The Morning After... (Open, Multiple Threads Welcome)

[bwwooster]

Bertie Wooster penned a mental note to himself, in re: drinking excessively upon discovery that Worcestershire had become a desert, not to do it again in the future.  Then he mentally crumpled the note, tossed it into a mental rubbish bin and went searching for both mental and actual aspirin

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[loveisenough]

Alice walked into the dining hall to get a cup of tea. She'd just been swimming, and was still dripping faintly despite the white cotton towel around her waist. Upon hearing a faint groan from the corner, she chuckled. Bloke with a hangover. She'd seen them all the time when she waitressed in SoHo.

She went to the line and fixed two cups of tea, one with a sugar for herself, carrying them both over to the figure. She plunked down across from him, scooting the cup over. "Tea's better."

[bwwooster]

Tea! He couldn't make the stuff himself, which made its delivery all the more precious. Raising his head from his hands, he reached out a long-fingered hand... and stopped.

The good, tea-bringing Samaritaness was naked. Or rather, was wearing so few articles of clothing so as to be practically naked.

...Bertie was disconcerted. And bright red from collar to hairline, which went with the general 'disconcerted' theme. "Um," he stammered. "Ah... that is... thank you?"

[loveisenough]

"You're welcome." She laughed a little at the blush. Cherry tomatoes were supposed to be that colour before they were picked, a lustrous red that made her want to kiss him on the forehead.

"You shouldn't drink so much. You're going to do something you'll regret, someday." Alice blew on her tea before taking a sip, taking care not to burn her tongue. "Where are you from?"

[bwwooster]

"Ah, yes, well..." After a few more moments of stammering, and a discrete finger run around his collar, Bertie fiddled with his tea, finding its conents suddenly fascinating. What manner of hotel is this, that ladies run around with no... well, not many clothes on? There aren't any deserts in the south of France, are there?

"You see, therein lies the cause of my excesses," he explained hesitantly. "I hail from London, but I was driving to my aunt's house in Worcestershire, when I found myself... here. Unless here is still Worcestershire, and my aunt had a sudden need to fear for her rose bushes."

He extended a tentative hand, eyes rising quickly to meet her own, dipping no further south. "Terribly sorry, Wooster's the name, Bertie Wooster. And you are?"

[loveisenough]

"No, you're not in Worcestershire. And my name is Alice Ayers. It's a pleasure to meet you, Bertie Wooster. You know, they make fantastic chocolate biscuits here. I'm going to go get a few. You probably have an empty stomach."

She padded back to the area with the food, going to fetch them both some. By the time she'd returned to the table, she'd dried off enough where she wasn't dripping on the floor so much. "There. And I lived in London for a few years. My ... former beau... was a writer there." She couldn't think of a nicer way to put that rat bastard who cheated on me into words.

[bwwooster]

Bertie tried not to watch Alice walk away. He also tried not to watch her walk back. His level of success, however, incurred a level of doubt.

American, Bertie decided. Explains the whole bit. Just like Pauline Stoker, marvelous gel, funny ideas about romance.

"Former beau? Humble scrivener, was he?" Bertie guessed, fingers creeping towards one of the biscuits. Between the tea and the coffee, his appetite was slowly returning. "Hunched over candlelight with a stub of pencil, means too meager to support his pet collection of fleas? Or one of those grand and uppity writer chaps that makes loads of oof for voicing their opinion to all and sundry, whether they want to hear it or not?"

[loveisenough]

Alice couldn't help laughing. He was eager. Excited. It wasn't something she saw often around the hotel. Most people in the hotel were laid back, or absorbed in their own lives. And maybe Bertie was absorbed in his own life - she didn't know him well enough yet to see if he was or not - but he was curious and excitable. It endeared him to her.

"The former. He worked with the paper, writing obituaries, to pay his bills. He just wasn't very good." It was tactful but true. She didn't want to speak ill of Dan to strangers.

"What about you? Handsome, articulate. You must have a wife at home." Whenever and wherever home is.

[bwwooster]

"A what? Oh, no!" Bertie scoffed slightly at both the compliments and the notion of marraige, rolling his eyes with a smile. "No, no, haven't been settled with the old ball and chain just yet. A carefree bachelor's life is my calling, footloose and fancy free! The lark's on the thorn, the snail's on the wing, G.'s in His H. and a. is r. with the w. Though I did come rather perilously close to bearing the yoke of wedlock a few times. Family pressure, you know. But thus far, I've been able to wriggle out of it and this Wooster stand before you a free man!"

He sipped his tea in punctuation. "What of yourself, Alice m'gel? Fine upstanding bird like yourself, take-charge type? Got yourself a Mr. Ayers to keep in line?"

[loveisenough]

"Not married, no. I've recently started dating someone, but we're quite a long way from married. And I don't think you should let your family pressure you into marrying anyone. Marry who you want. You're a smart enough bloke," she said, mimicking his accent. After so long in London, it wasn't half bad.

[bwwooster]

A bold girl! Bertie rather liked bold girls, he admired their resourcefulness. It was a quality of which (he would be the first to admit) he possessed very little. "Ah, but you haven't met my Aunt Agatha," he protested. "A veritable Gorgon, can turn a chap's legs to stone and his innards to water with a single gimlet eye. She quite possibly eats ground glass for breakfast."

Speaking of eating, Bertie reached out and nabbed a chocolate biscuit. Thanks to the tea and conversation, his appetite was returning. "So, the question remains, my dear Miss Ayers, if this is not Worcestershire, than where the deuce are we? How did we get here? The answers I've sought thus far have been rather frustratingly vague."

[loveisenough]

"Why do you have to do what she says, though?" She folded up her legs and watched Bertie eat. "I'd love to meet her. I think I could show her up."

Her appetite was returning as well, and she scooted back to grab some oatmeal and a banana. When she returned to her seat, she untwisted the towel from around her waist. She was mostly dry, anyway.

"I think it's because none of us know where we are. ... do you read many fairy tales?"