Here be fan fiction...
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a_place_to_fall or Blood Cocoa on fanfiction.netI have been fan fictioning since oooh, 2000 or so, but stopped between 2002 and 2007. I tend to fan fic more in my head than on paper/screen these days.
Changing History
It was strange how history could change, contemplated Vimes, as he walked around the stone kings, with his son in his arms.
He'd seen it happen before. The murderer of a king became the man who did what needed to be done, when no-one else dared. There was even a statue.
Now the slayer of trolls became a peace maker. The kings themselves were the statue in honour of a peace that should have been made centuries ago.
The legend was a lie and a new one grew up around the truth.
No doubt it would change again, in time.
Another slightly-more-than-a-drabble. Curse you 100-word drabble limit!
They'd probably be matching shades
Angua hated underwear shopping, not least because Sally had invited herself along and kept offering her advice. Vampires were, after all, experts on lingerie, at least when it was silk, underwired and probably a nightdress.
“Why does this take you so long?”
“It’s hard to find something practical to undo with paws. You can go if you’re bored,” added Angua, hopefully.
“Frivolously impractical is much more fun,” replied Sally, grinning and holding up something red and lacy. “Carrot would appreciate it.”
“He’d be too embarrassed to look.”
But it was a hard choice. Carrot’s reaction would be amusing to watch.
“But Sally's a black ribboner,” said Carrot, evenly.
“So?” countered Angua.
“And you're a vegetarian. Most of the time.”
“And?”
“Well, neither of you are exactly sticking to what vampires or werewolves are supposed to be.”
“If she can give up drinking blood and you can give up tearing out throats, I don't see why the two of you can't get past your species predisposition to dislike each other. Surely it should be a relatively easy thing?”
“I hate when you get reasonable on me.”
Erk. I kind of abandoned this for a while. Many apologies, but no promises for greater frequency of updates :s
Also, I may have gotten Dr. Lawn’s first name wrong. Night Watch identifies him only as J. Lawn as far as I can see and the companion only refers to him by his nickname. I've seen him listed as John in various fic and wikis but can't find any evidence to support this. I also have no idea what Downey's first name is. I want to say it's Robert, but that's probably the influence of the actor...
Chapter 4
A high class mob - End of an era – Obituaries to go – Equal oppression – A plotting subplot
The Rats Chamber was packed from wall to wall. Rumour had spread like… well, like rumour, which spreads far faster than any wildfire could even in thatch dominated Ankh-Morpork. Something big was happening, and Ankh-Morpork hated to miss anything. The presence of so many bodies made the décor’s itchy influence all the worse. Alex had slipped in, kid-sister safely deposited at school, and was now lurking at the back of the room, by the open door, and even there he was feeling in heavy need of a B.A.T.H., something he didn’t even like to think of at this time of the month.
( Read more... )
'Course, we wouldn't have even tried if it hadn't fallen over
Colon stared at the prisoner. He wasn’t sure which question to ask first.
“What exactly had it done wrong?” he asked, finally.
“We arrested it on a twenny-free, sarge.”
“A twenty-three?”
”Yeah.”
He stared some more.
The constable tried to fill the silence.
“I know it ent quite right, but we don’t ‘ave a number for Jumpin’ In A Barrel Of Beer then Runnin’ Around, Kickin’ People Wiv Ten Legs At A Time, Swallowin’ Whole Five Of The Buggers Too Stunned To Get Up an’ then Fallin’ Over Itself.”
In the cell, the Luggage opened its lid and grinned, drunkenly.
Chapter 3
Not on the schedule – Deeply suspicious nosy bastards - Tense tenses - Freedom of the press
Sam Vimes junior preferred to be called Samuel, though habit meant people tended to call him Sam anyway. He had an office in the palace, so no one was surprised to see him hurrying through the corridors with a pre-occupied expression. There was a strange atmosphere about the place that pricked at Samuel’s consciousness. It filled him with a sense of aagragaah(a).
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Dead Men's Pointy Boots
An expedition into the deeper, darker sections of the UU Library was a great and dangerous undertaking.
