Finished/Closed
WHO: Samuel Vimes and Ken Hidaka + anybody else who arrives
WHAT: Vimes does whathe does best and Ken runs into him? We shall see!
WHERE: Miscellenous neutral sleazy bar with a few inconspicuous mobsters and coppers here and there.
WHEN: Day 177
OPEN TO: Anybody who likes to drink, or to socialize with drinkers?
( It was a bar like any other: contained depressed faces, drunken faces, faces that looked as if they belonged to rock, and an off-putting odour that nobody really managed to define. )
WHAT: Vimes does whathe does best and Ken runs into him? We shall see!
WHERE: Miscellenous neutral sleazy bar with a few inconspicuous mobsters and coppers here and there.
WHEN: Day 177
OPEN TO: Anybody who likes to drink, or to socialize with drinkers?
( It was a bar like any other: contained depressed faces, drunken faces, faces that looked as if they belonged to rock, and an off-putting odour that nobody really managed to define. )
His logical train of thought however, was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of breaking glass. Just dandy. Whenever he went out, something just had to happen. This was such a nice night, too. Oh well. Once the glass broke and a man went down clutching at his hand, it was over. Unless they were particularly stubborn bastards.
And goddamn it, these were stubborn bastards. He turned his head to watch them duke it out. They'll tire themselves out, he thought, and it won't concern anybody else. Then, a poor sod just sitting there, appreciating a good brandy, was knocked over. So was his brandy. So that was it. You get in a fight, fine. But you do not involve another man and you do not disturb a drinking man. It was just common decency.
Ah, nothing quite as sobering as a barfight. It was one of Vimes' rules. Even if you were having a drink, you were a cop first, a drunkard second, and you did not bash a man's head in for the hellof it. He stood.
"Come on fellows," he barked out, "everybody's just here to have a good drink, no need to get--"
A bottle of vodka whizzed past his ear and broke against the wall. "Oh, now that's just a waste of good liquor. All right, that's it, boys." Vimes whipped out his gun.
"I'm a cop," he announced, "and you will stop in the name of causing a disturbance in a public place--" or whatever it was called, "--and for that, if you resist arrest, I'll have no choice but to resort to violence."
"Police?" One of the men hawked, and spat. Which was uncalled for, because it was quite gross.
"Yes, I know," Vimes said, walking purposefully towards them and taking a second gun out. "Coppers never do anything, good for nothings, deal with scum, ha ha ha, now, if you'll excuse me--" He bashed both of them on the backs of their heads with the handles of his guns. You'd never shoot a guy for no good reason, after all, and having them pass out on the floor seemed to be the best idea. Relatively non-violent, and they'd get off with little more than bruising. It was a copper's way. You bruised, didn't kill.
He sighed, suddenly just as weary as he was when he came in and began to scribble on a piece of paper. "Resisting arrest, disturbance in a public domain, etcetera, etcetera. Did you witness that, Horace?"
"Yes, Sam."
Vimes turned one of their faces with his foot and squinted at him with a frown. "It's snotface again." Repeat offendors. Bane of his life. He often had hot chocolate with them. It got cold sometimes, in the jails, and most of the people in there weren't exactly bad.
"I s'pose I should get 'em over to the jail--"
He blamed the drink for not anticipating the very unfriendly fist that came his way.
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Of course, Ken had forgotten that Vimes was a cop. A tipsy one at that. He watched with trepidation as Vimes drew his guns and approached the two combatants. Silently, he got up and followed him over, anticipating the mood.
Sharp eyes and even sharper reflexes caught the fist that was aimed at his new friend right before it hit.
"Ah ah ha, lets not make this assault too, alright?"
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