#i wish there was more of Jeeves and Wooster in here but i’ll take what i can get

[my-mistake-lets-do-this-again]

source (x)

This whole Comic Relief video is amazing but the Jeeves and Wooster section is the best by far. Hugh Laurie’s singing + Stephen Fry’s everything killed it. With the bonus content from the whole video just being so funny.

Watch it and join me in knowing about this absolute gem.

[bitletsanddrabbles]

WIP Wednesday, Morning Edition

Since a good portion of my vacation was dedicated to doll customization, there will be a second one of these later, after I’ve snapped some in-progress pictures. For now, though, for my usual Downton audience, a longer-than-usual chunk from one of my novels-in-progress.

I thoroughly blame @alex51324 for writing the wonderful “Jeeves and the Inferior Valet” and thus introducing me to Wodehouse. While this isn’t in anyway related to that fic, other than the obvious subject matter, I feel that is absolutely credit that should be given. I’ve been working on this piece, off and on, for a couple of years now. If we all live to be 90, you may get to read it complete! As it is, I’m trying to nudge it along right now, so here, have the opening:

It seems to me that one must never be too glad to be alive. That is to say, whenever one is feeling his best, his most topping self, Fate seems to take it as a personal affront and sets about correcting things. On the morning of which I speak, I woke perfectly refreshed. I felt so all together zippy that if someone had barged into my bedroom and insisted on a conversation before I’d downed a single cup of tea, I might well have nearly managed. The weather was clement and with the help of a horse named Dark Secret who had managed a rather impressive win the day before, so was my bank account. Of course, a Wooster never has much to worry about when it comes to affording life’s niceties, but it is always nice to come out on the proper side of these things. Yes, it was with this sunny outlook on life that I applied myself to breakfast and was tucking into the eggs and b. when Jeeves appeared with two clouds to shadow my good cheer.

“Mrs. Travers called earlier, sir,” he informed me.

“Aunt Dahlia?” The news was somewhat surprising, I admit, but no cause for alarm. After all, Aunt Dahlia is my good aunt. That is to say, my better aunt. That is to say the aunt who isn’t Aunt Agatha who could turn a gorgon to stone with her glare and is forever trying to shackle me with a job or a wife, preferably both. “What does she want?”

“As the owner and editor of Milady's Boudoir, she has been invited to spend the weekend in Yorkshire at the estate of the Earl of Grantham,” Jeeves reported dutifully. “The Earl’s younger daughter, the Marchioness of Hexham, runs the Sketch and has apparently organized a small gathering of women in the profession.”

“Hexham?” The Woosters might be gentlemen, but none of us can boast of hobnobbing with the upper echelons of the peerage. Once you get past the honorable misses and misters, we find ourselves a bit outclassed, no matter how noble our hearts. Still, one hears of people, in the right circles, and nothing I’d heard about the Marquess of Hexham had lead me to believe he’d be married before the age of sixty, and then under great protest. “When did the Marquess of Hexham find time to get married? Isn’t he the one who’s always off in Tangiers?”

“That was the previous Lord Hexham,” Jeeves corrected my error. “If you’ll recall sir, he died last year. Malaria, I believe.”

“Oh, that’s right. Dashed sorry to hear that.” Admittedly, I never actually met the man in my life, but there are some things you simply feel sorry about. Forgetting someone has died is one of them.

“He was quite well liked in certain circles and will be missed. His cousin, the current Marquess, was married this past December.”

Clearly I was on the right page now, but something still seemed a bit rummy about it. “But isn’t the family home in Northumberland? Why wouldn’t the Marchioness have it there?”

“I have no idea, sir.”

The only thing I could think of was that the size of the building was more accommodating to the cause. “I can’t imaging an Earl having a grander house than a Marquess.”

“It would seem odd, sir.”

“Still, I suppose if you’re a Marchioness who wants to have a to-do at her father’s house, and he’s only an Earl, you can jolly well do as you please and not much he can do about it, what?”

