some Otto-related moments of awesome
Otto sidled up to Polly as they walked back to the cart.
"I need to tell you somezing about your vampire," he said.
"Oh yes?"
"You are a friend of his?" said Otto.
"Yes," said Polly. "Is something wrong?"
"Zere is a problem ..."
"He's got twitchy because he has run out of coffee?"
"Alas, if only it was zat simple." Otto looked awkward. "You have to understand zat ven a vampire forgoes ... the b-vord, zere is a process zat ve call transference? Zey force Zemselves to desire somesing else? For me zis was not painful. I crave the perfection of light and shade! Pictures are my life! But your friend chose ... coffee. And now he has none."
"Oh. I see."
"I vunder if you do. It probably seemed so sensible to him. It is a human craving, and no one minds if you say, as it might be, 'I am dying for a cup of coffee,' or 'I'd kill for a cup of coffee.' But vizout coffee, he vill, I am afraid ... revert. You understand, zis is very difficult for me to talk about ..." Otto trailed off.
"By 'revert' you mean ...?"
"First vill come mild delusions, I zink. A psychic susceptibility to all kinds of influences from who knows vhere, and vampires can hallucinate so stronkly zat zey can be contagious. I zin zat is happening already. He vill become ... erratic. Zis may last for several days. And zen his conditioning vill break and he vill be, vunce again, a true vampire. No more Mr. Nice Coffee Drinker Guy."
"Can't I do anything to help him?"
Otto reverentially laid his picture-box in the back of the cart, and turned to her.
"You can find him some coffee, or ... you can keep a vooden stake and a big knife ready. You vould be doink him a favor, believe me."
"I can't do that."
Otto shrugged. "Fine someone who vill."
Described as "a small, dapper man."
The newcomer's clothing, however, was unusual. It was an old-fashioned evening dress coat with the sleeves removed and many, many pockets sewn all over it. In front of him, slung around his neck, was a large black box.
Against all common sense, he beamed at the sight of a dozen weapons poised to deliver perforated death.
"Vonderful!" he said, lifting up the box and unfolding three legs to form a tripod for it. "But ... could zer troll move a little to his left please?"
"Huh?" said Carborundum. The squad looked at one another.
"Yes, and if the sergeant would be so kind as to move into ze center more, und raise zose swords a little bit higher?" the vampire went on. "Great! And you, sir, if you could give me a grrrrh ...?"
"Grrrrh?" said Blouse.
"Good! Really fierce now ..."
There was a blinding flash of light and a brief cry of "Oh, sh--," followed by the tinkle of breaking glass.
Where the vampire had been standing was a little cone of dust. Blinking, Polly watched it fountain up into a human shape that formed, once more, into the vampire.
"Oh dear, I really thought ze new filter vould do it," he said. "Oh vell, ve live und learn." He gave them a bright smile, and added. "Now-- vhich vun of you is Captain Horentz, please?"
[...] "I think he cares a lot about what he does, you know. Anyway, he told me de Worde just tries to find out the truth. And then he writes it down and sells it to anyone who wants it."
"And people let him do that?" said Polly.
"It's news, Commander," said Otto, looking down at his very shiny shoes.
"Who tipped you off?"
"I just do zer pictures, Commander," said Otto, looking up with a hurt expression. "Anyway, I couldn't tell you even if I knew, because of zer Freedom of the Press."
"Freedom to pour oil on a flame, d'you mean?" Vimes demanded.
"Zat's freedom for you," said Otto. "No-vun said it was nice."
"But ... well, you're a vampire, too!" said Vimes, waving a hand toward the protesters. "Do you like what's been stirred up?"
"It's still news, Commander," said Otto meekly.
Vimes glanced at the crowd again. [...]
"It's strange that they don't seem to mind you, Otto," he said, calming down a little.
"Vell, I'm not official," said Otto. "I do not haf zer sword und zer badge. I do not threaten. I am just a vorking stiff. And I make zem laff."
Vimes stared at the man. He's [sic] never thought about that before. But yes ... Little fussy Otto, in his red-lined opera cloak with pockets for all his gear, his shiny black shoes, his carefully cut widow's peak and, not least, his ridiculous accent that grew thicker or thinner depending on whom he was talking to, did not look like a threat. He looked funny, a joke, a music-hall vampire. It had never previously occurred to Vimes that, just possibly, the joke was on other people. Make them laugh, and they're not afraid.
