CRAZY TALK - By L.M. Griffin (or just Wren)
Disclaimer: Discworld doesn't belong to me. If it did, then I'd be a lot richer and could afford to sit around and write all day. All characters within are the sole property of Mr. Terry Pratchett. HOWEVER, Wren, who is me, belongs to me. The man can't have everything, dammit. ALSO all references to other fanfiction belong to the people who wrote 'em. You know who you are, you fabby people you!
All flames, praises, chickens, scorpion pits and Assassins, etc, should be sent to xandergrrl@yahoo.com
````````````
What people have already said about Crazy Talk!
Radar (my dear friend and sister-in-arms): "Wren...coke bubbles just went up my nose."
Carrot Ironfoundersson, of the Watch: "...I'm confused."
Granny Weatherwax: "Can't be having with this nonsense." *Glare*
DEATH: PERFECT. MORE PEOPLE DYING OF LAUGHTER, MORE SOULS TO REAP. BUSY, BUSY, BUSY.
Susan: "...Grandfather, you _shouldn't_ use this fiction as an excuse to up your queue."
DEATH: WE DO HAVE QUOTAS TO MEET TOO, YOU KNOW. MY JOB IS JUST LIKE A DOOR-TO-DOOR SALESMAN. EXCEPT WHEN YOU BUY IT, THERE'S ABSOLUTELY NO-SOUL BACK GUARANTEE.
Wren: "...Wow. Can I quote you on this?"
DEATH: ...VERY WELL. THAT SHOULD HELP CLEAN UP THE BAD IMAGE WE REAPERS SEEM TO GET STUCK WITH. WE'RE REALLY DECENT FOLKS...ONCE YOU LOOK PAST THE SCYTHE AND THE SKULL...YEAH.
Susan: *sighs* "Grandfather, you really DO need to work on your...People Skills."
DEATH: ...ISN'T THAT WHAT THIS JOB IS ALL ABOUT?
~~~~~~~~~~~
Synopsis: What happens when you're drinking Pepsi at two in the
morning, and gawping at Slash fanfiction, and your internal
Vimes muse wakes up. Yes. Insanity follows.
~~~~~~~~~~~
OUR SCENE
*Imagine a room, fairly large. White walls covered
over with pictures, posters, etc. There's a sofa,
several chairs, a coffee table, and a bookcase jammed
with books. There is also a desk. On this desk there
is a computer - with keyboard, mouse, and of course,
screen. The screen is being read intently by Wren.
This is her Imagination.*
Wren: *reading the screen before her, as her
_expression contorts interestingly - from shock, to
more shock, to omigodaretheyreallydoingTHAT?*
"...meeeep..."
Vimes: *Enters Imagination, subconsciously. Meaning -
he was a sneaky bastard and didn't make any noise as
he came up behind Wren.* "What's that, now?"
Wren:*Lets out a girly yelp that shall never be
admitted as being either girly or a yelp.* "JESUS!
...aah....Nothing." *mouse-hand moves to reduce the
window she was reading*
Vimes: *The copper's copper, slaps his hand down on
top of Wren's own. Smiles. Or rather, shows all his
teeth.* "Nothing....what?"
Wren: *Tries moving hand, and realizes the basic
Newton law; an object at rest stays at rest,.
Especially if it's caught in a vice-like grip*
"Nothing...nothing. With ah..." *Free hand tries,
without luck, to release the mouse-hand* "...big
side...of Nothing...you have really STRONG hands.."
Vimes: *As unmovable as the Ankh. Moves Wren's mouse
sans hand. Reopens window. Reads. Moment of silence.
Reads again. STOPS.* "...WHAT IN THE NAME OF IO IS
THIS!!?"
Wren:*trying to cower AND free herself at the same
time.* "....uhm, fan fiction...y'know...a story based
on canon genre..."
Vimes: *Glares.* "I KNOW what it is. I am just
wondering if THAT..." *jabs finger at screen*
"..APPLIES!"
Wren: *clears throat*"Well...it IS canon."
Vimes: *Glare increases intensity, turning a bright
shade of red* "...IT is NOT canon for ME to... ah...
er... I'm in love with my wife!"
Wren: *Quiet* "...'kay..." *pause* "...Doesn't mean
you wouldn't..."
Vimes: *Glares. Facial _expression - stormy. Possible
bellowing* "I...Love...Sybil. And THAT means
my....ahem, ah...habits of..."
