Weekly Drabble Challenge

[lawnnun.livejournal.com]

Rules:
1) A drabble is, by definition, a 100-word story therefore all responses should be 100 words exactly, no exceptions.
2) You may also choose to respond to this challenge with a five-minute sketch.
3)PLEASE put the word DRABBLE at the top of your post. That way people can easily spot the drabbles in amongst any reader comments they receive.

RATING:I don't think this should be limited so reader beware that they could be any rating (you could put it in the subject line if you feel it needs it)

PLEASE try to remember to make each drabble a comment in response to the original post. That way, if the comments start to collapse, the drabbles themselves should remain visible.

Your mission: Dreary weather.  Write the boys staying in because it's too slushy/rainy/cold/miserable fucking hot to go outside.

Comments

[wild-shadowfire.livejournal.com]

Drabble: Jeeves and the precious Warmth (PG rated)

"Something about this bally weather makes one really appreciate having a cozy flat to hole up in, eh, Jeeves?"

"Indeed, sir. To be out in this weather seems exceedingly unfortunate."

Bertie hummed thoughtfully. "I suppose that's why homeless spend what they have on Dutch Courage. Warms you up right quick."

Jeeves agreed. "Perhaps it is less dreadful that way."

The brunette sighed, forehead against the freezing window, eyes closed. "More's needed. Could we...?"

Unsurprised, the valet hid a smile. To him, Bertie's kind heart seemed a warmth of its own.

Maybe that was why he felt at home with him.



__________

Is Bertram actually depicted a brunette in the books? I seem to remember someone mentioning him a blond... Argh... I don't know, so I just pictured Laurie-Wooster.
And actually... there's something I've been wondering. When writing something like "there's", does that count as one word or two? *sighs* I feel like an idiot now...
Also: First drabble I ever did, yay! *coughs*

[krisreinke.livejournal.com]

Sorry. I am evidently incapable of the drabble form. Forgive my verbosity. *bows*

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“Filthy weather.” She squinted at the wall of snow that rendered blackout curtain redundant. Nature had provided a thicker drapery that the thin moon did nothing to enliven. “Even the bombers are frozen out.”

“Small blessings.” Bertram Wooster twitched the cloth out of her chilled fingers. “Go to bed, Angela. You’ll be warm there.”

Or as warm as one could be, these January days. Even with Angie and her family moved in (their own house being sans-front-wall - a sort of remodel via Kraut rocket] the now-double coal ration was still on the scant side, need being judged against a normal winter and not the bone-chiller blowing though tonight.

“Me?” Angela pulled away. “Question is why you’re still up. I’ve got a husband out there – her nod took in the blacked-out London streets - but you…”

“Jeeves is due in.” The words came rushing out ahead of Bertie’s brain’s lethargic plod. If he hadn’t been the idiot his Aunt Agatha had inevitably declared – back in the days when she had been around to make that announcement? Well, a decade of domestic content had done what a childhood of matronly terror could not achieve.

Angie, however, just rolled her eyes. “Really, Bertie. You’d think he was your employer, the way you hang on the man. If he’s on the night train you should have told him stay at the station until a decent time of morning.”

“He said his sister gave him eggs.”

His cousin was still grousing. Best up the ante.

“Also butter and jam.”

“Oh!” Her smile said – sans words – that *that* made things quite *quite* different. She glanced from Bertie, to the kitchen, to the thin pulp mystery Bertie had been reading. “Do you think you might take that down to the lobby? Just in case, you know, we might miss the bell?” Bustling around, she snatched up Bertie’s sweater and a lap robe from the sofa. “It would be dreadful to leave the dear man waiting outside in this weather.”

[with-rainfall.livejournal.com]

Drabble: Fickle
Rating: G
Warnings & Pairing: None

________

The Wooster disposish was much chirpier after I'd had my tea and eggs and b., but alas, the weather is a fickle mistress. It's blue skies when there's a cloud on a chap's soul, but the minute you start brimming with good cheer the birds cease to twitter and the sun goes AWOL.

"I have a telegram from Aunt Agatha, sir. It appears she was unable to visit us today due to inclement weather," said Jeeves, shimmering into view. Well, I'll be dashed if the rough winds shaking the darling somethings of the metrop. didn't seem a b. in disguise.

