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Havelock is outside again.

Training has to be done, as he sees it, so target practise it is.

The tree stump that is today's target seems somewhat the worse for wear. Done right, knife-throwing can actually be quite cathartic, he has found.

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And then there is a Raven perched on the stump.

He has taken his life into his own hands.

This is different from every day precisely how?

"Havelock."

"Raven," Havelock greets, not pausing in the middle of a knife-throw.

He has confidence in his abilities. Does Raven?

Raven has more confidence in his ability to move quickly than he does in Havelock's knife-throwing.

That, or he could just catch the damn thing. But that would be showing off.

He tilts his head at Havelock, eyes black and bright, but not visibly laughing.

"You and Puck belong together, I think."

His tone does not, quite, suggest that this might not be the best thing, at this moment.

"We seem to do well enough," Havelock says non-committally.

He sights along another blade, but doesn't throw it, feeling the balance for a moment.

"Why do you say so?" he asks idly as he does this.

There is a pause.

It feels like a long one, perhaps, as there is a faint tension in the air, but it isn't, really.

"You are both very stupid, sometimes."

Headtilt.

"Oh yes?"

Still no expression.

"Yes."

Raven tilts his head again, bird-bright black eyes still fixed squarely on Havelock.

"Did you give Puck his regards? It is a good message to pass on, perhaps. I am sure Puck appreciated it."

Havelock stops.

"I did not repeat the conversation word for word, if that is what you mean."

"It is close enough, perhaps. Did you think to stand against him?"

Raven caws a rough laugh.

"It is not so easy a thing, that."

"Think I could? No. Not that."

He looks down from the Raven, studying the target intently.

"I wanted to."

"Well, yes. He was yours first. It is a natural inclination."

The bird flutters its wings, hopping slightly closer to the edge of the stump.

"I suspect he might be yours last, as well. It is an odd thing, perhaps."

Havelock shakes his head slightly, almost impatiently.

"He harmed him, no matter how Puck may have wanted it at one time."

He raises the blade finally. "You know I will be dead long before last is even a thought, Raven."

"Do I? It is a funny thing."

And then there is a man, sitting on the stump.

"I am not much of one for seeing the future. It changes so frequently."

Havelock throws the knife, carefully not hitting Raven.

"It seems fairly certain, at least."

Raven nods solemnly.

"Fairly is an important qualifier, I think."

For the Bird, nothing is ever certain.

Well, rarely.

Some days.

"Indeed it can be."

Havelock shrugs, and approaches to begin pulling out knves.

"Yes."

Raven pokes Havelock's leg with his foot, when the assassin is close enough.

"Though it is not yet relevant, so. You are not harmed in body, I think?"

"I am not," he says, accepting the poking as penance for getting close enough to allow it.

"Nor in mind, as far as I know."

Raven studies him intently.

"This is also true, I think. Perhaps a little heartsore, still, but with Puck, this is not a surprise. He is a confusing thing, perhaps."

Also silly.

Havelock shrugs. At what is difficult to determine.

He tugs out a blade with some effort. They are all embedded deep today.

"He can be," he says after a while.

"It is a thing I do not understand, perhaps."

Raven shrugs, and pulls out one of the knives. He fiddles with it, idly.

"Nor I," says the assassin.

Then sighs faintly. "But then, many things are difficult to understand. It is nothing new."

"No. But difficult things are entertaining, perhaps."

He wrinkles his nose, and pokes Havelock again.

Havelock sensibly refrains from poking Raven back with the knife he is holding.

"Perhaps. They entertain you?"

Raven grins.

"I converse with you, do I not? And Puck? And Coyote?"

He shrugs, laughing.

"I could list them all, perhaps, but it would take some time."

Havelock shrugs, conceding this point.

"You do indeed."

Raven nods.

"Indeed."

Havelock nods gravely.

"It is a thing, perhaps."

Raven considers, solemnly.

"Perhaps. Unless you are mocking me, in which case it is decidedly a thing."

He tilts his head, and grins at Havelock.

The corner of Havelock's mouth turns up briefly.

"Mock? ...Echo, perhaps. Unconsciously."

Raven grins.

"I do not think you are quite careless enough for an unconscious thing. But I will be charitable, I think, and call it mimicry. You are quite good."

The assassin tugs out another knife.

"Maybe."

Raven blinks, eyes gone oddly watchful.

"Puck is better. It is uncanny, perhaps."

"Puck is indeed an excellent mimic," he says.

"I would not have recognised Flagg if he were not, it seems likely."

Raven hums, softly, under his breath.

"It is a lucky thing, that. In a way."

"Yes."

Not that he would have drunk anything anyone unknown gave him. But being on his guard was probably wise.

Raven shrugs.

"He likes to be noticed, I think."

"He makes himself noticable well," he notes.

"Yes."

Raven snorts.

"He likes the theater, I think."

"Possibly."

Havelock shrugs as he begins replacing knives up his sleeves.

"It is a question of direction."

Raven hands over the knife he has been playing with.

It's sharper than it used to be.

Funny how that works.

"Thank you."

Havelock doesn't look too surprised that it is sharper. He simply tucks it away with the others.

"Are you going back in?" he asks.

Raven considers, tilting his head up, and closing his eyes.

"I do not think so. Not yet."

Havelock inclines his head.

"Then I shall leave you," he says. "Good evening, Raven."

"And may you have the same, Havelock."

He grins, and does not move.

It is pleasant, sometimes, to be still.

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Havelock Vetinari

December 2012

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