![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stonepicnicking_okapi posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
vocab_drabblesTitle: Patrician
Fandom: Good Omens
Length: 500
Rating: Gen
Notes: This is a retelling of an Italian folktale similar to Bluebeard's Wife called "How the Devil Married Three Sisters." It reminded me of Crowley for some reason.
Summary: Aziraphale helps a distressed new bride who wanders into his bookshop.
“There, there, my dear,” said Aziraphale, offering a serviceable square of cambric. “Whatever is the matter?”
The urgency in Aziraphale’s tone was born of impatience as well as concern. The weeping willow crumpled in a chair had spent almost two hours in his bookshop, and Aziraphale was eager for her and her chaperone, propped up in a corner, snoring the snore of the righteous, to be on their way.
“I have married the Devil himself!”
Had the young lady’s eyes not been so dewy with distress she might have thought the bookseller’s composure odd.
“Oh, no, my dear,” he countered with quiet authority. “He’s unwed.”
“He murdered my two sisters, and now he means to murder me, to throw me in that terrible abyss of fire. Oh, and he seemed like such a fine man, of such good breeding and manners, so patrician in his ways! A real aristocrat. Perhaps the boots should have warned me.”
“Boots?”
“Of viper skin. He never removes them.”
Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up.
How long had it been? A hundred years? Two? They’d had that enormous fight. Really, it still stung.
“He murdered your sisters?”
“Yes. One after the other. I always wondered, and now I know what happened because it is happening to me! He gave me the most beautiful bouquet of yellow pansies, then said I might have the command of the whole house—except one door. I must not open that door. I put the pansies in water and waited for him to leave. Behind that door was an abyss of fire and the tortured souls of my sisters hanging like discarded cloaks! He will return this evening. I don’t know what to do. Nanny said I should come here, that something here,” she looked about the shop despairingly, “might hold the answers.”
Aziraphale smiled. “Nanny spoke the truth.”
---
“Are you ready?”
Aziraphale was not in his usual form. He’d comfortably sunk himself into the most commodious habitat available, namely, that of Nanny. “You know what to do?” He stood beside an open chest.
“Yes.”
“Brave thing.”
And then, in a flash, the willow was through the door and back and heaving the crumpled heap of her sister into the chest.
“One down, one to go,” chirruped Aziraphale.
“Now what?”
Aziraphale eyed his companion and sighed,
“Tight fit.”
---
“Mother! Father! Lord Anthony and I are here! And we’ve brought you some fine silks!” cried Aziraphale, squeaking because he did not relish his zaftig spirit squeezed in so small a vessel.
A whirlwind ensued, and when the dust settled, Lord Anthony, patrician and demon, was standing beside Aziraphale, bookseller and angel, outside the estate gate.
“Really, Crowley, reenacting fairytales to get my attention?”
Crowley scratched his jaw. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I napped too long.”
“You most certainly did,” said Aziraphale, adding with a frown, “She is a nice girl.”
“You’re nicer. Come, dine with me. I’ve a fabulous cellar.”
“And yellow pansies?”
Crowley smiled. “Thinking of you.”
Title: Salient
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Length: 500
Rating: Gen
Notes: Inspired by this photo.
Summary: Jeeves & Bertie help star-crossed lovers in Paris.
“Love’s young dream, what, Jeeves?”
“Indeed, sir.”
The couple before us made a picture postcard scene, standing together, wrapped up together, with eyes only for one another, as an imposing Gallic monument stood tall in the background.
“They say one story’s end is another beginning, Jeeves, and for once, I suppose they might be right. I mean to say, the story of our flight from an aunt’s wrath to The City of Lights; that business with the train; the misunderstanding with the baguette and the six bottles of wine; the proposal, which wasn’t a proposal at all, but that’s neither here nor there; the betrothal; the dissolution of same, merci beaucoup, Jeeves—”
“I’m glad to give satisfaction, sir.”
