40 Fandoms
Oh, bloody hell. emeraldsword and lycoris between them have put me on my mettle to attempt 40 fandoms in the 40 days of Lent. (You may find more than one posted on some days and none at all on others as I get/fail to get inspiration. We start with 2 today to get me up to date.
Crossovers, by the way, DEFINITELY count as different fandoms, otherwise I'm stuffed.
Today I bring you stories of what happened to some characters when they grew up, after the books had finished:
The Famous Five by Enid Blyton
Anne
G
474 words
It had been what she wanted. A nice house to look after, a husband to treat her like a precious piece of china, two children to dote on. No adventures, ever. Just the serene running of a small house in the country. It had been what she always wanted.
So why did Anne feel so bored? Why did she feel so out of place?
“Oh no, I hope we don’t have any adventures this holiday,” had been her perpetual cry as a child. And she had truly believed she meant it. But somehow she’d always got caught up in one escapade after another - catching criminals, finding treasure, reuniting families. And yes, it had often been frightening, often been tense - but she had felt alive. So alive.
Now she felt like she was stifling in Suburbia. All adventure squashed out of her; any thought of dangerous exploits well and truly removed. Her children would never believe in her adventures if she told them: brave Aunt George (who wasn’t really an Aunt, but was always called so), yes - she might have had adventures before she became an archaeologist, flying off to obscure plants of the world. Even Uncle Dick had a sort of twinkle in his eye that meant that he might once have done more interesting things than banking. Uncle Julian… no, he too probably seemed too old and staid these days too, married as he was to Aunt Jennifer and his career (possibly not in that order). But their mother, Anne? Involved with criminal gangs? “Please, Mother, at least have some semblance of possibility if you’re going to tell stories!”
Her husband? In the days of their courtship she had told him something of her past, and he had looked scandalised that she had been forced into situations like that. “Didn’t your brothers look after you any better?” he had demanded; and Anne, remembering the happy days of housekeeping for them all in tents, caravans and old houses, had shared those memories instead. Domestic memories that pushed the adventures from her fiancé’s mind. She would have thought that he’d forgotten every detail if it were not from the rather cold welcome he always gave to her family, George in particular. “Your cousin George,” he had said once, “is not what I would call a lady;” and Anne hadn’t liked to say that even now, George would probably take that as a compliment.
She looked at the most recent postcard that George had sent her from Somalia, and sighed.
There is a place out here for you any time you could come, Anne. I miss having you keep house for me! What is it that you’re supposed to say on postcards? “Wish you were here!” Well, I do.
Sometimes - more and more often these days - so did Anne. And one day soon, she would go.
Jennings series by Anthony Buckeridge
Darbishire
G
457 words
Charles Edwin Jeremy Darbishire frowned as he looked at the row of figures. Generally, he felt himself to be a good accountant (even if secretly he would still have preferred to be a space rocket designer) but this particular account had him stumped.
“That is Very Peculiar,” he murmured to himself, capitalising the words.
The younger pair at the next table grinned. Old Charles - and he was never called “Charlie” by anyone - was a regular source of amusement to the rest of the staff. He had a habit of calling the male accountants by their surnames and still seemed surprised that they didn’t respond in kind. Jason Roberts (- “Jase” to most of his colleagues; always “Roberts” to Charles -) had once asked him, half-teasingly, if this was something he had picked up at Eton. Charles had answered apologetically that he was “afraid I only went to a very minor prep school,” not realising that to a younger generation who had received their education at secondary comprehensives this was almost equally unimaginable. Sarah Johnson had defended him later, saying that even if he was a little old-fashioned, Charles was rather sweet; and it was she who now looked up sympathetically at the sound of his voice.
“Having problems, Charles?”
Charles blinked short-sightedly at her, trying to smooth the frown from his forehead. Although Sarah was one of the company’s top accountants, he had never quite come to terms with the idea that a young lady should be working in such a male-dominated office. Women, in Charles’s world, did not work on equal terms with men. Consequently, he smiled paternally at her and said
“No, dear: I was merely thinking aloud.”
Sarah craned over and looked at the sheet in front of him. She groaned inwardly. The Whitman returns. No wonder Charles was looking puzzled: not a year went by without June Whitman trying to fiddle her accounts. Charles wouldn’t see it, of course: he had a touching belief in everyone’s innate honesty. Tactfully, she said
“Actually, Charles, I’m having a bit of difficulty myself with the Anderson documents. Perhaps we might swap, and see if you could sort that out for me?”
She saw his eyes brighten. He wouldn’t have accepted her help, but the idea that he might be able to solve her problem appealed.
“Perhaps we had better exchange,” he agreed. “Mr. Anderson is a very important client and I’ve dealt with him before. He might feel happier with a man.”