Wren: *takes a wild verbal stab in the dark* "Sex?"
Vimes:*Entire Facial Twitch* "...Yes, that are hers,
and hers alone. I am completely dedicate to our
marriage, and I WOULD NEVER ...ah....uhm....not the
Patrician....he'd...never do..."
Wren: *takes another verbal stab* "Sex?"
Vimes: *Twitches once more.* "Yes. That....do people
really think that I..."
Wren: *nodnodnod* "OH yeah."
VImes: *blinks as he attempts to process this* "And
they think the Patrician would..."
Wren: "In a heartbeat."
Vimes: *blinks once more, stupidified* "...Why??"
Wren: *Considers her answer carefully, as Vimes's
elbow is close to vital organs.* "...Sexual tension
that comes from fighting?"
Vimes: *Facial _Expression - Monsoon. Approaching Rage*
"Y'know, sometimes fighting is ...Just Fighting!"
Wren:*Wondering if this is the end, sees her life
flashing before her eyes. Wishes there had been more
strawberries* "...An extremely valid
point...but...uhm...is breaking my hand going to make
it better?"
Vimes: *Blinks, stares down at the near purple
appendage. Clears his throat* "...Sorry, but you have
to see that THIS.." *and he taps the screen, without
words*
Wren: *rubs her wrist to get feeling back into her
fingers* "I really don't see why you're so tweaked,
dude."
Vimes: *The Sahara Desert might have less dryness.
MIGHT* "Gods. Why would I be. It's not every day one
gets to indulge in one's unrealized nightmares."
Wren: *Raises an eyebrow* "Oh...C'MON. Making love to
Vetinari can't be _that_ distasteful."
Vimes: "What are we comparing it to? Because I can
come up with a pretty long list of 'I'd rather...than
sleep with Vetinari.'"
Wren: "....You are such a tweak. I mean, seriously.
Aren't you the slightest bit curious? *goes a little
dreamy-eyed* "Don't you want to know if underneath all
that black-robed icy rigidity, if there are fiery
passionate kisses just waiting to be discovered?"
Vimes: *Eyebrows slowly reaching his hairline*
"Nooooo, but I'm starting to wonder about _you_."
Wren: *Turns bright red* "Ah...well...heh...but he
does kiss well. You thought so." *Pinned down with a
Vimes snarl, she backpedals* "I mean...in the story!
Which never happened. Right."
*It is the mark of the terminally morbidly curious
that no matter the situation, they have to see to
understand. These are the stubborn people in the
movies who WILL open the door with the killer behind
it, no matter what common sense dictates.*
*Vimes was one of these people. Of course the crazy
killer would really have to be one with the looney bin
to tangle with Vimes-elbow, but that's besides the
point.*
Vimes:*Goes over to one of the spare chairs, and drags
it over to the computer. He settled in, crossing his
arms over his chest* "Right then. I want to figure out
how the writer got me INTO this ... predicament."
Wren: *Blink. Blinkblink.* "You sure?" *hand pauses
over the mouse*
Vimes: *waves his hand, _expression gruff* "Hell no.
Get on with it."
*Wren clicks back to the beginning of the fanfic, and
two head lean over to read. A few noises - mostly
snorts of surprise, some little 'meeps' - escape from
the lips of the readers. Perhaps a half hour later,
both lean back, finished.*
Vimes: *After a rather lengthy pause* "...Well..."
Wren: *Just bobs her head, shell shocked*
Vimes: *Clears his throat, straightens* "Of course,
all other...considerations aside, that's Physically
Impossible. For someone my age."
Wren: *Thoughtful* "Actually, considering the shape
you're in ..." *Trails off at Vimes's _expression*
"...It's completely Impossible! Ppppsht, don't know
what I was thinking. Crazy talk, I tell you! Just
...talking craziness!"
Vimes: *Eying her or a moment, sounds out the phrase
so it is Quite Clear* "Phy-Sic-Al-Ly Im-Pos-Sib-Le."
Wren: *smiles weakly* "Yessir....although I'm sure
Lady Sybil must think otherwise."
Vimes: *A sharp, almost heated smile* "Lady Sybil is
_never_ that demanding....but For Her...I'd attempt
turning myself into a pretzel."
*Neither, alas, had in their _distraction_ smelled
the mixture of tobacco and apples. Nor did they catch
the faint blue glow. They DID, however, yelp like, yes
girls, when a voice seasoned with scrumble and good
humor said* "Pretzels? Do y'got that spicy mustard
then? Makes them taste a right treat."
