Ficcage about the Discworld RPG

[yakalskovich]

I had this idea about four weeks ago and have been working on it on and off ever since, finished it on the train going hubwards north, then schiarire betaed it for me (Thanks ever so much!!!), and now I'll post it.

I hope you like it. It's the night after Locke went home, and it's about everybody who was around at that time (at least the active characters).

Only members of the discworld_rpg will probably be able to make sense out of this; everybody is quite welcome to read it as well, of course. If you like what I gave your character(s), of course it's yours to keep...



Night

And the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

THERE IS NO JUSTICE. THERE IS ONLY ME.

Thing about being an anthropomorphic personification is, you never get bored. Never ever. Not even after spouting the same trite phrases for millennia after millennia to customer after customer who each basically had the same questions, and would easily be reassured by the same answers.

That got him through the really bad cases. Like this one.

"Will she be all right," the spirit of the young woman was saying for the umpteenth time, smiling sweetly at the very small creature that was making a noise so very inversely proportionate to its size. "Won't she miss me terribly? Oh, this is so unfair on her! It's not her fault Goody Wemper didn't make it in time because of that freak snowstorm." She pulled herself out of it. Many of them did, in the end. "I'd never have thought you'd have a pet, though..."

SQUEAK

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

It had to be Drumknott who had the Eight of Spades, Margolotta decided. Havelock had said "Pass" for three consecutive times, while Leonard was playing Diamonds all by himself. She hoped he'd get to the Jack before Drumknott put down the Eight, last of all cards, to finish the round. She had the Queen of Diamonds.

"Pass," Havelock said, pleasantly, for the fourth time. Drumknott was getting a bit worried. After all, he was about to royally beat his boss.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

When he had been human, the Librarian had had a bedroom like any other faculty member. He hadn't been so very extraordinary at all. His magical accident had changed all that.

Now he could precisely do as he liked. Nobody told a fully grown orang-utan what he could and what he couldn't do. So of course he slept in the library where his books were, where he had them in his view and could be down of them like a ton of bricks (or rather a sack of wet sand) whenever one of them showed any signs of misbehaving.

He hung comfortably from a shelf, his coarse orange fur shimmering slightly with the octarine discharges that arced between the shelves, and snored.

From L-Space, things were watching him with awe and respect.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

She had been somebody once.

Crowds had thrown themselves hysterically at her, adoring her not for what she did or where she came from, but simply who she was. She had been something of a cheap goddess for everyone, an idol that promised beauty and love for you alone to each and every man that watched her gigantic image from the screen.

No longer. Now she was just a beautiful woman with slightly worn hands, honestly tired from having waited tables and flirted with guests all evening, strawberry blonde hair in a sensible braid that snaked over her pillow in the moonlight.

Many would still have paid money to see her like that, sprawled in the silvery wash, voluptuously female. But Ginger only belonged to herself these days, and if she slept the sleep of the just, it wasn't for an audience any more.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

"Choo in such an 'urry for, guv?" the coachman said pleasantly, refusing to budge. He had declared his shift over, and wasn't inclined to move again. A warm supper and a bed was waiting for him at home, a slightly dozy wife and a roomful of brats that were thankfully fast asleep.

Dr Lawn knew better than to start spouting drivel about life-and-death matters. Life and death were totally unsuitable to impress a genuine Ankh-Morpork cabby, hardiest of the hardy, liable to leave Death himself standing if the money looked dodgy, and willing to navigate the Shades every night.

"Five dollars," he said. "And it's just outside the Hubwards Gate."

"I want me supper, guv," the coachman said, not impressed.

Mossy Lawn was losing his patience.

"Listen, I'm a doctor," he said, exasperated. "I one of your children was sick, you wouldn't want to wait for the doctor any longer than necessary, would you?"

"I can' afford no docters," the man said surly.

Good, Mossy Lawn thought. Now he had the man where he wanted him.

"Man, I'm the doctor for the people who can't afford one!" he said, as if offended the cabby didn't know him. "I would come for your children as well, so get a move on."

"Li'l Ellie, she coughs something dreadful of a night," the man conceded. "hard to sleep through."

"You drive me now, you get your five dollars, and you send your wife with little Ellie to come see me in the morning - how about that?"

