles-Stuart begins to bang on her door, but goes to open it enough to eyeball him.]

You...I have done nothing...you abandoned...

[Angelica frowns and opens the door. She's got her chest puffed out slightly.]

Good to see you in one piece.

[hopeless-hacker.livejournal.com]

Well. That's an image.

Welcome to the Barge, and...well done on not immediately insisting this is all a terrible dream.

[kingfor-aday.livejournal.com]

I thought that was the job of... civil servants, not just you.

[Pause, because Howie hasn't considered it much,]

I doubt it. Unless someone comes in from your world. Wardens sometimes leave and come back, but whilst you're here, I'm fairly sure you can't get any information.

Which, I know must be frustrating. Although, if someone comes in from your future in general, you can find out what's happened. I'm slowly filling in about thirty years of my future.

[fuckitybye]

[Malcolm is totally confused, which means his manner gets more aggressive.]

The fuck are you talking about? I've never laid eyes on you before, unless it was on BBC Two.

and howie headdesks.

[kingfor-aday.livejournal.com]

I think she will. I'm not sure she'll forgive you for just saying all that in public, though.

[beam-me.livejournal.com]

Bloody nice day, innit, Sergeant?

[fuckitybye]

Someone has to ride herd on all the little bastards. That's my job.

[But he sounds a little less confident now. Just for a moment. And then he's back to normal. There's some noises in the background as he digs his Blackberry out of his pocket and tries to make it do.]

They're never gonna survive the election now. Fucking bad enough when I was there, but the head's off the bloody chicken now, and—fuck.

[Electronic chirping, none of which sounds very promising.]

Afterlife's got no mobile reception, does it? Of course not.

[fuckitybye]

Go on, son, fucking tell us something we've never heard before.

[naughtbutlife.livejournal.com]

[She goes to bow a little, because she can't think of what else to do, but stops herself.
Oh - wait.

Obviously not the King. This is clearly one of those face-duplication things....or he happens to be a distant relative.

Either way, Angelica is still a mess.]

You! Your face...you... [A pause] Not royalty?

[fuckitybye]

Jesus, no one's going to let me forget about that, are they?

Don't think I'm not fucking hoping I'll wake up in A&E after all.

[beam-me.livejournal.com]

Workin' for the Queen, is it? Oh, that's bloody nice, mate.

[fuckitybye]

[REALLY confused. And thus, angrier.]

Hate to disappoint you, sweetheart, but unless Prince Phillip got up to something in Glasgow when Elizabeth wasn't fucking looking, no.

*innocent whistling commences*

[kingfor-aday.livejournal.com]

It is, isn't it, Mr Scott? Great weather up here on seven. How is it where you are?

[fuckitybye]

I work to keep the leaking fucking ship that is the Labour government afloat.

/SOBS.

[beam-me.livejournal.com]

Storm's coming, methinks.

[kingfor-aday.livejournal.com]

Chickens keep running for a while, but even so... there's nothing you can do about it from here, sorry.

There's definitely no [he pauses, as he has to put two and two together to work out what he means by that term] mobile reception either. Not even a newspaper. I think you might have bigger concerns.