*And if the first voice was enough to make them yelp,
the second froze the sound in their throats - a voice
of cool rationality coupled with ....Dead and dry
sarcasm.*
"I certainly hope you brought enough for everyone."
Wren: *twitches, turning her head around slowly* "Oh!
Nanny! Susan! Wow, we didn't even HEAR you. Fancy you,
being here...and all...YEAH. No pretzels, though...BUT
I'd love one. Yes. So why don't we all go get
pretzels? Mmmm. Nummy." *Bright babble-driven smile*
Nanny: *with the UNCANNY ability to pick out
embarrassing things with utter ease, beamed widely*
"What yer doin' there?"
Vimes and Wren: *Moving together as one to block the
screen* "Noooth-ing."
Susan:*exchanging a glance with Nanny* "I see. So what
are you _reading_?"
Wren and Vimes: *Panicky glances to one another*
"..Aaah.." *Wherein a mutual telepathic agreement is
reached to what to say.* "Reading? We're not reading.
We're just...talking about pretzels. Mmm. Pretzels."
*Nanny's eyebrows raised together, as Susan's gaze
sharpened like ...well, a scythe. Their gazes met once
more* Nanny: *gives Susan a little encouraging nod*
"After you, dearie."
Susan: *Smiles thinly, bows in turn, and fixes her
razored blue eyes on Wren and Vimes. Then she spoke,
with tones inherited from her mother's side of the
family* "MOVE YOUR BUMS....NOW."
*Wren and Vimes jerked apart as if struck at by
lightening, and with prim little head bobs, Nanny and
Susan moved forward to read. A long silence followed,
wherein Vimes covered his face with both hands, and
Wren squirmed.*
*Finally...*
Susan: *clearing her throat, the three claw marks on
her face clearly visible* "...Well. Congratulations,
Commander. It seems you even defy the laws of
physics."
Vimes: *Hands still Firmly over his face* "...that's
not me..."
Nanny: *taps the screen* "Y'sure? Because it's your
name in there, sayin' 'Ooooh, Havelock, don't stop'
....'n such.."
Vimes: *You can hear the point where the teeth grind
together. Like the squeak chalkboard sound...guuunah.*
"That Isn't Me."
Nanny: *continuing as if she hadn't heard*
"...O'course, it's more like you're _screaming_
Havelock, really.."
Vimes: *Storm Front Broken. Roars Enragedly* "IT ISN'T
ME!!!"
*There is a long moment of silence, as Susan stands
alone, eyes closed against further outburst.*
Wren: *Peers out from the safety that is the Wall of
Susan* "...it's not him, Nanny."
Nanny: *Peering out from the other side of Susan*
"...Right...musta been one of them actor types. Made
up t'sound like you."
Wren: *Firm nodding* "Like that guy who imitated the
Patrician that one time...except....like a porn star
version..."
Susan: *Looking from Nanny to Wren.* "And blatant fear
aside...it doesn't seem to be in your nature to take
anything ...ah ...*Cheeks flush* "...Lying Down."
Vimes: *Grunts, eying the three of them* "And I LOVE
my WIFE."
Wren: "Never in doubt."
Susan:"She's an extremely fortunate woman. Fidelity is
important to a good relationship."
Nanny: "'Specially if yer keepin' yer Bull on the
right side of the fence, n'all."
Vimes: *Sighs, a little. Takes out his cigar case and
lovingly traces the inscription from his wife*
"...Mrs. Ogg, that will NEVER be a problem."
Wren: *walks around and pats Vimes on the arm
comfortingly* "If it's any consolation, there are more
You/Sybil fics than anything else. Really, if anyone
has a reason to be ticked, it's Vetinari."
Vimes: *Snorts* "Oh yes. Pity the man who apparently
_always_ ends up on top."
Wren: *Coughs, as her _expression turns bright red*
"...Funny, you should put it that way..."
*At which point, everyone is now gawping at Wren.
Rather like she grew two heads and starting juggling
chainsaws.*
Nanny: *Slowly* "...Ach, y'wouldn't be sayin' that the
Patrician isnae a stranger to the hay loft, would ye?"
Wren: *twitcies a bit more* "Er...well, it's Implied
that he is rather... experienced."