The search when you failed to return within a week was usually an even bigger one.
“Aha, better call off the search party, Chair. I rather think we’ve found him,” said Ridcully. The Chair of Indefinite Studies sent up a flare from his staff and the other wizards were soon clustered around.
They clustered a little closer when they saw exactly what had been found.
In the middle of the aisle, between the rustling shelves, stood a pair of boots.
They were smoking.
Chapter 2
The eruption of Mount. Vimes – The art of delegation – Brotherly Love – The rarity of sibling loans – Stubborn buggers - Suspicious behaviour
“What’s going on Mr. Drumknott?” demanded Commander Vimes, once he’d stopped at the top of the stairs to get his breath back and preferably stop his heart from exploding within his chest. He was getting too old for these mad dashes. He’d gone from a standing start up in his office, stopping only to burble incoherently at Carrot and a few constables to follow him. “The clacks said Vetinari was dead!”
“Yes sir,” said Drumknott, still maintaining his clerkly calm, though it was beginning to fray at the edges.
“Vetinari cannot be dead, man. He’s not the dying type.”
“I’m afraid all evidence points to the contrary, Commander.”
Carrot placed a hand on Vimes’s shoulder, pausing the imminent outburst for the moment. “Just tell us what happened please, Mr. Drumknott.”
( Read more... )
Vivat Rex
Chapter 1
A tailoring nightmare – The disappointments of progeny – A lack of trousers - When you've gotta go
The trousers of time are not so much trousers as… well, gloves might be a closer analogy, but even they do not have anything like enough appendages. No garment belonging to any normal being would. They may have begun life as a perfectly normal member of the wardrobe, but with each mad bifurcation, and multiplication(a), they resemble less and less a pair of trousers and more one of those spidery tendril filled images of the nervous system, if it was the combined nervous systems of an entire universe. Any claim they may have had to trouserdom has long since been left behind. Time is, in fact, a tailoring nightmare. No-one could ever keep up with the alterations and there just isn't enough cotton in the universe.
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They Don't Mind Putting The Boot In
“I do think it’s a little unfair,” said Carrot.
“What is?” asked Vimes. They were watching a training session with the latest batch of recruits.
“Having Angua teach this session.”
“Oh, I don’t know...”
A recruit had evidently chosen that moment to say something unwise about fighting girls. He crumpled to the ground, a whimpering heap. There was some sympathetic wincing, but no more smart comments.
Vimes turned and went back inside, satisfied.
“It’s something they all have to learn sooner or later. Girls are naturally dirty fighters,” said Vimes. “I’ll send Igor out with some ice for the lad.”
Not to mention cupping and bleeding
Doctor Lawn was encountering difficulty with the hospital’s newest employee.
“Now see here, Igor, you can’t prescribe an organ transplant for a cold,” he tried to explain.
“But it did the trick thur, never theen a finer pair of lungth and the nothe wath quite an improthement.”
“A cold is hardly serious enough to merit surgery. And there’s nothing to stop her getting another one.”
“Not to worry thur, I’ve got plenty more notheth.”
It was becoming clear that Igoring and his own brand of physic were somewhat at odds.
At least they were in full agreement about the leeches.
Either Or
It was all about choices.
Some had been quite simple. Kill or be killed. Run or fight. Clothes or inconvenient bouncing. Hate the bastard or…. really hate him.
Some were harder. Be a woman or be a wolf. Morality, or the simplicity of the predator. Chickens or the dark path back to the bad old days.
Some were proving impossible. Stay or go. Love him or leave him. When the question comes, yes... or no?
You had to hope that you made the right ones.
It occurred to Angua that choices were the easy part. Living with them was hard.
- Media:Queens of the Stone Age - Into the Hollow | Powered by Last.fm
The Sausage Shake-Down
“No,” said Gaspode.
“I hadn’t said anything yet,” said Carrot, looking hurt.
“I know how this goes, all right? There’s the polite enough opening, some innocent banter, then comes the unreasonable request followed by the freats and bribery.”
