nineveh_uk

Took a bit longer to finish off than I had hoped, as Easter holiday appears to have brought the phenomenon of 'aha! Now that you don't have to do anything, you are going to collapse' so my plans for a relaxing weekend of a bit of art and writing were replaced with a relaxing weekend of cleaning the bathroom very slowly and sewing a patch on the sofa because my brain revolted at the prospect of the screen. But tis done, and it was a lot of fun to writes a good old Harriet Vane-centric type of fic. I literally got the idea for this at 3am and jotted down the rough version. My current dodgy sleep is good for something, it seems!

Fic: Feeding the Vultures
Fandom: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L Sayers
Rating: G, CNTW
Chapters: 1
Length: 2557 words
Summary: Miss Harriet Vane may have been cleared of murder, but there's no escape from publicity.

I have posted the Peter/Harriet sex-pollen fic previously posted on my DW to AO2.

You can find it here: Unexpected Evidence.

I am taking the keywords in this to be 'in progress'. An idea in my head or notes jotted down, or even several pages of scenes, does not count for the purpose; this is basically the top of the pile that are most likely to be finished/actively worked on any time soon.

Corsica This is the untitled Wimsey/Harry Potter crossover fic about to have the mpreg ruthlessly cut, currently standing at c.85,000 words. It is not in fact going to be finished any time soon because there is still a lot to go, but I really, really want to finish this, and I really, really ought to make a push to finish this. I know where it's going, who the murderer is (because it is Wimsey/HP crossover crack-turned-casefic), I even know the final scene. I just have to write it all... I have no idea how much longer it will be, but I think it is unlikely to come in at less than another 20,000 words of plot, plus going back and taking out the mpreg and dealing with the narrative ramifications of that.

The Whispering Grass Non-crack, non-crossover, a take on a familiar fic scenario for Tanz der Vampire, i.e. how the Count came to accidentally murder his wife in a scenario that is basically Fields of Gold: the sick version. So classic angst-fic, really. I've got notes for pretty much the whole thing, I just have to write it up... This might be a recurring theme.

In the Studio. Yuri on Ice as observed by figure skating commentators. Three chapters posted, just one to go. I'm going to attempt to finish it this weekend; it shouldn't take long, just needs discipline and to re-watch episodes 11 and 12.

Round and Golden. Yakov-centric account of the unfortunate incident in Turin when Victor and Chris were teenagers. Another one for which I rapidly jotted down notes of the whole thing, but haven't moved on to doing the complete version. But it shouldn't take too long to finish.

Rostelecom hotel room. Untitled fic as to how Victor manoeuvres Yuuri into sharing a hotel room in Moscow and what happens when they get there. Half-written, know what's happening in the second half, just haven't bloody written it.

The Immovable Object In which Miles Vorkosigan meets the only power that might be able to stop him: the Vorkosiverse equivalent of the UKBA. The fact that the Vorkosiverse equivalent of the UKBA are the good guys in this story might give you indication as to how I feel about the narrative attitude some facets of Miles' character in the later books. And now all together - lots of notes, know where it's going, need to write up the remaining 80%...
And now time to get on with the day so I can do some of it!

At last! The bodyswap fic is complete, and so with no further ado...

On A03. And below! (LJ post link only, because it is too long!)

Harriet Vane and Lord Peter Wimsey have triumphantly solved the Wilvercombe murder, and only want to return to London. But first they must solve a new mystery: why they have woken up in one another's bodies, and what on earth are they going to do about it?

( My True Love Has My Heart )

The bodyswap fic remains 500 words or so short of an ending. That's what weekends will have to be for (and mowing the lawn). In the meantime have a fragment of early Busman's Honeymoon off-stage action in the Dowager Duchess's house.

Breaking news

The Duchess of Denver's chauffeur, having delivered his mistress to her mother-in-law's house, drew the car round to the mews and went in search of refreshment. Her grace the Dowager Duchess had recently purchased a large and luxurious saloon car, no doubt on the recommendation of her younger son, and he was eager to hear about it and should opportunity arise, drive it. Unfortunately his counterpart in the Dowager's house, while forthcoming with the tea and cake, appeared to have other things than motor vehicles occupying his mind.

