Sloth Fiction 3: What's in a Name, or Where is Guy's Sombrero?

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This fall, Spouse and I had our long-awaited cruise and I celebrated the big 5-0 at sea, which inspired a bit of this installment of Sloth Fiction. Some spoilers for Spooks 9 and lots of silliness. The Characters are not mine; they just hang out in my den, eat my food and amuse my cats. Hope you enjoy!

"It's nice to have the family back together, isn't it, lads?" Harry said with his customary sunny smile. Callie-she of the incredibly soft chocolate, caramel and cream coat and the sweet and loving nature-was a purring ball of fur in his lap.

LW's cats had moved to the farmhouse for nearly a week while she and her husband had gone on their long-awaited holiday together.

The Characters had been left in a bit of a limbo during the interim.

"Good to see LadyWriter and the Mister had a fine time on their Mexican cruise. Lovely pictures they took. The palm trees, the turquoise waters, the colourful shops- very inviting. I can just see my darling Gerri sipping one of those tropical drinks with a little umbrella in it," Harry said with a fond smile as he gently stroked Callie's fur.

The cat made a small chirrup of contentment and rolled on her back. Harry laughed.

"You are glad to have your mum and dad back home, eh, sweet sweet Callie? Guess I should be chuffed Lucky Cat is snug as a bug in a rug with LW and the Mister right now. Means I get to cuddle with you . . ."

A deep sigh.

"I just wish LW had brought me back a sombrero from Progreso or Cozumel."

Guy was feeling a little petulant. He heaved a put-upon sigh and stretched out his long longs, pausing to admire how his new buckskin breeches moulded to his powerful thighs.

~It is a pleasure to have some new garments, especially ones that suit me so very well~

"Uh, excuse me, Milord, but you're going to be an 18th century highwayman in England in that fan fic, not Pancho bloody Villa," John Porter quipped before popping one of the bedtime choccies LadyWriter had brought back from her cruise in his mouth.

Guy removed a handkerchief tucked into the frothy cuff of the shirt sleeve, which peeked out from beneath an elaborately embroidered peacock blue frock coat. Touching the hankie to his aristocrat aquiline nose, he gave a manly sniff.

"Ah, but with LadyWriter's rather-excessive-imagination, One never knows what she will do with One, does One?" Guy said with a sardonic brow.

I really would have looked quite marvelous in one of those big black sombreros with the shining silver trim, he thought wistfully, giving an inward sigh.

Lucas, supine upon the sofa, groaned. LW's ice bag was clutched to his throbbing head, Puddie a great purring mass of fur on his taut stomach.

"Never mind what LW does with us, what in sodding hell will the Spooks writers do with me next? I mean-I like being Lucas North. Grand name, that. My Creator had my background all worked out. OK, I had an appalling time of it in that bloody prison and--"

His face went deathly white. "And there was-She Who Must Not Be Named."Lucas sighed and shook his dark head.

"But things seemed to be finally turning around for me. Back at the top of my game. And now--it appears I'm some bloke named--" Lucas gnashed his gleaming white teeth.

"JOHN? As if we don't have enough Johns running around here. Our Creator's probably started answering to John, poor sod."

Harry shot a sympathetic smile in Lucas's direction. "Must be very frustrating. Is your head feeling any better from that tumble you took? Not to mention that rather furious slap the lovely Maya gave you . . ."

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