Title: Metamorphosis
Author(s):dreamflower02
Recipient: litlover12
Rating: G
Fandom: Lord Peter Wimsey, Murder Must Advertise
Character(s): Lord Peter, aka Death Bredon aka Harlequin; Charles Parker, Lady Mary
Summary: The transformation into three different people is over, but the experience left its mark. There are some things he will never un-know.
Warnings: Spoilery, if you've never read the book.
Word Count: 300 (three drabbles)
Author's Notes: I had hoped to write something short and snappy with Lord Peter and Harriet, but my copy of Gaudy Night (my favorite of Sayer's Lord Peter Wimsey books) seems to be missing, so I chose my second favorite: Murder Must Advertise.

Metamorphosis

Up at an indecent hour, he dressed in clothing Bunter suggested would be appropriate to a gentleman forced to take up employment at recent loss of fortune. A shirt in want of having the collar turned, a costly suit that had one wearing too many before being cleaned, expensive shoes well-cared for. Shoes after all last a long time. If his fictitious impoverishment was real, they would gradually grow more shabby and in want of re-soling. He certainly hoped that the performance did not last that long. Off to Pym's now to extol the virtues of the products of commerce...

No time for a decent supper, he took up the outrageously garish costume of Harlequin, thinking of the irony of the comic figure of Commedia dell'arte transformed into a creature of mystery and darkness, a sinister voice of reason, a bait to lure a glittering fish into his hands. She was superstitious, as those who lived on the edge of the precipice often are. She would fear him, but be fascinated by him. Dian de Momerie could not resist his challenge. Harlequin, he thought, would be the Ghost of Christmas Future; he doubted she would be transformed by their encounter...

He was himself and only himself again. No more Pym's Publicity, no more wracking his brain over Sopo or Nutrax or Whifflets. No more dragging himself out of bed after a few hours, no more driving through the night in a masquerade. His days were free of work, his nights were free of fast company. He sat down to a nice leisurely late breakfast of kippers and eggs, and murmured appreciatively as Bunter poured his tea and placed on the table by his elbow the morning papers. He picked up the Morning Star and opened it to the Nutrax half-double...