What Ho Biggles!
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biggles_slash_archiveThere's been some discussion in the backwaters about the grand adventures of Jeeves and Wooster meeting the grand adventures of Biggles and Co. I hesitantly bring an initial chapter of this celebratory romp of English-ness to this comm, for robust discussion by other learned persons. It would be lovely to know what you chappies thought about it all; should I continue to post the rest of the fic or leave it to be forgotten as an idea that was merely interesting?
TItle: What Ho, Biggles!
Pairing: Jeeves/ Wooster, Algy/ Biggles,
Characters: Jeeves, Wooster, Raymond, Ginger, Bertie Lissie, Biggles, Algy, sundry unsavoury characters
Rating: PG
Summary: Wooster, B., gets confused with one Lissie, B., we brush shoulders with the War to End All Wars, Jeeves is Jeeves and we sight the beginings of some rummy circs.
I awoke with a particular feeling of gloom. This was caused, I deduced, by the pain in my leg, and heightened by the lack of Jeeves at my side. Rather rum, I considered, and made to say so.
"Raghthhrm" I frowned, swallowed, and found my throat as dry and a particularly parched rock in the Sahara. Well, thought this Wooster, if unable to talk because of thirst, water must be found. (I didn't think anything stronger would be forthcoming. The bits of room that I could see were white and forbidding, managing to suggest spirits were evaporated before they fully formed, dispersing any of the longed-for brandy.)
"Water, Mr Wooster?" A toothsome bezel leaned over, pushing interesting parts of her anatomy to my immediate attention. Sadly all I could do was make a sort of cough, not unlike the asthmatic sheep on a distant hillside that Jeeves employs, though more bronchial and standing in a river on that self-same hill.
The bezel - nurse, I suppose I should say - smiled and produced the aforementioned liquid, even going so far as to aid me in sitting a touch more upright. I gulped it down like the thirsty chap I was, and felt wet enough to speak my thanks.
"Thanks very much. I say, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but where exactly am I?"
"Hospital, Mr Wooster. You were crossing the road when an omnibus hit you..." She paused and I cast my mind back, then shook my head. "Can't remember it I'm afraid. Still," I laughed lightly, "I can hardly remember my own name half the time. Ask one of my Aunts.” I may have added a tra-la, to show I was unconcerned, you know. She smiled indulgently, "Well, you remembered it enough to tell us when we were bandaging you up."
"Good-ho. Some Samaritan do the good deed and ship me over here, hey?"
"Precisely. Now that you're awake I can ask you - is there anyone we should contact?"
I nodded, "Yes. Can you ring my flat and just let Jeeves know? Then he can field all calls." She hovered and it took me a while to realise she didn't know which flat of the hundreds in London was mine. "Oh! Sorry. Here you are...."
A rummy sitch., as you can see. I had vague images slowly working themselves into a more useful array which told me the full story. After about half an hour of puzzling things over I recalled that I had popped into the bookstore, on the hunt for the newest mystery, and duly found it. Engrossed in the tome in my hands I had clearly been unlucky in judging the distance between self and 'bus, and paid the price. I stared down the W. corpus. No broken bones, that was certain.
Gingerly, keeping a weather eye out for nurses, I lifted the blankets. As I thought, the lower left leg was bandaged neatly. The funny gown that I was lying in was easy enough to lift up, and I beheld grazes and bruising on the whole left side of my leg, matching the bits on my arm. If that was what I looked like, I could but imagine what my clothes were like. No doubt Jeeves would burn them quietly, in some midnight ritual that would prevent the neighbours from seeing.
The image of Jeeves dancing about burning the y. masters clothes was so funny that it took a moment for me to hear someone calling my name. More accurately, three someone's, with varying levels of volume and clarity.
"Be-ertie.....Be-ertie...be-ertie" That one sounded like a wounded bird, all high then low, trying to be quiet but forgetting until halfway through the word.
"Bertie! Hi, Bertie! Bertie! Hi, Bertie!" That one sounded more like a snare drum, rattling off the words with a precision that told me he, at least, had served.
