|affablegent (affablegent) wrote in wariscoming,|
@ 2012-02-25 20:23:00
|Entry tags:||bertie wooster, lexi branson|
Who: Bertie Wooster, open.
What: Bertie finds himself in the wrong time and place
Where: A street in Lawrence near the University
When: February 25th, afternoon.
Status: In Progress
Bertie took several steps down the street before he realised that it wasn't the street he was supposed to be on. He stopped, blinked, and looked behind him, too shocked to feel worried, even when he saw that the corner he'd just turned was no longer there.
“I say!” he exclaimed, a decidedly odd sort of worried feeling beginning to build. He walked on, staring around him, trying to work out how he could have got so lost. The odd and worried feeling increased with every step and every single thing he looked at- the cars, the buildings, the posters and shop windows, the people; everything but the sky, in fact- they were all bally well wrong!
The cars were decidedly strange-looking beasts, not the sort of thing he'd ever seen, and some of his friends at the Drones Club could be perfect bores about their motors, always insisting he come along and stare at the latest model, so he'd probably seen just about every type of car in Britain.
Although, come to think of it, they were on the wrong side of the road, and there were so many of them it was like being in the centre of New York. And some of the buildings looked dashed odd, in that modern, American kind of way he'd seen in New York. It didn't look like anywhere he'd been in New York though; and the smaller buildings looked more like the ones he'd seen in all those towns he'd been through while touring with that “Ask Dad!” show, in one of those flat and dusty states whose names he could never quite remember.
And the people, well- this certainly did seem like America, but even for America, there wasn't anyone who- well, who didn't look like a decidedly rough and shabby cove. Most of the men he saw were wearing undershirts and heavy workman's trousers and boots, and the women! Barely a decently-dressed young lady to be seen! He goggled at the sight of a young woman wearing furred boots, a workman's plaid shirt and a skirt so indecently short not even the most daring of flappers would wear it, so distracted and dismayed that he walked straight into a man whose clothing made Rocky Todd's pyjamas and jumper attire look perfectly respectable.
“Watch where you're going, dude!” the man growled as he pushed past Bertie, who could only stare after him, overwhelmed.