Jooster ficlet: Jeeves and the Snide Acquaintances

[triedunture]

Title: Jeeves and the Snide Acquaintances
Pairing: J&W friendship
Rating: G
Length: 1800 words
Warnings: None? Unless you don't want to know what happened in the 1900 Olympics?
Summary: a gift fic for cerublu02, who is just so fluffy and moist and pink. Bertie gets angry in Jeeves' defense. Jeeves POV.

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I was in the kitchen preparing a tray of cakes and sandwiches when I heard Mr Glossop's voice booming from the sitting room.

'Oh, do call him in, Bertie! Oofy hasn't yet seen what he can do.'

'Yes, Bertie. I've heard so many tales about this man of yours and his great brain. They can't all possibly be true.'

'Oh, I don't know,' I heard my master answer. 'Jeeves has got things to do in the kitchen. Valet-ish things. He couldn't just--'

'Jeeves!' Mr Glossop hollered at a volume that one couldn't pretend not to have heard. 'Come here!'

I took a deep breath that one often needs before confronting the acquaintances of Mr Wooster. To be sure, his fellow Drones Club members were mostly harmless; however, most did not possess the poignant kindness of Mr Wooster when addressing the hired help. I have heard tell, in the smoky recesses of my own club, the Junior Ganymede, that several of these young gentlemen are guilty of the most shameful breaches of decorum and tact while conversing with their valets and butlers. I shall not name names, but one of my colleagues is the victim of cruel verbal abuse, while another has been cheated out of his night off more times than he can count.

I have been exceedingly fortunate in finding a fair employer in Mr Wooster. While he can be a mentally negligible young man, he more than makes up for his slight defects with a cheerful disposition and kind treatment of all living things, from the lowest chambermaid to the highest lord. I kept this in mind as I floated through the kitchen door to face the small teatime party of Mr Wooster, Mr Glossop, Mr Little, and Mr Prosser.

'How may I be of service, sir?' I addressed Mr Wooster, not trusting Mr Glossop with the question.

'Oh, erm, nothing, Jeeves. Is there any more hot water in the kettle?' he stuttered.

'Certainly, sir.' I bent to retrieve the teapot in order to refill it, though as I hefted the vessel it was clear that the weight of its contents was still robust.

'Hold on, Jeeves,' Mr Little said, forcing me to pause before I could escape back into the kitchen. 'Can you perhaps answer a question for me?'

I stood at my full height, the teapot in one hand, the other placed behind my back. I stole a glance at Mr Wooster's face; he appeared worried, his brows furrowed and his bottom lip receiving a thorough gnawing from his teeth. However, I could find no polite way to refuse Mr Little's vague request.

'I will endeavour to provide what information I can, Mr Little.'

'When was, oh, I don't know...' He tapped his cigarette in an ashtray at his elbow and seemed to be bending his mind to the extreme. 'Aluminium. When was that discovered, Jeeves?'

'I believe the year was 1822. It is the the most plentiful metal on earth.'

Mr Prosser slapped his knee and raised his pince nez to his eyes to regard me more closely. 'By Jove! That is quite amazing. Just as you described, Tuppy.'

'Yes, well.' Mr Wooster offered me a watery smile. 'Thank you for clearing that up, Jeeves.'

I gave him a shallow bow and moved towards the kitchen once more.

'Oh, wait just a moment! Let me have a go.' I turned to find Mr Glossop tapping his fingers against his broad forehead, his tongue sticking out of his mouth in thought. 'I got one! How many bones are in a man's body, Jeeves?'

'Two hundred and six,' I answered automatically. 'More, of course, in an unformed child.'

Mr Glossop crowed in triumph. The other young gentlemen, excepting Mr Wooster, hooted as well, slapping each other on the back.

'Who invented gunpowder?' Mr Prosser demanded of me.

'It was Roger Bacon who first described the substance in Europe. However, the Chinese had been developing gunpowder for centuries before he first took note of it,' I said.

What followed was an unruly deluge of questions from the gallery of Mr Wooster's friends. I answered the rapid-fire shouts as best I could:

'Who was the youngest monarch?'

'Mary, Queen of Scots, six days old.'

'Which country won the men's long jump at the 1900 Olympics?'

'The United States' Alvin Kraenzlein.'

'Who played the butler in DeMille's picture Male and Female? The one that came out three years ago?'

'Crichton was played by Thomas Meighan. However, the film was released four years ago, in 1919.'

'Golly! What's the--?'

'Now see here!' Mr Wooster slammed his teacup in its saucer, where it rattled noisily. He climbed to his feet, his cheeks flaming. 'This is all very educational, chaps. But please. Let Jeeves get on with his work.'

The guests shifted uncomfortably. Mr Glossop murmured something unintelligible under his breath; Mr Little looked guiltily out the window; Mr Prosser lit a cigarette and sulked. I gave Mr Wooster another bow and silently returned to the kitchen, where I finished with my preparations. However, when I presented the teatime repast to the gentlemen in the sitting room, the atmosphere surrounding them was a tense one, and not one of the company seemed to be hungry.

The reaction was understandable. I had never had the opportunity to see Mr Wooster truly angry. Yes, I had seen him annoyed, miffed, irked, bothered, and nettled. Yet I had never seen him red in the face. I had never known him to raise his voice in anything but joyful exuberance. Apparently, neither had his friends. I was most concerned for Mr Wooster's state of mind, but I had to curb my tongue until the three guests had taken their hats and walking sticks and left with mumbled goodbyes.

