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Recent Biggles prompt fic from Tumblr
1. Unsexy removal of clothing
Posted on Tumblr here
Prompt: Loving these prompt-ficlets! Another prompt if you like- Biggles &/ EvS and the sudden decidedly unsexy need for removal of clothing (cold and wet? doused in a noxious chemical? for access to injuries? all or some combination of the above?) and the vulnerability thereof
At first von Stalhein fought him. His movements were jerky and uncoordinated, but even in his far-gone state, he was a clever and lethal fighter, and it was clear that he thought Biggles was trying to attack him somehow.
"Stop it," Biggles snapped with more vehemence than he intended, after taking a painful elbow to the side of the head.
He didn't really expect von Stalhein to hear him, and so he was startled by the way the man went suddenly still, all resistance ceasing in an instant, as if the curt rap of Biggles's voice cut through to some fundamental part of his hypothermic brain.
Perhaps it was an old instinct for taking orders, perhaps he'd simply run out of strength to fight ... but whatever it was, Biggles had significantly less trouble stripping him of his sodden clothes, crackling with ice. As he peeled away the ice-crusted outer layers, von Stalhein swayed onto him as if his legs had stopped holding him up. Every part of his skin Biggles had touched so far was terribly cold.
"Algy, how's that tent coming along?" Biggles barked over his shoulder.
"Since you asked nicely, I'm just finished setting up, sleeping bags all rolled out. Are you actually -- oh, I see you are."
"Give me a hand, would you?"
"I can make a fire instead," Algy complained. But he put his shoulder under von Stalhein's armpit and supported him while Biggles stripped him out of the rest of his outer clothes, then helped Biggles manhandle him to the tent, pausing only to say, "You know he wouldn't lift a finger to save us in similar circumstances, don't you?"
"Then we shall be the better men, shan't we? Help me get him inside, he's gone terribly limp."
"Terrible," Algy said grimly. But he was as careful as he might have been with any of the others as he helped Biggles settle the limp, weakly shivering form of their enemy into the sleeping bags, with a fleece-lined rug to insulate him from the cold ground, and a heavy down-filled bag over him.
However, Algy began to protest vociferously when Biggles pulled him down into the sleeping bag pile.
"Biggles -- James Bigglesworth -- I know your darkest secrets, I know where you sleep, don't do this to me."
"We need warmth," Biggles said briskly. "A fire won't do, it has to be direct, and you can see what a state he's in. You warm him on that side, I shall attend to the other. Where's the flask of tea? Oh, here it is."
"I'll make you pay for this," said Algy between his teeth. But he endured having his body curled tensely against a half-naked, trembling von Stalhein, while Biggles lay pressed against the other side, put an arm under their enemy's head, and plied him with careful sips of lukewarm tea.
2. Sexy use of medieval weapons
Posted on Tumblr here
Prompt: I read the bit in 'Looks Back' where EvS suggests making use of the medieval weaponry decorating the castle and Biggles protests they're not in his line and they 'debate the efficiency of lethal instruments'- and now I'm taken with the image of their finding themselves in another situation where Erich does come to Biggles's defence/aid with the medieval weaponry closest to hand in whatever manor or castle they've gotten into a scrape in this time… with Biggles also being rather taken with the image, enough to perhaps ...amend his stance somewhat to include his usual notable exception (Erich wielding a sword and shield he snatched off the wall makes a compelling argument)
"We appear to be trapped and surrounded," Biggles murmured to von Stalhein. The two of them had moved closer together by a sort of unspoken agreement, standing back to back as footsteps and harsh voices sounded from both ends of the great, vaulted castle hallway. Moving quietly in sync, they retreated into a large recessed alcove that contained a fireplace and some benches, but there was nowhere to conceal themselves; it was only a matter of time before they were seen.
And yet, Biggles felt his nerves thrill. He was still unused to working with von Stalhein in the field, and it was a rare pleasure to face danger not across guns pointed at each other, but together, on the same side.
