Havelock Vetinari (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
oneman_onevote) wrote2011-05-25 07:04 pm
oneman_onevote) wrote2011-05-25 07:04 pm
Havelock Vetinari :: mid-2005 timewarp AU :: Milliways
When Havelock pushes open the door to the bar, it takes every ounce of self-control not to flinch back from the sudden wash of noise and light into the dead silence of the dark alley behind him.
He is dressed in full assassin's black, for once - but it is torn and dirty, and there is blood on one shoulder bared by a rip in the cloth, and on both his hands. His face is covered in dark smudged paint, obscuring the pallor of his skin and making his eyes look very pale under the hood. He hesitates a moment, but slowly enters instead of leaving; glancing carefully about before heading in silence to the door.
Once outside, he heads slowly to the lake, welcoming the dark and the quiet.
The Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May is not, to Havelock, feeling all that glorious.
He is dressed in full assassin's black, for once - but it is torn and dirty, and there is blood on one shoulder bared by a rip in the cloth, and on both his hands. His face is covered in dark smudged paint, obscuring the pallor of his skin and making his eyes look very pale under the hood. He hesitates a moment, but slowly enters instead of leaving; glancing carefully about before heading in silence to the door.
Once outside, he heads slowly to the lake, welcoming the dark and the quiet.
The Glorious Twenty-Fifth of May is not, to Havelock, feeling all that glorious.
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It's the same reason Havelock came out - that and the clean cold water of the lake.
For this reason, there is a tall slim figure folded up beside where the water laps at the banks, not moving.
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He sees, gradually, the lake; the shapes of rocks and trees, a broad lawn for immediate visibility but plenty of outbuildings and copses for cover beyond; a shape by the lake that could be a human, unmoving. It could be a rock, too, at a deceptive angle, but the boy doesn't remember that from when he came last (months ago, and who knows how long here), and more to the point the boy is professionally paranoid.
He doesn't move yet. His eyes aren't fully adjusted. And he doesn't have any urge to go anywhere in particular.
He's wearing a dark green jacket open over a lighter shirt, a dark cloth draped around his neck, brown drab pants, sturdy battered boots. Fatigues, sturdy and well worn. There's a gun holstered on his hip, and a couple of knives (one utility knife in a multi-tool, one rather more single-purpose) stashed elsewhere. They blend into the darkness somewhat, but not perfectly. It's afternoon where he came from.
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He isn't exactly feeling sociable - and who else would be, coming out here alone? The fact that the person is coming no closer yet would bear that out, it seems - so he stays quiet and waits.
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The captain says-- The captain used to say that.
The boy doesn't have any enemies in Milliways, as far as he knows, but he doesn't have any friends, either.
It doesn't matter. And he's not under orders anyway. Not now.
He moves, finally, a slow deliberate pacing towards the lake. He can still hear everyone inside until he's some yards away, even though the closed door; it's too many people, too many civilians he doesn't care about, too much chance someone might come out the door.
The spot of lakeshore he's aiming for has several rocks for cover, and it's not very near Havelock.