Ficlet: Lunch
57. Lunch
Vimes propped his feet on his desk and idly wondered if Sybil’s orders were still firmly in place in the canteen. He’d kill for a proper Vimes BLT right now. Or at least seriously maim. His brow furrowed. Had he eaten breakfast? He couldn’t remember.
He grabbed a stack of papers from his in-tray and ruffled through them. Petty complaints, the lot of them. A few reports he had to go over. He lost himself in untangling the tortured spelling and punctuation of his coppers for a while, before he suddenly realized that he still hadn’t eaten.
Sighing softly, he set the stack of reports back down and made his way downstairs. Sergeant Littlebottom saluted him from the duty desk, and he nodded in return. “Anything I need to know about?”
“No, Mr. Vimes. Everything’s been quiet so far.”
“Really,” the Commander said dryly. “That can’t last long. I’ll be in the canteen. Come get me in fifteen minutes when something happens.”
“Yessir,” she replied, grinning.
After a brief argument with the cook, pointing out such things as the fact that Lady Sybil was not here, and that Vimes was indeed the Commander here, he finally sat down with a sandwich. Ahh, bacon. He carefully picked the lettuce and tomato off and settled in to enjoy his lunch.