Alberta and Jeeves A1 [Dark Elf]

Dame Daphne Winkleworth is a notorious sort in some Underdark circles. Always a bit of an tabasco, even by Dark Elf standards. We Dark Elves tend towards the extremes of lust and aggression. This is due to a combination of cultural wossname and Elvish breeding. It's all for the best. After all, we're not a bunch of pompous blighters, unlike the High Elves. They're nearly as fierce as us, I'll give 'em that. But it's both sides of a racket that make a squash y'see. So the High Elves are far too arrogant and full of themselves to cut loose. How's that for ya? Besides, who puts 'High' in their name but a pompous toff? Nobility is one thing, but that's a right bramble, and not very posh is it? Shows why they need a bit of Dark Elf grease to work out the ol' gearwork.

Which brings me back to ol' Dame Winks. She's a headmistress at the ol' prep school out in Eastborne. As a High Elf who'd been thoroughly greased by our culture since her youth, Dame Winks is like to use that infamous High Elf arrogance to spread Dark Elf sensibilities. Apparently, arrogance is all well and good if used to liberally grease the brains and backs of our young sprockets. Leastways that's what my Aunt Agatha feels. Famous friends Antie Agatha and Dame Daphne Winkleworth. So that means I've got to put up with the winking old headmistress. Me who ain't been a lass for ages! My 52 year old young-adult self would much rather a skim a sherry than a book at this point. Let alone whatever dusty ol' dreary tomes they're keen on compressing in the heads of younger minds than my own.

The pale and mature High Elf seated across from me had a glare sharp enough to leave you reaching for a hatchet cover. I spared the poor kids of Eastborn Prep a slip of pity as I sipped from a tumbler. Damned awkward to have a headmistress in your parlor, the last place you'd want to revisit old school memories.

"Young Miss Claudette Cattermole Potter-Pirbright is hardly the most sound influence on my sweet little Garrett." said Dame Winkleworth, giving a sour frown.

Sweet Fallen God, Dame Winks would be stuffed up enough as to use Catmeat's entire carriage pile-up of a name. Named Claudette Cattermole Potter-Pirbright in full, her friends call her Catsmeat. Being her friend, now I was on the hook for whatever bumbling hash Catsmeat made of it with Garrett Winkelworth. As a mutal link for both parties, somehow I was supposed to help Catsmeat and her beau, Dame Winkleworth's son, Garrett. Rum deal, even if I was ken to Catsmeat's shady doings, which I wasn't. She could be slumming it up with the headmistress's son in a Order Rehab, for all I knew. The sum of all I knew was that Catsmeat was in a couple of stage plays, actor that she was. I've a standing invitation to all of them, as me and Catsmeat go way back. One was scheduled for today. Truthfully I wasn't too keen on going, Reggie's been making me simmer as of late. I'd planned on skipping out on the play and boiling over on Reggie. That man could use a right thorough hopscotch.

Ol' Dame Winks got that little 'v' between her eyebrows that signaled an oncoming lecture in full steam. Making the best of my drink as rampant, I held it fore me and braced for the onslaught. A slight sound, not quite a throat clearing, interrupted the old High Elf. My man, Reginald Jeeves, cutting as sharp a figure as any valet. The gliding slide from not-here to there was down pat, for neither of us longer-eared had caught a sound. That's my Reggie, I thought with relief, as the human appeared at Dame Winks' elbow. Whatever recondite trick of domestic science let him do that made a good show of it. The 'v' of irritation faded from Dame Winks face, probably in part due to the tumbler he bore. Dame Winks gave a little sniff and a smile on receiving the drink. High Elven noses weren't for show, as much time as they spend looking down them. No doubt she noticed how superb Reggie is on working some bite or toddy. I happily took a sip of my own Spidered Thorn, enjoying the burn and numbness. He had a way with picking drinks for people, like most else. Reggie had a way about him with everything, if you ask me. Dame Winks supped enough to find a bit o ear-cheer in what Reggie had seen fit to serve her. Reggie's very very good at bringing out the ol ear cheer too, not that I'd let the likes of Dame Winks find out how good. Still I was hoping against hope that the good drink would derail her long enough to get her out the door, and Reggie into yours truly.

