IC Inbox (v1.0)

[jumpthegun]

You've reached Dr. John Watson. Please leave a message.

Comments

[jumpthegun]

You think you've got the chuffing market cornered for Matheson Lang, have you? I'm a London rob, born and raised. Reckon I could spin circles 'round you if that's where you wanna scapa.

voice;

[mrcreamsicles]

[Putting on the thickest Texan accent he can:]

All y'all limeys wouldn't know your way round a bowl of cornmeal grits if your mama was right there learnin' it into your pate. Y'think you can throw down at the rodeo, but you'd be hollerin' and hogtied 'fore pa's got the tractor started. Y'all'd've been best mindin' your own beeswax, son. Not a one of you city slickers got the good sense god gave an acorn. Think you grab the bull by the horns, but you're too damn big for your britches, ain't that right?

[jumpthegun]

[John puts on his best impression of a Texan accent, and it's terrible.]

This where Ah say yer all hat and no cattle?

[mrcreamsicles]

[He tries to keep it in, he really does, but a series of terrible, snickering giggles slip out anyway. That impression truly is awful.]

You ever do that again and I'm going to report you to England.

[jumpthegun]

No, no! Shh... shh! Is this turning into blackmail? That's not right, mate.

[mrcreamsicles]

Is it working?

[jumpthegun]

Well, I won't do it again, if that's what you're asking. Doctor's honor.

[mrcreamsicles]

I'll hold you to it.