Cunningham yeah, that was the bastard! He-
His grandmother started going off about how gorgeous and talented and trouble he was, and Gabriel turned to SHRIEK into the coach pillow.
She could probably hear it.
“That guy is not my friend!” He lifted his head with a gasp. “He’s- he, he got everyone in danger because he wouldn’t listen to common sense,
He’s monopolizing Darcy’s time. And everyone’s just- handing him sensitive info like he’s not our hostage,
and he calls me sludgeboy!”
Like, god!
And he wouldn’t wear a shirt that covers his arms, and and and,
“and he’s so like, British, Moira.
we can’t like, just let him come in here. Start taking over I mean wh-whwhhggh??”
Moira stopped in her tracks, lowering the phone thinking the shriek was coming from some animal in the woods and not her grandson. She frowned.
"Why is he..." interrupted by more outrage, Moira resumed her walking again, momentarily lowering her phone again as she looked around where she was, the young man's voice going on and on as she put the phone back against her ear.
"Don't be xenophobic, Gabriel." she chided. "He's not the King of England.
And if everyone's talking to him about business that is confidential, and Darcy likes him, why is that so bad?" she couldn't understand, honestly.
"Have you talked to him? Have you tried getting to know him? I know you don't like change, love, but I fear you will have to find ways to cope with that."















