BONUS Drabble Challenge
Oct. 31st, 2012 08:31 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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indeedsir_backupAn extra drabble challenge for you this week
Halloween, the supernatural and things that go bump in the night
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Date: 2012-10-31 10:44 pm (UTC)“Sleepy Hollow, eh?”
“Yes, sir, the site of Washington Irving’s tale.”
“Ah, chap wrote about the ninepins.”
“Yes, sir, the story of Rip Van Winkle.”
“I thought you said Washington Irving.”
“Yes sir.”
“Then who is ripping Winkles?”
“He is a character, sir…”
“I should imagine so, Jeeves.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“And this graveyard is where he played ninepins?”
“No, sir, it is where the headless horseman rides again.”
“Without his head?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Whatsit?”
“I believe he is looking for a new one, sir.”
“A new head?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let us return to New York before dark.”
“Very good, sir.”
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Date: 2012-11-01 12:09 am (UTC)(I need a title for this. )
(Vague hint of RPF - but only a little around the edges. You may enjoy or ignore as suits.)
“Mr. Fry. So sorry to hear about the accident to your house.” The real estate agent, a firm looking woman in a dark suit, waited until her visitor entered the elevator before closing the gate and starting up. “Fortunately?”
Her tone had edged into what a less charitable man might call arch. (And when had he even been charitable? Snarky, yes. Conformable? Not so much.)
“We do have one possible apartment for you here in Berkley Mansions,” She continued. “Convenient location, excellent floor plan, and you can see it comes furnished. A requirement of the building owner’s estate “
She passed over a thin binder. It was the usual manila folder, different only by a hint of unexpected age that slightly softened the corners. Several Polaroids, also showing their age, slid from the pack.
The interior had an early-century look, broken here and there by the addition of modern necessities like television and computer. The feel was rather history via a television studio. Overall? It was not to his taste, not exactly, but it was vastly better than anticipated.
Short term housing in London ran between the expensive and the excruciating, and often managed to be both at once. He’s spent two nights in hotel while the plumbers dealt with the aftermath of his own exploded water main, and, as they were rather canny when it came to a firm estimate as to just when the repairs would be finished?
So here he was, homeless in the winds of a London October. Not at all fun.
He - if honest- would have called it more shock than surprise when the senior partner of the rental firm had stopped, questioned him about his tie (a tasteful navy and gray) his suit (the good interview suit – he was calling for favors) and then asked him to ‘wait just a bit’ as said senior partner would ‘find someone to show you our special apartment.”
He has wondered if they were going to end up in some gabion rave area of Soho. (With an unuttered curse on judgmental arseholes of the older generation). Instead? This middle-aged woman had hustled him down here to one of London’s nicer squares. The building had proved one of the well-maintained survivors of the War, the doorman had been as well tailored as he had been deferential. The entrance and elevator were unstylish but comfortable, not at all the shabby lobby of an apartment/hotel block.
“This is not a place I could offer to just anyone. The gentleman in charge has very strict standards. Still?” She gave him the sort of up-and-down that – in a younger and perhaps straighter woman – might be called lecherous. “I do believe you will be approved.”
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Date: 2012-11-01 12:09 am (UTC)What he saw? It set him back. Sharply.
“I say.” He said, checking for fine print. “Is this weekly.”
“Monthly.”
“For the entire apartment. Not… one room? “
“No, that is the rate. The previous owner – he owned the entire building – set the rent in his will.”
And it clearly hadn’t been raised since.
“What’s the catch? Let me guess. You installed a thrash band and a drug house next door?”
“Hardly.” From the tone, she wasn’t appreciating the jest. Which, yes, it hadn’t entirely been. Because for a flat this fine at a rent that low? How could the place be on the market? He, personally, would have to be three decades dead before he’d move out.
“I am, ethically, required to warn you that…well… you see… you’ll be the only one *living* there but…” The elevator stopped with a jerk, giving her a chance to break off conversation.
“What? Crazy Aunt Julia drops by for tea every Tuesday?” If so, he might yet buy scones. The view from the hall was even more promising than that from the street. White roses filled a vase set in an alcove, and the paintings on the walls were just that. Painted. Not great art, but solid oils. The carpet rolled spotless underfoot. Proof – once again – that this wasn’t the usual sort of tourist-trash short-term barrack.
“It’s haunted.”
“Haunted?” Wasn’t that a laugh and a half? He almost did – just from the implausibility of it. “You mean a ghost?
“Two ghosts.” The agent paused to unlock a door marked BWW. “The previous residents, a Lord Yaxley, and his man.”
“Really. Ghosts.” What a lame excuse for bad paper or weak plaster. Did that explain the old photos?
Except, as he stepped inside? The apartment was better in person than in picture. The dated furniture glowed with the sheen of fresh and devoted polishing, and not a speck of dust had settled on the antique porcelain.
“Rather active ghosts, I fear. There have been a few incidents involving… overly bright ties. And spats. Do not, I must warn you, do not under any circumstances wear bright-colored spats. They tend to get evicted – with or without prior removal from the individual wearing them.”
Really. What sort of fairy story was this? “And you can still rent it out?”
“There are compensations, for those who meet the required standard.”
Well, this place did look like it would compensate for quite a bit – even crazy delusional estate agents. Case in point.
He slid from his coat, hanging it on the waiting coat tree.
The scent of pastry and tea floated from the kitchen.
Literally floated. As in? A silver tray, fully laden with formal service, made it’s way down the hall without visible means of support.
It settled on the table.
One chair pulled itself back.
Then the other.
The teapot lifted, pouring a perfect tan stream into a fragile hand-painted cup.
From the other end of the parlor the piano began to tap out a sprightly tune. Gershwin, he thought.
“Yes, well.” The agent smiled as she took her seat. “With these particular ghosts? No one complains.”
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Date: 2012-11-01 12:28 am (UTC)SO adorable!!!
PS.... title suggestion.... "required standard"?
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Date: 2012-11-01 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2012-11-02 08:47 am (UTC)I would love to see ghost!Jeeves clearing out guests' wardrobes! ha! I wonder if ghost!Bertie tries to hold on to anything interesting. Suddenly brightly colored ties are cropping up behind the bookshelves, etc.
This is such a fabulous bunny!
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Date: 2012-11-24 06:06 am (UTC)*applauding*
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Date: 2012-11-24 06:12 am (UTC)Jeeves woke after midnight to the tapping on his hotel room door, surprised at a wide-eyed, wild-haired, trembling Wooster on the other side.
In bare feet and an inside-out dressing gown, Bertie tried to explain why he was there, teeth chattering with cold or fear—possibly both.
Jeeves put a concerned hand to Bertie’s tense shoulder just as a barely-audible ululating moan echoed up the stairwell from the darkness, but it was the pale shape forming in mid-air behind Bertie that decided Jeeves on the instant.
Morning found them still huddled beneath the duvet, sound asleep in each other’s arms.
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Date: 2012-11-25 11:35 pm (UTC)