storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2010-12-28 01:18 pm
storypaint) wrote2010-12-28 01:18 pm
Entry tags:
[Discworld] interrogation (Vimes and Young Sam gen)
Title: interrogation
Fandom: Discworld
Length: 443 words
Prompt: Christmas card fic!
Pairing: Vimes and Young Sam gen
Other: n/a
Excerpt: "But being Hogfather is a lot of work," Young Sam said, still as serious as death. "And," he said smugly, as pleased with his reasoning as a man in his cups, although rather less wobbly, "we don't have any pigs. I looked."
"Papa," Young Sam said, with all of the thick seriousness that a child could produce. Vimes's wifely radar had expanded its repertoire once his son had learned to talk, and this tone was a potentially dangerous one. Vimes looked up from his newspaper. Sam had the look of some young, grave politician, an effect somewhat (but not entirely) ruined by the remains of breakfast caked around his mouth.
"Yes, son?" Vimes asked.
"It's just, Greasy said that the Hogfather is your dad really." The little boy narrowed his eyes in concern or suspicion. He waited for his father's judgment on the matter.
Vimes choked inwardly. His initial curiosity concerned the type of person who called their child Greasy (he would be relieved if he knew that it was a nickname, although probably less relieved to hear that even the teachers used it). But that was swept away by the unspoken question that followed. This was, he was sure, a question Sibyl would know how to answer. She had taken to this parenting thing like a duck to water (non-Ankh water, obviously). The boy was five. Was that old enough to be losing the magic of childhood? Did such a thing exist?
He coughed to stall. "What did you tell your little friend, Sam?" he asked.
"I said he couldn't be Greasy's dad, on account of him being Naughtily Drunk most nights."
Vimes winced. It was amazing what kids picked up. They seemed to have radar for the things they shouldn't be paying attention to.
"And I said you couldn't be the Hogfather because you work all the time," Young Sam continued knowledgeably.
"I don't work on Hogswatch," Vimes said, somewhat bothered by Sam's reasoning. It only occurred to him afterward that he could have encouraged Sam's assumptions. He bit his tongue and hoped the boy didn't notice.
"But being Hogfather is a lot of work," Young Sam said, still as serious as death. "And," he said smugly, as pleased with his reasoning as a man in his cups, although rather less wobbly, "we don't have any pigs. I looked."
"Good investigation skills," Vimes praised, and he was rewarded with a gap-toothed smile. Feeling rather more in control of the situation, he said, "Why do you mention it, then?"
"People believe the strangest things," Young Sam said wisely. Vimes pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and his son submitted to his attentions.
"They do, at that," he agreed, returning to his newspaper, and he lifted it just a little to hide his smile.
Fandom: Discworld
Length: 443 words
Prompt: Christmas card fic!
Pairing: Vimes and Young Sam gen
Other: n/a
Excerpt: "But being Hogfather is a lot of work," Young Sam said, still as serious as death. "And," he said smugly, as pleased with his reasoning as a man in his cups, although rather less wobbly, "we don't have any pigs. I looked."
"Papa," Young Sam said, with all of the thick seriousness that a child could produce. Vimes's wifely radar had expanded its repertoire once his son had learned to talk, and this tone was a potentially dangerous one. Vimes looked up from his newspaper. Sam had the look of some young, grave politician, an effect somewhat (but not entirely) ruined by the remains of breakfast caked around his mouth.
"Yes, son?" Vimes asked.
"It's just, Greasy said that the Hogfather is your dad really." The little boy narrowed his eyes in concern or suspicion. He waited for his father's judgment on the matter.
Vimes choked inwardly. His initial curiosity concerned the type of person who called their child Greasy (he would be relieved if he knew that it was a nickname, although probably less relieved to hear that even the teachers used it). But that was swept away by the unspoken question that followed. This was, he was sure, a question Sibyl would know how to answer. She had taken to this parenting thing like a duck to water (non-Ankh water, obviously). The boy was five. Was that old enough to be losing the magic of childhood? Did such a thing exist?
He coughed to stall. "What did you tell your little friend, Sam?" he asked.
"I said he couldn't be Greasy's dad, on account of him being Naughtily Drunk most nights."
Vimes winced. It was amazing what kids picked up. They seemed to have radar for the things they shouldn't be paying attention to.
"And I said you couldn't be the Hogfather because you work all the time," Young Sam continued knowledgeably.
"I don't work on Hogswatch," Vimes said, somewhat bothered by Sam's reasoning. It only occurred to him afterward that he could have encouraged Sam's assumptions. He bit his tongue and hoped the boy didn't notice.
"But being Hogfather is a lot of work," Young Sam said, still as serious as death. "And," he said smugly, as pleased with his reasoning as a man in his cups, although rather less wobbly, "we don't have any pigs. I looked."
"Good investigation skills," Vimes praised, and he was rewarded with a gap-toothed smile. Feeling rather more in control of the situation, he said, "Why do you mention it, then?"
"People believe the strangest things," Young Sam said wisely. Vimes pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and his son submitted to his attentions.
"They do, at that," he agreed, returning to his newspaper, and he lifted it just a little to hide his smile.