[Terry Prachett/JE] untitled
One of the dares I got from the Truth or Dare meme I did a while back from guiltyschu was to write a Discworld/JE crossover.
Okay, so I cheated. I had this written a while ago, but it was sitting on my hard drive, unfinished, so I figured this still counted. My brain is normal, yo.
Note: Yampie is Yamapi, if you missed it, and Gin is totally Jin (alcohol!). And of course, the dwarf is Ryo. \:D/
It began as an ordinary day, as days tend to go when something strange or important doesn’t happen in them. Vimes walked into the Watch and directly into a minefield of warbling, cowering watchmen and pink. A lot of pink.
He stepped back, blinked calmly for a moment before singling out Fred Colon, who was the only one still sitting at his desk and pretending to do paperwork.
“What are they listening to?” he shouted over the din, heading straight for the coffee and pouring himself a cup. He paused in the middle of taking a sip from his coffee and peered into his mug. Damn, someone had cleaned the pot again. It tasted mildly of metal and was strange without Nobby’s cigarette butts floating in it. It did not improve his mood at all.
Fred shrugged helplessly. “Some poncy bloke from Uberwald. He’s in town apparently, and I quote “not a damned vampire Nobby so shut your mouth up before I do it for you.” They’re all going to his concert later. They even made posters.”
Fred sounded completely mystified by the need to make posters. Vimes was mystified by their need to make his ear drums bleed in sympathetic pain. Warbling was one thing; Nobby did it all the time. Warbling loudly enough to rattle the windows was a whole other matter.
He pursed his lips in displeasure. “Who is ‘they’, Fred?”
Fred pointed to the cluster of women (1) all seated besides one another, furiously snipping paper and conversing in excited whispers and the odd squeal. They were surrounded by posters, some of which were in bright pink and read “WE LOV YUU!”
Vimes was sure that shade of pink in all reality, should not exist, lest it blind the unsuspecting. It would probably make a good deterrent to any assassins though. Vimes made a mental note to install a bright pink wall in his bathroom and winced as the singer hit a particularly painful note. “He sounds like a dying chicken.”
“It doesn’t seem to stop them,” Fred said, mournfully. “I’ve heard it all morning. I can sing all of ‘You Have A Feverish Future So You’re About To Die Soon’ if you want to hear it. They played it fifty seven times this morning.”
“No renditions Fred, unless I’m dead drunk. And only then when I’m out cold.”
“But you never drink - ”
“A good man,” Vimes said and patted Fred on the back heartily. Fred looked a bit mystified, but cheered up when he realized Vimes had praised him.
When the bars to another song began, Fred sighed. “It’s back to ‘Let Me See That Sucker Trip’ again. I heard this one eighty two times because it’s his ‘special song’ and apparently everyone’s favourite.”
“I’m glad I wasn’t you this morning,” Vimes said with a faint shudder seeing the vacant expressions on Angua and Sally’s faces and the similar expressions on everybody else (2). “Really glad.”
He paused. “Out of interest, what’s the bugger’s name?”
“Yampie is what I heard. Young, unattached, and looking for love,” Fred said.
Silence.
“What?” Fred protested. “My wife likes him too. Apparently, that’s him,” he added and pointed to an icongraph that someone had nailed to the wall with care (3). The man in the picture was pulling a face which involved pursing his lips in a strange way and shaping his hand like a puppet. The puppet looked like it was out to kill someone. Vimes would prefer it to kill the owner of the arm it was attached to at the moment.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m pretty sure, Mr. Vimes. Angua said she’ll hurt me or Nobby if we so much as touch it, use it as a dart board or sell it off. Which I wasn’t going to do anyway.”
Vimes gave him a penetrating look.
Fred grinned sheepishly. “I like ‘Youthful Friends Are Good For Annoying.’ Besides, he grows on you. Like mould.”
“I see,” Vimes said levelly. Clearly everyone was going mad on him today.
1. And a few men, dwarves (sex unknown) and one Igor.
2. Or in the case of Igor, many faces.
3. It was exactly straight and had been repeatedly wiped clean of dust. In fact, it was the cleanest thing in the room.
And because I really am far too mean to Ryo,
“I’m not a dwarf!”
“Um. Yes, you are,” said Nobby.
Ryo the dwarf-who-thought-he-was-a-human glared at him fiercely. “I’m human.”
“I’m a certified human,” said Nobby proudly, and held out the certificate Vetinari had signed, declaring that he was, in fact, wholly human.
Ryo snatched it out of his hands to read through the battered bit of paper, his eyes scanning the elegant writing furiously.
