Birthday Ficlet: Ask For Pryce
Feb. 27th, 2005 01:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lonelybritErm, right, well, not entirely sure how to explain this one. It's human AU, it's set early 1900's, it has - I think - Angel and Wes. Only they've been plucked from the friendly Joss!verse and dumped in the middle of deepest sunniest Wodehouse-world. Wes therefore becomes Pryce, valet to Angel, who is a goodhearted but slightly out-of-his-depth American newly moved to the London metropolis. So, yes, slightly random, but anyway...
TITLE: Ask For Pryce
RATING: U - come on, it's in the style of Wodehouse.
PAIRING: Angel/Wes, or Liam/Pryce, not entirely sure what to say here.
NOTES: Sorry for any bad characterisation, but have you any idea how hard it is to write an Angel POV in the vocab of an English gent? The boys, if it is indeed them, do not belong to me, they are property of Joss and ME.
“Good morning, sir.”
I painfully opened one eye and saw what looked horribly like daylight flooding my room. My head throbbed and tried to split open.
“Drink this, sir.”
It sounded like Pryce, although the world was too fuzzy to be really sure, and I blindly grasped at the glass pushed into my hand. It smelt peppery and sweet. The first swallow set up a minor explosion behind my eyes, the world sparked, and then sprang back into focus.
Pryce beamed down at me. That is, the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly and a warm light shone in his eyes.
“Happy birthday, sir.”
“Oh God, not today.”
“The weather is exceptionally clement today, sir. Possibly a nice walk in the park and tea in the Orangery before this evening’s festivities with Mr William?”
My spirits soared at the reminder. “Oh yes, he was going to show me that new club, The Petrified Penguin.”
“Indeed, sir.”
Pryce sounded – I think the word is – reserved.
After a wonderful breakfast, Pryce had learned to do wonders with a scrambled egg, I collected the hat and coat and funny cane thing you have to have, and strode forth.
This country still baffles me, but after a few months, most of the actual terrors had gone. And Pryce had played no small part in that. I’d be lost without that man. I’ve managed to face down arch-evil bone-crunching knighted men of law with him by my side. So having him strolling with me towards the park gave me a nice smug feeling.
A horn blared and I jumped out the way of a car, landing awkwardly sprawled across the park fencing.
“Remember to look right, first, sir,” Pryce suggested, continuing his way along the path, not looking back.
“Thanks.”
The park was lovely, and we joined a gaggle of sticky looking children who were lobbing bread missiles at the duck populace.
“Did you bring any bread, Pryce?” I said hopefully, eyeing a particularly resplendent mallard looking down his bill at us.
“No, sir.”
A blonde child hopped over.
“Coo! Look at that one!”
Several more small little things swarmed.
“I bags that one!”
“No fair, I saw it first!”
“So, that- Hey! You can’t do that!”
The first crust of bread sailed over the pond and landed a foot away from the web-footed gentleman. He quickly woofed it down and settled for the rest to follow. Which they shortly did, the children opening fire with a vengeance, the air full with whizzing starched produce.
Their lack of aim was painful.
“Too far, much too far,” I said to one mite on my left. “Aim more to the left.”
“What?”
“Look, like this.”
I nabbed a piece and got the mallard between the eyes.
The children cheered and looked up at me with shining awe.
“Do it again! Do it again!”
Pryce gave me The Look, but I didn’t care. This was fun, and it was my birthday, so why the hell not. I was presented with a handful of bready bits and the blonde boy pointed out a distant grey-feathered blob.
“Hit that one next!”
I obliged, lobbing my missile perfectly so it arched over the waters and came down lightly on the distant bird’s wing.
This time there was no cheering, instead I turned to find the children all looking at the ground, and it quickly became obvious why.
“You horrid man!”
A matron buzzed up, hair as brilliant and immovable as ebony, a collar that gleamed and a glare that could pierce marble.
“Give that back at once,” she plucked the bread bag from me. “Stealing from a child, for shame, sir!”
A few other people were looking my way, Pryce had suddenly found something to look at on a tree several feet away.
“What kind of example do you think you set, sir,” she demanded, bosom heaving with righteous wrath, “hitting the innocent wildlife. I am speechless.”
