lausethonor - Psmith and Beetle at a literary soiree.

"Our literary world is a harsh battlefield, Comrade Beetle. I must confess this being required to address critics as if they were human beings, instead of the worms they more nearly resemble, unmans me. The whisper goes round the clubs: 'Psmith is unmanned!' Only the company of noble, manly youth may shore up my faltering spirit. Shall we adjourn to more congenial surroundings?"

Shockin' cheek, of course, but -- Stalky and he would have been sworn enemies or fast friends at first sight, and that's something to say of a man. I went with him, if only to see what would happen next. I don't know as I wouldn't do it again. He was a chap!

vongroovy - Jeeves and Vetinari and a handkerchief.

"A white handkerchief?" said Vetinari. "Does this mean surrender?"

"I was not aware that we were in competition, sir," said Jeeves. "But there are things I wish to protect. I think we understand each other, if I may take the liberty to say so."

Vetinari considered him. "Do you know the origin of the word 'politics'?"

"From the Latin polis, 'city'. For you, sir."

"And for you it's polites," said Vetinari. "'Citizen.'"

An eyelash flickered. Vetinari inclined his head. It might have looked like a salute, if anybody'd been watching who could see.

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

yonmei - Lex/Psmith, super!

When the streak of blue and red popped up on Al-Jazeera, Mike flung aside the remote, exhaling in disgust.

"It appears that your alter ego is up to the cowlick in the consomme," Psmith noted with detached interest. "It would perhaps be wise, Comrade Jackson, to put away the old circus costume for a week or two. The masses have a decidedly nasty look to them. One is forcefully reminded of the Russian peasantry circa 1917."

"There's no need to be so beastly sharp about it," said Mike, frowning. "If it wasn't for that rotten ray gun of yours, I wouldn't have had to, well . . ."

"Destroy the godforsaken monstrosity masquerading as the Town Hall? Well, well, you may have a point," Psmith conceded gracefully. "Chin up, Comrade Jackson. This, too, shall pass. Psmith Enterprises will no doubt offer to build a new Town Hall that will not induce nausea in tourists and other uninured passers-by, Superman will save a few buses of nuns and orphans, and all will be well again. In the meantime, since we now appear to have a week or two of leisure . . ."

"You are a cad," Mike mumbled into Psmith's hair, but he said it without heat.