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indeedsir_backupTitle: Jeeves and the Meddlesome Medium
Chapter: 7/12
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster. I suppose you could also say OC for this chapter.
Summary: See Chapter 1.
Warnings: None!
Chapter Rating: G
Mrs Featherstone stood before me, clutching her dressing gown with one hand and putting her finger to her pouted, pretty lips with another. A glass of tap water stood on the counter before her.
“Mr Wooster, what are you doing down here?”
“Same as you, as it happens… getting water. Woke up thirsty.” I began to compose myself, satisfied that of all the women I could have encountered, I managed the luck to have the one in the house who neither loved me, nor loathed me.
“Well.” She said, and left it at that. She lifted her glass to her slightly pouted lips, and gave me a sideways glance, as I stepped forward to the cupboard full of glasses. Something about that gaze bored into me, however, and I froze with my hand on the handle, staring back at her.
A rush came to me, my head pounding with confusion and realisation; this woman was looking in me for what I sought in her for a moment. We were looking into one another’s thoughts.
“Are we?” Her clear, dreamy tones reverberated in my cerebrum.
“I heard that. You said ‘are we?’ I suppose this means we are.” I said aloud, so that it was unmistakable for her. Her eyes widened for a moment, then she took the sip of water she’d been meaning to take, set her glass down, and splayed her right hand out, palm away from her.
“So where did you get it, Mr Wooster? And was it for this reason?”
“What reason?”
She gestured, still silent, to the ring on her finger. “This reason? Was it for Honoria? Or someone else…” Her gaze narrowed, and I felt her trying to bore into me once more.
“Don’t look in there.” I warned, in what I can only hope was a powerful, firm thought. “It’s not sporting, I don’t know how to block you out.”
“I had the most interesting ideas about your manservant, Mr Wooster. If I tell you my secret, will you trust me more with what I already know?”
Would I? It would certainly depend on her secret. One would have to tell an awfully juicy, scandalous tale to get me to trust they wouldn't bung me into chokey. Still, I hoped she would tell such a tale, as I didn't fancy running around worrying that yet another person would call me out on my secret.
She gave me another dark glance; she had piercing green eyes that would have cut like the diamond on her fingers even if I didn’t know she could hear my thoughts. This, of course, added to my vulnerability, and I felt absolutely hopeless. I nodded assent.
She looked back at her ring, and toyed with it, giving me sharp, meaningful glances periodically as she spoke without speaking.
“Celine was born to a tailor and his wife in South Hampton. When she was very young they died, and Celine had to find work as a chambermaid. She worked in a manor house, tending to a family called Featherstone.
The Featherstones numbered eight in all, with the eldest woman, her son as the head of the house, his wife, four sons and a daughter. It was the third eldest son, the middle child, whom Celine held the most interest in. He was only a year her senior, with fair curls and tall stature.”
“Do you read Rosie M. Banks, Mrs Featherstone?” I interrupted, beginning to think the dear lass was blithering.
She gave me another meaningful look, smiled and said, out loud this time, in sultry, innocent words. “Call me Celine.” And looked back to her ring with a last vindictive half-smile, leaving me dumbstruck and sheepish.
“His given name was Jerome, and after two years Celine found herself desperately loving him. She needed him for her own.” I tried very hard not to make my internal shudder known. So all women thought this way.
“And she would go to any length. She would go to London, to a witch that had been prescribed to her by word of mouth. She would receive the power to know if Jerome loved her… and the means to make him if he did not… And she used these means. She got what she wanted, and has had everything her heart could desire…”
“What means? What did you do to him?”
“She gave me a flask of tonic. A sort of… love potion.” It was clear to me now. They were dippy about each other because he was under her spell…
“The spell wore off, Mr Wooster.” She sounded scandalised, as though I’d accused her of doing what she’d just confessed to. “It wore off a year and a half ago… he only told me the night of our wedding… He really had fallen in love with me during the time he allowed me to spend with him. But to get his attention, get him to let me in to his life and rise above my station, to spend time with him, to get to know him… and let him know me… that is what the potion was for. I attracted his attention, and by the time it all wore off, he was in love as he was meant to be. It was not magic, Mr Wooster, it was destiny.” And her dreamy inner voice trailed away. She took another drink of water, and, ostensibly, waited for me to take it all in.
“Well.” I said out loud, just to remind myself what my voice sounded like. “Well, well.”
“And now, do you trust me with what I know? Now you know I am the last person to scorn love?” Well, had I the choice?
She laughed. Her shining chestnut hair bouncing as she tilted her head to the side to look at me, her lips pursed. “No.”
I turned around, giving her a last grin, and sending “Thank you” into the atmosphere, before departing once more.
It was only once I’d re-entered the room, and narrowly avoided colliding with the cot again, that I realised I’d forgotten the water.
Chapter: 7/12
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster. I suppose you could also say OC for this chapter.
Summary: See Chapter 1.
Warnings: None!
Chapter Rating: G
Mrs Featherstone stood before me, clutching her dressing gown with one hand and putting her finger to her pouted, pretty lips with another. A glass of tap water stood on the counter before her.
“Mr Wooster, what are you doing down here?”
“Same as you, as it happens… getting water. Woke up thirsty.” I began to compose myself, satisfied that of all the women I could have encountered, I managed the luck to have the one in the house who neither loved me, nor loathed me.
“Well.” She said, and left it at that. She lifted her glass to her slightly pouted lips, and gave me a sideways glance, as I stepped forward to the cupboard full of glasses. Something about that gaze bored into me, however, and I froze with my hand on the handle, staring back at her.
A rush came to me, my head pounding with confusion and realisation; this woman was looking in me for what I sought in her for a moment. We were looking into one another’s thoughts.