"Bertie?" It was said the most infrequently, half-heartedly, as if the owner knew the other two were making enough noise for me to hear. I didn't recognise any of them, but that didn't mean much, my head being still a tad confused. Besides, echoing corridors played merry hell with the timbre of anything, voices included.
"Yes? Here!" I called back, thankful for the glass of water the nurse had left.
"Be-ti....shhhh!" The other two were quiet just as suddenly. "Where are you?" That was the Sergeant Major talking.
"Here." I replied, idiotically. Well, it was hardly a fair question, after all. I could hardly be expected to know more than that I was in a hospital bed, could I?
I wonder if you know that hymn- tum tumm, tiddlity tum,
tum tum tiddle tum, tum tum
was lost, and now, am found?
It was a bit like that, when they finally burst in. All very happy with themselves, if I am any judge of facials. (Since decoding some Jeevesian eyebrow raises and mouth twitches, I like to think there is none better at facial expressions than Wooster, B.W., at the Drones).
"Bertie, just as well. They weren't going to let us in, out of visiting hours, but we had to tell you...." A chappie with freckles and hair like the daughter of that king. Knight? No, the knight was dead. Definitely the king. Jeeves would know. I made a note to ask him next time he saw him.
"Tell me what? Is that why you were sneaking around? Didn't want the women-folk to find you and chase you out?" I smiled my best conspiratorial smile and then frowned when there was no reply. I mean to say, a man tried his best, it would be nice for that to be replayed with something!
"You aren't Bertie." The freckly one eventually said.
"Oh ho is that your game? I may have been hit on the old noggin, but I most certainly am Bertie, of that I am sure."
The Sergeant-Majorish one lay a hand on the talkative fellows shoulder and nodded at me once, like he was sorry for the intrusion. "You're not Bertie Lissie, is what he means."
"I see.” I I-seed. "No, I don't think I am. I'm Bertie Wooster." There was a bit of shuffling and I remembered my manners, hauling myself up the bed a little more. "I say, I'm sorry about the mistake and everything. Would you like to sit down? Drink?"
The bossy one spoke quickly, decisively. "We won't, thanks. As Ginger said, we're in a bit of a hurry..."
I was still trying to work out why he'd stopped talking when the door opened and that paragon of valets stepped in. He also looked a touch harried.
"Jeeves!" I cried out. "You also sneaking through the nurses' wrath, are you?"
He nodded, raising an eyebrow the expected eighth of an inch, and inquiring, politely, "Yes sir. Should I return later, sir?"
"We're just leaving." the bossy one repeated, firmly staring at the one who had said nothing all this time.
"Not at all, my good man.” I called, carefree as a bird, worried not a jot about these mad goings-on, “Pull up a chair and I'll give you the rundown of the condition of the last of the Wooster's."
He was in the process of so doing when the silent one finally spoke. I couldn't see why he'd held it in for so long - he had the sorts of measured tones that made you listen, with a slightly softer accent than our own way of talking. I had the idea that he could sing, if nothing else, when I got around to processing what was being said.
"..ginald Jeeves, aren't you? Supply, France, the last year wasn't it?"
I stared at Jeeves. We never talked about the first war - we hardly talked about the second any more though it was doing a jolly good job of making its presence felt at every meal, what with rationing - and we'd been through it together.
"Yes sir." Jeeves paused, and I could see the next sentence pained him. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't recall...."
"Algernon Lacey. Lieutenant Algy, after much wrangling." He grinned and Jeeves blinked, as if remembering France all of a sudden.
"Of course sir. I'm sorry that I didn't..."
"Nonsense. It's only because someone said your name that I remembered where I'd seen you before. I don't think you had much dealing with Biggles here, did you?"
"Major Bigglesworth." Jeeves said instantly, then followed it a moment later with, "No, I didn't, sir."
Algy shook his head good-naturedly, "I'm not surprised. Fellow forgot where home was for a while there."
Bigglesworth stared at him and I watched, fascinated, as two iron wills battled it out. I was still trying to work out who had won when the red-headed chappie announced he was going to look for that Lissie fellow, if no one else was.
