The Politics of. . . Bounty-Hunting
by Tinselcat
Summary: you either want him, or want him dead. most likely the latter.
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: this chapter isn't very long or involved, but I felt obligated to get something up, because I've been slacking on my writing lately. Just wanted to let everyone know that I haven't forgotten about the story.
**********************
Rincwind stood still and tried as hard as he could not to be there.
"sit down." Suggested Brian, as she seated herself, cross-legged, with the little dragon-cage in her lap. She pulled out a small piece of meat from her sack and nudged it through the bars, where the dragon applied itself in full, minuscule force.
Rincewind plopped down. "why me?" he sighed miserably.
"because, you piss people off." Replied Brian, who would most certainly fail to recognize a rhetorical question if it marched up to her and called her "shorty".
"but. . . lots of people piss people off!" insisted Rincewind.
"yeah, but lots of people don't set Ankh-Morpork on fire, and manage to anger quite a few rich merchants who have the money to spend on rewards, not to mention reward posters spread from here to the hub."
"but. . . but. . ." sputtered Rincewind, positive that the blame should be put on Twoflower who was, at that time, enjoying a fruit drink in an upscale restaurant.
"you've also got a reputation for getting into trouble, then getting out of it. which is why the reward is so big. That's also why the reward is half again as big if you're brought back dead."
"d. . . d . . . dead. . ." Rincewind felt faint.
"well, the exact amount varies on the merchant offering the reward, but the profit is hefty if someone mangages to kill you." she looked up at the sky thoughtfully as she fingered the handle of her mallet "let's see. . . one merchant wanted your head on a stick. No, two merchants wanted that. . . oh, and then there was one restaurant owner who wanted your head on a platter surrounded by lettuce and garnished with parsley. . . I think a couple wanted some limbs, or internal organs or something in addition to the head, they really are a creative bunch. I think there's another stick in my hair." She pursed her lips as she pulled the offending object from her locks. She then perked up as a thought hit her, which it had done several times that night, "I'm going to be rich."
"ugn. . . uh. . . hu-huh. . ."
"goodness, whatever's the matter?"
now, there comes a point in a person's life that things pile up, one on top of another, each additional horror worse than the last and one just can't stand it anymore. For Rincewind, this had happened several times. This was one of them. In such circumstances there's really only one option. He drew himself up, straightened his hat took a deep breath and began to cry.
Brian looked at him sharply, eyes wide, an extremely alarmed look on her face. Although a rather awkward individual, it was obvious to anyone who spent any extended period of time with her that she was relatively well- travelled, having made it through several of those sorts of experiences which are generally described as "character-building." As a result of these experiences, she had expected threats. Oaths, weapon-waving, swearing, insults, sexual harassment, bribes and violence she had all expected, and come prepared for. Outright, unashamed weeping was definitely not on the list. she began to get the look of an inexperienced babysitter faced with her first case of the "terrible-twos".
She nervously cleared her throat, "er. . . look, see here, there's no reason for any of that. . ."
Rincewind gave her a look as though she had suddenly sprouted a new head and proceeded into a new bout of sobs.
"look," continued Brian, who started to look as though she thought Rincewind had the right idea, "I'm sure it's nothing personal. I mean, it's not *you*, it. . . okay, maybe it *is* you, but still, that's no reason to get upset about it. I'm sure it doesn't reflect upon your personality any, you could be a perfectly good person, I mean, what do a bunch of merchants know, anyway?"
Rincewind looked at her as though she had sprouted a pair of wings and a tail to go with the extra head, "you want to know why I'm upset?" he asked in a hysterical, cracked tone of voice.
"well, yes."
"I'm in the middle of a forest, at night, I'm cold, I've just had three near-death experiences, and he can vouch for that personally, my luggage has lost its nerves, and to top it all off, I'm being threatened by a four- foot-nine female vagabond who's going to beat me to a bloody pulp with a big mallet, but save my head to present to the highest bidder!!" he wailed in despair, and threw himself on the ground as if it might give him some idea of what to do about it all.
"oh, is *that* why you're upset?" a look of immense relief flooded Brian's features, "oh, good, for a moment I thought it was something important."
Rincewind gave another wail that was more akin to the scream of one of the luggage's victims. "oh, really, you can stop that now, I'm afraid I havn't explained myself very clearly. You see, I'm not out here on any of those other bounties. I'm here on a private contract."
Rincewind sat up and looked at her sharply from across the dwindling fire, "you are?"
"yes."
"are you going to kill me?"
"nope. In fact, I've been given explicit instructions to keep you alive. I'm being paid twice the going rate to bring you back to Ankh-Morpork alive and unharmed."
