The Politics of. . .: ch. 1: Wizard-napping (version 2.0)
by Tinselcat
Summary: poor Rincewind has a problem. . .
Rated: PG for language
Disclaimer: Rincewind, The Luggage, Ankh-Morpork, Death and his horse Binky are all creations and property of Terry Pratchett. No profit is being obtained from use of these characters. Brian and Osten are my creations and property.
Notes: alright, I realize a lot of people were expecting another chapter, but a reviewer pointed out to me that nothing can harm Sapient Pearwood. However, Brian has to get past the problem of the luggage, for plot reasons. So I liberally applied my Creative Writer's license and created a new species of dragon. I hope that doesn't upset too many people.
**********************
Rincewind was miserable.
Granted, this wasn't uncommon, in his case. The only difference between his current misery and the sort of miserable tent under which he constantly huddled was that he had a much more distinct reason to be miserable than the fact that he was born. He looked across the innocent-looking stretch of bare dirt on the forest floor. His eyes travelled from the spot of dirt to the rusty, pitted sword that lay beside it.
the dirt sort of burped in a contented manner. The Luggage shifted its weight from one set of feet to another, resulting in a thoughtful creaking sound.
I SAY, GOOD SHOW. Complimented Death from his perch in a nearby tree. He whipped a small notebook from within his robes, along with a pen, NOW, WHAT WAS THAT? NUMBER THREE IN AS MANY DAYS?
"go away." Said Rincewind, turning away from the spot of dirt which had, until quite recently been occupied by a thick, muscular barbarian-type who waved around a rusy, pitted sword and uttered dreadful threats in Rincewind's direction.
REALLY, I'VE NEVER SEEN THE LIKE, continued Death amiably, THAT'S THREE PROFFESIONAL ASSASSINS DISPATCHED IN AS MANY DAYS. YOU SEEM TO HAVE A TALENT FOR THIS. IF ANYONE WANTS A DANGEROUS PERSON BUMPED OFF, ALL THEY NEED DO IS SEND HIM AFTER YOU.
"I didn't mean to!" Rincewind whined, "I jumped over the quick-dirt, he stepped in it and sank. It's not my fault!"
BUT STILL, THIS MUST BE SOME KIND OF RECORD. JUST LOOK AT MY NOTEBOOK, Death thrust the dog-eared little spiral-bound notebook toward Rincewind who could see that it was just packed with Death's neat handwriting. A COMPLETE ACCOUNT OF THE NUMBER OF TIMES YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED, BUT DIDN'T. TRULY INTREGUING. . .
"please leave me alone now." Rincewind pleaded with the spectre that walked in time with him.
VERY WELL. HOWEVER, I WOULD PONDER THIS ASSASSIN PROBLEM, IF I WERE YOU. VERY IRREGULAR.
"I'll do that. Leave now."
AS YOU WISH. Death gave a whistle which sounded like wind through leaf-bare branches, and his magnificent white charger trotted toward him. Swinging himself into Binky's saddle, Death silently rode into the sky.
"he's right, you know." Said Rincewind to no one in particular, "three assassins in three days is strange." He sighed. For the upteenth time that day he asked himself "why me?"
the Luggage snapped its lid on a bug, seeming content to simply amble along beside its master and enjoy what was truly a beautiful afternoon. The sun was out, it wasn't too warm, and a breeze played tag among the tree branches.
Rincewind pondered his life for the past month. Everything seemed like a blur. One minute he was enjoying the rank smell of Ankh-Morpork, the next he had fallen afoul of some shady characters he'd met in an equally shady bar, and the moment he poked his head into the city, it was liable to be chopped off. It was certainly possible that the gang had been responsible for the recent attempts on his life, but these were people who, though able to navigate Ankh-Morpork unarmed for an entire night, without ending up with a knife in their backs, would probably run screaming at the first site of a tree. City-slickers to the core.
So now here he was, wandering through the forest, grabbing food when he could, tightening his belt when he couldn't, and talking to himself frequently.
After walking a bit more, he decided he was tired of it, and slumped down against a tree. The sun was approaching the horizon and, though the weather was still mildly warm, it had the smell of approaching night and a drop in temperature. The Luggage settled down, creaking and squeaking, beside him.
Chilly, miserable and alone (as usual), he eventually fell asleep. He was awakened after what seemed like a rediciulously short time by a nearby crash, crunch and several swears.