Vimes: *Looks as if someone just hit him in the face
with a dead fish* "With WHO? Or should I say...what?"
Wren: *tilts her head* "Weee-ll, there are stories
about him and that Lady Margoletta...and there was
this freaky one where he created a wife out of the
leftover Hogsfather belief...of course there's a whole
bunch with him and Rincewind, never figured that one
out...and Drumknot's...of course the ones I think are
rather sweet are the ones with Leonard....What?" *off
their incredulous glances*
Nanny: "Wren...dear...even I have a hard time
believin' someone is THAT good. I mean...he cannae be,
can he?"
Susuan: *contemplatively , her eyes gleaming a bit*
"Oh, I don't know Nanny...he certianly _seems_ virile
enough, And you have to admit he IS attractive..."
Vimes: *Deadpan* "Oh yes. Sexiest Predatory Flamingo
Ever. .. I can't believe people think that Vetinari is
such a...a... a Seamstress!"
Nanny: "...Y'think they actually PAY him?"
*Contemplative herself* "Lotta de riguer."
Wren: *slaps her hand against her forehead*
"...Nanny...he hasn't...except for the vampire. It's
all fiction, remember?"
Vimes: *Shakes his head a little, snorts* "Yeah...for
all We know, he Authorized all these damned stories.
Just to make people wonder."
Susan: *Just a bit sarcastic* "Oyes. Let us be
completely paranoid, Commander, and say he's been
spying on us right now to find out about how we feel
about his sex life."
Wren: "Heh. Yeah. Just sitting there somewhere...
listening to every word we say about him."
*Quiet falls. The sort of quiet where four people
might start looking around warily, and all the shadows
for some reason seem all the more suspicious. There is
the sound of shoes squeaking, as eight feet slowly
creep, then walk, then RUN for the door. There are
sounds of a slight scuffle as they all shove their way
through the hall and out.*
*Quiet remains, even as a slender hand reaches out of
the shadows by the desk, and clicks off the story. A
soft 'whuff' is heard, quieted by the slender hand
reaching up to scratch a small terrier.*
Vetinari: *pets Wuffles fondly* "Quite ridiculous,
Wuffles. Why would I authorize such dribble -- when I
could write it myself?"
*He smiles*
END SCENE - Dum Dum Duuuuuum.
Disclaimer: Discworld doesn't belong to me. If it did, then I'd be a lot richer and could afford to sit around and write all day. All characters within are the sole property of Mr. Terry Pratchett. HOWEVER, Wren, who is me, belongs to me. The man can't have everything, dammit. ALSO all references to other fanfiction belong to the people who wrote 'em. You know who you are, you fabby people you!
All flames, praises, chickens, scorpion pits and Assassins, etc, should be sent to xandergrrl@yahoo.com
````````````
What people have already said about Crazy Talk!
Radar (my dear friend and sister-in-arms): "Wren...coke bubbles just went up my nose."
Carrot Ironfoundersson, of the Watch: "...I'm confused."
Granny Weatherwax: "Can't be having with this nonsense." *Glare*
DEATH: PERFECT. MORE PEOPLE DYING OF LAUGHTER, MORE SOULS TO REAP. BUSY, BUSY, BUSY.
Susan: "...Grandfather, you _shouldn't_ use this fiction as an excuse to up your queue."
DEATH: WE DO HAVE QUOTAS TO MEET TOO, YOU KNOW. MY JOB IS JUST LIKE A DOOR-TO-DOOR SALESMAN. EXCEPT WHEN YOU BUY IT, THERE'S ABSOLUTELY NO-SOUL BACK GUARANTEE.
Wren: "...Wow. Can I quote you on this?"
DEATH: ...VERY WELL. THAT SHOULD HELP CLEAN UP THE BAD IMAGE WE REAPERS SEEM TO GET STUCK WITH. WE'RE REALLY DECENT FOLKS...ONCE YOU LOOK PAST THE SCYTHE AND THE SKULL...YEAH.
Susan: *sighs* "Grandfather, you really DO need to work on your...People Skills."
DEATH: ...ISN'T THAT WHAT THIS JOB IS ALL ABOUT?
~~~~~~~~~~~
Synopsis: What happens when you're drinking Pepsi at two in the
morning, and gawping at Slash fanfiction, and your internal
Vimes muse wakes up. Yes. Insanity follows.
