They say RPS may be the sketchiest sort of fanfiction you can write. That’s especially true if it’s about people you know in real life.
This is the story of the women in Rincewind the Wizard’s life…
…and the seven he slept with.
Prologue – Rincewind always knew his parents had run away before he was born. Even his mother.
Chapter One: The Girl – The boy grows up in an orphange in Ankh-Morpork, utterly unaware of his role in the Disc’s future. He’s still living at his old orphanage when he meets a girl…and loses his virginity.
Chapter Two: The City – In this alternate version of events, Rincewind enrolls in Unseen University several years later than typical students. So he spends all the time before it trying to get laid.
Chapter Three: The Seamstress – The boy somehow draws the attention of a mysterious older woman at a bar, and Rincewind’s night quickly becomes unusual and eye-opening. Incomplete. For some reason I only wrote the sex.
Chapter Four: The Merchant’s Daughter – Rescuing young women from bandits has its perks. It also has its disadvantages. Life-threatening disadvantages. Incomplete. Once again, I only wrote the sex.
Chapter Five: The Women – Rincewind finds out why his lovers keep their skirts on.
Chapter Six: The Trouble, or What You Love – Now in his early twenties, with high hopes of becoming a wizard, a mysterious benefactor gives Rincewind the opportunity of a lifetime. Meanwhile, he falls in sort-of-love. Incomplete and all over the place.
Chapter Seven: The Waitress – Expelled from Unseen University days earlier, a young Rincewind the Wizard – burdened by the Spell and fed up with magic – seeks shelter from the cold and finds comfort in an enthusiastic fan.
Title: Figure of Eight – Chapter 6 – The Trouble, or What You Love (ROUGH DRAFT)
Author: BostonEris aka newengland32
Word Count: 4,226
Summary: Rincewind, an orphan from the streets of Ankh-Morpork, now in his early twenties, has high hopes of becoming a wizard and learning magic. A mysterious benefactor gives him the opportunity of a lifetime, and a puzzled faculty at Unseen University is forced to permit him entry. Meanwhile, he falls in sort-of-love with a Mary Sue who calls him on his shit and can drink him under the table.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Discworld series, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Author’s Notes: Would normally go right here, but mine were a bit lengthy. This here is the rough draft of the middle part of a long, incomplete, wicked OOC fanfic describing a version, in the Trousers of Time, of Rincewind the Wizard’s twenties.
One of the first lessons a human learns in Ankh-Morpork is not to drink with dwarves.
Rincewind was twenty-one years old and it was still the era dwarves and humans stuck to separate bars. Several decades later he would be rubbing elbows with a myriad of humanoids from trolls, to werewolves, to dwarves and even vampires. His best friend would be an orangutan.
At thirty, Rincewind could tilt his hat (embroidered with the word “wizzard”) and lean on the misconception that he could defend himself with a flick of the wrist and blast of pure magic. It wasn’t until he slipped into a pathetic drinking habit, paying for it with transparently common confidence games, that his peers would start calling him a “gutter wizard.” Even so, he could sit in the back of an establishment like The Broken Drum and usually not get harmed. One such risky afternoon led him to Twoflower, after all, and completely changed his life.
That would come later, and in the present, selecting a pub in Morpork was always a gamble. In the daytime Rincewind could get away with entering just about anyplace and leaving with all his organs. Pubs served meals as well as drinks, after all, but pub food stuck to very basic selections: sandwiches, pies, chips, sausages, various pickled things and various fried things. The quality of the food depended upon the ingredients available that day, and whether or not the cook wanted to put in the effort. Any hungry customer still left satisfied, even if he hadn’t. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. Ankh had nicer places, but those had higher prices and required nicer clothes.
Still, Rincewind could find a tavern that wasn’t dangerous but still presented a lively atmosphere. This included mingling with other humanoids. Segregation in the city wasn’t mandated by the Patrician, but it was encouraged. It was no secret Lord Winder was speciesest; most humans were as well. The dwarves stuck to one part of the city, but their presence was steadily spreading with every immigrant. Walking down a dwarf street was not tantamount to Ankh-Morpork suicide, but trespassing was still treated unkindly.