Sitting bolt upright, he stared hard into the blackness, waiting for the scarce moonlight to reach his eyes and allow them to adjust accordingly.
"gods damn it all!"
"er. . . pardon?" answered Rincewind hesitantly.
"what?"
"what?"
"shit. Of all the stupid. . ."
"um?"
"look, just. . . just stay where you are. I'll be right over."
Rincewind stayed put obediently, after weighing the possibility of being impaled on a sharp object if he ran blindly into the woods.
There was a blinding flash of light. When the spots had cleared, Rincewind's eyes were drawn to a globe-shaped lantern sputtering to life. "there it is. Ah. That's better. next time, I stay on the ground." The person who spoke was rather short and perhaps a little strange-looking. She looked like a girl of perhaps 17 or 18, though decidedly short for her age. Her eyes were a yellow-green. Her hair, which hung below her shoulders, was pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck. Two streaks of bright-blue travelled back from her temples. She was dressed in loose breetches, pratical leather boots, a loose shirt and fitted vest. A belt which looked, on the whole, much to thick for her hips hung from them, and from it hung two longish knives as well as several pouches and pockets. She would have been entirely unintimidating, even with the knives, except for the fact that, strapped across her back, was a long-handled, large-headed mallet.
Rincewind blinked wordlessly.
"hallo, there. Would you mind terribly if I made a fire? I'm hungry and since I've managed to botch up my job of sneaking up on you by falling out of that godsforsaken tree, I might as well forget about stealth."
"um. . ."
she stuck two fingers in her mouth and gave a shrill whistle. A large, black and brown heavy horse, laden with bags, trotted into the clearing.
"there you are, Osten." The girl turned toward Rincewind sharply, causing him to give a little jump, "Osten is short for Ostentatious. Isn't he a beauty? I certainly think so. Nice name, don't you think? Ostentatious? I have no idea why it suits him, but it does, and well at that." She gathered dry sticks as she spoke and soon had a quaint fire crackling. She snuffed her lantern and put it down. Unwrapping some unidentifiable meat from a package in one of the saddlebags, she stuck a piece on a stick and held it over the fire. "hungry?"
"um. . ."
"I'm famished myself. I've been searching for you for ages, without a break! Mother always did say I was always too busy, never did take a break. You know what I said? I said, 'mother', I said, 'I'm a busy girl with things to go and places to see and people to do.' No, wait, I said, 'I have places to go and people to see and things to do'. Yes, that certainly sounds appropriate, doesn't it? yes, I should say so." She squinted at him across the fire, "say, you *are* the wizard Rincewind, are you not?"
"um. . . yes?"
"oh good. Well, that's a relief, I certainly would have felt foolish if I had set myself up here only to find that you're a woodsman named Joe. There's a stick in my hair, I think."
"Joe?"
"Brian, actually."
"pardon?"
"That's my name. Brian. Boy, you really don't talk much, do you? probably the strong and silent type, though from here it looks like the strong part is a bit of an overstatement, but really, what do I know? I mean, we just met, it's not like we've already exchanged life stories, is it?"
"Brian?"
"short for Briannon Lucrecia Marita Jatina Etcetera."
"that's your whole name?"
"yes." Brian then buried her face in the now cooked piece of unidentifiable meat.
"okay. Well then, very nice meeting you, I'm sure, but I think I'll be going now." he stood up, and was shocked to find that a short knife had buried itself in the tree just beside his head. He turned around and regarded Brian, who was still barely visible over her dinner.
"I on't fink fo."
"pardon?"
she swallowed and paused in her eating long enough to say "I don't think so."
"why not?"
she finally polished off the meat and stood up, casually hefting her mallet, "well, there's a price on your head, you see. Big reward. I'm looking forward to a considerable payoff for you."
"what?"
"there's a price on your head and-"
"no, I heard that part!"
"well, then what's the question?"
he paused, opening and closing his mouth several times in confusion. He finally looked down at the Luggage. It was up on its legs and seemed to be regarding him expectantly, "er, Luggage?"
"*creak*"
he pointed at the figure across from him, "sic 'er!"
with the pounding of its tiny feet, the Luggage lurched forward, clearing the fire in a single bound, intent upon the threat to its master.
