Pairing: Blouse/Wrigglesworth
     Rating: B

Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with Terry Pratchett or Discworld.
     

     Octnight
by Amazon Syren

     It was late — most of the other ‘chaps' had gone back to the dorms already — or ‘skipped out' to the pubs, more likely — but I had stayed behind, wiping the last of the grease-paint from my face and making sure all the costumes were in their proper places. Another production come and gone.

     I had thought I was alone.

     "Rupert?" A voice from the shadows.

     "Is that you, er, Riggs?"

     Wrigglesworth. Everyone calls him ‘riggs'... partly because of his name, of course, but I suspect it also has something to do with his running around with balloons stuffed up his jumper all the time.

     It's odd to see him, stepping into the circle of lamplight, in trousers instead of a dress.

     "I think that went rather well, don't you?"

     The play.

     "Oh, yes! Three ovations! Can you believe it?"

     "And your Violet was second to none."

     "... Second to one, old chap." He smiles at that. "Your Olivetta was... quite captivating. I'd be surprised if you didn't have half the ‘chaps' stumbling over their feet by the end of it."

     "Oh, come on, Rupert. I don't think I was that good."

     I beg to differ, old friend.

     But I only shrug. "Think what you like," I tell him. "Your performance speaks for itself."

     He pulls a props chest into the circle of light and ‘takes a seat'.

     "I say," he begins, "did you ever find out what ‘octnight' actually is?"

     "Oct..." I blink. "Oh, yes. I'd forgotten about that. But, yes. It's some abominable feast thing they have on the other side of Uberwald. People play jokes on each other and for a night... the whole world is turned upside down."

     "Upside down..."

     There's a smear of white paint still on his cheek where he missed it.

     "Yes..." I reach out my hand and wipe it away.

     We are silent then, unsure of what to say.

     "I should—"

     "Stay," I finish for him. "Stay."

     He looks up at me, meets my eyes. Can he see how much I want this?

     "You really want me to?"

     I lay my hand gently on his knee. I can feel his body under the grey tweed.

     "Very much," I answer.

     There is nothing else to say.