Kiss Me

You asked for it, so here it is: the Angua filk! This one is based on 'Kiss Me' by Sixpence None The Richer, a band about whom I know just about nothing – as far as I know, this was their only hit, but it's a good 'un. I think it was first released in the mid-Nineties, though I'm not sure – again, my choristerly isolation from mainstream society is to blame for that – but it seems to have hung around on the fringes of the music scene ever since. It was played at a royal wedding, on Stars in Their Eyes (note to people who've never seen it – imagine American Idol, but with people who can actually sing) and just recently, the video popped up on one of those irritating music video channels that only ever show about five videos 90 of the time, then bungs every single video it ever showed into a 'One-Off Special Weekend!' But I digress. There isn't so much of a story round this one, just a bit at the start and the end. At least, that's the plan.

Disclaimer: The song 'Kiss Me' is the property of Sixpence None The Richer. The Discworld and the characters Angua, carrot, Vimes and Visit are all copyright of Terry and Lyn Pratchett. Edward, Chris and Sean are all my fault – I mean, property, property, sorry…

KISS ME

Sergeant Angua, Ankh-Morpork City Watch, was not happy. She was wet, she was cold, she was on her own and the moon was in its gibbous waning stage. Trust her to get the riverfront beat right in the middle of a Sektober squall!

She shivered as a gust of wind lifted some water out of a gutter and dumped it down her neck. She glared at the offending channel, muttering, then shrieked as the gutter collapsed, dousing her in a torrent of freezing water. That's it, she thought. She pushed her sopping hair out of her eyes and headed for the watch house.

Ten minutes later, she pushed open the door of Pseudopolis Yard and squelched up to the charge desk, being manned on this occasion by Corporal Christopher Ottersneeze, who glanced at her over his copy of Terra Menisca: Thaumaturgical Hues. "Little damp out, is it?" he said with a half-smile on his face.

Angua glared, but before she could reply she heard something – or rather didn't hear something – which had been accompanying her for her entire patrol. She glanced out of the window just as the final raindrops bounced down. The wind died down, the sun came out and, against all meteorological evidence, a rainbow arced across the sky. She cursed something in Krullian+ which was unprintable for both decency and spelling reasons. "Damned weather! Look, I'm going to get washed. I'll write my report when I'm finished." She squelched across the charge room and up the stairs, leaving a trail of water behind her.

She was mid-way across the landing when a crash issued from a nearby room and the door shook on its hinges. It was briefly followed by Constable Edward Blankwall. "Stay there," he said. "I'll go and get a screwdriver-"

He cannoned into Angua, and the two of them landed on the floor in a quite compromising position. Angua pushed the constable off and stood up. Dust from the floor was now sticking to her soaked elbows, legs and hair, while Edward had a huge dark patch covering the whole front of his shirt and most of the front of his trousers.

"This is just one of those days, isn't it," muttered Angua. "Next thing, the floor's going to give way."

Edward looked sheepish. "Sorry, Angua," he said. "I should've looked where I was going." He smiled, which was slightly unnerving. "Oh, by the way – I've written that song."

"What song?" said Angua. "Look, can it wait till after I've had a wash? I don't want to spend the rest of today smelling like a drainpipe."

Although it might have been waning gibbous. Whatever, it was just after full moon, okay?

Given the natives' attitude to foreigners, and the complexities of its written language, Krullian has always been a useful language to swear in. This is also the reason why I intend to learn to swear in Welsh, Russian, French, Spanish, Irish, German, Elvish (Tolkein) and Dwarfish (Pratchett). The fact that they're good to swear in, not that they're hard to write or that all those people hate foreigners.

Half an hour later, Angua knocked on Edward's door. Edward opened the door and held it open while she entered.

"I'm afraid there's not a lot of space available," he said, which was understatement in the extreme. Lance-Constable Sean McLiverstockworth was sat at one end of Edward's bed, holding his guitar. Constable Visit was sat on a chair, holding his own guitar. Edward's guitar had been laid down on the desk, along with his harmonica.

