Title: lovely weather we're having, isn't it?

Summary: The age-old starter of non-conversation suddenly becomes a large part of Vetinari's life, as do talking boxes and brightly painted bits of metal that go vroom.

Warnings: None, except that it's really weird.

Chapter 2: August 26: Windy, highs in the low 60s

Out of sheer nervousness, Robert arrived at the News19 studios at 4:30 in the morning. This was not in itself unusual—many various newscasters, editors, technical people, and custodians were there already, and would be until the work was done, although the end didn't seem imminent—but Robert didn't usually show up until 6:30 or later. Yawning and trying not to stumble over bare carpet in his exhaustion, he made his way over to his desk. Although he didn't need a cubicle, or even a desk, for that matter, he had gotten one by way of the fortune possessed of the truly good-looking, and he sat in this now. He groped in his drawer for a packet of M&Ms and his hand had just come in contact with what felt like the edge of a wrapper when Sylvia's head poked around the edge of the doorway. "Come out into the hall," she said. "I'm making an announcement."

Robert knew which announcement this was. Sylvia had made it yesterday night, too. All the same, he closed the drawer again and obediently went out into the hallway.

"Guys," Sylvia was saying, from the vantage point of a cushy, swiveling chair. This was not exactly the right type of chair to stand on when you're making a speech, because the cushions make your footing insecure, and the swiveling means that if you don't hang on to a wall, half way through your speech you'll find that you're facing away from the people you're addressing. She was making do, however, because otherwise she'd have been about half a head shorter than everyone else except Robert. "Guys," she repeated. "I've just hired a new weatherman."

There were cheers, the sort of silly, overenthusiastic ones that come of staying up for 30 hours straight on nothing but coffee and Subways sandwiches.

"Unfortunately," she continued on, voice firmly plowing through the laughter, "circumstances were a bit desperate. The reason we hired him was because he was our only candidate. Because of this, even though he refused to provide us with his background, we had no choice but to hire him. This means that we have no idea who this is, or what kind of a person he might be! He had no references, and didn't even fill out an application, insisting that he was pressed for time." Sylvia was reading from a script she'd drawn up last night, which is why her speech was so formal and why her co-workers had to take time to decipher every statement before they could properly respond. "We don't know if he's dangerous, but it's best not to take chances." She'd even managed to read the italics out loud. Everyone listening had gone silent, a fact in which she took great pride. "Of course we'll run him through a metal detector when he gets here. Even so, be careful around him. Tell us if there are any problems. We want to know. Thank you," she finished quickly, and stepped down from the chair.

"What should I do with these?" an impassive voice asked from behind her. Sylvia spun around to find Vetinari standing behind her, holding a stack of papers with a brown garment of some sort folded neatly on top.

Okay, she admitted to herself. Maybe she hadn't been the reason everyone had gone quiet. How long had Vetinari been there??

Perhaps seeing her stunned expression and deducing from there that she wasn't about to respond, Vetinari continued, "You said Mr. Rodney wasn't coming back for his stuff, so I kept the things I thought might aid me in my work. But these I don't need." He held up a box of orange Tic-Tacs with his spare hand and used it to indicate the stack. "What should I do with them?"

Robert remembered the orange Tic-Tacs. Max had downed them like some sort of drug, a box per day, sometimes two, perhaps as a replacement for a previous and more harmful addiction. Robert had countered with his M&Ms and it had become a sort of joke among the studio. For Robert's birthday most of the people who worked around the same time of day he did had pitched in gotten him a plastic sculpture of a happy, yellow M&M. It had had a widely smiling face and two huge eyes. Robert had hidden it behind a few books and tried not to look at it while he was eating M&Ms, because eating the candies while the plastic thing was watching made him feel like a monster. It seemed a bit strange that Max wouldn't be eating his Tic-Tacs with him anymore. Maybe Vetinari would?

"What are you doing here?" Sylvia asked.

"I said around 5, didn't I? I got here at 4:20. I had assumed promptness was expected." Vetinari said.

"Oh, er, yes. Yes, very good." Did you go through a metal detector when you got here? she wanted to ask, but couldn't bring herself to.

"Er, bring them down to admissions, I guess," Sylvia suggested. "Someone'll sort through them later."

Vetinari left.

A few minutes ticked by in silence before someone finally worked up the courage to ask, "How come he knew where admissions was?"

When Vetinari returned, it was just nearing five in the morning. Wordlessly, he returned to Rodney's cubicle, now his cubicle, apparently deciding not to ask why everybody was still standing in the hall and staring at him. A few moments later, Robert followed him in.

It looked a lot better than it had the previous morning. The clutter that had obscured the desk was now completely gone, revealing that the desk was, in fact, a dark cherry finish, and that it did, indeed, have a computer on it. Max had declared that he wouldn't use any of "those newfangled contraptions," as stereotype dictated, and Robert had just assumed that he didn't have one in his cubicle. Without all the papers, though, Robert realized that what he'd originally just assumed to be a particularly high stack was actually a monitor. It was now aglow with red and blue lines, behind which the faint outline of the United States could be made out. The monitor flickered occasionally, and at first Robert thought that it was broken. After a while, he realized that it was a bit too regular to be a bug, and realized that it displayed a weather map, which refreshed itself every five seconds to show the latest developments. Robert hadn't even known that computers could be made to do that, much less how to use such information.

The large weather maps that Max was supplied with regularly were stacked neatly in a corner of the office, leaning against a wall. Yesterday night's map was hanging behind the desk and computer, still with Robert's shaky circles and Vetinari's two lines on them. The current weather map hung at the wall to Vetinari's right elbow, facing the doorway. The predicted map for that afternoon hung behind Vetinari. This was a much more efficient system than rustling through the papers every time they wanted to look something up, and Robert had the sneaking suspicion that the maps leaning against the wall were sorted in chronological order, as neat as the rest of the office.

Vetinari, at his desk, was writing rapidly. After a few moments, he set down his pen and handed the paper to Robert, who took it with hesitation and read. It was about all the weather they could expect to have that morning and afternoon, and was quite detailed. It even went on to say that thunderstorms were possible that evening or early the next morning, but that they would surely be over by noon the next day.

"Is everything clear?" Vetinari asked, looking at Robert expectantly.

"Yes, I think so," Robert said. He glanced at the clock, which told him that it was only 5:11. "That was fast," he tried.

Vetinari shrugged. "It took me some time to get organized. It'll be faster tonight."

"Oh. Er, good." Robert cast about for something to say. "Er, it looks good." Vetinari continued to stare at him blankly. "The cubicle, I mean. Er. I guess I'll see you tonight then. Er. Would you like an M&M?"

To be continued…