Jeeves and the Coming of Age, Part 2
Feb. 22nd, 2012 10:39 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
ladymoondancer.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
indeedsir_backupTitle: Jeeves and the Coming of Age
Chapter: 2/?
Rating: G
Words: 1,263
Summary: Bertie wakes up to find he has gained the better part of two decades. And a mustache. Inspired by Skidmore's drawings of Bertie that![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wotwotleigh kindly brought to our attention!
Previous parts:
Part 1
"Jeeves!" I cried, and would have staggered had I not been abed. I gave it a good go anyway, but to no avail. Possibly there is an inborn knack to it where you either have it or you don’t. At any rate, I was more worried about what else I had, namely a bloody awful mustache and a set of wrinkles that would have done one of those imperial Shar-Pei hounds proud. “Jeeves, what on earth’s happened to me?!”
“I . . . I could not say, sir.” Many’s the time I’ve rushed to Jeeves with dire news—when Gussie botched his engagement to Madeline Bassett, when Stiffy blackmailed me into committing petty theft, when Gussie botched his engagement to Madeline AGAIN, when Aunt Agatha—well, the point is he had met innumerable crises with no more than a lift of an eyebrow and a calm “Indeed, sir?”, completely unflappable. But as his eyes dropped to that mustache again—it seemed to hold a horrible fascination for him—for once he looked flapped. Just completely flapped. “It doesn’t seem possible, sir. I cannot fathom how—”
He was interrupted by a knock on the bedroom door.
“What’s that? The Last Trump?” I pulled the bedsheets up to my chest.
Jeeves massaged his brow, something else I had never seen him do before. This was clearly a morning to break all records. “I’m sorry, sir, it slipped my mind, what with . . .” He gestured towards the Wooster corpus. “Mr. Little is here to see you, sir.”
I groaned. Hollowly. Extra hollowly, in fact, as my breakfast was all over the floor. “It needed but this.”
“I will tell him you are indisposed, sir.” He took a step towards the door. It crunched. “And fetch a dustpan.”
“Thank you, Jeeves,” I sighed. Left alone with my thoughts, I put in some pretty serious brooding. They say time flies, but that was no invitation for twenty years or so to come home to roost on my map, what? I was just rolling over in bed, hoping I could fall asleep and wake to find it had all been a horrid dream, when the door opened again.
“Ah, Jeeves,” I greeted him without removing my face from the pillow. Except I didn’t, actually. Because it wasn’t.
“Hullo Bertie!” I froze as Bingo’s voice rolled into the room, accompanied, I assumed, by young Bingo himself. “What are you still doing in bed, you lazy ass?”
“What are you still doing—I mean, what are you doing in here?” I sputtered, rolling over. “Didn’t Jeeves chase you off?”
“Oh, he said you weren’t feeling too chipper, but then you’re always like that after a night on the town, aren’t you? He toddled off to get a broom or something and I, good friend that I am, came in to cheer you up. Did you know there’s china all across your floor?”
“Not only china, but two slices of toast and a selection of eggs, sausages, and marmalade.” I sat up a bit more as I spoke, rather curious to see what Bingo’s reaction would be to the new Wooster face. But as he had seated himself on the end of the bed, facing outward, he was not in the best position to take a gander. “Jeeves had rather a shock this morning.”
“Bertie!” His voice held shock, too.
“Ah, you’re wondering about the face. I just woke up and—”
“Bertie, I’m surprised at you, letting Jeeves’ nerves get unbalanced! Does the trainer of a fine racehorse go about banging pots and pans around the animal? No, he pampers the creature, feeding it the finest oats, tending to its every need . . . Do you feed Jeeves the finest oats, Bertie?”
“Yes! Well . . . plenty of fish, anyway.”
“That’s right, I forgot that he’s powered by sardines.” Bingo paused to light a gasper. “Well, at the very least you should refrain from dumping your food on the floor. That’s just rude. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, Bertie old man, but you must admit—not the done thing.”
“Look, I didn’t--!”
“But don’t worry, Bertie, once Jeeves sees this girl—”
“What girl?”
“This girl I’m going to tell you about. Her name’s Sarah. Sarah! Such a sweet, simple, pure name! Not the type of hard, crude girl you find lurking about in nightclubs. No, she restores one’s faith in this harsh modern world. Once Jeeves sees her, any and all stress and tension in his life will melt away. To gaze at her is to be transported into another world, Bertie, one where the sun always shines and the birds always sing. I’ve written a verse or two in her honour—”
“Oh Lord!”
At this point Jeeves entered, dustpan in hand, and gave Bingo a look of askance. If Bingo noticed it, he gave no sign. “Hullo, Jeeves!”
