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Biggles fandom continues to have exactly zero chill in the blorbo proximity exchange:
And I wrote a tiny snippet of commentfic for a comment of Philomytha's:
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philomytha: (and now I want fics where 40ish Biggles is trying to do what 19yo Biggles did and is struggling)
It was raining lightly outside the opera house. As Biggles tried to get one of the passing taxis to notice them, von Stalhein held a threadbare umbrella above both of them and remarked, "I hadn't realised when you invited me for this evening's affair that part of the entertainment would involve nudging you to stop snoring."
"Sorry," Biggles said, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. "I swear it's not the music or the company." At this, von Stalhein's tiny smile flickered, very different from his usual sardonic smiles. "I don't what it is, just the past few days catching up with me, I suppose."
"You weren't out of town on a case, were you? I didn't know --"
"No, it's just the usual work load. I was in the office until midnight last night, with Ginger and Bertie on stakeout, and then waffled in around six or so. Plenty of sleep, at least it ought to be, but I've been wanting to catnap all day and I suppose it hit me tonight."
"Bigglesworth," von Stalhein said, taking him by the elbow as a taxi diverted itself at last from the flow of traffic and swept in to the kerb. "It may have escaped your notice, but neither of us are twenty-two any more."
"And I am glad for that," Biggles murmured, very quietly. He didn't think von Stalhein had heard, but the hand on his arm gave a brief clasp.
And I wrote a tiny snippet of commentfic for a comment of Philomytha's:
philomytha: (and now I want fics where 40ish Biggles is trying to do what 19yo Biggles did and is struggling) It was raining lightly outside the opera house. As Biggles tried to get one of the passing taxis to notice them, von Stalhein held a threadbare umbrella above both of them and remarked, "I hadn't realised when you invited me for this evening's affair that part of the entertainment would involve nudging you to stop snoring."
"Sorry," Biggles said, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. "I swear it's not the music or the company." At this, von Stalhein's tiny smile flickered, very different from his usual sardonic smiles. "I don't what it is, just the past few days catching up with me, I suppose."
"You weren't out of town on a case, were you? I didn't know --"
"No, it's just the usual work load. I was in the office until midnight last night, with Ginger and Bertie on stakeout, and then waffled in around six or so. Plenty of sleep, at least it ought to be, but I've been wanting to catnap all day and I suppose it hit me tonight."
"Bigglesworth," von Stalhein said, taking him by the elbow as a taxi diverted itself at last from the flow of traffic and swept in to the kerb. "It may have escaped your notice, but neither of us are twenty-two any more."
"And I am glad for that," Biggles murmured, very quietly. He didn't think von Stalhein had heard, but the hand on his arm gave a brief clasp.
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‘I say, old boy, have you hurt yourself?’
Biggles froze on his way towards the kettle. ‘No,’ he said curtly, and continued his halting progress.
‘But you’re limping,’ protested Ginger.
‘Yes,’ came Biggles’ grim response. ‘I know.’
‘How did you manage that?’ Bertie inquired. ‘It wasn’t that scuffle the other day, was it?’
‘That was last week,’ put in Ginger. ‘He’s only just started limping today.’
‘We’ve jolly well done nothing all day but sit and write reports,’ said Bertie, baffled. ‘You can’t tell me a fellow can injure himself just by sitting down.’
Ginger and Bertie peered curiously at Biggles, whose exasperated glare evidently did nothing to deter them.
Across the room, Algy regarded the scene with wry amusement. ‘They’ll learn,’ he said to Biggles in a commiserating tone. ‘Just give them time.’
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(And I am also personally called out by this ficlet...)
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