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fan_flashworks2016-06-22 08:49 pm
godsdaisiechain.livejournal.com) wrote in fan_flashworks2016-06-22 08:49 pm
Entry tags:
Floating, Haunted, Midnight: Jeeves and Wooster: Fic: Jeeves and the Midnight Aurelius
Title: Jeeves and the Midnight Aurelius
Author: godsdaisiechain
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Type: Fic
Characters/Pairing: Jeeves and Wooster
Challenges: Floating, Haunted, Midnight
Word Count: ~500
Rating: PG
Summary: Jeeves floats into Bertie’s chamber wearing a toga. Note that the image from the “Egg” challenge makes a brief appearance.
In the annals of Bertram Wilberforce Wooster, it has often been observed that Jeeves moved in mysterious ways his wonders to perform. Yet even a long-time student of the Jeevesian m. w’s and w’s. to p. experienced a species of kerflummoxedness when the paragon of manservants wafted into the old bedchamber at Brinkely Court sporting a toga, gladiator sandals, and a pained expression, like unto one who has kept a vigil o’er flocks by night.
The young master started like one whose trousers had lately become the hiding place of a wayward bumblebee, and descended none-too-gently into a species of heap or pile on the threadbare Persian carpet, the heliotrope silk pyjamas clashing with the deep blues and reds and a slipper hanging from the left ear.
“If I might take a liberty, sir,” Jeeves intoned, like an ancient pontiff, if that is the word I want, levering up the willowy frame. The toga swished enticingly like the tail of a racehorse, nearly revealing the, ahem, goods of the Jeeveses. The calves were shapely, as were the thighs, which gave an overall sense of derring-do and robust masculine pulchritude. The semi-exposed pectoral region of the J-ian frame and the broad, muscular shoulders set the cardiac region of the last of the Woosters running like Wilberforce at the Grand National.
“What manner or mode of sartorial tomfoolery is this, Jeeves. If sartorial is the word I want.”
“It is, sir.” He drew breath, the chiseled features set in firm lines rather line an over-gelatined blancmage. “Mrs. Travers asked me to perform a service last evening.”
“And this service required you to dress like Julius Caesar about to cross the rubicund?
Jeeves made a noise like a sheep choking a laugh into a gentle noise on a distant promontory. “I believe you are referring to the Rubicon, sir. Mr. Travers was under the impression that a spectre in the guise of a member of the Roman Legion had been attempting to gain illicit entry and abscond with a small silver egg cup.”
“Not that hideous monstrosity with the clawed feet, Jeeves?”
“I would not describe the item in such terms myself, sir, but I believe you are describing the item in question.”
“And you had to dress like….” A narrow hand flapped in the general vicinity of the toga. “Who do I mean to say, Jeeves?”
“Marcus Aurelius, sir.”
“Marcus whatsit, in order to what precisely?”
“I admit, sir, to feeling a certain sense of confusion on that last point, although I was appointed to visit the silver room at precisely midnight. If you will excuse me, sir, I will change into more suitable garments and prepare your tea.” He gave a sort of shimmer.
“Will you bring this toga back to Berkeley Mansions, Jeeves?” The manservant paused, an eyebrow cocked. “It is rather becoming.” The tips of his ears took on the hue of an awkward flamingo, but the lips quirked.
“If you wish it, sir.” The deep blue e’s twinkled.
“Rather,” said the young master. I could almost see the bits in the back of his head, where he stored the immense fish-fed brain, beginning to whir.
“Perhaps I should take the liberty of pulling around the two-seater, sir. You may require some medical assistance after your fall.”
For once the limited grey matter caught on quickly. “Yes, Jeeves, I am feeling somewhat peaky. Will you be able to manage with the aged r?”
“As you wish, sir.”
Author: godsdaisiechain
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Type: Fic
Characters/Pairing: Jeeves and Wooster
Challenges: Floating, Haunted, Midnight
Word Count: ~500
Rating: PG
Summary: Jeeves floats into Bertie’s chamber wearing a toga. Note that the image from the “Egg” challenge makes a brief appearance.
In the annals of Bertram Wilberforce Wooster, it has often been observed that Jeeves moved in mysterious ways his wonders to perform. Yet even a long-time student of the Jeevesian m. w’s and w’s. to p. experienced a species of kerflummoxedness when the paragon of manservants wafted into the old bedchamber at Brinkely Court sporting a toga, gladiator sandals, and a pained expression, like unto one who has kept a vigil o’er flocks by night.
The young master started like one whose trousers had lately become the hiding place of a wayward bumblebee, and descended none-too-gently into a species of heap or pile on the threadbare Persian carpet, the heliotrope silk pyjamas clashing with the deep blues and reds and a slipper hanging from the left ear.
“If I might take a liberty, sir,” Jeeves intoned, like an ancient pontiff, if that is the word I want, levering up the willowy frame. The toga swished enticingly like the tail of a racehorse, nearly revealing the, ahem, goods of the Jeeveses. The calves were shapely, as were the thighs, which gave an overall sense of derring-do and robust masculine pulchritude. The semi-exposed pectoral region of the J-ian frame and the broad, muscular shoulders set the cardiac region of the last of the Woosters running like Wilberforce at the Grand National.
“What manner or mode of sartorial tomfoolery is this, Jeeves. If sartorial is the word I want.”
“It is, sir.” He drew breath, the chiseled features set in firm lines rather line an over-gelatined blancmage. “Mrs. Travers asked me to perform a service last evening.”
“And this service required you to dress like Julius Caesar about to cross the rubicund?
Jeeves made a noise like a sheep choking a laugh into a gentle noise on a distant promontory. “I believe you are referring to the Rubicon, sir. Mr. Travers was under the impression that a spectre in the guise of a member of the Roman Legion had been attempting to gain illicit entry and abscond with a small silver egg cup.”
“Not that hideous monstrosity with the clawed feet, Jeeves?”
“I would not describe the item in such terms myself, sir, but I believe you are describing the item in question.”
“And you had to dress like….” A narrow hand flapped in the general vicinity of the toga. “Who do I mean to say, Jeeves?”
“Marcus Aurelius, sir.”
“Marcus whatsit, in order to what precisely?”
“I admit, sir, to feeling a certain sense of confusion on that last point, although I was appointed to visit the silver room at precisely midnight. If you will excuse me, sir, I will change into more suitable garments and prepare your tea.” He gave a sort of shimmer.
“Will you bring this toga back to Berkeley Mansions, Jeeves?” The manservant paused, an eyebrow cocked. “It is rather becoming.” The tips of his ears took on the hue of an awkward flamingo, but the lips quirked.
“If you wish it, sir.” The deep blue e’s twinkled.
“Rather,” said the young master. I could almost see the bits in the back of his head, where he stored the immense fish-fed brain, beginning to whir.
“Perhaps I should take the liberty of pulling around the two-seater, sir. You may require some medical assistance after your fall.”
For once the limited grey matter caught on quickly. “Yes, Jeeves, I am feeling somewhat peaky. Will you be able to manage with the aged r?”
“As you wish, sir.”
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There used to be a weekly drabble challenge at Indeed Sir and on occasion the prompt would be 6 random words... perhaps that practice helped me out.