"Here are the tickets to Miss 'Catsmeat's performance, Mistress Alberta." said Jeeves as he met my eyes, calm as you do! The tickets stood out like daggers in the palm of his hand, aimed at me! Not wanting to reach for the damned things, I froze. The last thing I wanted was to get dragged further into the Catsmeat Alfredo. Why in blazes did Reggie bring it up while old Dame Hatchetface was loosening up? I felt the remorse of a burglar caught out while trying to nip 'round back. A brief beam of hope sprung up when Dame Winks' ears responded in confusion at the name 'Catsmeat'. Though well acquainted with her son's suitor, the headmistress must not have known the suitor's nickname. My ears rose from shame to confidence.

"Did you say 'Catsmeat'?" asked the headmistress, now seemingly distracted from her fizzing green drink.

"It is a nome de scaena, as I understand it. A stage name, Madame Winkleworth." said Reggie, giving a urbane non answer. Smooth and cultured as any lady's man. That sly dog! He'd better watch it or I'll have to bury his biscuit tonight. Mmm. Taking a drink to hide my lustful grin, I relaxed. I'd worried that mentioning Catsmeat's performance would stir up the midden, but Dame Winks was none the wiser!

"Catsmeat is the stage name for Miss Claudette Potter-Pirbright." said Reggie, sinking my smug sense of victory to the bottom of the drink, like a workhouse orphan on a pirate ship. I resisted the urge to sink into my own drink and took the tickets from Reggie's palm, with no little ire. Damn it Reggie, we were almost home free! Dame Winks gave another sniff, ears twitching to show disdain.

"One hardly dares wonder the sort of play Miss Potter-Pirbright would grace with her presence." said Dame Winks, chopping down my dreams of an indulgent afternoon with her hatchet glare.

Frowning myself, I glanced at the tickets. Maybe if I gave Catsmeat's play a good word the Dame would lighten up? I recalled seeing Catsmeat at a rehearsal a week past. It had been pretty good, a couple of explosions, a good fight or two, even a couple of ninjas. You could fancy a dog-end and a serious pint o dark while watching. Hardly a better recommendation is there? Ready to laud fine art on a friends behalf, I was cut off at the knees before starting. Reggie calmly gave a rundown of Catsmeat's play as he refilled our glasses. The casual gentle brush of his arm down the length of my ear made it and the rest of me shiver girlishly. It was only after he seamlessly got the tidbits and platters sorted, as quick as you please, when I realized that his description of the play was off. Reggie's description was suspiciously bare of explosions and excitement. Made it sound a entirely different play, a right historical slog. Guess Reggie isn't suited for one thing. Barking that summary sure wouldn't drag me into a theater.

The headmistress and bane of schoolchildren felt otherwise, ears pricked. I managed to nurse my drink and irritation as Reggie politely drew her into asking more questions about this oatmeal sandwich of a play description. It's that understated domestic way of his where he isn't so rude as to deliberately leave a question hanging, but his answer implies the next question. He just reels you in while staying valet-proper the whole time. Ears flushing, I get deeper into my cup. My blood heats to see him glide smoothly either physically or in conversation. Eventually she convinced him to opine on the subject.

"As you insist, I will speak freely, Madame Winkleworth. I think we are in agreement that a historical play on High Elf and Dark Elf relations is an interesting notion that speaks well of Miss Potter-Pirbright. It is preferable to more indulgent fare. The modern tendency to fill media with explosions, fighting, and unnecessary sex is not suited for those of fine breeding." said Reggie as Dame Winks, the bleeding hatchet, chuckled and smiled. The calm imperturbable gaze of my valet, his eyes gleaming with intelligence, met mine casually. Just at the mention of the unsuitability of indulgent fare for the likes of me. Bah, you weren't at Catsmeat's rehearsal, Reggie! Them explosions and ninja fights was gold. Were I not planning to corner Reggie tonight, I might've had a run at the full production.

"Correct, Madame. The nature of dramatic artisans is such that some less than refined works are needed to pad out the curriculum vitae, as it were." remarked Reggie in response to something said by the old hag, "But as Mistress Alberta may confirm, the tickets are for an intellectually suitable production starring young Miss Potter-Pirbright."

