![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-03-14 10:01 am (UTC)From:First it's the books-- conservative misplacements. They could almost, almost be absentminded-- a history among the biographies, an art history among the philosophy, etcetera. A desk lamp moves to another table, upsetting the not-exactly-feng-shui of the place; a few artful cobwebs are artlessly swept behind the door.
Puck can afford to play a game such as this.
After all, they've all got time.
It is, in fact, exactly a week before he moves his attack to the halls, strategically targeting those well away from the room that houses the coffins. Despite Igor's best efforts, the cobwebs simply will not gather; it's almost as if someone were brushing them away in secret, when he's not looking. It is even his private suspicion that in some of the more distant hallways, several of the portraits have been moved around.
It is because of these preoccupations that Igor does not immediately notice the theft of one of Lady Margolotta's sweaters.
(Puck really does think the bats are tacky.)