#//Ronnie's fine throughout - just processing a shock :3

[ronmanmob]

From @brooklynislandgirl here:

He'd got terribly close to downing a biccie in one before Beth righted him and it'd gone to Noe - they looked and smelled so pleasant that they'd fooled him! So taken was he by dogs and box and company that their planned destination was a surprise for longer than it otherwise would've been - a welcome one for all Ron's habitual disdain of being shocked. He, like the dogs, lit up with excitement, but as the car slowed and the hounds barrelled forth, Ronnie paused. The crowd of people was a less welcome surprise, but he recognised them and - once he'd popped his specs on - could read their signage quite clearly.

Thank You Mr Kray

'----Wha've I done?'

The question disappeared into Beth's hair and Claude and Noe roamed around their favourite Battersea people looking for snuggles. Her arm round his back was a welcome anchor and her explanation, when it came, was more of a mind-settler than he could rightly explain in straight lines. For a moment there he'd thought he'd gone spare without realising and done something he couldn’t recall.

"It would seem" she told him, "a yearly charity has been set in your name. One of Santa's menahune  must have  decided you were on  da very, very  nice list."

He wasn't sure of the Hawaiian word there, but guessed by context just before the rest of what she told him properly computed. The businessman in him wanted the paperwork; wanted the ins and outs clear and the paths of donations known. But the rest-- That wanted to tug Beth in front of him so he could hide in her hair. An attempt was made, just a little one, a little tug, but it ended up being more of a bringing her against his flank motion than a ducking in for shelter one. More words were hidden in place of him between inky strands--

'Dunno wha' t'say...'

--and Claude, with the casual ease of a young dog well used to his master's ups, downs, lefts and rights, returned to his side for moral support. Happily, the congregation knew Ron and his ways about as well as the hound did. They forewent noisy rounds of applause, requested instead through the centre's leader a chance to shake hands between pupdog snuggles and, after the adrenaline settled, were happily granted the individual - non-crowding - attention of the man of the hour. He gave out the dog biscuits to each as they came, and regaled them about the biccies' trickery.

Final count? Claude: 7 biccies Noe: 3 biccies (and a burp) Ron: 1 and 1/2 Digestive biccies with a cuppa Beth: 1/2 Digestive biccie with a cuppa and a cuddle off Ron