She gave me the evil eye, gathered her charges to her, and they trooped away through a small crowd that was looking like it wouldn’t be long before the pitchforks and torches were produced.
At the same time, a nasty hissing came from my back.
“Ah, sir. Perhaps if you would…”
I turned to find myself eye to beak with a white head, a pair of orange eyes, and a long long neck framed by two powerful wings.
The swan drew herself up even further, and gave another hiss. Behind her, her cygnets squabbled over the bread I’d thrown at them.
~*~*~
“Don’t say anything, Pryce.”
“It was not my intention, sir.”
“No, you were doing that silent thing. That thing where you make me feel like I’m three and out on the stairs again for talking with my mouth full. That thing counts as saying something. Don’t do it.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And don’t do that, either.”
“Sir?”
“And that includes that, Pryce.”
He almost smiled. My hat, still a little tired-looking from being trodden on in the rush to escape the white-feathered demon that had erupted from the water, was given a final dust off and handed back to me.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
“And thank you, you know, for earlier.”
Pryce gave a small nod and again the mouth twitched.
“Not at all, sir.”
Not that it was one of his most brilliant or complicated plans. But the timing was perfect. Pryce appearing on the opposite side of the pond, somehow with another troop of children armed with another supply of baked goodness. The cygnets had of course homed in on the free food, and their mother, after a moment of indecision, left me hiding in the bushes and waddled back to tend to her brood.
“Time for tea, sir?”
The gleam of large windows and sound of clinking china signalled that we had finally reached the tearooms.
I placed the hat firmly on my head, pulled down my cuffs, and straightened my tie.
“Right, lead on, Pryce.”
~*~*~
I lifted one corner and ventured a cautious sniff. It looked pink and slushy, it smelt fishy, and frankly didn’t belong in a sandwich.
“Fish paste, sir.”
“It looks foul.”
“It’s traditional, sir.”
I gave Pryce a quelling glance, and took a bite out of another white triangle. I chewed and swallowed hopefully, but other than a rather earthy watery hint, there was no flavour whatsoever.
“And what the hell was that?”
“Cucumber, sir.”
“Please never serve that at home.”
“Very good, sir.”
The final straw came when I reached for my cup of tea, and found there was no milk. All there was, was a small little dish thing with lemon slices in it. Pryce held it out to me.
“You have got to be kidding.”
“It’s tradi-”
“Stuff tradition, Pryce.”
“As you say, sir.”
“Get the bill and my coat, I’m going home.”
“Yes, sir.”
~*~*~
The journey home was marked with being chased by a large Irish wolfhound, who apparently mistook my casual swiping at overhead leaves with my cane as an invitation to come play. The chase led me into an encounter with an icecream cone, a sandpit, and a small yappy dog who attached itself to my shoelaces.
All in all, I was feeling tired and drained by the time Pryce opened the door to the flat and I collapsed in my favourite chair.
Pryce approached with a tray of the needed refreshment.
“If you are to appear in public this evening, sir,” he said as I downed two glasses in a row, “you might want to have bath before supper?”
“Pryce,” I began in a hollow voice, “please never ever do that again.”
“Sir?”
The whiskey had restored me a little and I looked at him sternly.
“For the record, my idea of a good birthday day, does not involve being attacked by local wildlife, poisoned by English tradition, or made to parade with these ridiculous and dangerous canes.”
“Very good, sir.”
Judging by the small voice, Pryce had, yet again, missed the point. A brilliant man in many ways, but not when it comes to what Will would call ‘reading the signs’.
“Drop the sir, Pryce.”
He gave me a reproachful look.
“This is still the working day, sir.”
“Dash the working day, it’s my birthday!”
“Yes, sir, but a working day nevertheless. And as you will be out with Mr William when it ends-”
I cottoned on.
“That’s what’s been getting your goat all day, Pryce?” I got to my feet and patted him on the shoulder. “Well, next time I’ll remember to give you the day off, eh?”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Right, well, I’m off to have that bath. Oh no, wait.” I eyed the small pile of mail on the sideboard. Somehow that very traditional part of the birthday festivities had been passed over. “Are those all mine?”
