(no subject)
The day had begun normally enough. Vimes had woken up, he had gotten coffee (that damned coffee that the guy in the suit always made was about as far from Watchman’s coffee as you could get - which meant it was well, very drinkable), had come into the IPD office and made a mess of whatever files Cam had spent the night sorting. There were the usual reports to see to, but news of suspicious happenings and what some people were even calling hallucinations were beginning to trickle in. And so the Commander sat down on the edge of the desk with his coffee beside him and began sorting through the few official reports he had, hoping to make some sense of it all.
Wouldn’t hurt to start asking around, would it? People wouldn’t take it well, but if The Crazy was an island-wide phenomenon...
Vimes opened the desk drawer and pulled out an old file of patrol reports, hoping to find some mention of the strange happenings that he had missed the first time around. And that was when he saw it. The all too familiar bottle of Bearhugger’s whiskey had sat there since it had appeared months ago, unopened and untouched, just as it did at home, proof of Sam Vimes’ bloody-minded stubbornness. Now that, Sir Samuel, suggests a man who vears his hair shirts on the inside.
The bottle was open. It was damned well half empty.
The file door slammed shut, the reports fell to the ground forgotten. “Carrot!” If anyone had seen anything it was him, and Vimes was going to damned well find out what anyone and everyone who went anywhere near the IPD office might have seen. Face furious, he stormed to the door of the office and threw it open. “Carrot!”
Oh, heads were going to roll.
[Obviously he wants Carrot, but open to absolutely anyone.]
Wouldn’t hurt to start asking around, would it? People wouldn’t take it well, but if The Crazy was an island-wide phenomenon...
Vimes opened the desk drawer and pulled out an old file of patrol reports, hoping to find some mention of the strange happenings that he had missed the first time around. And that was when he saw it. The all too familiar bottle of Bearhugger’s whiskey had sat there since it had appeared months ago, unopened and untouched, just as it did at home, proof of Sam Vimes’ bloody-minded stubbornness. Now that, Sir Samuel, suggests a man who vears his hair shirts on the inside.
The bottle was open. It was damned well half empty.
The file door slammed shut, the reports fell to the ground forgotten. “Carrot!” If anyone had seen anything it was him, and Vimes was going to damned well find out what anyone and everyone who went anywhere near the IPD office might have seen. Face furious, he stormed to the door of the office and threw it open. “Carrot!”
Oh, heads were going to roll.
[Obviously he wants Carrot, but open to absolutely anyone.]