“Good morning, Mr. Little,” Jeeves said with a note of resignation in his voice. “If you would lift your feet, sir . . .” Bingo did so and Jeeves began to sweep up the crockery.
“I was just telling Bertie here—” Bingo swiveled, at last, to face me. His jaw fell open in a most satisfactory way and he blinked once or twice. “I say, where’d Bertie go? And who are you?”
“I—”
“And what are you doing in his bed? He won’t like that, you know. He got very shirty with me once for sleeping in his bed, despite the fact that I left him a perfectly good guest bed all to himself.”
“Bingo!” My voice cracked a bit.
“Good Lord, you sound just like him. Are you a relation?”
“No, sir,” Jeeves intervened. “This is, in fact, Mr. Wooster.”
“First name?”
“First name of Bertram,” I said. “It’s me, you ass.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Really you?”
“Yes.”
“What on earth have you done to yourself, Bertie?” Bingo’s eyes swept up and down my face. Unlike Jeeves, he seemed more focused on the forehead furrows than the mustache. “You look an absolute fright!”
“I don’t know, I just woke up like . . . like this!”
“How absolutely bizarre! And Jeeves—” He darted a quick look in Jeeves’ direction.
“I’m afraid I have no insight on the matter at this time, sir.”
“Good heavens! Jeeves, stymied!” Bingo looked both awed and fearful, like a man seeing a vision.
“I will be devoting my fullest attention to the . . . situation, however, sir,” Jeeves put in quickly. I shot him a grateful look. I knew he was in my corner, of course, but it was always nice to hear it.
“Well.” Bingo rolled up the poem he’d been about to unship, filling me with further hope for a brighter future. “The situation with Sarah will just have to wait, old man.”
Now it was my jaw that dropped. Normally nothing short of a sharp blow to the head could pry Bingo away from his latest romantic pursuit. “Bingo!”
“Yes, Bertie.” He gave a smile that was perhaps a bit too self-consciously saintly, but I wasn’t about to complain. “You have my full attention.”
“Bingo,” I repeated, deeply moved.
“I mean to say,” he added in a thoughtful sort of tone. “I was counting on having you put in a good word with Sarah, and I can hardly introduce her to you like that, can I? Good Lord, no. You’d give her some kind of fit.”
“Very chivalrous of you, sir,” Jeeves said, dumping the broken china into the trash with a clatter.
Next chapter: More things happen! Honestly I’m just making this up as I go along.
Chapter: 2/?
Rating: G
Words: 1,263
Summary: Bertie wakes up to find he has gained the better part of two decades. And a mustache. Inspired by Skidmore's drawings of Bertie that
wotwotleigh kindly brought to our attention!Previous parts:
Part 1
"Jeeves!" I cried, and would have staggered had I not been abed. I gave it a good go anyway, but to no avail. Possibly there is an inborn knack to it where you either have it or you don’t. At any rate, I was more worried about what else I had, namely a bloody awful mustache and a set of wrinkles that would have done one of those imperial Shar-Pei hounds proud. “Jeeves, what on earth’s happened to me?!”
“I . . . I could not say, sir.” Many’s the time I’ve rushed to Jeeves with dire news—when Gussie botched his engagement to Madeline Bassett, when Stiffy blackmailed me into committing petty theft, when Gussie botched his engagement to Madeline AGAIN, when Aunt Agatha—well, the point is he had met innumerable crises with no more than a lift of an eyebrow and a calm “Indeed, sir?”, completely unflappable. But as his eyes dropped to that mustache again—it seemed to hold a horrible fascination for him—for once he looked flapped. Just completely flapped. “It doesn’t seem possible, sir. I cannot fathom how—”
He was interrupted by a knock on the bedroom door.
“What’s that? The Last Trump?” I pulled the bedsheets up to my chest.
Jeeves massaged his brow, something else I had never seen him do before. This was clearly a morning to break all records. “I’m sorry, sir, it slipped my mind, what with . . .” He gestured towards the Wooster corpus. “Mr. Little is here to see you, sir.”
I groaned. Hollowly. Extra hollowly, in fact, as my breakfast was all over the floor. “It needed but this.”
“I will tell him you are indisposed, sir.” He took a step towards the door. It crunched. “And fetch a dustpan.”
“Thank you, Jeeves,” I sighed. Left alone with my thoughts, I put in some pretty serious brooding. They say time flies, but that was no invitation for twenty years or so to come home to roost on my map, what? I was just rolling over in bed, hoping I could fall asleep and wake to find it had all been a horrid dream, when the door opened again.
“Ah, Jeeves,” I greeted him without removing my face from the pillow. Except I didn’t, actually. Because it wasn’t.