“I would imagine so, yes sir. Whatever the lady’s reasoning for the location, Mr. Travers has been taken ill, and so Mrs. Travers would like you to come with her to help make up the numbers at dinner.”

“That is straight out,” I replied, with a fair amount of relief. I like Aunt Dahlia well enough, but spending more time with her than it takes to enjoy a dinner from her French chef Anatole is generally courting disaster. A fellow could easily find himself in chokey for the theft of a cow creamer, for instance. “I have a very important dinner at the Drone’s club tomorrow night and it is imperative I don’t miss it.”

“Very good, sir. Mrs. Gregson also called.”

“Aunt Agatha?” I nearly choked on a piece of bacon. The day suddenly seemed less sunny. That is to say, while the first cloud didn’t look so alarming, this one promised rain, thunder, and possibly a lightening strike or two. “And the purpose of her call?” I asked, once I’d cleared the old palate.

“She wishes you to have dinner with her tonight,” Jeeves replied, making it seem like a remarkably mundane event. Meals with Aunt Agatha are never mundane, and not because she has an extraordinary French chef. Her chef is of the perfectly ordinary, English variety.  “Apparently there is a young lady by the name of the right Honorable Miss Proops she believes you should meet.”

If there is any announcement perfectly calculated to make the Wooster blood run cold, it’s hearing that Aunt Agatha wants me to meet a young lady. The woman is determined to see me married off and churning out offspring like crumpets from a bakery. I hardly see why since she makes no attempt to disguise the fact she doesn’t like me. I’d think she’d prefer me to die a childless bachelor, rather than populating the world with little Bertrams. What’s worse, she seems to think I should be attached to an ‘improving’ sort of woman, the sort that keeps up on Freud and the other philosophers and carries on the sort of academic conversation one avoided at Oxford. “Grim business, Jeeves. Very grim.”

“I can not imagine it would be a pleasant evening for you, sir.”

“No, not pleasing in the least. Especially since there is only one reason that Aunt Agatha ever wants me to meet a Miss anyone. If I’m not careful, I’ll be engaged by the dessert course. ” I prodded at my e., suddenly devoid of appetite. “Still, I daren’t not attend, not without jolly good reason. What do you suggest?” I gave him my most imploring look. If ever I was in need of that amazing brain of his, it was now.

“I would suggest you go to Yorkshire with Mrs. Travers, sir,” Jeeves replied with a promptness that bespoke forethought. I began to suspect he’d presented the phone calls to me in the order he did for a purpose, and I was soon to be proven correct. “Since you learned of her offer first, Mrs. Gregson can, with a reasonable amount of truthfulness, be told it was a previous engagement. It has the further advantage of being well away from London and, according to an acquaintance of mine who happens to live in the very village we will be visiting, has lovely weather this time of year.”

“The old Metrop. does get a bit oppressive around this season,” I agreed, quickly warming to the idea. There was still only one point of hesitation. “This Earl, though. He doesn’t happen to collect antique silver, does he?”

“No sir. Lord Grantham is known for collecting snuff boxes, which none of your family is interested in, and favors Labradors over terriers for canine companionship. Also, his two living daughters are both safely married.”

I needed no further convincing. “Right-ho, Jeeves! Call Aunt Dahlia and let her know we’d be delighted to accompany her. Then pack my cases for the country. This will be a perfect chance to wear my new tie!”

“Not the Macclesfield, sir, surely.”

I did not like the tone in which he said that. Largely, I have come to accept Jeeves’s view on the contents of my wardrobe, hidebound as it is, but there are days it seems he’s going absolutely backwards. “And what’s wrong with it?”

“While it is a fine tie in many regards, it does not suite your complexion-.”

“Hang my complexion, Jeeves,” I countered gamely, before he could add his customary ‘sir’. “Every once in awhile a man’s complexion needs something new, something zippy to shake it up.” He looked ready to protest, so I fixed him with my steeliest gaze. Absolutely unbendable. “I will wear it, Jeeves!”

