@mirabilixcreuit
The room is buzzing with the low hum of pleasantries exchanged alongside with gossip and smithereens of half-truths, gowns and suits are pressed and arranged with fastidious care, hair smartened, champagne glasses filled with the sparkling request to lower the general inhibitions - though not to the point of indecorousness ... ... and the PM is lurking just around the corner. { Bugger. } Mycroft quickens his stride. He feels the ominous presence looming behind him - approaching with merciless determination - out of an instinct born from long years of dutiful avoidance. He picks up his pace. Not today. As his gaze roams the nearby figures in passing, he tries desperately to make out a favourable face that might present itself willingly as an escape route, but the guests are entirely too well-known to him - mendacious, idiotic, perfunctory, corrupt, overbearing, gullible, immature, melodramatic, greedy, witless -, ah, here, finally. Before the man in question has entirely understood the nature of the assault, Mycroft has latched on to him with wolfish efficiency, effortlessly easing his way into the conversation as if it was a daily occurrence between them. All in all, bonhomie is not the worst character trait with which to surround himself, though by far not his favourite.
“ Ah, Mr Wilberforce. ” He can feel the prime minister’s eyes boring into his spine. “ I am glad to have met you. I am afraid that Her Majesty’s armed forces seem to have fallen into disfavour with the general public after the latest incident in Bahrain. I suggest we counter the expressions of disapproval by putting a more prominent focus on government-funded humanitarian projects. May I rely on your assistance in the matter? ”