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It's a Ianto!

He is not on a mountain in Wales, icon to the contrary. He is not even on a mountain at the end of the Universe, though he thinks when the weather's better he might go explore that one.

He is, however, peacefully drinking coffee.

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"I must know."

Says the fairy who has appeared behind him and slightly to the left.

"Who is it who has been speaking ill of me?"

It is to Ianto's credit that he does not drop his coffee cup.

"Er...what?"

"You said," Puck tells him, quite patiently, "that you had been warned of me before."

He is so maliiiiiigned.

"I must know who it was who did the warning; I have so tried to behave myself of late."

Is this a lie? Only Ianto's heart can tell him!

"John Constantine," Ianto says, "and Sam Winchester."

John, he's certain, can take care of himself, should there be repercussions. Sam...well, he'll keep an eye on Sam.

"Fae are often dangerous in every world. Surely you're aware of that."

"--Oh," Puck says, in a tone remarkably akin to loathing.

"Him."

"Which one?" Ianto says innocently enough, but, well, he does consider them both his friends.

"I'm sure I've no quarrel with Master Winchester," Puck breezes.

"Ah. John."

He sips some coffee.

"When I first met him I was warned quite a few times that he was dangerous. You're not exactly singled out."

Puck laughs, brightly.

"Dangerous? Him? Oh, I suppose I can see as much, perhaps."

Ianto sips and smiles.

Never underestimate a 'mere' mortal, is what this means.

"At any rate, I'm not telling everyone I meet to look out for you."

Puck knoooows.

Or. Well.

He ought to know.

"Are you not?" He smiles, relieved. "I do take it as a kindness."

"I'm not," Ianto says. "Beneath this caffeine-fueled exterior is a fairly reticent person."

He laughs.

"I think I know the sort-- or perhaps I do, at least."

Pshaw, Havelock's reticence makes a stone look chatty.

"Oh?" says Ianto.

"Oh, yes," Puck sighs pleasantly.

"I cannot say whether your own reticence may be a match, hidden from my sight as it is."

"It's lessening lately," Ianto says placidly. "Confidence will do that."

He laughs, surprised.

"Is it a matter of confidence?"

Shyness may not be a concept Puck, uh. Intuitively understands.

"For me it is. It's amazing what you have to say when you know someone wants to hear it."

Puck blinks, grinning.

"I find that is half the fun."

"...what is half the fun?"

"--Oh," he reflects, thoughtlessly.

"You meant what you possess to say, rather than what you are required to say?"

"Yes. What I possess to say. Dear lord, I can't imagine dating one who required confessions of adoration every quarter-hour on the dot."

Puck laughs, a raindrop-patter that manages to still sound a little derisive.

"Perhaps 'tis simply that I thrive on invention. Or it may make all the difference what it is that others wish to hear."

"Weaving your magic with words, it sounds like," Ianto says.

He does write fairy tales as a hobby, after all.

A tilt of his head.

"Me, do you mean?"

"You, other fae, anyone with a little magic in their voice..."

[ooc: Hometime for me and then writing time. Wrap/fade/slow?]

Puck laughs, softly.

"There is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ-- that much I shall grant. Though I flatter myself that words are not my only medium."

"And what other media would those be?" Ianto asks with a slightly indulgent smile. You could hardly tell he's information-gathering, could you?

He grins.

He's rather accustomed to showing off, in any case.

"Why, I might overcast the night, or come upon you in likeness of a filly foal-- though I have found not all the horses here are quite so friendly to me in that guise as they might be elsewhere."

That Ravenscourt is a tough nut to crack, man.

"Oh, my," Ianto says in a suitably impressed tone. "Overcast the night. Terrifying."

Puck rolls his eyes.

He's not an idiot, coffeeboy.

"If such terrifies you, sir, 'tis a wonder you yet live in this place."

"It doesn't, really," Ianto says. "I'm from Wales."

The O's should be a dead giveaway.

"And a marvelous country it is, to turn out such stock," he says sourly.

There's a decent chance he's ... not actually talking about Ianto.

Not that Ianto could be expected to know that.

"Thank you, I think," Ianto says and sips his coffee.

"Put it out of your mind," he assures him sweetly.

The urge to eyeroll is, once again, strong.

"And for the moment, put me there as well-- or at least, being somewhat out of sight, I expect that is more or less my destination."

(He disappears.)

Ianto sighs a little.

The disappearing will take some getting used to.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The sound of wooden sandals on the wood floor is even and measured.

The outer robes are swirly, the diamond pattern on the edge fluttering in what might, on another person, be an accidentally hypnotic pattern.

The green-and-white bucket hat is, of course, awesome.

Urahara, rubbing at his eyes and yawning prodigiously as he strolls into the bar, is not a fan of mornings. Quite frankly, he isn't entirely sure why the humans have come up with them. They are deucedly inconvenient, and... well. Early.

Ianto eyebrows at the yawning man and goes back to his coffee.

Urahara flaps his hand in a sleepy, disgruntled way at the eyebrowing - why yes, he saw what you did there.

He's got sharp eyes, for someone supposedly trying to shake off the charms of Morpheus.

No matter to Ianto. People are allowed to yawn as much as they like.

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