Decommissioned

kingsmancaterer:

Chef looks up. Sees Harry. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

@oxfordnotbrogues

“Afraid not,” Harry said, “How are you, Chef?” 

“From ma recollection Ah dinnae stutter.” Merlin responds in his normal no-nonsense trainer voice even if deep down he does have a tinge of fear when it comes to the chef. “Ah am tellin’ ye it is a dishonor tae the whisky tae use it fer cookin’ when it’s a 20 year old bottle.” Even so he smirks at the slight threat of being smacked with a spoon. Letting the bottle go he shakes his head at being called a berk before spotting the shortbread and making his way over. “Ye know yer a rude bastart.”

kingsmancaterer:

And Chef stares right back. Oh no. No no no no. Chef was a very angry man. He liked doing his work with little interruption and little idiocy. “What the fuck is that?” he motions towards the ‘sandwich’ on the counter.

“…They ain’t got sandwiches here in England?” He asks, still slowly chewing before swallowing.

“Oh I make sandwiches, that...” he points. “Looks like garbage....” he walks over and looks at it, nose wrinkling. He shoos Whiskey from the sandwich and inspects it. “Oh fuck this...” he takes the sandwich and throws it in the trash. “Wait right there.” he points at Whiskey. He begins to move about the kitchen, grabbing various ingredients. Give it about five minutes and he turns around and holds out a plate. “There....” 

“I mean, thats who you are though, the chef yeah?” She said with a shrug, “I’m perfectly capable of cooking my own food anyway. Would you like some Oliver type thing? Please sir may I have some food?” She asked as she put on her best English accent

“I mean, you’re the caterer guy right? And this is the kitchen. It’s hardly some sherlock holmes level mystery what I want,” Deryn said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes

Eggsy stopped in his tracks, tilting his head in confusion. He squinted at the man, putting his pockets in his trackies. “’Scuse me, bruv? But what makes you fink I’m cravin’ garbage? Just ‘cause I look like a pleb don’t mean I eat like one.” 

He scoffed, taking another step into the kitchen, throwing caution to the wind, and honestly… knowing better.

“What’n the hell did you just call me? What’s a fuck donut supposed to be?”