dialect problems

[down_a_nipple]

Work out what the fuck you're doin' with my accent before I decide t' tan you and hang you on the mantle.

You did just fine with that Lightman bastard and his Cockney, and don't feed me shite about how my life was a lot more complicated than his. There's no fuckin' traces of Farsi in the way I talk, and none of that Oxford rot either. Not hard, really.

Comments

[ihaveanappforthat]

Perhaps you should educate yourself on solving personal problems. Because this does rather sound like one.

[down_a_nipple]

[Sometimes he wonders if you're an omnipotent god. Or maybe a devil, but even Lucifer was a subordinate once and he can't ever see you answering to anyone.]

[Or, less poetically, he's pretty sure you've got a fucking tracker in his phone.]

Look at the damn message again, and let me know when you find your name in it.

[ihaveanappforthat]

[Omnipotent god or devil, either would tip their hat to him.]

My name's not in it; have you forgotten what you've said already? Don't be a dummy. It'd be a pity to see you going senile already.

[But the answer is yes, and not only in the phone. Really, this is a surprise to you?]

[down_a_nipple]

[No, if he had to guess they'd be in the phone, the collars and/or cuffs of his shirt and also melted into the rubber of his shoes, but he accepted their probable existence a long time ago.]

Point was, I wasn't talkin' to you.

[ihaveanappforthat]

[Guns too, can't be too careful, can we?]

You are now. Anyway, we both know you were hoping I'd respond.

[down_a_nipple]

[for the sake of everyone involved, hope he never finds out you tampered with his weapons]

Far as I'm aware, you're no psychic. If I'd wanted you, I'd have asked.

Sorry about any typos and how crappy my Moriarty is, I'm really ill at the moment.

[ihaveanappforthat]

[Maybe he'll have to tell him one day, just to see the meltdown. Could be fun.]

Boooring. I don't need to be psychic.

You didn't last time.

[Shit eating Flirtiarty.]

np np!

[down_a_nipple]

[if by fun you mean an attempt to explain, failure to articulate through the rage cloud, and finally just straight-up punching you in the jaw despite knowing it will come back to bite him in the ass, possibly in the form of being stabbed and/or shot, then yes]

And yet, you didn't object.

[ihaveanappforthat]

[Ooh, you know better than the face. Don't make him bleed you dry and mail it to your sister. He would hate that. Utterly loathe.]

Hm, maybe I should next time. You're getting too smug.

[Someone is going to have to be a tease next time.]

[tigers]

Good god, man. How brief was Oxford? How long ago was Persia? [ Is it even Persia for you anymore, dear counterpart, or has the name changed since the 1880s? ] Any influence has long worn off. There's hardly a reason to dwell or dig up false sentimentality toward either, old chap.

i don't think you understand how excited i am

[down_a_nipple]

Iran [how fucking old are you] was seven years ago but the bint's convinced it'd have some lasting impression given the bastard tongue was technically my first.

Oxford, longer. Thirteen, maybe. No love lost for either.

[Wait.] The hell's it matter? Who are you?

dfhduf then you'll have to forgive my slowness. Many apologies!

[tigers]

[ Same age as you, probably. Give or take 130-some years by your calendar. ] Persia. I don't give a toss what's changed.

[ H U F F. ] Sorry, chum, did I fail to introduce myself? Given the fact that I'm you, I believe we've already met.

[aggresses]

[ guess who wanted to show up just to crash the fassbastian party Oh hello other modern him, oh how he sympathises with your plights! ]

She's not wrong, is she? Can't say your life has been anything short of fascinating, mate. Still, quite a fall from grace, going from hunting the Abominable Snowman to cheeky little tarts willing to do anything to get a rise out of you.

I'd suggest saving your complaints for someone who'll listen, [ Like Fifi, or Veroniqué! Such good girls, those. ] and your threats for those who matter.

i know +10 for creative pb choice right

[down_a_nipple]

Damn right. Toes the line between boredom and humiliation. If I had half a chance I'd shoot her on principal.

Consider your suggestion noted and duly ignored.

There is nothing wrong with using Fassy for everything ever. He is a beautiful man.

[aggresses]

Least the latter can be exciting. [ Can't really use boredom as an excuse to kill a man, at least not if he wanted the professor's permission. Humiliation, on the other hand, was the reason wonderful little escapades like the Red Planet League even transpired. ]

Wouldn't waste the bullet if I were... [ Where was he going with that one he's just going to trail off on that... ] ...principles? You've got principles now, do you? That's dangerously close to morals, if you ask me.

[ Smiiiirking. Way to rekindle his faith in you, other him. ] Ah, that's the old Basher Moran we all know and loathe. Good to know some things stay constant, regardless of the situation.

agreed

[down_a_nipple]

Not in this case it ent. [That's why pigeons exist, dear counterpart, too damn many of them anyway. And the jury's still out on whether the Red Planet League was fun or financially inconvenient. Probably both.]

Don't see how putting lead in the brain of somebody on account of pissing me off's a moral.