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rakashavia https://ift.tt/36EX3gb
tanoraqui:
spudking:
tanoraqui:
there’s really no point at which I’m not thinking about the moment in Terry Pratchett’s Lords and Ladies when it’s like,
The Queen’s gaze was infinite; pure how dare you even address me. It stripped away every layer of Magrat, every self-conscious quirk and earnest exhortation about granola, and exposed the bare core of Magrat Garlick.
Magrat smiled like a feral weasel and punched her in the face.
I think you’ve combined two brilliant Magrat moments. From Lords and Ladies;
The Queen attacked again, exploding into her uncertainty like a nova. She was nothing. She was insignificant. She was so worthless and unimportant that even something completely worthless and exhaustively unimportant would consider her beneath contempt. In laying hands upon the Queen she truly deserved an eternity of pain. She had no control over her body. She did not deserve any. She did not deserve a thing.
The disdain sleeted over her, tearing the planetary body of Magrat Garlick to pieces. She’d never be any good. She’d never be beautiful or intelligent, or strong. She’d never be anything at all. Self-confidence? Confidence in what?
The eyes of the Queen were all she could see. All she wanted to do was lose herself in them, and the ablation of Magrat Garlick roared on, tearing at the strata of her soul… exposing the core.
She bunched up her fist and hit the Queen between the eyes.
And from Witches Abroad
The snake sister opened its mouth.
Then Magrat looked up and, almost dreamily, punched it so hard that it was carried several feet along the passage.
It wasn’t a blow that featured in any Way or Path. No one ever drew this one as a diagram or practiced it in front of a mirror with a bandage tied around their head. It was straight out of the lexicon of inherited, terrified survival reflexes.
“Use the wand!” shouted Nanny, darting forward. “Don’t ninj at them! Use the wand! That’s what it’s for!”
The other snake instinctively turned to follow the movement, which is why instinct is not always the keynote to survival, because Magrat clubbed it on the back of the head. With the wand.
It sagged, losing shape as it fell.
The trouble with witches is that they’ll never run away from things they really hate.
And the trouble with small furry animals in a corner is that, just occasionally, one of them’s a mongoose.
Don’t fuck with Magrat. Granny might be the personification of “good is not nice”, but Magrat is proof that being nice and kind is no barrier to shooting an elf in the eye with a crossbow when necessary.
you are RIGHT, thank you!
(Your picture was not posted)
tanoraqui:
spudking:
tanoraqui:
there’s really no point at which I’m not thinking about the moment in Terry Pratchett’s Lords and Ladies when it’s like,
The Queen’s gaze was infinite; pure how dare you even address me. It stripped away every layer of Magrat, every self-conscious quirk and earnest exhortation about granola, and exposed the bare core of Magrat Garlick.
Magrat smiled like a feral weasel and punched her in the face.
I think you’ve combined two brilliant Magrat moments. From Lords and Ladies;
The Queen attacked again, exploding into her uncertainty like a nova. She was nothing. She was insignificant. She was so worthless and unimportant that even something completely worthless and exhaustively unimportant would consider her beneath contempt. In laying hands upon the Queen she truly deserved an eternity of pain. She had no control over her body. She did not deserve any. She did not deserve a thing.
The disdain sleeted over her, tearing the planetary body of Magrat Garlick to pieces. She’d never be any good. She’d never be beautiful or intelligent, or strong. She’d never be anything at all. Self-confidence? Confidence in what?
The eyes of the Queen were all she could see. All she wanted to do was lose herself in them, and the ablation of Magrat Garlick roared on, tearing at the strata of her soul… exposing the core.
She bunched up her fist and hit the Queen between the eyes.
And from Witches Abroad
The snake sister opened its mouth.
Then Magrat looked up and, almost dreamily, punched it so hard that it was carried several feet along the passage.
It wasn’t a blow that featured in any Way or Path. No one ever drew this one as a diagram or practiced it in front of a mirror with a bandage tied around their head. It was straight out of the lexicon of inherited, terrified survival reflexes.
“Use the wand!” shouted Nanny, darting forward. “Don’t ninj at them! Use the wand! That’s what it’s for!”
The other snake instinctively turned to follow the movement, which is why instinct is not always the keynote to survival, because Magrat clubbed it on the back of the head. With the wand.
It sagged, losing shape as it fell.
The trouble with witches is that they’ll never run away from things they really hate.
And the trouble with small furry animals in a corner is that, just occasionally, one of them’s a mongoose.
Don’t fuck with Magrat. Granny might be the personification of “good is not nice”, but Magrat is proof that being nice and kind is no barrier to shooting an elf in the eye with a crossbow when necessary.
you are RIGHT, thank you!
(Your picture was not posted)
