Discworld ficlet 1/1
Written for Day 10 of consci_fan_mo and for stackcats who gave the prompt Discworld ; Granny Weatherwax and Sam Vimes ; Soirée. Hope this pleases.
Disclaimer: Discworld obviously belongs to Terry Pratchett, not me. Also, the views herein are those of Samuel Vimes, not me ;-)
Social Niceties
Sam pulled at the lace collar of the ridiculous doublet that Sybil had made him wear for this evening’s soirée. She insisted it was the height of fashion, ‘What the Ankh-Morporkian gentleman is wearing today’.
Sam had tried to tell her that no gentleman he’d ever seen wore anything like this velvet monstrosity, unless they were going into clubs that had names like ‘The Ruby Slippers’, but Sybil would not be persuaded.
This evening had been as awful as Sam had anticipated; a room full of toffs with less brain cells between the lot of them than your average pedigree dog. Or if they weren’t gentry, they were ambassadors. In Sam’s mind, the word ambassador was spelled with four letters.
To make matters worse, every time he managed to grab a drink from a passing tray, Sybil would take it from him, insisting that he meet Lord Haha or some other blithering idiot she knew from school. As such, he was still stone cold sober after two very long hours.
So it came as something of a pleasant surprise when he looked up and spotted Granny Weatherwax across the crowded ballroom. He couldn’t think what she was doing there, until he spotted Queen Magrat of Lancre and the penny dropped into place.
Carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone who might want to make idle chitchat, Sam made his way around to where Granny Weatherwax was standing. Unsurprisingly, there was a circle of empty floor of roughly four feet in radius, with Granny as the epicentre. Stopping just on the edge of the circle, Sam nodded to Granny.
“Mistress Weatherwax.”
“Commander Vimes,” she replied and nodded. Sam took this as an invitation and took a few steps into the protective circle of Granny’s presence.
They spent the rest of the evening stood not quite next to each other. They stood mostly in silence, although occasionally Granny would make a comment about the impracticality of a Lady’s dress, or Sam would point out that a Lord’s sword wouldn’t cut butter.
It was one of the best parties Sam had ever been to.
Disclaimer: Discworld obviously belongs to Terry Pratchett, not me. Also, the views herein are those of Samuel Vimes, not me ;-)
Social Niceties
Sam pulled at the lace collar of the ridiculous doublet that Sybil had made him wear for this evening’s soirée. She insisted it was the height of fashion, ‘What the Ankh-Morporkian gentleman is wearing today’.
Sam had tried to tell her that no gentleman he’d ever seen wore anything like this velvet monstrosity, unless they were going into clubs that had names like ‘The Ruby Slippers’, but Sybil would not be persuaded.
This evening had been as awful as Sam had anticipated; a room full of toffs with less brain cells between the lot of them than your average pedigree dog. Or if they weren’t gentry, they were ambassadors. In Sam’s mind, the word ambassador was spelled with four letters.
To make matters worse, every time he managed to grab a drink from a passing tray, Sybil would take it from him, insisting that he meet Lord Haha or some other blithering idiot she knew from school. As such, he was still stone cold sober after two very long hours.
So it came as something of a pleasant surprise when he looked up and spotted Granny Weatherwax across the crowded ballroom. He couldn’t think what she was doing there, until he spotted Queen Magrat of Lancre and the penny dropped into place.
Carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone who might want to make idle chitchat, Sam made his way around to where Granny Weatherwax was standing. Unsurprisingly, there was a circle of empty floor of roughly four feet in radius, with Granny as the epicentre. Stopping just on the edge of the circle, Sam nodded to Granny.
“Mistress Weatherwax.”
“Commander Vimes,” she replied and nodded. Sam took this as an invitation and took a few steps into the protective circle of Granny’s presence.
They spent the rest of the evening stood not quite next to each other. They stood mostly in silence, although occasionally Granny would make a comment about the impracticality of a Lady’s dress, or Sam would point out that a Lord’s sword wouldn’t cut butter.
It was one of the best parties Sam had ever been to.