“—and, in the end, that picture postcard scene there, the reunion of the star-crossed, well, it’s the end of one story, and those two can waltz off into the sunset and begin another happier yarn, one which doesn’t include the pride of the Wooster in sponge bag trousers, what?”
“A salient point, sir.”
I couldn't see what boats had to do with it, but I forbore to say so.
“But, I mean to say,” I continued, and it was at this point that the leading man of the feature swept the y. m.’s most recent fiancée into his arms, dipped her like Fred Astaire, and kissed her squarely on the lips while the lights twinkled and the Arc arched triumphantly, “you have to admit, it is bally romantic, what?”
I sighed wistfully and, perhaps, mistfully because Jeeves popped the umbrella as he replied,
“I think we’d best be going, sir.”
---
I took notice of the late hour as Jeeves and I strolled. It was well past Cinderella hour, and the day’s events had taken their toll on the Wooster reserves. I was ready to call it a night.
The direction, too, began to give me pause.
“Jeeves, I love the Seine as much as the next chapeau, but I thought we were returning to the hotel.”
“A brief stop, sir, if you will be so kind. Inspired by the touching scene we just witnessed.”
Though not befuddled precisely, I was far from fuddled.
“We don’t need to buy the fish slice quite yet, do we? Surely it can wait until the morning.”
“If you will, sir.”
---
“Here, sir, this way.”
“Jeeves?”
Jeeves left me momentarily to converse with a fellow and, if I’m not mistaken, surreptitiously slip him a sizeable amount of the needful.
We were, I realised, at the feet of the most famous landmark in all of France.
Then Jeeves and I were through a gate and into a lift.
And then…
“I say, Jeeves! The view’s spectacular!”
“I couldn’t agree more, sir.”
And with that, Jeeves swept me into his arms, dipped me like Fred Astaire, and planted a kiss squarely on my lips while the City of Lights twinkled and the Eiffel, with us like grooms atop the wedding cake, towered.
“Love’s young dream!”
“Indeed, sir.”
Fandom: Good Omens
Length: 500
Rating: Gen
Notes: This is a retelling of an Italian folktale similar to Bluebeard's Wife called "How the Devil Married Three Sisters." It reminded me of Crowley for some reason.
Summary: Aziraphale helps a distressed new bride who wanders into his bookshop.
“There, there, my dear,” said Aziraphale, offering a serviceable square of cambric. “Whatever is the matter?”
The urgency in Aziraphale’s tone was born of impatience as well as concern. The weeping willow crumpled in a chair had spent almost two hours in his bookshop, and Aziraphale was eager for her and her chaperone, propped up in a corner, snoring the snore of the righteous, to be on their way.
“I have married the Devil himself!”
Had the young lady’s eyes not been so dewy with distress she might have thought the bookseller’s composure odd.
“Oh, no, my dear,” he countered with quiet authority. “He’s unwed.”
“He murdered my two sisters, and now he means to murder me, to throw me in that terrible abyss of fire. Oh, and he seemed like such a fine man, of such good breeding and manners, so patrician in his ways! A real aristocrat. Perhaps the boots should have warned me.”
“Boots?”
“Of viper skin. He never removes them.”
Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up.
How long had it been? A hundred years? Two? They’d had that enormous fight. Really, it still stung.
“He murdered your sisters?”
“Yes. One after the other. I always wondered, and now I know what happened because it is happening to me! He gave me the most beautiful bouquet of yellow pansies, then said I might have the command of the whole house—except one door. I must not open that door. I put the pansies in water and waited for him to leave. Behind that door was an abyss of fire and the tortured souls of my sisters hanging like discarded cloaks! He will return this evening. I don’t know what to do. Nanny said I should come here, that something here,” she looked about the shop despairingly, “might hold the answers.”
Aziraphale smiled. “Nanny spoke the truth.”
---
“Are you ready?”
Aziraphale was not in his usual form. He’d comfortably sunk himself into the most commodious habitat available, namely, that of Nanny. “You know what to do?” He stood beside an open chest.