"oh ho ho ho, that's how you want to play it, huh?" said Brian, deftly leaping out of the Luggage's path, "I came prepared for you, my friend." Discarding her mallet she reached into one of the pouches on her belt with one hand, and detatched from the saddle of her grazing horse what looked like a small cage. She thrust both objects in front of her defensively. Rincewind saw that it was a small dragon in the cage and a sheet of sandpaper. "back off, woody, I've got sandpaper, and I'm not afraid to use it! oh yeah, and I've got this little dragon, too, see?" she shook the cage a bit. The little creature sneezed a small fireball and looked reproachfully at its mistress.
Rincewind popped up to his feet, stabbing a triumphant finger at Brian "Hah! That just shows how much you know!! Fire can't harm Sapient Pearwood!"
Brian danced back, putting more distance between her and the ominously advancing luggage, "Fire from a dragon species from Klatch, evolved in an area of magical waste left over from the Mage Wars can harm Sapient Pearwood!"
Rincewind gave a dismayed squeak.
The luggage shuffled back a couple feet, then shuffled forward a bit. It repeated this several times, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Finally, exuding an air of extreme resentment, retreated and retracted its legs, settling comfortably on the ground.
Rincewind sputtered at it.
"Alright, wizard-boy," she snarled, a smile that was wholly disconcerting twisting her mouth, "we can do this my way, or the really hard and usually painful way." She paused thoughtfully, " Though sometimes those two ways end up being the same. Anyway," she continued, shaking her head, "what do you say? Coming quietly or do I open a big can of whup-ass on you?"
***************
okay, thus concludes "the politics of: wizard-napping, version 2.0", I hope everyone enjoyed it. I stated this in the story blurb, but just to be sure people get the message, I will repeat myself: if you are of an appropriate age (at least 17 or the legal age in your state/country/planet/etc.) you can email me if you want to be notified when the unabridged, NC-17 version of this fic is posted on my website. this becomes necessary because of the new restrictions at ff.net. if you are under-aged, I urge you to read responsibly, as this recent problem at ff.net is the result of minors viewing NC-17 fics, ruining it for the rest of us. okay, have I bitched enough yet? I think so. . .
REVIEWS!! REEEEVIIIIIEEEWWWS!! Don't make me get my megaphone. . .
by Tinselcat
Summary: poor Rincewind has a problem. . .
Rated: PG for language
Disclaimer: Rincewind, The Luggage, Ankh-Morpork, Death and his horse Binky are all creations and property of Terry Pratchett. No profit is being obtained from use of these characters. Brian and Osten are my creations and property.
Notes: alright, I realize a lot of people were expecting another chapter, but a reviewer pointed out to me that nothing can harm Sapient Pearwood. However, Brian has to get past the problem of the luggage, for plot reasons. So I liberally applied my Creative Writer's license and created a new species of dragon. I hope that doesn't upset too many people.
**********************
Rincewind was miserable.
Granted, this wasn't uncommon, in his case. The only difference between his current misery and the sort of miserable tent under which he constantly huddled was that he had a much more distinct reason to be miserable than the fact that he was born. He looked across the innocent-looking stretch of bare dirt on the forest floor. His eyes travelled from the spot of dirt to the rusty, pitted sword that lay beside it.
the dirt sort of burped in a contented manner. The Luggage shifted its weight from one set of feet to another, resulting in a thoughtful creaking sound.
I SAY, GOOD SHOW. Complimented Death from his perch in a nearby tree. He whipped a small notebook from within his robes, along with a pen, NOW, WHAT WAS THAT? NUMBER THREE IN AS MANY DAYS?
"go away." Said Rincewind, turning away from the spot of dirt which had, until quite recently been occupied by a thick, muscular barbarian-type who waved around a rusy, pitted sword and uttered dreadful threats in Rincewind's direction.
REALLY, I'VE NEVER SEEN THE LIKE, continued Death amiably, THAT'S THREE PROFFESIONAL ASSASSINS DISPATCHED IN AS MANY DAYS. YOU SEEM TO HAVE A TALENT FOR THIS. IF ANYONE WANTS A DANGEROUS PERSON BUMPED OFF, ALL THEY NEED DO IS SEND HIM AFTER YOU.
"I didn't mean to!" Rincewind whined, "I jumped over the quick-dirt, he stepped in it and sank. It's not my fault!"
