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indeedsir_backupTitle: Jeeves and the Meddlesome Medium
Chapter: 1/?
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Summary: Response to this prompt posted ages ago by dear![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
mutant_biscuits. I think it safe to say this is for you.
Warnings: None
Chapter Rating: PG
“Hallo, there, darling!” Boko called out to her stupidly, swinging his right arm around Claude’s neck and holding on to him as though he were a babe, standing up on his pins for the very first time. And it had been the first time in several hours, Bertie mused, as Boko had been sitting at the bar with Claude, Eustace and him since half past ten.
It was around a quarter to two when they’d spotted the woman in the alley. It was only due to her brightly coloured garment that they noticed her at all, such was the hour and the darkness of the London alley in which she stood. A small lantern hung behind her, setting a dull glow that cast her into silhouette before them.
“Lovely wig you’ve got there, dear!” Eustace gave her flowing black curls a clumsy gesture; and
she, in return, gave an indulgent smile as if to say, “Oh, what fools these mortals be”.
But her eyes did not linger to the three “gentlemen” who stood, arm in arm, asking her name, where she got her dress, what she thought such a pretty lady ought to be doing at such an hour, in such a place, and could Claude please try on her wig?
Instead, she pinned the fourth gentleman with an eyeless gaze. Bertram Wooster stood motionless, unable to think, react or join in with his companions’ revelry. He knew they meant no harm, they weren’t having a laugh, just wanted to have a bit of good-natured fun with the woman in the shadows.
But she responded to not one of them; suddenly, Bertie seemed further away from his fellows, though he knew he hadn’t moved his legs once. He was rooted, yet he and the woman singled out, growing more and more distant from the world and somehow closer together.
The woman put her face to his; it was still dark enough that he only saw her dark contour; but at that moment, perhaps due to the spirits, or something else, he believed he could see the pair of eyes that were, surely, gazing up at him.
Her face was unreadable, yet he saw her, and thought he knew her—again, surely, a result of the spirits. These were not the first men to torment her. They would not be the last. They were not the most gentle. Nor were they the roughest, by far. But Bertram was not, was never, would never be, one of them.
“I know you are not.” She whispered to only Bertie. He noticed that he could no longer hear the Woosters or Fittleworth jeering in the background. He only knew, only heard, only saw this woman. She absorbed him, and he knew nothing else.
“What?” He knew he had barely more than slurred, knew he was not as calm and collected as the felt, knew he was probably making some ridiculous face. He wondered how she didn’t back in repulsion at the Whiskey on his breath. She, it seemed, smelled of spices, mints, and mahogany. She was fresh despite her earthy appearance, clean in spite of the oil that gave a ghostly gleam to the shadow of her think hair.
“I know you are not like them,” She repeated in a veil of an accent not dissimilar from the veils she wore wrapped about her waist and shoulders, holding her dress to accentuate the curves of her body. They, too, were colourful and exotic and wholly unlike anything Bertie saw in his daily grind. “But I know what you are.”
“I beg your…”
“And I know what you want.”
Now, Bertie was frightened. Who was this woman? Where had his cousins gone? Where was he, even? What part of Old Blighty’s fine capital city sported exotic, strange, gypsy-like women such as this? What did he want? What did she know?
“My name is unimportant. Your friends are gone, but you do not need them. You do not need to know where you are, or where I come from, or any of these other silly worries. And you know what you want, my boy. From the sound of it, I do not blame you. He sounds quite handsome.”
Bertie gaped. Something she said was making sense, and yet it was all gibberish, all nonsense, like puzzle pieces strewn about an entire house, placed so that you know they’re all from the same puzzle, but haven’t a clue where to begin in deciphering it. He was too drunk, it was too late, and this was too unreal. She had heard all that he’d said without him saying anything. He wanted to go home…
“Yes, home to your man. I understand. And you should go. And when you wake in the morning,” she smiled—he knew she smiled, though he still did not see her face, her lips, her cheek: nothing. “You must not tell him what you hear. Breathe not a word, or it will not work. I am going to help you a great deal, Mr Wooster.”
Chapter: 1/?
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Summary: Response to this prompt posted ages ago by dear
mutant_biscuits. I think it safe to say this is for you.Warnings: None
Chapter Rating: PG
“Hallo, there, darling!” Boko called out to her stupidly, swinging his right arm around Claude’s neck and holding on to him as though he were a babe, standing up on his pins for the very first time. And it had been the first time in several hours, Bertie mused, as Boko had been sitting at the bar with Claude, Eustace and him since half past ten.
