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indeedsir_backupWhat ho, chaps and chapesses (I think we're mainly chapesses?).
So, I have a new story. Unfortunately fanfic.net is being a bit naughty and not letting me sign in, so I'll just cut it.
OK:
Title: The Crime
Rating: NC-17. I should give a big warning for violence and sexually graphic words. Not in this chapter - but soon.
Summary: When Bertie falls victim to a horrible crime, Jeeves has to take things into his own hands.
Pairings: Bertie/Jeeves, Bertie/Bingo
Title: The Crime
Rating: NC-17. Including violence and graphic sexual scenes (not in this chapter, but soon).
Summary: When Bertie falls victim to a terrible crime, Jeeves has to take matters into his own hands.
Pairings: Jeeves/Bertie, Bingo/Bertie
Disclaimer: Not a plum.
Jeeves raised no eyebrow when his master hadn’t returned that morning. It was not his place, after all, and gentlemen of Mr Wooster’s age were not unknown to stay out until daybreak at times of special revelry. In fact, he was probably even less moved than he would normally be by such an occurrence: relations between employer and employed were not over-friendly at present, owing to the former’s recent acquisition of a black fedora with a purple band. Being thus unmoved, Jeeves merely re-made the un-slept in bed and laid the breakfast in the living room for its owner’s return.
When he paid it a visit later in the day and found it unclaimed, the eyebrow still remained firmly placed. Jeeves was not a vindictive man, but he couldn’t help cultivating an idea that the hangover Mr Wooster was undoubtedly undergoing would teach him to go out in public with a purple-banded hat. Nor did he so much as scratch his head when the lunch came to a similar fate. Not long after, however, was when the cataclysm began: Jeeves answered the phone.
“Oh hello, Jeeves,” came the sunny tones of Mr Little, the young master’s childhood friend. “Mr Wooster about?”
“No, sir,” replied Jeeves slowly. “I was given to understand that he was with you, sir.”
“With me? No; no I was just ringing, I have something dashed important to tell him about this new brand of cigarettes-”
All of a sudden, Jeeves felt his vigorous feudal spirit flicker momentarily, like he would when listening to the ramblings of a man twenty years younger than himself at a cobbler’s. “You mean to say he’s not with you?” he snapped.
The young man fell silent, evidently shocked by the tone. “Definitely not, Jeeves. I waved goodbye to him last night at the Drones and he has been decidedly not with me ever since.”
“Then where is he?”
Bingo was not at all taken with this lapse in courtesy. “How should I know? I told you, I left early. Why, what’s the matter?”
Allowing his mouth to droop very slightly, very momentarily, Jeeves picked himself back up. There was no use letting standards slip. “I fear, sir, that Mr Wooster has not returned to the flat all evening. I made so bold as to assume he was lodging with you, as he does on some occasions...”
A small shiver was heard at the end of the line. Bingo knew with acute shame the inference that had been launched against him. It was not at all uncommon for he and Bertie to fall in together in the early hours, wine-sodden, and find themselves re-enacting the scenes from their schooldays that had given them so much comfort in each other’s affections. Neither of them ever meant it to lead anywhere, but at the same time, was sure that this last shred of childish reassurance was something they could hardly live without. He gathered himself. “Jeeves, Mr Wooster certainly didn’t spend the night here; for if he did, I would not have attempted to contact him there.”
“Very good, sir. Might I enquire if you have any idea where he might be?”
“No.” Both voices lost some of their fortitude. “H-how long has he been gone?”
“Since eight o’clock last night, sir.”
“Well I can vouch for him until ten; we were together at the Drones. Then I left for an early night, and Bertie was talking to an Oxford pal of his.”
Feeling encouraged, Jeeves said “Indeed, sir?”
“Indeed. I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you who it was – I didn’t know him myself. I remember he wasn’t a member, he was signed in by a pal of his, who was. Er, I’m sorry, now I think of it, I can’t think who the pal’s pal was, either... Dreadfully sorry.”
“Not at all, sir,” said Jeeves, although his tones levelled to their former sobriety. “I am sure Mr Wooster can look after himself.”
Then, there was a dead silence. Clearly both men had thought the same thing simultaneously. Whatever Bertram Wooster’s many wonderful personality traits, he’d never been accused of being independently-minded or overly-scrupulous. The two men exchanged light-hearted goodbyes, but it was not an hour later when the police arrived at the door. They had been sent, they said, by a Mr Richard Little, who had appealed to them about a missing friend.
