"Minister of Culture? Yeah, right!" Daniel
muttered under his breath as they left the dining room with their hosts.
"Wha'? What's he sayin'?" Jack asked. His eyes
were a little unfocused but the slurring of his speech was minimal.
"Trust me, Jack, you do not.. want to know," Daniel said drily.
"Yes, 'do," came the contradictory retort.
"Ri-ight. Then I'll tell you later, when you're a
little more sober - if ..you still want to
~ and when I've thought of a more socially acceptable translation, he
"Want to know now."
Daniel sighed. "Oh well, if you must. They're,
ah... just wishing us erm, a good night's sleep."
"Then why all th' myst'ry?"
"Look Jack, you really wouldn't be interested. It's
just - linguist... stuff," Daniel said dismissively hoping Jack would stay
true to form and switch off.
"Hey, 'm interested!"
"All right, Jack, you asked for it," Daniel
growled. "Very basically - and paraphrasing - in words that even you can
understand right now - Ilarion just asked us not to bring the roof down when
I'm vigorously fucking your ass!"
It took a few moments before Jack's remaining active
brain cells registered precisely what Daniel had just said. His jaw dropped.
.."Fucking my ass?"