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Biggles ficlets from Tumblr part 2
Continuing with the latest batch; also see previous post in case you missed anything.
9. Biggles/EvS forced to maintain close proximity by mad science
Responding to the prompt call with a Biggles prompt- Biggles and EvS are cursed or exposed to a mysterious mad-science substance that makes them have to maintain physical contact or very close proximity or else suffer increasingly debilitating pain &/ illness the farther they are apart- and now must work together in these constraints to fix this situation
Originally posted on Tumblr
Biggles was aware that Algy had been casting anxious glances at him, where he sat at his desk in the main room of the Mount Street flat. "I am fine," he said shortly, not liking how rough his voice sounded.
"You're positively grey," Algy said, glowering at him. "Let me go round up the swine; I'll have him back here at gunpoint if he won't listen to reason."
"He'll come back," Biggles said calmly. A spasm of cramps rippled through his abdomen and seemed to travel outward, painfully, down his legs. He went on, "It is the most practical decision, under the circumstances. If nothing else, von Stalhein is a practical man."
Algy made a scoffing sound. Biggles ignored him and reached for the glass of water at his elbow, realised his hand was shaking, and put it back on the desk, next to the London map where he was sketching out possible sites for the unknown location of the warehouse containing the antidote ... or trying to. The printed words kept going in and out of focus before his eyes.
He was close to thinking that Algy was right, von Stalhein truly was stubborn enough to keep walking until he fell facedown in a gutter, when there was a brisk rap at the door and Algy sprang to his feet. Biggles started to rise, then his knees buckled, and he sank back down in his chair. But he was already feeling a noticeable easing of the cramping, the trembling and weakness in his limbs, and so it was no great surprise when Algy came back, looking grim and accompanied by a stiffly moving, utterly stone-faced von Stalhein.
Biggles rose carefully, one hand supporting himself on the edge of the desk. "Would you care for a drink?" he asked.
"No," von Stalhein said shortly. He sat on the end of the sofa, spine rigid. He looked grey and unwell, and there were mud and grass stains on his coat and the knees of his trousers, as if he had fallen. Biggles wondered if he himself looked as ill. No wonder Algy had been staring at him.
"I think I need a drink," Algy said. He hesitated. "Biggles, do you want me to be here in case --"
"Don't worry about it," Biggles said. "It'll be all right."
Algy heaved a sigh and left the room. Biggles suspected he would be listening in the hall.
Von Stalhein had not removed his outerwear upon entering the flat, as if he expected to leave at any moment. After Algy left, he took off his hat, with slow, slightly jerky movements, and placed it beside him on the sofa.
"How far did you get?" Biggles asked conversationally.
Von Stalhein gave him a look with daggers in it. Biggles said nothing. After a moment, the glare softened to something weary and, perhaps, a trifle less edged.
"Nearly to Whitechapel," von Stalhein said.
"That's how far -- two, three miles as the crow flies? That's good to know. It's farther than I thought we had to work with."
"I don't know where I thought I was going," von Stalhein said. He stared at the wall. "I had the waterfront in mind and then I -- I kept walking. I thought of taking a bus, even stood to catch one before I ... thought that perhaps I didn't want to find out how far and how fast --" He stopped again, and Biggles heard him grinding his teeth audibly.
It was like leashing a falcon, or some other wild creature. It would keep beating itself against the walls of the enclosure until it died. Or it would learn to live within the cage, and that was somehow worse.
Biggles got up. The pain, the cramps, the tightness in his chest had almost entirely eased. He came to sit on the other end of the sofa, no closer, with the hat between them. The look von Stalhein gave him suggested that distance was wanted, just at the moment.
Right now, the ache was very easy to ignore, nothing more than a slight chill, like the way that the cold got between the bones in the winter sometimes. Biggles was aware, as he knew von Stalhein was also aware, that the closer he got, the more the ache would evaporate; the urge to touch him was very strong, and he knew they were both feeling it, and he knew he could not let himself give in. He didn't want to find out how stubborn von Stalhein really was, or what he was willing to do to avoid being caged.
"Listen," Biggles said quietly. "The entire Yard is working on this. One way or another, we are going to fix it." He tried to smile, but he feared how it went a little askant of what he hoped for. "Being near me for a little while isn't really so bad as all that ... is it?"
