Rip Roarin' Fantabulous Birthday Spectacularrr [Complete]

[sga1sheppard]

Title: Rip Roarin' Fantabulous Birthday Spectacularrr
Characters: Sheppard, Psmith, etc.
Setting: Main Street
Privacy: Public! Please come celebrate with us.
Rated: P for oh god I need to pee but there's a parade

Comments

[peasmith]

Psmith straightened himself up from his spot leaning against the wall with an answering gleam in his eye. "Entirely," he said firmly. He produced his watch for a swift glance and replaced it. "You've impeccable timing when you don't lose yourself on the way."

[sga1sheppard]

John raised his eyebrows, and opened his mouth to ask if Marlowe was coming, but speak of the devil, there he was, emerging from the building behind Psmith.

"All right, I'm here. What was so important?" Marlowe looked from face to face. "What?"

But before anybody had to provide an answer, the soft sound of music starting up could be heard down the street and around the corner. So John just closed his mouth and looked smug.

[peasmith]

There is nothing like a parade, even if it is a bit unseasonably chilly. As a majorette led a contingent of brass players and high-kick girls past, a gentle breeze kicked swirls of confetti down the road, sparkling in the sunshine.

[sga1sheppard]

John divided his attention between watching the parade come down the street and watching Marlowe's reaction to it.(Which was likely 'why the hell did you drag me out into the cold for some parade?) But he turned his attention to the parade fully when the marjorette went by, in a brilliant streak of red and gold. Her hair was a fiery red and her uniform edged in glimmering gold braid, its buttons so brightly shined they trumped any buttons John had ever seen even on military uniforms. Her skirt flipped saucily in the slight breeze, and she picked up her booted feet high and spirited. She tossed her baton in the sky, and it spun, shimmering, until she reached up and plucked it out of the air, triumphant.

[peasmith]

Next came a long, low, shimmering vision in chromium and steel, a gargantuan underslung overstretched car, all hood and fender and shined-up exhaust pipes, with a pair of large loud motorcycles (with pint-size pilots) dancing attendance behind it.

The petrol fumes and engine roar had yet to clear the air when it became filled instead with the tramp of marching feet and the click of gloved hand upon polished steel and wood. The road was taken up by a troop of uniformed men executing smart maneuvers with their rifles, a parade drill fit for a royal audience.