Victory had been an accident. No, that would suggest she was unwanted and that was undoubtedly not the case. Victory was a happy accident, serendipity, a welcome surprise to the Duke and Duchess of Ankh. Both had suspected they were too long in the tooth for another child and young Sam was not as young any more either, but when the bundle of joy arrived the family felt complete.
Victory was certainly victorious in practically anything she turned her hand to; from flower arranging to fisticuffs. Unlike her big brother she revelled in mischief of thankfully a benevolent kind. For instance, aged four, she set off her Mother's dragons all at once because the hens in the admittedly far too nearby pens 'looked cold'. Yes, she had resolved that problem, but rather permanently. And it turned out it is possible to get tired of eating roast chicken after a week and a half.
Aged seven, Victory was sent to the headmaster's office for hitting a classmate. "It was self-defence, sir," Miss Vimes explained, "He said that girls weren't any good at fighting." "I see," the Headmaster pondered. "But how is that self-defence?" "I was defending my honour, sir. 'Cos I'm a girl and I'm a bloody good fighter!"
Aged twelve, Victory had a gang. This was not the sort of gang that went around causing destruction, quite the opposite. Victory Vimes was organised like her mother and persuasive like her Dad. Whilst her brother Sam was pursuing a quiet life of study and science, Victory wanted to fix things. Victory's girls cleaned up street corners, leafletted local businesses about how they could reduce their impact on the environment and campaigned for equal rights for…well, whichever species was their flavour of the month. Her enthusiasm to fight for what was right was not always welcomed by those she campaigned for but this didn't seem to matter too much to Victory.
Aged fifteen, she had changed from wiry do-gooder in pigtails to a wild-haired Demi-goddess of fury. Vetinari had decided to do away with the right to demonstrate in Sator Square after an incident the Times referred to as the Soap Box Debacle. Those there had sustained severe splinter injuries and one unfortunate man was still at the Lady Sybil Free Hospital getting these removed from some very delicate areas. Free speech turned into a free for all and the Patrician had made his thoughts on the matter very clear. "If they can't play nicely, then I shall take away their toys."
"Look, Dad I wouldn't normally ask for special treatment but someone's got to make Vetinari see sense! He's doing away with…with tradition! With the right to talk freely with our fellow beings on the matters that really matter!"
Sir Samuel Vimes loved his daughter, he truly did, but she had this habit of talking in exclamation points. You could actually hear them. With young Sam it had been easy, a bed-time story of 'Where's my cow?' and he was happy as Larry.* As an older child his surprisingly healthy obsession with poo kept him happy as a pig in…well, anyway it seemed Victory was only truly happy when railing against some cause or another. He couldn't for the life of him figure out where she'd picked that up from.***
*Larry Fellabonty the one-time Reds** singer and ever cheerful. His 'My baby done left me a Pie and got me flowers too' remains a classic.
**As opposed to the blues
***His wife could but wasn't about to in his presence
"DAD! Are you even listening?!"
"Victory, try listening to your ol' Dad," he replied as calmly as he could, "I understand how," he paused trying to think of the best words and rejected 'completely bloody obsessed'. "Passionate you get about these things but do you have to make it your mission to change the world on a daily basis?" They were at the breakfast table and he clung to his coffee as if it were a life-line.
"Well, someone has to Dad. And why not me? After all, we have regicide in our blood!"
"First of all dearest," Sam continued to calmly respond, underneath however the exasperation seethed, "that is not something to be proud of. Secondly, the Patrician isn't a king and thirdly he's your brother's Godfather. We might not always agree with him, Gods only knows I don't, but he keeps the status quo."
"Do you know what he does to mime artists? Do you know about the…the…kittens?" She said this last in the hushed tones of horror. "Where will it end? He has to be stopped!"
Sybil walked in with a tray of burnt bits which might have once been egg, bacon and beans. "Who has to be stopped Victory, dear?" She placed the burnt offerings in front of Sam and their daughter. The latter rolled her eyes, "I told you Mum, I don't eat anything that has a face!"
Sybil answered tersely, "There are no faces on that plate. I have checked. Eat up, there's a good girl."
Begrudgingly Victory did as she was told. There was something in her Mother's tone that meant she could never truly rebel against her. Besides, she really did love bacon as much as she felt she shouldn't. As she crunched through it her Father explained.
"Victory wants to stop our Patrician, Sybil. She seeks an audience with him, through me."
"I see." Sybil sat down and buttered some very well done toast. "Well, arrange it then!"
"What?" His brows knitted so hard they could have churned out a scarf.
"Yeah, Mum! Stick it to the man!"
"Don't talk about your father like that," Sybil scolded, watching for Sam's response.
"No," he answered realising he now had both the ladies in his life glaring. "Because…" Sybil raised a brow and watched her husband come to his own conclusion. Being married, being properly married, often lent a level of psychic ability between partners. What if Victory did speak to Vetinari? He probably wouldn't execute her, in fact he'd likely find the whole thing highly amusing and teach his wayward daughter a lesson or three. His expression did not betray his line of thinking however and he continued, "Because, I am your Father and you should respect my wishes!"
Sybil sipped her tea to avoid giving away her smirk. The reverse psychology was so obvious it had eyes in the back of its head.
"Listen Dad!" Victory gestured with her fork. "If you don't get me in to see Vetinari then I'll bloody break my way into the Oblong Office!"
"Language!" Sybil scolded.
"Sorry Mum," she muttered apologetically, then to her Dad, "But I blimmin' will!"
Sam huffed and for the next ten minutes they ate their breakfast in silence. Finally, after crumping through the last of the beans, "Alright, but only ten minutes. And make yourself presentable."
There was triumph in Victory's eyes, "Seriously Dad, ten minutes is all I need!" She dashed away from the breakfast table leaving her parents to share a world-weary laugh.
"She's your daughter." Sam insisted. He saw the same look of triumph in his wife's eyes and smiled
