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vocab_drabbles2024-04-29 12:01 pm
stonepicnicking_okapi) wrote in vocab_drabbles2024-04-29 12:01 pm
103: Jeeves & Wooster: Defenestration: Gen
Title: Swan Dive
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Rating: Gen
Length: 800
Prompt: defenestration
Summary: Bertie gets shocking news of a friend's murder.
Never was I more grateful for the strength and rapidity of Jeeves’ pick-me-ups. He roused me from a deep and dreamless slumber with a hand on my shoulder and a word in my ear. In his other mitt, he held the glass.
No salver.
That made me switch gears from protest to inquiry. His reply alarmed me.
“An Inspector Coddle of New Scotland Yard wishes to speak with you. He is waiting in the sitting room.”
I reached for the elixir with both hands and threw it unceremoniously down the hatch. Then I commended my soul to God and my state of dress and toilet to my keeper.
A few minutes later, I was waltzing into the room, a Lazarus resurrected and restored.
“Sorry for keeping you waiting. What can I do for you, Inspector?” I said with miraculous aplomb.
“Good morning, Mister Wooster. I am given to understand you were a close friend of Mister Reynard Fitzgibbon.”
“Foxtrot? Yes. Pals of the first order. Old school ties, etcetera. I just put him up for my club, don’t you know? But, what’s this use of the past tense, Inspector? I was just with ol’ Foxy last night.”
“I am afraid I have some distressing news. Mister Fitzgibbon died in the early hours of this morning.”
“Damn,” I said softly and reached for my cigarette case. “Damn and blast. He was one of the good ones. An accident? No. New Scotland Yard doesn’t appear on your doorstep before breakfast for accidents.”
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, sir.”
“If you say so.” I try not to quibble with authority. “How did Foxtrot die?”
“Death was by defenestration, sir.”
“Indeed.” I offered my guest a cigarette then helped myself. I was about to remark something to the tune of I appreciated a walk in the woods as much as the next resident of a great metropolis and those logging chaps were far too burly not to be a menace to society, but Jeeves entered with a stilling hand on my shoulder.
“Defenestration. Meaning he was thrown from a window, Inspector?”
Oh, God.
“Yes,” replied the Inspector. “You were with him last night, Mister Wooster?”
“Yes, Foxy was something of a jazz aficionado, if that’s the word I want,” a glance at Jeeves confirmed it was, “and he was introducing me to a place he’d found, called Manicero’s, then we went to the Nellie Grey, which we both enjoyed, and finally we ended up at the Hall.”
“What time did you leave, sir? And did you leave together?”
“We made to leave together, must’ve been about three or thereabouts. I managed, by some witchcraft, to get a cab, but as we oozed onto the pavement, Foxy stopped short and said he’d left his hat. I offered to wait, but he urged me to go on. He shook my hand, said his ‘good-night,’ and that was that.”
“I can confirm that Mister Wooster returned home at approximately half past three, sir. I was up, unfortunately, with the toothache,” prevaricated my good and faithful.
“I see, thank you.” The inspector made some notes in a little notebook. “And what was his mood?”
“He was full of buck and beans.”
“A good mood, then,” translated the inspector.
“Foxy was in excellent spirits. Music always did it for him.” I took a meditative drag on my cigarette. “I did get a sense by the end of the night he was restless. He kept looking around, looking at the door. I asked him twice if he wanted to call it a night, but he always replied, ‘no, not yet.’ And then the Wooster second wind was waning, and I declared my retreat, and he agreed.”
“Interesting,” said Inspector. “Perhaps he was meeting someone or expecting to see someone.”
“There were plenty of souls on the pavement. The taxi I commandeered was like a circus clown car, ejecting a dozen or so warm bodies headed into the Hall.“
The inspector plied me with a few more questions, then took his leave.
“Sir,” said Jeeves when he and I could call our abode our own again. “I found something unusual in your trouser pocket.”
He produced a folded paper shape.
“Foxy passed that to me last night when he shook my hand! I should’ve told the inspector!”
“It’s a clue, sir. A swan, I believe.”
“By Jove, you’re right. Swan dive, swan song, something fruity. We’ve got a case to investigate, a pal’s murder to avenge, and I want to pick up those interesting socks I saw in…”
“The game’s afoot, sir,” interrupted Jeeves. “Might socks wait?”
“Socks delayed are not socks denied, Jeeves.”
