November 17th, 2006

glee sue sylvester

Squeenie's Drabble Challenge #6

I started this one yesterday but didn't have time to finish it before I went home. Thank you to everyone who gave me names!

Jeeves and Wooster
::as requested by katie__pillar::

I’m quite a jolly chap, you know. Everyone says so down at the Drones, and you won’t meet a finer bunch of men. Oh, everyone knows old Oofy can’t bear to part with the moolah, and Boko… well, dashed fond of the chap and all that, but you can’t deny he’s a fairly hopeless specimen most of the time. But over all and generally speaking, a sterling collection. Men you would be proud to have at your shoulder, lance in hand, when you get into a spot of bother with the natives.

So when I am hailed as a jolly chap, I tend to listen. I soak up their advice and counsel, and pay heed. But a sad day has dawned in the Wooster world. As much as it grieves me to say, the Drones have got it wrong. Young Bertram Wilberforce is not jolly. There’s a jaunty couplet Jeeves trotted out the other day about wasting years and tears over a woman, and by Jove he’s got it right.

You may well ask, not being completely up to date with the Wooster happenings, what has happened since last I bared my all to you. And I shall tell you. I fell in love. Much in the same way in which Bingo Little is prone to do but with much less in the way of discretion. I told Jeeves the story of my love, ending on the triumphant finale of my plans to propose to the lady in question, which in any self-respecting warm-blooded Englishman would have warmed the cockles of the heart, when Jeeves raised his eyebrow the regulation eighth-of-an-inch, and regretted to inform me that if that were the case, he would perforce tender his resignation!

Well, I mean to say, dash it! The man is a tyrant, I’ve often said it. Bother of the thing is, he has… what do you call it? Leveret? No, that’s something else. Leverage, that’s it! He has leverage. That’s the thing about Jeeves, you see. The man’s a marvel, and I dashed well can’t do without him. Hence the long f. No, when it comes down to a choice between Jeeves and a golden curl and shapely ankle, Jeeves wins the race by a length.
glee sue sylvester

Squeenie's Drabble Challenge #7

Diana Trent
::as requested by katie__pillar and pim2005::

Diana stabbed viciously at the chicken on her plate, and scowled as it attempted to escape her.

“So, retirement, then?” said the man sitting opposite her, cradling a glass of whisky in his hand and blithely ignoring the not inconsiderable bad temper of his dinner companion.

“It’s a bloody farce,” said Diana explosively. “Hit 60 and they seem to think you should be lining up in decrepit droves for a blue rinse and a zimmerframe. And that idiot of an editor… my God, Harry, you should have heard him!” Unconsciously her hand clenched on the tablecloth, but when Harry put his hand over hers, she flicked him off irritably.

“He’s a sorry excuse for an editor,” said Harry mildly, “but Diana, he might…”

“If you say he has a point, I will stab you in the leg with this knife,” said Diana, with a smile that made Harry think she might well not be joking. It was always wisest, he had discovered over these many years, to assume that Diana wasn’t joking.

“What about your… whatever it is?”

“The polymyalgia? What’s that got to do with anything. Our brave young editor Paul” – and her voice dripped acid – “clearly had some sort of lobotomy at birth, and I don’t see that stopping him. And you’re about to drop dead from liver failure any day now. I can still take a photograph, you know.” Her voice dropped, and it was painful to hear. “I can still do my job, dammit.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He signalled the waiter, and ordered them both another drink. There wasn’t much else to be done.
glee sue sylvester

Squeenie's Drabble Challenge #8

Hmmm, not sure about this one. Tricksy...

The History Boys
::as requested by pim2005::

Posner had never been on the back of Hector’s motorbike. They stood there in the school hall, full of boys and old boys and staff and parents, and they sang, but all Posner could think of was that he had never been on the back of Hector’s motorbike. It seemed so unfair. He’d never had anyone… well… you know. He might have enjoyed it. The others didn’t seem to have minded it very much, and Posner found himself resenting Hector, even as he sang for him.

Why hadn’t he been included? Why was he different? Posner sang, and Posner wondered. Was it because he *was* different? Because he mightn’t have minded? Maybe Hector had liked knowing that the others would stop him, that they would never take him seriously.

Posner sang and Posner wondered if, one day, he might be like Hector.
glee sue sylvester

Squeenie's Drabble Challenge #9

::as requested by katie__pillar::

Wesley had always wondered what posterity would think of him. It wasn't necessarily that he was vain; more that he was so used to learning about people in the past from reading about them in dusty old tomes that it was how he thought the world worked.

When he was seven, Wesley fantasised about being remembered a hero. The world would be overrun by giant demons who rode on dinosaurs (resurrected using some deeply cunning spells he had read about in a little book in a corner of his father’s library) and there would be lots of screaming people and running around and he would be seven feet tall with a cowboy hat and a sword, and would save them all.

When he was sixteen, Wesley fantasised about being remembered a hero. The world would be overrun by demons who were controlled by intelligent, homicidal robots, and Wesley would prop himself up in a corner, looking nonchalant, with a decent amount of stubble, and defeat the evil demon/robot combination through his superior intellect without batting an eye, receiving the undying thanks of very many rather attractive young women. He would save them all. And get laid.

When he was twenty-five, Wesley fantasised about being remembered a hero. The world was full of demons, and there was one girl to save them all. He would guide her. He would lead her. He would inspire her. The demons were rising, and they would save them all.

When he was thirty, Wesley realised he would never be a hero. Because Wesley just didn’t fucking care any more.
glee sue sylvester

Squeenie's Drabble Challenge #10

::as requested by katie__pillar::

Michael Scofield bit his lip as he pored over the textbook in front of him. School was easy, and he always made straight As, but some subjects were more of a challenge than others. Math, Science – that sort of thing was easy. History: now that was hard. It was so subjective, and Michael found it hard to cope with the fact that there wasn’t necessarily going to be a right answer, one answer that was correct beyond doubt. He made some more notes, because he had an essay due on the early constitution of America, and he kept reading and reading but he couldn’t quite work out what the answer was supposed to be. He hunched further over the book Mrs Rankin had recommended from the library, and tried to figure out what he needed to write.

“Hey, kid!” The door opened, and Lincoln walked in, slinging coat and grocery bag onto the kitchen table next to Michael and his books. He started unpacking the bag, containing the basics that were all either of them could cope with cooking. They might have been on their own in the past five years since their mother died, but it didn’t mean either of them had progressed beyond mac and cheese. Lincoln glanced over his brother’s shoulder as he passed to put tins in the cupboard above the sink.

“History, hey? Whatcha doing?” Michael shrugged, his voice tight with tension.

“Constitution. But I don’t… there are so many opinions. I’ve read four books, and they all say different things and I don’t know which is right. How do answer this if I can’t find out the answer?” He was breathing too fast, and something in the back of Michael’s mind made him think that it was just an essay, it wasn’t important, but all he could think was that it was a puzzle and he couldn’t solve it and… a hand fell on his shoulder, large and comforting.

“No-one has the answers, Mikey,” said Lincoln, squeezing gently. “You just have to, y’know, consider the options. They don’t expect you to know what went down how back then.”


“Michael, chill. It’s no big deal. Look, put this crap away now. Do your Math, you know you like that better. I’ll make some dinner.” And Lincoln, not waiting for a response, swept the history books off the table and chucked them into the tiny living room, clapping Michael on the shoulder as he grabbed a clean pan off the drying rack.

Michael watched as Lincoln began to make them dinner, even though it was Michael’s turn, and realised that he would do anything for his elder brother.