“Very good, sir.”

As he was turning to leave, a thought occurred to me. “By the way, you said Lord Grantham’s two living daughters were married. Has he any others?”

“His Lordship’s youngest daughter, Mrs. Sybil Branson nee Crawley, died in childbirth back in 1920. Her husband, Mr. Branson, lives at Downton with his in-laws.”

“Ah. Good to know.” Storing that information away in my head as something not to bring up over dinner, I turned my attention to finishing my breakfast.

So there you go! The suitably improbable intro! At least, I feel it’s pretty durn unlikely, even before the movie, that Edith would hold a writer’s conference at Downton, or if she did that she’d invite Aunt Dahlia, etc. But this isn’t about realism, it’s about having an excuse to write Bertie being an idiot and Thomas being a snark face in the same story. Who says you can’t have everything?

In other news, I fully understand why Wodehouse spent so much time writing Jeeves and Wooster stories. Bertie’s a blast!

[v-thinks-on]

A Social Visit

Part 2 of Jeeves and the Amateur Cracksman

Previous | Next

“Mr. Manders,” Jeeves announced, waving the aforementioned into the flat.

“What ho!” I exclaimed, jumping up to greet him.

While A.J. Raffles came closer to Jeeves in height, Bunny Manders, though dwarfed by Jeeves and even by myself, upon examination in the light of day, seemed to have some family resemblance in the set of his features that, combined with his youthful appearance, made it easy to believe he was Jeeves’s kid brother or young cousin, not that Jeeves gave any indication they had ever so much as exchanged a passing how-do-you-do.

“Hello,”  Bunny said with a sidelong glance up at Jeeves. “I’m sorry Raffles couldn’t make it, but he told me to convey his regards.”

“Not at all! I’m sure a famous cricketer like him has all sorts of places to be and things to go to and what not. Tell him I say, ‘What ho!’”

I waved it off genially enough, but I confess I was more than a tad disappointed that I didn’t get the chance to rub elbows with the acclaimed A.J. Raffles. Still, we Woosters are nothing if not gracious hosts, and if I was to be entrusted with his pal Bunny, then it was the least I could do.

I waved Bunny into the sitting room. “Have a seat, make yourself at home! Jeeves, drinks all around, what?”

“Sir?”

Jeeves had drifted over to fiddle with the window while I had been preoccupied with our guest, but now he resumed his place at attention. Jeeves had been on the frosty side for the past couple days - I couldn’t say why, having thoroughly rearranged the wardrobe, I had just about ascertained it didn’t have anything to do with my costume - and now was no different.

Bunny jumped a little at his sudden appearance, clearly unaccustomed to how Jeeves has a way of flickering in and out of the presence rather than walking like any ordinary fellow.

“Care to join us for a spot?” I asked. “Bunny’s your cousin after all.”

“That is very kind, sir, but Mr. Manders is your guest.”

I shrugged - that’s the only thing to do when the man is in such a state, though there was something in his tone that grated more than a little. “Have it your way, Jeeves.”

While Jeeves biffed off to prepare the drinks, I turned my attention to playing the gregarious host. “Lovely afternoon, what?”

Bunny tore his eyes away from Jeeves. “Oh, yes, it is, isn’t it?”

“Do you play cricket?”

“No, not really. Do you?”

“Hardly - I’ve never gone in for sports myself except for a touch of golf or tennis. I did try rowing once, but it didn’t last long. The coach, an old pal of mine, Stilton Cheesewright, was a real terror; I’ve never stood so much rapid fire abuse. But I throw a mean dart. My club, the Drones, has a competition every year and I would be a shoe-in if not for Horace Pendlebury-Davenport!”

“Really?” Bunny said, with the air of a man who had gotten rather lost along the way.

I was about to endeavor to explain when Jeeves shimmered over with a pair of glasses.

