Probably Improbable - 1/4
A strange idea that popped into my mind last night, this turned out to be precisely what I needed to get me writing again. This is all I've written so far, so I'm not sure how long it will turn out. Not that long, I shouldn't think. Oh, and if more than, say, a week goes by before I post a new bit, nag me, will you? I'm terrible at actually finishing stories.
Title: Probably Improbable - 1/4
Fandoms: Jeeves & Wooster, H2G2
Rating: G
Warnings: None. You may comfortably read this to your young 'uns gathered round the fire.
Disclaimers: I own niet, nadah, nothing. All love and praise to the late, great Wodehouse and Adams.
Summary: What's a Wooster to do when interstellar hitchhikers show up unannounced?
As far as I was concerned, it was just a sunny morning in the metrop. when the strangers arrived chez Bertram. The thing was, they didn’t exactly use the door. No, they just popped out of a glowing hole to nowhere.
If it appears I’ve started in media res, as it were, I can only apologise, but there really was very little by way of introduction to said h. to n. Not precisely the sort of thing you expect to see over the eggs and b., is what I’m trying to say.
“I say, Jeeves, what do you make of this hole to nowhere?” I exclaimed, breakfast forgotten like a pleasant dream.
“Sir?” Jeeves’ head protruded round the kitchen door. Catching sight of the portal, his eyebrows elevated to the precise angle that, to a skilled valet-reader such as myself, indicated surprise. “I really could not say, sir. That is - I have a theory - But no, it is far too improbable to be countenanced.”
Naturally I was about to press him for further details when a tall, ginger chap fell out of the air, rapidly followed by a strange assortment of people. The lead chap picked himself up, dusted himself down and addressed me.
“Freak wormhole,” he said, pleasantly.
Now when one has grown up with those fiends in human form, the Aunts, one feels acclimatised to just about any insulted hurled at one, but I don’t mind admitting this threw me a little.
“Ah?” I asked. Not the most brilliant riposte, but you’ll agree the circs. were somewhat trying.
“Must have happened when you turned on the Improbability Drive, Arthur,” continued the man.
“Would anybody care to tell me what on Earth’s going on?” inquired the chap addressed as Arthur. A worried-looking bird, I thought, but he expressed my feelings perfectly.
“I think when you turned the Drive on we got sucked through a random wormhole in space,” said the woman behind Arthur. As I looked at her, I caught sight of the fellow at the back. My jaw hit the floor with a dull thump. The chap gave a lazy wave with one of his hands, the other two being otherwise engaged rearranging the hair of both his heads. His female companion continued blithely. “Looks like we might have travelled in time too,” she said, peering round the place. “This is Earth, right?”
By now I felt it was time to assert myself. We Woosters never let events overwhelm us and I was determined to display that breezy calm that has stood my ancestors in such good stead.
“Of course this is Earth. Err… would you like to take a seat?”
Somewhere in the proceedings, Jeeves must have disappeared off to the kitchen, because at this moment he materialised at the elbow of yours truly.
“I have taken the liberty of preparing some tea for our guests, sir,” he murmured, cool as the proverbial c. I thought Arthur might hug him, but he restrained himself and merely accepted a restorative cup with trembling hands.
Before he could take so much as a sip of the r.c., however, a furious hammering on the door made up all leap like Olympic athletes. Arthur regarded his puddle of spilt tea with a mournful air.
“Sometimes I get the feeling the Universe is out to get me,” he said gloomily.
I had no time to listen to any further pronouncements for at this moment, Jeeves returned from answering the door.
“Mrs. Gregson is here to see you, sir,” he said.
As he spoke, my least favourite aunt swept in, unstoppable as continental drift.
“Ah, Bertie,” she began in tones of doom. She stopped as she caught sight of my visitors.
“What-ho, Aunt Agatha! Good of you to stop by! This is… err…” I admit I floundered.
“Ford Prefect, Arthur Dent, Tricia McMillan and Zaphod Beeblebrox.” The ginger chap pointed rapidly to himself and his friends.
Aunt Agatha, somehow failing to notice the still-glowing portal and the man with two heads, was transfixed, gazing at Miss McMillan. Or, to be more accurate, at her skirt, which finished some way above the knees. I hurriedly averted my eyes; a preux chevalier does not go around staring at strange girls’ kneecaps.
“Bertie, I find the company you kept these days to be utterly distasteful. I wanted you to meet a delightful girl I’ve found but I can see your attentions are… otherwise engaged - ” This last with a signif. glance at Miss McMillan. “However, I still want to see you at Brinkley this weekend.” And with these words, she biffed off.
Now perhaps, finally, I could find out just what the devil was going on.