~~~~~~~~~~~
OUR SCENE
*Imagine a room, fairly large. White walls covered
over with pictures, posters, etc. There's a sofa,
several chairs, a coffee table, and a bookcase jammed
with books. There is also a desk. On this desk there
is a computer - with keyboard, mouse, and of course,
screen. The screen is being read intently by Wren.
This is her Imagination.*
Wren: *reading the screen before her, as her
_expression contorts interestingly - from shock, to
more shock, to omigodaretheyreallydoingTHAT?*
"...meeeep..."
Vimes: *Enters Imagination, subconsciously. Meaning -
he was a sneaky bastard and didn't make any noise as
he came up behind Wren.* "What's that, now?"
Wren:*Lets out a girly yelp that shall never be
admitted as being either girly or a yelp.* "JESUS!
...aah....Nothing." *mouse-hand moves to reduce the
window she was reading*
Vimes: *The copper's copper, slaps his hand down on
top of Wren's own. Smiles. Or rather, shows all his
teeth.* "Nothing....what?"
Wren: *Tries moving hand, and realizes the basic
Newton law; an object at rest stays at rest,.
Especially if it's caught in a vice-like grip*
"Nothing...nothing. With ah..." *Free hand tries,
without luck, to release the mouse-hand* "...big
side...of Nothing...you have really STRONG hands.."
Vimes: *As unmovable as the Ankh. Moves Wren's mouse
sans hand. Reopens window. Reads. Moment of silence.
Reads again. STOPS.* "...WHAT IN THE NAME OF IO IS
THIS!!?"
Wren:*trying to cower AND free herself at the same
time.* "....uhm, fan fiction...y'know...a story based
on canon genre..."
Vimes: *Glares.* "I KNOW what it is. I am just
wondering if THAT..." *jabs finger at screen*
"..APPLIES!"
Wren: *clears throat*"Well...it IS canon."
Vimes: *Glare increases intensity, turning a bright
shade of red* "...IT is NOT canon for ME to... ah...
er... I'm in love with my wife!"
Wren: *Quiet* "...'kay..." *pause* "...Doesn't mean
you wouldn't..."
Vimes: *Glares. Facial _expression - stormy. Possible
bellowing* "I...Love...Sybil. And THAT means
my....ahem, ah...habits of..."
Wren: *takes a wild verbal stab in the dark* "Sex?"
Vimes:*Entire Facial Twitch* "...Yes, that are hers,
and hers alone. I am completely dedicate to our
marriage, and I WOULD NEVER ...ah....uhm....not the
Patrician....he'd...never do..."
Wren: *takes another verbal stab* "Sex?"
Vimes: *Twitches once more.* "Yes. That....do people
really think that I..."
Wren: *nodnodnod* "OH yeah."
VImes: *blinks as he attempts to process this* "And
they think the Patrician would..."
Wren: "In a heartbeat."
Vimes: *blinks once more, stupidified* "...Why??"
Wren: *Considers her answer carefully, as Vimes's
elbow is close to vital organs.* "...Sexual tension
that comes from fighting?"
Vimes: *Facial _Expression - Monsoon. Approaching Rage*
"Y'know, sometimes fighting is ...Just Fighting!"
Wren:*Wondering if this is the end, sees her life
flashing before her eyes. Wishes there had been more
strawberries* "...An extremely valid
point...but...uhm...is breaking my hand going to make
it better?"
Vimes: *Blinks, stares down at the near purple
appendage. Clears his throat* "...Sorry, but you have
to see that THIS.." *and he taps the screen, without
words*
Wren: *rubs her wrist to get feeling back into her
fingers* "I really don't see why you're so tweaked,
dude."
Vimes: *The Sahara Desert might have less dryness.
MIGHT* "Gods. Why would I be. It's not every day one
gets to indulge in one's unrealized nightmares."
Wren: *Raises an eyebrow* "Oh...C'MON. Making love to
Vetinari can't be _that_ distasteful."
Vimes: "What are we comparing it to? Because I can
come up with a pretty long list of 'I'd rather...than
sleep with Vetinari.'"
Wren: "....You are such a tweak. I mean, seriously.
Aren't you the slightest bit curious? *goes a little
dreamy-eyed* "Don't you want to know if underneath all
that black-robed icy rigidity, if there are fiery
passionate kisses just waiting to be discovered?"
Vimes: *Eyebrows slowly reaching his hairline*
"Nooooo, but I'm starting to wonder about _you_."