Bunny leaped like he had been stuck with a pin, nearly knocking the proffered glass out of Jeeves’s hand. For a moment, he just sat there, looking like a chap who had just seen a ghost, which I supposed wasn’t such a strange response to Jeeves appearing and disappearing like a genie out of a lamp, especially not for a fellow called Bunny. I’d only just grown accustomed to the man’s mysterious ways myself.

Finally, Bunny took the glass, though he kept an eye on Jeeves, as though he expected him to vanish into thin air at any moment, which I could have told him was sure to happen sooner or later.

“I don’t suppose you could walk a little louder, Jeeves? Tie a bell around your wrist or somesuch?” I suggested.

“I will endeavor to make my presence known, sir.”

You may know that Jeeves sometimes takes on an expression, or rather a lack of expression, altogether reminiscent of a stuffed frog or other such specimen, typically when he’s present and wants to give the impression of not being so. There’s something of a wax statue in the chap, absolutely silent with no presence at all. Well, I’ll tell you that Jeeves could have passed for a stuffed Jeeves then. I reflexively glanced down at my raiment, but as far as I could tell, there was nothing offensive in the lot, and it’s unusual for Jeeves to stay silent on such matters.

When I glanced back up, he was gone.

Bunny and I sipped at our drinks in a companionable silence for a tick or two before I remembered; “Say, you grew up with Jeeves, didn’t you?”

Bunny hesitated on the reply. “Yes... You could say that.”

“Has he always been like this?”

“I suppose so... How do you mean?”

“Oh, all brainy and whatnot. Ate a lot of fish, I expect.”

Bunny seemed to take a moment to process the question. “I don’t think we ever had fish,” he said at last. “But he’s always been intelligent, just like Raffles. I was the only- well, compared to them...” he struggled with the words.

“Oh, rather! I mean, you should hear my Aunt Dahlia - or worse, my Aunt Agatha - talking about how much of a lost cause I am, negligible intelligence, waste of space, you’d think I’d run away to live a life of crime the way they put it. I’m just lucky my cousins Claude and Eustace are worse. I couldn’t imagine what it’d be like if they had a real paragon like Jeeves to compare me with.”

“It’s not much of a comparison.”

I gave a sad shake of my head. “No, and I couldn’t tell you why he’s stuck around as long as he has. I would’ve thought he’d have left as soon as another posish. opened up, but he’s still here biffing around.”

“You don’t know why he’s working for you?” Bunny asked, sounding truly intrigued for the first time since he arrived.

“Not a clue. Did he always want to be a valet? With a brain like his, he could give Sherlock Holmes a run for his money. I assumed he went in to support his family and what not, but that was before I knew he was related to a fellow like A.J. Raffles, though really I should have known Jeeves couldn’t just be any ordinary chap.”

Bunny nodded thoughtfully at the comparison. “No, I wondered why he went into service. He did stay and help when the rest of us went our separate ways, but-”

Jeeves gave a quiet cough, like a polite sheep on a distant mountaintop, to announce his presence - Bunny jumped at the sudden interjection, but not nearly as much as before. “I could not help but overhear, sir - if I may.”

“Do enlighten us, Jeeves. Why did you decide to become a valet?”

“Life is too short, sir. To spend that shortness basely were too long.”

“Well, there you have it,” I declared, though I wasn’t at all sure what it was that I had.

Bunny frowned, seemingly intent upon deciphering it himself as Jeeves shimmered off.

Our conversation wandered off to other subjects until Bunny made his excuses and got up to leave. I followed him to the door, still expounding on whatever the latest topic was.

Jeeves coughed softly to announce his presence as he brought in Bunny’s jacket. He gave the jacket to Bunny and then took a step toward me.

“Sir, I took the liberty of liberating your cigarette case from Mr. Manders’s jacket pocket.” He held out the now unfettered case.

“I can explain!” Bunny burst out, looking rather like his namesake, as he glanced nervously between Jeeves and myself - mostly looking at Jeeves, to tell the truth.