'You'll never guess who's 'ere,' said Collins, resisting all suggestions that a trip to the garage was in order.

'You tell me. The Queen of Egypt?'

'Rarer. 'arriet Vane. You know, 'is lordship's bit of stuff.'

'She never is! And her grace calling. There'll be fireworks at home tonight, just you wait. The air'll be blue over Mayfair.'

Collins nodded sagely.

'She is. Wednesday, too. Came to call, stayed for tea and dinner and I drove her home after ten with a portrait of his lordship in a silver frame.'

'That mean it's official, then? Notice in the Times and all?'

'Tomorrow, according to Franklin. She had to place it for her grace, on account of his lordship being in Rome.'

'Poor bugger, you'd think they'd let him enjoy it. What's she like? Her picture's nothing to write home about.'

'She's not bad looking. Dresses decently, and a good arse. No tits, though.'

'Ah,' said Smith, 'his brother's like that, too. Leastways,' he conceded, 'when it comes to marriage.'

'Funny to think of it going by families.'

'I don't know. The old Duke wasn't like that. Her grace were a looker in her day.'

'Maybe it's Freudian,' said Smith, who read a good deal. 'A reaction against the mother. Still, I daresay his lordship knows what he's getting.'

'That's likely enough. I wonder what his nibs thinks of it? His nose'll be well out of joint if his lordship gives up the flat and he has a butler over him.'

'I wouldn't take that job for a thousand a year. Not that Bunter isn't a decent sort off-duty, and he always stands his round, but he's a devil on it.'

Collins nodded vehemently. 'I heard him once when the garage scratched his lordship's car. You'd get more sympathy and understanding out of Genghis Khan. You've got to hope for the girl's sake that he approves of her.'

In comments to my previous post, antisoppist raised the question of whether the dons and college servants know about Harriet's encounters with Mr Pomfret (concluding that the servants surely do). Which thought found itself blending with previous thoughts I had had on the identity of the unknown third person mentioned in Gaudy Night as probably a "suspicious scout" who knew or suspected the identity of the Shrewsbury College poltergeist. Which produced the following...

In the kitchen

'You'll never guess what I heard,' said Susan, rapidly distributing cutlery into its drawers. 'Mary Shepherd who's scout at Jesus, said that Mr Jenkyns, what's Proctor, caught Miss Vane in the arms of an undergraduate by the Lamb and Flag the other night.'

The other servants digested this information with various exclamations, summed up by Clarrie's, 'Well, I never! And the papers say she's that Lord Peter Wimsey's lady friend. His lordship won’t like hearing that.'

'That's as may be,' said Annie. 'I don't like to speak ill of a lady, but Miss Vane's manners are a bit free for my taste. I shouldn't wonder if a young man had been lead a bit further than was good for him.'

'I think you should watch what you're saying, Annie,' said Evelyn, sharply. 'Miss Vane is a respectable lady, and a guest in the college. It isn't for us to say what happened. It isn’t Mr Jenkyns' job to gossip, neither. I say it’s far more likely that the student was making a nuisance of himself. God knows, they do that often enough. My sister Millie’s youngest was positively menaced by a gang of them on the High.’

At which invitation, the conversation drifted into the fruitful subject of the wrongdoings of students. Annie had little to say, and soon disappeared to tend to the Hall, but Evelyn caught the Head Scout before the woman left the kitchen.

‘I think you ought to have a word with Annie,’ she said. ‘She oughtn’t to talk about Miss Vane like that, nor any of the ladies in the college. Miss Vane is very respectable, and has had a hard time. It isn’t right to gossip.’

‘Oh, Annie don’t mean anything by it, protested Clarrie. ‘She has high standards, that’s all. A woman in her position has to, a widow with two little girls to bring up.’

