(Untitled)

[pokerplayereyes]

Ned was not hiding. His head still felt light, the occasional twindge in his nose to remind him. He was taking it easy, playing with young Sam Vimes and he wasn't hiding from Rogue, but he was taking it easy. At least once he'd had the original conversation about his black eye with Sam, the issue had seemed laid to rest

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[curiously_cora]

Coraline had left her books for all of five, maybe ten including limping time, minutes and had returned to find herself bookless. There was a thief about, a sinister evil book thief that would have to be thwarted. Possibly with the use of incorrectly spelt words such as hyperpotamiss, ratatwoeey and she might even have to use sossajes.

Coraline paced the room looking for her books when she finally noticed something on the floor. Her book, buried beneath a pile of books on revolutionaries. Coraline could also see movement from behind the books. "This means war," Coraline said to the fort and sat down infront of it, breathing in deeply before she began her cruel and unusual torture. "Iiiiiiiii know a song that will get on your nerves, get on your nerves, get on your nerves-"

[pokerplayereyes]

There was a sound of scuffling from behind the wall, and two sets of eyes peered out of the gap. One of them had a distinctly dirty nose, which probably needed a wipe. The other had a rather nasty black eye.

Ned was a watchman. It was going to take more than that to worry him.

He'd met wizards.

[curiously_cora]

Coraline peered at the faces, pulling tongues at them as she continued to sing the song repeatedly. If she'd known her books were going to be stolen she would have made some stink bombs, rotting eggs were terrible things to ignore.

"I know a song that will get on your nerves and I can sing all day, foul book stealers." Coraline said, singing louder.

[pokerplayereyes]

"What if we give you back the books that are...yours?"

Ned remembered them building the barricade at Treacle Mine Road. It didn't even seem to matter which side he'd watched it being built from. He remembered the furniture coming out of houses. He remembered the odd sadness of comfy chairs.

[doesntdosocks]

Rosemary Palm like many revolutionaries, former, willing and otherwise, knew a barricade when she saw one.

She also typically knew what they meant, and had in her sliding, negotiable age, come to take them with not only a measure of salt, but a bit of odd wisdom which was why she first wandered around then barricade, before bending to take a look inside.

"Very nice, but I don't think the Sergeant would approve."

[pokerplayereyes]

Young Sam squeaked, having forgotten that the fourth wall was not in place. With his arms folded across his knees, Ned raised an eyebrow.

"The Sergeant doesn't approve of much, Rosie. His son's got much more of a spirit of adventure."

[doesntdosocks]

"So I noticed," Rosie said with a nod and slight smile.

Seamstresses don't really grin you see. They're a lot like Watchmen in the respect. "In fact, it might make me give a bit more credit to the younger Sammy Vimes than the older one."

[pokerplayereyes]

"Sam," said Ned, gesturing with his hand. "This is Miss Rosemary Palm. She's a Seamstress, but she doesn't do socks."

Sam gave Ned a quizzical look.
Ned raised an eyebrow in return.