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stonepicnicking_okapiTitle: City Lights
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Length: 1000
Rating: Gen
Summary: Bertie goes for a nighttime tour of the city in an airplane.
Prompt:
Every time I visit New York City, I make it a point to spend some days with my friend Rocky Todd at his cottage on Long Island. It’s a quiet, peaceful, pastoral setting. Rocky Todd is by way of being a poet, the type of cove who can spend the better part of a morning watching a single worm navigate a fence post and consider it time well spent.
After two unsettling experiences in the city, ogling worms held appeal. I left Jeeves in the city, Rocky’s cottage being a cosy affair and Jeeves having expressed interest in several plays which were too high brow for my taste.
And so, one evening about dusk, Rocky Todd and I were tromping about the countryside when we came upon an old airplane hangar, faded letters on the side read ‘City Tours.’
Rocky was perplexed. He swore he’d never seen the hangar before though he’d lived in this rural paradise for years and knew every blade of grass and worm for miles. I suggested we’d taken an odd left turn. It could happen to anyone.
Rocky didn’t seem convinced, and he was even less convinced when a wheezy Methuselah emerged from the hangar and asked if we wanted to go for a ride.
Now this chap was so old that he looked like he’d learned the art of flying directly from Leonardo da Vinci. He also seemed to have about an inch too little skin on his emaciated frame. The canvas was pulled dangerous tight around the frame, allowing more shape of the bone to press through than is ordinary. His eyes were dark, and his teeth were the brown of tobacco juice, which he spat at regular intervals when he spoke, extolling the excitement of tour in his winged two-seater.
Rocky declined the gentleman’s offer, but I, having already spent three quiet, peaceful nights in the country, considered that a bird’s eye tour of the metrop at twinkling twilight might be just the thing.
Rocky tried to dissuade me, but when we Woosters make up our mind, there’s very little shaking us.
It was the work of several moments to open the doors of the hanger and ready pilot, co-pilot, and machine.
Rocky continued to voice his disapproval, but when the aviator goggles were in place, he sighed his defeat and proceeded to swaddle me, using the jumper off his back and the scarf round his neck. His final words were to ask what he should wire to Jeeves about my wishes as regard to the disposal of my remains and to complain that not much rhymed with Bertram for the elegy.
My pilot—I never did catch him name, it might have been Jim or Jimmy or Tim or Timmy—definitely knew how to put a flying contraption in the air.
Soon we were aloft.
I whooped at the magnificent lights of the city beckoning in the near distance.
But my pilot had other worries.
“Enemy! Ten o’clock!” he shouted, pointing.
I could see nothing in the direction indicated. Nevertheless, the plane headed straight for the menace at full tilt.
“We’ll give ‘em the slip!”
What happened next is difficult to recall, the plane turned upside down and right side up and, though I’m told it’s an engineering impossibility, inside out. It did corkscrews and loops and spirals until about every lunch I’ve ever eaten was threatening to make a reappearance.
I saw no enemy in the clouds.
“Aw, we’ve gotta make a run for it! We’ll lose ‘em in the lights!”
The city.
The lights were, indeed, glittering bright, streaks of red and white.
Times Square!
“Sorry, sonny, I need to lighten the load!”
And just like that, I was flying. No craft. Just Bertram Wooster. Above Times Square.
Whoosh!
I looked up and overhead was a giant handkerchief which was attached by cord to the vest I wore.
I floated, floated, floated slowly, slowly, slowly into the very heart of the city.
I looked down. The people were like ants.
I looked up. The plane had vanished.
I looked down again. The people were beginning to look like people.
“What ho, what ho, what ho!” I cried.
A few heads lifted. Then a few more. There were shouts and horns. Then there were sirens.
I couldn’t do a dashed thing but smile and wave and descend to earth like feather on the wind.
A passel of sturdy firemen caught me in a net, surrounded by a thick crowd of official and unofficial spectators.
When I finally put my brogues on terra firma and the brigade cut my strings, there was the only person I wanted to see.
“Jeeves!”
“Sir!”
We embraced. The flash bulbs exploded. The net and its wielders formed a kind of cordon, blocking off the teeming throng.
“Jeeves, it’s a bit much, what, first, the ghost dance club, then, the mystery clock, and now a phantom pilot being chased invisible enemies who scrambled me like an egg then ejected me over Times Square!”
“Most disturbing, sir. I happened to be exiting a theatre when I caught sight of your descent.”
“My nerves can’t handle anymore, Jeeves. I know we’d planned for an extended stay, but I just can’t. Even when I head for the quiet, peaceful country, I end up in some kind of,” I looked up, “high-flying mess.”
“Perhaps a tour of the American west, sir?”
“I suppose or,” I looked at him like a forlorn child, “mightn’t we go east, Jeeves?”
“East, sir?”
“Home?”
He smiled. “I will arrange return passage in the morning, sir. There are some authorities, though, and members of the press who wish to speak with you.”
“Jeeves,” my voice fell to a whisper, “even if you have to be Doctor Witherspoon who’s just recovered his escaped patient from an English looney bin, don’t let me box me up, what?”
“Don’t give it a moment’s thought, sir. This way.”
He put his arm around me, and I sighed with relief.
