Sir Dibbler
Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler was having a good day, for once. He'd managed to sell one of his pies with the mystery chewy bits, and a few of his sausages inna bun, and the strange thing about this was that they'd come back for more. It must've been the most money he'd made in a single day. He could remember they were very odd people, but the memory was blurred in his mind, and he couldn't quite focus on their faces.
He'd reached Small Gods street. Throat Dibbler looked at all of his possible customers, carying the money that eas rightfully his, and shouted; "Fresh sausages, so fresh the pig don't even know they're gone!" The people, who knew C.M.O.T Dibbler's assorted meat tray all too well, took no notice.
Dissapointed, he glanced up at the sky, possibly to pray to any god who was willing to buy anything from him. Dibbler looked down at his assorted meat tray. He was sure he hadn't eaten one. He looked up again. I must be going mad, he thought. The sky was... broken... There was a chunk of sky missing. That's not right, the sky can't do that. Probably a law against it, the Patrician'll sort it out. Hm... maybe he should tell the Patrician. Yeah, he'll probably get knighted or something. Sir Dibbler's sausages inna bun would sell like... well, hot buns.
Tell the Patrician!
Fanatics. If there was one thing Sergeant Fred Colon hated, it was fanatics, spreading rumors and shouting about Apocralypse this and Gods that. Unlawful wasting of Watch time, if you ask me, he thought. He was reclining on a wall, enjoying a smoke in the hot weather.
"The sky! The sky!" came the cry of unlawful wasting of Watch time. Although reclining on a wall and smoking isn't actual Watch time, Sergeant Colon was in the Watch, and he was on duty, so therefore whatever he did was Watch time to him. So he decided to do something. And that was to move to another one of is favorite reclining spots. No point on trying to stop fanatics, when you could just wait for him to calm down and then lock him up for the night to teach him a lesson. Unfortunatey for him, the prospect of a calm, relaxing day was wiped out by C.M.O.T Dibbler barelling into him at full speed. Dibbler stared into his eyes and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him violently.
"The sky is breaking! We must tell the Patrician!"
"Y-o-u w-h-a-t?" Dibbler thrust his finger upwards.
"The sky is breaking!" Sergeant Colon looked upwards and rubbed his eyes in disbelief. There were two black circles in the sky.
"So it is..." he breathed.
"We must tell the Patrician!" Colon looked at Dibbler with a look of determination. Completely forgetting about his wall and almost swallowing his pipe he shouted;
"You're right! Come on, it's this way!" and the two of them ran in the direction of the Patrician's Palace. The crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle dispersed into the thriving streets of Ankh-Morpork. Some bought some mysterious powdery items off shady dealers in dark alleyways, others went to seek mental counseling from their supposed psychiatrists.
