Yn Faire Morporkia Where We Lae Our Syne

Wow, he's completely zoned out. That's cute. It's cute enough that you query your feelings as to whether you're hoping to date him, which could be both awkward and fun with the new roommate thing. But no, you're pretty sure your feelings are more big-brotherly. Once you're satisfied he's not going to fall off the counter, you get out your stock book and get started.

When bats get in your way, you gently shoo them aside. Every so often, you shake out a skein and a moth or two flies out, which precipitates squeaking excitement. You've got a beaming smile on your face the whole time; it's like being mobbed by flying kittens.

 

Eventually every square inch of the store's been picked clean by eager snouts and all the moths and larvae and silverfish and centipedes and spiders have been snapped up. It'd be better for the shop if you could have left the spiders, but a snack is a snack, to a bat. Once or twice a bat got stuck in a skein or snagged on some doiley or other, and you became distantly aware of Mr Makwaa hunting the source of distress down and gently untangling it. You appreciate the kindness.

The bats wing back to you one by one, pleased and tired, and you refocus by degrees. It's... late. Some time into the night. Bats or not, vampire or not, you're not particularly nocturnal, so you don't know. You slide off the counter and stagger, blinking and rubbing at your face, adjusting to the weight and volume of your body.

"There," you say vaguely. "Mm. Howzat."

 

You yawn, and he catches it off you; it's companionable. "Brilliant. Totes worth the rent. Gonna miss that spider by the back door, but the customers didn't like it, and it looked like it musta been tasty." You clap his back gently, wary of knocking him over. "No wonder you don't need to add much to the grocery list, all your bits get a good feed while you work." Holding the tapestry aside for him, you offer, "Care for a nightcap before bed? I'm craving sahlab and since you like milk you might enjoy it."

 

"Mm. Yes. I'll have to-- take care of the-- the dry bits, do you have a, a, a waste...bin." You blink around at room you've been steered to. "This bit's not exactly pretty."

 

You direct him matter-of-factly to the item he needs and leave him to it, busying yourself with milk and cinnamon at the stove.

 

After hacking up a certain amount of dry, dusty exoskeletons, you wipe your mouth, push the wastebin to a more discrete location, and join him at the table for a drink. You're glad to clear the taste out of your mouth with—

"What is this, exactly? It's very nice."

 

"Milk and rosewater, thickened with sahlab orchid root. More bedtimey than cocoa, I think, plus I gather you're kind of fed up with cocoa."

 

"Just a bit, yes," you smile, and enjoy the rest of the glass. "There's songs, too, you know. The meetings are absolutely dreadful clear across the board. I'll be glad to be shut of them, I've had to go to every meeting since I've been denned up in a chapter house's attic. They're three times a week!" You realize abruptly that this might not be a reassuring thing to go on about. "Not that I'm going off... off whatever. Whatever it is you get on when you're, er, not." You scratch your nose awkwardly. "I'm just not keen on how deciding not to murder people is apparently a group activity, here. You'd think a fellow could just go 'right, okay, no more murdering people!' and that would be it."

 

You shrug equitably. "I suppose some people need more help with it than others. And some find group activities more helpful than others. Personally I think I'd throw a cog if I had to sit through those." You give a theatrical shudder. "Three times a week. Yikes. You think they'll be fussy about you ditching out? I'll go with you to get your stuff in the morning if you want. Let 'em see you're not moving into a den of thieves and miscreants or something."

 

You nod gratefully. "Yes, they'll certainly fuss— over my attendance, I mean, certainly not you. I've rather gotten the notion that the community likes to keep close eyes on one another. Make sure no one's, er, fudging. Alphard's always going on about Publik Szentiment!, you know."

Fussing with your empty glass, you say thoughtfully, "They're so old, is the really unnerving thing. They're— Alphard's six hundred. Six hundred! The whole Aspera line only traces back four hundred and sixty seven, because no one knows if Tiberius Asp-fullstop actually counts. Being in a room with all those chaps with all their centuries is like—" you shiver. "It crushes all the air out. And then they want you to have a jolly goot time wif zem."

You know you probably shouldn't be opening up like this to a fellow you just met, but all the dairy's got you less ravenous and frightened than you've been in months, and you're also more than a little desperate for not-totally-creepy company.

 

"Poor guys, they sound kind of hopeless. Six hundred years is a long time to be a dork."

 

You pause for a moment, trying to remember what dork means, then start giggling helplessly into your hands.

"Oh, gods, that's so mean," you laugh. "They are though! We all are!"

 

That's it for your straight face; you join him in giggletown. "I'm sorry, but I've met the type, they are so. You're not really, though; you're charming. I can't imagine you clapping your hands and demanding everyone join you in a great big bowl of moral fiber."

 

Charming! He thinks you're charming! It's nice to know that's come back, at least.

"Moral fiber's good for you," you scold, clapping your hands at him. "I eat a great big bowl every morning and I've never felt more full of shit!"

 

You pigsnort and put your head down on the table. "Good thing I -- modernized -- my bathroom!" you cackle.

 

"I've come to the only man in town that can handle my virtuous ways and digestive issues! How fortunate!" you laugh, leaning back in your chair.

 

"Truly, the gods are smiling! They may even be having a giggle at us." You nudge his elbow. "All right, bedtime, we have to be up early to get stuff done before I open the shop at ten."

 

"Oh, I can— I can sleep here tonight?" you say, stumbling upright. You are tired, enough to yawn enormously and catch yourself against the table. "I mean, may I? I can go back to... to the attic, if there's, no place yet. Bed. Mm."