(no subject)
Drabble.
No reason.
Moist von Lipwig/Ponder Stibbons, The Senior Faculty.
Post Making Money.
No spoilers/Worksafe/PG.
436 words
"I'm sure I'm not sure Mustrum..."
"Nonsense," Archchancellor Ridcully replied, staring down his nose at the offending scene.
"It's only..." the Lecturer in Recent Runes began, before Ridcully began trying to jolly them all out of the room. Senior Wizards don't take well to jollying*.
"I'm certain I don't understand it myself," Ridcully continued. "But it's just how that Stibbons and his lot of students are, don'tcherknow. Work all night; fall asleep face down in their dinners and...such."
"And such," the Senior Wrangler echoed, pointedly.
"You wouldn't say it was unhygienic, Archchancellor?" Prompted the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
"Well it's that gravity, ain't it? Certainly not intentional."
The Senior Faculty gazed at the tangle of bodies.
"The one must have just fell on the other, that's what I say," insisted Ridcully, resolute in the idea that nothing untoward went on in his university, so long as he said it didn't.
"In a sort of hugging position," mumbled the Dean, sarcastically and to sharp looks all around.
"Lucky them for landing in a bed, then," Runes said finally, bowing under the considerable weight of Mustrum Ridcully's opinion.
"Funny thing," mentioned the Chair. "But I'd swear that other lad was our Postmaster General. Has the hat and all."
"And not terribly much-..."
"Dean!" The Archchancellor bellowed. The Faculty froze, but the pair in the bed didn't stir. After a moment, Ridcully went on:
"Needs sleep too, clearly. What with all the mail deliveringing and bank some-such he does. Don't make youth as hardy as they did in my day, certainly, but they get the job done. Now alright you fellows: show is over. Nothing to see here."
The Senior Faculty filed out.
Ponder Stibbons, celibate wizard, youngest and most depressingly keen member of the Senior Faculty of Unseen University, slowly sank further under the sheets until he could manage to pull them all the way over his head, in the hopes that that might make it easier for a hole in the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
Moist von Lipwig, not terribly celibate Postmaster General, banker, and confidence trickster stared blankly at the ceiling, and then at the Ponder Stibbons shaped lump in the bed beside him.
"So how many times is it they've done that then?"
"Mumblemumblefour," was Ponder's muffled reply.
"Well," Moist ventured, patting the Ponder-shape someplace he hoped was reassuring. "At least he hadn't any reason to go on about how he's all for the noble sport of wrestling this time."
Somewhere, Anoia, Godess of lost causes, declared that they were welcome for small favors.
*There's a sort of grump that purveys, even while eating.
No reason.
Moist von Lipwig/Ponder Stibbons, The Senior Faculty.
Post Making Money.
No spoilers/Worksafe/PG.
436 words
"I'm sure I'm not sure Mustrum..."
"Nonsense," Archchancellor Ridcully replied, staring down his nose at the offending scene.
"It's only..." the Lecturer in Recent Runes began, before Ridcully began trying to jolly them all out of the room. Senior Wizards don't take well to jollying*.
"I'm certain I don't understand it myself," Ridcully continued. "But it's just how that Stibbons and his lot of students are, don'tcherknow. Work all night; fall asleep face down in their dinners and...such."
"And such," the Senior Wrangler echoed, pointedly.
"You wouldn't say it was unhygienic, Archchancellor?" Prompted the Chair of Indefinite Studies.
"Well it's that gravity, ain't it? Certainly not intentional."
The Senior Faculty gazed at the tangle of bodies.
"The one must have just fell on the other, that's what I say," insisted Ridcully, resolute in the idea that nothing untoward went on in his university, so long as he said it didn't.
"In a sort of hugging position," mumbled the Dean, sarcastically and to sharp looks all around.
"Lucky them for landing in a bed, then," Runes said finally, bowing under the considerable weight of Mustrum Ridcully's opinion.
"Funny thing," mentioned the Chair. "But I'd swear that other lad was our Postmaster General. Has the hat and all."
"And not terribly much-..."
"Dean!" The Archchancellor bellowed. The Faculty froze, but the pair in the bed didn't stir. After a moment, Ridcully went on:
"Needs sleep too, clearly. What with all the mail deliveringing and bank some-such he does. Don't make youth as hardy as they did in my day, certainly, but they get the job done. Now alright you fellows: show is over. Nothing to see here."
The Senior Faculty filed out.
Ponder Stibbons, celibate wizard, youngest and most depressingly keen member of the Senior Faculty of Unseen University, slowly sank further under the sheets until he could manage to pull them all the way over his head, in the hopes that that might make it easier for a hole in the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
Moist von Lipwig, not terribly celibate Postmaster General, banker, and confidence trickster stared blankly at the ceiling, and then at the Ponder Stibbons shaped lump in the bed beside him.
"So how many times is it they've done that then?"
"Mumblemumblefour," was Ponder's muffled reply.
"Well," Moist ventured, patting the Ponder-shape someplace he hoped was reassuring. "At least he hadn't any reason to go on about how he's all for the noble sport of wrestling this time."
Somewhere, Anoia, Godess of lost causes, declared that they were welcome for small favors.
*There's a sort of grump that purveys, even while eating.