Christmas Story 1a/2
Title: Carrington Gale and Blakeney Barclay's Christmas Adventures
Fandom: Original fic, inspired by PG Wodehouse
Characters: Carrington Gale, Blakeney Barclay, Sylvia Dickinson
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Warnings: none at the moment, really. Pre-slash, although its one-sided
Summary: Carrington Gale and Blakeney Barclay's first Christmas together.
Carrington Gale and Blakeney Barclay’s Christmas Adventures
Part One: First Christmas
Blakeney Barclay’s Personal Journal
1 December
As I was preparing to leave the flat to do the afternoon errands, Mr Gale made a request.
‘Will you purchase a tree, Barclay, while you’re out?’
‘A tree, sir?’
‘Yes. A Christmas tree, specifically.’
‘Yes, sir.’
I wasn’t particularly fond of the Christmas season in recent years. I had held out hope that my newest employer would not celebrate it, either. But if Mr Gale wanted a tree, a tree I would make certain he had.
***
When I returned, I saw that a tinsel factory had evidently exploded in the sitting room. Mr Gale himself was wrapped mummy-like with several strands.
‘Oh, hello, Barclay!’
I raised my eyebrow delicately.
‘Have you had an accident with the decorations, sir?’ I asked.
He looked sheepish.
‘A bit, yes, I suppose,’ he answered, ‘I say, Barclay, would you terribly mind helping me untangled?’
I would, but such a task is part of my duties as Mr Gale’s gentleman, so I obliged.
‘Thank you, Barclay.’
Mr Gale glanced around the littered sitting room.
‘Erm...maybe you should take it from here...’ he murmured.
‘As you say, sir.’
In addition to my usual cleaning duties, I had to now clean up my employer’s sparkly tinsel mess. I sighed.
***
2 December
Mr Gale’s tree arrived just before luncheon.
‘The tree is here!’
Mr Gale bounced at my heels like a child. After I had gotten the tree upright and situated in the most pleasant and out-of-the-way corner, Mr Gale had brought out a box of ornaments.
‘Let’s decorate the tree, Barclay!’
‘I suggest we should wait until after luncheon, sir,’ I advised.
Mr Gale appeared disappointed, also like a child.
‘Alright, Barclay,’ he pouted.
I was startled to find that his pout was attractive. I mentally slapped myself. Mr Gale was my employer-I should not be having such thoughts! Also, Mr Gale is quite mentally deficient-an undesirable quality in any adult person.
***
Mr Gale ate his meal of watercress sandwiches, carrot soup and lemon biscuits as quickly as he could, before racing back into the sitting room. I took my time clearing the table and washing, drying and putting the dishes away. Mr Gale hummed festive melodies to himself as he decorated the tree. Once I had finished my tasks in the kitchen, I joined Mr Gale in the sitting room.
‘I used to help my mother and sister decorate the tree at Christmas,’ he commented.
‘Will you be joining them this year, sir?’ I asked.
Mr Gale froze in place. His face saddened.
‘My parents died long ago,’ he said quietly, ‘Nellie lives in Australia with her husband and children.’
I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t meant to upset him.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ I apologised.
‘Don’t worry about it, Barclay,’ Mr Gale answered, ‘you didn’t know-you’ve only just started working for me.’
***
5 December
Mr Gale’s Great-Aunt Sylvia paid a visit to the flat. I had just finished preparing Mr Gale’s breakfast.
‘Good morning, Mrs Dickinson,’ I greeted her, ‘Mr Gale has not yet risen.’
Mrs Dickinson harrumphed.
‘I should have known,’ she grumbled, ‘he’s such a layabout-always has been. Well, don’t just stand there, Barclay-get him out of bed!’
I dipped my head respectfully.
‘Yes, madam.’
***
Mr Gale was not happy about being awoken just after nine in the morning. He likened it to the break of day. I, of course, always awoken when the sky was still gray.
‘I am sorry to disturb your slumber, sir, but your Great-Aunt Sylvia is here to see you. She was quite insistent, sir.’
Mr Gale groaned in response, flinging a pillow over his face.
‘Mr Gale will be out directly,’ I informed Mrs Dickinson, ‘may I offer you a cup of tea, madam?’
'No, thank you, Barclay.'
Mr Gale emerged from his room, hair tousled from sleep, barefoot, knotting a paisley silk dressing gown over his lilac coloured pyjamas. Mrs Dickinson tutted.
'What brings you to London so early in the morn, aged relat-ion?'
'You lazy ass, its a perfectly decent hour in the morning,' grumbled Mrs Dickinson, 'and stop that yawning.'
Mr Gale draped himself over the sofa and asked for his breakfast to be brought in.
***
After Mrs Dickinson left, I emerged from the kitchen.
'I assume Mrs Dickinson was desirous of something, sir?'
Mr Gale's mood had not been improved.
'Yes, she bally well was, Barclay,' he groused.
I waited expectantly.
Mr Gale heaved a world-weary sigh.
'She wants me to drive Eloise to the train station tomorrow. She's going to spend the holiday with some school friends on a cruise.'
'Cruises are very fashionable around the holidays, sir,' I ventured.
'No, no, no, Barclay!' he protested, 'Christmas should be spent around family and friends! It's always been my favourite holiday. I looked forward to it more than summer.'
