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“How have you enjoyed London so far, Doctor Riley?”
“The sights of the city never fail to impress, I must say.”
A hint of burnt paper lingered in the air, the stygian secrets contained within the mission briefing already soaked in irrigo and alight in the fireplace. The dossier had been clear enough. An ambassador and his live-in doctor, recently returned from the Elder Continent, a briefing on the progress of Port Carnelian’s governor. The quiet Mr. Kamau rarely leaves the colony, of course, and never without the good Doctor Riley. A litany of maladies and the like, as well as a terrible sensitivity to spores. Travel was dangerous for the man, so he primarily sent reports via shockingly articulate letters. A sudden appearance at the Foreign Office, then, would speak volumes. All by design.
The firelight cast odd shadows across the room, the distant sounds of Ladybones Road smothered by thick curtains. No one in the orderly study has answered to those names before, of course. Mr. Kamau and Doctor Riley had existed for all of half an hour. Neither of them had ever stood in this room before tonight, either. By the time the night was over, though, that wouldn’t matter. The two men speak quietly in their study, each getting a taste for their new masks.
The man who will be Mr. Kamau pauses as his partner speaks up, turning to face him as he paces. “Indeed… though, the busyness of the streets are more overwhelming then I remember,” Quiet, every motion slightly stilted. A noticeable lack of eye contact. The kind of awkwardness that clings to those far more articulate in writing. “Still, it must be nice to be home, yes?”
“Ah, most definitely. The grandeur of London’s streets is something I’ve dreamt of.” The man set to become Doctor Riley laughed, a slightly snickered thing. His response came a few moments later then would be considered polite. “Not to speak poorly of the colony, of course. We’ve done great work for the place.” Doctor Riley cared far more for the Nation’s spirit than he tried to let on. Loyal, if shrewd.
The more astute of the court speculate that he was behind Mr. Kamau’s success, feeding the diplomat exactly what to say after years of manipulation - or at least, they will, by the time their work is done.
The Governor of Port Carnelian was a visionary, they were to say, but there’s been sabotage. False documents sent out in their name, evidence of a corrupt masquerading. The report was real, of course. It’s evidence real enough - Enough to get a handful of concerned members of the court to board a specific ship, and depart at a specific day. A clear cut mission. Simple, even, with his chosen partner at his side. There was only one problem.
Shaw stopped his pacing, the stilted mannerisms slipping away. “…Grandeur, you mean.” He said, putting emphasis on the guttural first consonant. “A decade or so on the Elder Continent would have pushed your g’s into something at the back of the mouth, Doctor Riley.” There’s humour in Shaw’s voice.
Jones was in no way an amateur when it came to his sort of role. His proper English accent was seamless - and that was exactly the problem. Despite largely working behind the scenes in this endeavor, he still needed the quirks of someone who’s spent years away from London, in case Doctor Riley had to make a bit of small talk. The difference in pronunciations was subtle, admittedly. The average Londoner may not be able to catch it, and fewer still would know its significance. But for the Agents of the White, and the Faces of the Foreign Office they had to deceive, it would be a dead giveaway.
And, well, it was a good excuse for a bit of fun.
Jones saw the shift in his demeanor, as he always did, leaning against the desk. “Closer to a ‘gh’, then? Or-” Jones makes a valiant attempt at replicating the phoneme Shaw pronounced, but it comes out as a choked noise. “…Well, definitely not that.” He finished his sentence with a small laugh - genuine, this time.
“Don’t beat yourself up over it. It’s not a sound used in English… or Welsh, for that matter.” Shaw strides to Jones’s side, looking the man over as he approaches the desk.
It was nearly second nature to take in Jones’s body language at this point, a skill Shaw knew was mutual. The trust they had, and the ability to read each other’s improvisations is what made them so suited for work such as this. When one stepped forward, the other fell back. Every implication was picked up, each slight gesture’s interpretation clear. An unspoken dance, set to a song of sideways glances and half smiles.
Currently, Jones was waiting for his first move.