He inclined the head and shimmered out, without a further w., no doubt, intent on readying the Inverness and the magnifying glass for immediate use.
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Rating: Gen
Length: 800
Prompt: defenestration
Summary: Bertie gets shocking news of a friend's murder.
Never was I more grateful for the strength and rapidity of Jeeves’ pick-me-ups. He roused me from a deep and dreamless slumber with a hand on my shoulder and a word in my ear. In his other mitt, he held the glass.
No salver.
That made me switch gears from protest to inquiry. His reply alarmed me.
“An Inspector Coddle of New Scotland Yard wishes to speak with you. He is waiting in the sitting room.”
I reached for the elixir with both hands and threw it unceremoniously down the hatch. Then I commended my soul to God and my state of dress and toilet to my keeper.
A few minutes later, I was waltzing into the room, a Lazarus resurrected and restored.
“Sorry for keeping you waiting. What can I do for you, Inspector?” I said with miraculous aplomb.
“Good morning, Mister Wooster. I am given to understand you were a close friend of Mister Reynard Fitzgibbon.”
“Foxtrot? Yes. Pals of the first order. Old school ties, etcetera. I just put him up for my club, don’t you know? But, what’s this use of the past tense, Inspector? I was just with ol’ Foxy last night.”
“I am afraid I have some distressing news. Mister Fitzgibbon died in the early hours of this morning.”
“Damn,” I said softly and reached for my cigarette case. “Damn and blast. He was one of the good ones. An accident? No. New Scotland Yard doesn’t appear on your doorstep before breakfast for accidents.”
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, sir.”
“If you say so.” I try not to quibble with authority. “How did Foxtrot die?”
“Death was by defenestration, sir.”
“Indeed.” I offered my guest a cigarette then helped myself. I was about to remark something to the tune of I appreciated a walk in the woods as much as the next resident of a great metropolis and those logging chaps were far too burly not to be a menace to society, but Jeeves entered with a stilling hand on my shoulder.
“Defenestration. Meaning he was thrown from a window, Inspector?”
Oh, God.
“Yes,” replied the Inspector. “You were with him last night, Mister Wooster?”
“Yes, Foxy was something of a jazz aficionado, if that’s the word I want,” a glance at Jeeves confirmed it was, “and he was introducing me to a place he’d found, called Manicero’s, then we went to the Nellie Grey, which we both enjoyed, and finally we ended up at the Hall.”
“What time did you leave, sir? And did you leave together?”
“We made to leave together, must’ve been about three or thereabouts. I managed, by some witchcraft, to get a cab, but as we oozed onto the pavement, Foxy stopped short and said he’d left his hat. I offered to wait, but he urged me to go on. He shook my hand, said his ‘good-night,’ and that was that.”
“I can confirm that Mister Wooster returned home at approximately half past three, sir. I was up, unfortunately, with the toothache,” prevaricated my good and faithful.
“I see, thank you.” The inspector made some notes in a little notebook. “And what was his mood?”
“He was full of buck and beans.”
“A good mood, then,” translated the inspector.
“Foxy was in excellent spirits. Music always did it for him.” I took a meditative drag on my cigarette. “I did get a sense by the end of the night he was restless. He kept looking around, looking at the door. I asked him twice if he wanted to call it a night, but he always replied, ‘no, not yet.’ And then the Wooster second wind was waning, and I declared my retreat, and he agreed.”
“Interesting,” said Inspector. “Perhaps he was meeting someone or expecting to see someone.”
“There were plenty of souls on the pavement. The taxi I commandeered was like a circus clown car, ejecting a dozen or so warm bodies headed into the Hall.“
The inspector plied me with a few more questions, then took his leave.
“Sir,” said Jeeves when he and I could call our abode our own again. “I found something unusual in your trouser pocket.”
He produced a folded paper shape.
“Foxy passed that to me last night when he shook my hand! I should’ve told the inspector!”
“It’s a clue, sir. A swan, I believe.”
“By Jove, you’re right. Swan dive, swan song, something fruity. We’ve got a case to investigate, a pal’s murder to avenge, and I want to pick up those interesting socks I saw in…”
“The game’s afoot, sir,” interrupted Jeeves. “Might socks wait?”
“Socks delayed are not socks denied, Jeeves.”
He inclined the head and shimmered out, without a further w., no doubt, intent on readying the Inverness and the magnifying glass for immediate use.
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