The coachman said nothing, just snapped his whip over his tired horses and got moving.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

"So you say he's actually a king?" Angua asked. Walking the streets at night was a source of endless information and gossip. There were a million people in Ankh-Morpork, it was said. Of course Carrot didn't know every one of them. However, he knew enough of them to get personal with any recalcitrant crowd.

"Used to be a king, in a small, ancient country near Klatch," Carrot said. "He's actually abdicated in favour of his sister. He's just a prince now."

"Fred said he charged him for excessive plumage," Angua suggested, to keep Carrot talking.

"Oh yes," Carrot said brightly. "There is actually a law against it. Very useful. But Tomjon Vitoller from the theatre persuaded Fred to leave the prince alone now."

"Oh, Tomjon Vitoller," Angua said, recognising a familiar name and putting a well-known pretty face to it. "He's another not-quite-king, isn't he?"

"Oh, there's lots of them in the city," Carrot said placidly, innocently.

Angua looked at the man beside her, said nothing, and turned the next corner.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

"Zer imps, zey are zo very difficult to train. Zey have to be handled viz enormous care," Otto was telling Roswitha while gingerly feeding one of his best imps another lump of sugar.

"Zis vun, it gets iconographs even if it's really dark, or if zer zings are movink really fast," he added proudly.

Roswitha was perched on a chair, knitting a pattern that Gimel had given her, not quite sure if Gimel's version had looked quite like that. But then, hers had of course been pink. Roswitha preferred browns and greys.

"Do zer imps have individual perzonalities?" she asked while trying to untangle her skein. Gimel was so much better at all this.

Otto put down the imps and looked at the hung-up iconographs. "Not really," he said. "Only zome of zem work better."

"Pity," said Roswitha, who liked everything to have a personality.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

"...and so, you see, I really don't know what to do with her," Mightily Oats said, surreptitiously moving his knees. He liked to talk to his god conversationally when nobody was listening. The Great Om had answered the Prophet Brutha, after all.

"She is a creature of evil, and a spawn of the deep," he added, as if arguing. "I don't know that sacred rites would really be right for her. Who has ever heard of someone actually marrying a demon? And what if she gets hurt by all the religious symbols?"

Om didn't answer, as countless times before. But Oats was quite used to this, and still felt utterly safe and familiar in the company of his God, whom he unbudgingly knew to be there.

"Yes, of course, if she isn't, that rather proves she no longer is evil, of course," he conceded, sighing in the moonlight.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

There was a sound like a swamp dragon with an upset stomach right beside Teppic's ear. It was a very familiar noise, but it was closer than it used to be, and so he woke when it turned into a sound like a gigantic clock being wound up.

The warm skinny something in his arms was causing the noise, so Teppic poked to make it stop.

"Wwstfgl!" Chidder murmured in protest, flinging out an arm and hitting his hand among the statues of Hat the Vulture-Headed God of Unexpected Guests that were crowding in the box beside the bed. "Tepp? Wazza madder?"

"You were snoring, Chiddy."

Chidder shook himself awake, turned to lie on his belly, and raised himself onto his elbows. "Wasn't," he said, looking blearily around in the moonlight. "We really need to lose the damn gods." As they were dead Djelibeybian gods, no thunderbolt was to be feared.

Teppic sat to reach for the water jug, pulling the covers with him. Taking a swig, he grinned down at the suddenly uncovered Chidder, who turned his shoulders and held out a hand for the jug.

While he was drinking, Teppic let a finger wander again over the familiar tattoos he'd seen accumulate over the years and was now allowed to touch. The skin didn't feel any different there. Then he feathered over the faded one on the side of Chidder's left buttock that he'd never even been allowed to see before this week. He'd thought hieroglyphs cool back then, Chidder had explained.

Chidder spluttered into the water. "Hey, you're tickling me! What're you doing that for?"

"It really says 'Eternally Prevails the Justice of the Sun God', you know," Teppic explained earnestly.

"Commendable sentiment." Chidder wedged the jug in with the statues. "It's getting cold, Tepp. Why can't I have the covers back?"

"I was looking at you," Teppic said, covering them up again. "Dolt," Chidder murmured sleepily. He turned in Teppic's arms, buried his nose against his chest, and started to snore again.

The 'commendable sentiment' had been Teppic's Throne Name, the official motto of his brief reign over Dejlibeybi, Teppic thought but didn't bother to say as he settled down again, his face in Chidder's hair.