"what happens if I'm harmed?"
"I get a percentage deduction for every injury. Big deductions if you're missing any limbs."
"and if I'm dead?"
"no reward. Though if you were, I could always visit one of those merchants."
Rincewind seemed to deflate slightly, as his momentum was cut off, though he certainly wasn't protesting. In his experience, momentum led very quickly to action, adventure and excitement, so he was determined to avoid it where possible. However, he was still puzzled, "someone is paying you to keep me *alive*?" despite his protests, the news about the bounty and the merchants really hadn't surprised him. This did.
"yes. Here, I'll show you," she popped up and bounced over to Ostentacious, who was industriously munching on a mouthful of sticks. She went up on her tip-toes and rummaged through one of her packs, dislodging a butterfly-shaped barrette, a small vial and several rubber bands. She finally snatched what she was looking for and held it triumphantly aloft, bringing it toward Rincewind. She trotted around the fire and plopped herself down next to him.
Her raw, energetic enthusiasm made him want to edge away, though his curiosity kept him where he was.
She unfolded a yellowed and rather tattered-looking piece of parchment which was stained with what looked suspiciously like blood and raspberry treacle. It was covered with small, neat writing. She had no sooner shoved it under Rincewind's nose that she snatched it back to take a look herself, "signed by Samuel Vimes himself, no less. He had to approve the contract, you know. I don't think he really liked the idea of putting a price on someone who hadn't technically done anything wrong, so he signed it. hmm. I kind of doubt he would have I had signed it first, what with the incident involving the exotic pet-shop last year. . . I hope he's not still mad about that. . ." she trailed off, staring at the paper, lips moving slightly.
"ahem. . ."
"hello? Yes?"
"who's contract is it?"
"yours, who do you think?"
"I mean, who hired you? who drew up the contract?"
she dangled the paper in front of his face, one chipped-nailed finger pointing to the curvy signature on the bottom of the paper, "Havelock Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork."
**********************
well, I said it was short, didn't I? Sorry for the lack of slashiness, we'll see if we can't bring it up a few notches in the next chapter. Don't worry, it will get naughty eventually, even if I have to abridge it to post it here. of course, all you adults know what to do in that situation, yes? If not, see the note at the end of the last chapter.
Oooh, and let me know how I'm doing. I'm a bit concerned about my discworld writing, as this is my first discworld fic.
by Tinselcat
Summary: you either want him, or want him dead. most likely the latter.
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: this chapter isn't very long or involved, but I felt obligated to get something up, because I've been slacking on my writing lately. Just wanted to let everyone know that I haven't forgotten about the story.
**********************
Rincwind stood still and tried as hard as he could not to be there.
"sit down." Suggested Brian, as she seated herself, cross-legged, with the little dragon-cage in her lap. She pulled out a small piece of meat from her sack and nudged it through the bars, where the dragon applied itself in full, minuscule force.
Rincewind plopped down. "why me?" he sighed miserably.
"because, you piss people off." Replied Brian, who would most certainly fail to recognize a rhetorical question if it marched up to her and called her "shorty".
"but. . . lots of people piss people off!" insisted Rincewind.
"yeah, but lots of people don't set Ankh-Morpork on fire, and manage to anger quite a few rich merchants who have the money to spend on rewards, not to mention reward posters spread from here to the hub."
"but. . . but. . ." sputtered Rincewind, positive that the blame should be put on Twoflower who was, at that time, enjoying a fruit drink in an upscale restaurant.
"you've also got a reputation for getting into trouble, then getting out of it. which is why the reward is so big. That's also why the reward is half again as big if you're brought back dead."
"d. . . d . . . dead. . ." Rincewind felt faint.
"well, the exact amount varies on the merchant offering the reward, but the profit is hefty if someone mangages to kill you." she looked up at the sky thoughtfully as she fingered the handle of her mallet "let's see. . . one merchant wanted your head on a stick. No, two merchants wanted that. . . oh, and then there was one restaurant owner who wanted your head on a platter surrounded by lettuce and garnished with parsley. . . I think a couple wanted some limbs, or internal organs or something in addition to the head, they really are a creative bunch. I think there's another stick in my hair." She pursed her lips as she pulled the offending object from her locks. She then perked up as a thought hit her, which it had done several times that night, "I'm going to be rich."
"ugn. . . uh. . . hu-huh. . ."
"goodness, whatever's the matter?"
now, there comes a point in a person's life that things pile up, one on top of another, each additional horror worse than the last and one just can't stand it anymore. For Rincewind, this had happened several times. This was one of them. In such circumstances there's really only one option. He drew himself up, straightened his hat took a deep breath and began to cry.
