DICLAIMER: I don't own anything you recognise here apart from all the Discworld's books and most of the Motley Crue's albums.
A/N: This is a crossover with the Terry Pratchett's Discworld series. Since not many people visit the crossover's section I decided to move this story in here. I know the summary focuses on Jack, but there will be much more happening than a story about Jack Harkness in here I promise.
I finally have beta for this story so I'm going to re-post the chapters and maybe have some inspiration to keep writing it. I want to say thank you to my beta Brownbug for all her hard work. I don't know how I can ever make it up to her really. You are an angel girl, you know that?
It was a dark and stormy night. The sort of night in which strange and secret things happen. A night in which the ghosts come out to haunt the castles and the living. The kind of night when witches dance around fires, some of them naked some gratefully for our audience not.
We plead with our reader to excuse the use of the clichés in the beginning of this story, but clichés here are unavoidable. And indeed it was night, hence it was dark, and it did rain, therefore it was stormy. So it was a dark and stormy night. And here we have to go into another cliché - there were four shadowy figures coming out of the surrounding shadows, wearing black cloaks, carrying a bag which appeared very heavy, in the shape of what appeared to be a body. And here is where our hero and heroine come into the story.
They weren't your average clichéd hero and heroine at all. The hero was more of a man that looked like someone who had just come out from a night in a really suspicious bar, and who suffered from a permanent hangover. As for our heroine, she was a bimbo blonde, with the look of a woman who needs to use all the available make-up in the store in attempt to hide her age and appear 20. Her chest could put to shame a barrage balloon and you could put your cup of tea on her rear end and it would stay still. She looked like a woman who needs a tent sized dress to cover her chest, but what she wears instead is just a bit longer than a leather belt. Despite all this, or maybe because of it, our hero could never keep his eyes or hands away from our heroine. Keeping to the shadows of the towering buildings, our heroes watched quietly, quite frankly frightened, while the four suspicious persons in black dumped the bag on the street and looked around to make sure no one had seen them.
"I wish the Guild of Assassins had stuck to doing the job the classic way. When I signed up, no-one told me that I'd have to dispose of the bodies like this. Where's the honour and the fame in this?" a deep baritone voice came from one of the black figures.
"Shut up! Don't talk about the Assassin's Guild, you don't know who might hear you! We don't want anyone to connect this to us and if Lord Vetinary hears you complaining about his school, he's going to find you a fine place!" came a little squeaky frightened voice from another of the dark figures.
"Well, he wasn't the one to mention His Excellency's name," came a third voice. And in a puff of smoke (sorry about yet another cliché, but we need it), the four black figures were gone, leaving behind the human-shaped bag and two very confused figures cowering in the shadows.
Our hero was the first to collect enough courage to come out of hiding and, despite knowing that he should not put his nose where it could get sticky, he made his way over to check on the mysterious bag. And, because curiosity your name is Tommy, and trouble your surname is Lee, our hero did not feel satisfied to only sneak a glance at the dumped baggage, he had to go and poke it too.
Our heroine - well, seeing as we already have a name for our hero, we probably shouldn't keep on calling her 'our heroine', but should reveal her name as well - so our heroine, whom from now on we should call Pamela Anderson, closed the space between her and Tommy with stereotypical blonde (we want our blonde readers to excuse us) stupid curiosity. After a moment of nothing significant happening, there was another ping and a puff, and our heroes were gone much the same way the black figures had disappeared not long ago. Gone was the bag too.
"What the hell just happened?" squeaked Pamela in fright, clinging to Tommy's hand and not moving her gaze off the suspicious bag, that despite their change of location was still at their feet.
"I don't know," Tommy answered, looking around and not recognising the place. They clearly weren't in the same place they were in a few seconds ago. "But I don't think we're in Kansas any more, Dorothy."
"My name's not Dorothy!" the blond bimbo pouted, confused.
"I know that!" Tommy huffed. "It's just a joke." He looked to see if his wife understood but met only a blank look. "Oh, never mind, forget it."
There was a movement from the bag and a voice came from within it. "Well, are you going to finally open this thing and help me out, or are you just going to stand there wondering how you got here and leave me to suffocate? Because I'll let you know that if I suffocate and die you'll have to wait for another half an hour to ask me about this place."
Tommy looked at Pamela with raised eyebrows. "Did you hear something?"
She pointed at the bag and shook her head. "I…I…I t-think the body in the bag talked."
"Don't be ridiculous! If I was a body I wouldn't be able to talk," came the impatient masculine voice again.
"See!" Pamela squeaked and jumped back.
"But bags can't talk!" Tommy shouted at the bag, but went nevertheless to open it and see what was there and why it was talking instead of staying dead and quiet as every decent dead body should do. Upon opening the bag, a handsome man sprang to his feet, frightening the life out of the couple.
"Now then, that's better!" he exclaimed with a grin, as he put out his hand to shake theirs. "I'm Captain Jack Harkness, and who might you be, gorgeous?"
