FIC: Most Exasperating (G)
TITLE: Most Exasperating
FANDOM: E.W. Hornung's Raffles series
AUTHOR: ajs_bunny
DATE WRITTEN: December 24, 2009
TIMEFRAME: Ham Common, pre-KNEE
CONTENT WARNING: none
SUMMARY: Raffles plays on Bunny's misgivings.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Inspired by violetjimjams who pointed out that Raffles was Bunny's biggest fan-who else would memorise Bunny's school verses?
WORD COUNT: 760
THANKS TO: Everybody on Twitter and LJ-have a very Merry Christmas!
DISCLAIMER: Characters and situations have fallen into public domain. Anything else, including mistakes, are mine.
Raffles, I have discovered, is the worst of critics. And moreover, he could be the most stubborn of men. By the time we were living together as mismatched brothers, I had taken to not sharing anything of my work with him until after its publication. However, on a particularly blustery day before Christmas when it would have been a hazard to even adventure out for a morning paper, Raffles called to me to read him my recent verses.
"Oh, no, Raffles, I'd really rather not," I protested with my misgivings.
"Now, come, come, Bunny! It can't be as bad as all that!"
"Well, no." I hesitated to tell him my reasons. "It's just-it's just finished, and I don't want it to be judged too harshly."
Raffles sighed and with indignation retorted, "Don't take my criticism too harshly, Bunny. Now, come! Sit beside me on the sofa and read. I will merely listen."
And listen he did, for when I sat at the edge, Raffles's stocking feet curled under my leg, and he closed his eyes and puffed silently upon his Sullivan.
I cleared my throat, rustled the pages of my composition book and read the roughest of drafts of my winter analogy upon the goings-on of the ongoing South African war. You will pardon me, of course, if I do not share it in these pages, for I have revised it and polished it to a much more satisfactory result published elsewhere.
After I had read it, I put my little book down upon my knees and looked hesitantly at Raffles. His face stoic and his eyes still firmly shut. Not even his firm glib mouth betrayed any indication of pleasure or distain.
Clearing my throat, I gave myself enough rope to noose my neck by asking, "So-Raffles-what did you think?" After a moment of no visible or audible response, I queried again, "Did you like it?"
At this, his answer was immediate and firm. "No, Bunny. I did not like it."
Was it my imagination or did his lips curl into a disapproving scowl?
"Not-like it?" I blinked at the audacity of the man-the sheer impudence of Raffles never ceased to bring my blood to its zenith. Had I not forewarn him of my misgivings to share this flimsy draft with anyone-especially him of all people-I may have forgiven him for such crass cruelty.
As it was, however, I was about stretched to a wire as any man could be when keeping such close company as we, and I was ready to take him out on the floor then and there.
"What-why? I know my verses are no Tennyson, but surely there is something worthwhile in them!" I'm certain my face was flush with livid display, but Raffles benefited none of it, for his eyes were still closed, his head back, and now I felt his frown was pulling into an outright sneer. "What is it, then? Is it the subject matter? Even you and I have not remained unaffected by-"
"No, Bunny!" he admonished ruefully, his head bowing forward, eyes open and ablaze with more score than his lips had avowed. "It's not that!"
"What is it, then?" I sat staring with utter defiance.
Raffles gave a little nonchalant sigh and a shrug. "The fact is-I don't like it. I don't like it at all, Bunny. No, of course I don't like this war. I don't like how such a little skirmish has drawn on like a rueful child and lasted far longer than it had any right to-and certainly I don't like all the lives it has taken thus far and how many more it is likely to take before all is said and done.
"But that, my dear mistaken rabbit, is not the reason why I don't like it."
Before I could even make a gasp in protest, he continued: "No, Bunny. The reason that I don't like it is because I don't. I love it."
And with that he gave me a nod and a glare (though now I could see the curls at the ends of his lips of the smile he had been fighting off since our exchange began), and went back to leaning against to arm of he horsehair sofa. His feet gave a playful kick to continue the charade of his own argumentative outburst, but by then I knew exactly what he was about, and let him know it.
"Oh, A.J.!" I cried with a happy relief and playfulness of my own. "You are the most exasperating man I've ever known!"
