(no subject)
Things had been going downhill since Detritus lumbered out the front door that morning. Literally. It wasn't all that usual any more for trolls to assault the most senior silicon-based member of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch, but once in a while some kid fresh down from the mountains got hold of a few smuggled ounces of slab, and they'd do just about anything to make the giant hairy spiders go away after that. That included taking a swing at anything that moved- and today that had been Detritus, who'd just set foot on the street.
Hematite had been quite a big kid down from the mountains, with all the terrified strength that ammonium chloride cut with radium could grant him. Detritus had rolled.
And when the sparkly lights that are the birthright of just about any sentient being* socked in the head had vanished, he'd opened his eyes and found himself somewhere else.
He didn't recognise the building in front of him, but a few good sniffs were enough to tell him it was probably a bar or pub of some sort. Not any that he knew from Ankh-Morpork- it was too clean- but a pub nonetheless. How he got there he didn't know, but given that he had no idea where 'there' was, it seemed like a good place to start asking questions. Maybe someone inside had seen Hematite. Detritus had a stalactite to break** with him.
He pushed himself to his feet and opened the place's human-sized door. Easing himself through shoulder-first, he blinked in the change of light, still swaying a little on his feet. When he could see clearly again, he looked around and rumbled, to anyone who looked like they might answer, "What pub is dis? Dis are not der Bunch of Grapes. . ."
He got a slightly better look at the variety of beings in the place, and added, "Dis are not Biers, either, is it?"
*In humans and dwarves, these are generally the result of angry neurons demanding to know who's playing that loud percussion instrument and what's to be done about it. In trolls, they have more to do with chips of mica catching the light in interesting ways.
**Troll bones not being the easiest things in the world to pick
Hematite had been quite a big kid down from the mountains, with all the terrified strength that ammonium chloride cut with radium could grant him. Detritus had rolled.
And when the sparkly lights that are the birthright of just about any sentient being* socked in the head had vanished, he'd opened his eyes and found himself somewhere else.
He didn't recognise the building in front of him, but a few good sniffs were enough to tell him it was probably a bar or pub of some sort. Not any that he knew from Ankh-Morpork- it was too clean- but a pub nonetheless. How he got there he didn't know, but given that he had no idea where 'there' was, it seemed like a good place to start asking questions. Maybe someone inside had seen Hematite. Detritus had a stalactite to break** with him.
He pushed himself to his feet and opened the place's human-sized door. Easing himself through shoulder-first, he blinked in the change of light, still swaying a little on his feet. When he could see clearly again, he looked around and rumbled, to anyone who looked like they might answer, "What pub is dis? Dis are not der Bunch of Grapes. . ."
He got a slightly better look at the variety of beings in the place, and added, "Dis are not Biers, either, is it?"
*In humans and dwarves, these are generally the result of angry neurons demanding to know who's playing that loud percussion instrument and what's to be done about it. In trolls, they have more to do with chips of mica catching the light in interesting ways.
**Troll bones not being the easiest things in the world to pick