“Yes, sir.” Pryce went to retrieve them. “I recognise the handwriting of Miss Chase on this parcel, sir, and on this one-”
He presented such an easy target, with the back turned, that it really was but the work of an instant to move across the carpet, place my hands on the sideboard either side of that neat waist, and firmly pin Pryce against the parcels and the telephone.
He turned at once, and only Pryce could look so pleased and indignant at the same time.
“I don’t see a parcel with your hand on it, Pryce,” I pointed out pleasantly.
“Working hours, sir,” he said, utterly unyielding.
“Didn’t I just say my birthday equals a day off?”
“Oh.” He seemed to think about this a moment, then shrugged. “Well in that case-”
His first reaction to my kissing him was, obviously , to put a hold on what he had been saying. The second reaction was to finally smile, one arm going round me. The third reaction, thank god, was to actually start kissing back. A state that continued for a little while until we knocked the telephone over.
“Leave it,” I said firmly, keeping a good grip on him. “We’ll call Will later.”
He blinked at me, his eyes a little glazed.
“Will, sir?”
“To cancel this evening’s outing.”
“Ah, right.”
The previous activities resumed, with Pryce steering us clear of the glasses and other breakables, and me trying to fathom the many many buttons that made up his uniform. By the time we had reached the bedroom, I had successfully removed one jacket and was attempting the waistcoat. Pryce drew back and shook his head.
“There is an easier way, you know,” he said kindly.
“Well, if you’d be-” the rest of my words were muffled as he deftly pulled my shirt over my head. He was still there when the world came back into view, and I happily forgot the question and concentrated on making up for lost time. His hands were over mine, guiding, and it took a little while for my brain to twig onto the fact that with his help, I was finally managing to disrobe him. As the waistcoat at last gave way and fell to the floor after a firm pull, Pryce said matter of factly: “Just ask next time, sir.”
TITLE: Ask For Pryce
RATING: U - come on, it's in the style of Wodehouse.
PAIRING: Angel/Wes, or Liam/Pryce, not entirely sure what to say here.
NOTES: Sorry for any bad characterisation, but have you any idea how hard it is to write an Angel POV in the vocab of an English gent? The boys, if it is indeed them, do not belong to me, they are property of Joss and ME.
“Good morning, sir.”
I painfully opened one eye and saw what looked horribly like daylight flooding my room. My head throbbed and tried to split open.
“Drink this, sir.”
It sounded like Pryce, although the world was too fuzzy to be really sure, and I blindly grasped at the glass pushed into my hand. It smelt peppery and sweet. The first swallow set up a minor explosion behind my eyes, the world sparked, and then sprang back into focus.
Pryce beamed down at me. That is, the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly and a warm light shone in his eyes.
“Happy birthday, sir.”
“Oh God, not today.”
“The weather is exceptionally clement today, sir. Possibly a nice walk in the park and tea in the Orangery before this evening’s festivities with Mr William?”
My spirits soared at the reminder. “Oh yes, he was going to show me that new club, The Petrified Penguin.”
“Indeed, sir.”
Pryce sounded – I think the word is – reserved.
After a wonderful breakfast, Pryce had learned to do wonders with a scrambled egg, I collected the hat and coat and funny cane thing you have to have, and strode forth.
This country still baffles me, but after a few months, most of the actual terrors had gone. And Pryce had played no small part in that. I’d be lost without that man. I’ve managed to face down arch-evil bone-crunching knighted men of law with him by my side. So having him strolling with me towards the park gave me a nice smug feeling.
A horn blared and I jumped out the way of a car, landing awkwardly sprawled across the park fencing.
“Remember to look right, first, sir,” Pryce suggested, continuing his way along the path, not looking back.
“Thanks.”
The park was lovely, and we joined a gaggle of sticky looking children who were lobbing bread missiles at the duck populace.
“Did you bring any bread, Pryce?” I said hopefully, eyeing a particularly resplendent mallard looking down his bill at us.
“No, sir.”
A blonde child hopped over.
“Coo! Look at that one!”
Several more small little things swarmed.
“I bags that one!”
“No fair, I saw it first!”