"You two go on ahead." Lacey instructed, "You can pick me up on the way past. I'm sure he's worked it out by now already."
A rum thing turned up in Bigglesworth's eye - hadn't I said he was Majorish? I knew I could spot them from a hundred feet! - Similar to the particularly soupy look Jeeves had given me only last night, when presenting him with a particularly juicy tie.
"Algy...."
"Well go on then. It's not like I'll add anything."
I wanted to point out how wrong Lacey was, as shown by the reproachful eyes Biggles gave him, but the other two were gone before I could say anything.
"Before you two catch up on years past and all that...." I began.
Jeeves looked at me loyally, though Lacey seemed a tad impatient.
"Jeeves, that King's daughter, with red hair. How does it..."
"Roses are at her feet/ Roses are red in her red-gold hair sir?"
I nodded, then wished I hadn't, "That's the fellow. Who wrote that again?"
"Oscar Wilde, sir. The Dole of the King's Daughter, I believe. Sir, may I...?" H gestured towards the water jug on the table, as if to pour me another drink.
"No Jeeves, you and Mr Lacey must catch up. I'd ankle out of your way, old thing, but that's hardly possible, and with nurses on the rampage I'd hardly suggest the corridor."
The corner of his mouth twitched in its Jeevesian manner and he followed Lacey to the other end of the room. The room wasn't large enough for me to not hear everything, but it gave them a semblance of privacy I suppose.
Always best to be sensitive around France, I feel.
TItle: What Ho, Biggles!
Pairing: Jeeves/ Wooster, Algy/ Biggles,
Characters: Jeeves, Wooster, Raymond, Ginger, Bertie Lissie, Biggles, Algy, sundry unsavoury characters
Rating: PG
Summary: Wooster, B., gets confused with one Lissie, B., we brush shoulders with the War to End All Wars, Jeeves is Jeeves and we sight the beginings of some rummy circs.
I awoke with a particular feeling of gloom. This was caused, I deduced, by the pain in my leg, and heightened by the lack of Jeeves at my side. Rather rum, I considered, and made to say so.
"Raghthhrm" I frowned, swallowed, and found my throat as dry and a particularly parched rock in the Sahara. Well, thought this Wooster, if unable to talk because of thirst, water must be found. (I didn't think anything stronger would be forthcoming. The bits of room that I could see were white and forbidding, managing to suggest spirits were evaporated before they fully formed, dispersing any of the longed-for brandy.)
"Water, Mr Wooster?" A toothsome bezel leaned over, pushing interesting parts of her anatomy to my immediate attention. Sadly all I could do was make a sort of cough, not unlike the asthmatic sheep on a distant hillside that Jeeves employs, though more bronchial and standing in a river on that self-same hill.
The bezel - nurse, I suppose I should say - smiled and produced the aforementioned liquid, even going so far as to aid me in sitting a touch more upright. I gulped it down like the thirsty chap I was, and felt wet enough to speak my thanks.
"Thanks very much. I say, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but where exactly am I?"
"Hospital, Mr Wooster. You were crossing the road when an omnibus hit you..." She paused and I cast my mind back, then shook my head. "Can't remember it I'm afraid. Still," I laughed lightly, "I can hardly remember my own name half the time. Ask one of my Aunts.” I may have added a tra-la, to show I was unconcerned, you know. She smiled indulgently, "Well, you remembered it enough to tell us when we were bandaging you up."
"Good-ho. Some Samaritan do the good deed and ship me over here, hey?"
"Precisely. Now that you're awake I can ask you - is there anyone we should contact?"
I nodded, "Yes. Can you ring my flat and just let Jeeves know? Then he can field all calls." She hovered and it took me a while to realise she didn't know which flat of the hundreds in London was mine. "Oh! Sorry. Here you are...."
A rummy sitch., as you can see. I had vague images slowly working themselves into a more useful array which told me the full story. After about half an hour of puzzling things over I recalled that I had popped into the bookstore, on the hunt for the newest mystery, and duly found it. Engrossed in the tome in my hands I had clearly been unlucky in judging the distance between self and 'bus, and paid the price. I stared down the W. corpus. No broken bones, that was certain.
