Good Omens/Discworld crossover: Crowley can't stand Ankh-Morpork.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of it, unless you count the arrangement of words. And even a couple of those places aren't mine.
We aren't intending to stay long, your Lordship. We have some business to attend to that ought to be taken care of by the end of the week, and then we'll be on our way.
Lord Vetinari scrutinized the pair of foreign guild representatives seated on the other side of his desk. The one who had done most of the talking so far was clearly an assassin, dressed to the eights in black and even sporting a pair of dark glasses. The other had claimed affiliation with the Historians' Guild, when asked.
Your aim for efficiency is certainly admirable, gentlemen, he finally said, but I cannot avoid noticing that this is a... rather unusual guild alliance. Might I inquire as to the occasion?
Our superiors didn't explain the reasons behind this, the assassin said. We were only given enough information to get here and get the job done.
I see. He began perusing a stack of paperwork. Do not let me detain you.
I still don't understand why you wouldn't let me bring the Bentley.
It's a matter of blending in, my dear. These people don't have automobiles at all yet. And besides, you know how those things ruin the air quality.
A few cars would probably improve the air quality of this bloody city. It's all very well for you - your nose has shut down in self-defense by now, I'd wager. I can't get the taste of it out of my mouth.
We shouldn't be here long. You said so yourself.
Good. There's nothing for me to do here. They've done it all themselves - I'm blending in by claiming to be an assassin, for... someone's sake!
Do stop complaining, Crowley.