Awkward Turtle

by Twist

A younger Havelock Vetinari and Sybil Ramkin walk home from a wedding together. Talk is had. Hanky ensues, but no panky. Goofy little piece of fluff fic.

Awkward Turtle

By: Twist

-/-/-

The sound of cutlery banging on a glass cut through the general chatter of the party. Everyone currently sober enough to register the sound slowly broke off conversation and turned to the high table, where young Faustus Downey was standing, glass in one hand, fork in the other.

"Oi, everybody!" He gestured grandly with the fork around the room, stopping its path on Ronnie Rust, who was trying to drunkenly pick up a woman who happened, by happy chance, to be his own recently-wedded wife. "Ronnie shut up!"

"You shut up, Downey!"

"No you," Downey countered, stabbing the fork toward the other young man, who was trying to look as appealing as possible with his shirttails un-tucked and half a pitcher of beer spilled down his front. There were snickers through the crowd. "Anyway," Downey went on loudly, "me an – me and Matilda here would really like to t'ank evr'body for – for, like, coming to our wedding. T'was magnifinificent." There was polite applause from everyone else as Downey took a bow. His new wife, Matilda, looked rather embarrassed but nevertheless charmed, which was a good thing, considering she'd just married Faustus Downey and drunken public addresses were most likely to be a common thing until he settled into married life a bit more.

Matilda cleared her throat, as Downey was still busy bowing to the crowd, who had since stopped applauding. "Er, but I'm afraid that it's getting rather late and the Guild staff would like to start cleaning up sometime before two in the morning," she called over the crowd.

"Right!" Downey said, straightening up rapidly and grabbing Matilda around the waist. She yelped a little but started giggling when he gave her a messy kiss on the cheek. He turned back to the crowd. "So bugger off, the lot of you! Me an' Matilda got . . . stuff to do." He waggled his eyebrows at his new wife, who simply burst out laughing.

A few of the older crowd that had hung around strolled out with mutterings of 'Well, I never,' but most of the parental-generation guests had retired to their beds hours ago. This late, it was only the young guests that were packed into the Assassins' Guild Quad, and they were, for the most part, intensely amused by Downey's creative dismissal of his guests.

"Have I ever told you I love Downey?" At the back of the crowd, a young man and one of the lovely bridesmaids were standing next to each other, snickering. "Dance with me, Sybil, so that we may celebrate Downey's utter failure at social grace." He offered his hand, and the two struck out in a rather flamboyant waltz that looked almost nothing like a real waltz and everything like two children imitating their parents dancing.

"Havelock, you're a terrible dancer," the bridesmaid, Sybil Ramkin, laughed.

"Yes, but I dance with soul," Havelock Vetinari replied. He punctuated this statement with a spin and a bow low enough he could probably eat the trampled remains of hors d'evours on the floor, had he wanted to.

"You're such a fairy, Vetinari," snickered a nearby tuxedo-clad young man.

"Can it, Wayne, or I'll punch you in the head," Vetinari snapped, spinning on the other man, who just laughed and then handed Vetinari another beer(1).

Sybil laughed. "Boys! This is supposed to be a happy occasion! There will be no punching of heads!"

"Whatever," Havelock sniffed. "I can punch him if I want to."

Wayne's girlfriend, Kristie, did her best fighting stance. "Fine, you can hit him, but you'll have to get through me first."

Vetinari moaned. "Youknow I can't hit a girl. This is unfair!" He took a gulp of beer. "Woe is me."

"Hey you four!" Downey's voice rang out through the Quad once more. "Dog-botherer and Sybil and Ted and whatever!"

"Ted?" Wayne asked, looking around. "Who's Ted?"

"I thought I said clear off!" Downey continued. "I don't care if you were my best man, Vetinari, right now you are breaking rule number one!"

Vetinari tilted his head, trying to recall a rule that Downey had most likely made up just then. Sybil giggled.

"Rule number one is never get in your friend's way on his wedding night!" Downey called, exasperated. "Good gods, Dog-botherer, just leave already so we can leave and you know what!"

"Faustus!" Matilda squealed.

"Come here, baby, you're gorgeous and I love you," Downey said, scooping her up. "Go away, Vetinari!"

Vetinari turned to the other three, looking rather confused. "You think we should leave?"