"Aren't reckless escapes your specialty?" von Stalhein murmured back, with the quick flash of a half-smile that suggested he might feel the same way.
"I'm open to ideas." There were no windows in the hallway, and no other visible means of egress. The chimney of the fireplace was a possibility, but it would be a difficult and miserable climb, and they might encounter an impassible blockage, depending on how the chimney had been designed.
"We can fight our way out," von Stalhein suggested. "We are surrounded by weapons, you know."
Biggles glanced up at the ornamental battleaxes, swords, and other weaponry collecting dust on the walls. The clatter of footsteps outside the alcove suggested they were running out of time. "A bit barbaric for my tastes. You know I don't like such things."
"I suppose you're expecting to find an aeroplane to steal, then."
"You haven't seen any about the place, have you?" The castle was certainly large enough to contain a hangar somewhere on its grounds.
Von Stalhein made a sharp sound that might have been a rusty laugh. "I think I'll take my chances with the barbaric armaments, thank you."
With that, he reached up and wrenched down a sword from the wall.
"I say," Biggles exclaimed, alarmed. "You know they have guns, don't you?"
Von Stalhein tested the reach of the sword, seemed to find it pleasing, and stretched to his maximum reach to free the shield that had been mounted near it, decorated with a bold red and yellow device. He settled it on his arm and gave Biggles a quick, piercing look and a bare glimmer of a smile. "It hadn't escaped my notice. Stay a good distance behind me; I don't wish to have to watch out for them and for you as well."
"Wait --!" Biggles began, but without another word, von Stalhein stepped gracefully from the alcove. Biggles caught a glimpse of him slipping behind a tapestry hanging on the wall.
For a minute, nothing happened. The voices outside the alcove drew nearer, and Biggles looked round and grasped the nearest weapon-like object at hand, a fire iron.
Then there was an abrupt flurry of activity in the hallway, a crash and yelling and a lot of thumping and clattering, punctuated by a gunshot that sent Biggles's heart racing. Gripping the fire iron, he looked out to see what was happening.
The first thing he saw was a lurching, surging tapestry which clearly had been cut down from the wall and had one or two men under it, weighed down on one end with a bench that had been tipped over on top of it. Beyond that, von Stalhein cut a striking figure as he squared off against a very startled-looking thug who didn't seem to know which way to point his gun, whether at the sword whipping past his nose or the shield that von Stalhein was using to force him back against the wall.
Biggles had known that von Stalhein must have had a classical training in the swordfighting arts, as befitted someone of that time and social position, but he had never witnessed the results before. Von Stalhein's limp nearly vanished, so thoroughly did he compensate for it, his body flowing gracefully from one position to the next with a pure economy of motion. There was an almost lazy quality to the way that he swung the sword around, dropped the shield, and used the flat of the blade to smack the gun from his dumbfounded opponent's hand. Then he followed through that movement to spin round and smack one of the men under the tapesty with the sword's flat just as the man started to crawl out from underneath, sending him sprawling.
Biggles was so captivated that he almost failed to register movement out of the corner of his eye. He had nearly forgotten there was a gunman at the other end of the hallway, and apparently, so had von Stalhein. On the other hand, the man was also so focused on von Stalhein that he didn't even notice Biggles until Biggles used the fire iron to sweep his feet out from under him, then followed it up by kicking the gun out of his hand and planting a foot in his back.
Von Stalhein turned round from disabling his own opponent, and lowered sword and shield. He was sweating lightly, his eyes bright and his pale face slightly flushed.
"I see you have reconsidered the merits of barbaric weaponry," he remarked, slightly out of breath, and nodded to the fire iron dangling from Biggles's hand.
"I -- I am afraid that I am reconsidering my stance on a few different things," Biggles said, a little out of breath himself, and von Stalhein laughed, a true laugh this time.
