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Jul. 23rd, 2003 07:28 pmJust finished listening to a Jeeves and Wooster novel on tape. Delightful stuff.
It does leave me in a bit of a quandary, though. How on earth do I stop myself from crossing it with Buffy!?
****************
"...at which point, the bird, the yellow haired one, not the red haired one in trousers, proceeded to give herself a half twist and lifted one foot in the air. The chappie with the knobbly forehead, who had of late been gnawing at my nape, obligingly bounced himself off of it and smacked into the wall.
You could have knocked me over with a feather. Five seconds later you wouldn't even have needed the feather, for Jeeves, my Jeeves, a stout fellow and true whom I had thought I'd known intimately, proceeded to produce a sharp piece of wood from his waistcoat and impaled, if that is the word I want, the knobble-headed gentleman straight through the chest.
I admit, I was feeling a bit woozy at that point, from the port and the apparent loss of blood, so it is readily excusable when the first words out of my mouth were "Jeeves, my dear fellow, that's hardly cricket." I would have proceeded further in this vein of charity towards our fellow man, knob-headed or not, when the impaled chap gave a sigh and simply dissolved. The preachers may go on about ashes to ashes and dust to dust, but I felt this was taking it a bit far, and shut the beak, deciding to goggle for bit, taking it all in.
At this point, Jeeves walked over, bent down, produced a handkerchief and began wrapping it tightly around my throat. Once satisfied with his tourniquet work, he produced a second handkerchief and brushed lightly at his lapels, which were rather dusty, seeing as a chap had up and disintegrated on them just the moment before.
'I'm terribly sorry, sir.' Jeeves said. 'You were never supposed to know of this. Can you stand?'
I allowed as I probably could, and he hoisted me back into the vertical attitude. The other four people in the room were staring at me, so it seemed only natural to stare back. There was the blond girl, in a rather risque tennis costume, the red-headed suffragette, one assumed, a rough looking youth in flannel, looking as confused as I and an older gentleman whose mien, while physcially different from Jeeves' reminded me of that paragon of Valets nonetheless. It also reminded me quite a bit of 'Useless' Eustace Giles', a bookish lad from my boyhood days from Bramley-on-Sea. Of course, the man was far older than Useless was but I decided inquire as to his familial relations.
'Useless?' I inquired? I'd actually meant to inquire a bit more thoroughly than that, but being raised to my feet made me woozy all over again, and slightly thick of tongue.
The dark-haired lad prodded a candelabra-shaped object at his feet. "I hope not. How else are we supposed to get home? Ruby Slippers?"
I ignored this seeming non-sequitur and concentrated moving the lips and tongue with a little more accuity, addressing myself to the blighter in spectacles. "I say, old chap, you aren't by chance related to Useless Giles?"
The youth made to speak again but was silenced by an upraised hand and a sudden glare worthy of any schoolmaster. "Not a word, Xander, I beg you...no matter how easy it seems." The glare was transfered to me. "I'm sorry...'Useless' Giles?"
"Yes, old Useless...sorry, school nickname. It's Eustace Wyndam Giles. You look as if you could be his uncle."
The blighter sagged as if I'd socked him in the gut. "Grandson, actually."
At this pronouncement, irregardless of any feathers directed at me, I fell down again.
******************
Ok, that demonstration of concept snippet went on quite a bit longer than I'd anticipated, but I think you see the potential. I don't have sufficient command of Wooster-speak, yet...and it's not helped by the severe lack of extended action-sequences in Wodehouse's novels, but there is, as I said, some potential to be had by looking at the Buffy-verse through the eyes of one Betram Wooster and his Valet-cum-Watcher(reserve) Jeeves.
Given I was dumped Saturday and remain both unemployed and homeless, it's only thoughts like this and other fandom-related works that sustain me.
Sorry. I was feeling ok up until the end, there.
It does leave me in a bit of a quandary, though. How on earth do I stop myself from crossing it with Buffy!?
****************
"...at which point, the bird, the yellow haired one, not the red haired one in trousers, proceeded to give herself a half twist and lifted one foot in the air. The chappie with the knobbly forehead, who had of late been gnawing at my nape, obligingly bounced himself off of it and smacked into the wall.
You could have knocked me over with a feather. Five seconds later you wouldn't even have needed the feather, for Jeeves, my Jeeves, a stout fellow and true whom I had thought I'd known intimately, proceeded to produce a sharp piece of wood from his waistcoat and impaled, if that is the word I want, the knobble-headed gentleman straight through the chest.
I admit, I was feeling a bit woozy at that point, from the port and the apparent loss of blood, so it is readily excusable when the first words out of my mouth were "Jeeves, my dear fellow, that's hardly cricket." I would have proceeded further in this vein of charity towards our fellow man, knob-headed or not, when the impaled chap gave a sigh and simply dissolved. The preachers may go on about ashes to ashes and dust to dust, but I felt this was taking it a bit far, and shut the beak, deciding to goggle for bit, taking it all in.
At this point, Jeeves walked over, bent down, produced a handkerchief and began wrapping it tightly around my throat. Once satisfied with his tourniquet work, he produced a second handkerchief and brushed lightly at his lapels, which were rather dusty, seeing as a chap had up and disintegrated on them just the moment before.
'I'm terribly sorry, sir.' Jeeves said. 'You were never supposed to know of this. Can you stand?'
I allowed as I probably could, and he hoisted me back into the vertical attitude. The other four people in the room were staring at me, so it seemed only natural to stare back. There was the blond girl, in a rather risque tennis costume, the red-headed suffragette, one assumed, a rough looking youth in flannel, looking as confused as I and an older gentleman whose mien, while physcially different from Jeeves' reminded me of that paragon of Valets nonetheless. It also reminded me quite a bit of 'Useless' Eustace Giles', a bookish lad from my boyhood days from Bramley-on-Sea. Of course, the man was far older than Useless was but I decided inquire as to his familial relations.
'Useless?' I inquired? I'd actually meant to inquire a bit more thoroughly than that, but being raised to my feet made me woozy all over again, and slightly thick of tongue.
The dark-haired lad prodded a candelabra-shaped object at his feet. "I hope not. How else are we supposed to get home? Ruby Slippers?"
I ignored this seeming non-sequitur and concentrated moving the lips and tongue with a little more accuity, addressing myself to the blighter in spectacles. "I say, old chap, you aren't by chance related to Useless Giles?"
The youth made to speak again but was silenced by an upraised hand and a sudden glare worthy of any schoolmaster. "Not a word, Xander, I beg you...no matter how easy it seems." The glare was transfered to me. "I'm sorry...'Useless' Giles?"
"Yes, old Useless...sorry, school nickname. It's Eustace Wyndam Giles. You look as if you could be his uncle."
The blighter sagged as if I'd socked him in the gut. "Grandson, actually."
At this pronouncement, irregardless of any feathers directed at me, I fell down again.
******************
Ok, that demonstration of concept snippet went on quite a bit longer than I'd anticipated, but I think you see the potential. I don't have sufficient command of Wooster-speak, yet...and it's not helped by the severe lack of extended action-sequences in Wodehouse's novels, but there is, as I said, some potential to be had by looking at the Buffy-verse through the eyes of one Betram Wooster and his Valet-cum-Watcher(reserve) Jeeves.
Given I was dumped Saturday and remain both unemployed and homeless, it's only thoughts like this and other fandom-related works that sustain me.
Sorry. I was feeling ok up until the end, there.
