Havelock Vetinari (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oneman_onevote) wrote2010-01-20 06:52 pm
oneman_onevote) wrote2010-01-20 06:52 pm
MONTHLY INSTALLATION OF THIRD-PARTY DOOM
Havelock doesn't stop in the bar on his way in from outside, only glances around to see who is there before he vanishes silently up the stairs.
The journey through the corridors seems longer than usual, although it's possibly running over the encounter with Vlad Tepesh in his mind that makes it seem so. His memory doesn't seem affected like Nita's had been, but rethinking it-- some of his behaviour was certainly very odd.
He feels like someone is staring at the back of his neck. The feeling is not unusual, but particularly acute just now.
The journey through the corridors seems longer than usual, although it's possibly running over the encounter with Vlad Tepesh in his mind that makes it seem so. His memory doesn't seem affected like Nita's had been, but rethinking it-- some of his behaviour was certainly very odd.
He feels like someone is staring at the back of his neck. The feeling is not unusual, but particularly acute just now.
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That's something Havelock Does Not Do. Ever, that Puck can recall. He pulls his hand back as if he's touched something sharp.
"Only because I allowed you to," he says, lightly, and tries out a grin.
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But that's hard to say.
(He doesn't smile back, because he's fairly sure it would look all too fake.)
"I appreciate that."
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He disappears and reappears lying on the bed, on his stomach. His legs kick fitfully.
And he watches Havelock with a very mild smile.
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The space might help, he thinks, then inwardly rolls his eyes at the lack of logic involved there and closes his eyes, leaning his head back and ignoring the fact that this exposes his throat.
It's all about control.
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In his head, he rummages through and discards a number of conversational topics-- the children, Lilly, what he was doing in the woods, Satan, his dance with the lady who calls herself a princess, the latest from Blodwen, jumping over bonfires--
Well. Perhaps the dance. He'd been meaning to say something. But right now it seems terribly irrelevant.
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(Other forms of dance, however...)
He opens his eyes slowly, and is greeted again by the impressive display of crosses spread across the wall.
"Those..." he says, indicating with one hand. "I don't think they really work."
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"Do you not?"
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Well, unless the one he took was a dud.
A... superconductive dud?
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(With Havelock there is usually a purpose.)
"Is there aught in particular, aside from a lack of faith, that leads you to such a dreary conclusion?"
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He taps a fingertip against the arm of the chair, then carefully stills it; and doesn't look over.
"I met the vampire. He did not seem troubled."
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"... Now that is simply cheating."
He looks Havelock over again, this time critically and with lingering attention to his neck.
"You-- are you all right? Did he--"
The phrase lay a single filthy finger on you is implicit in this question.
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You know, before thinking became a little tricky.
In answer to Puck's unspoken question, he pulls his collar down, baring a completely blood-free neck.
He spoils the effect of the bravado slightly by rubbing one side absently.
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"You've apparently the wits left to recall it."
It is unclear whether he feels this is a good thing.
"What happened?"
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Just not the wits to do a thing at the time, apparently.
He pauses a little longer than necessary, assembling his thoughts so that when he speaks, his tone is calm and casual as if discussing the weather.
"I was heading back to the bar just before dark, and I could not find the way back. I was following my own footsteps, which struck me as unusual."
Very, since Havelock can usually find his way around the shallower areas of the forest blindfolded.
"He followed me, or perhaps was already waiting there, I'm not sure. we spoke a little, he disappeared."
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But Havelock, if he cares to look, can probably see his knuckles whiten as his fingers dig into the arm of the chair, and the back.
"What did you speak of?"
His voice is quite calm-- as you speak to somebody whom you don't wish to startle. The fact of it is that Puck is rather miserable just now, without all the pieces.
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"He asked where I was going. I asked where he came from."
He smiles slowly and without amusement.
"The uncivilized nature of violence."
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"Was that all?"
He supposes he can understand Havelock's reactions in such a light-- particularly if something they both thought was a protection has proven to be unreliable.
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The conversation itself wasn't exactly in-depth.
"I just stood there."
It finally comes out in his voice-- fear and frustration and anger that it had apparently been so easy to hold him by his own thoughts.
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It is, suffice it to say, not very often at all that he hears Havelock sound so.
I just stood there.
Nita's memory, and the lady Jane's, and the creature's own terrible strength--
"Havelock."
It comes out low and murmurous as the cooing of a dove, albeit one who is rather distressed.
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"I remember thinking it was quite logical to remain still. But I could not rethink it. So I could not move."
He frowns slightly. How did he do that? It's a formidable use of power.
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... Though that probably wouldn't do any good. Perhaps a stake through the heart should be more permanent. Cut off his head for good measure and submerge him in running water?
Mmmm.
"I do not doubt that such is in his power," he mutters. His fingers aren't digging into the chair any longer, instead tracing over its arm and back slowly, gently.
He's not sure whether Havelock should like to be touched just yet.
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He glances up, noting the look on Puck's face.
"I don't know how it could be fought. I did try, but the sensation is less than tangible."
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Puck's tone is softer, though not notably less angry.
"I know you did, my heart."
His lips quirk mordantly.
"I myself know precious little of how such things may be warded off, and these entrapments are certainly not outside my experience."
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It was still worth a try.
But still, Puck broke free from Oberon, and he himself certainly doesn't feel the effects any more, although he was released. The fairy left of his own resolve.
Silently, he reaches to touch the back of Puck's hand.
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If he'd only thought, just a little bit more than he did, he might have worked him into his bargain with the vampire. He might have kept him from harm.
(I don't believe he would trade your love for all the safety he could ever find)
"I know how it must seem," he says gently, and gentleness is not his wont but he manages it anyway, like something carried between his teeth.
Another kiss, this one light on a fingertip.
"They deal in impossibilities, those of his sort, and it is impossible to know how one may escape them without a great deal of trial and grief, first."
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