oneman_onevote | (no subject)

There is a remarkably large plant in Havelock's bedroom.

It also seems to be alive, and it has just cut him off from the doorway to lessen his chances of escape. And escape certainly seems the wisest course of action as he has little idea how to kill the thing, and even as he pauses, tentacles are snaking towards him. He bites his lip and pulls out a knife, wondering how tough the things likely are, if they move unaided...

Then one darts downwards, wrapping around his ankle, and Havelock answers his own silent question by slicing hard through the tendril, which recoils, dripping greenish fluid. Others whip out towards him, seeking vengeance.

He sets his teeth grimly and makes a break for it, cutting what he can, attempting to tear past those he cannot.

It's a losing battle.

This may be a problem.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A little ways down the hall, a young couple is making its way along, completely oblivious of the leafy peril currently facing Havelock.

A very young couple.

(... And you know, come to think of it, it might have been a good idea for Puck to warn him about that magical strangler plant.)

With practiced insouciance, Puck glances around at the numbers on the doors.

"Which one is it, then?"

Mary points at a door, with decision.

"That one. It is not smelly now but it looks the same."

She scurries over to the door and presses her ear against it, to check if Puck is inside.

Fortunately or unfortunately as the case may be, Havelock's indignity is so very quiet and masculine that she doesn't hear a thing.

"- it sounds as if it is safe."

Puck-- oh, sorry, Edward-- folds his arms over his chest, looking unimpressed.

"All right," he says. "You goin' to pick the lock? I'd take first go meself, 'cept you're a girl and I reckon I ought to let you try."

Mary turns her head indignantly at this.

"I will do it better than you would," she informs him, and pulls out a pin, inserting it importantly into the lock.

There's some complicated wriggling, with a worried brow hovering over it, but eventually a small click is heard.

"Hmph," he says dismissively. "Not bad."

He looks as if he can't help but be a little impressed, though. "Now to see what he's keepin' in here, yeah?"

Mary gives a short, sharp nod - with a hint of triumph to it - and pockets the pin for a later occasion, before pushing the door decisively open.

And surveying the scene within.

Oh, good. The door.

The scene, such as it is, is largely one of flailing dark green tentacles, several of which are sliced off neatly at the ends by a knife that continues very busily, as the entwined assassin attempts to turn around and look. He is, however, prevented from doing so by the stalwart attempts of many more tendrils to wrap around him.

There is balance of a kind maintained, but Havelock is by now largely obscured.

"Puck?" he asks, slicing at a vine that is attempting to immobilise his one free arm.

He would really appreciate a hand.

Oh, great.

Havelock's going to totally blow his SEKRIT IDENTITY.

But still, as he hasn't actually seen him, perhaps the situation may yet be salvaged!

"You reckon that's one of them magic poison plants?" he asks Mary curiously.

"It is keeping someone prisoner!" Mary announces, grandly.

"It must be - something bad, at any rate. We ought to free him!" More loudly, and directed to the tentacle-covered man (and she was already fairly loud) "Do not worry! We are going to rescue you!"

She reaches into her pocket . . . and then remembers that Duo hasn't taught her to use a knife yet.

That's troublesome.

However, she still has her trusty slingshot!

Those are children's voices.

Hack, slash.

Has Puck moved on from two-year-olds to ten-year-olds?

Stab, struggle.

Either way, they are currently being exposed to rather graphic botanical violence, and Havelock is very clearly doomed to be ded of plant. At least he isn't swearing, so the rating can remain PG-13.

"Please don't get too close, it's faster than it-"

A tentacle whacks him forcefully across the chest, making him cough and resume the fight.

It is sad that Edward does not see much of this botanical violence, as he would rather enjoy it. Sadly, he is neatly distracted by Mary.

More specifically, by staring at her.

"Are you daft?" he says. "What're you going to do, pelt it to death?"

However, he is distracted from the distraction by the very loud noise of the plant whacking Havelock in the chest. His eyes widen, and he pulls a rather convenient dagger from his pocket.

"Never mind," he informs Mary, hurrying forward and dodging the plant's tentacle swipes rather adroitly. The offending tendril is summarily hacked at, upon which hacking it falls to the floor.

The trouble is ... there are many more tendrils.

Clearly some rethinking is required!

"I was going -"

Mary abandons the slingshot, and looks around instead for something large and heavy with which to charge into the fray.

"- to hit it in a vulnerable spot!"

(Possibly Discworldesque thinking is catching.)

Catching sight of a chair, she hauls on it, only to find its weight a little too heavy for her purposes - aha!

Darting around the edge of the struggle, she grabs a lamp and squints, looking for the best place to start whacking.

The children are attacking the plant.

If Havelock could pause in his struggling to facepalm without being strangled, he would.

Oh well.

Slash, stab.

And to top is all off, he is soaked in plant juice. It is most unpleasant.

Puck, given his rather close proximity to the plant at this time, is also soaked in plant juice.

Ewwww.

He had been trying to dig up all the dirt in the plant's pot so as to deprive it of its needed soil, but he ducks quickly out of the way when Havelock's slashing makes it angry. As he makes his strategic retreat, he catches sight of Mary with the lamp.

... Hey.

"Fire!" he exclaims. "That's the ticket!"

Mary doesn't have time to bask in the glow of her own cleverness; after all, they do have a mysterious man in black to save.

She hefts the lamp a moment, getting a feel for it, and then swings it decisively towards a cluster of reaching tentacles.

The lamp breaks, spattering sparks all over the plant.

The tentacles promptly burst into flame.

Now, there is one question. Will the fire loosen the tentacles enough for Havelock to break free before the assassin bursts into flame as well?

Managing to get one foot free is a promising sign, and kicking back with that certainly helps.

Victory shall be his!

Now, if only his clothes down't go from smouldering to flaming by the time he cuts his arms free, everything will be fine.

Even though Puck himself is covered in plant sap, he feels that the necessity of saving Havelock's life is worth the danger!

Pretty much.

Anyway, Havelock all burned and scarred and deformed would be a total downer.

Therefore: Small boy darting forward to snag Havelock by the arm and jerk him out of fire's way. Hopefully, he will not catch fire himself.

Mary, meanwhile, is edging carefully around the edge of the plant, avoiding flying flaming vines and still clutching the remnants of the lamp.

"It is probably best," she shouts, across the tentacley bonfire, "if we go fetch water now!"

The additional force applied by the surprisingly strong small boy allows Havelock to extricate himself and what remains of his dignity from the crackling remains of the plant.

"Probably, yes. Bathroom?" he suggests, absently brushing at one smouldering sleeve as he eyes the small boy.

Hmm.

The small boy looks back, appropriately puzzled.

Because after all, it's not like he lives here or anything.

"Downstairs, y'mean?"

"That is a long way to run," Mary says, halfway to the door and already hiking up her skirt preparatory to making a mad dash.

"Is there a way to stop the fire from spreading until we get back?"

Milliways really needs a fire department.

"The door behind you," Havelock says.

Perhaps Puck has amnesia. Yes. That's completely it.

Figuring the miniature fae's motivations out can wait, however. He makes for the bed, grabbing a blanket to run under the shower before attempting to smother the still-flailing plant with it.

If plants could scream, this one would be doing so.

"Oh!" says the boy, following his gaze. "Right, then."

He grabs Mary by the arm. "You 'eard 'im, let's get to it."

"I am!"

Mary pulls her arm back from Edward, shifts the remnants of the lamp to that arm, using the other to pull open the aforementioned door, and darts inside, motioning impatiently for the boy to follow.

She looks around for the sink, and then holds the lamp - which has enough of a bowl left to make a sort of container - under the water.