(no subject)

[oneman_onevote]

Assassin, bar, shadowy corner thereof.

Havelock is unobtrusive as always, but solidly there to all eyes, in a way that sometimes he manages not to be.

He may know about this. Then again, he may not. It is unclear.

By one elbow there is a faintly steaming mug giving off the faint rich smell of good, strong coffee.

In his hands, there is a small crossbow, which the young man examines closely and meticulously for signs of rust or wear.

Comments

[sto-helit.livejournal.com]

"Do you lack the will--sometimes?"

She can't ever imagine this man--the future Patrician, if she's guessed right--having any weakness, any hesitation.

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock Vetinari doesn't answer her. Not out loud, anyhow. His expression, what there is of it, is serene, no trace of doubt.

He carefully slips the parts of the crossbow into separate pockets of a velvet non-clink bag.

[sto-helit.livejournal.com]

"You--" it almost slips out, and Susan has to bite her lip, "--could be the greatest--at what you do--in the entire Disc. The universe, maybe."

[oneman_onevote]

"I highly doubt that."

The soft calm voice is near-impossibly even.

He knows what he is capable of.

And what he is not.