[ooc] I am happy. Do you know why? Because I got a review! That is why I'm happy! Happyhappyhappyhappyhappy.....ok, I should stop with the sugar now. I like reviews (That's a pretty subtle hint you know) and they make me write more, because I don't write until I know someone has read. And so, I write! Glad someone enjoyed the first itty bit. Sorry this is taking so long, I got a lot of holiday homework to do.[/ooc]
In the cold of the Ank-Morporkian winter night three figures proceeded down the street. The smallest one was Sera, still full of energy and general chirpiness which Angua was certain came from Carrot's side of the family, or perhaps it was closer to the canine bliss where an individual is certain that everyone is their friend and life is a game, so you'd better throw the ball. Going up in height, the next figure was Angua herself, her brilliant blonde hair starting to pale, but the same ready alertness in her stride. The third and tallest figure of the group was Carrot Ironfounderson, looking his usual noble friend-to-all self, although on closer inspection his flame red hair was also starting to fade and fine lines were forming at the edges of his eyes. However, people said the lines at the edges of his eyes were from smiling too much, not old age, and his paling hair was a trick of the light, because Carrot was Carrot, he was part of the city, and the city never grew old.
Older, perhaps, but never old.
Now, someone who has read the first chapter should by now be asking, 'Where is Derry?'
And now, a responsible narrator will answer that question:
There was a yip, a louder bark, and much scraping of claws on cobblestones as the familiar and striking red fur that made Derry such a noticeable boy/dog went past in a blur out of a side alley, accompanied by a brown speckled beefy looking dog that could only be called Butch and, slightly further behind one must admit, a creature that appeared to be a rouge mop head, and smelt like a privy carpet.
"Derry!" shouted Sera, her high voice bouncing off the stone walls of the district, going all the way down the street and causing Foul Ol' Ron to have another bout of hearing voices. Derry skidded to a halt and came back to join his family, Butch followed, so did the mobile rouge mop head.
"Take it easy son, you just had a bath," said Carrot, patting Derry on the head fondly, completely unperturbed that his son was currently, for lack of a more appropriate adjective my spelling checker will accept, furry.
"Take it easy, I'm getting old and I've only got little legs," said a voice from around ankle height. Sera looked down at the rouge mop head.
"Be a good girl and pick up poor little Gaspode because he's such a darling boy wont you?" hinted the rouge mop head. Sera ducked down and picked up Gaspode happily like a toy, hugging him to her chest. She didn't seem to care that he only had about half a coat of fur, nothing particularly soft or fuzzy, a tongue that was a bit too green to be healthy, and a rather poignant aroma.
"Gassy!" she announced fondly. 'Gassy' was the name she had taken to calling Gaspode, not because she registered the fact that he was rather aromatic, but because it was the shortened form of 'Gaspode' made slightly cuter for her tastes. The pet name always made Angua smirk, Gaspode himself having long given up trying to convince Sera to call him otherwise. In any case, you couldn't reprimand the girl, she was just too damn cute. And it must be admitted, Gaspode was fairly Gassy.
"Derry, where are your clothes?" asked Angua patiently. Derry seemed to lose the a lot, almost deliberately. Angua had often heard mothers complaining about their children outgrowing their clothes, well, Derry grew a lot more frequently than some children. Derry sat down, whined and pawed the ground innocently.
"Derry, you can't keep losing them, why can't you realise clothes are important?" Derry shrugged, which was oddly empathic for a wolf. This tendency of his to not care about clothing worried Angua, as it reminded her strongly of her brother, who had not been the best of sorts. However, Derry seemed far too much like Carrot to turn out that bad.
"Don't worry dear. There's a spare set at the commander's house, for emergencies," soothed Carrot.
"But we can't afford to lose so many." That wasn't exactly true. With the news that Carrot had kids, people were eager to meet them and people seemed to have a hundred thousand things they didn't mind being borrowed, or old clothes they could give them. It was just another product of carrot's charisma.
"Come on!" sand Sera. "We're almost there! And it's getting cold!" If Derry had a human mouth, he would have said something sarcastic. Probable Butch wandered off and the mildly untraditional family continued proceeding down the street.