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Length: 1000
Rating: Gen
Summary: Bertie goes for a nighttime tour of the city in an airplane.
Prompt:
Every time I visit New York City, I make it a point to spend some days with my friend Rocky Todd at his cottage on Long Island. It’s a quiet, peaceful, pastoral setting. Rocky Todd is by way of being a poet, the type of cove who can spend the better part of a morning watching a single worm navigate a fence post and consider it time well spent.
After two unsettling experiences in the city, ogling worms held appeal. I left Jeeves in the city, Rocky’s cottage being a cosy affair and Jeeves having expressed interest in several plays which were too high brow for my taste.
And so, one evening about dusk, Rocky Todd and I were tromping about the countryside when we came upon an old airplane hangar, faded letters on the side read ‘City Tours.’
Rocky was perplexed. He swore he’d never seen the hangar before though he’d lived in this rural paradise for years and knew every blade of grass and worm for miles. I suggested we’d taken an odd left turn. It could happen to anyone.
Rocky didn’t seem convinced, and he was even less convinced when a wheezy Methuselah emerged from the hangar and asked if we wanted to go for a ride.
Now this chap was so old that he looked like he’d learned the art of flying directly from Leonardo da Vinci. He also seemed to have about an inch too little skin on his emaciated frame. The canvas was pulled dangerous tight around the frame, allowing more shape of the bone to press through than is ordinary. His eyes were dark, and his teeth were the brown of tobacco juice, which he spat at regular intervals when he spoke, extolling the excitement of tour in his winged two-seater.
Rocky declined the gentleman’s offer, but I, having already spent three quiet, peaceful nights in the country, considered that a bird’s eye tour of the metrop at twinkling twilight might be just the thing.
Rocky tried to dissuade me, but when we Woosters make up our mind, there’s very little shaking us.
It was the work of several moments to open the doors of the hanger and ready pilot, co-pilot, and machine.
Rocky continued to voice his disapproval, but when the aviator goggles were in place, he sighed his defeat and proceeded to swaddle me, using the jumper off his back and the scarf round his neck. His final words were to ask what he should wire to Jeeves about my wishes as regard to the disposal of my remains and to complain that not much rhymed with Bertram for the elegy.
My pilot—I never did catch him name, it might have been Jim or Jimmy or Tim or Timmy—definitely knew how to put a flying contraption in the air.
Soon we were aloft.
I whooped at the magnificent lights of the city beckoning in the near distance.
But my pilot had other worries.
“Enemy! Ten o’clock!” he shouted, pointing.
I could see nothing in the direction indicated. Nevertheless, the plane headed straight for the menace at full tilt.
“We’ll give ‘em the slip!”
What happened next is difficult to recall, the plane turned upside down and right side up and, though I’m told it’s an engineering impossibility, inside out. It did corkscrews and loops and spirals until about every lunch I’ve ever eaten was threatening to make a reappearance.
I saw no enemy in the clouds.
“Aw, we’ve gotta make a run for it! We’ll lose ‘em in the lights!”
The city.
The lights were, indeed, glittering bright, streaks of red and white.
Times Square!
“Sorry, sonny, I need to lighten the load!”
And just like that, I was flying. No craft. Just Bertram Wooster. Above Times Square.
Whoosh!
I looked up and overhead was a giant handkerchief which was attached by cord to the vest I wore.
I floated, floated, floated slowly, slowly, slowly into the very heart of the city.
I looked down. The people were like ants.
I looked up. The plane had vanished.
I looked down again. The people were beginning to look like people.
“What ho, what ho, what ho!” I cried.
A few heads lifted. Then a few more. There were shouts and horns. Then there were sirens.
I couldn’t do a dashed thing but smile and wave and descend to earth like feather on the wind.
A passel of sturdy firemen caught me in a net, surrounded by a thick crowd of official and unofficial spectators.
When I finally put my brogues on terra firma and the brigade cut my strings, there was the only person I wanted to see.
“Jeeves!”
“Sir!”
We embraced. The flash bulbs exploded. The net and its wielders formed a kind of cordon, blocking off the teeming throng.
“Jeeves, it’s a bit much, what, first, the ghost dance club, then, the mystery clock, and now a phantom pilot being chased invisible enemies who scrambled me like an egg then ejected me over Times Square!”
“Most disturbing, sir. I happened to be exiting a theatre when I caught sight of your descent.”
“My nerves can’t handle anymore, Jeeves. I know we’d planned for an extended stay, but I just can’t. Even when I head for the quiet, peaceful country, I end up in some kind of,” I looked up, “high-flying mess.”
“Perhaps a tour of the American west, sir?”
“I suppose or,” I looked at him like a forlorn child, “mightn’t we go east, Jeeves?”
“East, sir?”
“Home?”
He smiled. “I will arrange return passage in the morning, sir. There are some authorities, though, and members of the press who wish to speak with you.”
“Jeeves,” my voice fell to a whisper, “even if you have to be Doctor Witherspoon who’s just recovered his escaped patient from an English looney bin, don’t let me box me up, what?”
“Don’t give it a moment’s thought, sir. This way.”
He put his arm around me, and I sighed with relief.
no subject
Date: 2021-05-06 06:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-05-06 08:35 pm (UTC)