They were two men – an older one, and a younger. Inviting them in listlessly, Jeeves could not help but be struck by the younger’s resemblance to his master: not so much in appearance, but in that same, open, unabashed clumsiness of manner that Jeeves had found so endearing, that day last year when he first stood on the doormat. Constable Linton was the name of this over-grown adolescent, and Inspector Graham his senior. They prodded the flat for a lethargic half-hour, disrupting Jeeves’ careful utopia of cleanliness one mis-placed-object-that-proved-not-to-be-evidence at a time. At last, Graham announced wearily that no evidence was to be found.
“Could you describe this Mr Wooster for us please, sir?” he drawled, while the younger one fumbled open his notebook.
Jeeves coughed slightly. The way in which he identified his master was scarcely likely to be of any good to the police. How he could he tell them to search for an amusingly gangly child-like man with a smile that lit up the room? “Mr Wooster is a tall gentleman, of six-foot-two-inches tall, and a light build, taking trousers in a twenty-eight-inch waist. His hair is blonde, erring very slightly on the auburn and his eyes are blue. He has an exceedingly pleasant demeanour,” he tailed off.
“Blonde hair, blue eyes, pleasant dem-eee-nor,” muttered Constable Linton, scribbling hard.
“Does it all check out with Mr Little’s description?” Graham barked.
“Sir, yesssir.”
“Right then. Mr Jeeves, thank you for your help. We must emphasise the importance of keeping a, a....” Words seemed to fail him.
“Perspective, inspector?” Jeeves offered.
“Perspective, yeah,” grunted Graham. Then, regaining his bedside manner, "Gentlemen of this age are notorious for their sudden disappearances and to turn up days later with a flower in their hat and a hangover. We do urge friends and families to remain calm. And er, servants," he added, half-heartedly.
The officers turned to leave, but just as he was showing them out, Jeeves’s conscience suddenly yelped out inside him and he flung himself in their path.
“Inspector,” he addressed Graham. “I perhaps should not venture to say this in my station, but I feel that the investigation, if any, may warrant a little more detail into the-”
“You got something else to say, sir?” Graham cut across him.
Jeeves saw that the situation did not call for the delicate feudal spirit just at present. For the first time, in many years, Jeeves stammered. “Sir. Mr Wooster is a very good man. A very, very good man. But... I mean to say, he is not altogether intelligent.” He awaited some sort of repercussion, but the faces of the policeman were stony. “The summation of these two qualities is that Mr Wooster is frequently given to be very open with persons unknown to him – put very simply, he believes everyone is as good and as honest as he is himself. If you’ll pardon my presumption to say so, I believe this may make him vulnerable to dubious characters he meets in a social situation. You are aware that Mr Wooster had been drinking last night?”
“We got the full story from Mr Little, yes, sir,” said Graham.
Had he been in a more indulgent mood, Jeeves may have given way to a regretful sigh. As it was, he held his resolve, and bowed the policemen out.
The sweltering summer’s day gave way to night, and Mr Wooster did not come home. Jeeves laid his dinner out and stood by it attentively; it usually took Mr Wooster and his robust young appetite about twenty-three minutes to polish off a good meal. After this time, Jeeves cleared away. There were no telephone calls, but he reminded himself not to be disappointed about this – he was a servant, after all. If the police had any news, it would first go to Mr Little and to the Wooster clan (Mrs Travers, he sincerely hoped).
At eleven forty-five, when the young master usually retired, Jeeves switched off the lights. As he did, he looked around the room, lingering, inexplicably, at the empty piano – would Mr Wooster be sitting there now? He turned away quickly: thinking of that lead him to thinking of where he might be sitting now, and the endless pit of possibilities was unbearable. He just wished to dear God that whatever had happened, he hadn’t departed his young friend’s side with the words “By all means wear that hat if you wish to be taken for an effeminate New York gangster, sir.”
So, I have a new story. Unfortunately fanfic.net is being a bit naughty and not letting me sign in, so I'll just cut it.
OK:
Title: The Crime
Rating: NC-17. I should give a big warning for violence and sexually graphic words. Not in this chapter - but soon.
Summary: When Bertie falls victim to a horrible crime, Jeeves has to take things into his own hands.
Pairings: Bertie/Jeeves, Bertie/Bingo
Title: The Crime
Rating: NC-17. Including violence and graphic sexual scenes (not in this chapter, but soon).
Summary: When Bertie falls victim to a terrible crime, Jeeves has to take matters into his own hands.
Pairings: Jeeves/Bertie, Bingo/Bertie
Disclaimer: Not a plum.