A few minutes later Carrot rapped on the back door of the Vimes' residence. It was opened almost immediately by Brian, who had clearly been expecting them. Sparky was brutally consuming a plate of charcoal, with a bucket nearby on standby for emergencies.
"You made it!" observed Brian. Sparky ignored them and continued his meal.
"Yup," said Sera, still cuddling Gaspode.
"Why wouldn't we have?" asked Angua. Derry trotted off to find his stash of clothes. Brian shrugged.
"I dunno."
"Brian! How many times have I told you not to feed Sparky in the kitchen?" came Sybil's voice as she came into the room and paused.
"Hello Mrs Vimes!" sang Sera. Gaspode waited for the inevitable moment when he would be told to go outside.
"Good afternoon," greeted Carrot. Sibyl looked a little confused,
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were coming over."
"We came for dinner," sang Sera, still happily chirpy even after walkies.
"Dad said we could," affirmed Brian.
"But we were going to the palace for dinner with Havelock..." said Sybil.
"So glad you could make it!" bellowed Vimes.
"Thank you for inviting us," replied Angua, suddenly aware of why they had been invited around.
"Samuel," reprimanded Sybil, "We have to go to the palace. You remember this."
"Crikey! I plum forgot!" shouted Vimes.
"I sincerely doubt it. You know very well we can't just up and leave guests."
"They could come with us," offered Brian, a remarkable peacemaker between the two, although, it seemed to Vimes, He was always biased towards Sybil.
"You wouldn't mind, would you?" Sybil asked her guests before Vimes could come up with yet another excuse not to see the Patrician.
"Of course not," answered Carrot. Vimes nearly kicked himself, but he didn't, because he would have fallen over.
"Well, that's sorted out," said Sybil, slightly calmer. "And Brian, get that dragon off the table and into the pen with the others.
"Aw! But Mummy! He's got to be socialised!" objected Brian.
"Take him outside, now," repeated Sybil, this time using the all powerful 'Mother tone'.
"Off to see the Patrician!" sang Sera, still in a singing mood, as she skipped about in circles.
"Eurgh, put doggy down. Doggy's gonna be sick," pleaded Gaspode as he bounced up and down in Sera's arms.
In the cold of the Ank-Morporkian winter night three figures proceeded down the street. The smallest one was Sera, still full of energy and general chirpiness which Angua was certain came from Carrot's side of the family, or perhaps it was closer to the canine bliss where an individual is certain that everyone is their friend and life is a game, so you'd better throw the ball. Going up in height, the next figure was Angua herself, her brilliant blonde hair starting to pale, but the same ready alertness in her stride. The third and tallest figure of the group was Carrot Ironfounderson, looking his usual noble friend-to-all self, although on closer inspection his flame red hair was also starting to fade and fine lines were forming at the edges of his eyes. However, people said the lines at the edges of his eyes were from smiling too much, not old age, and his paling hair was a trick of the light, because Carrot was Carrot, he was part of the city, and the city never grew old.
Older, perhaps, but never old.
Now, someone who has read the first chapter should by now be asking, 'Where is Derry?'
And now, a responsible narrator will answer that question:
There was a yip, a louder bark, and much scraping of claws on cobblestones as the familiar and striking red fur that made Derry such a noticeable boy/dog went past in a blur out of a side alley, accompanied by a brown speckled beefy looking dog that could only be called Butch and, slightly further behind one must admit, a creature that appeared to be a rouge mop head, and smelt like a privy carpet.
"Derry!" shouted Sera, her high voice bouncing off the stone walls of the district, going all the way down the street and causing Foul Ol' Ron to have another bout of hearing voices. Derry skidded to a halt and came back to join his family, Butch followed, so did the mobile rouge mop head.
"Take it easy son, you just had a bath," said Carrot, patting Derry on the head fondly, completely unperturbed that his son was currently, for lack of a more appropriate adjective my spelling checker will accept, furry.
"Take it easy, I'm getting old and I've only got little legs," said a voice from around ankle height. Sera looked down at the rouge mop head.
