Home sweet home.

Call me old-fashioned, but there’s something about monarchy that makes me /long/ for a peasant revolt.

Hello, handsome.

It seems that we’re on stage. Give me a kiss?

Then tell me, dear boy... What /does/ it mean? I’m ever so curious.

I was hoping for an alternate plan. A show, red velvet curtains and all. But if you don’t have a plan...

Maybe I just like seeing you tiptoeing across the line. [I slide in, an affectionate yet firm hand tipping down his chin.] An inch too far, a millimeter... Who knows /what/ dreadful scene could emerge.