Havelock Vetinari (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oneman_onevote) wrote2010-03-12 01:16 am
oneman_onevote) wrote2010-03-12 01:16 am
(no subject)
The castle is cold.
Hot fires rage in the rooms that see the most use, but the heat is quickly absorbed by the chill stone of the walls, drinking it down like blood as the cold wind whispers through the cracks in the windows and make the curtains shiver and twist.
It is all incredibly melodramatic, thinks Havelock with resigned disdain.
The days go by, and the weather doesn't become any less dramatic - the day the sun shines bright and pale onto the brilliantly frosted landscape is a kind of change, but not exactly pleasant for a new vampire - and he can't help but feel it isn't quite real.
Ankh-Morpork is possibily the sewer of the Disc, but it is filled with life, and real problems and people. So is the bar, in it's own fantastical way.
His lessons are going well, but he is beginning to feel restless.
Hot fires rage in the rooms that see the most use, but the heat is quickly absorbed by the chill stone of the walls, drinking it down like blood as the cold wind whispers through the cracks in the windows and make the curtains shiver and twist.
It is all incredibly melodramatic, thinks Havelock with resigned disdain.
The days go by, and the weather doesn't become any less dramatic - the day the sun shines bright and pale onto the brilliantly frosted landscape is a kind of change, but not exactly pleasant for a new vampire - and he can't help but feel it isn't quite real.
Ankh-Morpork is possibily the sewer of the Disc, but it is filled with life, and real problems and people. So is the bar, in it's own fantastical way.
His lessons are going well, but he is beginning to feel restless.
no subject
"Mathter Goodfellow," Igor says in exasperation. (Puck and Havelock had agreed, some days into his stay at the castle, that 'Robin Goodfellow' was as safe a name as any other and safer than most.)
"What?" Puck replies, with perfect innocence.
Igor, meanwhile, stumps fretfully about the castle library with an armful of books, replacing them on shelves with the occasional aid of a stepladder.
"You mutht remember," he sighs, with the sort of droning dullness of one who does not expect an oft-repeated lesson to be taken to heart, "that while you are a guetht in thith cathtle--"
He shoots Puck a look. The fairy regards him with a too-bright smile, hands clasped decorously in his lap. Igor rolls his eyes and abandons that line of reasoning.
"Thuffithe it to thay," he concludes, "that my mithtreth ith very particular about the way her bookth are kept. And about everything elthe."
Puck blinks, slowly.
"... Oh," he says.
"Is she?"