Chidder went on snoring. Teppic slept regardless.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

He really looked so harmless, Jamie Turnipseed though, looking at his sleeping brother. But below the covers, where he was all in the dark, he was probably just bones.

"What are we going to do with him?" Sam said, leaning against his shoulders from behind.

Where the moonlight touched him, Ade's flesh was firm and so real.

"I have no idea," Jamie sighed, leaning back into the familiar warmth. "Keep him well lit, I guess."

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

Drumknott was keeping the score, of course. Leonard had doodled on the score card, and Margolotta wasn't really good with numbers, as she'd had to concede to Ponder some time ago. And it was inconceivable that Havelock should have to do it while there was anyone else for this menial service. Drumknott was nervous enough at having to play cards with his employer, the guest from Überwald and the tame inventor as it were. Margolotta would have to make sure he'd award Havelock the appropriate number of points, as the Patrician was going to lose really horribly this time.

Why on the Disc was Leonard playing the lower Diamonds, though? Did he want to be caught with the ten and the Jack in his possession so they would add twenty-one points to his disadvantage?

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

Eventually, something would move. A small octarine ball of power would form in the jar, flare briefly, and disperse.

Peter Younge was sure of that. So sure that he spent his whole night watching the empty jar with the occult signs hastily scrawled onto the sides with the permanent black marker the use of which was a privilege of University students and faculty. It was Magic Marker, after all.

Staring at a an empty jar for a whole night was perhaps the most stupid thing anybody could do, Peter thought. So he had brought something to read, but couldn't really concentrate in case a small octarine ball of power would form in the jar, flare briefly, and disperse while he was occupied with the contents of the book.

So he had brought the most boring of course books that he could lay his hands on.

At least there was no Tez in the lab. Tez could be really frightening, unless he was forced to look down from a height. Then, Tez would be frightened himself, as Peter had had the opportunity to observe recently.

Oh gods, this was so boring.

Younge yawned.

While he screwed up his eyes with the sudden onslaught of tiredness, a small octarine ball of power formed in the jar, flared briefly, and dispersed.

Peter Younge shook himself awake, forced his eyes open, and continued watching his experiment.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

There were fishing rods there. Wellie boots. A crossbow, and an empty quiver. A tweed jacket, and a practical olive green corduroy robe. On the table, one sliver of moonlight from the tightly drawn curtains showed a miniature workbench where a truly complicated fly made from willow bark, silk twine, and a few hairs from Ponder Stibbons' white dog was being bound up.

From the bed, there was a mighty snore.

More really couldn't be said about Archchancellor Ridcully.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

It was just lights from up here. Just small lights. Nothing to be afraid here. And he could just as well have been sitting on the low wall between two pillars in the Great Octangle, instead of a rooftop between two chimney stacks. Nothing to be afraid of.

Tez kept telling himself he should panic by now, but he couldn't muster much more than a vague disquiet. Which might have to do with sharing Gimel's plaid, actually. It was taupe, brocaded with huge mauve flowers, very warm, and large enough to wrap around them both. Luckily, he didn't have to see the colours in the wash of moonlight.

"You are in zer hand of zer Gods, Tezzy," Gimel said quietly, mirroring his thoughts. "You haff never been safer. Nothing can touch us here. Nobody else dares come here." With her other hand, she gestured at the Opera house opposite and the Isle of Dogs below them.

A dark shape flowed over the gutter below them, and another followed. Despite Gimel's reassurance, Pseudopolis Yard seemed to be very popular tonight.

"Ouch!" one of the shapes whispered. "That was my hand, Niv."

"You might have taken it away in time, Jo," the other shape whispered back, calmly. "You lose points for that kind of thing."

"Assassins," Tez breathed to Gimel.

"Ve are much more dangerous zan zem," Gimel whispered back. "And we can fly off zer rooff long before zey zee us."

But they just had to press into the shadow of the chimney stacks while the student assassins passed over the rooftop of the Watch House, and down the other way, and out of sight.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

"Am still the prettiest," Tomjon murmured in his dreams.

And he probably was, if truth be told.

Ankh-Morpork attracted people, and those people accumulated wealth, and around the wealth, beauty accreted.