“He vas brought up as ze human,” Gin whispered to Vimes, as unobtrusively as possible, which wasn’t terribly unobtrusive when Vimes realised that within a distance of eight feet, everyone was blatantly eavesdropping. “He gets ze little upset if ze mention ‘is height…”
Okay, so I cheated. I had this written a while ago, but it was sitting on my hard drive, unfinished, so I figured this still counted. My brain is normal, yo.
Note: Yampie is Yamapi, if you missed it, and Gin is totally Jin (alcohol!). And of course, the dwarf is Ryo. \:D/
It began as an ordinary day, as days tend to go when something strange or important doesn’t happen in them. Vimes walked into the Watch and directly into a minefield of warbling, cowering watchmen and pink. A lot of pink.
He stepped back, blinked calmly for a moment before singling out Fred Colon, who was the only one still sitting at his desk and pretending to do paperwork.
“What are they listening to?” he shouted over the din, heading straight for the coffee and pouring himself a cup. He paused in the middle of taking a sip from his coffee and peered into his mug. Damn, someone had cleaned the pot again. It tasted mildly of metal and was strange without Nobby’s cigarette butts floating in it. It did not improve his mood at all.
Fred shrugged helplessly. “Some poncy bloke from Uberwald. He’s in town apparently, and I quote “not a damned vampire Nobby so shut your mouth up before I do it for you.” They’re all going to his concert later. They even made posters.”
Fred sounded completely mystified by the need to make posters. Vimes was mystified by their need to make his ear drums bleed in sympathetic pain. Warbling was one thing; Nobby did it all the time. Warbling loudly enough to rattle the windows was a whole other matter.
He pursed his lips in displeasure. “Who is ‘they’, Fred?”
Fred pointed to the cluster of women (1) all seated besides one another, furiously snipping paper and conversing in excited whispers and the odd squeal. They were surrounded by posters, some of which were in bright pink and read “WE LOV YUU!”
Vimes was sure that shade of pink in all reality, should not exist, lest it blind the unsuspecting. It would probably make a good deterrent to any assassins though. Vimes made a mental note to install a bright pink wall in his bathroom and winced as the singer hit a particularly painful note. “He sounds like a dying chicken.”
“It doesn’t seem to stop them,” Fred said, mournfully. “I’ve heard it all morning. I can sing all of ‘You Have A Feverish Future So You’re About To Die Soon’ if you want to hear it. They played it fifty seven times this morning.”
“No renditions Fred, unless I’m dead drunk. And only then when I’m out cold.”
“But you never drink - ”
“A good man,” Vimes said and patted Fred on the back heartily. Fred looked a bit mystified, but cheered up when he realized Vimes had praised him.
When the bars to another song began, Fred sighed. “It’s back to ‘Let Me See That Sucker Trip’ again. I heard this one eighty two times because it’s his ‘special song’ and apparently everyone’s favourite.”
“I’m glad I wasn’t you this morning,” Vimes said with a faint shudder seeing the vacant expressions on Angua and Sally’s faces and the similar expressions on everybody else (2). “Really glad.”
He paused. “Out of interest, what’s the bugger’s name?”
“Yampie is what I heard. Young, unattached, and looking for love,” Fred said.
Silence.
“What?” Fred protested. “My wife likes him too. Apparently, that’s him,” he added and pointed to an icongraph that someone had nailed to the wall with care (3). The man in the picture was pulling a face which involved pursing his lips in a strange way and shaping his hand like a puppet. The puppet looked like it was out to kill someone. Vimes would prefer it to kill the owner of the arm it was attached to at the moment.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m pretty sure, Mr. Vimes. Angua said she’ll hurt me or Nobby if we so much as touch it, use it as a dart board or sell it off. Which I wasn’t going to do anyway.”
Vimes gave him a penetrating look.
Fred grinned sheepishly. “I like ‘Youthful Friends Are Good For Annoying.’ Besides, he grows on you. Like mould.”
“I see,” Vimes said levelly. Clearly everyone was going mad on him today.
1. And a few men, dwarves (sex unknown) and one Igor.
2. Or in the case of Igor, many faces.
3. It was exactly straight and had been repeatedly wiped clean of dust. In fact, it was the cleanest thing in the room.
And because I really am far too mean to Ryo,
“I’m not a dwarf!”
“Um. Yes, you are,” said Nobby.
Ryo the dwarf-who-thought-he-was-a-human glared at him fiercely. “I’m human.”
“I’m a certified human,” said Nobby proudly, and held out the certificate Vetinari had signed, declaring that he was, in fact, wholly human.
Ryo snatched it out of his hands to read through the battered bit of paper, his eyes scanning the elegant writing furiously.
“He vas brought up as ze human,” Gin whispered to Vimes, as unobtrusively as possible, which wasn’t terribly unobtrusive when Vimes realised that within a distance of eight feet, everyone was blatantly eavesdropping. “He gets ze little upset if ze mention ‘is height…”