dizzy_land | Application for Bertie Wooster (Reply)

I am not a man to quail at the first sign of trouble. We Woosters came over with the Conqueror, and as such bear the noble strain of blood that is ripe for the business of conquering and the like. But d. is the better part of v., and all that, and what with this latest reversal of fortune (viz. waking up in some strange place, apparently valet-less) I think even the Conqueror himself would have said, "Bertram, my lad, take to the hills."

Mickey coughs theatrically. "'What is your name?'"
At the sudden manifestation of a large talking rodent-thing, I was preparing to leg it while trying to look as if I’d never actually entertained the thought of legging it in my life. “Well, I say, what are you?” I retorted, surprised. “Some sort of strange rodenty creature, Jeeves would know, I’m sure. Well, I’m Bertie. Betram Wilberforce Wooster, at your service.”

"What is your quest?" asks the Cat. It's perched, suddenly, on the roof of one of the gate-stiles.
We Woosters are not slow off the mark, whatever you may have heard from fellows at the Drones, and I had gathered that this was an exam of some kind. And there was a large talking cat grinning at the last of the Wooster Clan, which was a bit disquieting, if that’s the word I’m looking for. “My quest? I suppose I usually try to avoid my aunts – aunt Agatha, that is – and the Glossops and Bassets and Spodes of the world.”

"'What is the average w..?'" Mickey frowns down at the notebook. "You know, I don't really see why that's important." He flips a page. "'If you could be granted three wishes, what would they be?'"
"Or," the Cat says, examining its tail with interest, "if you were a genie and someone you were trying to give three wishes to was trying to trick you into giving him more, what would you say?"
I puzzled my way keenly through this verbal minefield quite well, or so I thought. “Well, right now I’d quite like to know what you’ve done with Jeeves. He isn’t one to biff off like this. Nothing would be amiss with a bit of tea and a lie down, either. And where am I am and why am I granting wishes to other chappies? I still haven’t had my own tea, I don’t see why they should get their wishes when I haven’t had my tea.” If Bertie Wooster was anything, he was not fond of the a.m., despite God being in his H. and rising early with the snails and whatnot.

Mickey looks rather nonplussed at the next, but reads, "'When the revolution comes, what skills will you be able to barter for food?'"
“The revolution? Great Scott, that doesn’t show a good deal of the old feudal spirit, does it?” I resolved to keep an eye out for any revolutionary types - the moment the chappie in the murder mystery lets his guard down is the moment he gets biffed soundly on the head with the silver candlestick.

The Cat rolls its eyes in a friendly (and rather disconcertingly out-of-sync) way, and asks, "Milk, dark, or white chocolate?"
Chocolate? What-ho, Bertram, I said to myself. This bears further investigation. “I say, are you offering? Except I still haven’t had my breakfast, yet, and you shouldn’t have chocolate before a hearty e. and b., or at least some tea.” Which I had, in fact, wished for previously.

"'Choose the two coolest: robots, pirates, fairies, bears, ninjas, monkeys, vampires, or humans,'" says Mickey, giggling a bit as he goes through the list. "'Explain.'
“I say, I haven’t the foggiest,” I responded, taken aback. “I mean, while it’s all bally amusing, I can’t really say that I’d want to be a pirate. It violates the Code of the Woosters. I’m really too much of a preux chevalier to hoist the Skull and Crossbones.” After a bit of internal debate, I continued. “I read this dashed interesting narration about this Oriental chap with a monkey. He trained it to do damn near everything, but it stole from some high-up and the monkey and the O. c. narrowly escaped, so monkeys.”

"Great!" Mickey flips through the blank pages of the notebook at top, cartoon-y speed. "Well, I think that's just about it! Oh, and I'm supposed to ask, 'for your safety: are you carrying anything sharp?'"
In truth, the cogs and sprockets and things in the Wooster brain were working, though on the surface I’m sure it looked as if nothing was happening beneath the old Wooster noggin. “Besides my wit, you mean? Ahaha, no, I don’t think so.”

((Weeell, this is Bertie, from Jeeves and Wooster. It doesn’t really matter what part of it he’s from. I think he’s kind of a mix between the Wodehouse written version and the TV version. Oh, and he’s written in first person in Wodehouse, but let me know if you want me to do it in third and I’ll try that instead.))