“…I know we’re all very distraught about Gregory and Hannah’s deaths…” the man at the font continued to drone on in a very deep and slow voice that was bound to make anyone drowsy.
Till rolled his eyes as he sat in the second row next to his brother. “Distraught enough to actually come to their funeral.”
Wrevor laughed quietly under his breath. “Remind me why we’re here again?”
“Because dear old Mum and Sir apparently left us something,” Till whispered, sighing as the man turned yet another page of his typed out speech.
“Oh, how generous of them,” Wrevor muttered. “20 years after the birth of their only two children and therefore, only heirs, and it takes their death for them to realize they were going to have to do something with us.”
“I bet they would’ve put us up for adoption and gave the company and everything else to Grandad if they could have,” Till grumbled. “Even if he is 97.”
“…their untimely death in the airplane crash on which they were riding was very sudden, but I think we can all get through it together…” droned the man in front.
Wrevor pretended to snore, then wake up suddenly. “Oh, dear I seem to have fallen asleep.” He looked around and listened for a minute. “Nope that guy is still up there, saying death about a million times. Wake me up for the champagne at the after party.” Then he went back to snoring.
Till grinned. “I don’t remember anyone planning for an after party after this,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, remember the one we’re having? It starts around 10,” Wrevor mumbled.
“…I know they’ll be very missed in the hearts of many. Gregory and Hannah, rest in peace,” the man finally finished. The people around them applauded politely.
Till whacked Wrevor’s shoulder. His eyes flew open and he looked up hopefully, “Is it really over?”
“Yeah,” Till said. “It is.”
Wrevor pumped his fist.
“…in here. Could I see …Will and Trevor outside?” asked another man who had come up to read the will. The two hadn’t heard the first part of his sentence, but they definitely heard the misreading of their names.
They both groaned but stood up, feeling everyone in the room’s eyes on them but choosing to ignore it, (they were both used to it). They followed the man out of the room and into the hallway outside.
“Every time,” Wrevor muttered. “Every bloody time.”
“Well, I think they just decide it’s a typo and try and fix it,” Till pointed out.
“Not everything is a typo.”
“He’s a typo,” Till gestured to the man in front of them and they both start snickering.
Suddenly the man spun around, and pulled off the dark cloak he had been wearing to reveal a brand new suit, slicked back black hair and glinting blue eyes. “Hello boys,” he greeted them.
Till and Wrevor both raised an eyebrow, their eyes turning purple in suspicion.
“Oh,” said the man in surprise at their changing eye colour. “That’ll be good…”
“Who are you?” Till demanded.
The man chuckled. “Of course you don’t recognize me. Old George was never the social type. I’m actually his younger brother.”
“More like the ‘Step on everyone to get to the top type,’” Wrevor muttered.
To their surprise their supposed uncle also started to laugh. “You two have a sense of humour,” he rubbed his chin. “That’s good.”
“Good for what?” Till asked.
Their uncle grinned. “Let me explain. My name is Chet. Dr. Chet, actually. I’m here to tell you what you really inherited.”
There was a silence before Wrevor said, “I’ll bite. What did we really inherit?”
“Along with your parents’ fortune and company, with your death you also inherited their…second profession so to speak,” Chet also had a British accent, though he hid it quite well.
“You mean firing people?” Till asked.
The doctor laughed again. “Not quite,” then he handed them a folded piece of paper enclosed within an envelope with a stamp on the front. It was addressed to them in spirally handwriting. “Keep it safe. Don’t open it until you’re at home and alone.”
Wrevor grinned. “Does that mean we should be opening it with a hot girl instead?”
The doctor’s brow furrowed. “This is serious.”
Till shrugged. “Sorry to tell you, doc, but we don’t do serious very well. Maybe you should find someone else to give your fancy little envelope to.”
The doctor was being to look frustrated. “No, no. It has to be you two,” he glanced around quickly. “Look. This is really important. Don’t mess this up. A lot of people are counting on you.”
“Well,” Wrevor said. “Sorry to disappoint you, but we’re not numbers.”
The doctor continued to eye them, though, looking deadly serious.
They looked at each other for a moment before the twins sighed simultaneously and agreed, “Alright.”
The doctor grinned and his watch started to beep. He glanced down at it and his eyes widened. He cast his gaze back at the boys, saying hurriedly, “I’ve got to bounce, but we’ll meet again.”
“Wow, James Bond much?” Till asked.
Chet’s eyebrows raised in amusement. “You’ve no idea.” He threw his cloak back on. “Honestly, though. Do not open that letter until you’re at home.”
“Why?” Wrevor asked slyly, as their eyes turned lime green.
“Why not?” the doctor grinned and was gone in a swish of his cloak.
“Not why,” they both whispered.
They glanced at each other, then at the envelope, then at each other again, then shrugged and walked back inside.
Well, maybe I do the second chappy later...hmmm...
Toodles,
-Alice ;)
-Alice ;)
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