Thanks again so much to Sweetest-Sammy or beta-ing. You're the best!!! :D
Disclaimers: I don't own Dicsworld or any of its characters, they all belong to the great Terry Pratchett. However, I do own most of the books :P
Right, sorry if this gets pushed to the top of the page, I just figure out how to fix the formatting :D
Vetinari roosted behind his desk and stared over his steepled fingers at His Grace, The Duke of Ankh Sir Samuel Vimes, Commander of the City Watch.
His appeared to be slightly disheveled, more so than usual. His uniform was in tatters where usually there was only one or two tears unmended. The
breastplate was discarded, torn into so many pounds of useless metal where usually a few dents marred its admittedly usually dull surface. His lip was
bleeding, disfiguring his worrying smile.
"Would you care to repeat that, Commander?" Vetinari asked, his eyebrows rising in uncommon surprise. "You claim that Sergeant Detritus, who is, if I
may clarify, a rather large troll currently in your employ. You claim that he would like, and I quote, 'compension' What exactly do you mean Commander?"
Vimes smile remained in place.
"Compension, sir, is money provided by the employer for physical and\or emotional injury." Vetinari raised an eyebrow.
"This was caused to him when the watch house collapsed on him sir." Vimes continued, running his hand through his hair and wincing as a splinter caught
in the skin of his index finger.
Vetinari smiled blandly and Vimes tried to suppress a wince, this was about to get ugly.
"First, I believe what Sergeant Detritus may be referring to is compensation which is an Agatean concept similar to their 'insurance'" Vetinari began.
"Second, compensation is not required in this situation because the watch house's collapse was facillitated by the good Sergeant tripping over and
demolishing one of the walls."
The silence in the room was heavy for a moment as Vimes stared at Vetinari before spinning on his heel and striding from the Oval Office. Vetinari cocked
his head to the side and moments later was rewarded with a heavy thud. His lips curved into a small smile and he stood, moving to the wall where he
examined the dent in the wall.
He moved back to his desk and waited patiently for Drunkott. The chief clerk moved around the room, tidying up and fetching the relevant folders.
"Why do you suppose he does it Drumknott."
"Does what sir."
"Punches the wall."
"Couldn't say." Vetinari sighed. It was his uninventive and uninquiring ways that made Drumknott such a perfect servant and yet sometimes it stifled
conversation.
"I suppose it's his way of dealing with me." The Partician mused to himself. "He punches the wall to avoid punching me." Drumknott didn't reply. "Oh and
Drumknott, I think we had better send for the plasterers. Again"