“I-”
“An’ I’m telling you I ain’t interested. ”
“But-“
“So you’ll just have to make do wivout ole’ Gaspode this time.”
There was a moment of silence.
“There’s a pound of Uberwaldean sausage in it for you.”
Gaspode gave this some thought.
“Oh, all right then,” he muttered, hating himself.
Pride was all very well, but a sausage was a sausage.
Glorious Spam
Constable Visit came down the stairs and added another stack of clacks messages to the piles.
“Sorry sir, I don’t know where they’re all coming from,” he said.
“Hm. We getting any reports through all this…” Vimes waved a hand at the slips of paper.
“Commercial Advertising Notices and News Enforcedly Delivered Making Everyone Annoyed and Tetchy, sir,” supplied Carrot.
Vimes fixed the captain with a blank stare.
“That’s what these things are being called, sir. Lots of legitimate messages are getting lost among them. They’re becoming quite a problem.”
A pile slid over, enveloping the desk in paper.
“Clearly.”
Best Left Buried
Verence had discovered something in the castle gardens. It had been covered in ivy, half buried in the ground and had the look of something that had been very firmly forgotten.
He’d had it excavated and cleaned up and was now trying to figure out what it was actually for. It was turning out to be quite a puzzle.
“Look here, it’s got a name on this plate,” said Magrat. “B…S… Johnson,” she read out.
Everyone took a cautious step back.
“Ah.” Pause. “Er. Shaun?” called Verence, eyeing the Johnson creation.
“Yessir?”
“Just bury this thing again would you? Carefully.”
Cereal Killer
Vimes found Angua in the canteen, about to fall asleep in her breakfast.
“Morning sergeant,” he said. “When you’re done go and get some re- What is that you’re eating?”
Angua blinked at him. “I think it’s called ‘serial’.”
“Looks like soggy cardboard.”
“Tastes like soggy cardboard, sir. With sugar. It was the only thing around that wasn’t swimming in lard.”
“Oh. Why’s it called serial?”
“Not sure. Maybe because eating a bowl of it makes you want to go and kill lots of people?”
The thought of a werewolf made homicidal by her breakfast was not a good one. He patted her on the shoulder.
“Stick to fruit.”
Good Cop, Bad Cop
Angua was vaguely aware that with someone like Carrot around, you also needed the people like Vimes and, if she was being honest, her as well, to be around too.
His inherent charisma and good natured optimism towards the world in general had to be anchored down by a world weary cynic, lest it float off dragging the rest of the world with it, whether it liked it or not.
It was like the old ‘Good cop, bad cop’ thing; a matter of balance.
But the trouble with Carrot was that she was never entirely certain which one he was.
Notes: Crossover with Doctor Who (10th, with Martha).
Parking Offences
Sergeant Littlebottom returned her attention to the exuberant man stood before her. He was dressed strangely and accompanied by a dark girl who had been staring at her with disbelief the whole time. She was aware of a whispered conversation.
“That… dwarf’s wearing lipstick!”
“So?”
“With a beard?”
“Weeell, takes all kinds to make the universe doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, but with a beard? And what about all those rocks walking around?”
Obviously they were new to the city, and would probably not last long with language like that.
“Ok, let’s try this again," she said. "Your what has been clamped?”
Notes: Fits into Men At Arms, after the *glink* I was never sure if Angua had actually told him she was a werewolf and he just wasn't prepared for the reality or if she hadn't said anything. Gaspode's "you could have hinted it's that time of the month" always made me favour the former.
Real Bitch
“By the way,” said Angua, “There’s something you ought to know.”
“Mm?” Carrot opened an eye.
“You know what I said earlier? About why it was us three?”
“Troll, dwarf, woman. Yes?”
“Well… I’m not a woman.”
”Erm. I’m no expert but you seemed to fulfil the… usual requirements,” said Carrot, blushing.
“I meant that I’m not a human female. I’m a werewolf.”
“Oh.” That seemed to be all there was to say. “You could have told me earlier.”
“Yes, well, now you know…” She yawned and curled up beside him before continuing, “That I can be a real bitch.”
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