A Discworld Mary Sue.
A/N: After much deliberation, I have decided that this story must be continued. IN which direction I know not. Thank you to Elderberry especially for giving me a few outlets.
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Landing elegantly she dismounted and stroked the winged horse's neck in thanks before it promptly vanished as she forgot about it.
Looking around she saw a quite tall and manly guard standing to attention on the street corner. Sidling up to him, she began to talk.
After an hour of talking to him she realized that she was getting no response whatsoever from him. Annoyed, her eyebrows furrowed in frustration and she tried to tear his eyes from the distance by trying to warm him up, he seemed quite cold . . . and hard for that matter.
She poked the statue.
"Miss?" asked a passing salesman.
"Huh?"
"Would milady like to have a look at these wonderful miniature statues? Since you obviously seem to be so taken by that one standing guard for us over there, I thought you'd like to see others of considerable delectabilitice."
"Huh? Oooh! Those are pretty!" she grabbed at the statues that the man held in the tray about his neck, fingering them.
"Would you like some?" his eyes glittered.
"And who might you be?" she asked in return.
"Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler or CMOT Dibbler as my friends all call me. You may call me Dibbles."
She smiled graciously.
"Do you have anymore of these?" she asked politely.
"Of course! Many, many," he assured her, "Why, a whole warehouse in fact! Do you like them? I can give you them all with a discount! Now let's see . . ." his face twisted as he made some quick calculations.
"Oh, no! I couldn't accept what a wonderful gift! And all of them? But sir!"
"No, no, you see . . ."
"Oh you're such a kind man! You there," she pointed to one of them passing by, "follow this man and take all the statues that he gives you and then return to my palace where you must set them up in patrols of 100, 10 men by 10 all lined up! You understand?"
The man nodded and CMOT Dibbler, bewildered, took the man to his warehouse.
Ruby wandered off on her way, often getting distracted by the many different sights and smells of this fantastical city.
*****************************************
Ridcully sat in his office, his fingers gently drumming the desk.
Oh, Bursar had been pacified but he still spouted long-winded poetry every now and then, proceeding to ram his head into a nearby wall, door or floor.
The dried frog pills hadn't worked, the man had gone mad. No one was even to mention the words "magic", "wand", or "blast" any where near him. He wasn't to be given any ideas.
His wizard looked to his own wand. Watching it lie upon his desk, he sighed resignedly. He missed his wizard's staff. Ever since the maiden had arrived, all sorts of things were going wrong. The Librarian had shut himself in his room, or the library as it may be, refusing to let anyone near him. Near the door, some wizards had found discarded red hair. Ridcully shook his head.
Rubbing his brow he watched the young wizard in front of me.
"She would have died, you know," he said.
"Exactly. I saved her life!" excited, the wizard did not notice the malice in his superior's eyes.
"She should have died."
". . ."
"She was SUPPOSED TO DIE! YOU TWIT!" Ridcully lost his temper, which he rarely did, but nonetheless this was a rare time indeed.
"But sir, a life is sacred and important. I'm a hero!"
"You are a twit."
Rincewind gave off an air of polite confusion.
"We can't get rid of her now, you know! She's cheated certain death! Not just any old death, nooo . . . certain death."
"But . . . everyone knows you can't cheat certain death." Rincewind whispered, horrified.
"Yes, well. She did, and with your help too, twit!"
"Sir?"
"You got her stuck here, you get rid of her. Before she does any damage, goodness knows what these 'wand' things are going to do with us. And the flying horse?" Ridcully lowered his head into his hands.
"I'll do that, then. Shall I, sir?" asked Rincewind.
Ridcully waved his hand uselessly at the door.
Rincewind tripped over his own robes in haste and made for the exit.
"Gods help us," prayed the Archchancellor solemnly.
*****************************************
"Te audire no possum. Musa sapientum fixa est in aure," murmured the Patrician sleepily as he was roused by a very harassed looking official.
"Get up, sir." Said the official crossly.
The Patrician stared at the man sleepily and yawned.
The man coughed slightly and two burly men came up and manhandled the Patrician out of bed.
"What's this?" the Patrician asked, his cold eyes searching the bureaucrat.
Time passed and the Patrician was found sitting, rubbing his bottom and looking mightily unimpressed at the closed Palace doors behind him.
"Princess!" he snorted. He had to see the wizards, they would have done this. They always did things like this. He felt his anger slowly mounting up and began to file it away for safe keeping.
He wanted his palace back.
*****************************************
The Patrician was speaking Latin in his sleep, it meant: 'I can't hear you. I have a banana in my ear.' Heh heh . . . what? Well, at least I found it funny.
Disclaimer: the above is the author's personal story and is not the story, opinion or policy of her employer or of the little green men that have been following her all day.
