The room is small: basically non-descript save for two large armchairs. I plop down in the unoccupied one, curl my legs up beneath me and pull out a notepad, silently studying his face.
He glances sideways at me as he lights his cigar and takes a few puffs...
"So, Sir Samuel..." I begin, "you haven't done much of this kind of thing before- with whom are you interested in working?"
"Well, you do know I'm a married man-", (he gets a preoccupied, somewhat nervous look in his eye), "what about Sybil?"
I mull this over. "Well, Sir Samuel, think of it like the Trousers of Time. You just haven't met Lady Sybil in some of these particular legs."
He manages to look both relieved and more apprehensive at the same time. "So, you're telling me I can be with anyone I want? In any sort of reality?"
"Basically, yes, Commander, though I'd like to keep somewhat close to Mr. Pratchett's version of things."
"Hmmm... first off, if we're to have any kind of business relationship, leave off the damn titles. Call me Sam."
I nod gratefully- there are so many to remember. "Second", he pauses,"well- I've always wondered if old Vetinari was human enough to..." He trails off, looking around for hidden listeners.
"To... what?" I prod. He grins, teeth clamped around his cigar and leans in conspiratorially, "Shag someone senseless, for one."
"Sam!" I feign offended shock. He chuckles in a very disarming, nearly evil way, and I shiver a bit, remembering his intoxicating self assured cunning. It's the reason I wanted to write about him in the first place. I recall my wits, and nod, keeping his gaze. "If that's what you want, then I shall give you the chance to find out. I've always wondered if the positively submissive appellation 'Vetinari's Terrier' would extend to a more... personal level."
Now it's his turn to feign surprise at my audacity. "My dear Sophist, I assure you Sam Vimes can hold his own."
"We'll see about that. Well, I guess we're done here." I abrubtly get up to leave.
"Wait! Is that all? What do I do now?", he asks, stubbing out his cigar hurriedly, grabbing my arm and looking me directly in the face. I let out a tiny (hopefully inaudible) sigh before answering as steadily as possible.
"You'll know. Just get back to your office, Sam." Unable to resist, I place my hand under his chin and gaze back into those cool grey eyes. "I have to consult my muses and plot bunnies now, but I expect you'll be hearing from our beloved Patrician sometime *very* soon. Bye!" I whisk out of the room before he can stop me, off to combine his fate with that of the infamous Lord Havelock Vetinari, Patrician Extraordinaire.
sigh.
fic coming soon.
He glances sideways at me as he lights his cigar and takes a few puffs...
"So, Sir Samuel..." I begin, "you haven't done much of this kind of thing before- with whom are you interested in working?"
"Well, you do know I'm a married man-", (he gets a preoccupied, somewhat nervous look in his eye), "what about Sybil?"
I mull this over. "Well, Sir Samuel, think of it like the Trousers of Time. You just haven't met Lady Sybil in some of these particular legs."
He manages to look both relieved and more apprehensive at the same time. "So, you're telling me I can be with anyone I want? In any sort of reality?"
"Basically, yes, Commander, though I'd like to keep somewhat close to Mr. Pratchett's version of things."
"Hmmm... first off, if we're to have any kind of business relationship, leave off the damn titles. Call me Sam."
I nod gratefully- there are so many to remember. "Second", he pauses,"well- I've always wondered if old Vetinari was human enough to..." He trails off, looking around for hidden listeners.
"To... what?" I prod. He grins, teeth clamped around his cigar and leans in conspiratorially, "Shag someone senseless, for one."
"Sam!" I feign offended shock. He chuckles in a very disarming, nearly evil way, and I shiver a bit, remembering his intoxicating self assured cunning. It's the reason I wanted to write about him in the first place. I recall my wits, and nod, keeping his gaze. "If that's what you want, then I shall give you the chance to find out. I've always wondered if the positively submissive appellation 'Vetinari's Terrier' would extend to a more... personal level."
Now it's his turn to feign surprise at my audacity. "My dear Sophist, I assure you Sam Vimes can hold his own."
"We'll see about that. Well, I guess we're done here." I abrubtly get up to leave.
"Wait! Is that all? What do I do now?", he asks, stubbing out his cigar hurriedly, grabbing my arm and looking me directly in the face. I let out a tiny (hopefully inaudible) sigh before answering as steadily as possible.
"You'll know. Just get back to your office, Sam." Unable to resist, I place my hand under his chin and gaze back into those cool grey eyes. "I have to consult my muses and plot bunnies now, but I expect you'll be hearing from our beloved Patrician sometime *very* soon. Bye!" I whisk out of the room before he can stop me, off to combine his fate with that of the infamous Lord Havelock Vetinari, Patrician Extraordinaire.
sigh.
fic coming soon.