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The Perk; Late Sunday Afternoon [ 10/17 ].

Well. There had been a mix up in portals that left her spending her week in Vail with the rest of the faculty and students instead of the expected trip back home, and, as a result, Angua wound up coming back the wrong gender, as had several of the other faculty and students. It made one think that, if she'd managed to get to Ankh-Morpork, she'd still have her curves and lumps in all the proper places.

However, she knew there was nothing she could do to change it, so she decided to just head out, enjoy a coffee, and then wait for tomorrow, when she'd hopefully wake up and be back to normal again.

[[ open for all your caffeinated needs! ]]

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"Caffeine. Now," Sherlock demanded, glaring at the barista before noticing Angua. "...well, I feel better now."

Oh, bloody hell.

It was almost a shame that the only scent that changed was the scent of gender, otherwise Angua could have gone on just not knowing who this was.

"And I feel much worse," she said. But she sighed, because she felt, for some reason, she should at least attempt to be polite. "By the way, it's called the fairer sex for a reason, Sherlock."

Attempt being the operative word.

"What? How is this fair? Unless you were planning on scaring John off this way. I think you'd have a shot."

"Funny," Angua mused, "he strikes me as being more attuned to the masculine than he lets on, or do you just simply mean to say that my cheekbones aren't magnificent enough?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "John remains heterosexual. Despite what you may think."

A beat.

"And I still have nice cheekbones."

"You could smuggle dwarves in those cheekbones," Angua said, because it was a crime not to. She calmly took a sip of her coffee, which worked well to get the aroma of beans in her nose rather than the far less pleasant eue de Sherlock.

"Right." Sherlock tapped his fingers on the counter, waiting for his damned coffee. "If we're done having the oddest pissing contest I've ever been a party to..."

If that was the oddest pissing contest he'd ever been in, Angua almost felt sorry for the bloke, but she supposed not everyone had the honour of being a Watchman, which was a pissing contest all in itself.

"Aw, what's the matter, Sherlock?" she asked. "Feeling a bit out of sorts in a different skin? Or, oh, wait, that's right, I'll bet you're always such a pleasant ball of sunshine, aren't you?"

Sherlock shot her dry, unamused look. "So you enjoy being a man then, Sergeant von Überwald? I wouldn't have thought it. Though choosing a male dominated field should have been a hint."

Angua shook her head slightly. "You can be any sex you like in the Watch, provided you act male. So I'm used to it. And there's nothing you can do to change it until the island does it, so there's no point in getting all hairy about it."

Sherlock gave her a once over before turning back toward the coffee. "Yes, I can see that. Do tell me when you've become used to these changes."

"Hopefully, we won't have to," Angua said, with another sip of her coffee. "These things usually blow over in a few days."

And they really better have. Being male during a full moon with as many other male wolves on the island could just get messy.

"You've done this before?"

"Not this specifically, no," said Angua. "But I've been six years old before, and I've had a child that I know for a fact doesn't exist show up before, and I've had my boss, who is typically a surly son of a bitch, become a bubbly ginger teenage girl before. Besides, cases of these so called 'Gender Swap' days are on police records. You'd think for something that happens often, the residents of this island would stop calling about it when it happens."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at that. "People very rarely learn to think beyond their little worlds. That appears to stay the same no matter where you go."

Angua had to quirk an eyebrow at that. Because, really now, Sherlock? What about people who couldn't learn to think beyond their own resentments and assumed superiority?

But Angua was just going to shrug. "Keeps me in a job, at any rate."

"A job doing what exactly?" Yes, he was aware and superior about the lack of crime on island.

"Not everyone," Angua said, "gets to pretend to be an investigator and show up for all the fun bits, you know. Us real officers have to actually do minute, ridiculous details that somehow seem to keep the wheels moving."

"Boring," Sherlock replied. "And I'd make a horrible police officer."

Anyone could tell you that after knowing him for 5 minutes.

"I find that you generally make a horrible human being over all," Angua offered, "but that's okay. Most humans do."

"Obviously." Hey, like he wasn't self-aware enough to know he was a horrible person. "...dear god, you understand that. I was beginning to think everyone here lived in some sort of fairy tale."

...wait a tick. Was that almost a whiff of somewhat approval from Sherlock Holmes?

Angua arched an eyebrow.

Today was a weird, weird day.

"Hey," she said, lifting her hands as if not ready to quite be on the same page as Sherlock right now, "I'm sure they work out for some people, but not in anything I've ever seen,t hat's for sure."

"A student tried to lecture me about the beauty of the human soul."

BEAUTY OF THE HUMAN SOUL, ANGUA.

Angua took a slight sniff.

Nope. Completely earnest.

Angua cleared her throat, but it didn't do any good. The laugh started to leak out, and before she knew it, she was afraid she'd look in a bit like she was having a very robust, manly cry.

It wasn't even so much the subject matter that got her going, so much as it was the fact that Sherlock would have to go through that.

"And then fled to get a teacher to threaten to punch me for not agreeing," Sherlock added sulkily.

That really, really wasn't helping, Sherlock.

Tears were definitely in Angua's eyes now, and she clutched her manly hand to her stomach.

"S-stop," she managed to get out. "Please. I can't take it."

Oh, so help her if there was actual punching next...!

"The beauty of the soul!" Sherlock all but shouted. "Because dealing with murders has no bearing on some grand, cosmic horror."

"Please tell me there was actual punching," Angua said once she managed to catch her breath. "I don't know if I can handle finding out that the beauty of the soul wound up saving your face in the last moments."

"Oh, no. I mentioned how he was only doing this to make up for being a horrible parent and he left like an overly dramatic teenage girl."

...yeah. Sherlock went there. Sherlock. Queen of the dramatics.

...that certainly did wonders for the laughing, yes.

"Wow, I was really spot on with that whole horrible bit, wasn't I?" Angua asked, feeling a very interesting mix of appalled and impressed.

And curiosity over which faculty member this actually was. She could make her guesses, of course.

"I simply see no reason to be polite when it only impedes my work."

And he was a horrible person.

"I guess being punched would probably impede things a little," Angua had to admit.

And then wondered if it was a terrible thing that she wanted to be a fly on the wall of a locked room with Sherlock and Lord Vetinari...

Sherlock waved that off. "Most people don't have it in them to really punch someone."

Angua shook her head slightly.

"I think they might just be concerned of cutting themselves on your cheekbones."

Really, she had to bring in the cheekbones at least one more time.

"You're very attached to them," Sherlock pointed out.

"No, they're actually attached to you," Angua pointed out, oh so necessarily, not even caring that it was a stupid comment. "I just find them impossible to not notice."

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The Perk; Late Sunday Afternoon [ 10/17 ].

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