Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
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"THEY BURNT DOWN A BLOODY HOUSE?" Persie shouted. She pondered her screaming question greatly while staring at the foggy tv screen, gobsmacked. Because how in hell had they managed to burn down a house? "Why didn't you tell me?"
Fern was in the kitchen, currently brewing two cups of tea and nicking a jammie dodger from the almost empty biscuit tin. They desperately needed to go shopping.
She stirred two sugars into Persie's favourite cup. Dipping the jammie dodger into her own caffeinated brew. "I told you I'd tell you later." She argued, putting the milk back in the fridge. "Besides, you'd had a bad night the other day, I didn't want you stressing about that idiot." Finally, she walked across the open plan kitchen, with the two full cups, into the living room area.
The news went on to talk about the house, and how it had been a lodging house back in the eighties. The story was that rogue agent, Anthony Lockwood, and his plucky colleague had burnt the house down using magnesium flares indoors. Sounded like him.
Impulsive. Reckless. No care for the consequences.
Fern handed her the cup as she sat down on the sofa beside her. The leather sticking to her thigh, made her wish she was wearing her joggers and not her gym shorts.
"I mean, what a moron!" Persie declared, her eyes not leaving the screen, afraid she'd miss some vital piece of information. "Everyone knows you don't light flares indoors! It's just suicide! And no chains?" Fern watched her friend bemused.
The two had decided to return home early, their two guests were out on a day trip so they had the flat to themselves for the remainder of the day. It was still only noon.
Fern found it funny how Persie was reacting to the news. Especially as for an entire year she'd managed to convince herself that she didn't care about Anthony bloody Lockwood, or what trouble he got up to. And now she was back to her old self. She missed this version of her. Persie took the split hard, even if she did have her reasonings for it in the first place - ones which she'd never discussed with her - so it was nice seeing her closer to what she used to be.
They weren't little kids anymore, but it didn't mean they were ready to be adults yet either.
"Apparently, we dodged a bullet sticking with Fittes," Fern smirked, she'd only ever signed up to Fittes because of her friend, and they'd met George through it, but when Lockwood came to them with his new scheme they'd ultimately given him an answer he didn't take joyfully. Originally she'd hated the idea of working for a big conglomerate agency, but with Persie around, it wasn't so bad. "Poor George is gonna need to take out life insurance."
At the rate the Lockwood & Co agency was going, they were all going to need life insurance. Or they'd just be buried in unknown paupers' graves.
Eventually, the TV focused on a speaker. And who else but Lockwood himself? The pyromaniac spoke to the Press like the celebrity he thoroughly believed he was.