Gingerly, keeping a weather eye out for nurses, I lifted the blankets. As I thought, the lower left leg was bandaged neatly. The funny gown that I was lying in was easy enough to lift up, and I beheld grazes and bruising on the whole left side of my leg, matching the bits on my arm. If that was what I looked like, I could but imagine what my clothes were like. No doubt Jeeves would burn them quietly, in some midnight ritual that would prevent the neighbours from seeing.
The image of Jeeves dancing about burning the y. masters clothes was so funny that it took a moment for me to hear someone calling my name. More accurately, three someone's, with varying levels of volume and clarity.
"Be-ertie.....Be-ertie...be-ertie" That one sounded like a wounded bird, all high then low, trying to be quiet but forgetting until halfway through the word.
"Bertie! Hi, Bertie! Bertie! Hi, Bertie!" That one sounded more like a snare drum, rattling off the words with a precision that told me he, at least, had served.
"Bertie?" It was said the most infrequently, half-heartedly, as if the owner knew the other two were making enough noise for me to hear. I didn't recognise any of them, but that didn't mean much, my head being still a tad confused. Besides, echoing corridors played merry hell with the timbre of anything, voices included.
"Yes? Here!" I called back, thankful for the glass of water the nurse had left.
"Be-ti....shhhh!" The other two were quiet just as suddenly. "Where are you?" That was the Sergeant Major talking.
"Here." I replied, idiotically. Well, it was hardly a fair question, after all. I could hardly be expected to know more than that I was in a hospital bed, could I?
I wonder if you know that hymn- tum tumm, tiddlity tum,
tum tum tiddle tum, tum tum
was lost, and now, am found?
It was a bit like that, when they finally burst in. All very happy with themselves, if I am any judge of facials. (Since decoding some Jeevesian eyebrow raises and mouth twitches, I like to think there is none better at facial expressions than Wooster, B.W., at the Drones).
"Bertie, just as well. They weren't going to let us in, out of visiting hours, but we had to tell you...." A chappie with freckles and hair like the daughter of that king. Knight? No, the knight was dead. Definitely the king. Jeeves would know. I made a note to ask him next time he saw him.
"Tell me what? Is that why you were sneaking around? Didn't want the women-folk to find you and chase you out?" I smiled my best conspiratorial smile and then frowned when there was no reply. I mean to say, a man tried his best, it would be nice for that to be replayed with something!
"You aren't Bertie." The freckly one eventually said.
"Oh ho is that your game? I may have been hit on the old noggin, but I most certainly am Bertie, of that I am sure."
The Sergeant-Majorish one lay a hand on the talkative fellows shoulder and nodded at me once, like he was sorry for the intrusion. "You're not Bertie Lissie, is what he means."
"I see.” I I-seed. "No, I don't think I am. I'm Bertie Wooster." There was a bit of shuffling and I remembered my manners, hauling myself up the bed a little more. "I say, I'm sorry about the mistake and everything. Would you like to sit down? Drink?"
The bossy one spoke quickly, decisively. "We won't, thanks. As Ginger said, we're in a bit of a hurry..."
I was still trying to work out why he'd stopped talking when the door opened and that paragon of valets stepped in. He also looked a touch harried.
"Jeeves!" I cried out. "You also sneaking through the nurses' wrath, are you?"
He nodded, raising an eyebrow the expected eighth of an inch, and inquiring, politely, "Yes sir. Should I return later, sir?"
"We're just leaving." the bossy one repeated, firmly staring at the one who had said nothing all this time.
"Not at all, my good man.” I called, carefree as a bird, worried not a jot about these mad goings-on, “Pull up a chair and I'll give you the rundown of the condition of the last of the Wooster's."
He was in the process of so doing when the silent one finally spoke. I couldn't see why he'd held it in for so long - he had the sorts of measured tones that made you listen, with a slightly softer accent than our own way of talking. I had the idea that he could sing, if nothing else, when I got around to processing what was being said.