"Be a good girl and pick up poor little Gaspode because he's such a darling boy wont you?" hinted the rouge mop head. Sera ducked down and picked up Gaspode happily like a toy, hugging him to her chest. She didn't seem to care that he only had about half a coat of fur, nothing particularly soft or fuzzy, a tongue that was a bit too green to be healthy, and a rather poignant aroma.
"Gassy!" she announced fondly. 'Gassy' was the name she had taken to calling Gaspode, not because she registered the fact that he was rather aromatic, but because it was the shortened form of 'Gaspode' made slightly cuter for her tastes. The pet name always made Angua smirk, Gaspode himself having long given up trying to convince Sera to call him otherwise. In any case, you couldn't reprimand the girl, she was just too damn cute. And it must be admitted, Gaspode was fairly Gassy.
"Derry, where are your clothes?" asked Angua patiently. Derry seemed to lose the a lot, almost deliberately. Angua had often heard mothers complaining about their children outgrowing their clothes, well, Derry grew a lot more frequently than some children. Derry sat down, whined and pawed the ground innocently.
"Derry, you can't keep losing them, why can't you realise clothes are important?" Derry shrugged, which was oddly empathic for a wolf. This tendency of his to not care about clothing worried Angua, as it reminded her strongly of her brother, who had not been the best of sorts. However, Derry seemed far too much like Carrot to turn out that bad.
"Don't worry dear. There's a spare set at the commander's house, for emergencies," soothed Carrot.
"But we can't afford to lose so many." That wasn't exactly true. With the news that Carrot had kids, people were eager to meet them and people seemed to have a hundred thousand things they didn't mind being borrowed, or old clothes they could give them. It was just another product of carrot's charisma.
"Come on!" sand Sera. "We're almost there! And it's getting cold!" If Derry had a human mouth, he would have said something sarcastic. Probable Butch wandered off and the mildly untraditional family continued proceeding down the street.
A few minutes later Carrot rapped on the back door of the Vimes' residence. It was opened almost immediately by Brian, who had clearly been expecting them. Sparky was brutally consuming a plate of charcoal, with a bucket nearby on standby for emergencies.
"You made it!" observed Brian. Sparky ignored them and continued his meal.
"Yup," said Sera, still cuddling Gaspode.
"Why wouldn't we have?" asked Angua. Derry trotted off to find his stash of clothes. Brian shrugged.
"I dunno."
"Brian! How many times have I told you not to feed Sparky in the kitchen?" came Sybil's voice as she came into the room and paused.
"Hello Mrs Vimes!" sang Sera. Gaspode waited for the inevitable moment when he would be told to go outside.
"Good afternoon," greeted Carrot. Sibyl looked a little confused,
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were coming over."
"We came for dinner," sang Sera, still happily chirpy even after walkies.
"Dad said we could," affirmed Brian.
"But we were going to the palace for dinner with Havelock..." said Sybil.
"So glad you could make it!" bellowed Vimes.
"Thank you for inviting us," replied Angua, suddenly aware of why they had been invited around.
"Samuel," reprimanded Sybil, "We have to go to the palace. You remember this."
"Crikey! I plum forgot!" shouted Vimes.
"I sincerely doubt it. You know very well we can't just up and leave guests."
"They could come with us," offered Brian, a remarkable peacemaker between the two, although, it seemed to Vimes, He was always biased towards Sybil.
"You wouldn't mind, would you?" Sybil asked her guests before Vimes could come up with yet another excuse not to see the Patrician.
"Of course not," answered Carrot. Vimes nearly kicked himself, but he didn't, because he would have fallen over.
"Well, that's sorted out," said Sybil, slightly calmer. "And Brian, get that dragon off the table and into the pen with the others.
"Aw! But Mummy! He's got to be socialised!" objected Brian.
"Take him outside, now," repeated Sybil, this time using the all powerful 'Mother tone'.
"Off to see the Patrician!" sang Sera, still in a singing mood, as she skipped about in circles.
"Eurgh, put doggy down. Doggy's gonna be sick," pleaded Gaspode as he bounced up and down in Sera's arms.