_____
Depending on how peaceful life is for the next few days, I aim to have the next bit up by Monday. Hope you are enjoying yourselves so far and, as usual, comments and concrit greatly appreciated.
Onwards to Part Two
Title: Probably Improbable - 1/4
Fandoms: Jeeves & Wooster, H2G2
Rating: G
Warnings: None. You may comfortably read this to your young 'uns gathered round the fire.
Disclaimers: I own niet, nadah, nothing. All love and praise to the late, great Wodehouse and Adams.
Summary: What's a Wooster to do when interstellar hitchhikers show up unannounced?
As far as I was concerned, it was just a sunny morning in the metrop. when the strangers arrived chez Bertram. The thing was, they didn’t exactly use the door. No, they just popped out of a glowing hole to nowhere.
If it appears I’ve started in media res, as it were, I can only apologise, but there really was very little by way of introduction to said h. to n. Not precisely the sort of thing you expect to see over the eggs and b., is what I’m trying to say.
“I say, Jeeves, what do you make of this hole to nowhere?” I exclaimed, breakfast forgotten like a pleasant dream.
“Sir?” Jeeves’ head protruded round the kitchen door. Catching sight of the portal, his eyebrows elevated to the precise angle that, to a skilled valet-reader such as myself, indicated surprise. “I really could not say, sir. That is - I have a theory - But no, it is far too improbable to be countenanced.”
Naturally I was about to press him for further details when a tall, ginger chap fell out of the air, rapidly followed by a strange assortment of people. The lead chap picked himself up, dusted himself down and addressed me.
“Freak wormhole,” he said, pleasantly.
Now when one has grown up with those fiends in human form, the Aunts, one feels acclimatised to just about any insulted hurled at one, but I don’t mind admitting this threw me a little.
“Ah?” I asked. Not the most brilliant riposte, but you’ll agree the circs. were somewhat trying.
“Must have happened when you turned on the Improbability Drive, Arthur,” continued the man.
“Would anybody care to tell me what on Earth’s going on?” inquired the chap addressed as Arthur. A worried-looking bird, I thought, but he expressed my feelings perfectly.
“I think when you turned the Drive on we got sucked through a random wormhole in space,” said the woman behind Arthur. As I looked at her, I caught sight of the fellow at the back. My jaw hit the floor with a dull thump. The chap gave a lazy wave with one of his hands, the other two being otherwise engaged rearranging the hair of both his heads. His female companion continued blithely. “Looks like we might have travelled in time too,” she said, peering round the place. “This is Earth, right?”
By now I felt it was time to assert myself. We Woosters never let events overwhelm us and I was determined to display that breezy calm that has stood my ancestors in such good stead.
“Of course this is Earth. Err… would you like to take a seat?”
Somewhere in the proceedings, Jeeves must have disappeared off to the kitchen, because at this moment he materialised at the elbow of yours truly.
“I have taken the liberty of preparing some tea for our guests, sir,” he murmured, cool as the proverbial c. I thought Arthur might hug him, but he restrained himself and merely accepted a restorative cup with trembling hands.
Before he could take so much as a sip of the r.c., however, a furious hammering on the door made up all leap like Olympic athletes. Arthur regarded his puddle of spilt tea with a mournful air.
“Sometimes I get the feeling the Universe is out to get me,” he said gloomily.
I had no time to listen to any further pronouncements for at this moment, Jeeves returned from answering the door.
“Mrs. Gregson is here to see you, sir,” he said.
As he spoke, my least favourite aunt swept in, unstoppable as continental drift.
“Ah, Bertie,” she began in tones of doom. She stopped as she caught sight of my visitors.
“What-ho, Aunt Agatha! Good of you to stop by! This is… err…” I admit I floundered.
“Ford Prefect, Arthur Dent, Tricia McMillan and Zaphod Beeblebrox.” The ginger chap pointed rapidly to himself and his friends.
Aunt Agatha, somehow failing to notice the still-glowing portal and the man with two heads, was transfixed, gazing at Miss McMillan. Or, to be more accurate, at her skirt, which finished some way above the knees. I hurriedly averted my eyes; a preux chevalier does not go around staring at strange girls’ kneecaps.
“Bertie, I find the company you kept these days to be utterly distasteful. I wanted you to meet a delightful girl I’ve found but I can see your attentions are… otherwise engaged - ” This last with a signif. glance at Miss McMillan. “However, I still want to see you at Brinkley this weekend.” And with these words, she biffed off.
Now perhaps, finally, I could find out just what the devil was going on.
_____
Depending on how peaceful life is for the next few days, I aim to have the next bit up by Monday. Hope you are enjoying yourselves so far and, as usual, comments and concrit greatly appreciated.
Onwards to Part Two