People will always feel odd – if not hostile – interacting with those who are different. Rincewind, however, hadn’t been brought up with much parental guidance or education; he didn’t harbor much racism or even much speciesism. Drawn to the supernatural and “other,” Rincewind wasn’t a typical Ankh-Morpork human himself. He could also, like any other survivalist, recognize his own predjudices well enough to keep his mouth shut around people who could cut your legs off before you even knew they were there.
Even if your best friend is a dwarf, you don’t drink with dwarves. A dwarf has a remarkable constitution and doesn’t mess around. If a dwarf is going to challenge you to a drinking competition, you had best steel yourself for a marathon. Preferably, you’ve been training yourself for months, if not years, building up a tolerance just short of killing your liver. No human was quite sure why this was, but even if you sat down for a half-glass of sherry with a dwarf, he was going to propose a game, and you were going to accept, because there would be a mad glint in his eye that made his machismo contagious.
(Though dwarves could be men or women. However, you couldn’t tell under the hair or the armor; it was a matter reserved for couples and their matchmaking parents to sort out. Rincewind didn’t know this, but a female dwarf would challenge him to the contest and a human woman would step in to complicate the situation even further.)
Most dwarves concluded the workday by filling up their taverns and singing about gold. They would quaff their ales from slightly smaller mugs and a human would smugly take on a challenge on account of the diminished glasses. They were misleading, however, since the volume of ale consumed could easily be balanced by the amount of glasses served. (Additionally, the rules of any formal drinking game between a dwarf and a human dictated that mug sizes could not be mixed, on penalty of axing.) Basic geometry could sort it all out, but that was beside the point. Dwarves took drinking about as seriously as they took mining, if not moreso.
The first lesson a dwarf learns is how to pass out upright.
Title: Figure of Eight – Chapter 7 – The Waitress (DRAFT!)
Word Count: 4,904
Summary: Expelled from Unseen University days earlier, a young Rincewind the Wizard – burdened by the Spell and fed up with magic – seeks shelter from the cold and finds comfort in an enthusiastic fan.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Discworld series, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Author’s Notes: Would normally go right here, but mine were a bit lengthy. All you need to know is that earlier, flagrantly distorting Discworld‘s canon, we see that Rincewind got laid before his time at Unseen University and knows his way around a woman. Spoiler: the “Seamstress” that gets mentioned was a prostitute he used to know.
Figure of Eight – Chapter 7 – The Waitress
“You’re a wizard.”
Rincewind looked up. A slightly chubby young woman with a dirty blonde ponytail had stopped to address him. She was holding a wooden drink tray covered in empty mugs.
He had just dove inside from the ruthless cold of another Ankh-Morpork winter. Hands tucked up under his wide, red sleeves and hat brim pulled low, Rincewind huddled by the inn’s pathetic fireplace looking like a drenched cat someone had tried to drown.
It took a few seconds for him register her question.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but you are a wizard, aren’t you?”
She smiled. Rincewind looked around. Ah, yes, he was still on the Ankh side of the river. No sign of shady criminals or a brawl (yet). That explained the girl in the green dress humming to herself as she served bedraggled customers.
Those two syllables managed to widen her eyes.
“Wow! I never met a wizard before! Welcome to Sweet Fanny’s Pub.”
Before he could stop himself, he said, “Surely you’re not…?”
She laughed. “Oh, no. That’s my Mum.”
Rincewind kept his face neutral and said, “I’d like a pint of your best, please.”
“Sure thing. Anything else, mister…What should I call you?”
“Rincewind. And yes, I was wondering if you have any rooms available.”
“Yeah, I think we do. I’ll ask Daddy. Are you visiting the city, Mr. Rincewind?”
“Erm, no. I’m looking for a new place to live, actually.”
“Oh! Well, most of the wizards here hole up in Unseen University. Are you here on business with them? It’s a great school, so I hear. I only ever saw the top of it over the wall. You can see its old tower from this side of the river, too. It’s grand!