3. Hurt at a fancy dress party
Posted on Tumblr here
Prompt: Biggles sees EvS get wounded in the daytime, and then sees him at a white tie gala in the evening. He can’t believe he’s even standing, much less performing Culture.
"Stop that," Algy murmured, nudging Biggles, who was tugging at his collar again.
Biggles jerked his hand down. "My suit is badly fitted," he muttered back.
"No, you just hate wearing it."
Biggles impatiently waved off a waiter holding out a tray of champagne flutes. Algy took two and held one out to his fidgeting cousin.
Nearly snatching it out of his hand, Biggles muttered under his breath, "I would rather be at the office filling out the paperwork on the case. Nothing is going to happen here."
Algy rolled his eyes. "You mean von Stalhein isn't going to be here and you've completely lost interest."
Biggles glared at him, but there was an underlying sense of -- something. Algy heaved a sigh and drank from his champagne flute. He absolutely was not going to say anything reassuring, he simply was not.
They had rolled up most of the operation earlier today; it now remained simply to provide a quiet security presence for the jewels until their owner, the princess of a small principality subsumed into a larger country in the past half-century's wars, presented them as a goodwill gift to the Duchess who was sponsoring her resettlement in England. Ginger was back at the office, dealing with the paperwork and the details, and Bertie likely would have been here if he hadn't been wounded in the hand during the fighting. Biggles had insisted on him taking the night off. Algy wished he'd been so lucky.
Von Stalhein, who had been providing security for the gang, was still in the wind, but there had been a good deal of blood left behind after Gaskin's men had shot at him. Algy supposed it was too much to hope the man had crawled off to die somewhere. Unfortunately, he had been so taken aback by Biggles's stricken expression at the time that he had been startled into saying something reassuring along the lines of "Stop looking like that, at worst they've only winged him; the man is a cockroach and we won't be rid of him so easily" .... which probably meant he had only himself to blame for Biggles looking round into all the corners of the room while holding the untouched champagne flute carelessly in one hand.
Algy was just thinking they had just about got through it all right when Biggles sucked in a sudden breath and raised his champagne flute in a quick, involuntary brush against his lips. Algy looked where he was looking, thinking Oh no -- but he relaxed a little when he saw who Biggles was looking at.
Good old "Tosser" Talbot, surprised Biggles remembers him; wasn't he in Mumbai this last decade or two? Wonder if he has inherited his father's peerage yet. Or if he remembers he owes me ten pounds ... wait, who's that he's talking to?
The dawning resurgence of "oh no" came with the recognition of the slim, upright figure chatting with Talbot. Algy still thought he (and Biggles) must be imagining things, until the slim upright fellow turned his head, and Algy glimpsed him in profile and turned a resentful look on Biggles. Biggles, who had been bored out of his mind a few minutes earlier, was now practically quivering with eagerness.
"Stop looking so happy about this," Algy said out of the corner of his mouth. "This just gives us another chance to arrest him, doesn't it?"
"In the middle of the Duchess's affair? We should never hear the end of it," Biggles said, and began sidling through the crowd in von Stalhein's direction. Algy allowed himself to be caught up in Biggles's wake because at least that way he had some hope of influencing the direction of events somewhat. "The blood must have been from a lesser wound," Biggles murmured, almost to himself. "You were quite right, Algy, I should have listened to you."
"I was lying to make you feel better," Algy said under his breath. But as they got closer, he thought he did detect a certain stiffness to the way von Stalhein was standing, perhaps a hint of the bulkiness of bandages beneath the neatly tailored jacket, and the man's characteristic pallor was even whiter than usual. With any luck, Algy thought grimly, all they'd have to do was push him and he'd fall over, straight into the arms of a security guard if they were lucky.
Also see follow-up snippet in the comments!
Posted on Tumblr here
Prompt: Loving these prompt-ficlets! Another prompt if you like- Biggles &/ EvS and the sudden decidedly unsexy need for removal of clothing (cold and wet? doused in a noxious chemical? for access to injuries? all or some combination of the above?) and the vulnerability thereof
At first von Stalhein fought him. His movements were jerky and uncoordinated, but even in his far-gone state, he was a clever and lethal fighter, and it was clear that he thought Biggles was trying to attack him somehow.
