(Untitled)

[sir_samuel]

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

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[how_itgoes]

Sam's honestly wondering somedays about just what sort of place he's living in. His Guv, the new Guv, at least, and not the Gene Genie, Sherriff to the Law, is calling for carrots. Sam's been lurking, doing his paperwork of every patrol, because God is in the detail.

"Sorry, boss," Sam notes, dryly. "I could find you some spinach though, you give me a while."

[sir_samuel]

The reply was startling and incongruous enough that for a few moments Vimes anger left him, replaced by utter confusion. He turned to look at Tyler, blinking stupidly while the words processed.

"Oh." He opened his mouth and closed it. "Not. Um. The vegetable. It's a person."

He regained his composure, eyes narrowing. "Have you seen anyone sneaking around the office lately?"

[how_itgoes]

Sam can't help but be bemused by the whole thing. He knows there's a Carrot according to the roster (Sam likes to know everything, likes to memorise all the information). "Not that I've noticed," Sam offers an apology. "I usually do most of my paperwork in the rec room."

Occasionally, he gets a good tune from the jukebox.

Besides, he hears things in the office. People. Gene.

[sir_samuel]

Vimes snorted at the bemused look. "It's not like I named him." Damned dwarfs. "All right. Well-"

He sighed and shook his head. His immediate anger was cooling, turning to something more determined. But he could continue that damned search later. For the time being there was other business to take care of. Like the possible island-wide Crazy.

"It's Tyler, right?" He sank into the desk chair. "How about patrols? You seen anything..." damn, he didn't even know what to ask for, "out of the ordinary lately?"

[flowers_on_skin]

Flo was just starting to cry as Eostre walked through the door, both eyebrows raised.

"Bloody hell, Sam, do you think you're loud enough? I'm not sure that they heard you down at the beach."

She bent her head to drop a kiss onto Flo's little head and perched against the edge of the desk, looking down at Vimes.

"Look at your grumpy old Pop," she murmured to the twins.

[sir_samuel]

Vimes scowled at her a bit, but went back into the office and threw himself into the chair at the desk. "Good. Then maybe he'll damned well get over here and tell me what the hell happened."

He sighed tiredly and ran a hand across his face, grimacing slightly as Flo continued to whimper. "How's the kids?"

[flowers_on_skin]

"Well, aside from the fact that you made Flora cry, they're doing very well," said Eostre, lowering herself into a spare chair.

"Don't you mind your Pop, Flo. He's as grumpy as your daddy is."

[sir_samuel]

"I did not-" He glared, but there wasn't a lot of power behind the glare. Grandchildren - even pseudo-grandchildren, it turns out - have that effect on a person.

"And I'm not their pop and I've got good reason to be grumpy," he added, though there wasn't as much force behind it as he would have liked.

[the_cop]

Ray nearly walked right into the screaming face of Vimes on his way into the office, almost spilling his coffee all over himself. "Er."

"Did Carrot re-arrange the office again, sir?" he asked, looking bewildered.

[sir_samuel]

Vimes glared at Kowalski, mostly because it was convenient to do so. He turned on his heel and stalked back into the office, though there was a clear indication that Ray should follow.

"No." He gave a snort. "But if anyone's seen anything strange happening around here, it's him."

He leaned against the desk and scowled at nothing in particular. What he really didn't much want to have to do was to start explaining the whiskey bottle to people, but he was determined to find who had been drinking it.

[the_cop]

Ray wandered into the office after Vimes, looking intrigued. Folks had been seeing weird stuff for awhile now, and maybe Vimes had fallen victim to it, too.

"Dancing hippos weird, sir?" he asked, keeping his expression carefully blank.

[sir_samuel]

Vimes slowly arched a brow. "...No."

"People nicking stuff from the office weird."*

*Not that that was weird by Ankh-Morkpork standards. There was Nobby to contend with, of course. But there was some depths to which even he would not stoop.

[scooby_rebel]

Faith was laying in the cell. She hadn't told anyone, like most days. She just came in to hang out. It was like a second home, and there were always people around. Made her feel better, even if she wouldn't admit it.

Of course, it was just the holding area and the door wasn't locked. Honor system and all. It wasn't like she was the V-man or nothin'. She climbed off the cot where she'd been reading some comic book and strutted out to see what the yelling was about. The drawer was open and Vimes looked pissed.

Uh-oh.

"What's your glitch, man? You're gonna wake the dead."

[sir_samuel]

She was a weird kid, Vimes had to admit that. At times he even felt a little sorry for her, though that was generally right before she caused some other mild but fantastically annoying bit of trouble.

But this was not a day for feeling sympathetic. He turned on her, arching a brow, his expression dark. It really wasn't much of a jump to declare Faith Prime Suspect Number One.

He crossed his arms over his chest, looking her up and down. "You've been in here a lot lately," he observed. "For no particular reason."

[scooby_rebel]

"What can I say? I like the company," she deadpanned, folding her arms up and mirroring his stance and his dark glare. "And it ain't no reason, yo. It's better to sit here than be out there beatin' Trevor's ass."

[sir_samuel]

Vimes rolled his eyes, unimpressed by either the look or the explanation. "Some company."

He eyed her. "And what, you just wander in here and go straight to the cell and sit there for a couple've hours?" Not that he expected her to tell the truth, but sometimes it was best to start with the straightforward questions.

[throw_the_book]

Carrot sidestepped into the doorway, a fact that suggested he'd really only been one large step away from the office when all the yelling had commenced, and then stood there patiently, perhaps waiting for Mr. Vimes to catch up.

"Sir?" he gave a salute and then brought his hands behind him in his usual watchman stance.

[sir_samuel]

Now work could get started. Vimes stormed back into the office, pulled open the desk drawer with much more force than was necessary, and slammed the half-drunk bottle of whiskey onto the desk with nearly enough force to crack it.*

"You seen anything suspicious around here lately?"

Contrary to popular belief, breaking a bottle is a much more difficult than storytellers make it out to be. It's also not recommended for amateurs. Vimes would know.

[throw_the_book]

Carrot calmly followed him into the office and then stood before the desk, watching with careful interest as the bottle was produced.

He then looked from bottle to commander, and then back to the bottle again. "Nothing out of the ordinary, sir. Relapses on the never-ending road to recovery have been known to happen."

[sir_samuel]

Vimes sent Carrot a Look.

"It wasn't me," he informed the captain, even and clipped.