Jeeves raised no eyebrow when his master hadn’t returned that morning. It was not his place, after all, and gentlemen of Mr Wooster’s age were not unknown to stay out until daybreak at times of special revelry. In fact, he was probably even less moved than he would normally be by such an occurrence: relations between employer and employed were not over-friendly at present, owing to the former’s recent acquisition of a black fedora with a purple band. Being thus unmoved, Jeeves merely re-made the un-slept in bed and laid the breakfast in the living room for its owner’s return.
When he paid it a visit later in the day and found it unclaimed, the eyebrow still remained firmly placed. Jeeves was not a vindictive man, but he couldn’t help cultivating an idea that the hangover Mr Wooster was undoubtedly undergoing would teach him to go out in public with a purple-banded hat. Nor did he so much as scratch his head when the lunch came to a similar fate. Not long after, however, was when the cataclysm began: Jeeves answered the phone.
“Oh hello, Jeeves,” came the sunny tones of Mr Little, the young master’s childhood friend. “Mr Wooster about?”
“No, sir,” replied Jeeves slowly. “I was given to understand that he was with you, sir.”
“With me? No; no I was just ringing, I have something dashed important to tell him about this new brand of cigarettes-”
All of a sudden, Jeeves felt his vigorous feudal spirit flicker momentarily, like he would when listening to the ramblings of a man twenty years younger than himself at a cobbler’s. “You mean to say he’s not with you?” he snapped.
The young man fell silent, evidently shocked by the tone. “Definitely not, Jeeves. I waved goodbye to him last night at the Drones and he has been decidedly not with me ever since.”
“Then where is he?”
Bingo was not at all taken with this lapse in courtesy. “How should I know? I told you, I left early. Why, what’s the matter?”
Allowing his mouth to droop very slightly, very momentarily, Jeeves picked himself back up. There was no use letting standards slip. “I fear, sir, that Mr Wooster has not returned to the flat all evening. I made so bold as to assume he was lodging with you, as he does on some occasions...”
A small shiver was heard at the end of the line. Bingo knew with acute shame the inference that had been launched against him. It was not at all uncommon for he and Bertie to fall in together in the early hours, wine-sodden, and find themselves re-enacting the scenes from their schooldays that had given them so much comfort in each other’s affections. Neither of them ever meant it to lead anywhere, but at the same time, was sure that this last shred of childish reassurance was something they could hardly live without. He gathered himself. “Jeeves, Mr Wooster certainly didn’t spend the night here; for if he did, I would not have attempted to contact him there.”
“Very good, sir. Might I enquire if you have any idea where he might be?”
“No.” Both voices lost some of their fortitude. “H-how long has he been gone?”
“Since eight o’clock last night, sir.”
“Well I can vouch for him until ten; we were together at the Drones. Then I left for an early night, and Bertie was talking to an Oxford pal of his.”
Feeling encouraged, Jeeves said “Indeed, sir?”
“Indeed. I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you who it was – I didn’t know him myself. I remember he wasn’t a member, he was signed in by a pal of his, who was. Er, I’m sorry, now I think of it, I can’t think who the pal’s pal was, either... Dreadfully sorry.”
“Not at all, sir,” said Jeeves, although his tones levelled to their former sobriety. “I am sure Mr Wooster can look after himself.”
Then, there was a dead silence. Clearly both men had thought the same thing simultaneously. Whatever Bertram Wooster’s many wonderful personality traits, he’d never been accused of being independently-minded or overly-scrupulous. The two men exchanged light-hearted goodbyes, but it was not an hour later when the police arrived at the door. They had been sent, they said, by a Mr Richard Little, who had appealed to them about a missing friend.
They were two men – an older one, and a younger. Inviting them in listlessly, Jeeves could not help but be struck by the younger’s resemblance to his master: not so much in appearance, but in that same, open, unabashed clumsiness of manner that Jeeves had found so endearing, that day last year when he first stood on the doormat. Constable Linton was the name of this over-grown adolescent, and Inspector Graham his senior. They prodded the flat for a lethargic half-hour, disrupting Jeeves’ careful utopia of cleanliness one mis-placed-object-that-proved-not-to-be-evidence at a time. At last, Graham announced wearily that no evidence was to be found.
“Could you describe this Mr Wooster for us please, sir?” he drawled, while the younger one fumbled open his notebook.
Jeeves coughed slightly. The way in which he identified his master was scarcely likely to be of any good to the police. How he could he tell them to search for an amusingly gangly child-like man with a smile that lit up the room? “Mr Wooster is a tall gentleman, of six-foot-two-inches tall, and a light build, taking trousers in a twenty-eight-inch waist. His hair is blonde, erring very slightly on the auburn and his eyes are blue. He has an exceedingly pleasant demeanour,” he tailed off.
