Set directly after my story 'Route March', and a few days before the events of 'Having A Ball.' Polly confronts Corporal Maladicta about Borogravian uniform regulations. Maladicta is her usual annoying - and distractingly attractive - self.

A/N: With thanks to Fledge, who suggested the camp-fire discussion as a follow-up to Route March. Keep the suggestions coming, and thank you!

A/N again: Like Polly, I really need to get a grip and stop fantasizing about Corporal Maladicta. Cliches, anyone?

Camp Fire

'Mal?'

Silence. The camp fire crumps as a grey ashy log falls into the glowing centre.

'Mal?'

Silence. Flames rise as another twig catches and burns.

'Corporal Maladicta!'

'Mmm? Yes, Pol?'

'You call me sarge,' says Polly, peevishly, wrapping herself more tightly in her blanket. Why does she make things so difficult?

'Sorry, Sergeant Perks.'

Polly stares at the fire, avoiding Maladicta's smile. Silence gapes again.

'You wanted me, Sergeant?'

Did I? Do I?

Polly clears her throat. 'Uniform regulations, Corporal. Boots: two. Breeches, white: one pair. Shirt: one. Socks: two pairs. Jacket, red: one. Shako, black: one.'

'I know the regulations, Sergeant.'

'But you don't think they apply to you, right?'

'Whatever gave you that impression, Sergeant?'

Polly looks over at Maladicta, whose grin is lit orange in the firelight. The vampire is leaning back on one elbow, horribly deshabillé in loose shirt and unbuttoned jacket. She runs a hand through her hair, ruffling it slightly.

'Look,' says Maladicta, pointing at each item in turn. 'Boots, two. Breeches. Jacket. Shako. Socks' – her hand hesitates for a couple of seconds above her crotch, and Polly blushes – 'and shirt. I've taken the liberty of adding a pair of braces, as per regulation five subsection c. These breeches are a little loose in the waist department.' The vampire hooks her thumbs under the braces, and tugs them forward a little. 'You see, Sergeant, my uniform complies with the law to the letter.'

Polly grinds her teeth. 'Your shirt is silk. Your jacket is fitted. Your boots are leather. Your breeches are tight. Your shako is brushed. Your socks are…' Polly tails off, lamely. 'Well, your socks are probably cashmere, or something.'

'Well, well, Sergeant. You've been observing me.'

'No I haven't!'

Maladicta grins again. 'Wouldn't matter if you had, Sergeant. As I told you earlier, you are my sergeant. I'm just a corporal. You can do anything to me, if you want.'

Polly clenches her fists. 'Would you stop saying that?'

'Of course, Sergeant.'

'And stop calling me Sergeant like that!'

'Sorry, Perks. You did say, earlier, that I should call you sarge, you know.'

'Shut up. Just shut up.'

Polly realises she is snarling. There is silence for a while, and then a few rustles and shuffles in the dark.

Maladicta's voice comes clear through the darkness. 'If it makes you happier, I'm now only wearing my regulation braces and cap.'

Polly refuses to look at Maladicta.

'I don't care,' she says.

Yes, you do.

You want to look, don't you? Fire-lit Maladicta, in braces, breeches, and … breasts? Of course you do!

This is all a great big abomination unto Nuggan, you know that? What the hell is wrong with you?

'Oh, Polly.' Maladicta now sounds rather rueful. 'I am fond of you, you know. I'm sorry. I really am.'

'What for?'

'For teasing you so.'

Polly risks a glance at Mal. The vampire is smiling at her – not her usual toothy and vexatious grin, but a genuine and rather lovely smile. Lit by dancing flames and glowing embers, and – as promised – shirtless with braces over naked breasts, she looks… amazing. Polly blushes, but the fierce rush of blood to her face is driven not by the vampire's state of undress, for once, but by that smile and those slightly quizzical eyes staring into her own.

'You'll get cold,' she says, and the words hang there uselessly.

Maladicta sighs. 'You're probably right,' she says. She shrugs herself into her cavalry jacket, and buttons it up. Polly looks away and stares into the flames, trying to calm her ragged breathing and pounding heart.

'We should reach Kneck Keep tomorrow,' says Polly, trying to sound normal.

'Yes.' Mal is lying back, staring at the stars.

'Clogston sent me a clacks. There's some party thing in Ankh-Morpork I'm meant to be going to. Some diplomatic crap.' Polly is now chattering like a schoolgirl. Shut up.

Mal is silent.

'I'm going to try and get out of it. I don't want to go.'

Mal turns her head to look at her. 'Really? I'd have thought a party might be rather fun.'

'I didn't know vampires liked parties.'

'I don't. Not really.' Mal is staring at the stars again. 'But I do like you.'

Polly's heart is thudding in her chest. 'I thought you were going to stop teasing me,' she says eventually, when she feels her voice is her own again.

Gods, get a grip. She only said she liked you. It's not a big deal. Shufti likes you. Clogston likes you. Hells, Wazzer probably likes you. Being liked by a woman is an A-OK thing to happen. It's normal! It's natural!

How about being 'liked' by a female vampire with exquisite tits?

Ah.

Not sure about that one, are you?

Maladicta's voice comes through the dark again. 'I'm not teasing you, Polly.'

Polly doesn't trust herself to speak.

The fire crackles.

'Good night, Polly.'

'Good night, Mal.'

Polly wraps herself in her blanket, turns firmly away from Maladicta, and closes her eyes.

But neither corporal nor sergeant sleeps much that night.

AA