"My Lord, have you decided if you will be attending the gala on Thursday?"

Vetinari didn't look up from his paperwork, "There was no decision, Drumknott. You doubted I would be going?"

"Not at all my Lord, but Mr Lipwig likes to have certainty on these things."

"That's because he always has to interpret me, Drumknott." a wry smile pulled at the Patrician's lips.

"I understand Lady Margolotta will be going, my Lord." Drumknott said helpfully after a moment's pause.

"I believe she is, Drumknott. I'm sure her company will be…diverting, as usual."

"Yes, my Lord."

"And will you be attending the gala, Drumknott?"

"If your Lordship requires me to."

"I'm sure I can cope without you for one evening, Drumknott, but you may attend if you wish."

"Then I will be there, my Lord."

"I understand Lady Margolotta's clerk will be going, Drumknott."

Drumknott didn't miss a beat, "I'm sure her company will be diverting, as usual, my Lord."

Lord Vetinari dotted his last full stop. Drumknott straightened his files.

And nothing more needed to be said.

-x-x-x-

"I hate to use a hackneyed line," said Adora Belle, studying herself critically in the mirror, "But I have absolutely nothing to wear for tomorrow night."

"Absolutely nothing to wear?" Moist said incredulously, glancing up from his place on the bed, "Well then, I guess you'll just have to wear nothing. Perhaps you should try it on now."

"Very funny."

"I was being serious."

"I'm sure you were." Adora frowned, "What should I wear?"

Moist propped his head up on his hands; his wife was standing in front of the mirror in her nightgown, the doors of her expansive wardrobe thrown open as she examined its contents.

"I'm not suggesting anything because you'll say no to everything. Women always do."

"Moist…"

"Alright. Wear the green one."

Adora's expression shifted minutely. He rolled his eyes, "The purple one, then."

"I wore that the day before yesterday…"

"The blue one. The black one. The other black one. The grey one. I don't know, the luminous orange one."

She ignored his teasing and pulled a hanger out from the rest, "I think I'll wear the red one."

"Wonderful. You would have looked stunning in any of them, you know."

She hung it on the wardrobe door and gave it a once-over, "Yes, dear."

A year ago, the response would have been "I know." Moist noted it with trepidation but said nothing, slipping his arm around her as she lay down on the bed beside him and kissing her temple. She picked up the day's Times and burst out laughing.

"What?"

"You've made the political cartoon. Its not bad, actually."

"Oh gods." he buried his face in her back and grimaced, "What does it say?"

"'Vetinari has no balls at all? We'll soon see about that!' And you seem to be holding - Good gods, I'm surprised De Worde let that be printed…"

"Let me guess," Moist lifted his head, "Looks like a pair of hairy potatoes?"

"You put it so tastefully, darling." she snickered, passing him the paper. He gave the picture a brief glance, winced, and threw it as far as he could. There was a comfortable pause.

"Can you think of any way I can get out of the gala tomorrow night?"

Adora squinted at him over her shoulder, "Get out of your own gala? Not short of dying, I'm afraid. Perhaps you can ask Vetinari to hang you again."

"Good idea…" Moist rested his head on her arm and frowned thoughtfully.

"Not a good idea."

"Because you love me and life would not be worth living without me?" he asked with a hopeful grin.

"Because life would be awfully dull without you."

"Good enough." he said, and kissed her.

-x-x-x-

Susan Sto-Helit smoothed out her dress, sat down on her bed, closed her eyes and dreamed.

She was a normal girl, getting ready to go out with her friends to a normal party. Her grandfather was not Death, she was not being stalked by a sociopathic poltergeist and the one man she really had a chance with was not the anthropomorphic personification of Time.

There was a loud crash from the living room.

She opened her eyes. She picked up the poker. She prepared to unleash hell.

"Susan!" Lobsang croaked as she walked into the room. Teatime was holding his knife to the other man's neck. Although Lobsang was a good few inches taller, the assassin had some kind of supernatural strength that defied his thin-set build.

"He was in the kitchen. Its not polite to break into people's houses, sir."

"He's the anthropomorphic personification of Time, Teatime, not a thief. Let him go." Susan dropped the poker, smiling despite herself at the sight of Lobsang.

The blond assassin stepped back with what looked like genuine contrition, "Very sorry, sir. I was not aware that you and Susan were acquaintances. My name is Jonathan Teatime, what's yours?"

"Lobsang Ludd." he muttered, rubbing his neck. Then he looked at Susan and smiled, and something unfamiliar in her stomach went all squiffy.

"How long can you stay?"

"About five minutes," he caught the look of disappointment on her face, "I'm sorry…"

"Its okay. We have to go out tonight anyway."

"We?" Lobsang shot a look at Teatime, who seemed to be wholly preoccupied with watching the light glance off his knife, "Who is he to you?"

"Long story. An enemy that thought it would be fun to come back as a poltergeist. His life source is my irritation, so he can't kill me, at least."

"Charming." he eyed the young man warily.

"I'm trying to get rid of him."

"I bet you are." Lobsang chuckled, then turned back to her, stepping a little closer, "So, where are you two going tonight?"

"Midwinter Gala at the Patrician's palace, representing Sto-Helit." she pulled a face. "It's going to be ghastly."

"I can't say I'm jealous."

"You could, to make me feel better."

He moved closer, "Alright. I am very jealous that Mister Teatime is escorting you to the Midwinter Gala tonight, Susan, and that I cannot."

"Good enough." said Susan, and smiled.

Another perfect moment…

"Tee-ah-tim-eh, Mr Ludd."

…Ruined.

Susan scowled, "Bugger off, Teatime."