Von Stalhein looked away, his mouth a thin line.
Before any response could be given, on either side, Algy came back with a tea tray and a grimly resigned expression more at home on a man going to a firing squad than someone bearing a pot of tea and lemon-frosted biscuits.
10. Scotland Yard ladies gossiping about EvS
Biggles prompt! The Scotland Yard ladies chatter about that tall, dark & handsome foreign gentleman Mr. Boelke who comes round to Raymond's office once a month. Biggles is Extremely Normal about this.
Originally posted on Tumblr
"Did you hear?" Mary C. announced, hurrying into the Scotland Yard typing pool clutching an armload of file folders stamped CONFIDENTIAL. "That foreign gentlemen was upstairs in Assistant Commissioner Raymond's office just now. I didn't see him, but Gladys told me. She brought them coffee."
"Oh! Is he gone yet?" Agnes asked, gathering carbon copies together. "I have to run these up to Inspector Gaskin's office. Maybe I'll see him coming down."
"What foreign gentleman?" asked Betty at the mimeograph machine, who was new.
"I'm sure he's some sort of deposed prince," declared Mary W., although the speculation caused no interruption in the swift fingers that flew over the keys at nearly superhuman speed, transcribing a stack of notes beside her typewriter. "What was he wearing? Tell us about it!"
Mary C. didn't know, but Nell from Accounting said in her shy voice, "I saw him go upstairs. Same as always, a long dark overcoat, very shabby. And a red wood walking stick with a brass head."
"I'm sure he is a foreign prince, fallen on hard times after a revolution in his own country," Mary W. said in her certain way. "He's so polite, and so precisely spoken."
Agnes nodded. "I met him once in the hall and said hello. He not only said hello back, he bowed to me! Just a little dip of the head -- like so, but so, so graceful about it all, if I was some sort of important lady."
Mary C. sighed wistfully, as if hoping she might experience a foreign bow, just once in her life.
Nell said quietly, "He's most likely gone over to Air DI Bigglesworth's office, he sometimes has papers to deliver there."
They all liked Air DI Bigglesworth -- a dapper little fair-haired gent, polite, swift-moving, soft-spoken, and very respectful to them in a way that some of the gentlemen upstairs weren't inclined to be. (Rather to the disappointment of a couple of ladies who might have liked to be disrespected, especially in his genteel way, but their not so subtle hints fell on barren ground.)
"Has he? Well, I shall take these upstairs and come down and tell you all about it," Agnes said.
"Wait, wait," Mary C. exclaimed, peering out the window. "Is that him leaving now?"
There was a general scrum at the window.
"Why, that's DI Bigglesworth with him, isn't it?" whispered Nell, peering out.
"Well, I never," said Mary W. "Are they having lunch, do you suppose? What do you suppose they have to talk about? A foreign prince and a regular fellow from the Yard, even though he is a war hero. Oh! I expect they met in the war, this fellow might have been with the Resistance before his country was overthrown."
"I don't understand all this fuss about some foreign gent," said Betty sternly as she went on making copies at the mimeograph machine, disapproving. "How interesting can he possibly be?"
"Wait until you meet him," said Agnes.
11. Tied to a bed
Biggles prompt! There was only one (piece of furniture sturdy enough to tie a prisoner to and it was a) bed
Originally posted here
"This really isn't necessary," Biggles said, as von Stalhein firmly tied one of his wrists to the sturdy wooden bedframe. "You could simply accept my parole not to escape."
"Would you give it?" von Stalhein inquired.
"Are you asking?"
"The other wrist, if you don't mind."
Biggles eyed the gun stuck through von Stalhein's belt. He had little confidence he could wrestle it away without one or both of them being shot, so he placed his other wrist against the headboard and allowed it to be tied just as securely in place. Von Stalhein's hands were sure and deft and just a bit warm against his wrists, securing them firmly.
9. Biggles/EvS forced to maintain close proximity by mad science
Responding to the prompt call with a Biggles prompt- Biggles and EvS are cursed or exposed to a mysterious mad-science substance that makes them have to maintain physical contact or very close proximity or else suffer increasingly debilitating pain &/ illness the farther they are apart- and now must work together in these constraints to fix this situation
Originally posted on Tumblr
Biggles was aware that Algy had been casting anxious glances at him, where he sat at his desk in the main room of the Mount Street flat. "I am fine," he said shortly, not liking how rough his voice sounded.
