Spamming all your f-lists once more with ... FIC BOMB!

[gmtaslash]

Title: Untitled Cracky Biggles Snippet
Author: Trojie
Fandom: Biggles
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: We are not Capt. W.E. Johns, and Biggles does not belong to us, probably fortunately for Biggles.
Notes: Randomly found in email sent to ineptshieldmaid some time ago. Dredged up for your amusement.



Biggles looked around the mess, and sighed. It was odd, but these days both Ginger and Algy always seemed to be missing. And when they arrived, always late, they seemed curiously distracted. And out of breath. And more than once one or other of them had nudged his foot under the table, ostensibly by accident. He'd had to tell them off frequently, pointing out that they should have left kicking fights under the table behind them in secondary school.

Bertie was behaving very strangely these days as well, spending most of his time sighing and moping and making cow eyes at nothing. Biggles decided that the Auster's engine needed a good oiling down one day, after the atmosphere in the office had got decidedly stuffy, what with Bertie insisting on leaning over Biggles in order to measure distances to various locations on maps.

Whilst busying himself around the pistons, Biggles reflected on the odd behaviour of his staff, and wondered vaguely if it could possibly be a Nazi plot.

***

'He's hopeless!' wailed Bertie. 'You two could be having it away on the map table and he wouldn't notice!'

'I'm sorry, old thing,' said Algy. 'But if he's not interested, he's not interested. It'd take the Devil himself to make our Biggles change his mind.'

'I didn't think he'd made up his mind,' said Ginger. 'He's awfullly oblivious. Yesterday he told me to tuck in my shirt.'

'Well, he always was a stickler for dress,' said Algy, doubtfully.

'Yes, but explain how he noticed that but didn't notice anything else about my person? You'd have to be blinder than the King of the Bats to miss this,' the younger pilot said with some asperity, pointing to the unmistakeable lovebite on his neck. 'Bertie, you're either going to have to give up the chase or jump him in the mess, because the power of suggestion is not working, and I'd rather not be court-martialled, or whatever civilians are subject to when their superior officers find out they've been playing Hunt the Slipper,'

'Find the Sausage,' murmured Algy. 'Hunt the Slipper being a children's parlour game, dear boy.'

Comments

[hsavinien.livejournal.com]

*mad giggling ensues* Argh, must look for these. The library has failed me and does not own any of them. Interlibrary-loan, you are my only hope!

[agenttrojie.livejournal.com]

DO find them, they are SO MUCH FUN. I grew up with Biggles stories - I wanted to be a fighter pilot when I was ten because of them, until someone pointed out a) I'm as blind as a bat and b) the Air Force don't fly Spitfires anymore. I was crushed.

[hsavinien.livejournal.com]

I'm sure. They sound like it. *sigh*

Yes, I had a similar experience with my desire to be a jockey. Led on by the many horsey novels of my youth, I determined that riding horses for a living was absolutely the best job in the world. ...I'm about six feet tall and while light for my height, certainly not built right for it. Also, I would seriously consider joining the Navy if they still used sails and gunpowder.

[agenttrojie.livejournal.com]

I think *I'd* consider joining the Navy if they still used sails ...

[hsavinien.livejournal.com]

Yeah! So much cooler, seriously.