Here’s the basics on the situation, as taken from “The Ankh-Morpork Times”
(well not really, but you get the idea)
An article by William de Worde (please follow them, it’s the other admin :D)
Lobsang looks at the scene of the crime and wonders whether he feels like being more of a god or a mortal that day.
Should he allow his function as Time to dominate his mind he’d know who was the murderer, he’d know how the police would find him. It was tempting to just stretch his arm and have all of the past and every single form the future could take spread before him like a fan. And he had had such a great time the last time he’d done that, watching the Watch baffled by the careful and considerate Clues he’d left for them all over the place. He’d stuck a note on the murderer’s back as a confession and everything.
On the other hand Susan did complain about how childish he had been for weeks.
He sighs and manifests a little further away from the scene, leaning on a wall and watching the events unfold, every new thing a surprise.
One thing could be said about being the anthropomorphic personification of time and that was: you do not get bored. It simply doesn’t happen. Lobsang knows that this is a good thing in an abstract sort of way. He thinks he has the parts of him that are more Jeremy to thank for that. Jeremy was never bored. Jeremy was always efficient, doing what needed to be done, fixing clocks and studying clocks and learning how not to look at the world and see all its sharp edges that made it look like really complicated clockwork.
These parts of himself enjoy the paperwork that comes with being Time. The dates and progress of living organisms in each one, the details one needs to remember when they destroy and rebuild the world from scratch with every passing second.
Lobsang enjoys the flying, the speed, the freedom and had he mentioned the speed? He enjoys being everywhere, seeing everything, never having to slow down, never having to explain things to people that are slowler, less intelligent, never having to wait.
Reckless, the part that is still Jeremy whispers.
Yes, thinks Lobsang, all of Lobsang as he flies, no, floats, as he is over Ankh-Morpork.
He steps down on the cobbled street of the Brass Bridge and enjoys the perfect moment of a couple in love, and then he’s everywhere again, a blue spark in the air, or a lost something, always unimportant, because old habits don’t just die hard. They simply don’t die at all.
