"It's strange that they don't seem to mind you, Otto," he said, calming down a little.
"Vell, I am not official," said Otto. "I do not haf zer sword und zer badge. I do not threaten. I am just a vorking stiff. And I make zem laff."
Vimes stared at the man. He'd never thought about that before. But yes...little fussy Otto, in his red-lined black opera cloak with pockets for all his gear, his shiny black dress shoes, his carefully cut widow's peak and, not least, his ridiculous accent that grew thicker or thinner depending on whom he was talking to, did not look like a threat. He looked funny, a joke, a music-hall vampire. It had never previously occurred to Vimes that, just possibly, the joke was on other people. Make them laugh, and they're not afraid.
Terry Pratchett, Thud!
