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English
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Published:
2023-05-28
Completed:
2023-05-29
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2,028
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2/2
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Margolotta Monthly

Summary:

In honour of Dracula Daily, but the horrific bloodsucking monstrosity will have to deal with class-full of disc's most lethal fratboys instead of one (1) lawyer.

Notes:

I'll be honest with you and also with me, there's no chance I'll update this monthly and there's a high chance it'll just be a one shot, but the pun was too good to pass on.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text



[The following letter is a transcript, decoded from a unique variant of Omnian skipping cipher. The original should only be handled with rubber gloves, due to non-trace amounts of dried frog-based neurotoxin soaked into the paper. In the event of accidental skin contact, do your best to keep still and remember that acknowledging the spiders will only encourage them.]



***

 

To my only aunt,

 

I write to you on the fourth day of my trip, simply because it is the first day anything of note has happened. I am not, as your previous letters suggested, 'dead in a ditch somewhere'. What I am, however, is very much 'hanging out with the wrong crowd', as my classmates have so far refused to die from some amusing tourism-induced incident and therefore still haunt me with their presence.

I will not deign to answer all your questions, as many of them disrespect my agency as a recent Assassin's guild graduate (cum laude, might I add) and a fully grown adult who can make all the necessary decisions on frequency of undergarment changes (once per day) on his very own.

I will, however, attempt to answer how I'm feeling, though that too is a loaded question.

How am I feeling about having to flee my city after our revolution ate its young before even giving them a chance to grow their baby teeth? How am I feeling after seeing the tyrant we’ve fought so hard to replace the previous tyrant with immediately start a political purge without as much as a head start for old times sake? How am I feeling after failing to save the one man who gave me a fleeting hope that this rotten heap of a city might be remotely salvageable?

Not particularly good.

 

How am I feeling about said political purge forcing me to lay low by going on a road trip in the company of Ankh Morpork’s most inbred bachelors?

It would be callous of me to say 'even worse', so I won't do so.

 

Madam, it is a veritable horror show of who's who, 

Selachii, Venturi, Downey, Cruces, Roberts and Ludorum, proud owners of half of Ankh, three brain cells, 6 freshly printed licenses to kill for profit and a shared belief that a lack of moral fiber is something you should take prunes for.

All I have to cling to, is the knowledge that our generation has at the very least not been blessed with a spawn of Rust as well. 

 

But back to the promised one-thing-of-note .

Shortly after arriving at our latest gloomy mountain town, we've received a mysteriously delivered invitation to a private dinner. It came from the local reclusive noblewoman whose bat-infested castle towers ominously above the settlement and whose name the locals refuse to utter aloud.

 

She is very clearly a vampire. 

 

I had not mentioned it to the others at the time, as I thought it obvious, should one know at the very least a smidge of Uberwaldian geopolitical history. I am of course an idiot and had forgotten it's called 'Grand Sneer' and not 'Grand Chance for Respectful Cultural Enrichment by Going Abroad'.

Thinking back of the letter, it might've even been too obvious. The bat on wax seal, the sheer, unnecessary amount of bite-themed puns, the fact the word “ for ” in the sentence “ vould love to have you for ze dinner ” was underlined three times, the bona-fide speckle of blood by the signature.... 

I’m beginning to think the whole thing might've been a beautifully engineered trap, capturing only the most obnoxious of tourists and repelling those with any shred of common sense A sort of a psychological filter similar to those horribly misspelled letters about down-on-their-luck Genuan Princes and whatnot that only need a couple of dollars to get back on their feet before leaving your their entire kingdom. (side note; Does the blood of idiots taste better? It would certainly explain Selachii’s mosquito problem.)

 

The locals have, at first, tried their very best to warn us, inundating us with garlic, stones with holes in them (apparently extremely mystical), sacred crocodile teeth, which I very much suspect are actually filed down pig knuckles and something called CMOT Dibbler's " Bite-Off" , Genuine Vampyre & Ofther Undead Beastie Repellent [2 AM$] . I've even been given a stray onion, owing perhaps to some good natured confusion on interchangeably of aromatics. I have fed it to the village pig, whose hooves were indeed looking quite trim.

You'll note I said 'at first', as their efforts have subsided notably after getting to know us better. 

They're used to the occasional Ankh-Morpork tourist, but their village must've so far avoided the full brunt of a Grand Sneer.

It's hard to say what was it that pushed them over the edge. It could've been anything, Downey calling the mayor a 'scag', Ludo accusing the innkeeper of poisoning us via a local dish that included seasonings outside salt, pepper and ketchup, Roberts continuously trying to explain why the village’s name is actually incredibly amusing, Cruces falling into the turnip fermenter or perhaps Venturi and Selachii interrupting a council meeting by announcing they'll (once again) duel to their death. 

I suspect it might've been the latter. Being promised you'll witness at least one of them dying horribly, then seeing them stop and huff away without so much as a crippling injury is always devastating and must be a level of mental torture hitherto unknown to these parts.

By evening, their valiant efforts to keep us and our blood united in one mortal body have turned into enthusiastic attempts to make us leave faster. I do not blame them one bit and the maps, brochures and the promise of an early morning coach ride they helpfully provided for us will come in handy.

 

I have used some of the garlic and my toxicology kit to fashion some discreet pellets. The trip so far has been loathsome and the chance to finally supplement guild's underfunded in-human inhumation curriculum with a practical example might just be my only respite on this truly harrowing journey you've sent me on.