Wayne laughed. "Kristie and I were just about to go. Sybil, you have a ride home, yes or no?"

"Actually, Daddy took the carriage home a few hours ago," Sybil said, realizing that she was sort of stranded.

Kristie smiled. "We'll get you a cab, no worries."

"No no," Vetinari said, stepping in and putting his arm around Sybil. "I will walk the young lady home."

"Havelock I am having doubts about you walking yourself home," Sybil teased. "You remember where you live, right?"

"'Course, right across the street from you," he said haughtily. "All alone, may I mention."

"Shut up." Sybil hit him with her handbag. "Alright, I suppose I will walk home with McStaggers here," she smirked. "Hopefully he'll make any attackers laugh so hard they won't be able to mug us."

"My middle name isMcDaggers, Sybil, how many times do I have to go over this with you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, doofus." She waved to Wayne and Kristie, who were walking toward the main entrance. "Back door is closer to my house, move it." She prodded Havelock in the ribs. He yelped but started moving away from the beer, which was progress.

They stopped in a small shop across the street from the Guild that sold genuine Klatchian coffee, even at this hour. Vetinari had a shot of it, which sobered him up just enough to help him manage a straight line. Halfway home, Sybil started broke what had been a very comfortable silence. "So that's it then, I suppose."

Vetinari snapped out of some kind of inner thought. "What? What's it?"

"Our little group, the Homiehood," Sybil said. "We're the last two that haven't got married yet."

Vetinari paused. "Huh. Yeah, we are."

"Does it feel weird to you?"

"No. Should it?" Vetinari was, despite the pleasant buzz he'd had going, feeling slightly alarmed at the mention of marriage(2).

Sybil sighed. "No, I don't really see any reason for it to."

They walked the rest of the way back to Sybil's house quietly, every once and awhile making a remark about how it was a nice wedding, really, and what a shame the bridesmaids gowns had been so ugly. At the front porch, Vetinari waited for her to dig her key out of her handbag. It was unnecessary, however, as Sybil's father, Lord Ramkin, swung the door open.

"What have you done to my little girl, Vetinari?" he snarled. Sybil nearly dropped her handbag, she was so surprised. Vetinari back up a little and tried to look unthreatening and Sybil raised her hands in a placating gesture.

"He didn't do anything, Daddy!" she said urgently. "All he did was walk me home! He was very gentlemanly!"

Lord Ramkin scowled at the dark-haired young man, who had been nodding all along in accordance with what Sybil had said. "Well. That's very nice. Go inside, Sybil, I'd like to have a word with young Havelock."

Sybil gave Vetinari a despairing glance before making her way past her father and into the house. Vetinari was sure she'd be waiting for her father to finish right inside the foyer – she always was. She was so reliable that way.

Lord Ramkin made his way over to the Assassin, who smiled slightly to try and lighten the mood. It didn't work.

"I don't trust you, boy," he said, without preamble. Havelock tried not to sigh; it was a speech he'd heard at least fifty times since he turned eleven. "Don't trust you, don't trust your family."

"Most of my family's dead, sir," Vetinari cut in. He usually did something like this just to annoy the man.

"You know I'm not talking about your parents, boy," Ramkin snapped. "Fine, upstanding people, they were. It's your aunt; I don't know what she's up to in this city, but I don't like the sound of it." He paused, waiting for Vetinari to say something, maybe in his dear old auntie's defense. But Havelock knew better; Madam was underhanded and had been scheming around the city for months, and it would be foolish to try to persuade Lord Ramkin of otherwise.

"And you boy, don't do anything but lay about and read books all day," Ramkin went on, when no response was forthcoming. Vetinari frowned.

"With all due respect sir, I was recently granted the position of Provost of Assassins," Vetinari said, maybe a little sullenly.

"Hah! Some job indeed. Organizing murderers, the thought of it." He scowled. "I know what they say about wedding nights, boy; I'm not stupid."

Havelock's train of thought derailed. He looked at the man, utterly confused. "What?"

"Don't act stupid, boy." Lord Ramkin hit the back of Vetinari's head, causing the younger man to yelp and take a defensive step backwards. Good gods, Havelock wondered, does he know I'm twenty-eight years old and that he technically just assaulted me? "When I was your age everyone knew that wedding nights were your best chance of doing something dreadful with an upstanding young lady. Never trust a bachelor at a wedding, I always say," Ramkin boomed. In the door, Sybil had turned bright red and was rolling her eyes at Havelock, who could not honestly believe this was happening.

