“The Little Match Girl”
The sleigh soared into the snowy sky.
ON THE WHOLE, I THINK THAT WENT VERY WELL, DON’T YOU?
“Yes, Master,” said Albert.
I WAS RATHER PUZZLED BY THE LITTLE BOY IN THE CHAIN MAIL, THOUGH.
“I think that was a Watchman, master.”
REALLY? WELL, HE WENT AWAY HAPPY, AND THAT’S THE MAIN THING.
“Is it, master?” There was worry in Albert’s voice. Death’s osmotic nature tended to pick up new ideas altogether too quickly. Of course, Albert understood why they had to do all this, but the master…well, sometimes the master lacked the necessary mental equipment to work out what should be true and what shouldn’t…
AND I THINK I’VE GOT THE LAUGH WORKING REALLY WELL, NOW. HO. HO. HO.
“Yeah, sir, very jolly,” said Albert. He looked down at the list. ”Still, work goes on, eh? The next one’s pretty close, master, so I should keep them down low if I was you.”
JOLLY GOOD. HO. HO. HO.
“Sarah the little match girl, doorway of Thimble’s Pipe and Tobacco Shop, Money Trap Lane, it says here.”
AND WHAT DOES SHE WANT FOR HOGSWATCH? HO. HO. HO.
“Dunno. Never sent a letter. By the way, just a tip, you don’t have to say ‘Ho, ho, ho” all the time, master. Let’s see…it says here…” Albert’s lips moved as he read.
I EXPECT A DOLL IS ALWAYS ACCEPTABLE. OR A SOFT TOY OF SOME DESCRIPTION. THE SACK SEEMS TO KNOW. WHAT’VE WE GOT FOR HER, ALBERT? HO. HO. HO.
Something small was dropped into his hand.
“This,” said Albert.
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I reblog whatever I feel like, including but by no means limited to: Dr Who, Song of Ice and Fire, Homestuck, Pokemon, Avatar TLA/TLK, Zelda, Final Fantasy, Dept Heaven, Whedonverse. Usually not things that specifically ask me to reblog them, though.
Terry Pratchett’s “The Hedgehog Can Never Be Buggered At All” (Martian Compilation) [x]
The spines on his back are too sharp for a man,
They’ll give you a pain in the worst place they can.
The result I think you’ll find will appall:
For the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.
(via whatdiscworldtaughtme)(1,443 plays)
They avoided one another’s faces, for fear of what they might see mirrored there. Each man thought: one of the others is bound to say something soon, some protest, and then I’ll murmur in agreement, not actually say anything, I’m not as stupid as that, but definitely murmur very firmly, so that the others will be in no doubt that I thoroughly disapprove, because at a time like this it behooves all decent men to nearly stand up and be almost heard…
But no one said anything. The cowards, each man thought. Terry Pratchett, Guards! Guards! (via ruuger)
Words like ‘full’, ‘round’ and even ‘pert’ creep into the narrative, until the writer has to go and have a cold shower and a lie down.
Which is all rather silly, because any woman setting out to make a living by the sword isn’t about to go around looking like something off the cover of the more advanced kind of lingerie catalogue for the specialized buyer.
Oh well, all right. The point that must be made is that although Herrena the Henna-Haired Harridan would look quite stunning after a good bath, a heavy-duty manicure, and the pick of the leather racks in Woo Hun Ling’s Oriental Exotica and Martial Aids on Heroes Street, she was currently quite sensibly dressed in light chain mail, soft boots, and a short sword.
All right, maybe the boots were leather. But not black. Terry Pratchett, The Light Fantastic (via avferreira)