As they swapped work, Sarah hid a smile. Dear Charles! She’d have to report June Whitman - again - but she would leave Charles to think that it was “Very Peculiar” - anything was better than ruining his innocent trust in Fair Play.
Crossovers, by the way, DEFINITELY count as different fandoms, otherwise I'm stuffed.
Today I bring you stories of what happened to some characters when they grew up, after the books had finished:
The Famous Five by Enid Blyton
Anne
G
474 words
It had been what she wanted. A nice house to look after, a husband to treat her like a precious piece of china, two children to dote on. No adventures, ever. Just the serene running of a small house in the country. It had been what she always wanted.
So why did Anne feel so bored? Why did she feel so out of place?
“Oh no, I hope we don’t have any adventures this holiday,” had been her perpetual cry as a child. And she had truly believed she meant it. But somehow she’d always got caught up in one escapade after another - catching criminals, finding treasure, reuniting families. And yes, it had often been frightening, often been tense - but she had felt alive. So alive.
Now she felt like she was stifling in Suburbia. All adventure squashed out of her; any thought of dangerous exploits well and truly removed. Her children would never believe in her adventures if she told them: brave Aunt George (who wasn’t really an Aunt, but was always called so), yes - she might have had adventures before she became an archaeologist, flying off to obscure plants of the world. Even Uncle Dick had a sort of twinkle in his eye that meant that he might once have done more interesting things than banking. Uncle Julian… no, he too probably seemed too old and staid these days too, married as he was to Aunt Jennifer and his career (possibly not in that order). But their mother, Anne? Involved with criminal gangs? “Please, Mother, at least have some semblance of possibility if you’re going to tell stories!”
Her husband? In the days of their courtship she had told him something of her past, and he had looked scandalised that she had been forced into situations like that. “Didn’t your brothers look after you any better?” he had demanded; and Anne, remembering the happy days of housekeeping for them all in tents, caravans and old houses, had shared those memories instead. Domestic memories that pushed the adventures from her fiancé’s mind. She would have thought that he’d forgotten every detail if it were not from the rather cold welcome he always gave to her family, George in particular. “Your cousin George,” he had said once, “is not what I would call a lady;” and Anne hadn’t liked to say that even now, George would probably take that as a compliment.
She looked at the most recent postcard that George had sent her from Somalia, and sighed.
There is a place out here for you any time you could come, Anne. I miss having you keep house for me! What is it that you’re supposed to say on postcards? “Wish you were here!” Well, I do.
Sometimes - more and more often these days - so did Anne. And one day soon, she would go.
Jennings series by Anthony Buckeridge
Darbishire
G
457 words
Charles Edwin Jeremy Darbishire frowned as he looked at the row of figures. Generally, he felt himself to be a good accountant (even if secretly he would still have preferred to be a space rocket designer) but this particular account had him stumped.
“That is Very Peculiar,” he murmured to himself, capitalising the words.
The younger pair at the next table grinned. Old Charles - and he was never called “Charlie” by anyone - was a regular source of amusement to the rest of the staff. He had a habit of calling the male accountants by their surnames and still seemed surprised that they didn’t respond in kind. Jason Roberts (- “Jase” to most of his colleagues; always “Roberts” to Charles -) had once asked him, half-teasingly, if this was something he had picked up at Eton. Charles had answered apologetically that he was “afraid I only went to a very minor prep school,” not realising that to a younger generation who had received their education at secondary comprehensives this was almost equally unimaginable. Sarah Johnson had defended him later, saying that even if he was a little old-fashioned, Charles was rather sweet; and it was she who now looked up sympathetically at the sound of his voice.
“Having problems, Charles?”
Charles blinked short-sightedly at her, trying to smooth the frown from his forehead. Although Sarah was one of the company’s top accountants, he had never quite come to terms with the idea that a young lady should be working in such a male-dominated office. Women, in Charles’s world, did not work on equal terms with men. Consequently, he smiled paternally at her and said
“No, dear: I was merely thinking aloud.”
Sarah craned over and looked at the sheet in front of him. She groaned inwardly. The Whitman returns. No wonder Charles was looking puzzled: not a year went by without June Whitman trying to fiddle her accounts. Charles wouldn’t see it, of course: he had a touching belief in everyone’s innate honesty. Tactfully, she said
“Actually, Charles, I’m having a bit of difficulty myself with the Anderson documents. Perhaps we might swap, and see if you could sort that out for me?”
She saw his eyes brighten. He wouldn’t have accepted her help, but the idea that he might be able to solve her problem appealed.
“Perhaps we had better exchange,” he agreed. “Mr. Anderson is a very important client and I’ve dealt with him before. He might feel happier with a man.”
As they swapped work, Sarah hid a smile. Dear Charles! She’d have to report June Whitman - again - but she would leave Charles to think that it was “Very Peculiar” - anything was better than ruining his innocent trust in Fair Play.