Havelock Vetinari (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oneman_onevote) wrote2010-02-14 04:17 pm
oneman_onevote) wrote2010-02-14 04:17 pm
Extremely melodramatic AU: The revenge!
The castle is chill, in the hallways, and dark apart from pools of light created by torches placed at wide intervals on the walls.
Havelock is moving, if possible, even more silently than usual. He'd be twitchy if that wasn't a surefire way to mess up your stealth. The shadows are blending obligingly around him, more strongly here than they had in the bar.
Puck can take care of himself, he knows that, but also holds out no hope that any of this is going to be particularly pleasant.
Havelock is moving, if possible, even more silently than usual. He'd be twitchy if that wasn't a surefire way to mess up your stealth. The shadows are blending obligingly around him, more strongly here than they had in the bar.
Puck can take care of himself, he knows that, but also holds out no hope that any of this is going to be particularly pleasant.
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"Oh my."
He looks to Havelock with a grin.
"Only if you promise to steal inside of a night or noon whilst I feign sleep. Do you suppose the lady has about the place any particularly insubstantial nightshirts?"
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"There is a wardrobe in the corner," he points out. "Who knows?"
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Puck disappears, reappears in said (shadowy) corner, pries open the wardrobe door, and rifles around inside.
After a few moments, there is a muffled "A-ha!" and he emerges triumphantly clutching something ...
Ah.
Well. It's definitely nightshirt-shaped. And ... potentially made of some manner of cotton.
Very ... gauzy ... sheerish ... cotton.
"What do you think?" he says with a grin, holding it to his chest.
(If the answer isn't ridiculous, Puck will begin to suspect that the fusty castle air has touched Havelock's wits.)
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Well, Havelock doesn't say ridiculous?
But needness to say, the lack of expression on his face is expressive in itself.
"...Very pretty," he says finally, dry as a desert.
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That may say something somewhat damning for the general actual-fabric content of this particular piece of sleepwear.
"I think I must. I shall never forgive myself otherwise."
His lower lip gives a faint quiver. "So long as it shan't drive you away?"
Outside, there is a low rumble of thunder.
... Apparently, the weather in Uberwald doesn't particularly care to stir itself by way of narrative aid for stray fairies.
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"Only for a little while, if it does," he says.
"I'll be be back soon enough, though."
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His smile, as he approaches Havelock, turns a little more crooked.
"You, ah-- you needn't visit, you know. If you had rather not."
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"That's more or less the trouble," he says. "I would. Rather."
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It's so romantic when after five years, your boyfriend still wants to have sex with you despite being recently undead.
... Admittedly, it is the 'recently undead' thing that seems to be creating some of the roadblocks.
"I should do," Puck says, coming closer in increments that do not appear to be at all calculated, "anything within my power to accommodate you."
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Yes, that's exactly the word Havelock would use to describe it.
"That is both very kind, and extremely unhelpful," the former assassin points out, not moving from where he is.
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"Is it? I admit I did not specify the manner, but I meant rather to imply that--"
A beat, as he gestures vaguely.
"You know I've no desire to bring about a thing that you should not wish for."
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"Yes, I know," he says.
Unspoken is the point that Puck is kind of alluring in general (Havelock has not remained fascinated by him for five years for nothing) and because of his current proximity.
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And frowns.
"That is all I meant, then."
He does not fidget in any discernible way.
"That whatever I may have of you, or you of me-- that I shall grant with a glad heart, and neither more nor less."
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"Thank you," he says.
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"I have some small fondness for you, after all."
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"Since I rather like you too."
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"Oh do you?" he says owlishly.
"How marvelous. I had wondered."
(In a version of reality that is not this one, Puck does not permit Havelock to move but instead presses him back against the doorframe--
Ahem.
As it's a reality that is not this one, perhaps it doesn't bear going into.)
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"I should go," he says after a short, regretful pause.
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"I suppose so," he sighs, in such a manner as to indicate that he supposes rather the opposite.
After that he manages to smile, though, deliberate.
"Shall I bide here 'til I am sent for?"
By which he may or may not mean 'run about the castle in a generally nuisancey fashion.'
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That bears repeating, he feels instinctively.
"Call for Igor, if you want anything."
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"I shall be thertain to."
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He does not look amused.)
"You rang, young mathter?"
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He's good at that.
"Ah, Igor," he says, with a practised upper-class drawl.
...Look, some things are in the blood. So to speak. In any case, Havelock knew this manner from a child.
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(Havelock's upper-class drawl is always unsettlingly hot.)
"Hullo," he says, cheerfully enough.
He turns his attention back to Havelock. "Well-- I am sure you may conduct your business without fear. I feel I am in quite capable hands."
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"They were my great-uncle'th," he says modestly.
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