"Stop it," Biggles snapped with more vehemence than he intended, after taking a painful elbow to the side of the head.
He didn't really expect von Stalhein to hear him, and so he was startled by the way the man went suddenly still, all resistance ceasing in an instant, as if the curt rap of Biggles's voice cut through to some fundamental part of his hypothermic brain.
Perhaps it was an old instinct for taking orders, perhaps he'd simply run out of strength to fight ... but whatever it was, Biggles had significantly less trouble stripping him of his sodden clothes, crackling with ice. As he peeled away the ice-crusted outer layers, von Stalhein swayed onto him as if his legs had stopped holding him up. Every part of his skin Biggles had touched so far was terribly cold.
"Algy, how's that tent coming along?" Biggles barked over his shoulder.
"Since you asked nicely, I'm just finished setting up, sleeping bags all rolled out. Are you actually -- oh, I see you are."
"Give me a hand, would you?"
"I can make a fire instead," Algy complained. But he put his shoulder under von Stalhein's armpit and supported him while Biggles stripped him out of the rest of his outer clothes, then helped Biggles manhandle him to the tent, pausing only to say, "You know he wouldn't lift a finger to save us in similar circumstances, don't you?"
"Then we shall be the better men, shan't we? Help me get him inside, he's gone terribly limp."
"Terrible," Algy said grimly. But he was as careful as he might have been with any of the others as he helped Biggles settle the limp, weakly shivering form of their enemy into the sleeping bags, with a fleece-lined rug to insulate him from the cold ground, and a heavy down-filled bag over him.
However, Algy began to protest vociferously when Biggles pulled him down into the sleeping bag pile.
"Biggles -- James Bigglesworth -- I know your darkest secrets, I know where you sleep, don't do this to me."
"We need warmth," Biggles said briskly. "A fire won't do, it has to be direct, and you can see what a state he's in. You warm him on that side, I shall attend to the other. Where's the flask of tea? Oh, here it is."
"I'll make you pay for this," said Algy between his teeth. But he endured having his body curled tensely against a half-naked, trembling von Stalhein, while Biggles lay pressed against the other side, put an arm under their enemy's head, and plied him with careful sips of lukewarm tea.
2. Sexy use of medieval weapons
Posted on Tumblr here
Prompt: I read the bit in 'Looks Back' where EvS suggests making use of the medieval weaponry decorating the castle and Biggles protests they're not in his line and they 'debate the efficiency of lethal instruments'- and now I'm taken with the image of their finding themselves in another situation where Erich does come to Biggles's defence/aid with the medieval weaponry closest to hand in whatever manor or castle they've gotten into a scrape in this time… with Biggles also being rather taken with the image, enough to perhaps ...amend his stance somewhat to include his usual notable exception (Erich wielding a sword and shield he snatched off the wall makes a compelling argument)
"We appear to be trapped and surrounded," Biggles murmured to von Stalhein. The two of them had moved closer together by a sort of unspoken agreement, standing back to back as footsteps and harsh voices sounded from both ends of the great, vaulted castle hallway. Moving quietly in sync, they retreated into a large recessed alcove that contained a fireplace and some benches, but there was nowhere to conceal themselves; it was only a matter of time before they were seen.
And yet, Biggles felt his nerves thrill. He was still unused to working with von Stalhein in the field, and it was a rare pleasure to face danger not across guns pointed at each other, but together, on the same side.
"Aren't reckless escapes your specialty?" von Stalhein murmured back, with the quick flash of a half-smile that suggested he might feel the same way.
"I'm open to ideas." There were no windows in the hallway, and no other visible means of egress. The chimney of the fireplace was a possibility, but it would be a difficult and miserable climb, and they might encounter an impassible blockage, depending on how the chimney had been designed.