There weren't many things much prettier than Tomjon Vitoller in the whole city. The perfect curve of his cheek, the thick, long lashes that feathered on pale skin, the slightly triangular lower lip opened just the smallest bit, the serenity of forehead and brow, the artlessly tousled black curls, the softness of the throat where tendons shifted gracefully as Tomjon shook his head in dreamy denial - all these were unsurpassed and peerless.

"Am, too," he mumbled.

His detractors might claim that immature stubbornness and the occasional mean streak to his spirit would easily mar any beauty; but there weren't many detractors left, as Tomjon's great charm and talent would win over anybody. And nobody's attention was beneath Tomjon's notice, so nobody had to remain un-charmed on the long run.

In fact, his enormous talents, the polished accomplishment of his every utterance, and the quirky, bristly, hidden side to his character that only those who knew him better would encounter made almost everybody forget how young he really was.

Now, he even looked younger than his twenty-four years as he lay on his back in the moonlight, arm out-flung as if possessive of the whole world which was very much Tomjon Vitoller's mollusc of choice now that the poverty of his childhood was long past him and forgotten, and the hearts of the city belonged to him.

It was a very pretty sight indeed, had anybody been there to see it.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

In the moonlight, the Brass Bridge looked so calm and beautiful.

Nobby was guarding the bridge, time-honoured occupation of Ankh-Morpork coppers that wanted a short break and a quiet fag on night duty.

Guarding the bridge in daytime was actually hard work. You got all sorts then. Even stuck-up foreign nobs in actual chariots.

Guarding the bridge in night-time was a sinecure, if you were ready to overlook the occasional apprentice thief lugging an anvil home to his Guild.

Nobby dragged on his fag-end, looked at the quiet Watch House that lay peacefully in the moonlight, and was content.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

Victor enjoyed sleeping more thoroughly than any other person in Ankh-Morpork.

Argument had been made by some that sleep was not, as such, an activity you could enjoy, simply because you didn't notice you were doing it. Because you were asleep while you did it.

At this moment, he was proving them all wrong.

He was snuggled up closely to Ponder, his nose burrowing against a soft chest. A chubby hand had relaxed on his bare shoulder, and his own fingers had snaked between the buttons of the soft flannel pyjamas to touch the skin of a familiar pot-belly.

There were actually kittens on those pyjamas. Alternating with the occasional puss-in-boots.

Not many crumbs were left in the empty pie dish on the table near the window.

The curtains were drawn, but the sliver of moonlight that managed to get through glinted off a pair of glasses put carefully into a bowl all of their own on the bedside table so they'd be ready to be grabbed the moment the waking world demanded Ponder's attention, and his ability to see.

There was an octarine night-light, though, and by its flicker you could see the white dog sleeping on the rug, as well as the almost beatific smile on the sleeping, now un-bespectacled face on the pillow. There was a rustle on the bed, and one lean, bare leg found its way across plump knees to let one foot sneak out from under the covers. There was a contented sigh.

It was very obvious that Victor was as happy as could be. Even if he wasn't exactly awake to the fact.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

Okay.

Morgan was putting lists into her P.C. The things were very useful for making all sorts of lists on.

-         Things she needed to buy from the market.

-         Stuff she had to order from the Agatean Empire.

-         Broken crockery to be replaced.

-         Things she really needed to tell Imp off about.

-         Wages to be paid.

-         People she needed too talk to.

-         Problems to be solved, and many different approaches to each of them.

-         Letters to be written.

-         Possible solutions to the Ade problem.

-         Old recipes to be remembered.

-         New recipes to be tried.

-         Things she needed to teach to Jeannie.

-         Materials needed for the new work uniforms she was planning.

So, she sat and wrote about people she was bitterly missing instead.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

Little Sam Vimes was awake in the night and was watching his parents in the moonlight.

Although he'd been born into a class that was awash with nursemaids and nurseries and that kept its offspring nicely out of sight until such time that they'd finished school or Assassins' Guild and were presented to society, his father would have none off that. His mum had been there for him every step of the way wile he was growing up (even if he'd found the maternal attention a bit much sometimes), and he saw no reason to deprive his so of his parents only because they were rich.

Sybil had agreed; she'd stayed up so many nights with sick dragons, she saw no point in treating her own child with any less care.

Sir Samuel and Lady Sybil were snoring in unison, a sound that meant comfort and security to their son.

