Havelock Vetinari :: mid-2005 timewarp AU :: Milliways

[oneman_onevote]

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.

Comments

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck claps a hand to his mouth to keep in a laugh, or perhaps just a snicker.

[oneman_onevote]

He tugs the cloth back across, covering the blood for the time being, and looks back out across the water.




"Don't you think so?" he asks.

And waits.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

If Puck were visible, his expression would be rather like a child who, convinced the teacher's back is turned, is in the midst of constructing a spitball trebuchet, only to be abruptly asked the year in which Charles II took the throne.

In an ideal world, the mortal would simply be mad; but it seems a little much to hope after.

A pebble picks itself up and skips across the surface of the lake.

[oneman_onevote]

If possible, Havelock would both relax and tense in the same instant.

Sadly, this is impossible, and he simply stays as he is.


"One does hope for an adversary that is competent, at least," he continues, to hide the urge to smile. "Is that such a task?"

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

The fae may not always be subtle, but they are quick to anger.

The next pebble sails towards Havelock's chest, from a different direction.

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock catches it, one-handed.


Reflexes gained from school... acquaintances are apparently easily applied in many a situation.

Oh, the temptation to taunt the creature further - but that would be foolish, knowing what he could do. Better to seek peace, no matter how hard that may be.

(He stays silent. It may be the wisest course.)

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

The leaves of a nearby tree rustle in a curiously local way.

And the wind whispers, familiarly, "Do you make an adversary of me, then?"

[oneman_onevote]

There is a moment of silence; then Havelock casts the stone out into the waters.

"I seek to make an adversary out of no-one," he says.

Not entirely true.

But true enough for Milliways.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

There is no reply to that, but nor does the wind still.

Puck should take comfort from the response-- perhaps, at any rate. There is nevertheless a niggling, gut-deep dread that murmurs that reassurances, however solemn, are too easily cast aside.

He has done it himself, after all, and he shouldn't be able to.

He of all creatures was meant not to.

[oneman_onevote]

Well.

Havelock never sought to make friends, either.

It's never been something for which he has a particular talent.

He leans back on his hands - favouring the right one slightly, easing his weight onto it carefully before letting it take any strain - and doesn't look around, letting the silence grow instead.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

The little breeze hangs in the air for a moment, swirling this way and that and rustling a few swaying grasses by the water.

Puck is not sure what more he can learn now. And there is something about the trees, something that seems somehow blacker than the night should be able to make them.

He ought not to stay.



Puck's only hope, as he zips invisibly away, is that the wretched mortal will spend quite a bit of time after he is gone staring fruitlessly across the lake or into the trees, trying to determine whether he has really gone.

As jests go, it leaves something to be desired.