'Twas the Night Before Hogswatch
Pairing: Sam Vimes / Sybil Ramkin
Rating: K+
Summary: It's the night before Hogswatch, and all is most definitely not still!
A/N: I had to wrack my brains to think of suitable Hogswatch Carols, ones that I wouldn't need to totally rewrite! I hope the ones that I selected are suitable, if not, well, the mistake is mine. I don't even know whether people on Discworld sing carols – for the purpose of this fic, they are anyway. So, suspend your disbelief for a minute and enjoy!
Disclaimer: The genius is Pterry. The mistakes are mine.
It was the night before Hogswatch and all was still….
"No, no, no Sergeant. You're starting too early…"
It was the night before Hogswatch and all was still…
"Sybil, do we have to?"
It was the night before Hogswatch and all was still…
"Really, Sam, you know why."
"But, this is just ridiculous!"
It was the night before…oh I give up….
The lights in the Ghastly Pink Drawing Room at Commander Vimes' residence on Scoone Avenue were blazing, the fire was roaring in the grate courtesy of 'the boy' (Vimes had been amazed to discover that 'the boy' was actually an official position), and the reflected firelight was dancing off the armour of the awkwardly assembled Watchmen.
Sergeant Colon was sweating gently as he cringed away from the formidable presence of his Commander's wife. Nobby was standing smartly to attention, even his usually grimy breastplate showed occasional hints of gleam and he was scrutinizing the paper in his hand with every sign of engrossment. For his part, Commander Vimes nurtured uncharitable thoughts about his Corporal. Carrot loomed apologetically in the middle of the line-up, his habitual stoop now even more apparent as he crinkled his brow in concentration, the redness creeping self consciously up his neck.
Vimes allowed his eyes to wander down the line. Detritus, ye gods, she asked Detritus, he thought to himself in renewed horror. The piece of paper looked like a speck of confetti in Detritus' huge paw, his deep rumbling voice sounding like boulders mating.
"Duh-eh-kuh ter-her huh-all-ess wuh-it bee-ow-urgh-s oo hur-luh-ee…" he rumbled, several minutes and a lifetime of phonic torture behind everyone else.
Cheery Littlebottom stood at the end of the line, her face pink behind her beard as she stared horrified at the offending paper. Aghast, she looked up at Lady Sybil.
"Um, I can't, I mean, I don't know any –" Cheery's voice trailed away.
Lady Sybil herself was standing in front of them with a look of exasperation.
"Really," she was saying. "It really isn't that difficult."
Sergeant Colon was looking guilty as he crumpled the sheet of paper reflexively in his pudgy fingers.
Vimes smirked at Colon's discomfiture, before hastily wiping the smile from his face, afraid that Sybil might single him out for a solo.
"Right," she said firmly. "Let's try again, shall we? And really try this time!" She gave the line of Watchmen a brilliant smile as she seated herself behind the antique Pianoforte (a Bloody Stupid) and enthusiastically played the introduction, pausing briefly to indicate the start of the melody.
As one, six Watchmen opened their mouths and began a hearty rendition of 'Deck the halls with boughs of holly.'
"Deck the halls with boughs of holl-eeeee," Colon sang in a rather pleasant baritone, marred only by his total tone deafness. He peered earnestly at his sheet, pausing to wipe the accumulated perspiration from his neck.
Nobby plunged into the refrain, always a fraction of a second before everyone else. Vimes glared at him. Like the off-tick in Vetinari's office, Nobby's split second eagerness to start before the rest of them was really grating on him. He resisted the urge to wrap his hands around Nobby's neck and gripped his sheet of music tighter.
"Fa la la la la, la la la la!" Nobby trilled, in a surprisingly high voice.
"Tis the season to be jolly," Carrot managed, tracing his finger along the line of text. Like his ballistic approach to punctuation and his tortured letter writing, Carrot had no ear for a tune and pitched his voice in the same manner he used punctuation. Haphazardly, with no logic, he opened his mouth and hoped for the best. The result bore a distressing resemblance to a group of alley cats fighting.
"Fa la la la la, la la la la!" Staring straight ahead, studiously avoiding the slightly smirking face of his wife, Vimes brought up the refrain.
He prided himself on actually being able to sing in tune, although if anyone ever mentioned this particular event outside of this room, he would personally petition His Lordship for personal use of his scorpion pit. Everyone else was too wreathed in their own private embarrassment to notice very much, he was pleased to note.
"Well, that wasn't too bad, was it?" Lady Sybil fiddled with a recalcitrant knob on the Pianoforte, trying unsuccessfully to stop the manic cackling laughter and creaking doors that had accompanied the playing. Frowning, she abandoned the instrument and stepped in front of the beet-red Watchmen, apart from Detritus, who, with the inevitability of a landslide, was patiently intoning his way to the bottom.
"Fa la la la la, la la la la!" He grunted, in an agony of recall.
"Now that we are all familiar with the carol, is everyone ready to go caroling?" She smiled at them all. Somehow, her infectious good humour permeated the clouds of embarrassment and several small nods bobbed along the line. As she chivvied them towards the door, Vimes hung back.
"Thank you," she murmured to her husband, with a soft smile. He smiled back, and squeezed her hand.
"I couldn't refuse, not really, considering what it's for." She gave him a bright smile in reply.
An evening singing carols at the Lady Sybil Free Hospital was a small price to pay for her smile.
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