Rincewind tried, really tried, not to look as depressed as he felt – nor as insulted, abandoned, dejected or angry – when she brought up the university. She clearly had assumed he was from out of town – Quirm, maybe, or Pseudopolis. (Were they at war this week?) He could pose as one, surely, just for a night, to try and assuage the nagging voices in his head saying, “Pathetic loser,” over and over. Sometimes, this dreadful week, he had felt another voice trying to use his lips. He knew it was that horrible Spell.
Rincewind pulled his hat down and shot for enigmatic instead.
The girl lingered, as though waiting for something more, then some other customers beckoned her. A voice from the bar snapped a name and she trudged over grumbling.
A few minutes later she was back with an overflowing mug carefully balanced on her grubby tray. She handed it to him and he took it gratefully.
“It really is our best,” she said. “I nicked it from Daddy’s stash. He doesn’t serve any old customer the good stuff. I figured a wizard isn’t any old customer.”
Doubtful, but not wanting to disappoint her, Rincewind took a sip.
Mmm. It really was quite good. He took a longer pull.
“This is excellent. Thank you…uh…?”
“Thank you, Emma.”
She departed, humming happily to herself.
Rincewind downed the mug and immediately wished for another one. He wanted to forget everything. Wanted to lie in a proper, downy bed again. Not that his bed in dorm room 7a had been remotely comfortable, but it was a bed nonetheless and better than a livery stable.
He wanted to go home.
You are home, a voice told him.
It wasn’t the Spell, just the part of his psyche reminding him that Ankh-Morpork, no matter what grimy part of it, would always be his true home, other wizards be damned. From temples, to stables, from boarding houses to inns, he could find somewhere to crash and it wouldn’t make a lick of difference; it was still on one of the streets he’d grown up on.
It wasn’t like he had an ex-girlfriend living next door he had to pass by everyday. It was a big city.
Then again, this particular ex was visible from nearly any street in it.
Looking up at the tilted Tower of Art filled him with such loathing he considered leaving Ankh-Morpork and never coming back. But that wouldn’t work, would it? That would be giving up everything that made him Rincewind.
But you don’t want to be Rincewind tonight, do you?
The girl turned, another frothy mug in her hand.
“Would you like to learn about magic?”
Tonight I realized who Bernard reminded me of. I discovered Black Books in 2005, and then in 2006 I slept with a man far too similar to him.
We were together for one week during fall semester of 2006, back in undergrad, but I wrote this about the guy in 2008:
He came in drunk, an eyepatch over one eye. She moved it aside to take a look at the wound, and the blood wasn’t coming from his eye, but just above his eyelid, just below his eyebrow. It was closing up already, so she removed the eyepatch and chucked it in the trash.
His back was covered in scratches. He said he’d crawled under a fence, for God knows what reason. A shortcut, he murmured. The cut on his eye was from falling onto a liquor bottle, and the bandage was from someone at the party. She took his shirt off and let him lie back on the sheets, even though he covered them in his drying blood. Sitting watching the television, she tried to ignore him, but he sat up and their faces were close as they talked. He seemed to be sobering up now he was sitting down, not having to focus on walking, and somehow he ended up kissing her. He tasted like alcohol and smoke and blood. She’d gotten him a glass of water so that improved the taste, but he was warm, best of all, and so she kissed him back.
The sex was rompy and playful, and she felt like she could stop taking everything so goddamn seriously for once, just this once. She’d be on top of him, then he’d roll her underneath. And she laughed. He told her he wanted her to run her hands over the healing cuts on his back, and when she did, his face contorted in pain and pleasure all at once.
An Eternity in Cheese Country is something that crosses my mind a lot of more (and always did) than
A) Writing that could make me money if I actually put work into a writing career. 30 is a bit late to jumpstart one, and that’s an understatement, especially these days
B) my goddamn homework
I was wondering why I responded so eagerly to a show as mediocre as Once Upon a Time , but then today I realized why, when Jefferson was introduced:
In An Eternity in Cheese Country (that’s a placeholder title!), which I first wrote chapters for over a DECADE ago, a goddess fights a bloody, messy, earthshattering battle (later I realized it could be similar to what happened to the gods in Immortals) and is killed.
Then she wakes up in Milwaukee.