“Hullo Bertie!” I froze as Bingo’s voice rolled into the room, accompanied, I assumed, by young Bingo himself. “What are you still doing in bed, you lazy ass?”
“What are you still doing—I mean, what are you doing in here?” I sputtered, rolling over. “Didn’t Jeeves chase you off?”
“Oh, he said you weren’t feeling too chipper, but then you’re always like that after a night on the town, aren’t you? He toddled off to get a broom or something and I, good friend that I am, came in to cheer you up. Did you know there’s china all across your floor?”
“Not only china, but two slices of toast and a selection of eggs, sausages, and marmalade.” I sat up a bit more as I spoke, rather curious to see what Bingo’s reaction would be to the new Wooster face. But as he had seated himself on the end of the bed, facing outward, he was not in the best position to take a gander. “Jeeves had rather a shock this morning.”
“Bertie!” His voice held shock, too.
“Ah, you’re wondering about the face. I just woke up and—”
“Bertie, I’m surprised at you, letting Jeeves’ nerves get unbalanced! Does the trainer of a fine racehorse go about banging pots and pans around the animal? No, he pampers the creature, feeding it the finest oats, tending to its every need . . . Do you feed Jeeves the finest oats, Bertie?”
“Yes! Well . . . plenty of fish, anyway.”
“That’s right, I forgot that he’s powered by sardines.” Bingo paused to light a gasper. “Well, at the very least you should refrain from dumping your food on the floor. That’s just rude. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, Bertie old man, but you must admit—not the done thing.”
“Look, I didn’t--!”
“But don’t worry, Bertie, once Jeeves sees this girl—”
“What girl?”
“This girl I’m going to tell you about. Her name’s Sarah. Sarah! Such a sweet, simple, pure name! Not the type of hard, crude girl you find lurking about in nightclubs. No, she restores one’s faith in this harsh modern world. Once Jeeves sees her, any and all stress and tension in his life will melt away. To gaze at her is to be transported into another world, Bertie, one where the sun always shines and the birds always sing. I’ve written a verse or two in her honour—”
“Oh Lord!”
At this point Jeeves entered, dustpan in hand, and gave Bingo a look of askance. If Bingo noticed it, he gave no sign. “Hullo, Jeeves!”
“Good morning, Mr. Little,” Jeeves said with a note of resignation in his voice. “If you would lift your feet, sir . . .” Bingo did so and Jeeves began to sweep up the crockery.
“I was just telling Bertie here—” Bingo swiveled, at last, to face me. His jaw fell open in a most satisfactory way and he blinked once or twice. “I say, where’d Bertie go? And who are you?”
“I—”
“And what are you doing in his bed? He won’t like that, you know. He got very shirty with me once for sleeping in his bed, despite the fact that I left him a perfectly good guest bed all to himself.”
“Bingo!” My voice cracked a bit.
“Good Lord, you sound just like him. Are you a relation?”
“No, sir,” Jeeves intervened. “This is, in fact, Mr. Wooster.”
“First name?”
“First name of Bertram,” I said. “It’s me, you ass.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Really you?”
“Yes.”
“What on earth have you done to yourself, Bertie?” Bingo’s eyes swept up and down my face. Unlike Jeeves, he seemed more focused on the forehead furrows than the mustache. “You look an absolute fright!”
“I don’t know, I just woke up like . . . like this!”
“How absolutely bizarre! And Jeeves—” He darted a quick look in Jeeves’ direction.
“I’m afraid I have no insight on the matter at this time, sir.”
“Good heavens! Jeeves, stymied!” Bingo looked both awed and fearful, like a man seeing a vision.
“I will be devoting my fullest attention to the . . . situation, however, sir,” Jeeves put in quickly. I shot him a grateful look. I knew he was in my corner, of course, but it was always nice to hear it.
“Well.” Bingo rolled up the poem he’d been about to unship, filling me with further hope for a brighter future. “The situation with Sarah will just have to wait, old man.”
Now it was my jaw that dropped. Normally nothing short of a sharp blow to the head could pry Bingo away from his latest romantic pursuit. “Bingo!”
“Yes, Bertie.” He gave a smile that was perhaps a bit too self-consciously saintly, but I wasn’t about to complain. “You have my full attention.”
“Bingo,” I repeated, deeply moved.
“I mean to say,” he added in a thoughtful sort of tone. “I was counting on having you put in a good word with Sarah, and I can hardly introduce her to you like that, can I? Good Lord, no. You’d give her some kind of fit.”
“Very chivalrous of you, sir,” Jeeves said, dumping the broken china into the trash with a clatter.
Next chapter: More things happen! Honestly I’m just making this up as I go along.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}