Discworld HouseShare
By: Twist (and whoever else contributes)
A/n: This is a very weird idea I've had for quite some time. Characters are trying to be in character and will, at some point, spin violently out of control. You are warned. You are also warned that this may or may not be updated frequently. Probably will though, as I use it as a 'blurb story'.
You may have noted that I added 'and whoever else contributes' to the by line. This is because you, the reader, can give me ideas! I may not listen, but it is possible. Methods of contact are at the bottom.
Enjoy, my friends. :D
Disclaimer: Figure it out. I can't be bothered.
~
Sam Vimes was very, very angry. His feet were also very, very cold. And his socks were very, very missing.
It had been three days since he had been moved into this house by an insane young woman. And it wasn't only him. Oh, no. These days, he was beginning to think that solitary confinement might be preferable to who he was living with these days.
"Godsdammit, Vetinari, where are my socks?" he mumbled under his breath. He and the Patrician had been forced to share a bedroom. Well, not literally /forced/ per se, but seeing as the other option was Nobby, he might as well have been forced.
Vimes began to dig around under his wardrobe when the sounds of an argument reached his ears. It sounded like Nobby and Angua were at it again over what to watch on the . . . Telly-Vision? Vimes didn't know. The girl who had locked them all up here had supplied it and anyway, Vimes thought it was malevolent. The little people inside it were always crying.
"Listen, /corporal/, I am locked inside this house with you and my only condolence is the daily episode of 'The Dating Game'!" Angua was shouting.
"Yes well, my only reward for putting up with you, /sergeant/ is 'General Hospital'. So there!" Nobby retorted.
Vimes sighed. It looked like this argument was going to need some mediation of some sort. It had been three days and already Nobby had managed to get Angua arguing like a three-year-old. Peer pressure indeed. He gave up the search for footwear and proceeded down the stairs and into the battle zone.
"What's the problem down here?" he asked loudly as he entered the living room. Nobby and Angua gave him a guilty look.
"He wouldn't let me watch 'The Dating Game'," Angua said, ashamed at her behavior.
"Yeah, well, I wanted to watch 'General Hospital'," Nobby muttered. He had no shame.
"Which means we get to watch what /I/ want to watch," interjected an easygoing voice from the kitchen. One of the people Vimes didn't know entered to room and plopped down on the couch. "'The Dating Game' it is," she said happily. Her name was Nanny Ogg, and she had been nominated as the unofficial Debate Settler.
"Has anyone seen my socks?" Vimes asked hopefully after peace had been restored. There was a chorus of 'No's. Vimes sighed again and left the room, with intents of getting something to eat.
"Hello Commander!" Carrot said cheerfully as Vimes entered the kitchen. Vimes waved half-heartedly and walked over to the ice-box.
"Have you seen my socks?" Vimes asked as he pulled out a carton of milk. "I can't find any of them anywhere."
"No, sir," Carrot said cheerfully. "Maybe you should ask the Patrician."
Vimes opened his mouth to say something, but a puzzled looked crossed his face. "Come to think of it, Carrot, have you seen the Patrician lately?"
"I think he's barricaded himself in the basement," Carrot said. He was right, too; Nobby had seen the man go down there the day after everyone had arrived and no-one had seen him since. Vimes, however, did appreciate that this was no indication as to whether or not the man had been around.
"Well, let me know if you see anything," Vimes said, finishing off the milk and closing the icebox. He dumped the empty carton in the sink.
"You know Mistress Weatherwax doesn't like that," Carrot said reproachfully.
"Well then she can throw it away," Vimes growled, suddenly hostile. "I'm going to find my socks." He strode out of the kitchen with all intents of entering the basement. Granny Weatherwax, however, had other plans.
"I can throw it away, can I?" she asked icily. "So much for cleaning up after one's own messes. And me an old lady, too. Lawks."
Vimes sighed in exasperation. "I'll throw it away! Fine!" He stormed back into the kitchen and deposited the empty carton in the wastebasket. Carrot very wisely said nothing. Silence reigned in the kitchen for a few moments before Nanny's loud guffaw carried in from the living room.
"What's she laughing about, then?" Granny asked, sitting down at the table. Carrot smiled.
"I couldn't say, Mistress Weatherwax."
Granny sat and thought for a moment. "Where's that skinny man that was with the Vimes fellow when we arrived? Buggered off, has he?"
"I think he's in the basement, Mistress Weatherwax."
Granny harrumphed. "He can stay there, for all I care. Arrogant as all get out."
"Yes, Mistress Weatherwax," Carrot said diplomatically.
