Quote:
Originally Posted by
Berty Borr 
Lord Borr looked from young Mr. Jones to Mr. Wendleworth. "You should be taking notes, son. This one," Lord Borr," knows the way things work. You'll be the leader of this Lounge," Lord Borr announced. "You'll be...," Lord Borr paused to consider the perfect title. His face spread into a wicked grin. "You'll be Borr's Leading Lad. And you will be my second in command in this room. Mr. Jones is going to be our scout."
"I'll have a talk with the Minister. Put in a good word for you both, mention our little Men Club," Lord Borr felt another wave of gas rumbling. He was going to have to excuse himself soon. But not quite yet. He was tickled pink at the first to recruits.
"What do you think boys?" Lord Borr punctuated the question with a long, shrilly release of air. Leather couches were just not for him. He was going to need a cloth chair.
'Borr's Leading Lad'? Oh Merlin... Merlin... Can't... Stop.. The... Laughter... Will struggled manfully with a spate of giggles that were begging to be released, keeping his face impassive. Better to be a Scout than the Leading Lady... er,
Laddie in Professor Borr's Trouse Toot Theater. Let
Kingston sit in the lap of luxury (not to mention Borr's lap!) and take every meal in the lounge with a side of Berty's bum-air biscuits... steamy and not-so-very-fresh. Ew.
Go for it, kid. If that's leadership, have at. Let you be the one to drop dead of a severe fart attack. Will would rather be the 'scout', safe.. and hopefully dining where the air was palatable.
"I think that's brilliant." Will said with a nod as Professor Borr lifted off again. He tried to breathe through his mouth but even that was too awful and did nothing to mask the odor. Lacking any other alternative, he lifted his cookie up to his nose and tried to focus on smelling
it instead of the thick and acrid aroma that filled the air, but instead what he got was the scent of chocolate chunk cookie with an infusion of Borr.
Oh, Merlin, don't hurl... Do. not. hurl. he told himself, fighting the urge to expel his stomach contents.
"And it's very kind of you to speak... to the minister..." Breathe, Will! BREATHE! "...on our behalf." He finished, trying to keep his composure. After all, it didn't smell
that much worse than the swamps back in Louisiana after a flood. Ookay, yeah, it really really did. But still... He concentrated on the smell of the cookie.
Smell the cookie. Smell ONLY THE COOKIE... Oh God the smell! It burns the FLESH!!!!
He looked to Kingston, wondering what he might add to the conversation, hoping that it would end soon before he passed out.