“Another one of your pranks?” I asked - nothing else seemed to make sense.

He rather jumped on it. “Yes! It’s a competition. We’ve always tried taking things from each other, and, well, since Raffles failed, I had to try.”

The scales seemed to fall from my eyes, if you get my meaning. “Jeeves, I never would have expected you playing a game like this. Do you try to steal things too?”

“No, sir,” Jeeves said with some disdain.

“But you did?”

“Well-” Bunny attempted.

“I have not in many years, sir.”

I could nearly imagine it, Jeeves in miniature and all his cousins sneaking around an old manor house in the dead of night, trying to get away with a toy or book in a clandestine game of cops and robbers. I only wished I’d thought of it in my formative years.

“I say, Jeeves, you’re full of surprises! And Bunny, you’re welcome ‘round any time, though I’d rather you didn’t run off with my cigarette case.” I took a cigarette out for good measure. “I’m sure we can find you something else - I wouldn’t want to break a family tradition.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Bunny stammered, still looking rather beet-like.

“Anything for a chum. I have an old cigar box I never use, if you like.”

I had been hoping to get the bally thing off my hands ever since my engagement with the girl who gave it to me ended, but Bunny was having none of it, and so I dropped the case, or box as it were.

“I really must be going,” he insisted.

So, I bid him, “Toodle-pip!” and saw him on his way.

“A very amiable chap,” I proclaimed as I meandered back into the sitting room.

I had a mind to settle on the sofa and return to the tale of suspense I had been reading earlier that afternoon - they were just about to discover the second body - when I noticed that Jeeves had materialized by the window and was peering down into the street below.

“Something catch your eye, what? I hope we didn’t send Bunny straight into the fray.”

“Not exactly, sir.”

I meandered over to the window to see what it was Jeeves was making such a fuss about - by Jeevesian standards at least - but his powers of perception must have been much greater than mine if he saw anything more than Bunny making his way around the square.

“It’s a nice day for a stroll, but nothing to write home about,” I remarked.

“I was merely observing the unkempt gentleman with a pronounced limp following Mr. Manders.”

“Oh!” I spotted the fellow, sure enough trailing a bit behind Bunny, but gaining ground despite his awkward gait. “Do you think Bunny’s in trouble?”

“I expect not, sir.”

“If you’re sure, Jeeves.”

“Quite confident, sir.”

“Right-o, then!”

I tossed myself down on the sofa and not a few moments later Jeeves rippled in with the tea.

Part of The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves

[grifalinas]

More of that crossover, because @kanna-ophelia​ is still sick.

-/-

“Thank you for joining us, M. Jeeves. Now. I would like to ask you few questions about the day the tragedy took place.”

“I’ll answer anything you need me to, sir.”

“Bon. Please begin by telling me of your movements. What brought you and M. Wooster to Fell’s?”

“That was my fault, I’m afraid. Mr. Wooster suggested taking me to a bookshop to pick out a book for myself as a birthday present.”

“Is M. Wooster in the habit of such gifts?”

“Very much so, sir. Mr. Wooster is an exceedingly generous man. He even sent my uncle a wedding gift once, despite having never even met the man.”

“You say it was your fault he took you to the bookshop, though.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Wooster suggested A.Z. Fell’s, and rather than merely suggesting a different bookshop, as would have led us elsewhere, I made the mistake of telling him about my past experiences with Mr. Fell.”

“Ah, you are yourself acquainted with M. Fell?”

“Unfortunately. I have been in his shop a number of times in search of various books I wanted.”

“Others I have spoken to have stated that M. Fell is ‘an angel’. You disagree?”

“While I would not exactly say that I disagree with such assessments by those who have had the privilege to interact with Mr. Fell at the dinner table or at cards, it has been my misfortune to meet Mr. Fell in terms of business, where his pleasantness flees in the face of his ire that anyone might attempt to buy one of his books.”