Rheumy eyed from drink and jealousy, I still pick up on the insistent set of his broad shoulders. Man's got a way about him. But as Mistress Alberta can confirm what? What's he want me to do? Oh right the tickets. I look at them in detail. Right, Catsmeat is a professional actor, so more than one production for the ol' neer-do-well. Urgh this'll be the history one then. The name on the tickets makes it sound duller than Wurm poetry. Well no, the name of the play was even worse than that. There was a charming insipidness to rock dragon poetry that the name of the play lacked. Sure to be a frumpy dud of it. Guess poor Catsmeat is struck doing this paint-watcher of a play in addition to the fun one I'd seen her rehearse. The tickets are VIP and are for this evening. Ha fat chance of that; me and ol' Reggie are going to be tied up tonight. Especially Reggie. Heh.

"Yeah, they're some fancy tickets, I wager. VIP no less, for tonight. There are two of them. Wanna have a go? How bout you drag the ol ball and chain with you?" I suggested, in an attempt to pawn off the tickets. No way in hell am I going to this snoozer, you're on your own Catsmeat. You should've picked a guy with easier to impress parents.

For once, Dame Winks looks perturbed, ears drawing a sloping arc. "Surely I couldn't impose. Though my slave-husband's love of historical drama has rubbed off on me... No, they are VIP tickets, and on short notice for tonight. Far too much of an imposition." Having spoke, her ears signaled reluctant adamance. Oh for the love of tear-away dress trousers. I don't want the smeggy tickets. Just take them, you damn Ponce Elf.

"My apologies, Mistress Alberta, I happened to overlook two extra tickets. They were also in the envelop sent so thoughtfully by Miss Potter-Pirbright. Fortunately it seems that the extra tickets are also VIP and for tonight." said my valet, reaching into an envelope to expose another pair of tickets. My blood froze. What's this then? What the hell, Reggie? You. You are doing this on purpose. Whatever it is. I force my ears into nonchalance. Dame Winks' ears dial it back a scooch, shifting towards acceptance. Right then. This is still salvageable. I can fob the bleeding tickets off on her, and chain Reggie down tonight.

"If there are enough tickets to go around, and it wouldn't be an imposition..." began Dame Winks, before her poncy arrogance made her trail off. Oh no you don't. Follow through you old bat!

"Don't worry none, Dame. Catsmeat'll give that historical a drubbing, a right smash for the chronicles. There's no call for you to miss out." I intrude, holding out the tickets to the High Elf. Now all I have to do is make an excuse for me and Reggie to stay home and tawdry up the place.

"If I may be so bold, I implore you to enjoy the play, Madame. Miss Potter-Pirbright may be somewhat rough around the edges, but surely giving her a chance to display her art would show her in more rounded light." said Reggie. Perfect amount of consideration in his manner. Oof, no Elf o' any sort can be expected to resist that. Cozened by my debonair Reggie, she's gonna take the tickets! Her hand reaches out to mine, nearing the offered tickets. About bleeding time. And time for you to get a raise too, Reggie, old boy! The sort that leaves you too weak to go to the bank! Gleefuly as a sprite elbow-deep in the pastry bin, my thoughts grow more sordid by the moment. Then the wretched ruler-weilding slog headmistress's hand stops inches away from grabbing the tickets. Her ears have almost lost the adamant posture.

"I hope my slave-husband and I wouldn't be a bother sitting next to you, Alberta." began Dame Winks, unaware of my growing impatience. I sigh internally, too worked up and uncertain of how to push the matter over. I can't be sure what'll come out of my mouth. 'Take the fucking tickets' already figures prominently in my thoughts. I chew my tongue, wouldn't do to throw a wobbler just before things wrap up all tidy.

"Presumably one could see Mistress Alberta enjoying the production quite easily." says my Jeeves, pretending to clean, hardly seeming to pay an attention to the precariousness at hand. But I know him better, sweet Lilith knows he ain't one to pick his moments inconsiderately. We ain't going, but Dame Winks need not know that. We can send the old girl a spot of fruit basket or some apology soap for missing the play. I've already got our excuse cooked up. Ol' Reggie will be feeling under the weather this evening. Under me whether he likes it or not, ha! A weird twist of tension fills the air. I KNOW the Dame is gonna snap up the bait. Way to go Reggie!