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

[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]

[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.

[accountsettled.livejournal.com]

[Sexby is just heading up to see if Angelica wanted to go for another session of sword practice.

On the way along the corridor, he hears a voice from her room; Scottish, and unfamiliar, and he picks up, because it doesn't sound too friendly. His hand is already on the hilt of his sword when he reaches the door, and tells the man, before taking a few steps inside to get a good look at him,]

Sir, I do advise you not to give her a moment's further trouble or I... [He trailed off as he then did step inside and spotted who the man was. Or looked like. Modern clothes, no hair or beard, but a familiar enough face. Like him and the Master or Sam. Even so, part of him can't resist.]

So, they did not cut off your head? Seems it must not run with the face, then, sir. Or, if they did, I confess I am a little disappointed they did not make you carry it under your arm like a proper phantom would.

[fuckitybye]

[There is a lengthy, comedic double- or triple-take where Malcolm looks from Angelica to Sexby, back to Angelica and back to Sexby, an angry and seriously flummoxed look on his face.]

Christ, I'm surrounded by fucking nutters.

[naughtbutlife.livejournal.com]

[And she's relieved - so very, very, very relieved, but still a bit on the shaken side.

Angelica's not terribly pleased to see her husband reaching for his sword as he stomps down the corridor, as that wasn't very neighbourly at all. She does, however, stifle an amused snicker before she thumps Sexby in the chest for his words.]

Our mistake, sir. You have the face of a king. A very...unfortunate monarch by name of Charles. Come, Sexby, before we cause him further bewilderment.

[She pushes Sexby inside before he can say another word.] Oh...uh...welcome to the Barge, sir. Good-day. [A quick bow, and then she slams the door shut again.]

[fuckitybye]

[Right, Malcolm knows his history. He knows who Charles I was. He sort of scrubs his hand over his face in angry bewilderment and raises his fist to pound on the door again, but, for once, thinks better of it.]

Fucking hell. Devils and fucking pitchforks would've been easier to understand.

[And he goes back to his room.]