Wren: *Turns bright red* "Ah...well...heh...but he
does kiss well. You thought so." *Pinned down with a
Vimes snarl, she backpedals* "I mean...in the story!
Which never happened. Right."
*It is the mark of the terminally morbidly curious
that no matter the situation, they have to see to
understand. These are the stubborn people in the
movies who WILL open the door with the killer behind
it, no matter what common sense dictates.*
*Vimes was one of these people. Of course the crazy
killer would really have to be one with the looney bin
to tangle with Vimes-elbow, but that's besides the
point.*
Vimes:*Goes over to one of the spare chairs, and drags
it over to the computer. He settled in, crossing his
arms over his chest* "Right then. I want to figure out
how the writer got me INTO this ... predicament."
Wren: *Blink. Blinkblink.* "You sure?" *hand pauses
over the mouse*
Vimes: *waves his hand, _expression gruff* "Hell no.
Get on with it."
*Wren clicks back to the beginning of the fanfic, and
two head lean over to read. A few noises - mostly
snorts of surprise, some little 'meeps' - escape from
the lips of the readers. Perhaps a half hour later,
both lean back, finished.*
Vimes: *After a rather lengthy pause* "...Well..."
Wren: *Just bobs her head, shell shocked*
Vimes: *Clears his throat, straightens* "Of course,
all other...considerations aside, that's Physically
Impossible. For someone my age."
Wren: *Thoughtful* "Actually, considering the shape
you're in ..." *Trails off at Vimes's _expression*
"...It's completely Impossible! Ppppsht, don't know
what I was thinking. Crazy talk, I tell you! Just
...talking craziness!"
Vimes: *Eying her or a moment, sounds out the phrase
so it is Quite Clear* "Phy-Sic-Al-Ly Im-Pos-Sib-Le."
Wren: *smiles weakly* "Yessir....although I'm sure
Lady Sybil must think otherwise."
Vimes: *A sharp, almost heated smile* "Lady Sybil is
_never_ that demanding....but For Her...I'd attempt
turning myself into a pretzel."
*Neither, alas, had in their _distraction_ smelled
the mixture of tobacco and apples. Nor did they catch
the faint blue glow. They DID, however, yelp like, yes
girls, when a voice seasoned with scrumble and good
humor said* "Pretzels? Do y'got that spicy mustard
then? Makes them taste a right treat."
*And if the first voice was enough to make them yelp,
the second froze the sound in their throats - a voice
of cool rationality coupled with ....Dead and dry
sarcasm.*
"I certainly hope you brought enough for everyone."
Wren: *twitches, turning her head around slowly* "Oh!
Nanny! Susan! Wow, we didn't even HEAR you. Fancy you,
being here...and all...YEAH. No pretzels, though...BUT
I'd love one. Yes. So why don't we all go get
pretzels? Mmmm. Nummy." *Bright babble-driven smile*
Nanny: *with the UNCANNY ability to pick out
embarrassing things with utter ease, beamed widely*
"What yer doin' there?"
Vimes and Wren: *Moving together as one to block the
screen* "Noooth-ing."
Susan:*exchanging a glance with Nanny* "I see. So what
are you _reading_?"
Wren and Vimes: *Panicky glances to one another*
"..Aaah.." *Wherein a mutual telepathic agreement is
reached to what to say.* "Reading? We're not reading.
We're just...talking about pretzels. Mmm. Pretzels."
*Nanny's eyebrows raised together, as Susan's gaze
sharpened like ...well, a scythe. Their gazes met once
more* Nanny: *gives Susan a little encouraging nod*
"After you, dearie."
Susan: *Smiles thinly, bows in turn, and fixes her
razored blue eyes on Wren and Vimes. Then she spoke,
with tones inherited from her mother's side of the
family* "MOVE YOUR BUMS....NOW."
*Wren and Vimes jerked apart as if struck at by
lightening, and with prim little head bobs, Nanny and
Susan moved forward to read. A long silence followed,
wherein Vimes covered his face with both hands, and
Wren squirmed.*
*Finally...*
Susan: *clearing her throat, the three claw marks on
her face clearly visible* "...Well. Congratulations,
Commander. It seems you even defy the laws of
physics."
Vimes: *Hands still Firmly over his face* "...that's
not me..."
Nanny: *taps the screen* "Y'sure? Because it's your
name in there, sayin' 'Ooooh, Havelock, don't stop'
....'n such.."
