#can't believe i spent a precious 15 minutes of my time writing the Beetle fanfiction but here we are

[thethirdromana]

so I decided to fix today's Beetle Weekly

(on AO3 here because why the hell not)

An Interlude with Edwards

It is rare that I disobey the direct wishes of my master, Sydney Atherton – and especially not his wish that I avoid entering his laboratory. I don’t know what disturbing matters he toys with there, and nor do I wish to, since it is scarcely in my power to prevent his activities. All I know is that they are a danger to life and limb!

Nonetheless I must note that I have been a lifelong supporter of the RSPCA. I have never been able to abide cruelty to any innocent animal; they are all God’s creatures, and under our protection.

Equally, loyalty to my employer has always been my watchword, as I believe it should be that of anyone in service.

It was these two instincts which warred within me when I saw Mr Atherton enter his home holding a poor dear little cat by the scruff of its neck. It was scrabbling for freedom but he would not let it go. He was with a friend, one of his more mannerly friends (not that it is my place to cast judgment on Mr Atherton’s choice of company), and the friend seemed quite distressed. Neither of them noticed me, though it was by agreement with Mr Atherton that I had stayed late.

They went into the laboratory together. A row ensued, quite audible from the house, in which Mr Atherton’s companion pleaded with him to let the cat go, and Mr Atherton, I am sorry to say (for he has always had my respect, and my loyalty, as it should be), did not heed him.

It half broke my heart to hear the poor creature yowl, I nearly broke in then and there, but that I have been in service these thirty-five years, and always remembered my place.

Then I heard the back door of the laboratory open. I could resist no longer; I seized my chance. I held my handkerchief over my mouth (for who knows what miasmas might lurk inside those walls!) and dashed into the laboratory. I looked neither left nor right, I simply snatched the limp body from within its glass box (monstrous, to do such a thing!) and went out again as quickly as I could.

I feared it was too late. But though the poor dear was quite limp, its tiny heart still beat!

I had promised Mr Atherton that I would stay only until 10pm, and it had reached that late hour already. I nestled the cat within my coat, against my breast, in hopes that the warmth might revive it, and travelled home by way of the Kensington Omnibus. By the time I reached my front door, it was beginning to recover.

“What’s that you’ve brought?” my wife asked me.

“You’ve said we wanted a mouser,” I reminded her.

Bless my dear wife, she is as fond of animals as I am, and as shocked when I told her what Mr Atherton had done.

“You should look for a new position,” she said.

“Then who would keep an eye on Mr Atherton?”

“Keep an eye on him?” she scoffed. “More like drop some rat-poison in his teacup.”

I chastised her, for I felt this was no way to speak of our betters, though within these pages I will confess to having had similar thoughts.

As I write this, the cat is curled up by my side and purring loudly. It seems that Mr Atherton’s experiment, whatever it was, proved to be no more than a knock-out gas, at least in its effects on those of a feline persuasion. Nonetheless, I will allow Mr Atherton to believe that it died and that I disposed of the body.

Mrs Edwards has proven quite pleased with the cat. She has decided to call him Edward, in honour of the Prince of Wales, and has put out a saucer of cream. May the Lord protect all the innocent creatures on this good green Earth!

[faithful-grigori]

”#can't believe i spent a precious 15 minutes of my time writing the Beetle fanfiction but here we are, #my fanfiction, #with the emphasis on fiction and not on fan”

so I decided to fix today's Beetle Weekly

(on AO3 here because why the hell not)

An Interlude with Edwards

It is rare that I disobey the direct wishes of my master, Sydney Atherton – and especially not his wish that I avoid entering his laboratory. I don’t know what disturbing matters he toys with there, and nor do I wish to, since it is scarcely in my power to prevent his activities. All I know is that they are a danger to life and limb!

Nonetheless I must note that I have been a lifelong supporter of the RSPCA. I have never been able to abide cruelty to any innocent animal; they are all God’s creatures, and under our protection.

Equally, loyalty to my employer has always been my watchword, as I believe it should be that of anyone in service.

It was these two instincts which warred within me when I saw Mr Atherton enter his home holding a poor dear little cat by the scruff of its neck. It was scrabbling for freedom but he would not let it go. He was with a friend, one of his more mannerly friends (not that it is my place to cast judgment on Mr Atherton’s choice of company), and the friend seemed quite distressed. Neither of them noticed me, though it was by agreement with Mr Atherton that I had stayed late.

They went into the laboratory together. A row ensued, quite audible from the house, in which Mr Atherton’s companion pleaded with him to let the cat go, and Mr Atherton, I am sorry to say (for he has always had my respect, and my loyalty, as it should be), did not heed him.

It half broke my heart to hear the poor creature yowl, I nearly broke in then and there, but that I have been in service these thirty-five years, and always remembered my place.

Then I heard the back door of the laboratory open. I could resist no longer; I seized my chance. I held my handkerchief over my mouth (for who knows what miasmas might lurk inside those walls!) and dashed into the laboratory. I looked neither left nor right, I simply snatched the limp body from within its glass box (monstrous, to do such a thing!) and went out again as quickly as I could.

I feared it was too late. But though the poor dear was quite limp, its tiny heart still beat!

I had promised Mr Atherton that I would stay only until 10pm, and it had reached that late hour already. I nestled the cat within my coat, against my breast, in hopes that the warmth might revive it, and travelled home by way of the Kensington Omnibus. By the time I reached my front door, it was beginning to recover.

“What’s that you’ve brought?” my wife asked me.

“You’ve said we wanted a mouser,” I reminded her.

Bless my dear wife, she is as fond of animals as I am, and as shocked when I told her what Mr Atherton had done.

“You should look for a new position,” she said.

“Then who would keep an eye on Mr Atherton?”

“Keep an eye on him?” she scoffed. “More like drop some rat-poison in his teacup.”

I chastised her, for I felt this was no way to speak of our betters, though within these pages I will confess to having had similar thoughts.

As I write this, the cat is curled up by my side and purring loudly. It seems that Mr Atherton’s experiment, whatever it was, proved to be no more than a knock-out gas, at least in its effects on those of a feline persuasion. Nonetheless, I will allow Mr Atherton to believe that it died and that I disposed of the body.

Mrs Edwards has proven quite pleased with the cat. She has decided to call him Edward, in honour of the Prince of Wales, and has put out a saucer of cream. May the Lord protect all the innocent creatures on this good green Earth!