[Visual / Location]

[imperial_long]

Mayland Long is waiting for Azkadellia to appear (she is not late for their appointment of noon; he is early), but in the meantime he sends out another message to Taxon.

The visual backdrop behind Long is a far cry from the library, today; instead a restaurant, white tables and Chinese decorations.

"Good afternoon, Taxon," he says politely as ever.

"There was a young man who had expressed an interest in Latin, but he no longer seems to be in the city, alas." Long is for the most part inured to the casual coming and going of those he barely knows.

"If others are interested in language lessons, please don't hesitate to ask; miss Azkadellia and I are embarking on our first lesson of Latin today.

"Mr. Spike, did you have a preference for when we might conduct our sessions?"


[OOC: For Azkadellia, but open to any!]

Comments

[visual]

[infinitelystranger]

"I'll have to check my calendar," comes Sherlock's dry response as he sets the notepad down flat on his bed again and tugs the sheet further up over his back -- due to the chill of the air conditioner, not an attack of sudden and rather belated modesty. There's also his dressing-gown, but it's on the chair. Reaching over to get it would risk falling off the bed.

There's also getting up, but he hasn't done it yet today and he isn't starting now.

He rolls onto his back and picks the tablet up to hold it in the air over him, now giving Long a peculiar aerial view of his shoulders, chest, and rumpled head. "There's nothing impossible about the Shepard tone," he says, yawning.

And on that complete non sequitur, he ends the call.

[visual] Wrapped like Christmas

[imperial_long]

Long's lips quirk again at Holmes' deadpan response. He watches with idle amused interest as Holmes wriggles under the sheet, a casual lack of any sort of self-consciousness shading all his movements.

He smiles again, at the contrary spirit reflected in the words, but before he can reply the call has ended.

Long ponders the tablet's blank screen a moment, his hands flat and dark on the white tablecloth, his spine straight. Then he chuckles to himself, a sound that draws no interest whatsoever from the waiters and other Extras.

It promises to be interesting.