"We can fight our way out," von Stalhein suggested. "We are surrounded by weapons, you know."
Biggles glanced up at the ornamental battleaxes, swords, and other weaponry collecting dust on the walls. The clatter of footsteps outside the alcove suggested they were running out of time. "A bit barbaric for my tastes. You know I don't like such things."
"I suppose you're expecting to find an aeroplane to steal, then."
"You haven't seen any about the place, have you?" The castle was certainly large enough to contain a hangar somewhere on its grounds.
Von Stalhein made a sharp sound that might have been a rusty laugh. "I think I'll take my chances with the barbaric armaments, thank you."
With that, he reached up and wrenched down a sword from the wall.
"I say," Biggles exclaimed, alarmed. "You know they have guns, don't you?"
Von Stalhein tested the reach of the sword, seemed to find it pleasing, and stretched to his maximum reach to free the shield that had been mounted near it, decorated with a bold red and yellow device. He settled it on his arm and gave Biggles a quick, piercing look and a bare glimmer of a smile. "It hadn't escaped my notice. Stay a good distance behind me; I don't wish to have to watch out for them and for you as well."
"Wait --!" Biggles began, but without another word, von Stalhein stepped gracefully from the alcove. Biggles caught a glimpse of him slipping behind a tapestry hanging on the wall.
For a minute, nothing happened. The voices outside the alcove drew nearer, and Biggles looked round and grasped the nearest weapon-like object at hand, a fire iron.
Then there was an abrupt flurry of activity in the hallway, a crash and yelling and a lot of thumping and clattering, punctuated by a gunshot that sent Biggles's heart racing. Gripping the fire iron, he looked out to see what was happening.
The first thing he saw was a lurching, surging tapestry which clearly had been cut down from the wall and had one or two men under it, weighed down on one end with a bench that had been tipped over on top of it. Beyond that, von Stalhein cut a striking figure as he squared off against a very startled-looking thug who didn't seem to know which way to point his gun, whether at the sword whipping past his nose or the shield that von Stalhein was using to force him back against the wall.
Biggles had known that von Stalhein must have had a classical training in the swordfighting arts, as befitted someone of that time and social position, but he had never witnessed the results before. Von Stalhein's limp nearly vanished, so thoroughly did he compensate for it, his body flowing gracefully from one position to the next with a pure economy of motion. There was an almost lazy quality to the way that he swung the sword around, dropped the shield, and used the flat of the blade to smack the gun from his dumbfounded opponent's hand. Then he followed through that movement to spin round and smack one of the men under the tapesty with the sword's flat just as the man started to crawl out from underneath, sending him sprawling.
Biggles was so captivated that he almost failed to register movement out of the corner of his eye. He had nearly forgotten there was a gunman at the other end of the hallway, and apparently, so had von Stalhein. On the other hand, the man was also so focused on von Stalhein that he didn't even notice Biggles until Biggles used the fire iron to sweep his feet out from under him, then followed it up by kicking the gun out of his hand and planting a foot in his back.
Von Stalhein turned round from disabling his own opponent, and lowered sword and shield. He was sweating lightly, his eyes bright and his pale face slightly flushed.
"I see you have reconsidered the merits of barbaric weaponry," he remarked, slightly out of breath, and nodded to the fire iron dangling from Biggles's hand.
"I -- I am afraid that I am reconsidering my stance on a few different things," Biggles said, a little out of breath himself, and von Stalhein laughed, a true laugh this time.
3. Hurt at a fancy dress party
Posted on Tumblr here
Prompt: Biggles sees EvS get wounded in the daytime, and then sees him at a white tie gala in the evening. He can’t believe he’s even standing, much less performing Culture.
"Stop that," Algy murmured, nudging Biggles, who was tugging at his collar again.
Biggles jerked his hand down. "My suit is badly fitted," he muttered back.
"No, you just hate wearing it."
