GAAAAAAAH! *writes a Jooster ficlet*

[triedunture]

LIFE SUCKS.

WRITING SUCKS.

I SUCK AT BOTH.

HERE'S SOMETHING I WRITE OR DIED OUT OF DESPERATION.



Bertie stared at the blank sheet of foolscap on the desk in front of him. He twiddled his nibbed pen between his thumb and forefinger. He checked the level of ink. He dipped it in the ink pot just to top it off; better safe than whatsit, he thought.

'Sir?' Jeeves' dulcet tones rang out through the study. 'Are you faring well, sir?'

Bertie looked up to see his valet arriving with a dashed fine looking tea tray, laden with all sorts of good things. There was a plate of small cakes with cream frosting. There was a small stack of cucumber sandwiches, all lined up like refreshing little soldiers. And of course there was a pot of freshly brewed tea, complete with steam pouring from its curved spout. Bertie had never seen a more welcome sight in his life. It was very like a chap who had been stuck in the Sahara spying a swimming pool full of fresh water just over the next dune.

'Thank goodness you're here, Jeeves,' Bertie said as he placed his pen back on the desk. 'I absolutely need a bite and a swig at the mo'.'

Jeeves pirouetted in such a way that the tray was held just out of Bertie's reach. He glanced down at the empty pages in a scathing manner. 'You do not appear to have made much progress, sir.'

'Yes, well, you know how it is sometimes. No inspiration, what?' Bertie made a desperate grab for the tea cup, but Jeeves lifted the tray an inch higher.

'With all due respect, sir, I do not believe you should abandon your task only because you find it difficult. Surely even more concentration is now required?' Jeeves raised his judgmental eyebrow an eighth of an inch.

Bertie flung his arms across his wooden writing desk and buried his face between them, moaning in frustration into the nicked surface. 'Jeeves, I cannot concentrate when I am starving. Now, if you would please pour some tea?'

'I happen to be reading a treatise on the psychology of motivation at the present moment, sir,' Jeeves continued loftily, as if he hadn't heard Bertie's pained plea. 'There are two sorts of motivation. There is positive and negative.'

'What, like electricity?'

'Precisely, sir.' Jeeves set the tea tray down on the sideboard that was much too far away, and he coughed into his fist. 'The negative reinforcement is quite successful in most cases.'

Bertie sighed at his pen. 'I suppose I'll give anything a try at this point. I've wasted an entire afternoon staring into space. What would this negative reinthingummy entail, Jeeves?'

'It might take many forms, sir. I could possibly administer a rap on your knuckles if you paused in your work.'

'Harsh, Jeeves. Quite harsh.' Bertie winced.

'Indeed, sir. However, there is also positive reinforcement. One might be inclined to employ that tactic instead.'

'Oh?' Bertie sat up straighter in his desk chair. 'How would that go?'

'Exactly the opposite of the former process, sir. You would be rewarded for every sentence you completed, perhaps.'

'Ah.' Bertie picked up a pen and wrote a single line on his blank sheet: It was with great trepidation that I allowed Jeeves to take his annual holiday while my Aunt Agatha was breathing down my neck.

'There! That wasn't entirely too--' But Bertie was silenced with a quick kiss, with Jeeves bending over him and bestowing the liplock with an amount of grace that you would expect in such a paragon.

When it was over, and Jeeves was standing upright once more, and Bertie was blinking wide-eyed into the distance, Jeeves said, 'My apologies, sir. Would you have preferred a sandwich?'

He offered the tea tray once more.

Bertie closed his gaping mouth. 'No, Jeeves. I think you've hit upon a fine system.'

He picked up his pen and began scrawling with feverish speed.

'Shall I pour the--?'

'No, Jeeves, just as well I get this paragraph finished.' He looked up with a grin. 'I'm hoping that will get me a sight more.'

'Indeed, sir.' Jeeves serenely placed the forgotten tray on the table and mentally measured the space underneath Bertie's writing desk. It would be a tight fit, but then again, he was the best.



fin.

Comments

[purplefluffycat.livejournal.com]

Absolutely hilarious - especially the last line :-)

PurpleFluffyCat x