Little Sam lay in his crib, the curtains that obscured the wooden bars drawn aside by one small fist, and quietly watched his parents sleep until he closed his eyes again.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

Drumknott put down his next-to-last card. It was the Ten of Diamonds. Aha, Margolotta thought. The clerk smiled triumphantly for a moment before looking contrite again.

Havelock put the Jack of Diamonds on top of it, one less card on his still full hand.

Margolotta put down the Queen of Diamonds, glad to be rid of her worst card. Twelve points less for her score.

Leonard put down the Ace of Diamonds, turning the stack over and saying, "Continue," put down the King of Diamonds as well, turned the stack and said "Continue" again and finally put down the Three of Hearts, emptying his hand with this and winning the round.

Drumknott looked at his Eight of Spades, a bit sheepish, and rather relieved with it. Margolotta and poor Havelock were caught out with spades of Spades.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

Skazz passed the bottle to Andre. Andre passed the cigarette to Skazz.

...and with the organ hallf in pieces alll over the floor of the Great Halll," Andre was saying. He leaned his head back against the wall and took a swig.

"Didn't look that bad, babe," Skazz said, taking a drag from the cigarette and flicking ash into a forlorn and abandoned teacup. "I don't want you to pack up and go, though. Can't you at least finish it?"

Andre passed the bottle to Skazz. Skazz passed the cigarette to Andre.

"Nah. Not very bllody llikelly. Bllody Stupid Johnson's the bane of my llife. No way am I going to solve this one," Andre said, breathing out smoke. He was nicely buzzed, and his accent was coming through.

He reached over to pull the bottle away from Skazz. "Whoah! Go easy on that stuff. We don't want you dead drunk."

He put the bottle down, and ground out the cigarette.

"Why not," Skazz asked with a lopsided grin. "Drunk is good."

"Dead to the worlld is bad. Not a good idea at the moment. C'me 'ere, babe..." Andre said, reaching over, grabbing Skazz' bare shoulder to once more take possession of what was his.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

Sometimes, William still slept at his lodgings instead of simply collapsing at his desk. This was one of those nights.

He lay on his bed, on his back, dead to the world. All that manic, hectic work to keep the huge printing press fed had taken its toll: he'd been out like a light the moment his head touched the pillow, and he'd sleep like the dead until such moment that some new idea touched his sleeping brain, and he'd jump up and keep running until the beast was fed and he could collapse again.

His mouth was wide open, the tip of his nose was pale and pointy in the moonlight, and his eyes moved under their lids as if not a moment's rest was permitted.

It wasn't, really. Not with the press to feed every day.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

Imp sat at his harp and thought. He thought best when his hands were on the strings of his familiar harp and he was just improvising idly while his mind flowed like water.

Not to think of Ade. Of Ade all bones in the shadow, and still so sweet in the moonlight. Of Ade who was all gone quiet and weirdly calm, as un-Ade-like as anything. Ade, who would stare at his own bones and smile oddly, as if there was nobody else present.

Ade who'd gone off in hot pursuit of a solution to his problem and now suddenly wasn't interested any more.

Ade who'd kissed five people in three days, none of them Imp who he belonged with, and had then broken things off with Imp from sheer guilt. But now he couldn't be bothered any more, no matter how much people worried.

The sad melody that wove itself under Imp's fingers turned angrier and angrier.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

"One-hundred and twelve, I believe," Havelock corrected his flustered clerk. Drumknott hurried to amend the score.

"The limit was five hundred, wasn't it?" Margolotta said. It was her turn to shuffle the cards.

"My word. We had better raise it to seven hundred and fifty, then, or the fun would be over too soon," Havelock conceded calmly.

Leonard was looking at Margolotta's hands and smiled dreamily. "You know, your Ladyship, I could build a machine to do that for you..."

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

Jeannie didn't dare sleep in the bedroom yet. Even if she was certain that her brother wasn't coming home tonight. She had her bed on the couch in the study and was supposed to stay there.

But he definitely wasn't coming home. Jeannie sat up in the moonlight. There were no curtains to speak of in the study, and no way she could hide from all that cold white light. Even in the moonlight, her hair glowed bright red.

This was ridiculous. He wasn't coming back, was he? He was with Tepp, and would come home some time in the morning again, all bouncy and whistling and brightly awake, to shoo her out of bed, make coffee and dreadful jokes before he buzzed off again for business or teaching.

Jeannie pulled her blanket around herself and wandered over into the kitchen to get herself a drink of water.