I closed the door behind them and turned to my master. He was still sitting in his armchair, a look of exasperated worry on his face. 'Sir?' I ventured.

He seemed to jerk from his reverie and looked over at me with his large, surprised eyes. 'Apologises and all that, Jeeves, for the abominable behaviour of my acquaintances.' He drained his teacup.

'If I may remark, sir, this is not the first time a gentleman has played such a game in my presence. I saw no reason to object to his antics. However, if you are distressed by such things...' I began mixing a small measure of brandy and soda for Mr Wooster with the hope that it would soothe his nerves.

'No, Jeeves. You can't help it, of course.' Mr Wooster held out a hand to accept the snifter without his mind even knowing he was doing it; his eyes widened when he finally saw what had appeared there. Still, he sipped at it without question. 'But it's terrible, Jeeves, the way they speak to you.'

'Sir?'

'Like you're a trivia-spouting carnival attraction. A spot of fun. A, a blasted toy!' Mr Wooster's hand, still clasped round the snifter, shook with what seemed to be suppressed rage.

'I appreciate your ire, sir,' I said, relieving him of the glass before it shattered. 'However, I can assure you that the light-hearted antics of your friends do not wound me in the slightest. Give it no thought, sir.'

'I wouldn't, except it wounds me,' Mr Wooster seethed. He slumped in his chair, his chin balanced on a fist. 'I wish people would address you as a person. A dashed impressive one, yes, but a person. Not a fetching apparatus. Not a piece of furniture. Not a diversion.'

'Thank you, sir. It gratifies me to know that you feel so.' I cleared the teacups and saucers from the side tables, wondering at this sudden surge in philosophical thought in my young master. I would need to remain vigilant to ascertain the source of this dark cloud over his head. One might be convinced that he had taken to reading the heart string-tugging works of Rosie M. Banks such as Only A Factory Girl, but I hadn't scented any such volumes in his collection, which I kept organised myself.

He eyed me in an appraising fashion. 'Aren't you angry, Jeeves? After all, it was you that was just poked and prodded, not this Wooster. And yet, I'm seething and you're as cool as a bally cucumber.'

'I find it liberating to keep the number of things in this world that are liable to make me seethe to a minimum, sir,' I answered with zen-like patience. 'Your friends do me no harm when they ask me trivial questions.'

'But they do you a disservice!' Mr Wooster threw his hands into the air, the very picture of frustration. 'Your brain is so great, it could solve the problems of the whole wide world. And they're asking you about film credits and all that rot!'

'You are too kind, sir.'

'And you are too forgiving, Jeeves.' Mr Wooster lit a cigarette and puffed on it thoughtfully. 'I say, the next time the chaps come round and try to have their fun with you, I give you leave to be merciless in your retort. Cut them down, Jeeves. They deserve it, what?'

'If it pleases you, sir, I will merely draw their attention to a suitable substitute. I am reminded of the common forest raccoon, which is fascinated by any shiny bit of metal that crosses its path.'

Mr Wooster smiled. I felt my small display of good humour had put him back in the right spirits. 'Very good, Jeeves,' he said.

I nodded and lifted the tray that held the remains of the tea. 'Thank you, sir, for...'

Mr Wooster glanced up at me, his blue eyes wide and blinking and his fair hair curling rebelliously over his ears. I had not envisioned a white knight to ever look like this, but it warmed my heart (and, contrary to the beliefs of several young gentlemen in Mr Wooster's circle, I do possess one) to see him this way. I saw, not for the first time, that this was a relationship of symbiosis, like a honeybee to the field of pollinated flowers.

I would protect Mr Wooster from the expectations of a world that wished him married and fathering children. And he sought to protect me from a world that would have me silent, scraping, and bound by servitude. We were each other's guardians, a twin pair.

'For speaking in my defense,' I said, though the phrasing didn't do justice to my thoughts.

Mr Wooster beamed and tapped his ash off the end of his cigarette. 'Never mention it, old thing.'



fin.

Comments

[solitaire55.livejournal.com]

Sorry to hear about what happened to your journal. I hate when I loose everything. It's so completely frustrating. Anyway...

I didn't read this before, so I decided I'd do so now, and I'm glad I did because it's wonderful.

[blackletter]

I would protect Mr Wooster from the expectations of a world that wished him married and fathering children. And he sought to protect me from a world that would have me silent, scraping, and bound by servitude. We were each other's guardians, a twin pair.

This. This is a perfect description of all I love most about Jooster.

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

I love this story! My favourite part: Mr Wooster glanced up at me, his blue eyes wide and blinking and his fair hair curling rebelliously over his ears. I had not envisioned a white knight to ever look like this, but it warmed my heart (and, contrary to the beliefs of several young gentlemen in Mr Wooster's circle, I do possess one) to see him this way. I saw, not for the first time, that this was a relationship of symbiosis, like a honeybee to the field of pollinated flowers.

[random-nexus.livejournal.com]

This is my first shot at this piece, though it sounds as though you've had some adventures with it and others getting mislaid - so, I'm just now perusing your sock drawers, as it were. Love those argyles with the deeleebobbers at the tops, by the way.

I liked this a great deal!

Darn, must tear myself away from your far too fun stuff to get back to work.

[chibi-wolvie.livejournal.com]

*had a little tear in the eye*

Adorable.

That is Jeeves & Wooster. I cannot say any more. It is it.

"... like a honeybee to the field of pollinated flowers."

*go a little bit crying*