Characters not mine.
(Originally written for a free-for-all challenge on comment_fic. Prompt was "whistling.")
The Borogravian Army had an interesting view of folk songs.
It had been observed, at least by the Tenth Foot and probably by about a third of the officers, that a fair number of the ones that soldiers sung involved a young lady loosing most of her clothes on a warm spring day and in the presence of a young man who often assisted matters.
This didn't seem to be the type of song that Polly would whistle along to.
It was early - before the first cup of coffee - and Mal had mixed her espresso liberally with liquor the previous night. So hearing someone whistle as they dressed was cutting through her skull like a small and precise blade.
"I thought we had agreed that all folk songs were stupid," she grumbled, not quite ready to get up and dressed herself.
"This one has a more sensible message than most," Polly answered.
"Oh? Which song is this?" Mal asked, opening one eye to watch Polly's back as she tugged a shirt over her head.
"The Hedgehog Can Never Be Buggered At All."
"Never heard of it."
"I suspect they don't sing it in the kind of pubs vampires go to."
Mal sat up and rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm. She was going to be more moderate the next time she mixed whiskey into coffee. "You say it's lyrics are more sensible than most?" she asked. "Then teach me the words."
Polly opened her mouth.
"After my first cup of coffee. How are you not hungover?"
Polly grinned and disappeared, and Mal figured she probably ought to get dressed and chase down her friend.