Sample Post from the Other Genre this Month:
Gideon March posts in The Diogenes Club
Gideon March didn't make it home to Chelsea that night. In a haze of tobacco smoke and bewilderment, Mycroft's Men agreed to mull over the psychometrist's discovery overnight; there was no decision to be made until morning, when they could bring their individual thoughts together. With the exception of Mowgli and Algernon -- a pair of adventuresome cockerels who reputedly never slept but rather raked hell in Cockaigne's seedier nooks -- the rest of the Diogenes agents retired to bedrooms at the Club.
Gideon rose promptly at six o'clock, a difficult routine to abandon from his Army days. Gunga Din had taken the liberty of transporting certain items from Gideon's wardrobe at his home on Cheyne Walk, and, after washing and dressing, Gideon made his way back to the Stranger's Room, where a previously curtained-off annex was revealed. It was a sunlit conservatory, surrounded entirely by a variety of hanging and potted plants. The greenery distracted one from the sight of London below, giving the sense that one was in a glass-domed oasis. Conveniences included wrought iron tables and chairs, a chaise longue, and a footman delivering breakfast. Mr Holmes sat at a table with a smouldering cigarette, hidden behind a copy of the Times. The footman delivered a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of eggs and sausage.
"Good morning, sir," the servant nodded to the adventurer, promptly setting another cup of coffee from his trolley as he approached Mycroft's table.
"Sir Gideon!" Mycroft grinned, looking up from his periodical. "A good morning, indeed. The clouds part over London and the sun brings all to light. A promising omen, I dare say."
Gideon did not share his new employer's optimism as he accepted the offered chair and unfolded his serviette. "A tall order, don't you think, considering Her Majesty's dead husband murdered a faux Mad Carew? There are few logical explanations, I'm afraid."
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