"I need to tell you somezing about your vampire," he said.
"Oh yes?"
"You are a friend of his?" said Otto.
"Yes," said Polly. "Is something wrong?"
"Zere is a problem ..."
"He's got twitchy because he has run out of coffee?"
"Alas, if only it was zat simple." Otto looked awkward. "You have to understand zat ven a vampire forgoes ... the b-vord, zere is a process zat ve call transference? Zey force Zemselves to desire somesing else? For me zis was not painful. I crave the perfection of light and shade! Pictures are my life! But your friend chose ... coffee. And now he has none."
"Oh. I see."
"I vunder if you do. It probably seemed so sensible to him. It is a human craving, and no one minds if you say, as it might be, 'I am dying for a cup of coffee,' or 'I'd kill for a cup of coffee.' But vizout coffee, he vill, I am afraid ... revert. You understand, zis is very difficult for me to talk about ..." Otto trailed off.
"By 'revert' you mean ...?"
"First vill come mild delusions, I zink. A psychic susceptibility to all kinds of influences from who knows vhere, and vampires can hallucinate so stronkly zat zey can be contagious. I zin zat is happening already. He vill become ... erratic. Zis may last for several days. And zen his conditioning vill break and he vill be, vunce again, a true vampire. No more Mr. Nice Coffee Drinker Guy."
"Can't I do anything to help him?"
Otto reverentially laid his picture-box in the back of the cart, and turned to her.
"You can find him some coffee, or ... you can keep a vooden stake and a big knife ready. You vould be doink him a favor, believe me."
"I can't do that."
Otto shrugged. "Fine someone who vill."
Described as "a small, dapper man."
The newcomer's clothing, however, was unusual. It was an old-fashioned evening dress coat with the sleeves removed and many, many pockets sewn all over it. In front of him, slung around his neck, was a large black box.
Against all common sense, he beamed at the sight of a dozen weapons poised to deliver perforated death.
"Vonderful!" he said, lifting up the box and unfolding three legs to form a tripod for it. "But ... could zer troll move a little to his left please?"
"Huh?" said Carborundum. The squad looked at one another.
"Yes, and if the sergeant would be so kind as to move into ze center more, und raise zose swords a little bit higher?" the vampire went on. "Great! And you, sir, if you could give me a grrrrh ...?"
"Grrrrh?" said Blouse.
"Good! Really fierce now ..."
There was a blinding flash of light and a brief cry of "Oh, sh--," followed by the tinkle of breaking glass.
Where the vampire had been standing was a little cone of dust. Blinking, Polly watched it fountain up into a human shape that formed, once more, into the vampire.
"Oh dear, I really thought ze new filter vould do it," he said. "Oh vell, ve live und learn." He gave them a bright smile, and added. "Now-- vhich vun of you is Captain Horentz, please?"
[...] "I think he cares a lot about what he does, you know. Anyway, he told me de Worde just tries to find out the truth. And then he writes it down and sells it to anyone who wants it."
"And people let him do that?" said Polly.
"It's news, Commander," said Otto, looking down at his very shiny shoes.
"Who tipped you off?"
"I just do zer pictures, Commander," said Otto, looking up with a hurt expression. "Anyway, I couldn't tell you even if I knew, because of zer Freedom of the Press."
"Freedom to pour oil on a flame, d'you mean?" Vimes demanded.
"Zat's freedom for you," said Otto. "No-vun said it was nice."
"But ... well, you're a vampire, too!" said Vimes, waving a hand toward the protesters. "Do you like what's been stirred up?"
"It's still news, Commander," said Otto meekly.
Vimes glanced at the crowd again. [...]
"It's strange that they don't seem to mind you, Otto," he said, calming down a little.
"Vell, I'm not official," said Otto. "I do not haf zer sword und zer badge. I do not threaten. I am just a vorking stiff. And I make zem laff."
Vimes stared at the man. He's [sic] never thought about that before. But yes ... Little fussy Otto, in his red-lined opera cloak with pockets for all his gear, his shiny black shoes, his carefully cut widow's peak and, not least, his ridiculous accent that grew thicker or thinner depending on whom he was talking to, did not look like a threat. He looked funny, a joke, a music-hall vampire. It had never previously occurred to Vimes that, just possibly, the joke was on other people. Make them laugh, and they're not afraid.