“Are we?” Her clear, dreamy tones reverberated in my cerebrum.
“I heard that. You said ‘are we?’ I suppose this means we are.” I said aloud, so that it was unmistakable for her. Her eyes widened for a moment, then she took the sip of water she’d been meaning to take, set her glass down, and splayed her right hand out, palm away from her.
“So where did you get it, Mr Wooster? And was it for this reason?”
“What reason?”
She gestured, still silent, to the ring on her finger. “This reason? Was it for Honoria? Or someone else…” Her gaze narrowed, and I felt her trying to bore into me once more.
“Don’t look in there.” I warned, in what I can only hope was a powerful, firm thought. “It’s not sporting, I don’t know how to block you out.”
“I had the most interesting ideas about your manservant, Mr Wooster. If I tell you my secret, will you trust me more with what I already know?”
Would I? It would certainly depend on her secret. One would have to tell an awfully juicy, scandalous tale to get me to trust they wouldn't bung me into chokey. Still, I hoped she would tell such a tale, as I didn't fancy running around worrying that yet another person would call me out on my secret.
She gave me another dark glance; she had piercing green eyes that would have cut like the diamond on her fingers even if I didn’t know she could hear my thoughts. This, of course, added to my vulnerability, and I felt absolutely hopeless. I nodded assent.
She looked back at her ring, and toyed with it, giving me sharp, meaningful glances periodically as she spoke without speaking.
“Celine was born to a tailor and his wife in South Hampton. When she was very young they died, and Celine had to find work as a chambermaid. She worked in a manor house, tending to a family called Featherstone.
The Featherstones numbered eight in all, with the eldest woman, her son as the head of the house, his wife, four sons and a daughter. It was the third eldest son, the middle child, whom Celine held the most interest in. He was only a year her senior, with fair curls and tall stature.”
“Do you read Rosie M. Banks, Mrs Featherstone?” I interrupted, beginning to think the dear lass was blithering.
She gave me another meaningful look, smiled and said, out loud this time, in sultry, innocent words. “Call me Celine.” And looked back to her ring with a last vindictive half-smile, leaving me dumbstruck and sheepish.
“His given name was Jerome, and after two years Celine found herself desperately loving him. She needed him for her own.” I tried very hard not to make my internal shudder known. So all women thought this way.
“And she would go to any length. She would go to London, to a witch that had been prescribed to her by word of mouth. She would receive the power to know if Jerome loved her… and the means to make him if he did not… And she used these means. She got what she wanted, and has had everything her heart could desire…”
“What means? What did you do to him?”
“She gave me a flask of tonic. A sort of… love potion.” It was clear to me now. They were dippy about each other because he was under her spell…
“The spell wore off, Mr Wooster.” She sounded scandalised, as though I’d accused her of doing what she’d just confessed to. “It wore off a year and a half ago… he only told me the night of our wedding… He really had fallen in love with me during the time he allowed me to spend with him. But to get his attention, get him to let me in to his life and rise above my station, to spend time with him, to get to know him… and let him know me… that is what the potion was for. I attracted his attention, and by the time it all wore off, he was in love as he was meant to be. It was not magic, Mr Wooster, it was destiny.” And her dreamy inner voice trailed away. She took another drink of water, and, ostensibly, waited for me to take it all in.
“Well.” I said out loud, just to remind myself what my voice sounded like. “Well, well.”
“And now, do you trust me with what I know? Now you know I am the last person to scorn love?” Well, had I the choice?
She laughed. Her shining chestnut hair bouncing as she tilted her head to the side to look at me, her lips pursed. “No.”
I turned around, giving her a last grin, and sending “Thank you” into the atmosphere, before departing once more.
It was only once I’d re-entered the room, and narrowly avoided colliding with the cot again, that I realised I’d forgotten the water.
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no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 06:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 06:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 06:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 06:54 am (UTC)Don't care for the Catching His Attention With A Love Potion technique. And how would Mr. F "tell her" that the potion wore off? If he knew, he'd be a bigger idiot to stay with someone who'd put a love spell on him at all.
no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 07:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 07:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 07:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 07:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 07:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 07:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 10:14 pm (UTC)I don't know, it's always seemed to me that it would be easiest just to go along with it. Like with Tristan and Isolde (granted it's a slightly different situation since they were both under the spell). By the time the spell breaks they've completely destroyed their lives and all that has sustained them is their mad passion for each other. Instead of going, "Oh shit, we've fucked up," (any fainting aunts will please pardon my language) wouldn't it be easier to just kind of fake it and see if the relationship works by itself? Isn't that what a lot of people do in real life when they realize that their partner is just a person and not something amazing to be put on a pedestal?
Now in Jerome's situation, it would suck if he'd had some other passionate love before Celine put the mind whammy on him, or if she was really horrible to him. But if he didn't and she wasn't and he decided that he liked her fine, then why bother fussing about it?
Don't get me wrong, if love potions were real I would totally be opposed to their use (probably). But from a practical standpoint and the perspective of the "victim" wouldn't you try to give it a shot if there was any potential there at all rather than uproot your whole life again and explain to all your friends (assuming you still have any after your lovey dovey binge) why you're breaking up with this person you've been so dippy about?
no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 07:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-05 06:42 pm (UTC)Another wonderful chapter 8D Yay!
no subject
Date: 2010-07-07 05:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-07-08 04:56 am (UTC)Moar!
Date: 2010-07-14 02:32 pm (UTC)Or in other words its a really well written and gripping fic and can't wait for more.
Re: Moar!
Date: 2010-07-14 05:04 pm (UTC)Alright. No agony. I'll get to it quick as I can.