oneman_onevote | 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.

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"So I have."

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."

Puck suppresses a growl.

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.

He's particularly alert to the little things at the moment, and can see it out of the corner of his eye.

"He asked where I was going. I asked where he came from."

He smiles slowly and without amusement.

"The uncivilized nature of violence."

"He speaks a great deal of 'civilized,'" Puck murmurs, irritably.

"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.

Havelock shrugs one shoulder, still looking straight ahead rather than at Puck.

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.

Puck blinks, startled.

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.

He taps the arm of the chair again, slow and meditative.

"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.

Edited Date: 2010-01-21 11:18 pm (UTC)

Puck's own frown is twisted up with fear and indignation, and a hot, roiling desire to be free of this asinine bargain so he can tear the vampire apart with his own teeth.

... 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.

"Hmm," Havelock agrees softly. "Perhaps linked to the way he altered the memories of Nita and the others."

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."

"Yes."

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."

"No," he says. "I suppose not."

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.

Puck glances down to the hand resting on his, and bends to press a kiss to it. He looks up at Havelock.

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."

Havelock manages to smile a little, less bitterly than before.

"Let's avoid all that if possible, then."

"Yes," Puck agrees, with a faint smile of his own.

It's still rueful.

"Do let's."

He sighs, straightening and coming 'round the back of the chair enough to slip his arms around Havelock's shoulders, pressing his nose into his hair.

"I wish I could aid you in this," he murmurs.

Havelock rests his hands on Puck's arms, holding on lightly.

His hands are no longer freezing by now, but the warmth feels good-- and real, not something fogging his thoughts from outside.

"I know," he says.

Tell your friend that I am not -- without mercy, Tepesh had said, and Havelock still isn't sure whether that is a warning or simple truth.

Puck kisses the top of his head, arms tightening their grip-- secure rather than languid, almost a hug.

The chair may be intervening somewhat in this endeavor.

Havelock runs his palms gently along Puck's wrists, dragging at his sleeves; then looks up in inquiry, head leaned against the back of the chair.

If the chair is a problem, there are ways of fixing that.

Puck laughs softly, and kisses his forehead.

Then he gently plucks his wrists free, the better to come around the front of the chair and insinuate himself onto Havelock's lap.

On the one hand: sitting on him.

On the other: Puck is very light, and rather warm, and his arms can wind about Havelock's neck and shoulders with much greater freedom from his new position.

Let's face it; Havelock would have mentioned it a long time ago if Puck sitting on him was a problem.

His own arms fit comfortably around Puck's waist, and he leans his head forward to rest it against the crook of his neck.

He closes his eyes.

Puck's fingers float up to stroke his hair, free arm holding Havelock close.

And he's quiet, for the moment, breathing deep and slow.

He is frustrated, and angry, and his thoughts of Havelock and how to protect him go skittering off as they each run up against Vlad Tepesh himself, and his promise not to oppose.

But surely there must be something.

Sadly, until the terms of his agreement - whatever those are, exactly - are complete, avoidance may be the only option.

Havelock does not like the necessity, but has to concede that another meeting could only go poorly.

He sighs softly against the side of Puck's neck.

Puck is slight, and his arms are slight, and he is not certain whether one can transmit care and warmth through sheer effort of will--

But he knows him, by now, better than he knows any other.

Fairies are not particularly known for their comforting abilities, but he'll be thrice-damned if he doesn't at least try.

It is a long moment of soft breath and gentle fingers in Havelock's hair before Puck speaks again.

"Do you know," he says softly, "what you ought to do."

"Not exactly," Havelock admits, very quiet but cool and resolved.

"But that has rarely stopped me before."

It hasn't. And if it hasn't always gone well, in Milliways, at least... There's a first time for everything.

He laughs, quietly, and presses another kiss to the top of his head.

"You ought," he says, with an affection that is still tinged with frustration, "to seek out a fellow named Andrew Wells. He is, I am given to understand, the one who has charge of the cells. We're friends."

Puck doesn't think of them as friends.

Havelock might pick up on this and he might not.

Whether Havelock does or does not is a question for the ages.

But he nods, in any case.

"Perhaps I will," he says thoughtfully.

It's sensible to become acquainted with those who are involved with organising the bar in various ways in any case.