When he'd first brought up the idea of a bipartisan Tory-Labour effort to clean up certain London neighborhoods in need of such, his law colleagues had snickered at the suggestion. Tony challenged them to remember that when it came to outreach, Labour unfortunately clearly had the upper hand at present and Conservatives like himself (and his colleagues) often came off looking stuffy and unconcerned, even though that wasn't the case.
"Listen, I don't know about you all," Tony told them, "but I remember me and my brother 'elping our Gran get things sorted 'fore winter came when we were both knee 'igh to a grass'opper. And it was fun, it was!" His Cockney accent, which he tried to stifle in the city, burst forth whenever he truly got excited about something. Squeak, he thought, hearing himself. I sound like Squeak.
Now his colleagues tittered with laughter and Tony flushed bright red with embarrassment, recalling the heckling his law school mates had heaped on him whenever he sounded anything less than formal. He'd worked overtime to suppress the Cockney in his voice and carriage. It hadn't been easy and it still got away from him when he felt totally at ease, became overly happy or got angry and riled. Talking about his Gran always brought out the East Ender in him, however, and he was never ashamed of that. She adored him and his twin brother, different as they were..
"It's not you we're laughing at," one of his coworkers pointed out. "It's knowing who you'll be dealing with if you head over to Labour Social Outreach! Have you met Saffron Monsoon? Oh, she's a real peach, she is!"
The lot of them giggled, seeing the blank, confused look on Tony's face.
"Never 'eard of 'er!" he said indignantly, caught up in the idealism of his cause. Then, hearing that accent of his again, he forced himself to speak in a manner considered proper for someone in his profession and added, "Saffron? Is that really her name?"
"Yes," the same colleague said. "And just like it implies, she's hard to handle. Thank God. Not sure the planet could survive too many more like her."
When the meeting broke up, Tony returned to his office, deep in thought. Only he wasn't mulling over his project idea so much as the extraordinarily unique name he'd just learned.
"Saffron," he mused, liking the sound of her name as well as what it brought to mind. "Saffron… Precious, indeed. And difficult to acquire."