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crack_van2005-11-15 12:04 pm
nanashi-sama.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2005-11-15 12:04 pm
Entry tags:
The Secret Adventures of Jules Verne/Doctor Who(PG-13)
Title: All the Wrong Places by aces
Pairing: none
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wishfulaces
Author Website: author's page on FF.net
Why this must be read:
Fogg was enjoying the evening. Rebecca had dropped by for tea and stayed for dinner, and now she was reading a book on the sofa in his study, looking positively demure and ladylike. Fogg of course was not fooled. He had had no engagements for the evening and was content to sit in one of his easy chairs near her seat on the sofa, reading the evening newspaper in companiable silence.
When the doorbell rang, both cousins ignored it, knowing Passepartout could efficiently get rid of most anybody who would be on the doorstep. But after a lengthy delay, the manservant came into the room, looking uncomfortable.
"Master," Passepartout started hesitantly. "A gentleman outside wishing to be seeing you."
"Well, send him away, Passepartout," Fogg said without looking up from his newspaper. "I told you we didn't want to be disturbed tonight."
"But master, he telling me it has something to be doing with Master Jules."
Phileas looked up at that, meeting Rebecca's eye. Somebody with information about Jules Verne, here in London? Rebecca put her book aside and glanced up at the valet. "Show him in, Passepartout," she said quietly.
Fogg folded up his newspaper. "There goes a quiet evening," he told his cousin softly. She raised a sardonic eyebrow but didn't verbally reply.
A moment later, the gentleman entered the room. He was dressed well, but shabbily, as if the clothes were old or had been through a lot. He wore a dark velvet frock coat, the sleeves falling over his long pale hands, a paisley waistcoat and silk cravat, a wing-collared shirt and baggy trousers. His hair was overly long and light brown colored, damply curling from the rain outside. His thin face was pale and aristocratic, sensitive and intelligent, and his blue eyes were sad and older somehow than the rest of his appearance.
He smiled politely when he saw the Foggs. "Thank you for seeing me, Mr Fogg," he said in an accent that didn't quite sound familiar to Phileas's ear. It was as if the man were pretending to be English. He turned to Rebecca. "You must be Miss Rebecca Fogg? Very nice to meet you."
"What's this about Jules Verne?" Phileas asked. He saw no point in beating around the bush with pleasantries. And he already disliked this stranger. There was something not quite right about the man that immediately put Fogg on his guard.
Rebecca glanced at her cousin reprovingly before settling her gaze back on the newcomer. "Don't mind my cousin," she said, "sometimes his manners leave a little to be desired. Please, sit down." She watched him perch himself on the edge of an easy chair, as if he were planning on leaving as soon as he had sat down. He settled some strange sort of bag that he'd had slung over his shoulder at his feet. "What's your name?" she went on after he'd made himself comfortable.
"I'm the Doctor," he replied, "and I've just come from Paris. I was hoping you both could help me."
All the Wrong Places
Pairing: none
Author on LJ:
wishfulacesAuthor Website: author's page on FF.net
Why this must be read:
Fogg was enjoying the evening. Rebecca had dropped by for tea and stayed for dinner, and now she was reading a book on the sofa in his study, looking positively demure and ladylike. Fogg of course was not fooled. He had had no engagements for the evening and was content to sit in one of his easy chairs near her seat on the sofa, reading the evening newspaper in companiable silence.
When the doorbell rang, both cousins ignored it, knowing Passepartout could efficiently get rid of most anybody who would be on the doorstep. But after a lengthy delay, the manservant came into the room, looking uncomfortable.
"Master," Passepartout started hesitantly. "A gentleman outside wishing to be seeing you."
"Well, send him away, Passepartout," Fogg said without looking up from his newspaper. "I told you we didn't want to be disturbed tonight."
"But master, he telling me it has something to be doing with Master Jules."
Phileas looked up at that, meeting Rebecca's eye. Somebody with information about Jules Verne, here in London? Rebecca put her book aside and glanced up at the valet. "Show him in, Passepartout," she said quietly.
Fogg folded up his newspaper. "There goes a quiet evening," he told his cousin softly. She raised a sardonic eyebrow but didn't verbally reply.
A moment later, the gentleman entered the room. He was dressed well, but shabbily, as if the clothes were old or had been through a lot. He wore a dark velvet frock coat, the sleeves falling over his long pale hands, a paisley waistcoat and silk cravat, a wing-collared shirt and baggy trousers. His hair was overly long and light brown colored, damply curling from the rain outside. His thin face was pale and aristocratic, sensitive and intelligent, and his blue eyes were sad and older somehow than the rest of his appearance.
He smiled politely when he saw the Foggs. "Thank you for seeing me, Mr Fogg," he said in an accent that didn't quite sound familiar to Phileas's ear. It was as if the man were pretending to be English. He turned to Rebecca. "You must be Miss Rebecca Fogg? Very nice to meet you."
"What's this about Jules Verne?" Phileas asked. He saw no point in beating around the bush with pleasantries. And he already disliked this stranger. There was something not quite right about the man that immediately put Fogg on his guard.
Rebecca glanced at her cousin reprovingly before settling her gaze back on the newcomer. "Don't mind my cousin," she said, "sometimes his manners leave a little to be desired. Please, sit down." She watched him perch himself on the edge of an easy chair, as if he were planning on leaving as soon as he had sat down. He settled some strange sort of bag that he'd had slung over his shoulder at his feet. "What's your name?" she went on after he'd made himself comfortable.
"I'm the Doctor," he replied, "and I've just come from Paris. I was hoping you both could help me."
All the Wrong Places