*
Angua stopped Commander Vimes when he was halfway down the upstairs hall. "Have you seen his Lordship?" she asked. Vimes shook his head and Angua's brow furrowed. "Well, I can't imagine who else would know where it is," she said.
"Where what is?" Vimes asked, tiredly.
"My skirt!" Angua said, annoyed. "I've asked Carrot and the other two ladies and I've searched Nobby's possessions and there's still no sign of it."
"I certainly don't have it," Vimes replied, feeling some measure of self- defense was needed.
"I didn't think you would," Angua said distractedly. "The only person left is his Lordship."
"I'll ask him if I see him," Vimes said, somewhat confused as to why Vetinari would want a skirt.
"Thanks," said Angua, before strolling off down the hall.
"And let me know if you see my socks!" Vimes called after her. He turned and once again made for his bedroom. Upon opening the door he found the house's most wanted.
"Hello, your Lordship," Vimes said neutrally. Vetinari turned around calmly.
"Hello, Commander," he returned. "I trust you are well?"
"Angua wants to know if you've seen her skirt," Vimes said, cutting to the chase.
"Skirt? What skirt?" Vetinari asked smoothly. "No, I haven't seen a skirt."
"How about my socks?" Vimes asked. He realized Vetinari could be lying through his teeth, but he couldn't think of any reason the Patrician would want a skirt.
"Haven't seen your socks, either," Vetinari replied. He turned back to what he had been doing, which was rummaging through his personal items. Vimes noticed that there was something like ten ties on the floor next to him.
"Why all the ties?" Vimes asked, trying to be nonchalant. He question was answered by a blank look. "Fine, never mind," he growled slightly. Trying to ignore the fact that his boss was rooting through drawers for ties, he went over and lay on his bed.
"Have a nice day, Commander," Vetinari said curtly, walking out of the room with a handful of ties and closing the door behind him with a sharp snap.
Vimes watched him go and rolled his eyes before continuing to think about his lost socks.
~
METHODS OF CONTACT: DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT reply in a review. Part of the fun of this story is going to be the surprises. Any reviews with ideas in them will be deleted. Sorry. If you do want a part of it, either contact me at PlotTwist13@comcast.net OR go to my LiveJournal I really do prefer e-mail, though. :)
By: Twist (and whoever else contributes)
A/n: This is a very weird idea I've had for quite some time. Characters are trying to be in character and will, at some point, spin violently out of control. You are warned. You are also warned that this may or may not be updated frequently. Probably will though, as I use it as a 'blurb story'.
You may have noted that I added 'and whoever else contributes' to the by line. This is because you, the reader, can give me ideas! I may not listen, but it is possible. Methods of contact are at the bottom.
Enjoy, my friends. :D
Disclaimer: Figure it out. I can't be bothered.
~
Sam Vimes was very, very angry. His feet were also very, very cold. And his socks were very, very missing.
It had been three days since he had been moved into this house by an insane young woman. And it wasn't only him. Oh, no. These days, he was beginning to think that solitary confinement might be preferable to who he was living with these days.
"Godsdammit, Vetinari, where are my socks?" he mumbled under his breath. He and the Patrician had been forced to share a bedroom. Well, not literally /forced/ per se, but seeing as the other option was Nobby, he might as well have been forced.
Vimes began to dig around under his wardrobe when the sounds of an argument reached his ears. It sounded like Nobby and Angua were at it again over what to watch on the . . . Telly-Vision? Vimes didn't know. The girl who had locked them all up here had supplied it and anyway, Vimes thought it was malevolent. The little people inside it were always crying.
"Listen, /corporal/, I am locked inside this house with you and my only condolence is the daily episode of 'The Dating Game'!" Angua was shouting.
"Yes well, my only reward for putting up with you, /sergeant/ is 'General Hospital'. So there!" Nobby retorted.
Vimes sighed. It looked like this argument was going to need some mediation of some sort. It had been three days and already Nobby had managed to get Angua arguing like a three-year-old. Peer pressure indeed. He gave up the search for footwear and proceeded down the stairs and into the battle zone.
"What's the problem down here?" he asked loudly as he entered the living room. Nobby and Angua gave him a guilty look.
"He wouldn't let me watch 'The Dating Game'," Angua said, ashamed at her behavior.
"Yeah, well, I wanted to watch 'General Hospital'," Nobby muttered. He had no shame.
