In the Longfellow bunker, The Tombs; New London, Britannia:
Winchester: What the bloody hell is that racket!?!
Fiona (to Winchester): Ha ha ha! There's a face that could curdle the cream. What's got you in such a state, my lovely?
Winchester (to Fiona): … Someone or something has been using, what I can only assume is, heavy machinery above my room… It is quite annoying.
Fiona (to Winchester): Heavy... Heh. You don't mean wee, ickle me trying to get back into boxing shape, do you?
Winchester (to Fiona): Have you been punching a jackhammer, firebug?
Fiona (to Winchester): Why? What's the jackhammer said about me? :-p There might be some construction going on. We're going to be housing wee ones after all.
Winchester (to Fiona): … Oh joy.
Fiona (to Winchester): Heh heh heh. What's the matter, Fox? Not interested in teaching a whole new generation to be reprobates?
Winchester (to Fiona): No, as a matter of fact, it plays absolute havoc with my manicure, firebug. Not to mention, the sheer frustration of molding malleable little minds… What is Miss Poppy playing at?
Fiona (to Winchester): I can't say for sure... But, I think she means what she says: she wants to help kids that would have no chance otherwise.
Winchester (to Fiona): … And, we're here because?
Fiona (to Winchester): Heh. Well I'm here to teach them how to hit a person so that he'll feel it. I'm not sure about you.
Winchester (to Fiona): Oh? … So, I can leave? You made it sound like I had to be here… Something about 'If you don't get your scrawny well-powdered arse to the bunker, I'll be showing you what for.' And, all that shite.
Fiona (to Winchester): Ha ha ha! I didn't say you had a "choice," lovely. I just have no idea what on earth you could teach.
Winchester (to Fiona): Nor do I… I have no desire to teach a new generation. That's like creating your own competition. It's unnatural.
Fiona (to Winchester): Heh. Sooner or later we all have to train our replacements, Fox. Or were you thinking you'd retire to the country someday?
Winchester (to Fiona): Well, yes… I already have a country estate, firebug.
Fiona (to Winchester): Do you? Well. Heh heh... I suppose some of us are doomed to grow old, aren't we?
Winchester (to Fiona): … I am like the Great White Shark, firebug.
Fiona (to Winchester): What's that? Full of teeth and prone to eat tourists if the food supply goes dry?
Winchester (to Fiona): … Well, yes, there is that. You lack poetry in your soul, firebug… I am going to go find a drink.
Fiona (to Winchester): Aye. I've been heard that said about myself. If there's something you want to say to me, heave it out.
Winchester (to Fiona): Fine… I'm knocked up something bad, firebug, and I think it's yours. Heh. I'm just cranky from the lack of sleep.
Fiona (to Winchester): And, what a lovely mother you'll make. Go get your beauty sleep, lovely. I'll may be by to bother you as soon as I get enough training done to be all hot and riled up. Enjoy your drink!
Winchester (to Fiona): ... I'll wait with bated breath.
A short time later:
Charles (to Fiona): Um, Ms Fiona? I'm sorry to interrupt you when you're... Um...
Fiona (to Winchester): This would be training, Mr. Turner.
Charles (to Fiona): ...Yes. If you say so. Um, I noticed some some of Smitty's kids are here...
Fiona (to Winchester): The lad in question didn't come with them.
Charles (to Fiona): Oh. I thought as much... Thank you, Ms Fiona. I'll let you get back to beating that slab of beef. Good evening.