Biggles impatiently waved off a waiter holding out a tray of champagne flutes. Algy took two and held one out to his fidgeting cousin.
Nearly snatching it out of his hand, Biggles muttered under his breath, "I would rather be at the office filling out the paperwork on the case. Nothing is going to happen here."
Algy rolled his eyes. "You mean von Stalhein isn't going to be here and you've completely lost interest."
Biggles glared at him, but there was an underlying sense of -- something. Algy heaved a sigh and drank from his champagne flute. He absolutely was not going to say anything reassuring, he simply was not.
They had rolled up most of the operation earlier today; it now remained simply to provide a quiet security presence for the jewels until their owner, the princess of a small principality subsumed into a larger country in the past half-century's wars, presented them as a goodwill gift to the Duchess who was sponsoring her resettlement in England. Ginger was back at the office, dealing with the paperwork and the details, and Bertie likely would have been here if he hadn't been wounded in the hand during the fighting. Biggles had insisted on him taking the night off. Algy wished he'd been so lucky.
Von Stalhein, who had been providing security for the gang, was still in the wind, but there had been a good deal of blood left behind after Gaskin's men had shot at him. Algy supposed it was too much to hope the man had crawled off to die somewhere. Unfortunately, he had been so taken aback by Biggles's stricken expression at the time that he had been startled into saying something reassuring along the lines of "Stop looking like that, at worst they've only winged him; the man is a cockroach and we won't be rid of him so easily" .... which probably meant he had only himself to blame for Biggles looking round into all the corners of the room while holding the untouched champagne flute carelessly in one hand.
Algy was just thinking they had just about got through it all right when Biggles sucked in a sudden breath and raised his champagne flute in a quick, involuntary brush against his lips. Algy looked where he was looking, thinking Oh no -- but he relaxed a little when he saw who Biggles was looking at.
Good old "Tosser" Talbot, surprised Biggles remembers him; wasn't he in Mumbai this last decade or two? Wonder if he has inherited his father's peerage yet. Or if he remembers he owes me ten pounds ... wait, who's that he's talking to?
The dawning resurgence of "oh no" came with the recognition of the slim, upright figure chatting with Talbot. Algy still thought he (and Biggles) must be imagining things, until the slim upright fellow turned his head, and Algy glimpsed him in profile and turned a resentful look on Biggles. Biggles, who had been bored out of his mind a few minutes earlier, was now practically quivering with eagerness.
"Stop looking so happy about this," Algy said out of the corner of his mouth. "This just gives us another chance to arrest him, doesn't it?"
"In the middle of the Duchess's affair? We should never hear the end of it," Biggles said, and began sidling through the crowd in von Stalhein's direction. Algy allowed himself to be caught up in Biggles's wake because at least that way he had some hope of influencing the direction of events somewhat. "The blood must have been from a lesser wound," Biggles murmured, almost to himself. "You were quite right, Algy, I should have listened to you."
"I was lying to make you feel better," Algy said under his breath. But as they got closer, he thought he did detect a certain stiffness to the way von Stalhein was standing, perhaps a hint of the bulkiness of bandages beneath the neatly tailored jacket, and the man's characteristic pallor was even whiter than usual. With any luck, Algy thought grimly, all they'd have to do was push him and he'd fall over, straight into the arms of a security guard if they were lucky.
Also see follow-up snippet in the comments!
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*runs to Tumblr immediately*
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Especially Erich swordfighting which really should happen more often.
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I can't believe I've never written an Erich swordfighting scene before ... at least I don't think so. And I had trouble coming up with a situation where he could do it here! That being said, I am strongly in favor of more swordfighting for any reason. Plus Biggles getting to watch him do it and having an Awakening.
(Also see an anon contribution to the third fic in the comments below!)
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(Anonymous) 2025-02-28 05:24 pm (UTC)(link)Algy strode irritably along the service corridor. They'd lost sight of von Stalhein in the milling crowd, and now he'd gone and lost track of Biggles as well. It was possible these two things were unrelated. Biggles might have stepped out for a quick cigarette and von Stalhein might have found a hole into which to crawl and quietly die of his wounds. Hope sprang eternal.