"You're positively grey," Algy said, glowering at him. "Let me go round up the swine; I'll have him back here at gunpoint if he won't listen to reason."
"He'll come back," Biggles said calmly. A spasm of cramps rippled through his abdomen and seemed to travel outward, painfully, down his legs. He went on, "It is the most practical decision, under the circumstances. If nothing else, von Stalhein is a practical man."
Algy made a scoffing sound. Biggles ignored him and reached for the glass of water at his elbow, realised his hand was shaking, and put it back on the desk, next to the London map where he was sketching out possible sites for the unknown location of the warehouse containing the antidote ... or trying to. The printed words kept going in and out of focus before his eyes.
He was close to thinking that Algy was right, von Stalhein truly was stubborn enough to keep walking until he fell facedown in a gutter, when there was a brisk rap at the door and Algy sprang to his feet. Biggles started to rise, then his knees buckled, and he sank back down in his chair. But he was already feeling a noticeable easing of the cramping, the trembling and weakness in his limbs, and so it was no great surprise when Algy came back, looking grim and accompanied by a stiffly moving, utterly stone-faced von Stalhein.
Biggles rose carefully, one hand supporting himself on the edge of the desk. "Would you care for a drink?" he asked.
"No," von Stalhein said shortly. He sat on the end of the sofa, spine rigid. He looked grey and unwell, and there were mud and grass stains on his coat and the knees of his trousers, as if he had fallen. Biggles wondered if he himself looked as ill. No wonder Algy had been staring at him.
"I think I need a drink," Algy said. He hesitated. "Biggles, do you want me to be here in case --"
"Don't worry about it," Biggles said. "It'll be all right."
Algy heaved a sigh and left the room. Biggles suspected he would be listening in the hall.
Von Stalhein had not removed his outerwear upon entering the flat, as if he expected to leave at any moment. After Algy left, he took off his hat, with slow, slightly jerky movements, and placed it beside him on the sofa.
"How far did you get?" Biggles asked conversationally.
Von Stalhein gave him a look with daggers in it. Biggles said nothing. After a moment, the glare softened to something weary and, perhaps, a trifle less edged.
"Nearly to Whitechapel," von Stalhein said.
"That's how far -- two, three miles as the crow flies? That's good to know. It's farther than I thought we had to work with."
"I don't know where I thought I was going," von Stalhein said. He stared at the wall. "I had the waterfront in mind and then I -- I kept walking. I thought of taking a bus, even stood to catch one before I ... thought that perhaps I didn't want to find out how far and how fast --" He stopped again, and Biggles heard him grinding his teeth audibly.
It was like leashing a falcon, or some other wild creature. It would keep beating itself against the walls of the enclosure until it died. Or it would learn to live within the cage, and that was somehow worse.
Biggles got up. The pain, the cramps, the tightness in his chest had almost entirely eased. He came to sit on the other end of the sofa, no closer, with the hat between them. The look von Stalhein gave him suggested that distance was wanted, just at the moment.
Right now, the ache was very easy to ignore, nothing more than a slight chill, like the way that the cold got between the bones in the winter sometimes. Biggles was aware, as he knew von Stalhein was also aware, that the closer he got, the more the ache would evaporate; the urge to touch him was very strong, and he knew they were both feeling it, and he knew he could not let himself give in. He didn't want to find out how stubborn von Stalhein really was, or what he was willing to do to avoid being caged.
"Listen," Biggles said quietly. "The entire Yard is working on this. One way or another, we are going to fix it." He tried to smile, but he feared how it went a little askant of what he hoped for. "Being near me for a little while isn't really so bad as all that ... is it?"
Von Stalhein looked away, his mouth a thin line.
Before any response could be given, on either side, Algy came back with a tea tray and a grimly resigned expression more at home on a man going to a firing squad than someone bearing a pot of tea and lemon-frosted biscuits.
