torch, torch@doubleagent.org
January 4, 2003

Disclaimer: Ces made me do it. Ces made everyone do it. Do not archive this story without permission.

Pointy

"I say, Jeeves, there is something deuced peculiar going on here."

"Sir?"

I gave the good and faithful servant as stern a look as I could muster, and we Woosters are masters of mustering. "Your ears, Jeeves."

"Yes, sir."

"They have somehow, and I'm dashed if I can understand it, turned pointy. I never took you for the type to play practical jokes."

"No, sir. If I may be permitted to explain—"

"I'm counting on that."

"I'm an elf, sir."

I looked. I looked again. I looked more closely. I have never seen Jeeves pie-eyed, but I am, if I may say so, a fairly good judge of when a man has imbibed to excess, and he showed no signs of it. What he did show signs of were two rather pointy aural appendages that protruded through his hair. "A what?"

"An elf, sir."

"Oh. Ah."

"A refugee from fairy lands forlorn, one might say, sir."

"Ah." I yearned for a stiffish drink, but clearly there was an important matter to be investigated first. "Jeeves."

"Yes, sir?"

"Would you consider wearing a hat?"

"Yes, sir. This is merely temporary, sir. A forthcoming realignment of the stars should take care of it."

"Very well," I said. "Carry on, Jeeves."

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