The step into the other man’s space was expected. A hand gently placed against Jones’s throat was not. One of Shaw’s fingers rested on the soft underside of the jaw, tilting Jones’s head upwards, ever so slightly.
“Swallow.”
Shaw’s tone is conversational, almost disinterested. A lecturer mildly annoyed with a simplistic question. Only the slight quirk of his lips as he felt Jones’s throat flex under his hand broke the illusion. “There. With your tongue further back in the mouth, your throat should flex similarly to that. As if… gulping down a mouthful of water. Anything more strenuous-“ Shaw lightly tapped a finger against Jones’s neck to punctuate his point. “And you’ll just end up hurting yourself.”
There’s a beat of quiet, broken only by the faint crackling of the fireplace.
“…you wouldn’t mind demonstrating, would you professor?” Jones met Shaw’s gaze without hesitation. His tone was light, curious. “This is your area of expertise, after all.”
Shaw hummed before speaking, seemingly considering the question. “Please, It would be my pleasure.” He released his grip on Jones’s throat, taking a seat in one of the study’s overstuffed chairs. A single finger rested against the side of his head, brushing a loc back into place as he contemplated. “I take it it’s the articulation of the tongue that’s vexing you?”
“Something like that.” Jones smiled as he spoke. The look in his eyes was familiar. Cocky bastard.
“Hah. Well, as I mentioned before, the ‘g’ our Doctor Riley would have would leave the tongue near the back of the mouth…” Shaw said, without breaking stride. “It may be easier to show you. May I borrow your hand?”
Jones extended a hand with a slightly raised eyebrow. “Of course.” Shaw took the offering with a small nod, briefly taking Jones’s hand into his own.
There were, perhaps, less personal ways to instruct Jones on the mechanics of phonology. This was material that Shaw could have covered in a dry, rambling lecture, with rough diagrams of the oral cavity and a blackboard. They both knew that. But why turn down this chance?
Shaw smiled as he brought Jones’s hand to his lips. “I’ll start in the position of the traditional English version of the sound, then slide back. You should be able to feel the difference.”
With no further warning, Shaw’s lips closed around Jones’s fingers, guiding them to rest on the soft blade of his tongue. He held eye contact as his tongue shifted against the gentle pressure of the fingertips. Why would there be any reason to look away? The prize of all this was tracking the expressions across his partner’s face. Each twitch of the lip, every light hint of pink on the cheeks, those were the true rewards of this game within a Game.
“I see…” Jones spoke up as Shaw slid his tongue back, demonstrating the difference he’s been so lovingly describing. “So this would be the final position, then?” He shifted the tip of his finger ever so slightly as he spoke, running it along the curve of muscle. Shaw gave an affirmative hum, his eyelids fluttering at the sensation. He regained himself a moment later, meeting Jones’s now obviously amused look - another point lost. Pity.
Shaw held the fingers in his mouth for perhaps a moment too long before releasing Jones’s hand. “Exactly. I hope the demonstration was enlightening.” His lips were still slightly wet as he spoke, undaunted by the obscenity.
“Oh, believe me, it was.” Jones’s smile was subtle, almost teasing. “Any other… pieces of advice you might wish to pass on?”
“If you’re still struggling with the concept after that…” Shaw trailed off, the first genuine moment of contemplation Jones has seen since this game began. “Ah, something similar to the way your tongue would rest after the word chwech. The Walsh ch- is articulated in the same place.” His pronunciation is flawless, even as his grin turns a little sharper.
Jones laughed, then, after the briefest pause. “You couldn’t have led with that, professor?”
“Of course not.” Shaw said with a small wave of his hand. “Besides, we’re barely getting started. There’s a considerable amount of other variation in pronunciation I’ll need to go over before the night is out. I don’t suppose you’ve ever practiced with implosives, have you Jones?”
“Implosives? I can’t say I have.” Jones rested his head atop a fist, clearly getting comfortable at the desk. “Would you care to further enlighten me?”
“I’d love nothing more, but first…” Shaw sighed with a clear fondness in his voice. Such a heady thing, this game they played. “We should see if there’s anything to drink in this house. We might be in for a rather long night, don’t you think?”