Exploding into the midst of all the teatime pleasantries at the rather snobbish tearoom there came a violent convulsion of the spacetime continuum that briefly connected the finely-dressed party at a corner table with the sole occupant on the bridge of a spacecraft that was, at that very moment, critically damaged, without a functioning drive system, and free-falling into the caustic atmosphere of a particularly uninhabitable planet roughly 98.83 billion light-years from anywhere remotely resembling York. Never one to pass on the chance to abandon a totally lost cause, the lone spacefarer leaped from the shuddering, smoke-filled bridge of the stricken vessel, and into a vacant chair at tea; adding a fourth member to the threesome in the corner, to the utter astonishment of all present. As the wormhole slammed out of existence, the thunderous howls of rending metal and the cacophony of the many ship’s alarms were instantly cut off leaving in their wake a heavy blanket of silence punctuated only by the regular, mechanical music of a very old grandfather clock. Apprehending his new circumstances in a single, quick scan of the tearoom, the fourth man at the corner table, yet wreathed in a slowly diffusing halo of acrid smoke, politely set aside the cap on his head, took up a key pair of elements from the tea service, turned to the elegant, and still-shocked lady at his right, and asked with a dashing smile, “Cream and sugar, Madam?”
Somebody ended up with a brick seat cushion, and still another took an unscheduled nap on the flooring I bet.
I think that should be “Lemon or milk?”
Oh, boy! James Bond in space!
The entrance is slightly reminiscent of when Stag broke through the wall of the Smokey Back Room and the reconstruction resulted in the formation of the Flying Castle...
Those were the days...