“And with a few minutes to spare, precisely 10:30. Rather seems that my break is somewhat superb—” Up and about, this carcass of joy uttered out in a hushed voice, the image of talking to one’s self, he thinks quite redeeming. His own visage walking to and fro, and with a turn, down the halls of his own beloved capital’s city hall. Numerous people, from all walks of life, passes by him, bodies unfurled in that dreary day— one’s own imagination, inflicts into the world, a haze, a blurry filter; the nervous fluidity of slow motion, the kind of feeling that entices his attention, and yet even as it demands of it not. Arthur notices the daze, he feels it parading through his veins in real time sync— Parades through the halls, he does not. Term is ‘walking’ midst the en masse.
What he was doing there, one could find a little odd, maybe quite intriguing. His thorough main destination, however, was North Kensington. Must disregard the news; neither did he obey the inquisitiveness and the nagging of some of his advisers— Obey them, he did not. Not now, not this once. This play of sudden insolence, makes familiar and takes heed of that insubordinate nature and that of his callous, petrifying stubbornness. Harnessed and perfected in manner and act and an indicated form, which somehow manages to capture the fervent eyes of those who interacts with him.
By the time he manages to reach the corridors which earnestly connect to Edmund’s office, a surprisingly, and quite unsightly sight; Stopping aghast, his ears mockingly greeted by the accompaniment of shrieks as reminiscent of a banshee’s, and the forceful trashing and kicking about of limbs quite frail and occurred by longevity— it greets Arthur’s unprepared composure in unison, and generates, at first a subtle shocked sensation, finalising with the ushered feelings of contempt and disbelief. Why is this distressed woman being carried away, from the office itself— by a man of larger stature? Reasons far beyond his temporarily limited cognition; they continue to haunt him for minutes a many, ebbing in continuity they flow, as he opens and strides through the elegant threshold, finding himself in that moment, face-to-face with the City himself.
Impeccably dressed, as always. Mere agitation at a loss for a genuine moment, he civilly beguiles himself to greet Edmund with renewed expression. “A bonafide pleasant morning, Mr Whitney. What an incredible delight to see you again—” Interruptions, interruptions. Lest he thinks otherwise; a cough is a cough, dear reader.
And that’s when the interrogation starts. Arthur enacts the prospect of sitting near his desk.
“Pardon. Now, you must entertain expected inquisition with expected reason, good sir. I plead; as that was a very.. how should I say— a rather exquisite, or unique spectacle that I have just noticed, a meager lady of age trashing about. She who was resorted to be forcefully ejaculated from this same room, as you and i now occupy it, for just a few minutes ago. Lest suspicion should’st not take its’ root, what was that all about, Edmund?”
He glanced up briefly above his reading glasses, looking back down. Wonderful, him--as if this morning wasn’t already pleasant enough. It can’t be helped, however--sometimes we all had to do things we simply don’t want to do, talking to one’s own nation just happened to be one of those things--especially after a bloody banshee was ripped out of his office. Typical.
“Dr. Whitney,” he said dryly, his eyes still on the book in front of him. “I didn’t earn my doctorate for no reason, as you know, Arthur,” he licked his finger, flipping the page. “Tell me, must you always be this ostentatious?” Like you’re one to talk? “If you have questions, must you waste precious minutes simply asking the damn thing? Time is money, as they say,” and he had plenty of it, though, unfortunately for Arthur, not for this.
“Ah, some American tourist who thought she was doing the Lord’s work talking to a heathen such as me, that’s all, love. Nothing more, nothing less. Don’t know how she managed to get this far, but it’s not worth your time or mine, hence her absence.” He leaned forward. “Is that all? Or did you have some other reason to be here?”
He picked up his cup again, taking a delicate sip. “I was under the impression you had more important things to attend to than one rowdy visitor, or is there simply nothing else to do around here that your judgment lapsed enough to visit little old me? By all means, Arthur, I’m flattered,” he put a hand to his heart, “but is this something you need to concern yourself with? I can easily handle my own affairs.”
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