10. Scotland Yard ladies gossiping about EvS
Biggles prompt! The Scotland Yard ladies chatter about that tall, dark & handsome foreign gentleman Mr. Boelke who comes round to Raymond's office once a month. Biggles is Extremely Normal about this.
Originally posted on Tumblr
"Did you hear?" Mary C. announced, hurrying into the Scotland Yard typing pool clutching an armload of file folders stamped CONFIDENTIAL. "That foreign gentlemen was upstairs in Assistant Commissioner Raymond's office just now. I didn't see him, but Gladys told me. She brought them coffee."
"Oh! Is he gone yet?" Agnes asked, gathering carbon copies together. "I have to run these up to Inspector Gaskin's office. Maybe I'll see him coming down."
"What foreign gentleman?" asked Betty at the mimeograph machine, who was new.
"I'm sure he's some sort of deposed prince," declared Mary W., although the speculation caused no interruption in the swift fingers that flew over the keys at nearly superhuman speed, transcribing a stack of notes beside her typewriter. "What was he wearing? Tell us about it!"
Mary C. didn't know, but Nell from Accounting said in her shy voice, "I saw him go upstairs. Same as always, a long dark overcoat, very shabby. And a red wood walking stick with a brass head."
"I'm sure he is a foreign prince, fallen on hard times after a revolution in his own country," Mary W. said in her certain way. "He's so polite, and so precisely spoken."
Agnes nodded. "I met him once in the hall and said hello. He not only said hello back, he bowed to me! Just a little dip of the head -- like so, but so, so graceful about it all, if I was some sort of important lady."
Mary C. sighed wistfully, as if hoping she might experience a foreign bow, just once in her life.
Nell said quietly, "He's most likely gone over to Air DI Bigglesworth's office, he sometimes has papers to deliver there."
They all liked Air DI Bigglesworth -- a dapper little fair-haired gent, polite, swift-moving, soft-spoken, and very respectful to them in a way that some of the gentlemen upstairs weren't inclined to be. (Rather to the disappointment of a couple of ladies who might have liked to be disrespected, especially in his genteel way, but their not so subtle hints fell on barren ground.)
"Has he? Well, I shall take these upstairs and come down and tell you all about it," Agnes said.
"Wait, wait," Mary C. exclaimed, peering out the window. "Is that him leaving now?"
There was a general scrum at the window.
"Why, that's DI Bigglesworth with him, isn't it?" whispered Nell, peering out.
"Well, I never," said Mary W. "Are they having lunch, do you suppose? What do you suppose they have to talk about? A foreign prince and a regular fellow from the Yard, even though he is a war hero. Oh! I expect they met in the war, this fellow might have been with the Resistance before his country was overthrown."
"I don't understand all this fuss about some foreign gent," said Betty sternly as she went on making copies at the mimeograph machine, disapproving. "How interesting can he possibly be?"
"Wait until you meet him," said Agnes.
11. Tied to a bed
Biggles prompt! There was only one (piece of furniture sturdy enough to tie a prisoner to and it was a) bed
Originally posted here
"This really isn't necessary," Biggles said, as von Stalhein firmly tied one of his wrists to the sturdy wooden bedframe. "You could simply accept my parole not to escape."
"Would you give it?" von Stalhein inquired.
"Are you asking?"
"The other wrist, if you don't mind."
Biggles eyed the gun stuck through von Stalhein's belt. He had little confidence he could wrestle it away without one or both of them being shot, so he placed his other wrist against the headboard and allowed it to be tied just as securely in place. Von Stalhein's hands were sure and deft and just a bit warm against his wrists, securing them firmly.
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Yessss, so delicious to watch Algy worry while Biggles insists he's fine, and then even he doubts if Erich will come back. Meanwhile, Erich -- like a bird beating itself to death at the cage -- is finally back because he is being practical... but my kingdom for the inner look inside his head when he knows he'll have to be around Biggles for far longer than he expected <333
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"I'm sure he is a foreign prince, fallen on hard times after a revolution in his own country," Mary W. said in her certain way. "He's so polite, and so precisely spoken."
Agnes nodded. "I met him once in the hall and said hello. He not only said hello back, he bowed to me! Just a little dip of the head -- like so, but so, so graceful about it all, if I was some sort of important lady."
♥
As IF they aren't swooning over Biggles as well :D
I love this!
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