A/N: After much deliberation, I have decided that this story must be continued. IN which direction I know not. Thank you to Elderberry especially for giving me a few outlets.
*****************************************
Landing elegantly she dismounted and stroked the winged horse's neck in thanks before it promptly vanished as she forgot about it.
Looking around she saw a quite tall and manly guard standing to attention on the street corner. Sidling up to him, she began to talk.
After an hour of talking to him she realized that she was getting no response whatsoever from him. Annoyed, her eyebrows furrowed in frustration and she tried to tear his eyes from the distance by trying to warm him up, he seemed quite cold . . . and hard for that matter.
She poked the statue.
"Miss?" asked a passing salesman.
"Huh?"
"Would milady like to have a look at these wonderful miniature statues? Since you obviously seem to be so taken by that one standing guard for us over there, I thought you'd like to see others of considerable delectabilitice."
"Huh? Oooh! Those are pretty!" she grabbed at the statues that the man held in the tray about his neck, fingering them.
"Would you like some?" his eyes glittered.
"And who might you be?" she asked in return.
"Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler or CMOT Dibbler as my friends all call me. You may call me Dibbles."
She smiled graciously.
"Do you have anymore of these?" she asked politely.
"Of course! Many, many," he assured her, "Why, a whole warehouse in fact! Do you like them? I can give you them all with a discount! Now let's see . . ." his face twisted as he made some quick calculations.
"Oh, no! I couldn't accept what a wonderful gift! And all of them? But sir!"
"No, no, you see . . ."
"Oh you're such a kind man! You there," she pointed to one of them passing by, "follow this man and take all the statues that he gives you and then return to my palace where you must set them up in patrols of 100, 10 men by 10 all lined up! You understand?"
The man nodded and CMOT Dibbler, bewildered, took the man to his warehouse.
Ruby wandered off on her way, often getting distracted by the many different sights and smells of this fantastical city.
*****************************************
Ridcully sat in his office, his fingers gently drumming the desk.
Oh, Bursar had been pacified but he still spouted long-winded poetry every now and then, proceeding to ram his head into a nearby wall, door or floor.
The dried frog pills hadn't worked, the man had gone mad. No one was even to mention the words "magic", "wand", or "blast" any where near him. He wasn't to be given any ideas.
His wizard looked to his own wand. Watching it lie upon his desk, he sighed resignedly. He missed his wizard's staff. Ever since the maiden had arrived, all sorts of things were going wrong. The Librarian had shut himself in his room, or the library as it may be, refusing to let anyone near him. Near the door, some wizards had found discarded red hair. Ridcully shook his head.
Rubbing his brow he watched the young wizard in front of me.
"She would have died, you know," he said.
"Exactly. I saved her life!" excited, the wizard did not notice the malice in his superior's eyes.
"She should have died."
". . ."
"She was SUPPOSED TO DIE! YOU TWIT!" Ridcully lost his temper, which he rarely did, but nonetheless this was a rare time indeed.
"But sir, a life is sacred and important. I'm a hero!"
"You are a twit."
Rincewind gave off an air of polite confusion.
"We can't get rid of her now, you know! She's cheated certain death! Not just any old death, nooo . . . certain death."
"But . . . everyone knows you can't cheat certain death." Rincewind whispered, horrified.
"Yes, well. She did, and with your help too, twit!"
"Sir?"
"You got her stuck here, you get rid of her. Before she does any damage, goodness knows what these 'wand' things are going to do with us. And the flying horse?" Ridcully lowered his head into his hands.
"I'll do that, then. Shall I, sir?" asked Rincewind.
Ridcully waved his hand uselessly at the door.
Rincewind tripped over his own robes in haste and made for the exit.
"Gods help us," prayed the Archchancellor solemnly.
*****************************************
"Te audire no possum. Musa sapientum fixa est in aure," murmured the Patrician sleepily as he was roused by a very harassed looking official.
"Get up, sir." Said the official crossly.
The Patrician stared at the man sleepily and yawned.
The man coughed slightly and two burly men came up and manhandled the Patrician out of bed.
"What's this?" the Patrician asked, his cold eyes searching the bureaucrat.
Time passed and the Patrician was found sitting, rubbing his bottom and looking mightily unimpressed at the closed Palace doors behind him.
"Princess!" he snorted. He had to see the wizards, they would have done this. They always did things like this. He felt his anger slowly mounting up and began to file it away for safe keeping.
He wanted his palace back.
*****************************************
The Patrician was speaking Latin in his sleep, it meant: 'I can't hear you. I have a banana in my ear.' Heh heh . . . what? Well, at least I found it funny.
Disclaimer: the above is the author's personal story and is not the story, opinion or policy of her employer or of the little green men that have been following her all day.