Who: Harry Potter & Carrot Ironfoundersson, open to anyone else who might have business here
What: Job searching
Where: The police station
When: Sometime in early November 2011
Why: Because Carrot is a policeman through and through
Rating: No higher than PG, surely
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I'm looking for the Commander of the Watch, please. )
He straightened to full attention, broad shoulders squared, eyes forward. "Sir! My name is Carrot Ironfoundersson. I had heard that you might have openings for policemen." Vastly undermanned was how Balaz had actually put it. "I have been a member of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch for six years, and I believe my record has been good in that time." He kept the fact of his Captaincy to himself for now, not wishing Harry to think Carrot wouldn't be able to submit to another's authority. "I should like to become a member of your police force, and assist you in protecting this city."
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Actually, most of those types of criticisms came from Hermione.
"You aren't wrong." And neither was his mysterious source, whoever that might have been. "There's only a few of us at the moment." Harry ruffled the hair on the back of his head and shrugged. "Not for a lack of wanting more people. The town hasn't blown up yet, which we're counting as a minor victory. Where did you say you were from again?"
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"From Ankh-Morpork, sir. You're unlikely to have heard of it. It's the largest city on the Discworld." The lack of recognition didn't surprise Carrot, though even after all this time it was still hard to accept that he was standing on a Roundworld. "I have been serving with the volunteer Watch here for the last two months, sir. Baron Balaz or Mr Abraham Sapien can vouch for my conduct."
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He was really fond of his buttocks after all. And his balls. So the necessity wasn't really lost on him, even if ease of comfort was a little to be desired. "And please, Harry is fine enough. Or Potter if you'd prefer it, I guess. I'm not anyone's sir. I landed in this job by chance and luck."
Not that he didn't have an impressive enough resume to back up his position, he just didn't like dragging it about either.
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"Yes, sir. Mr Potter," Carrot corrected himself. One generally had to earn the privilege of calling Commander Vimes Mister, but that didn't mean Detective Potter had to be the same way. "It's been an honor to serve on that force, and I intend to continue doing so, if it won't create a conflict."
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He undid the buttons on his shirt cuffs with a little flick of his wrist, rolling both his sleeves up to his elbows. On his right arm the wand holster stood out starkly against his pale skin, the bane of being British, and let the wand slide out into his hand.
"We don't really have a system here when it comes to a standard weaponry. There isn't a lot of crime in Aternaville and guns aren't the way I work. I never got comfortable enough near one." Harry paused and assessed Carrot, which, he had to admit was an odd name even where he had come from, and smiled, wide and welcoming. "You'll have to fill out a bit of paperwork, nothing to strenuous, of course, but unofficially, I'm ready to offer you a position here."
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At the mention of gonnes, Carrot's face hardened almost imperceptibly. "No, Mr Potter," he agreed firmly. "I also do not use a gonne. But I can provide my own sword, sir, and I've done plenty of paperwork. That won't be any trouble." It shouldn't have been possible for him to straighten any further, but when Harry offered him a position, he managed it. "Thank you, Mr Potter! You won't regret it." He paused, a thinking line appearing between his eyes. "Mr Potter, where I come from, the entry-level rank in the Watch is Lance-Constable. What are the ranks here?"
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"But you're not." Harry straightened up and gestured for Carrot to follow him back into his office. A sword. He carried a bloody sword, of course he did. "When did you arrive in town?"
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"Yes, sir. Wherever you see fit to put me." He followed as he was beckoned, still holding his helmet in his hand. Again he had to duck slightly as he entered the office, but he'd grown up in a dwarf mine, so ducking came naturally. "I'm afraid I haven't fully mastered the calendar here, Mr Potter, but if it's Ember - er--" He paused, laboring to remember the Roundworld's calendar equivalents. "Sorry, that is, November? I believe it was early August when I arrived." August was easy; it was one month they seemed to have in common. Laying the Discworld calendar next to the Roundworld one was a fascinating exercise.
"And you, sir?" Detective Potter sounded almost Morporkian himself, with an accent very like Carrot's own.
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He rifled through his top desk drawer, trying to find the forms he needed. Hermione had got them for him at some point, but it wasn't like he often needed the proper paperwork for a new hire. It took a bit of shifting around in his desk, the one place he didn't let Hermione touch.
"I've been here for a few years, give or take. Long enough to know most people." And to adjust to the madness. He didn't look up from his bottomless drawer as he spoke. "Most people are completely mental, if you haven't noticed yet, but they're all nice enough."
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And of course Colon had been worse than Mr Vimes. He'd just burned all the paperwork.
Carrot didn't look like anyone's idea of a clerk, between his height, broad shoulders, the muscles, and the armor. He looked a bit comical at a desk. He wasn't a fast reader, and his punctuation left something to be desired. But he was diligent and thorough, and his handwriting was passable. Dwarfs made sure their offspring learned good writing, so that later when they went out into the world, their letters home would be legible.
The word 'years' bothered Carrot somewhat, but he kept it to himself. He watched Mr Potter dig through the drawer and remembered many similar scenes, standing in front of Mr Vimes's desk. "The citizens here are quite commendable, sir. A credit to their respective homelands. And I'm sure I seem completely mental to most of them as well, sir."
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