"What's all this?" said Angua.

"Edward asked us to play this song for him," said Sean.

"I wouldn't have thought you would want to play in a popular music group, Visit," said Angua.

The Omnian shrugged. "A talent for music is given to me by the grace of Om, and should not be wasted."

"Now, do you want to actually hear this song, or not?" said Edward.

"Okay-"

"Great. I'll sing your part for now, but tell me-"

"Whoa! Hold on a second!" cried Angua. "Do you really expect me to sing?"

"Uh… yes?" said Edward.

"I can't sing, Edward!"

"Why not? Carrot managed it with your song, and he couldn't even hold a note when I first arrived. Just give it a go. Please?"

Angua sighed. "Oh, alright…"

Rehearsals went on for the next month. Angua was reluctant to sing at first, but after all three of her bandmates tried it, she finally agreed to a trial. She hadn't noticed anything different until the small crowd which had gathered below the window started applauding.

After a month had passed, Edward mentioned something. "There's going to be another gig at the Bucket at the start of December. Would you lot be up for playing this song then?"

"We'll need a name," said Visit.

"The Plagiarisers!" said Sean.

"Nah, the Musician's Guild come down like a ton of trombones if they even get a sniff of artistic impersonation," said Edward.

While the other three argued over the merits of The Naps, Nameless For Now and The Mighty Pencil Enforcers, Angua stared out of the window at the street below. As she watched, a man dropped a ten-penny piece, which rolled away and disappeared through a gap in one of the city's ancient drains. Despite the fact that it was obviously gone, he spent several minutes trying to retrieve it, using a length of wood, two paperclips and a Sonky.

Ankh-Morpork citizens, she thought. Lose ten pence and they're all the poorer for it-

A flash of inspiration hit her, and she couldn't help but laugh.

"What's funny?" said Edward.

"Tell me, Edward," said Angua, "how do you feel about Tenpence All The Poorer?"

This kind of contraption never works. I know this from personal experience. Except without the Sonky, obviously.

It was the second week of December. Mr Cheese had at least made something approaching an effort towards putting up Hogswatch decorations, although he'd had to take down the tinsel after Edward had threatened him with prosecution under the Bad Taste Act of 1843.

Carrot was sat at a table not far from the stage, a half-empty glass of milk in front of him. Mister Vimes was sat across the table from him, with Christopher sat between the two.

"How come Palms aren't playing this time round?" said Chris.

"Oh, we don't want to play every single time," said Carrot. "People would get bored of us."

Vimes took another sip of his lemonade. "I just don't understand the appeal of some of this music. That band who were on last month – Anger At The Engine-"

"Yes, sir, they were awful," said Chris. "Their guitars sounded like a cat going to the toilet through a sewn-up bum inside the Ablutorium."

"I still don't think my hearing's recovered," muttered Vimes.

Reg, who was the night's compere, clapped his hands together for silence, causing one of them to droop weirdly. "Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen, dwarfs and trolls – and undead," he said, "and a very warm welcome to the December Bucket Gig. Tonight's first act is…" he picked up a sheet of paper with his drooping hand, which fell off. "Damn." He picked it up in his other hand, still with the other hand attatched. "Yes, tonight's first act is Tenpence All The Poorer! Big hand, everyone, for Tenpe- oh, yes, it's sooo funny, isn't it?" he snapped, as a ripple of laughter ran round the bar.

"Tenpence All The Poorer?" said Vimes, leaning over the table as he applauded. "Isn't that Angua's band?"

As if in answer, Angua, Visit and Sean strode on to the stage. Angua was wearing a shimmering blue dress, while the two men were wearing matching black suits, but Sean wore a red waistcoat, cummerbund and tie, while Visit's were green.

"Where's Edward?" muttered Vimes. Chris, who was the only one who could hear him, shrugged.

"We'll just be a sec," said Sean, "we need to tune our guitars."

Pling. Sean confirmed his guitar fully tuned.

