Oh dear, I do feel terribly sorry for fic-you. It's very strange writing things involving someone who will actually read it, very odd indeed, although it must be even odder for you to read things about yourself. Oh, dear, Jeremy would be smug, I think. Oh dear, I seem to have written more... (Erm, and I seem to be replying late again. I hate having Things To Do.)
“I’m driving from now on,” Jeremy announced loudly.
“Erm, I’m afraid you can’t,” said Harriet from the back seat. “I don’t have a driving license.”
Clarkson stared at her, flabbergasted. “How do you survive?” he asked incredulously. A look of horror crossed his face. "Don't tell me you have a motorbike; I'm not being stuck in a car with two people stupid enough to think that those abominations deserve the honour of wheels."
Richard glared at him. "You know, Clarkson, if you keep complaining I'm just going to leave you at the side of the road."
"No!" cried Harriet. Jeremy and Richard turned around to look at her (Richard clearly forgetting to keep his eyes on the road). "That's, er, my body. What if we swap back?"
"Yes, Richard," said Jeremy in an admonishing tone. "You can't just kidnap a girl and then decide not to go through with it. I'm quite ashamed of you, to be honest." Richard narrowed his eyes and chose to ignore Clarkson.
"Might I ask," said Jeremy, grinning like the Cheshire cat, "when exactly you came to be so fond of me? Please feel free to gush as much as you like."
Richard gave an irritated sigh. "The trauma of becoming the most ridiculous middle-aged man in the whole of England has gone to her head, Jeremy. She didn't like you before. I'm sure she preferred me."
Jeremy snorted. "Nobody prefers you really, Hammond. They just feel sorry for you because you look like a girl and you're too short to drive most of the cars we have because your short little legs can't reach the gear pedals."
"Jeremy, I'm not sure it's wise for you to make any comments about looking like a girl, considering your current appearance. And if I have to tell you again then I'll be taking you down to the nearest Clinique counter and asking them for a free makeover."
"They'll think you mean for you."
Harriet frowned. "Um, you do realise that that is still my body? I don't particularly want it ruined just to annoy Jeremy."
Jeremy turned round and attempted to shoot her a Clarkson grin, which didn't work well, considering he was currently inhabiting her body. "You still haven't told us the story of how you came to be my biggest fan. I'm sure it's fascinating."
"Of course you think that, it's about you. However, I happen to find any story featuring someone falling for someone as idiotic and stupid-looking as you very unrealistic."
"I'm not stupid-looking, Hammond. I'm sure there are millions of people just like her who find me stunningly gorgeous."
"I'm sure those millions of people only exist inside your warped mind, Clarkson." He turned to Harriet. "Don't worry, we can get you to a psychiatrist soon so you can talk about the fact that you have feelings for Jeremy. You might be sectioned, but I think that's possibly for the best."
Harriet looked rather affronted. TG gave her a comforting look, and seemed to be patting her hand with one of her paws.
no subject
“I’m driving from now on,” Jeremy announced loudly.
“Erm, I’m afraid you can’t,” said Harriet from the back seat. “I don’t have a driving license.”
Clarkson stared at her, flabbergasted. “How do you survive?” he asked incredulously. A look of horror crossed his face. "Don't tell me you have a motorbike; I'm not being stuck in a car with two people stupid enough to think that those abominations deserve the honour of wheels."
Richard glared at him. "You know, Clarkson, if you keep complaining I'm just going to leave you at the side of the road."
"No!" cried Harriet. Jeremy and Richard turned around to look at her (Richard clearly forgetting to keep his eyes on the road). "That's, er, my body. What if we swap back?"
"Yes, Richard," said Jeremy in an admonishing tone. "You can't just kidnap a girl and then decide not to go through with it. I'm quite ashamed of you, to be honest." Richard narrowed his eyes and chose to ignore Clarkson.
"Might I ask," said Jeremy, grinning like the Cheshire cat, "when exactly you came to be so fond of me? Please feel free to gush as much as you like."
Richard gave an irritated sigh. "The trauma of becoming the most ridiculous middle-aged man in the whole of England has gone to her head, Jeremy. She didn't like you before. I'm sure she preferred me."
Jeremy snorted. "Nobody prefers you really, Hammond. They just feel sorry for you because you look like a girl and you're too short to drive most of the cars we have because your short little legs can't reach the gear pedals."
"Jeremy, I'm not sure it's wise for you to make any comments about looking like a girl, considering your current appearance. And if I have to tell you again then I'll be taking you down to the nearest Clinique counter and asking them for a free makeover."
"They'll think you mean for you."
Harriet frowned. "Um, you do realise that that is still my body? I don't particularly want it ruined just to annoy Jeremy."
Jeremy turned round and attempted to shoot her a Clarkson grin, which didn't work well, considering he was currently inhabiting her body. "You still haven't told us the story of how you came to be my biggest fan. I'm sure it's fascinating."
"Of course you think that, it's about you. However, I happen to find any story featuring someone falling for someone as idiotic and stupid-looking as you very unrealistic."
"I'm not stupid-looking, Hammond. I'm sure there are millions of people just like her who find me stunningly gorgeous."
"I'm sure those millions of people only exist inside your warped mind, Clarkson." He turned to Harriet. "Don't worry, we can get you to a psychiatrist soon so you can talk about the fact that you have feelings for Jeremy. You might be sectioned, but I think that's possibly for the best."
Harriet looked rather affronted. TG gave her a comforting look, and seemed to be patting her hand with one of her paws.
(Oh, dear. I'm very sorry.)