BUT STILL, THIS MUST BE SOME KIND OF RECORD. JUST LOOK AT MY NOTEBOOK, Death thrust the dog-eared little spiral-bound notebook toward Rincewind who could see that it was just packed with Death's neat handwriting. A COMPLETE ACCOUNT OF THE NUMBER OF TIMES YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED, BUT DIDN'T. TRULY INTREGUING. . .
"please leave me alone now." Rincewind pleaded with the spectre that walked in time with him.
VERY WELL. HOWEVER, I WOULD PONDER THIS ASSASSIN PROBLEM, IF I WERE YOU. VERY IRREGULAR.
"I'll do that. Leave now."
AS YOU WISH. Death gave a whistle which sounded like wind through leaf-bare branches, and his magnificent white charger trotted toward him. Swinging himself into Binky's saddle, Death silently rode into the sky.
"he's right, you know." Said Rincewind to no one in particular, "three assassins in three days is strange." He sighed. For the upteenth time that day he asked himself "why me?"
the Luggage snapped its lid on a bug, seeming content to simply amble along beside its master and enjoy what was truly a beautiful afternoon. The sun was out, it wasn't too warm, and a breeze played tag among the tree branches.
Rincewind pondered his life for the past month. Everything seemed like a blur. One minute he was enjoying the rank smell of Ankh-Morpork, the next he had fallen afoul of some shady characters he'd met in an equally shady bar, and the moment he poked his head into the city, it was liable to be chopped off. It was certainly possible that the gang had been responsible for the recent attempts on his life, but these were people who, though able to navigate Ankh-Morpork unarmed for an entire night, without ending up with a knife in their backs, would probably run screaming at the first site of a tree. City-slickers to the core.
So now here he was, wandering through the forest, grabbing food when he could, tightening his belt when he couldn't, and talking to himself frequently.
After walking a bit more, he decided he was tired of it, and slumped down against a tree. The sun was approaching the horizon and, though the weather was still mildly warm, it had the smell of approaching night and a drop in temperature. The Luggage settled down, creaking and squeaking, beside him.
Chilly, miserable and alone (as usual), he eventually fell asleep. He was awakened after what seemed like a rediciulously short time by a nearby crash, crunch and several swears.
Sitting bolt upright, he stared hard into the blackness, waiting for the scarce moonlight to reach his eyes and allow them to adjust accordingly.
"gods damn it all!"
"er. . . pardon?" answered Rincewind hesitantly.
"what?"
"what?"
"shit. Of all the stupid. . ."
"um?"
"look, just. . . just stay where you are. I'll be right over."
Rincewind stayed put obediently, after weighing the possibility of being impaled on a sharp object if he ran blindly into the woods.
There was a blinding flash of light. When the spots had cleared, Rincewind's eyes were drawn to a globe-shaped lantern sputtering to life. "there it is. Ah. That's better. next time, I stay on the ground." The person who spoke was rather short and perhaps a little strange-looking. She looked like a girl of perhaps 17 or 18, though decidedly short for her age. Her eyes were a yellow-green. Her hair, which hung below her shoulders, was pulled back loosely at the nape of her neck. Two streaks of bright-blue travelled back from her temples. She was dressed in loose breetches, pratical leather boots, a loose shirt and fitted vest. A belt which looked, on the whole, much to thick for her hips hung from them, and from it hung two longish knives as well as several pouches and pockets. She would have been entirely unintimidating, even with the knives, except for the fact that, strapped across her back, was a long-handled, large-headed mallet.
Rincewind blinked wordlessly.
"hallo, there. Would you mind terribly if I made a fire? I'm hungry and since I've managed to botch up my job of sneaking up on you by falling out of that godsforsaken tree, I might as well forget about stealth."
"um. . ."
she stuck two fingers in her mouth and gave a shrill whistle. A large, black and brown heavy horse, laden with bags, trotted into the clearing.
"there you are, Osten." The girl turned toward Rincewind sharply, causing him to give a little jump, "Osten is short for Ostentatious. Isn't he a beauty? I certainly think so. Nice name, don't you think? Ostentatious? I have no idea why it suits him, but it does, and well at that." She gathered dry sticks as she spoke and soon had a quaint fire crackling. She snuffed her lantern and put it down. Unwrapping some unidentifiable meat from a package in one of the saddlebags, she stuck a piece on a stick and held it over the fire. "hungry?"
"um. . ."