"Which means we get to watch what /I/ want to watch," interjected an easygoing voice from the kitchen. One of the people Vimes didn't know entered to room and plopped down on the couch. "'The Dating Game' it is," she said happily. Her name was Nanny Ogg, and she had been nominated as the unofficial Debate Settler.
"Has anyone seen my socks?" Vimes asked hopefully after peace had been restored. There was a chorus of 'No's. Vimes sighed again and left the room, with intents of getting something to eat.
"Hello Commander!" Carrot said cheerfully as Vimes entered the kitchen. Vimes waved half-heartedly and walked over to the ice-box.
"Have you seen my socks?" Vimes asked as he pulled out a carton of milk. "I can't find any of them anywhere."
"No, sir," Carrot said cheerfully. "Maybe you should ask the Patrician."
Vimes opened his mouth to say something, but a puzzled looked crossed his face. "Come to think of it, Carrot, have you seen the Patrician lately?"
"I think he's barricaded himself in the basement," Carrot said. He was right, too; Nobby had seen the man go down there the day after everyone had arrived and no-one had seen him since. Vimes, however, did appreciate that this was no indication as to whether or not the man had been around.
"Well, let me know if you see anything," Vimes said, finishing off the milk and closing the icebox. He dumped the empty carton in the sink.
"You know Mistress Weatherwax doesn't like that," Carrot said reproachfully.
"Well then she can throw it away," Vimes growled, suddenly hostile. "I'm going to find my socks." He strode out of the kitchen with all intents of entering the basement. Granny Weatherwax, however, had other plans.
"I can throw it away, can I?" she asked icily. "So much for cleaning up after one's own messes. And me an old lady, too. Lawks."
Vimes sighed in exasperation. "I'll throw it away! Fine!" He stormed back into the kitchen and deposited the empty carton in the wastebasket. Carrot very wisely said nothing. Silence reigned in the kitchen for a few moments before Nanny's loud guffaw carried in from the living room.
"What's she laughing about, then?" Granny asked, sitting down at the table. Carrot smiled.
"I couldn't say, Mistress Weatherwax."
Granny sat and thought for a moment. "Where's that skinny man that was with the Vimes fellow when we arrived? Buggered off, has he?"
"I think he's in the basement, Mistress Weatherwax."
Granny harrumphed. "He can stay there, for all I care. Arrogant as all get out."
"Yes, Mistress Weatherwax," Carrot said diplomatically.
*
Angua stopped Commander Vimes when he was halfway down the upstairs hall. "Have you seen his Lordship?" she asked. Vimes shook his head and Angua's brow furrowed. "Well, I can't imagine who else would know where it is," she said.
"Where what is?" Vimes asked, tiredly.
"My skirt!" Angua said, annoyed. "I've asked Carrot and the other two ladies and I've searched Nobby's possessions and there's still no sign of it."
"I certainly don't have it," Vimes replied, feeling some measure of self- defense was needed.
"I didn't think you would," Angua said distractedly. "The only person left is his Lordship."
"I'll ask him if I see him," Vimes said, somewhat confused as to why Vetinari would want a skirt.
"Thanks," said Angua, before strolling off down the hall.
"And let me know if you see my socks!" Vimes called after her. He turned and once again made for his bedroom. Upon opening the door he found the house's most wanted.
"Hello, your Lordship," Vimes said neutrally. Vetinari turned around calmly.
"Hello, Commander," he returned. "I trust you are well?"
"Angua wants to know if you've seen her skirt," Vimes said, cutting to the chase.
"Skirt? What skirt?" Vetinari asked smoothly. "No, I haven't seen a skirt."
"How about my socks?" Vimes asked. He realized Vetinari could be lying through his teeth, but he couldn't think of any reason the Patrician would want a skirt.
"Haven't seen your socks, either," Vetinari replied. He turned back to what he had been doing, which was rummaging through his personal items. Vimes noticed that there was something like ten ties on the floor next to him.
"Why all the ties?" Vimes asked, trying to be nonchalant. He question was answered by a blank look. "Fine, never mind," he growled slightly. Trying to ignore the fact that his boss was rooting through drawers for ties, he went over and lay on his bed.
"Have a nice day, Commander," Vetinari said curtly, walking out of the room with a handful of ties and closing the door behind him with a sharp snap.
Vimes watched him go and rolled his eyes before continuing to think about his lost socks.
~
METHODS OF CONTACT: DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT reply in a review. Part of the fun of this story is going to be the surprises. Any reviews with ideas in them will be deleted. Sorry. If you do want a part of it, either contact me at PlotTwist13@comcast.net OR go to my LiveJournal I really do prefer e-mail, though. :)