Brian looked at him sharply, eyes wide, an extremely alarmed look on her face. Although a rather awkward individual, it was obvious to anyone who spent any extended period of time with her that she was relatively well- travelled, having made it through several of those sorts of experiences which are generally described as "character-building." As a result of these experiences, she had expected threats. Oaths, weapon-waving, swearing, insults, sexual harassment, bribes and violence she had all expected, and come prepared for. Outright, unashamed weeping was definitely not on the list. she began to get the look of an inexperienced babysitter faced with her first case of the "terrible-twos".
She nervously cleared her throat, "er. . . look, see here, there's no reason for any of that. . ."
Rincewind gave her a look as though she had suddenly sprouted a new head and proceeded into a new bout of sobs.
"look," continued Brian, who started to look as though she thought Rincewind had the right idea, "I'm sure it's nothing personal. I mean, it's not *you*, it. . . okay, maybe it *is* you, but still, that's no reason to get upset about it. I'm sure it doesn't reflect upon your personality any, you could be a perfectly good person, I mean, what do a bunch of merchants know, anyway?"
Rincewind looked at her as though she had sprouted a pair of wings and a tail to go with the extra head, "you want to know why I'm upset?" he asked in a hysterical, cracked tone of voice.
"well, yes."
"I'm in the middle of a forest, at night, I'm cold, I've just had three near-death experiences, and he can vouch for that personally, my luggage has lost its nerves, and to top it all off, I'm being threatened by a four- foot-nine female vagabond who's going to beat me to a bloody pulp with a big mallet, but save my head to present to the highest bidder!!" he wailed in despair, and threw himself on the ground as if it might give him some idea of what to do about it all.
"oh, is *that* why you're upset?" a look of immense relief flooded Brian's features, "oh, good, for a moment I thought it was something important."
Rincewind gave another wail that was more akin to the scream of one of the luggage's victims. "oh, really, you can stop that now, I'm afraid I havn't explained myself very clearly. You see, I'm not out here on any of those other bounties. I'm here on a private contract."
Rincewind sat up and looked at her sharply from across the dwindling fire, "you are?"
"yes."
"are you going to kill me?"
"nope. In fact, I've been given explicit instructions to keep you alive. I'm being paid twice the going rate to bring you back to Ankh-Morpork alive and unharmed."
"what happens if I'm harmed?"
"I get a percentage deduction for every injury. Big deductions if you're missing any limbs."
"and if I'm dead?"
"no reward. Though if you were, I could always visit one of those merchants."
Rincewind seemed to deflate slightly, as his momentum was cut off, though he certainly wasn't protesting. In his experience, momentum led very quickly to action, adventure and excitement, so he was determined to avoid it where possible. However, he was still puzzled, "someone is paying you to keep me *alive*?" despite his protests, the news about the bounty and the merchants really hadn't surprised him. This did.
"yes. Here, I'll show you," she popped up and bounced over to Ostentacious, who was industriously munching on a mouthful of sticks. She went up on her tip-toes and rummaged through one of her packs, dislodging a butterfly-shaped barrette, a small vial and several rubber bands. She finally snatched what she was looking for and held it triumphantly aloft, bringing it toward Rincewind. She trotted around the fire and plopped herself down next to him.
Her raw, energetic enthusiasm made him want to edge away, though his curiosity kept him where he was.
She unfolded a yellowed and rather tattered-looking piece of parchment which was stained with what looked suspiciously like blood and raspberry treacle. It was covered with small, neat writing. She had no sooner shoved it under Rincewind's nose that she snatched it back to take a look herself, "signed by Samuel Vimes himself, no less. He had to approve the contract, you know. I don't think he really liked the idea of putting a price on someone who hadn't technically done anything wrong, so he signed it. hmm. I kind of doubt he would have I had signed it first, what with the incident involving the exotic pet-shop last year. . . I hope he's not still mad about that. . ." she trailed off, staring at the paper, lips moving slightly.
"ahem. . ."
"hello? Yes?"
"who's contract is it?"
"yours, who do you think?"
"I mean, who hired you? who drew up the contract?"
she dangled the paper in front of his face, one chipped-nailed finger pointing to the curvy signature on the bottom of the paper, "Havelock Vetinari, Patrician of Ankh-Morpork."
**********************
well, I said it was short, didn't I? Sorry for the lack of slashiness, we'll see if we can't bring it up a few notches in the next chapter. Don't worry, it will get naughty eventually, even if I have to abridge it to post it here. of course, all you adults know what to do in that situation, yes? If not, see the note at the end of the last chapter.
Oooh, and let me know how I'm doing. I'm a bit concerned about my discworld writing, as this is my first discworld fic.