Category: jackrum

goddamnshinyrock:

goddamnshinyrock:

The inimitable Sergeant Jackrum of the Borogravian army. My other 1000-follower-celebration sketch request, this one for abigsexyjellyfish. I’ve never drawn Jackrum before, and he’s very different from the sort of character I normally draw, so this was a lot of fun (as you might guess from the fact that I, again, abandoned the whole ‘sketch’ thing and went with more ‘finished painting’), and it inspired me to re-listen to the book, which I am of course enjoying immensely. 

Regular

“Perks!” said Jackrum, as she reached the door. Polly stepped back into the room.
“Yes, sarge?”
“I… expected better of ‘em, really. I thought they’d be better at it than men. Trouble was, they were better than men at being like men. They do say the army can make a man of you, eh? So… whatever it is you are going to do next, do it as you. Good or bad, do it as you. Too many lies and there’s no truth to go back to.”

– do it as you |
Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment

Regular

“You’re a liar, sarge,” said Polly. “Best I’ve ever heard. One last lie pays for all! Why not? You could show him the locket. You could tell him about the girl you left behind you…”
Jackrum looked away, but said: “You’re a shining bastard of a thinker, Perks. And where would I get a grand coach, anyway?”
“Oh, sarge! Today? There are… men in high places who’ll give you anything you ask for, right now. You know that. Especially if it means they’d see the back of you. You never put the bite on them for anything much. If I was you, sarge, I’d cash in a few favors while you can. That’s the Ins-and-Outs, sarge. Take the cheese whil eit’s there, ‘cos kissin’ don’t last.”

– on the last lie |
Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment

Regular

“I just thought you might want to show someone that locket of yours, sarge,” said Polly cheerfully. “The one round your neck. And don’t glare at me, sarge. Oh, yeah, I could walk away and I’d never be sure, really sure, and maybe you’d never show it to anyone else, ever, or tell them the story, and one day we’ll both be dead and… well, what a waste, eh?”
Jackrum glared.
“Upon your oath, you are not a dishonest man,” said Polly. “Good one, sarge. You told people every day.”
Around them, beyond the dome, the kitchen buzzed with the busyness of women. Women always seemed to be doing things with their hands – holding babies, or pans, or plates, or wool, or a brush, or a needle. Even when they were talking, busyness was happening.
“No one would believe yer,” said Jackrum, at last.
“Who would I want to tell?” said Polly. “And you’re right. No one would believe me. I’d believe you, though.”

– on a truth |
Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment

Regular

“Captain Blouse’s squad, attention! You will obtain uniforms! You can’t go around still dressed as washerwomen, oh dear me!”
“We are soldiers?” said Polly.
“O’ course you are, otherwise I wouldn’t be shouting at you, you ‘orrible little woman! The world’s turned upside down! It’s a bit more important than you right now, eh? You’ve got what you’re after, right? now get hold of a uniform, find yourself a shako and wipe your face, at least. You are taking the official truce to the enemy.”

– on sudden shifts in priority |
Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment

Regular

“Things are going well outside,” he said. “Shame you aren’t all out there, eh? Still, the truth’s important too, right? And that’s what this tribunal is for, no doubt about it. It must be important, the truth, else you wouldn’t be here, am I right? ‘course I am.”
Jackrum finished the cut, palmed the stuff into his mouth and got it comfortable in a cheek, while the sounds of battle filtered through from outside. Then he turned and walked towards the major who had just spoken. The man cringed a little in his chair.
“What’ve you got to say about the truth, Major Derbi?” said Jackrum conversationally. “Nothing? Well, then, what shall I say? What shall I say about a captain who turned and ran sobbing when we came across a column of Zlobenians, deserting his own men? Shall I say that ol’ Jackrum tripped him up and pummeled him a bit and put the fear of… Jackrum into him, and he went back and ‘twas a famous victory he had that day, over two enemies, one of them being in his own head. And he came to ol’ Jackrum again, drunk with battle, and said more’n he ought…”
“You bastard,” said the major softly.
“Shall I tell the truth today… Janet?” said Jackrum.
The sounds of battle were suddenly much louder. They poured into the room like the water rushing to fill a hole in the ocean floor, but all the sound in the world could not have filled that sudden, tremendous silence.
Jackrum strolled on towards another man. “Good to see you here, Colonel Cumabund!” he said cheerfully. “O’ course, you were only Lieutenant Cumabund when I was under your command. Plucky lad you were, when you led us against that detachment of Kopelies. And then you took a nasty sword wound in the fracas, or just above, and I got you through with rum and cold water, and found that plucky you might be, but lad you weren’t. Oh, how you gabbled away in your feverish delirium… Yes, you did. That’s the truth… Olga.”
He stepped round the table and started to stroll along behind the officers; those he passed stared woodenly ahead, not daring to turn, not daring to make any movement that would attract attention.
“You could say I know something about all of yez,” he said. “Quite a lot about some of you, just enough about most of you. A few of you, well, I could write a book.” He paused just behind Froc, who stiffened.
“Jackrum, I–” he began.
Jackrum put a hand on each of Froc’s shoulders. “Fourteen miles, sir. Two nights, ‘cos we lay up by day, the patrols were that thick. Cut about pretty dreadful, you were, but you got better nursing from me than any sawbones, I’d bet.” He leaned forward until his mouth was level with the general’s ear, and continued in a stage whisper: “What is there left about you that I don’t know? So… are you really looking for the truth… Mildred?”

– on truths |
Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment

Regular

Duck.
The word was the faintest, merest suggestion in Polly’s head, but it also seemed to be wired to her central nervous system. And not only hers. The squad ducked, Igorina throwing herself across her patient’s body.
Half the ceiling collapsed. The chandelier fell down and exploded in a kaleidoscope of splintering prisms. Mirrors shattered. And then there was, by comparison at least, silence, broken only by the thud of a few late bits of plaster and the tinkle of a tardy shard.
Now
Footsteps approached the big doors at the end of the room, where the guards were just struggling to their feet. The doors swung open.
Jackrum stood there, shining like the sunset. The light glinted off his shako badge, polished to the point where it would blind the incautious with its terrible gleam. His face was red, but his jacket was redder, and his sergeant’s sash was the pure quill of redness, its very essence, the red of dying stars and dying soldiers. Blood dripped off the cutlasses thrust into his belt. The guards, still shaking, tried to lower their pikes to bar his way.
“Do not try it, lads, I beg you,” said Jackrum. “Upon my oath I am not a violent man, but do you think Sergeant Jackrum is going to be stopped by a st of bleedin’ cutlery?”

– the triumphant return |
Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment

Regular

Jackrum sighed. “There’s a song,” he said. “It starts ‘Twas on a Monday morning, all in the month of May–”
“Then it is about sex,” said Polly flatly. “It’s a folk song, it starts with ‘twas, it takes place in May, QED it’s about sex.”

– on folk songs |
Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment

Regular

Polly saw teeth in the gloom as the sentry grinned. “My dad told me he fought with you at Blunderberg!”
“Ah, that was a hot battle, that was!” said Jackrum.
“No, he meant in the pub afterwards. He pinched your drink and you smacked him in the mouth and he kicked you in the nadgers and you hit him in the guts and he blacked your eye and then you hit him with a table and when he came round his mates stood him beer for the evening for managing to lay nearly three punches on Sergeant Jackrum. He tells the story every year, when it’s the anniversary and he’s pis– remembering.”
Jackrum thought for a moment, and then jabbed a finger at the young man. “Joe Hubukurk, right?” he said.
The smile broadened to the point where the top of the young man’s head was in danger of falling off. “He’ll be smirking all day when I tell him you remember him, sarge! He says that where you piss grass don’t grow!”
“Well, what can a modest man say to that, eh?” said Jackrum.
Then the young man frowned. “Funny, though, he thought you were dead, sarge,” he said.
“Tell him I bet him a shilling I’m not,” said Jackrum.

– on reputation |
Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment

Regular

“But these aren’t men, sir,” said Jackrum. Polly turned. The sergeant was looking right at her, right through her. Oh darn, I mean damn… he knows…
“I beg your pardon?”
“They are… my little lads, sir,” Jackrum went on, winking at Polly.

– the cat was never in the bag |
Terry Pratchett, Monstrous Regiment