Vimes: *You can hear the point where the teeth grind
together. Like the squeak chalkboard sound...guuunah.*
"That Isn't Me."
Nanny: *continuing as if she hadn't heard*
"...O'course, it's more like you're _screaming_
Havelock, really.."
Vimes: *Storm Front Broken. Roars Enragedly* "IT ISN'T
ME!!!"
*There is a long moment of silence, as Susan stands
alone, eyes closed against further outburst.*
Wren: *Peers out from the safety that is the Wall of
Susan* "...it's not him, Nanny."
Nanny: *Peering out from the other side of Susan*
"...Right...musta been one of them actor types. Made
up t'sound like you."
Wren: *Firm nodding* "Like that guy who imitated the
Patrician that one time...except....like a porn star
version..."
Susan: *Looking from Nanny to Wren.* "And blatant fear
aside...it doesn't seem to be in your nature to take
anything ...ah ...*Cheeks flush* "...Lying Down."
Vimes: *Grunts, eying the three of them* "And I LOVE
my WIFE."
Wren: "Never in doubt."
Susan:"She's an extremely fortunate woman. Fidelity is
important to a good relationship."
Nanny: "'Specially if yer keepin' yer Bull on the
right side of the fence, n'all."
Vimes: *Sighs, a little. Takes out his cigar case and
lovingly traces the inscription from his wife*
"...Mrs. Ogg, that will NEVER be a problem."
Wren: *walks around and pats Vimes on the arm
comfortingly* "If it's any consolation, there are more
You/Sybil fics than anything else. Really, if anyone
has a reason to be ticked, it's Vetinari."
Vimes: *Snorts* "Oh yes. Pity the man who apparently
_always_ ends up on top."
Wren: *Coughs, as her _expression turns bright red*
"...Funny, you should put it that way..."
*At which point, everyone is now gawping at Wren.
Rather like she grew two heads and starting juggling
chainsaws.*
Nanny: *Slowly* "...Ach, y'wouldn't be sayin' that the
Patrician isnae a stranger to the hay loft, would ye?"
Wren: *twitcies a bit more* "Er...well, it's Implied
that he is rather... experienced."
Vimes: *Looks as if someone just hit him in the face
with a dead fish* "With WHO? Or should I say...what?"
Wren: *tilts her head* "Weee-ll, there are stories
about him and that Lady Margoletta...and there was
this freaky one where he created a wife out of the
leftover Hogsfather belief...of course there's a whole
bunch with him and Rincewind, never figured that one
out...and Drumknot's...of course the ones I think are
rather sweet are the ones with Leonard....What?" *off
their incredulous glances*
Nanny: "Wren...dear...even I have a hard time
believin' someone is THAT good. I mean...he cannae be,
can he?"
Susuan: *contemplatively , her eyes gleaming a bit*
"Oh, I don't know Nanny...he certianly _seems_ virile
enough, And you have to admit he IS attractive..."
Vimes: *Deadpan* "Oh yes. Sexiest Predatory Flamingo
Ever. .. I can't believe people think that Vetinari is
such a...a... a Seamstress!"
Nanny: "...Y'think they actually PAY him?"
*Contemplative herself* "Lotta de riguer."
Wren: *slaps her hand against her forehead*
"...Nanny...he hasn't...except for the vampire. It's
all fiction, remember?"
Vimes: *Shakes his head a little, snorts* "Yeah...for
all We know, he Authorized all these damned stories.
Just to make people wonder."
Susan: *Just a bit sarcastic* "Oyes. Let us be
completely paranoid, Commander, and say he's been
spying on us right now to find out about how we feel
about his sex life."
Wren: "Heh. Yeah. Just sitting there somewhere...
listening to every word we say about him."
*Quiet falls. The sort of quiet where four people
might start looking around warily, and all the shadows
for some reason seem all the more suspicious. There is
the sound of shoes squeaking, as eight feet slowly
creep, then walk, then RUN for the door. There are
sounds of a slight scuffle as they all shove their way
through the hall and out.*
*Quiet remains, even as a slender hand reaches out of
the shadows by the desk, and clicks off the story. A
soft 'whuff' is heard, quieted by the slender hand
reaching up to scratch a small terrier.*
Vetinari: *pets Wuffles fondly* "Quite ridiculous,
Wuffles. Why would I authorize such dribble -- when I
could write it myself?"
*He smiles*
END SCENE - Dum Dum Duuuuuum.