Wednesday, 23 October 2013

The Dark Gentleman...

The dark gentleman clicked his beak a few times and straightened (for no reason) his rather formal jacket; he couldn't abide bad service and his patience was being sorely tested. The waiters (who were mostly made up of mice) rushed around him in a flurry of extreme agitation, their white serving cloths clung tightly to their elbows as their paws were already filled with trying to balance cutlery and plates or jugs that were ridiculously full of mulled cider. Their tails curled around the tops of pots and turned them open - billows of hot steam filled the room and the delights of dinner were unveiled at last.

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