The Ankh-Morpork Connection
This is a new idea for me, one that I have been thinking of for a while. It is likely that I will be pretty much coming up with ideas as I write, so if I go horrendously off-track, let me know!
So, what is this fic all about? Well, it is set in the Noir genre. I know that there is continuing debate about what exactly constitutes Noir, so the elements that I am adopting are as follows. The cynical, hard-boiled detective, the femme fatale, cynicism and sexual motivations. Think low lighting, rainy nights, flickering street lamps set against the backdrop of gangs and mob/mafia with overtones of hopelessness, blackness or pessimism.
Rating: T potentially
Disclaimer: Sadly they are not mine. Pterry must take all credit. I just take them out for a short stroll every now and again.
Note: AU. No spoilers.
This is AU. All characters are taken out of their comfort zone and treated to a hefty dose of artistic license… That being said, I am trying to remain faithful as much as I can to the Discworld tradition.
Chapter One
The rain continued to fall. It was the kind of rain that soaked you to the skin no matter what you wore. Sam 'Stoneface' Vimes leant against the door frame of the Ankh-Morpork Detective Agency and glared up at the darkening, cloud laden sky as he chewed on the stub of cigarette. Grand, unoriginal, name, slightly shoddy building, housed as it was down a dark alleyway and entrance was gained through a non-descript door that needed a fresh coat of paint and flight of steps so worn in the middle that you were liable to slip sideways in wet weather. Vimes wasn't bothered, the company had made a modest profit in the year that it had been operational and the hard to find building ensured he wasn't bothered by people who weren't serious.
He tipped his hat slightly further down his forehead to provide slightly more cover and sucked deeply on the evil dogend. He sighed and flicked the glowing butt into a puddle at his feet as he turned back into the flickering light of the doorway.
"Morning, boss," Fred 'Slim' Colon greeted Vimes the next morning. Vimes nodded and headed for the small kitchenette area of the main office, intent on a strong coffee. It was a peculiar quirk that 'Slim' Colon was something of a rotund figure of a man, but he was an excellent assistant detective.
"Anything happen this morning, Slim?" Vimes asked as he sank into a chair opposite Colon scrutinizing his coffee cup. It seemed intent on crawling up the sides.
"Ye gods," he muttered. "Do something with that coffee machine will you?"
"Well," the other man paused. "I dunno, really, it's nothing to do with us, but…"
Vimes sighed. "Slim, just spit it out will ya?" He rubbed a hand wearily across his face, the stubble rasping under his fingers.
Slim's portly face creased into a worried frown, the ever-present small beads of sweat on his forehead beginning to trickle down the bridge of his nose. He rubbed one hand worriedly across his ample stomach, pulling at the front of his white shirt.
"Well," he began again, "I just heard, like, someone shot The Grudge, last night, outside the Bunch of Grapes."
Vimes's mouth dropped open. "Someone actually shot The Grudge? Have they got a death wish?"
Vimes's mind raced. Whilst not actually impacting on them as an agency, keeping an ear to the ground proved to be useful. Most of the illegal trade in and out of the city went through The Grudge, amongst others. What stymied what passed for the law in Ankh-Morpork, was that it happened behind the façade of legitimate business, and as a result The Grudge got richer with impunity. He was also more than rich enough to bribe whomever he pleased. Vimes suspected that he continued bribing until he discovered the price someone was willing to sell his grandmother for.
Yet now someone had turned. Vimes felt his stomach begin to gently churn. He really wished he didn't know what the future held.
Any comments on this new idea? Tell me!