Pling. Visit did the same.

"Ready?" said Angua.

The two men swung into a lazy rhythm that echoed round the bar. It was a haunting melody – it sounded almost childlike. Vimes was so immersed that he nearly didn't notice Angua start singing.

"Kiss me, after the night shift's ended,

Nightly, outside my brown, brown room,

Ring, ring, ring your watchman's bell,

You wear some new clothes and I'll wear my dress.

So kiss me,

Out in the milky twilight,

We'll leave,

Out through the moonlit door,

Take my proffered paw,

In your soft hand and we'll watch the stars and

Silver moon turning,

So kiss me."

Suddenly a harmonica sprang up from one side of the stage. Everyone in the room craned their necks to try and see around the curtain without getting out of their chair, lest the Bucket suddenly develop a parallel-universe James Pooley and John Omally. By almost shoving Chris out of his chair and dislocating his shoulder, Vimes could just see Edward, in black tux with white waistcoat and cummerbund, perched on a ledge in one corner with his harmonica. Unfazed by the sudden shift in attention, Angua was still singing.

"Kiss me, outside the Long Wall watch house,

Hold me, in your embracing arms,

Swing, swing, swing your foot's instep,

We'll make our way to Pseudopolis Yard.

So kiss me,

Out in the milky twilight,

We'll leave,

Out through the moonlit door,

Take my proffered paw,

In your soft hand and we'll watch the stars and

Silver moon turning,

So kiss me."

As the last notes faded away into the distance, the Bucket erupted into whoops and roars the likes of which had not been seen since it was announced that Mr Cheese was reducing the cost of a pint by thrippence. Vimes turned to Carrot, only to find that he wasn't there any more.

Chris nudged him in the back, and pointed to the door, which slammed shut.

"I think they're just off to go and look at the moonlight, corporal" Vimes said, smiling.

Chris grinned at him, and sipped at his pint. "Oh, somehow I get the feeling they'll be a bit too busy for that, sir," he said.

Given his poor taste in music, and a general desire to resemble Carrot as little as possible, Edward never usually invoked little-known Acts, but his loathing for tinsel over-ruled that.

However, he failed to announce that this was only for every pint on a tray of 20, which meant you paid 35.00 for drinks no-one else would want.

Ugh. Not too happy with that ending. Doesn't seem completely IC for Carrot and Vimes. Still, I must admit I felt no other way of ending this story quickly. Sorry.

Shout-outs! Just something a little different now:

As the din died down, Edward strode up to the front.

"Er, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "there are just a few things I'd like to say." He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket and cleared his throat.

"Firstly, Egleriel. I'm surprised you prefer it to my other work. That said, I'm also flattered. Keep writing. I must admit, you're one of the best writers I can think of. You're certainly one of my favourites."

"Now, Jess Idres. As you say, ask and ye shall receive, no? And as for the best sugar a gal could get… aww, shucks, I'm all embarrassed now!"

"And finally, Frosteh. Now how could I forget my first ever reviewer? Just two things – one, forget Redwall. We need you here! And two – aaagh! I killed my first ever reviewer!"

Just one final author's note: Bizarrely enough, I heard 'She's Electric' on the radio in the car on my way home from school today. I NEVER hear songs I like on the radio.

And finally, a request. Should any of you read this, I must ask you a favour. I want to know what I should do for my next story. There are the following options:

An alternative history of Ankh-Morpork – what if the Civil War had been a draw, and the city had been split down the river? A la Harry Turtledove.

A bit of background information on some of my characters – which may be a bit un-cannonlike for the first few chapters, while I set the scene, should you pick it.

Something involving the Carpet People on Discworld (NOT 'the Carpet People turning up on Discworld' – the Carpet People already existing on Discworld).

A 'What happens next?' story involving the Watch and characters from Going Postal.

Random Vignettes.

Now, I'm not too sure on policies, so email your responses to me using the address in my profile. But please still review me here! I'll probably end up doing all of them eventually, I just want to know which one to do first.