Right There, Jeeves

Another multiple-choice misadventure! I can’t figure out a way to make these interactive¬†on the blog, so I’ll just post the route the audience at Esoterotica decided to take, though there were two fully separate paths to take through the story.
I’m not sure whether P.G. Wodehouse would roll in his grave or merely smile and wink if he found out about this.

Right There, Jeeves: A Multiple Choice Misadventure
by Zach Bartlett

It’s the roaring 20s. You’re an English upperclass twit by the name of Bertie Wooster and, oh man, it’s about time you got around to sleeping with¬†that butler of yours.

You’d thought that going to the agency and asking for a “gentleman’s personal gentleman” was straightforward enough. How were you supposed to know that term was an actual not-sex-related occupation at that point in time? Anyways, being British and all, you were far too polite to try and correct the agency on the matter and had just settled into having a normal platonic valet for the last year. You figured maybe it would just take some hint-dropping, though you’re not a subtle man.

He’s saved you from enough ill-advised engagements to various women in the last year that you’d think he’d HAVE to have figured your inclinations out. (And I don’t know how much of a social faux-pas being gay was in England at this time so you can’t just out and tell him. How convenient for the plot!)

Presently, two of you are in your quarters at Blandings Castle, getting ready for the banquet the Earl of Blandings is throwing to celebrate his beloved Berkshire sow ranking second in the annual Shropshire Agricultural Show.

You’ve read enough bodice-ripping romance novels to know that heated arguments can sometimes progress to elaborately-described make-out scenes, and you’ve orchestrated one you know will rile Jeeves. As you stand at the mirror affixing your collar, you remove an oversized purple and orange houndstooth bowtie from your pocket, slip it around your neck and begin to tie.

There’s a single quiet cough from behind you, and you can tell from his reflection that frost has begun to form on the butler’s upper slopes.

“Do you have something you’d like to say, Jeeves?”

“Sir. I should advise you that tie may not be the best aesthetic compliment to your more conservative dinner jacket.”

Oh, he tries so hard to stay polite when you’re acting a fool just because that’s what he’s paid to do — it’s fucking adorable.

To give in to his charms and put on a black tie, turn to page 2.

To resist, in hopes of a heated argument that stiffens more than his upper lip, turn to page 3.

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