‘That’s as maybe,’ said Evelyn, ‘but I don’t call it high standards to talk like that about a college guest. We can’t help what outsiders say, but we should stick up for our ladies. A bit of fun’s all very well, I don’t blame Susan for saying it, but we needn’t leap to the worst conclusions.’

‘And neither should you,’ said Clarrie heatedly. ‘Annie’s a good woman who’s had a hard life. I won’t thank you to teach me my job, neither. Now I must be about my work, and I’m sure you’ve enough to be doing yourself.’

‘Yes, Clarrie,’ said Evelyn meekly. The Head Scout departed, leaving Evelyn to finish her work in the kitchen. She looked about her at the gleaming array of glass and silverware; there were such things as fingerprints. But she’d said herself about conclusions, and perhaps Clarrie was right. Annie, she thought, had no love for the college or its ladies - she ought to work in a men’s hall, except that she was pretty for her age so they probably wouldn’t have her - but it wasn’t right to draw overmuch on that. Still, it did no harm to keep a look out. Miss Vane was a nice lady, and very clever; Evelyn had had one of her books from the library, and had only guessed the murderer half-way through.

Would you like to sin
With Elinor Glyn
On a tiger skin?
Or would you prefer
To err with her
On some other fur?

You can’t say I didn’t promise something appalling. There’s no point trying to build up to this one, it is what it is. And what it is, is Peter/Harriet furry sex-tape fic.

Let me explain. The condemned are allowed a last word.

So, there was this story in the Daily Mail (so as we know, it’s absolutely true), and subsequently in the Independent. In summary, a man was charged with the possession of extreme pornography and was on bail for six months – with the prosecution only realizing that the tiger having sex with the woman in the rather fuzzy video was not a tiger (hence the extreme pornography bit), but was in fact a man in a tiger costume, complete with Kellogg’s Frosties cereal strapline. The prosecution was dropped.

And then someone on FFA posted this comment: 'Fellow Dorothy Sayers fans, please tell me that you, too, are thinking of Busman's Honeymoon and laughing uncontrollably.'

There are two things in life I cannot resist: the common cold, and a cracky Wimseyfic premise. So here it is. You will be relieved to hear that I do at least maintain my inability to write anything explicit, so PG rating, albeit the parents in question are insane.

( No shabby tigers )

In my last post I mentioned that Josephine Tey's Miss Pym Disposes was leading me to commit fic. This is the fic. It is not the fic I am supposed to be writing, nor the fic I am writing instead of the fic I am supposed to be writing, but it is fic and I have written it.

As is obvious from the title, a debt is owed to ankaret's Lois Sanger Disposes.

This is Part (1). It doesn't contain major spoilers (an important non-murderous plot event is referred to, but unfolds differently than in canon), but Part (2) will do so.

Miss Vane Disposes

( Part 1 )

Wimseyfic! I originally intended to write this to coincide with the Olympics, which just goes to show what my productivity has been this year. But here it is at last!

Summary: When Lord Peter Wimsey accompanies his wife to a Swiss ski resort in order to research the setting for her next detective novel, it isn't long before he finds himself investigating a mystery of his own. How has a British tourist vanished from a gondola ski lift - and why are the young woman's parents reluctant to involve the police?

( The Elevated Investigation of the Empty Gondola )

I posted, you were polled, this resulted.

Life is too short for the full version, but the edited version can be achieved while cooking dinner.

The 1950s Peter Wimsey Adventure That You Chose

‘Oh no,’ said Harriet, as the body came into view. It wore a familiar tweed suit. ‘It’s Hope.’

*

‘That doesn’t look right,’ said Peter, as the boat drew nearer. He shouted something at the diver, his words blown away on the wind, but the man seemed to hear. He bent over the corpse and seized the hair.

‘Peter, what is he – ’ It came away in his hand, a dark wig revealing a man’s closely-cropped head beneath it.

‘Who on earth,’ said Harriet, ‘has managed to get himself drowned while dressed up as Bunter’s wife?’

*

( Read more... )