FANDOM: E.W. Hornung's Raffles series
AUTHOR: ajs_bunny
DATE WRITTEN: December 24, 2009
TIMEFRAME: Ham Common, pre-KNEE
CONTENT WARNING: none
SUMMARY: Raffles plays on Bunny's misgivings.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Inspired by violetjimjams who pointed out that Raffles was Bunny's biggest fan-who else would memorise Bunny's school verses?
WORD COUNT: 760
THANKS TO: Everybody on Twitter and LJ-have a very Merry Christmas!
DISCLAIMER: Characters and situations have fallen into public domain. Anything else, including mistakes, are mine.
Raffles, I have discovered, is the worst of critics. And moreover, he could be the most stubborn of men. By the time we were living together as mismatched brothers, I had taken to not sharing anything of my work with him until after its publication. However, on a particularly blustery day before Christmas when it would have been a hazard to even adventure out for a morning paper, Raffles called to me to read him my recent verses.
"Oh, no, Raffles, I'd really rather not," I protested with my misgivings.
"Now, come, come, Bunny! It can't be as bad as all that!"
"Well, no." I hesitated to tell him my reasons. "It's just-it's just finished, and I don't want it to be judged too harshly."
Raffles sighed and with indignation retorted, "Don't take my criticism too harshly, Bunny. Now, come! Sit beside me on the sofa and read. I will merely listen."
And listen he did, for when I sat at the edge, Raffles's stocking feet curled under my leg, and he closed his eyes and puffed silently upon his Sullivan.
I cleared my throat, rustled the pages of my composition book and read the roughest of drafts of my winter analogy upon the goings-on of the ongoing South African war. You will pardon me, of course, if I do not share it in these pages, for I have revised it and polished it to a much more satisfactory result published elsewhere.
After I had read it, I put my little book down upon my knees and looked hesitantly at Raffles. His face stoic and his eyes still firmly shut. Not even his firm glib mouth betrayed any indication of pleasure or distain.
Clearing my throat, I gave myself enough rope to noose my neck by asking, "So-Raffles-what did you think?" After a moment of no visible or audible response, I queried again, "Did you like it?"
At this, his answer was immediate and firm. "No, Bunny. I did not like it."
Was it my imagination or did his lips curl into a disapproving scowl?
"Not-like it?" I blinked at the audacity of the man-the sheer impudence of Raffles never ceased to bring my blood to its zenith. Had I not forewarn him of my misgivings to share this flimsy draft with anyone-especially him of all people-I may have forgiven him for such crass cruelty.
As it was, however, I was about stretched to a wire as any man could be when keeping such close company as we, and I was ready to take him out on the floor then and there.
"What-why? I know my verses are no Tennyson, but surely there is something worthwhile in them!" I'm certain my face was flush with livid display, but Raffles benefited none of it, for his eyes were still closed, his head back, and now I felt his frown was pulling into an outright sneer. "What is it, then? Is it the subject matter? Even you and I have not remained unaffected by-"
"No, Bunny!" he admonished ruefully, his head bowing forward, eyes open and ablaze with more score than his lips had avowed. "It's not that!"
"What is it, then?" I sat staring with utter defiance.
Raffles gave a little nonchalant sigh and a shrug. "The fact is-I don't like it. I don't like it at all, Bunny. No, of course I don't like this war. I don't like how such a little skirmish has drawn on like a rueful child and lasted far longer than it had any right to-and certainly I don't like all the lives it has taken thus far and how many more it is likely to take before all is said and done.
"But that, my dear mistaken rabbit, is not the reason why I don't like it."
Before I could even make a gasp in protest, he continued: "No, Bunny. The reason that I don't like it is because I don't. I love it."
And with that he gave me a nod and a glare (though now I could see the curls at the ends of his lips of the smile he had been fighting off since our exchange began), and went back to leaning against to arm of he horsehair sofa. His feet gave a playful kick to continue the charade of his own argumentative outburst, but by then I knew exactly what he was about, and let him know it.
"Oh, A.J.!" I cried with a happy relief and playfulness of my own. "You are the most exasperating man I've ever known!"