“So, that- Hey! You can’t do that!”
The first crust of bread sailed over the pond and landed a foot away from the web-footed gentleman. He quickly woofed it down and settled for the rest to follow. Which they shortly did, the children opening fire with a vengeance, the air full with whizzing starched produce.
Their lack of aim was painful.
“Too far, much too far,” I said to one mite on my left. “Aim more to the left.”
“What?”
“Look, like this.”
I nabbed a piece and got the mallard between the eyes.
The children cheered and looked up at me with shining awe.
“Do it again! Do it again!”
Pryce gave me The Look, but I didn’t care. This was fun, and it was my birthday, so why the hell not. I was presented with a handful of bready bits and the blonde boy pointed out a distant grey-feathered blob.
“Hit that one next!”
I obliged, lobbing my missile perfectly so it arched over the waters and came down lightly on the distant bird’s wing.
This time there was no cheering, instead I turned to find the children all looking at the ground, and it quickly became obvious why.
“You horrid man!”
A matron buzzed up, hair as brilliant and immovable as ebony, a collar that gleamed and a glare that could pierce marble.
“Give that back at once,” she plucked the bread bag from me. “Stealing from a child, for shame, sir!”
A few other people were looking my way, Pryce had suddenly found something to look at on a tree several feet away.
“What kind of example do you think you set, sir,” she demanded, bosom heaving with righteous wrath, “hitting the innocent wildlife. I am speechless.”
She gave me the evil eye, gathered her charges to her, and they trooped away through a small crowd that was looking like it wouldn’t be long before the pitchforks and torches were produced.
At the same time, a nasty hissing came from my back.
“Ah, sir. Perhaps if you would…”
I turned to find myself eye to beak with a white head, a pair of orange eyes, and a long long neck framed by two powerful wings.
The swan drew herself up even further, and gave another hiss. Behind her, her cygnets squabbled over the bread I’d thrown at them.
~*~*~
“Don’t say anything, Pryce.”
“It was not my intention, sir.”
“No, you were doing that silent thing. That thing where you make me feel like I’m three and out on the stairs again for talking with my mouth full. That thing counts as saying something. Don’t do it.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And don’t do that, either.”
“Sir?”
“And that includes that, Pryce.”
He almost smiled. My hat, still a little tired-looking from being trodden on in the rush to escape the white-feathered demon that had erupted from the water, was given a final dust off and handed back to me.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure, sir.”
“And thank you, you know, for earlier.”
Pryce gave a small nod and again the mouth twitched.
“Not at all, sir.”
Not that it was one of his most brilliant or complicated plans. But the timing was perfect. Pryce appearing on the opposite side of the pond, somehow with another troop of children armed with another supply of baked goodness. The cygnets had of course homed in on the free food, and their mother, after a moment of indecision, left me hiding in the bushes and waddled back to tend to her brood.
“Time for tea, sir?”
The gleam of large windows and sound of clinking china signalled that we had finally reached the tearooms.
I placed the hat firmly on my head, pulled down my cuffs, and straightened my tie.
“Right, lead on, Pryce.”
~*~*~
I lifted one corner and ventured a cautious sniff. It looked pink and slushy, it smelt fishy, and frankly didn’t belong in a sandwich.
“Fish paste, sir.”
“It looks foul.”
“It’s traditional, sir.”
I gave Pryce a quelling glance, and took a bite out of another white triangle. I chewed and swallowed hopefully, but other than a rather earthy watery hint, there was no flavour whatsoever.
“And what the hell was that?”
“Cucumber, sir.”
“Please never serve that at home.”
“Very good, sir.”
The final straw came when I reached for my cup of tea, and found there was no milk. All there was, was a small little dish thing with lemon slices in it. Pryce held it out to me.
“You have got to be kidding.”
“It’s tradi-”
“Stuff tradition, Pryce.”
“As you say, sir.”
“Get the bill and my coat, I’m going home.”
“Yes, sir.”
~*~*~
The journey home was marked with being chased by a large Irish wolfhound, who apparently mistook my casual swiping at overhead leaves with my cane as an invitation to come play. The chase led me into an encounter with an icecream cone, a sandpit, and a small yappy dog who attached itself to my shoelaces.