"Sir," Vetinari cut in quickly, before the whole situation could become any more bizarre, "I just walked Sybil home, that's all."

"Damn right, that's all," Ramkin said haughtily, trying to look down his nose at Havelock, despite the fact they were the same height. "And don't you forget it."

Vetinari took a few steps backwards, gesturing toward his house, dark and silent across the street. "Er, I suppose I'll just be going then."

"Yes, you will."

"Um. Well then. Goodnight." He turned his back to the man and tried not to sprint across the street. He heard the door to the Ramkin mansion shut and breathed a sigh of relief, patting his pockets for his keys which were . . .

They should be about . . .

Wait, no . . .

Uh oh. That's not good.

Havelock Vetinari stood on his porch, holding his jacket upside down and shaking it, willing the keys to jingle into existence and fall out of the unplummable depths of the coat. But, of course, nothing of the sort happened(3). He sighed and pulled the coat back on and started heading around to the back yard, where there would be a shed with a nice, undersized cot in it that would serve for the night. He had just about rounded the corner when Sybil called to him from across the street.

"Havelock, get over here!"

Wary, he made his way back to the Ramkin house. Lord Ramkin, however, was nowhere in sight. "Daddy went to bed," Sybil whispered, putting Vetinari at ease. "Did you lose your keys?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I think Downey might have them but I'm not sure."

"Well you probably won't get them back until tomorrow at least then."

"Yeah, I know. I can break into the shed though."

"Havelock!" Sybil scowled. "I am not letting you sleep in some draughty shed all night. You're a grown man, for goodness' sake."

"I like my shed. Also, if your father finds me in the house in the morning I might as well go kill myself now. He'll think I've violated you or something."

"Yes, I know," Sybil sighed. "Just come in and have a cup of tea, then. We'll figure something out."

Somewhat reluctant, but with literally nowhere else to go, Vetinari slid into the foyer of the Ramkin mansion. Sybil lead the way to the Hideously Vomit-Inducing Puce Room, where there were the last few embers of a fire sizzling in the grate. "Have a seat," Sybil whispered, gesturing to the couch, "I'll go make tea."

"No, Sybil, don't worry about it I can ju –"

"Sit down, Havelock." Vetinari's knees folded without input from his brain and he collapsed onto the plushy couch opposite the fireplace. It was really quite comfortable. He was just about to drift off when Sybil returned with two teacups. She plopped down next to him.

"Gracias," he muttered, taking a sip.

"No trouble," Sybil said quietly. "There was a pot out on the stove. Sorry if it's not terribly hot."

"No, it's perfect," Vetinari replied, watching the door for any sign of Lord Ramkin. He already had three escape routes planned, just in case. "Sorry about this Sybil, I don't really want to impose or anything."

"Since when has an invited guest imposed?" she giggled. "I asked you in, Havelock, it's not like you wandered in the front door of your own accord."

"I very much doubt that will ever happen," Havelock snickered. "At least not while your father's here to accuse me of being an indecent layabout."

"You know why he thinks that, don't you?"

"Because I'm almost thirty, am completely single and have never managed to have a steady girlfriend?" Vetinari suggested, taking a sip of tea.

"No," Sybil said slowly. "More because I think he's a bit angry at you for never proposing marriage to me."

Havelock sprayed his tea directly into the fireplace. Sybil patted him on the back while he resolved his choking issue. He turned to her, looking shocked. "What?"

"Oh, Havelock," she sighed. "You're just so clueless about the whole thing, aren't you?" She put her chin in her hands while Vetinari panted and tried to regain some form of composure. "It's kind of cute, actually."

"Sybil, what's going on?"

She patted him on he shoulder comfortingly. He fought the urge to run away. "Daddy has always seen it that way Havelock, since we were young. You and me would end up together, married, a triumph for the nobility in the city."

"But he hates me!" Vetinari paused. "And my aunt!"

"Yes, that's where I think things went a bit wahooni-shaped," she said calmly. That was Sybil, unflappable as ever. "When your parents died he assumed you would just become a ward of the Guild," she went on. "I heard him and mother talking one night when your aunt came to town. He didn't like her, and liked her less as time went on."