“But the man is a bookseller.”

“A misnomer, sir. I believe it would be more accurate to say that he owns a bookshop. As for selling, I expect he’d sooner resort to murder than actually sell one of his wares.”

“Very interesting. And you told your master these things?”

“I explained the difficulty in purchasing anything in Mr. Fell’s shop. However, Mr. Wooster is what he describes as a ‘man of iron will’ and he is also very protective of both servants and my own reputation. When he learned that I had been denied wares by a man whose shop states it sells books for the gentry, he assumed it was my own class preventing Mr. Fell from selling to me, and resolved to purchase the book, to quote him, ‘right out from under his snooty nose, and that will teach him’.”

“That was very kind of him.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Wooster is a very kind-hearted man.”

“I see. And how long have you been in love with him?”

“...”

“I say, Poirot! You can’t go around making accusations like that!”

“Mr. Poirot, Mr. Wooster is a respectable gentleman, and I am his valet. Our relationship is one of a master and his servant, and our good standing with one another is merely due to compatible, complementary personalities. I will not have you making accusations against him or myself that could bring us such misfortune as these.”

“Calm yourself, M. Jeeves. You are in no danger here. I merely wish to confirm what I had suspected- that M. Wooster could not have killed the Earl in an attempt to win Lady Sidcup’s hand, as his own affections were engaged elsewhere.”

“...”

“You are displeased.”

“Mr. Wooster did not kill his lordship. Not because his affections were engaged elsewhere, but because even if he did have any affection for Lady Sidcup, his own personal moral code would prevent anything short of wishing her the greatest happiness with the man of her choosing.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“Oui, M. Jeeves. You have told me everything I need to know, thank you for your time. When you leave, will you please ask M. Fell to join me?”

“Of course.”

[sashabarkov]

how about A, B, P, V, Z, and AU for the fic reader meme??

Sorry this took so long, we had a huge power outage and my internet was down.

A - I read hockey rpf (both men’s and women’s), football rpf, women’s soccer rpf, star wars fic, overwatch fic, and sometimes the occasional fic from whatever fandom currently holds my interest

B - For some reason, I just really really love wingfic, animal transformation fic, and fic centered around survival (especially wilderness survival, but also zombie apocalypse fics and stuff like that – I’ll take what I can get). I just really like lost in the woods/stranded by a snowstorm/etc fics and I wish there were more of them. Also, I’ll never pass up a hard-boiled detective AU.

P - known to act oak (never catch her a willow) by michaud on AO3, women’s hockey rpf. “Amanda gets up. She runs. She feeds her cat, because her roommate won’t. She goes to class, comes home to feed the cat again. She goes to work. She does not think about Hilary Knight.”

V - One Clear Gaffe – in which the names Giroux and Giroud look similar enough neither Olivier nor Claude realize they don’t have their own names on their wrist. I’d call this crack taken seriously. Hockey rpf- and the land will be looked after – a misdirected curse causes Beau Bennett, Paul Martin, and James Neal to switch bodies. Hilarity ensues. Hockey rpf- The Rummy Affair of the Brinkley Ball – a Jeeves and Wooster fic that feels like it’s the real thing. Truly wonderful. Features fake dating, awful plans, and of course, Jeeves being miraculous. I’m not really sure if this counts as crack, since pretty much everything Jeeves and Wooster seems to be at least 78% cracky, so it’s really par for the course, but here it is. Highly recommended.

Z - I don’t read pregnancy fics, no matter what. If it was the only fic in my favorite pairing, I wouldn’t read it. They make me so uncomfortable I’ve found I feel like I’m gonna throw up.

AU - The aforementioned Jeeves and Wooster fic is one I’d rec to someone who is reading their first ever fanfic, or who wants to try something else. For a sports fic, I might rec Scott Wilson and the Case of the Levitsky House Ghosts by withershins or how does a penguin build his house? by @neyvenger bc they’re both really good.

Thanks!