 

Your only nephew,

Havelock Vetinari.



PS. I will not 'just make friends', I refuse to do so and I'd be most grateful if you stopped demanding it of me. 

 

PPS. I'd also be grateful if you could use your network to investigate this “Dibbler” individual. Anyone with enough “entrepreneurial spirit” to successfully sell what appears to be stale hot-dog water to a village of hardened vampire survivors should be kept a close eye on.





***


Originally sent from:

Village of Bonk, Central Überwald

29th of May, year of Inquisitive Squirrel 

 

 

Chapter 2: 29th of May

Summary:

SIKE, I WROTE ANOTHER ONE IMMIDITATELY, it likely won't happen again

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

***



 

 

My dear Aunt,



First of all, thank you for your very thoughtful letter. Sending just an empty envelope made of pulped sapient pearwood was nothing short of inspired and the addition of "To my favorite little nephew" on the front in big glittery letters, complete with obnoxious frilly heart stickers a stroke of genius. The skill, speed and accuracy with which Downey had grabbed it from my hands would make our Lethal Motorics' professor proud, his total lack of preparedness for assault by homicidal stationery less so.

My only regret is that it arrived when we were already on the road, witnessing the resulting battle of Man vs Mail would have paid back at least a portion of the psychological debt we owed to the villagers. 

It was still great fun for the rest of us and Downey riding to a vampire's castle with multiple bite marks has a sort of poetic irony to it.

The envelope has now imprinted on Cruces, much to his chagrin. He might need a band to keep his glasses from sliding down what remains of his left ear now.

 

The rest of the ride was largely uneventful. I believe the driver was trying to subtly intimidate us by keeping his hood low over his eyes and laughing sinisterly when asked how long the ride will take, but anything short of a loud " BOO " and sudden flaining of arms was bound to fall flat in the present company.

Selachii and Venturi have been doing their best to have a territory feud over a shared armrest, Ludo is wholly preoccupied with an embarrassing skin condition he insists is due to the strange, inhumanely spicy powder the locals use to prepare food (my dear aunt, it is dried red cabbage and not spicy in the slightest), Downey and Cruces have been busy dealing with their new postal pet, and Roberts has, as per usual, been throwing up over the side of the carriage.

After a few more ominous, but largely ignored comments about the beauty of the full moon, isolation of the carriage and the nearby howling coming closer and closer, the man realized he was outmatched and we spent the rest of the ride in silence, at least until the sudden wolf attack.

Whatever else can be said of class of the year of Inquisitive Squirrel, a good half of us are immediately lethal up close and the rest can at least produce ear shattering shrieks that are bound to make any would-be attacker wish they hadn't. 

The problem itself was thus quickly disposed of.

Same could not be said for the ensuing debate on whether or not inhuming an attacking wolf counts as breaking the guild's 'Nil Mortifi, Since Lucre'. clause. I will admit I made it worse by implying the animal could easily have been a werewolf and therefore a local noble that is important enough for some other noble to wish dead in exchange for monetary compensation. 

This inflamed a furious row on who was it that dealt the final blow, whether or not a werewolf could technically survive a kick out of a speeding carriage after already being stabbed twice and several attempts to make the driver take a carte-blanche retroactive contract on any nearby undead aristocracy that could possibly take the form of a canine. 

The latter must've been a push too far for the poor man, as he abruptly stopped the carriage, threw us out, yelled 'just walk to the damn castle and die already.' and sped off.

I can't hold a grudge there, he might've been hired to drive unsuspecting travelers to their doom, but bearing the full brunt of Ankh Morpork's most eligible bachelors is still a fate I wouldn't wish on anyone, except perhaps on Ankh Morpork's most eligible bachelorettes.

We were forced to walk the rest of the way up on foot, which honestly wasn't that far in the first place, as the castle was right up there on the hill and the driver had been just driving us in circles for the last two hours. The rest realized the same when we happened to pass Roberts' puke piles several times and vowed to leave the driver a scathing review. In what publication, I am not sure.

 

I am writing this letter in a small rain-proof alcove near the grand estate gates. You'll notice it's uncoded and on plain paper, due to Downey apparently responding much better to mail-based violence than to any previously tried toxin. The plan is to send it before we enter the castle proper, as I'm sure your messenger pigeon won't be too pleased to have to compete with a flock of bats, no matter how brave you say her little purple jumper makes her.

 

It might thus be a while until I write again, but I see no real reason for worry. While Selachii and Venturi are, of course, utterly useless, Roberts has been carriage-sick since we cleared Sto Plains and Cruces is haunted by an amorous envelope, that still leaves me, Downey and Ludo, should our gracious host decide to suddenly become less so.

 

your still alive nephew,

Havelock Vetinari



PS. Before you ask, yes it is raining and no I do not need any additional sweaters. The three you forced me to pack are already more than enough. Do not make Penelope carry one, it is wholly unnecessary and her beak is not what it used to be.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Originally sent from:

Foot of Castle Margolotta, Central Überwald

29th of May, year of Inquisitive Squirrel 

Notes:

there is such intense hot topic aura radiating from NW era Vetinari, I need to constantly balance it out with cringy aunt content

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed! I did my best to keep Vetinari in character while also giving him the overdramatic little emo swag he deserves at his like 19-ish years.