"..ginald Jeeves, aren't you? Supply, France, the last year wasn't it?"
I stared at Jeeves. We never talked about the first war - we hardly talked about the second any more though it was doing a jolly good job of making its presence felt at every meal, what with rationing - and we'd been through it together.
"Yes sir." Jeeves paused, and I could see the next sentence pained him. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't recall...."
"Algernon Lacey. Lieutenant Algy, after much wrangling." He grinned and Jeeves blinked, as if remembering France all of a sudden.
"Of course sir. I'm sorry that I didn't..."
"Nonsense. It's only because someone said your name that I remembered where I'd seen you before. I don't think you had much dealing with Biggles here, did you?"
"Major Bigglesworth." Jeeves said instantly, then followed it a moment later with, "No, I didn't, sir."
Algy shook his head good-naturedly, "I'm not surprised. Fellow forgot where home was for a while there."
Bigglesworth stared at him and I watched, fascinated, as two iron wills battled it out. I was still trying to work out who had won when the red-headed chappie announced he was going to look for that Lissie fellow, if no one else was.
"You two go on ahead." Lacey instructed, "You can pick me up on the way past. I'm sure he's worked it out by now already."
A rum thing turned up in Bigglesworth's eye - hadn't I said he was Majorish? I knew I could spot them from a hundred feet! - Similar to the particularly soupy look Jeeves had given me only last night, when presenting him with a particularly juicy tie.
"Algy...."
"Well go on then. It's not like I'll add anything."
I wanted to point out how wrong Lacey was, as shown by the reproachful eyes Biggles gave him, but the other two were gone before I could say anything.
"Before you two catch up on years past and all that...." I began.
Jeeves looked at me loyally, though Lacey seemed a tad impatient.
"Jeeves, that King's daughter, with red hair. How does it..."
"Roses are at her feet/ Roses are red in her red-gold hair sir?"
I nodded, then wished I hadn't, "That's the fellow. Who wrote that again?"
"Oscar Wilde, sir. The Dole of the King's Daughter, I believe. Sir, may I...?" H gestured towards the water jug on the table, as if to pour me another drink.
"No Jeeves, you and Mr Lacey must catch up. I'd ankle out of your way, old thing, but that's hardly possible, and with nurses on the rampage I'd hardly suggest the corridor."
The corner of his mouth twitched in its Jeevesian manner and he followed Lacey to the other end of the room. The room wasn't large enough for me to not hear everything, but it gave them a semblance of privacy I suppose.
Always best to be sensitive around France, I feel.
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Date: 2013-12-29 11:25 pm (UTC)Hope there's more coming down the jolly old pike.
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Date: 2013-12-30 12:36 am (UTC)I have most of the next chapter and the last written or drafted out but I'll wait until I have it completely finished before I post any more, just in case I need to change something. It is good fun writing like Plum (or at least, trying to).
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Date: 2013-12-30 09:19 am (UTC)Your imitation of the Wooster-speak is, as far as I can judge, very accurate. And the hit by the bus thing, that's just what would happen to him.
I hope the last three paragraphs will be explained a bit more in the next chapter, because I can't really see inside the Biggles-Algy(-Jeeves) telepathy :D
A question: Are they wearing uniforms? They should be, right?
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Date: 2013-12-30 08:11 pm (UTC)I do love reading Plum, so I'm pleased it sounds at least a little like him.
Hopefully it all makes sense once I put up the next bit. They're not wearing uniforms at the moment I shouldn't think - it's set around the air police timeline rather than anything else. Rationing went on for a long time in England after all (also my computer would struggle with all of these delightfully english specimens in uniform - it would overheat from hotness!)
So Merry Christmas!
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Date: 2014-01-09 03:03 pm (UTC)Oh, ok. Somehow I was under the impression that this was happening during the WWII. But we wouldn't want your computer frying itself, right :D
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Date: 2014-01-11 01:24 am (UTC)Although that is an interesting plotbunny right there. Men in uniform looking good!