oneman_onevote: (Shadows)
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.

Date: 2011-05-27 11:58 pm (UTC)From: [personal profile] genarti
genarti: Knees-down view of woman on tiptoe next to bookshelves (Default)
[...THANKS FOR THE NOTIFICATION, LJ. *facemakes* Sorry, I did not mean to tag in and instantly drop it!]

Date: 2011-05-28 12:43 am (UTC)From: [personal profile] 3nanashi
3nanashi: (No-name.)
The boy slips through the door, unavoidably but briefly silhouetted by the bar's lights, and immediately slips sideways into the shadows beyond. He waits there, breathing slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the moonlight.

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.

Date: 2011-06-08 12:17 am (UTC)From: [personal profile] 3nanashi
3nanashi: (Young.)
He still can't be sure if that's a person or a rock, but it doesn't matter. He knows how to look at the world: Assume an enemy's there if you haven't proven otherwise. Then assume you could have missed something.

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.

Profile

oneman_onevote: (Default)
Havelock Vetinari

December 2012

S M T W T F S
      1
23456 78
9101112131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
3031     

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 10th, 2025 07:09 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios