‘That’s right,’ Cuthbert oozed in his most seductive voice, as he remembered a line from a book about flirting during job interviews. ‘I’m here direct from your dreams.’
The judge in green shot up in her chair, staring at him, aghast. The judge in blue’s monocle fell into his drink with a loud plop. The judge in burgundy’s face slowly turned a rather clashing puce.
Cuthbert wondered idly if the tip had been to not flirt during a job interview. ‘Erm...’ he salvaged things, cleverly.
Cuthbert stroked his baby-soft, baby-sized chin thoughtfully, wondering how many more applications of Doctor Hoaxter's Miracle-Grow cream he was going to have to rub in before his full and manly beard came in. Maybe leaving it, and all his other toiletries, at home had been a mistake. He could swear he'd been starting to get a five o'clock shadow. An elevensies at least.
'No, no,' Cuthbert said quickly, 'that's all taken care of. I mean - not that I had... It actually turned out to be athlete's foot. Funny story, apparently you can get it other places as well if you accidentally- anyway, no, that's not why I'm here.'
Cuthbert watched as the distinctive expression of a person who didn't think terribly highly of him to begin with shifted into a face of disgust. He was getting quite good at recognising it. (Though it was always easier when it was unbridled like that.)
'I'm only going to get you killed,' Dave said, with a worrying amount of resignation in his tone. 'It's not a matter of if. It's when. And how,' he added gruffly. 'And how long you'll suffer for first.'
He took a thoughtful swig from his bottle.
'And how bad the suffering will be.'
Cuthbert's smile was beginning to waiver. 'Well. It can't be worse than hearing about it,' he suggested cheerfully.
'I've been looking but I can't see anything,' Cuthbert grumbled. 'Let's call it a day and treat ourselves to a pity party sundae.'
The other man didn't squeal, like Cuthbert had expected him to. In fact, he didn't react at all. He just stared. 'I need that lamp,' he intoned. His voice was low and gravelly, and he spoke slowly as if he was talking to a small, young, particularly stupid child. 'Fetch - me - that - lamp.'
'We could get maaani peeedis,' Cuthbert called in a singsong voice.
'Do you do anything in a kitten heel?' Cuthbert asked, struggling to picture how fashionable cement shoes would really be. 'She needs to dance to entrance.'
The Fairy Godmother cocked an eyebrow. 'Now that is a euphemism I've never heard. What'd she do to warrant a whole new expression, rub some other guy's lamp?'
She held up a hand to stop his loud, stammering protests.
'Don't tell me, kid. I don't wanna know. No knowledge, no motive.'