They'd both been here earlier that evening after having taken out the chariot, poring over bed-sheet-sized lists and flowcharts on the kitchen table, and speaking almost impenetrable assassin jargon. Jeannie had listened intently, trying to make sense of it out of sheer bloody-mindedness. Then they'd asked her to try something from the lesson they were planning, and she'd ended up kicking Nicky on the chin while Tepp doubled over with laughter at how funny they both looked. Tepp had brought a bottle of apple cider, and they shared that while Nicky and Tepp were telling her tall stories about things they'd seen at sea. According to them, all pirates must be quite mad.

She wandered over towards the bedroom door and hesitantly pushed it open, even if she knew there was nobody there. It smelt a bit of Nicky's unwashed clothes, but it was dark in there. The room actually had blinds, and the window faced the other way, away from the moonlight. The bed was huge; you could lie on it sidewise just as well as the right side up. And it was supposed to be especially luxurious and new-fangled. Nicky had said it contained water, but she suspected he was pulling her leg.

She wasn't going back to the study and the bright moonlight. He wasn't coming. They'd left all casually while she was washing up. Nicky had just said, "Don't wreck the place, will you?" But he wasn't coming back tonight, that much was clear.

She left the door open so as not to get surprised in the morning, lay across the bed from corner to corner without pulling back Nicky's blanket, snuggled up in her own blanket on top of all the covers, and relaxed.

There were hints of the sea in that softness. She fell asleep at once.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

If your instinct lies in running away, it is hard to keep still, so Rincewind was fidgeting as he slept. He gesticulated with his skinny arms and kicked with his thin legs as if here were still out in a world that meant to eat him. Instead, he was safe among wizards, at last able to sit and eat. His distrustful brain wouldn't register that yet, though.

If your instinct lies in running towards things and eating them, it is hard to stay in a corner and pretend to be furniture. The Luggage, however, marvel made from sapient pearwood, was quite content to do just that at the moment, looking in the moonlight as if it was any ordinary trunk. It hadn't snapped on its own accord for many months now, and just moved its lid a little to prove it still could.

A glint reflected off the lock and hit Rincewind across the eyes. With a short gasp, he was awake, ready to flee. He looked around his small, untidy room, unable to discern any danger.

This peaceful life was making him all nervous, he complained mentally before settling back down to sleep.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

HEX didn't know day or night, just the real time clocking over inexorably in the scuttling rhythm of the ants.

HEX was working always, regardless. Sometimes there were people, sometimes not. HEX didn't really distinguish between people. They were the data well that fed its voracious brains, but it often wasn't sure whether they were real.

There were different kinds of people: a few that came to consult it directly, and many more that would reach over through thin tendrils.

Among all those people, HEX knew only one by name. That was Ponder Stibbons. Ponder Stibbons was the dam that separated HEX from all the untidiness out in the data well. Ponder Stibbons was allowed to do or know everything to do with HEX, because he wouldn't. Ponder Stibbons would talk to HEX as if it was a person, sometimes. Ponder Stibbons would call HEX "he" as if it was a male person.

Now, Ponder Stibbons had gone with his favourite other person to do people things, and HEX was left to its own devices, idly accumulating data and talking to demons that lived in another reality. Of all his tendrils, only one was awake and sending, a stream so thin HEX almost didn't notice.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

There was one room at the University that was very much empty tonight. Much emptier even than those that normally stood empty because trans-dimensional traps lurked in the corners. The bed was made meticulously, and a neat stack of library books still sat on the table. The moonlight fell, unfiltered by any curtains, on a sparseness and austerity no wizard, student or fully-fledged, would ever have felt at home in.

Somebody was very much not there, and he wouldn't be back. People had come to say good-bye to him, and to answer one last question. It had felt a bit like an execution, even. But he was really truly going home to where he belonged, with even more knowledge and skills this time around.

He would not be missed much. Everybody had been mortally afraid and very careful around him. Soon, the room that now lay abandoned in the moonlight would be inhabited by some suitably messy student again.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping...

Josephine lay on the rug she was relegated to on those nights; her long legs twitching, her beautiful, long-muzzled head thrown back in delight. Flickers from the octarine night-light were playing on her slightly wavy, almost pure-white fur.

In her dreams, she was finally catching that chariot.

...and the turtle moved on while the world was sleeping.