AN: Footnotes are in italic full-sized numbers, which link to the bit right at the bottom with the corresponding numbers. Sorry, I'm rubbish at footnotes.
Angua was in the Pseudopolis Yard Watch House. More specifically, in the lunch room. So was Carrot1. In fact, he was kneeling in front of her. Well, one leg was kneeling. And in his hand was something small and shiny.
It wasn't the first proposal the lunch room had seen, technically, although most people didn't count the time Nobby had proposed to his dessert. They assumed, incorrectly, that it had been a joke. But then, the custard had been very good, although the ring he had produced (nobody wanted to ask exactly where it had been produced from) had been a bit of a surprise.
Carrot knelt there, in front of her, breastplate gleaming. A hopeful smile was on his face as he said the words. "Angua, will you marry me?". She stared. She continued staring. So did everyone else in the room, because it wasn't often you got dinner entertainment in the Watch House. Or at least, not anything more sophisticated than a chase involving a rogue goat, or one of Detritus's comedy routines which involved hitting himself over the head with his club. Sometimes he missed and hit someone else, and then things got really Interesting.
"Why?" she asked, finally managing to speak.
"Well. It makes sense."
"It… makes sense?" she responded. The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife, even one of those blunt ones in the Watch House kitchen. There was a roomful of onlookers, and even Sergeant Colon had paused in his complaints about the Youth of Today. A lot of the diners had turned their seats around to watch, and one had pulled out a pair of opera glasses to see what was happening.
"Well, yes. It makes sense," said Carrot. "We have a lot in common. We've been, um, together, for a year now. That's normally about the time people get married. It makes sense."
The looks of horror on some of the Watchmen's faces at this were almost comical. Even the least femininely-inclined among them winced a little. There was a faint rhythmic thudding sound from the corner where Cheery Littlebottom was sitting, as she repeatedly knocked her head against the table in exasperation2.
"You want to marry me… because it makes sense." Said Angua. Her voice carried a dangerous calm. "You are proposing to me in the lunch room of the place I work. Because it makes sense."
"Yes?" said Carrot in a tone of genuine bemusement. For anyone else in the Watch, there would have been catcalling, jokes, and probably a rogue pie aimed at the face, but Angua had instilled a respect3 in her colleagues. There was silence. You could have heard a crumb drop.
Then, without a word, Angua turned on her heel and marched away from Carrot and out of the door to the canteen. Even after she had left, nobody moved or talked. Carrot's face was blankly inscrutable. One of the newer watchmen sniggered, which in the silence was remarkably loud. His neighbour, a more experienced watchman, elbowed him hard in the face.
After a few seconds, Carrot began to slowly get to his feet. He looked around at the gathered watchmen4 and, more slowly and, like Angua, walked out of the door. The silence lasted a good three seconds after his exit before it was brutally massacred by a barrage of gossip about the proposal.
Cheery Littlebottom had finally managed to stop banging her head in exasperation, and slid off her chair5 before trotting out, unnoticed, after Carrot.
She walked out of the room, into the corridor beyond, and towards the door leading to the street outside. Beyond it, Carrot was sitting on the steps down to the road, his head in his hands. Angua was nowhere in sight.
She sat down beside him.
"I did it wrong, didn't I?" he said, head still in his hands.
Cheery tried to find a tactful way to respond. Tact was not a typical dwarf trait. When a mine roof was about to collapse on your head, you didn't want someone to start the conversation with "So, I hear this area of the mine's a bit risky of late.' You wanted people who were fully willing to run past you screaming 'BLOODY ROOF'S FALLING, RUN'.
But she tried. "It wasn't… it wasn't as bad as Nobby's proposal to his pudding."
Carrot lifted his head to stare at her. "What did I do wrong?"
"Um." Said Cheery. She was used to forensic analysis. Forensic analysis didn't care if you spoke bluntly. "It was… sort of… um…" she struggled for a while. "You know how it is when you're on a case and you try not to get emotionally involved. Old Mrs. Hobbler tells you a story about the man who came and set her house on fire and you get all involved and sympathetic and then it turns out she accidentally left the cooker on and didn't want to admit it?"
Carrot nodded, unsure of where this was going6.
"Well after that you learn you shouldn't involve your feelings in the case. You should just say what's there, what makes sense and what you know for absolutely certain. No feelings.
"Well, you really, really, really, really7 shouldn't do this with proposals. You said to her 'look, it makes sense'. It's a relationship, there are MEANT to be feelings involved. You don't want to say 'I like you because you're convenient', you want to say, 'I like that you're in my life! I want you to be more of a presence in my life than Foul Ole Ron's smell is in his! That's how all-pervading I want you to be in my life!' You want to say 'I love you!'"
Carrot frowned. "But I've already told her I love her."
Cheery sighed. She thought maybe she should have carried on with her head banging for a bit longer. It would have been good to have some pre-emptive head banging stored away for this conversation.
"Tell her again. Tell her lots. Tell her when you think it. Say it out of the blue, drop it in the middle of the conversation, leave her notes saying it."
"But… why?" Carrot asked. "Isn't it obvious?"
"When you say you want to marry her while you're at work, because it makes sense? Emotions aren't meant to make sense!" Cheery said. "Listen, I have to go back to work now. The corpse in there won't wait forever. But, I'll tell you what, I'll meet you at The Bucket8 tonight, at seven, and I'll try and talk you through it all."
Carrot thanked her and looked incredibly grateful. He unfolded himself and, alongside Cheery (well, more diagonally upwards from Cheery, given the height difference) they walked back inside.
1 The man, not the vegetable. No vegetable would ever set foot* in the lunch room of a Watch House. Watchmen may not have many boundaries, but that was definitely one of them.
*or root, or, knowing the vegetables which sprouted up around the University, tentacle
2 In dwarfish, where a lot of communication is shown through hitting the head against objects to show, among other things, appreciation, annoyance, anger, hungriness or drunkenness, the helmet is not just an accessory but a vital piece of equipment for anyone wishing to navigate the dwarfen culture and come out the other side with a brain cell left intact.
3 read: absolute, unquestioning terror
4 The debate about the collective noun for a group of watchmen continues. An amble of watchmen and a parade of watchmen were superseded by the much more accurate a running-away-screaming of watchmen inspired during the earlier days of the watch.
5 Being a dwarf, there was an entire sport involving sliding off chairs. The higher the chair, the further the distance to the ground, and consequently the greater the danger. Those dwarfs who slid off the highest chairs earned the most respect. Those caught cheating by adding springs to their shoes were sneered down upon, and Ankh-Morpork's bars had begun putting steadily higher bar stalls in place to attract young dwarfs.
6 It is worth noting that at this point in writing, I, the author, also have no idea where this is going.
7 Really really REALLY REALLY REALLY
8 The pub favoured by the Watchmen, and also well-meaning pun enthusiasts, who came to attack the outer wall of the pub in order to tell someone that they had kicked the Bucket.