[10 out of 20] Jeeves & Wooster: Gen
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sweetandshortTitle: Cure-all
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Rating: Gen
Length: 300
Prompt: stay strong
Summary: Jeeves' pick-me-up cures more than hangovers.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“It is not a good afternoon, Jeeves. How can it be? The y. m. is contemplating the imminent demise of a close pal in a way fit for an Edgar Allan Poe yarn.”
“Sir?”
“Catmeat Potter-Pirbright, Jeeves. It’s dire. He needs E. Jimpson Murgatroyd, that famous Harley Street medico who cured me of my spots, or E. Jimpson’s demon-casting cousin or six good Drones with six good shovels to start the internment.”
“Sir, you alarm me.”
“You can’t be half as alarmed as I am, Jeeves, when I saw one of the most decent chaps I know coughing up, and I kid you not, poppies.”
“Juvenile canines, sir?”
“Not puppies! Poppies! Red flowers being, well, pulled like a rabbit out of a hat, the hat being Catsmeat’s throat!”
“Ah, I see, sir.”
“No, you don’t, or you didn’t, and you should count yourself lucky. By Jove, I’m breaking out in the good ol’ persp again just remembering it.”
“Might I ask if Mister Pir-Bright has expressed amorous sentiments towards someone who does not return those sentiments?”
“Jeeves, egad. You would’ve been burnt at the stake a hundred years ago! How did you know that? He had been mooning over Limehouse Lily, that dance hall siren all the lads are panting for, for about a week.”
Jeeves gave a nod. “I will make a preparation, a variation on what you call my pick-me-up, and we will take it to him. It will carry. I gather he is at the Drones.”
“If he isn’t at the cemetery. Hurry, Jeeves. And may I say you move in mysterious ways, your wonders to perform. Here, let me get word to the Drones for the ranks to stay strong, help in the form of a heroic thermos flask is on the way!”
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Rating: Gen
Length: 300
Prompt: stay strong
Summary: Jeeves' pick-me-up cures more than hangovers.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“It is not a good afternoon, Jeeves. How can it be? The y. m. is contemplating the imminent demise of a close pal in a way fit for an Edgar Allan Poe yarn.”
“Sir?”
“Catmeat Potter-Pirbright, Jeeves. It’s dire. He needs E. Jimpson Murgatroyd, that famous Harley Street medico who cured me of my spots, or E. Jimpson’s demon-casting cousin or six good Drones with six good shovels to start the internment.”
“Sir, you alarm me.”
“You can’t be half as alarmed as I am, Jeeves, when I saw one of the most decent chaps I know coughing up, and I kid you not, poppies.”
“Juvenile canines, sir?”
“Not puppies! Poppies! Red flowers being, well, pulled like a rabbit out of a hat, the hat being Catsmeat’s throat!”
“Ah, I see, sir.”
“No, you don’t, or you didn’t, and you should count yourself lucky. By Jove, I’m breaking out in the good ol’ persp again just remembering it.”
“Might I ask if Mister Pir-Bright has expressed amorous sentiments towards someone who does not return those sentiments?”
“Jeeves, egad. You would’ve been burnt at the stake a hundred years ago! How did you know that? He had been mooning over Limehouse Lily, that dance hall siren all the lads are panting for, for about a week.”
Jeeves gave a nod. “I will make a preparation, a variation on what you call my pick-me-up, and we will take it to him. It will carry. I gather he is at the Drones.”
“If he isn’t at the cemetery. Hurry, Jeeves. And may I say you move in mysterious ways, your wonders to perform. Here, let me get word to the Drones for the ranks to stay strong, help in the form of a heroic thermos flask is on the way!”