It was around a quarter to two when they’d spotted the woman in the alley. It was only due to her brightly coloured garment that they noticed her at all, such was the hour and the darkness of the London alley in which she stood. A small lantern hung behind her, setting a dull glow that cast her into silhouette before them.
“Lovely wig you’ve got there, dear!” Eustace gave her flowing black curls a clumsy gesture; and
she, in return, gave an indulgent smile as if to say, “Oh, what fools these mortals be”.
But her eyes did not linger to the three “gentlemen” who stood, arm in arm, asking her name, where she got her dress, what she thought such a pretty lady ought to be doing at such an hour, in such a place, and could Claude please try on her wig?
Instead, she pinned the fourth gentleman with an eyeless gaze. Bertram Wooster stood motionless, unable to think, react or join in with his companions’ revelry. He knew they meant no harm, they weren’t having a laugh, just wanted to have a bit of good-natured fun with the woman in the shadows.
But she responded to not one of them; suddenly, Bertie seemed further away from his fellows, though he knew he hadn’t moved his legs once. He was rooted, yet he and the woman singled out, growing more and more distant from the world and somehow closer together.
The woman put her face to his; it was still dark enough that he only saw her dark contour; but at that moment, perhaps due to the spirits, or something else, he believed he could see the pair of eyes that were, surely, gazing up at him.
Her face was unreadable, yet he saw her, and thought he knew her—again, surely, a result of the spirits. These were not the first men to torment her. They would not be the last. They were not the most gentle. Nor were they the roughest, by far. But Bertram was not, was never, would never be, one of them.
“I know you are not.” She whispered to only Bertie. He noticed that he could no longer hear the Woosters or Fittleworth jeering in the background. He only knew, only heard, only saw this woman. She absorbed him, and he knew nothing else.
“What?” He knew he had barely more than slurred, knew he was not as calm and collected as the felt, knew he was probably making some ridiculous face. He wondered how she didn’t back in repulsion at the Whiskey on his breath. She, it seemed, smelled of spices, mints, and mahogany. She was fresh despite her earthy appearance, clean in spite of the oil that gave a ghostly gleam to the shadow of her think hair.
“I know you are not like them,” She repeated in a veil of an accent not dissimilar from the veils she wore wrapped about her waist and shoulders, holding her dress to accentuate the curves of her body. They, too, were colourful and exotic and wholly unlike anything Bertie saw in his daily grind. “But I know what you are.”
“I beg your…”
“And I know what you want.”
Now, Bertie was frightened. Who was this woman? Where had his cousins gone? Where was he, even? What part of Old Blighty’s fine capital city sported exotic, strange, gypsy-like women such as this? What did he want? What did she know?
“My name is unimportant. Your friends are gone, but you do not need them. You do not need to know where you are, or where I come from, or any of these other silly worries. And you know what you want, my boy. From the sound of it, I do not blame you. He sounds quite handsome.”
Bertie gaped. Something she said was making sense, and yet it was all gibberish, all nonsense, like puzzle pieces strewn about an entire house, placed so that you know they’re all from the same puzzle, but haven’t a clue where to begin in deciphering it. He was too drunk, it was too late, and this was too unreal. She had heard all that he’d said without him saying anything. He wanted to go home…
“Yes, home to your man. I understand. And you should go. And when you wake in the morning,” she smiled—he knew she smiled, though he still did not see her face, her lips, her cheek: nothing. “You must not tell him what you hear. Breathe not a word, or it will not work. I am going to help you a great deal, Mr Wooster.”
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Date: 2010-06-21 03:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 01:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 04:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 01:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 06:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 06:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 01:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 08:12 pm (UTC)I should probably be writing myself... :/
But still!!! This is really good so I can just focus on reading for a while.. right? xD
Next chapter soooon? :DD
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Date: 2010-06-21 09:30 pm (UTC)But still! You write, you! *cracks whip* Still waiting on your story, I am. Love it much so. =D ^_^ Thanks for reading lovely.
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Date: 2010-06-21 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 09:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-22 07:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-19 12:06 pm (UTC)I like the spooky beginning and anything with Claude and Eustace in it is all right with me.
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Date: 2010-07-19 11:56 pm (UTC)