Fics like A Napoleonic Aviator in the Mall's Food Court

“Okay,” said Emily, fully trying not to pinch her nose. “Okay, so you’re going to right click. No, not left, right. Yeah, on the little pencil icon. There you go. Now you just type into the box.” “Type what?” asked Laurence. “I don’t know. Whatever’s on your mind.” “Currently, what is occupying me is how pointless this endeavor appears to be." “Come on, you can think about something better than that. The story of how you found Temeraire! Weird old boat facts! What you had for dinner last night! Literally anything.” Shoulders hunched, the man began to type slowly, ever so slowly, as if hunting for each individual key on the keyboard. From this Laurence began to write out something about the ocean currents of the South Atlantic. Despite his slow speed, it was astonishing how quickly he ran out of characters. “What does the red exclamation mark signify?” Emily had told this man what the red exclamation mark signified. So. Many. Times. She thought he’d finally understood it eight months ago. “Are you getting worse at this?” she said. “How could you be getting worse at this?” “Roland,” Laurence said, sounding immensely tired, “I am afraid you would not believe me even if I told you.”

Fics like A Napoleonic Aviator in the Mall's Food Court

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