Poor Prior, wasting away in the attic alone. I leave the house, Pip. I could be out every night, whipping off my dancing shoes at 2am and leaving no one the wiser.
Spoken like someone who's never experienced a near-drowning. Won't the water short out your comm? Honestly, Prior, it's like you're begging me not to trust you.
I'm not sure the pirate queen we live with doesn't already have something set up. But there's a barman at Vino Veritas with a sideline in the finest herbal intoxications and his wares are quite enough for me.
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You could come out with me. Not tonight.
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No, no, you should. Come out with me. Heaven knows, it might even do you some good - loosen you up a little.
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Anyway. Strung as tight as Joan Crawford's facelift. But don't worry - the one before it all started to fall apart.
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And I said, not tonight, I have other plans.
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One, I hear, makes you fly in the literal sense, but my choice has been metaphorical so far.
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