Havelock Vetinari (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oneman_onevote) wrote2011-05-15 05:35 pm
oneman_onevote) wrote2011-05-15 05:35 pm
Havelock Vetinari :: mid-2005 timewarp AU :: Milliways
Havelock still has no idea what this place is, why he keeps opening doors and finding it there waiting, and why he doesn't do the sensible thing and turn around again every time.
It is definitely real, proved by a brief experiment involving a slight cut on the back of his hand that did not disappear on returning to Ankh-Morpork. Following on from that conclusion - it is not safe, however many rules it has in place. He knows all too little about so many patrons - and all too much about some others, though from the research he has done since on the Fair Folk, perhaps he did well to even come out of the conversation alive.
Still, he will never find out why it appears so often if he avoids the place entirely.
And the extra time to read unmolested - theoretically - is most appreciated.
(Student assassin, armchair, textbook.)
It is definitely real, proved by a brief experiment involving a slight cut on the back of his hand that did not disappear on returning to Ankh-Morpork. Following on from that conclusion - it is not safe, however many rules it has in place. He knows all too little about so many patrons - and all too much about some others, though from the research he has done since on the Fair Folk, perhaps he did well to even come out of the conversation alive.
Still, he will never find out why it appears so often if he avoids the place entirely.
And the extra time to read unmolested - theoretically - is most appreciated.
(Student assassin, armchair, textbook.)
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You'd think he'd have the grace to jump in his seat.
"Good day, goodly cypher," he mutters, slipping grudgingly into view.
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That... actually makes sense.
For once.
"Good day," Havelock says, willingly enough, though he eyes Puck just a little too sharply for it to be casual. "A clever trick you have there."
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"Had I wished a trick, you should not have seen me at all."
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No. Certainly not that.
It might explain why Havelock has rapidly slid back to the stonelike demeanor of their previous encounter.
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"I see you are a scholar," he observes, with an arch of his eyebrows. He hasn't yet deigned to move from his spot on the floor, and is therefore sprawled by Havelock's chair so that everybody else has to go round him.
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He may be a cold-blooded killer, but at least he's thorough about it?
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"Do you not find that strange?"
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Mostly, he finds it relaxing.
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"I was not given to understand that a mortal man may possess brain as well as brawn. In fact, a great many of them are altogether wanting of either."
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(This is, by the way, possibly the only time that Havelock has ever been described as possessing brawn.)
"But I have to pass the time somehow."
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"Does not time pass thee by with swiftness enough?"
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His glance towards the door is just slightly sour.
Time running at different speeds, he feels, is somehow cheating.
(Which doesn't mean he won't take full advantage.)
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"Ay me, Sir Cypher. Are you trapped?"
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Havelock is not reassured to know that people can be trapped here.
But he hides it well.
"And so I wait for the opportune time to leave."
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"Pity."
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"I am terribly sorry to trespass on your time so."
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That wasn't quite what he was getting at, but whatever. Mortals.
Puck is not quite sure how to proceed-- in Faerie, most enmities are settled quickly, decisively, or both, and among mortals he has not lingered long. But he is not entirely sure what to do now.
At the very least, he can likely make a pest of himself. He stays put, watching.
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In the Assassin's Guild, it might surprise some to know that violence is not the general recourse during conflict - or at least, not apparent violence.
They are a subtle folk, in enmity as in everything.
(Or at least: This is what they like to think.)
Havelock flips back to the index, and starts running a fingertip thoughtfully down each page.
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And, after a pause, tilts his head slightly and makes the very mild effort required to turn the book into a large, hairy spider.
Except that nothing happens.
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...That does indeed seem to be all.
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He focuses a little harder. Like before, nothing changes.
This will be decidedly ungood, he thinks distantly, if the king really does send an emissary to seek him out.
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The book stays open but unheeded in his hands.
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Well. There is more left to him than shifting shape, or at least there ought to be.
Voice pitched low, and eyes locked on Havelock's face, he murmurs, "Have I distracted you from your scholarship?"
It's intended to compel, and Puck notes with sharp relief that it's working the way it always has: with a sweetening of the air, a lilting quality to light and sound. "You ought to see to it. You seem a great one for taking no notice."
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And then his eyes are back on the book, halfway down a page that seems strangely unfamiliar even though he has just read it - and he has an excellent short term memory.
The faerie's presence is evidently more of a distraction than he had thought.
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"But if I am clever enough, my dear sir cypher ... you shan't see me."
He vanishes.
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More troubled than a parting shot alone really justifies.
He really must spend more time on camouflage.