Fandom: Original fic, inspired by PG Wodehouse
Characters: Carrington Gale, Blakeney Barclay, Sylvia Dickinson
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Warnings: none at the moment, really. Pre-slash, although its one-sided
Summary: Carrington Gale and Blakeney Barclay's first Christmas together.
Carrington Gale and Blakeney Barclay’s Christmas Adventures
Part One: First Christmas
Blakeney Barclay’s Personal Journal
1 December
As I was preparing to leave the flat to do the afternoon errands, Mr Gale made a request.
‘Will you purchase a tree, Barclay, while you’re out?’
‘A tree, sir?’
‘Yes. A Christmas tree, specifically.’
‘Yes, sir.’
I wasn’t particularly fond of the Christmas season in recent years. I had held out hope that my newest employer would not celebrate it, either. But if Mr Gale wanted a tree, a tree I would make certain he had.
***
When I returned, I saw that a tinsel factory had evidently exploded in the sitting room. Mr Gale himself was wrapped mummy-like with several strands.
‘Oh, hello, Barclay!’
I raised my eyebrow delicately.
‘Have you had an accident with the decorations, sir?’ I asked.
He looked sheepish.
‘A bit, yes, I suppose,’ he answered, ‘I say, Barclay, would you terribly mind helping me untangled?’
I would, but such a task is part of my duties as Mr Gale’s gentleman, so I obliged.
‘Thank you, Barclay.’
Mr Gale glanced around the littered sitting room.
‘Erm...maybe you should take it from here...’ he murmured.
‘As you say, sir.’
In addition to my usual cleaning duties, I had to now clean up my employer’s sparkly tinsel mess. I sighed.
***
2 December
Mr Gale’s tree arrived just before luncheon.
‘The tree is here!’
Mr Gale bounced at my heels like a child. After I had gotten the tree upright and situated in the most pleasant and out-of-the-way corner, Mr Gale had brought out a box of ornaments.
‘Let’s decorate the tree, Barclay!’
‘I suggest we should wait until after luncheon, sir,’ I advised.
Mr Gale appeared disappointed, also like a child.
‘Alright, Barclay,’ he pouted.
I was startled to find that his pout was attractive. I mentally slapped myself. Mr Gale was my employer-I should not be having such thoughts! Also, Mr Gale is quite mentally deficient-an undesirable quality in any adult person.
***
Mr Gale ate his meal of watercress sandwiches, carrot soup and lemon biscuits as quickly as he could, before racing back into the sitting room. I took my time clearing the table and washing, drying and putting the dishes away. Mr Gale hummed festive melodies to himself as he decorated the tree. Once I had finished my tasks in the kitchen, I joined Mr Gale in the sitting room.
‘I used to help my mother and sister decorate the tree at Christmas,’ he commented.
‘Will you be joining them this year, sir?’ I asked.
Mr Gale froze in place. His face saddened.
‘My parents died long ago,’ he said quietly, ‘Nellie lives in Australia with her husband and children.’
I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t meant to upset him.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ I apologised.
‘Don’t worry about it, Barclay,’ Mr Gale answered, ‘you didn’t know-you’ve only just started working for me.’
***
5 December
Mr Gale’s Great-Aunt Sylvia paid a visit to the flat. I had just finished preparing Mr Gale’s breakfast.
‘Good morning, Mrs Dickinson,’ I greeted her, ‘Mr Gale has not yet risen.’
Mrs Dickinson harrumphed.
‘I should have known,’ she grumbled, ‘he’s such a layabout-always has been. Well, don’t just stand there, Barclay-get him out of bed!’
I dipped my head respectfully.
‘Yes, madam.’
***
Mr Gale was not happy about being awoken just after nine in the morning. He likened it to the break of day. I, of course, always awoken when the sky was still gray.
‘I am sorry to disturb your slumber, sir, but your Great-Aunt Sylvia is here to see you. She was quite insistent, sir.’
Mr Gale groaned in response, flinging a pillow over his face.
‘Mr Gale will be out directly,’ I informed Mrs Dickinson, ‘may I offer you a cup of tea, madam?’
'No, thank you, Barclay.'
Mr Gale emerged from his room, hair tousled from sleep, barefoot, knotting a paisley silk dressing gown over his lilac coloured pyjamas. Mrs Dickinson tutted.
'What brings you to London so early in the morn, aged relat-ion?'
'You lazy ass, its a perfectly decent hour in the morning,' grumbled Mrs Dickinson, 'and stop that yawning.'
Mr Gale draped himself over the sofa and asked for his breakfast to be brought in.
***
After Mrs Dickinson left, I emerged from the kitchen.
'I assume Mrs Dickinson was desirous of something, sir?'
Mr Gale's mood had not been improved.
'Yes, she bally well was, Barclay,' he groused.
I waited expectantly.
Mr Gale heaved a world-weary sigh.
'She wants me to drive Eloise to the train station tomorrow. She's going to spend the holiday with some school friends on a cruise.'
'Cruises are very fashionable around the holidays, sir,' I ventured.
'No, no, no, Barclay!' he protested, 'Christmas should be spent around family and friends! It's always been my favourite holiday. I looked forward to it more than summer.'