However, it was unlike Biggles to step out on his assigned post without at least telling him first and the last Algy had seen of von Stalhein, his face was a shade to rival his tie after catching an unwary elbow to the side in the glad-ragged throng.
That Biggles had stiffened at his side at the sight and that he was now nowhere to be found was purely correlation.
It was their assignment to protect the jewels until they were formally handed over. And the likeliest culprit of any jewel-snaffling had just vanished from the assembly. That sort of thing bore keeping an eye on. Any possible concern Algy felt was purely for any harm Biggles might come by from a dangerous creature’s dying throes. Hence, he was hunting up and down service corridors.
He supposed he wouldn’t get the chance to claim that owed ten pounds from “Tosser” Talbot after all. Or any more of those tasty little canapés with the duck and apricot.
He didn’t expect a literal blood-trail but there was a suspiciously red-stained napkin in a linen-hamper that stood full of soiled tablecloths and Algy hadn’t seen any red wine being served during the reception. Casting about for any more telltale gory clues, he heard a voice of familiar timbre coming from behind a nearby baize door.
When he tried it, the door jammed as though something had been shoved against it and the voice within suddenly ceased. “Hi, it’s me,” Algy hissed through the crack. “Let me in, Biggles.”
The door opened just enough for Algy to slip through the crack.
It was a poky little washroom, evidently for staff, and crowded enough with two, let along three men crammed into it. Von Stalhein sat perched on the counter by the sink, leaning against the mirror, suit and shirt open and the clotted remains of bandages and dressings in the sink.
“Hullo, Algy,” Biggles said, blood spotting his shirt-cuffs, “fetch me one of those tablecloths from outside and tear some strips from it, would you?”
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Biggles: just sit here, you'll be all right in a minute
Erich: What is happening. *sits*
Thank you so much for writing this follow-up; it's delightful!
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(Anonymous) 2025-03-01 05:29 am (UTC)(link)Out of the grand hall, the general hubbub was immediately muffled as the heavy velvet draperies swung back over the side door Biggles had ducked through. He unbuttoned his suit coat and loosened his tie with some relief and cast his eyes about.
The corridor he found himself in was one for the passage of staff, seemingly vacant for now, and lit by old-fashioned, though electrified, wall-sconces. He was sure he'd seen von Stalhein slipping through the discreet doorway moments before however, so continued along, toward the more shadowed end of the corridor.
His instincts proved correct as, a few steps further on, a pair of patent leather dress shoes were visible behind a large hamper that looked to contain the tablecloths and napkins from dinner. Unsure of his reception if quiet enough to startle and having had enough guns pointed in his face for one day, Biggles deliberately stepped more heavily as he approached.
Von Stalhein appeared utterly unsurprised regardless when Biggles came into view. Whether he even had the energy to appeared unclear. He was practically the same colour as his white tie, his face set against any expression, sitting leaning against the wall in the dubious cover of the lee of the linen-hamper, holding a crumpled wad of what appeared to be a dinner napkin pressed to his side.
He managed an urbane greeting all the same. "Ah, come to have a tête-a-tête, have we? We were so rudely interrupted earlier today."
"One might call the attempted robbery the interruption," Biggles said. "But I haven't come to quibble semantics with you- that was an awful knock you took back there from that clumsy young man and right to where you were shot, if I saw correctly. I followed you to be sure it hadn't done you further mischief. I shouldn't like you to bleed out on my watch."
"Do not be melodramatic, Bigglesworth. There are no major vessels in the bullet's track that would cause me to bleed out. It skimmed my ribs. It is merely exhaustingly painful and exceedingly tedious." von Stalhein made no move to get up however.