“Yes.”
“Brave thing.”
And then, in a flash, the willow was through the door and back and heaving the crumpled heap of her sister into the chest.
“One down, one to go,” chirruped Aziraphale.
“Now what?”
Aziraphale eyed his companion and sighed,
“Tight fit.”
---
“Mother! Father! Lord Anthony and I are here! And we’ve brought you some fine silks!” cried Aziraphale, squeaking because he did not relish his zaftig spirit squeezed in so small a vessel.
A whirlwind ensued, and when the dust settled, Lord Anthony, patrician and demon, was standing beside Aziraphale, bookseller and angel, outside the estate gate.
“Really, Crowley, reenacting fairytales to get my attention?”
Crowley scratched his jaw. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I napped too long.”
“You most certainly did,” said Aziraphale, adding with a frown, “She is a nice girl.”
“You’re nicer. Come, dine with me. I’ve a fabulous cellar.”
“And yellow pansies?”
Crowley smiled. “Thinking of you.”
Title: Salient
Fandom: Jeeves & Wooster
Length: 500
Rating: Gen
Notes: Inspired by this photo.
Summary: Jeeves & Bertie help star-crossed lovers in Paris.
“Love’s young dream, what, Jeeves?”
“Indeed, sir.”
The couple before us made a picture postcard scene, standing together, wrapped up together, with eyes only for one another, as an imposing Gallic monument stood tall in the background.
“They say one story’s end is another beginning, Jeeves, and for once, I suppose they might be right. I mean to say, the story of our flight from an aunt’s wrath to The City of Lights; that business with the train; the misunderstanding with the baguette and the six bottles of wine; the proposal, which wasn’t a proposal at all, but that’s neither here nor there; the betrothal; the dissolution of same, merci beaucoup, Jeeves—”
“I’m glad to give satisfaction, sir.”
“—and, in the end, that picture postcard scene there, the reunion of the star-crossed, well, it’s the end of one story, and those two can waltz off into the sunset and begin another happier yarn, one which doesn’t include the pride of the Wooster in sponge bag trousers, what?”
“A salient point, sir.”
I couldn't see what boats had to do with it, but I forbore to say so.
“But, I mean to say,” I continued, and it was at this point that the leading man of the feature swept the y. m.’s most recent fiancée into his arms, dipped her like Fred Astaire, and kissed her squarely on the lips while the lights twinkled and the Arc arched triumphantly, “you have to admit, it is bally romantic, what?”
I sighed wistfully and, perhaps, mistfully because Jeeves popped the umbrella as he replied,
“I think we’d best be going, sir.”
---
I took notice of the late hour as Jeeves and I strolled. It was well past Cinderella hour, and the day’s events had taken their toll on the Wooster reserves. I was ready to call it a night.
The direction, too, began to give me pause.
“Jeeves, I love the Seine as much as the next chapeau, but I thought we were returning to the hotel.”
“A brief stop, sir, if you will be so kind. Inspired by the touching scene we just witnessed.”
Though not befuddled precisely, I was far from fuddled.
“We don’t need to buy the fish slice quite yet, do we? Surely it can wait until the morning.”
“If you will, sir.”
---
“Here, sir, this way.”
“Jeeves?”
Jeeves left me momentarily to converse with a fellow and, if I’m not mistaken, surreptitiously slip him a sizeable amount of the needful.
We were, I realised, at the feet of the most famous landmark in all of France.
Then Jeeves and I were through a gate and into a lift.
And then…
“I say, Jeeves! The view’s spectacular!”
“I couldn’t agree more, sir.”
And with that, Jeeves swept me into his arms, dipped me like Fred Astaire, and planted a kiss squarely on my lips while the City of Lights twinkled and the Eiffel, with us like grooms atop the wedding cake, towered.
“Love’s young dream!”
“Indeed, sir.”
no subject
Date: 2022-09-14 05:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-09-14 08:31 pm (UTC)