"Grandmother's here."

                                    

                                          
A/N: IN A RUSH, HAVEN'T GONE THROUGH AND EDITED THIS YET. TAKE THE FOLLOWING WITH A PINCH OF SALT, YEAH? SORRY!

                          
"And so we are agreed then, yes?"
                          
Before him, there is a chorus of unenthusiastic nods and several half-hearted 'yeah, sure, whatever suits you best, man' in response. The man heaves a massive sigh at this, rubbing at his temples pointedly.
                          
In the dismal lighting of the run-down, abandoned pub – no doubt situated somewhere well beneath London's ground level – Bill Russell watches each of his three children carefully.
                          
His eldest – twins, naturally – are both boys undeniably in their mid twenties; and yet, they are each bestowed upon the maturity of a twelve-year-old. Even now, considering the gravity of the situation, one gives their brother a wet willy, while the other, in retaliation, attempts to smother him with his armpit. 
                          
Disgusted by this, Bill snaps. "Boys," he all but shouts, "are you even listening to me?"
                          
Guiltily, they immediately put their attempt at a brawl to a stop, but not before J.D (short for Jonathon David) seeks to slime his way out of trouble. 
                          
"Vera isn't listening," he announces smugly, and gestures to where his sister is sat, earphones in, with a nod of his head. Beside him, his brother, A.J (short for Alexander James), sniggers loudly. 
                          
Bill turns his gaze to find that his youngest child, and only daughter, is in fact ignoring him. Unable to see her face for the sheet of long, straight hair that hides it, Bill quickly decides to leave her be, not wanting to provoke the infamous wrath inherited from her grandmother. He has long since learnt his lesson when it comes to forcefully removing earphones.
                          
Never again, he thinks to himself, and shudders violently.
                          
"You never have a go at Vera," A.J whines, interrupting his father's thoughts. "That's so unfair, you know."
                          
"Yeah!" J.D echoes, his eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed. "That's well unfair."
                          
Bill grumbles a number of excuses in reply, watching as his sons – ignoring him, as always – make a beeline for the worn down pool table, positioned across the room. Despite the pub's obvious age – no doubt a relic from many years past – as well as the place's ill condition, J.D and A.J makes good use of it, as they always have. That is, until one accuses the other of cheating, and the other – in defence of his honour, Bill believes – attempts to whack his brother over the head with a nearby plastic water bottle. 
                          
It's all Bill can do to watch silently in despair when the entire room suddenly freezes. A familiar sensation of dread washes through him, producing goose bumps, and even Vera, somehow sensing all this, pulls out her earphones. J.D hastily drops the water bottle, and steps away from it. 
                          
The four of them then listen as a number of loud footsteps descend from the floor above. They each look at each other knowingly.
                          
"Grandmother's here," Bill whispers, fearfully.
                          
* * *
                          
Rushing back like an absolute madman – in a taxi, no less – Phil arrives to find that his flat is exactly how he left it. That is, if Phil left the place full of smoke and reeking of charred saucepan. 
                          
Horrified, he turns to his kitchen to see the stranger – no, the prince – poking tentatively at a pan, as though afraid it'll blow up in his face; not that that seems unlikely, now he comes to think of it
                          
It's all Phil can do to stop himself from screaming down the face of Perigna's crown heir.
                          
"What are you doing?" he cries, picking up a nearby copy of London's Calling and using it to fan out the smoke.