"Maybe not immediately, but if you've been tearing around all day without having it properly seen to or a chance to rest, I can't think it's done you much good or given the wound a chance to start clotting." Biggles looked pointedly at the spreading stains beginning to show through von Stalhein's starched shirt-front. "That jostle just now has evidently set it going again like the proverbial leaky tap. A man's only got so much blood to spare."
"And I find myself with even less patience to spare," von Stalhein tilted his head back against the wall. "What is it you want, Bigglesworth?"
"To keep you from the ignominous end of bleeding out on a dusty floor mere feet away from shimmering opulence and gaiety like a particularly grim Dickensian character." He offered a hand. "And I don't believe you'd want to be discovered in such a position as this by any other gala-goers."
Von Stalhein regarded the proffered hand with suspicion as though it might contain a joke buzzer or a particularly venomous scorpion. "You hardly need be concerned. It is unlikely anyone but yourself will venture down this corridor. It only leads to a service entrance and all the deliveries have already been made. The rest of the linens for removal will not be collected until the very end of the night now the tables are cleared." He crossed his ankles as though perfectly at ease and content to remain seated on the scuffed linoleum for the rest of the night. The wince he couldn't manage to suppress at the movement spoilt the effect somewhat.
Biggles sighed. "I see you've 'cased the joint' as Ginger would say. Well, so have I-" he indicated the door behind him. "There's a washroom just through there at least as comfortable as the bare floor beside a laundry hamper. I hear the amenities are far more comprehensive." He still held out an expectant hand.
"Oh very well, Bigglesworth," von Stalhein capitulated. "If it will put an end to this melodrama." He accepted the hand up, which Biggles rapidly turned to an arm fully around his waist as von Stalhein staggered and swayed at the sudden altitude.
"I still would feel better if you'd let me take a look at the wound," Biggles said. "I can call a doctor if you'd rather-"
"And have it be a police surgeon in a cell?" von Stalhein snarled. "No. You may satisfy your curiosity, if that is the only way to convince you of my not-imminent demise."
Biggles ushered him through the washroom door, still with an arm around him.
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He accepted the hand up, which Biggles rapidly turned to an arm fully around his waist as von Stalhein staggered and swayed at the sudden altitude.
*squeak* And keeping his arm there too, I just love it.
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He managed an urbane greeting all the same. "Ah, come to have a tête-a-tête, have we? We were so rudely interrupted earlier today."
♥ Eriiiiiihhh ♥♥
I do love the stoic injured Erich very much. And Biggles following him just to see what's going on and then helping him with the injury is perfect
Thank you for continuing this on! :D
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I love all three (although I've read the first one before! mmmmm cuddling for warmth!)
There's something so sexy about Biggles & EvS fighting side by side! MORE PLS
And similarly Erich being able to function with an injury falls into the same ngggggght competence vibes that I adore.
♥♥♥
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And EvS with the sword was just *fire emoji*; extreme competence and elegant violence with a sword is a thing I did not know I needed, but now that I’ve seen it, I absolutely want endless amounts of this, forever. The reference to his posh upbringing and familiarity with swords! The way his limp vanishes, subsumed into the forms and movements more natural to him than walking, even. I love it, so much!
And just the prompt for being hurt at a fancy dress party Did Things to me, it’s extremely RTMI and you nailed every moment of it in the best way: Biggles’ anxious anticipation; the slow reveal of EvS being as cool and unruffled as ever, elegant and unapproachable and hiding the fact that he’s slowly bleeding out, the contrast is just so perfect, because We The Reader know that something’s up, even though Biggles is still in his hopeful and relieved stage.
Just endless amounts of joy from the best classic hurt/comfort, every single one of these made me so happy to read! <333
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That's exactly how I imagine emergency hypothermia treatment to go, when it involves these three - Algy having to be practically shoved into Erich to help (or at least struggling against doing what must be done as hard as he can). Biggles, and one of the henchmen, both too busy drooling at Erich's swordplay to do their own fighting. And Biggles only having fun at the party once he knows Erich did not die. Again though, the final line takes the cake. :D
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