[krisreinke.livejournal.com]

I hide my face in shame. Seriously. More verbosity, now with the added disadvantage of purple prose that R. M. Banks would not allow. But hey... porn. So that makes up for it. Right? (ducks)

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“Jeeves!” Bertie struggled to push the door against the bitter wind.

Jeeves helped – or tried to. He was hampered by the layers of cloth wrapped shawl-like over his greatcoat, extra (if insufficient) protection contra the midnight chill. The unshoveled snow – now turned to filthy ice underfoot – meant that what pull he could provide – burdened as Jeeves was with a double armful of basketry – tended more to set him moving than to affect the door. Working in blackout darkness wasn’t any joy either.

Still, after some extended panting and gasping Bertie managed to get Jeeves – encumbrances included – securely inside the domestic portal and the outer door secured against the world.

“Home!” Jeeves whispered the word as a benediction. His body was shaking, his face white under his black bowler.

“Home.” And Bertram’s answer, murmured into the other man’s dark curls, named his being and not their mutual location.

Their hands locked, fingers twined and palm pressed to palm, burning and singular, the only heat as their breaths rose, twin ghosts of white fog in the barren lobby.

Bertram pulled his man into the alcove.

The doorman used to keep packages there. Morning mail delivery, mostly, when the parcel post came in before the late-rising residents came down. Sometimes bright hatboxes or shirt boxes from the better stores. It was empty now. No early post. No fashion at any time, what with the fierce rationing. No doorman, for that matter. Watching a portal was the opposite of a reserved occupation.

“The gifts…” Dark eyes flicked to the stack, but rested no more than a second before emotion drew them back to Bertie’s burning blue gaze.

“Can wait.”

The words were iron command.

“Yes.” Jeeves shed the top wraps, the damp wool to puddling ignored around their feet. His knit gloves followed, stiff with pressed snow and only a degree more cold than the icy hands that struggled to move the weather-sodden Chesterfield.

Bertie lent a pair of nimble hands, warmer fingers making quick work of the rows of buttons. Snow-drenched overcoat first, as reason would dictate, but after that clear duty the fingers persisted, seeking out deeper fastening. Jacket, then vest, and finally the delicate passage between shirt studs, until only a thin undershirt stood between desire and a delicate nipple.

Jeeves shivered.

[lawnnun.livejournal.com]

Drabble: Winter Tea

Any real amount of snow is rare in the old metrop, which means that winter tends to be grey and slushy instead of white and crisp and that there isn't even the excuse of drifts at one's door when one looks out at the grey sky and doesn't want to go anywhere.

As is usual, I woke to Jeeves with the morning Darjeeling, everything looking washed out in the cloudy light.

"Well, Jeeves?" I asked him, sitting up and sampling the tea, which as perfect as always.

"The day is most unwelcoming, sir," he said, and climbed in beside me.

[random-nexus.livejournal.com]

DRABBLE: Making The Best Of A Bad Sitch

Bertie shivered, naked, under a horse-blanket as Jeeves wrung their soaked clothing before draping everything over the empty horse stalls. Jeeves wore the white tablecloth from their picnic hamper in the fashion of a toga; Bertie was quite enjoying the view.

Bertie had to raise his voice over the roar of heavy rain hitting the barn’s roof. “Looks like we’ll be staying here a while.”

Jeeves’ expression was subtly heated as he joined Bertie after hanging the last soggy sock. “I’ve an idea or two about keeping warm, Bertram.”

“Thought you might, Reg,” Bertie replied with a slow, knowing grin.

[cherrypep.livejournal.com]

Drabble: The week it rained forever

Ours was a cottage of the kind reproduced on chocolate-boxes and hotel walls. A mile to the nearest inn, eight to a repair-shop, no telephone in sight. Unfortunate, for the two-seater was crippled with respiratory sickness and the rain freezing, ceaseless and waspish.
I boiled with indignation, then boredom. Finally, restless, I demanded that we move.
“The rain precludes it, sir,” said Jeeves.
"I'm bored, Reg, so bored...”
He smiled, indulgently. “Into each life some rain must fall,” he said, “Yet life is neither dark nor dreary in your presence, Bertie Wooster.” Gathering me into his arms, he carried me upstairs.