"I'm famished myself. I've been searching for you for ages, without a break! Mother always did say I was always too busy, never did take a break. You know what I said? I said, 'mother', I said, 'I'm a busy girl with things to go and places to see and people to do.' No, wait, I said, 'I have places to go and people to see and things to do'. Yes, that certainly sounds appropriate, doesn't it? yes, I should say so." She squinted at him across the fire, "say, you *are* the wizard Rincewind, are you not?"
"um. . . yes?"
"oh good. Well, that's a relief, I certainly would have felt foolish if I had set myself up here only to find that you're a woodsman named Joe. There's a stick in my hair, I think."
"Joe?"
"Brian, actually."
"pardon?"
"That's my name. Brian. Boy, you really don't talk much, do you? probably the strong and silent type, though from here it looks like the strong part is a bit of an overstatement, but really, what do I know? I mean, we just met, it's not like we've already exchanged life stories, is it?"
"Brian?"
"short for Briannon Lucrecia Marita Jatina Etcetera."
"that's your whole name?"
"yes." Brian then buried her face in the now cooked piece of unidentifiable meat.
"okay. Well then, very nice meeting you, I'm sure, but I think I'll be going now." he stood up, and was shocked to find that a short knife had buried itself in the tree just beside his head. He turned around and regarded Brian, who was still barely visible over her dinner.
"I on't fink fo."
"pardon?"
she swallowed and paused in her eating long enough to say "I don't think so."
"why not?"
she finally polished off the meat and stood up, casually hefting her mallet, "well, there's a price on your head, you see. Big reward. I'm looking forward to a considerable payoff for you."
"what?"
"there's a price on your head and-"
"no, I heard that part!"
"well, then what's the question?"
he paused, opening and closing his mouth several times in confusion. He finally looked down at the Luggage. It was up on its legs and seemed to be regarding him expectantly, "er, Luggage?"
"*creak*"
he pointed at the figure across from him, "sic 'er!"
with the pounding of its tiny feet, the Luggage lurched forward, clearing the fire in a single bound, intent upon the threat to its master.
"oh ho ho ho, that's how you want to play it, huh?" said Brian, deftly leaping out of the Luggage's path, "I came prepared for you, my friend." Discarding her mallet she reached into one of the pouches on her belt with one hand, and detatched from the saddle of her grazing horse what looked like a small cage. She thrust both objects in front of her defensively. Rincewind saw that it was a small dragon in the cage and a sheet of sandpaper. "back off, woody, I've got sandpaper, and I'm not afraid to use it! oh yeah, and I've got this little dragon, too, see?" she shook the cage a bit. The little creature sneezed a small fireball and looked reproachfully at its mistress.
Rincewind popped up to his feet, stabbing a triumphant finger at Brian "Hah! That just shows how much you know!! Fire can't harm Sapient Pearwood!"
Brian danced back, putting more distance between her and the ominously advancing luggage, "Fire from a dragon species from Klatch, evolved in an area of magical waste left over from the Mage Wars can harm Sapient Pearwood!"
Rincewind gave a dismayed squeak.
The luggage shuffled back a couple feet, then shuffled forward a bit. It repeated this several times, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Finally, exuding an air of extreme resentment, retreated and retracted its legs, settling comfortably on the ground.
Rincewind sputtered at it.
"Alright, wizard-boy," she snarled, a smile that was wholly disconcerting twisting her mouth, "we can do this my way, or the really hard and usually painful way." She paused thoughtfully, " Though sometimes those two ways end up being the same. Anyway," she continued, shaking her head, "what do you say? Coming quietly or do I open a big can of whup-ass on you?"
***************
okay, thus concludes "the politics of: wizard-napping, version 2.0", I hope everyone enjoyed it. I stated this in the story blurb, but just to be sure people get the message, I will repeat myself: if you are of an appropriate age (at least 17 or the legal age in your state/country/planet/etc.) you can email me if you want to be notified when the unabridged, NC-17 version of this fic is posted on my website. this becomes necessary because of the new restrictions at ff.net. if you are under-aged, I urge you to read responsibly, as this recent problem at ff.net is the result of minors viewing NC-17 fics, ruining it for the rest of us. okay, have I bitched enough yet? I think so. . .
REVIEWS!! REEEEVIIIIIEEEWWWS!! Don't make me get my megaphone. . .