Havelock frowned. "But she's my aunt. And I didn't even meet her until I was twelve."

"Right," Sybil said quickly. "But she changed you, Havelock. Mum and Daddy always thought you'd be too distracted by loud noises and sparkles and fireworks to ever get a real job, you know," Sybil said firmly. "And they thought that was just as well. Have fireworks as some little side-job but mostly take up ranks with the idle rich."

"And marry you."

"And that, yes."

Vetinari paused. "But I still like all that stuff," he muttered into his tea, on the defensive.

"I know," Sybil sighed. "But no one else in the city knows anymore. All they see is Havelock Vetinari, serious young man, Provost of Assassins, don't you know, bound to have a bright future ahead of him."

Vetinari sighed. "Madam thinks I ought to be Patrician one day you know."

"I figured. You'd be good at it."

He snorted. "Shall I write out my eulogy before or after I write out the inauguration speech?"

"Save it for after," said Sybil, smiling. "Anyway, I know it would never work between us, but Daddy blames your aunt and well, you, for eliminating his little girl's best chance to marry someone of her status."

"That's not true," Vetinari muttered. "There's plenty of young, rich, snooty boys out there."

Sybil giggled. "Yes, but the only ones I can stand to be around are either married or . . . are you."

Some part of Vetinari's hindbrain was trying desperately to alert him to the fact that during this conversation he and Sybil had been getting progressively closer. Now, possibly too late, he realized that he could feel her breath on her face, smell her hair. It smelled nice.

"Well," he said very quietly, "it's not like we've ever, you know, tried anything."

"No, we haven't," Sybil said, leaning closer.

"Might as well, er, give it a shot then," Vetinari replied, not feeling at all right about this, though he was pretty sure that it was mainly due to his paranoia that Lord Ramkin would come bursting into the room at any moment and run him through with one of the family's old, old, not-at-all-decorative swords without a second though.

"Might as well." Sybil smiled, and they kissed. It wasn't either of their firsts, so they did have some past experiences to compare it to. It was quite nice, as kisses went, Vetinari thought. But there was something . . . just not right. However, being a gentleman, he let Sybil pull away first. She looked a bit sheepish.

"So how was that for you?" she asked softly.

Vetinari thought for a minute, staring reflectively into his almost-empty teacup. "Like if I'd kissed my sister, I think," he concluded. Sybil visibly sagged and for a moment he was worried he'd said something wrong. Then he noticed her smile.

"Thank gods you felt that way, because I wasn't sure how to break it to you. You're not a bad kisser," she said quickly.

"Right."

"But . . . But well, yeah, it's like kissing my big brother." They looked at each other for a moment. A few embers crackled in the grate. You could have cut the silence in the room with a dull knife. "So . . ." Sybil said, shifting on the couch.

"Yeah." Vetinari set his teacup down, stared at the floorboards for a minute and then made an all-too-familiar hand gesture. Palms up, one hand on top of the other, thumbs wiggling. "Awkward turtle."

Sybil burst out laughing. Then she patted him on the shoulder and grabbed his teacup. "I'll go clean these up, then we'll figure out what to do with you tonight. I can't stand the thought of you breaking into your own shed a sleeping in there. You'll catch your death."

Vetinari shrugged. "I'm sure I could get a room somewhere. Or I could walk back to the Guild and crash in my office."

"At this hour?" Sybil made her way out of the room. "Stay there, I'll think of something." She knew full well what would happen, though. She took a bit too long in the scullery, maybe, and made her way back to the room slowly and quietly. Sure enough, Vetinari was dead asleep on the couch. With a little smile, she grabbed a blanket off a nearby chair, and draped it over him. He didn't even stir. "You shouldn't work so hard, Havelock," she whispered.

"Mnnurf." Sybil smiled widely, though there was maybe just a touch of sadness in her eyes.

"Goodnight, your Lordship."

-/-/-

(1)Which brought the evening's tally up to twelve.

(2) This is a perfectly normal male reaction.

(3) Wizards of the Discworld are able to call millions of things into existence. Strangely enough, after many years of attempting to do so, they have never been able to produce a set of lost keys. Years later, Ponder Stibbons would discover the Lost Key Dimension, which is unreachable by any human methods, force or magic.

Vetinari/Sybil forever. XD There could be so many sequels to this it isn't even funny.