All in all, I was feeling tired and drained by the time Pryce opened the door to the flat and I collapsed in my favourite chair.
Pryce approached with a tray of the needed refreshment.
“If you are to appear in public this evening, sir,” he said as I downed two glasses in a row, “you might want to have bath before supper?”
“Pryce,” I began in a hollow voice, “please never ever do that again.”
“Sir?”
The whiskey had restored me a little and I looked at him sternly.
“For the record, my idea of a good birthday day, does not involve being attacked by local wildlife, poisoned by English tradition, or made to parade with these ridiculous and dangerous canes.”
“Very good, sir.”
Judging by the small voice, Pryce had, yet again, missed the point. A brilliant man in many ways, but not when it comes to what Will would call ‘reading the signs’.
“Drop the sir, Pryce.”
He gave me a reproachful look.
“This is still the working day, sir.”
“Dash the working day, it’s my birthday!”
“Yes, sir, but a working day nevertheless. And as you will be out with Mr William when it ends-”
I cottoned on.
“That’s what’s been getting your goat all day, Pryce?” I got to my feet and patted him on the shoulder. “Well, next time I’ll remember to give you the day off, eh?”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Right, well, I’m off to have that bath. Oh no, wait.” I eyed the small pile of mail on the sideboard. Somehow that very traditional part of the birthday festivities had been passed over. “Are those all mine?”
“Yes, sir.” Pryce went to retrieve them. “I recognise the handwriting of Miss Chase on this parcel, sir, and on this one-”
He presented such an easy target, with the back turned, that it really was but the work of an instant to move across the carpet, place my hands on the sideboard either side of that neat waist, and firmly pin Pryce against the parcels and the telephone.
He turned at once, and only Pryce could look so pleased and indignant at the same time.
“I don’t see a parcel with your hand on it, Pryce,” I pointed out pleasantly.
“Working hours, sir,” he said, utterly unyielding.
“Didn’t I just say my birthday equals a day off?”
“Oh.” He seemed to think about this a moment, then shrugged. “Well in that case-”
His first reaction to my kissing him was, obviously , to put a hold on what he had been saying. The second reaction was to finally smile, one arm going round me. The third reaction, thank god, was to actually start kissing back. A state that continued for a little while until we knocked the telephone over.
“Leave it,” I said firmly, keeping a good grip on him. “We’ll call Will later.”
He blinked at me, his eyes a little glazed.
“Will, sir?”
“To cancel this evening’s outing.”
“Ah, right.”
The previous activities resumed, with Pryce steering us clear of the glasses and other breakables, and me trying to fathom the many many buttons that made up his uniform. By the time we had reached the bedroom, I had successfully removed one jacket and was attempting the waistcoat. Pryce drew back and shook his head.
“There is an easier way, you know,” he said kindly.
“Well, if you’d be-” the rest of my words were muffled as he deftly pulled my shirt over my head. He was still there when the world came back into view, and I happily forgot the question and concentrated on making up for lost time. His hands were over mine, guiding, and it took a little while for my brain to twig onto the fact that with his help, I was finally managing to disrobe him. As the waistcoat at last gave way and fell to the floor after a firm pull, Pryce said matter of factly: “Just ask next time, sir.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 05:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 02:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 05:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 02:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 02:42 pm (UTC)But the Golf and Psmith stories will always be my favourites.
no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 03:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 03:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 05:57 pm (UTC)Utterly adorable. I shall ask for Pryce more often!
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Date: 2005-02-27 02:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-26 06:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 02:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 02:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 03:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 02:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 11:18 am (UTC)Write more and please put in Will and maybe some Giles just to mix things up! But this was fantastic and I got the funny look from the parents, the one where they think I'm mad!!!
no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 02:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 05:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-28 03:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 05:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-28 03:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-27 07:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-28 03:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-02 09:01 am (UTC)Heeeeeee!
The mental image of the swan...
::falls down laughing::
::climbs back to chair::
This was excellent.
::re-reads::
::falls down laughing again::
no subject
Date: 2005-03-02 09:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-02 10:03 am (UTC)