“Blonde hair, blue eyes, pleasant dem-eee-nor,” muttered Constable Linton, scribbling hard.
“Does it all check out with Mr Little’s description?” Graham barked.
“Sir, yesssir.”
“Right then. Mr Jeeves, thank you for your help. We must emphasise the importance of keeping a, a....” Words seemed to fail him.
“Perspective, inspector?” Jeeves offered.
“Perspective, yeah,” grunted Graham. Then, regaining his bedside manner, "Gentlemen of this age are notorious for their sudden disappearances and to turn up days later with a flower in their hat and a hangover. We do urge friends and families to remain calm. And er, servants," he added, half-heartedly.
The officers turned to leave, but just as he was showing them out, Jeeves’s conscience suddenly yelped out inside him and he flung himself in their path.
“Inspector,” he addressed Graham. “I perhaps should not venture to say this in my station, but I feel that the investigation, if any, may warrant a little more detail into the-”
“You got something else to say, sir?” Graham cut across him.
Jeeves saw that the situation did not call for the delicate feudal spirit just at present. For the first time, in many years, Jeeves stammered. “Sir. Mr Wooster is a very good man. A very, very good man. But... I mean to say, he is not altogether intelligent.” He awaited some sort of repercussion, but the faces of the policeman were stony. “The summation of these two qualities is that Mr Wooster is frequently given to be very open with persons unknown to him – put very simply, he believes everyone is as good and as honest as he is himself. If you’ll pardon my presumption to say so, I believe this may make him vulnerable to dubious characters he meets in a social situation. You are aware that Mr Wooster had been drinking last night?”
“We got the full story from Mr Little, yes, sir,” said Graham.
Had he been in a more indulgent mood, Jeeves may have given way to a regretful sigh. As it was, he held his resolve, and bowed the policemen out.
The sweltering summer’s day gave way to night, and Mr Wooster did not come home. Jeeves laid his dinner out and stood by it attentively; it usually took Mr Wooster and his robust young appetite about twenty-three minutes to polish off a good meal. After this time, Jeeves cleared away. There were no telephone calls, but he reminded himself not to be disappointed about this – he was a servant, after all. If the police had any news, it would first go to Mr Little and to the Wooster clan (Mrs Travers, he sincerely hoped).
At eleven forty-five, when the young master usually retired, Jeeves switched off the lights. As he did, he looked around the room, lingering, inexplicably, at the empty piano – would Mr Wooster be sitting there now? He turned away quickly: thinking of that lead him to thinking of where he might be sitting now, and the endless pit of possibilities was unbearable. He just wished to dear God that whatever had happened, he hadn’t departed his young friend’s side with the words “By all means wear that hat if you wish to be taken for an effeminate New York gangster, sir.”
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no subject
Date: 2009-08-08 09:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-08 10:38 pm (UTC)“I am sure Mr Wooster can look after himself.”
Then, there was a dead silence. Clearly both men had thought the same thing simultaneously. Whatever Bertram Wooster’s many wonderful personality traits, he’d never been accused of being independently-minded or overly-scrupulous.
This is a great passage.
(On a formatting note, a extra line space between each paragraph would make it easier to read.)
no subject
Date: 2009-08-08 10:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-08 11:55 pm (UTC)Now, on to the streams of praise...
Effeminent New York Gangster Bertie! :D
The language in this is very beautiful. Con't really explain it better than that, but you have a way with words.
This is something I shall certainly be looking out for in future. :) A very interesting story line and a very interesting beginning. I hope you won't keep us waiting too long in between posts. ^_^
Forgot to say...
Date: 2009-08-08 11:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 03:29 pm (UTC)So anyway, that's very flattering, thank you *blushes*
no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 01:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 01:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 04:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 07:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 09:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 05:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 06:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 08:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 04:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 05:15 pm (UTC)I'd really like to know what happens next. Please hurry and update! :)
no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 05:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 09:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 06:38 pm (UTC)Very tasty language.
'Jeeves was not a vindictive man' - that's a Jeeves-thought, isn't it? Made me smile. Extremely appealing Jeeves' characterisation throughout.
And, of course, the last line is splendid.
Is the story going to be long? Hope to see more soon.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 09:15 pm (UTC)Yes, this going to be a long story - I think we'll have another 2 chapters of suspence and then we'll see the actual crime, and then a couple of chapters on the aftermath.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 09:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-09 07:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-10 04:17 pm (UTC)More, please?
The Lady 529
no subject
Date: 2009-08-10 08:43 pm (UTC)Enjoying the Jeeves-voice and think you're off to a good start here.
Please, more!?
Soon?
:)
no subject
Date: 2009-08-16 04:04 pm (UTC)