milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The sky over Milliways outside has elected to break into one of those energetic downpours that the optimistic call a 'spring shower.' Sparring in adversity is one thing, but a sword fight becomes a tricky thing when you are rapidly beoming soaked to the skin.

Therefore Puck and Havelock have called a finish for today and open the door from the bar, each carrying a sword, and shaking off water.

Havelock peels off his coat, revealing a marginally drier shirt. "That went well, I thought," he says breezily, heading for the bar.

"Oh, I quite agree," Puck replies, who himself appears remarkably unconcerned by the fact that he is dripping all over the floor. "I am amazed, but it does seem your tutelage begins to stick."

(This might be putting it slightly optimistically, but at least Puck remembered to actually attempt to formulate his own sequence of attacks rather than just mimicking Havelock's.)

"It would seem so," the assassin agrees gravely, navigating around a table full of patrons. "Soon your technique will match your speed, and then I'm afraid I'll be no challenge at all."

Puck bats his eyelashes. "You flatter me," he says cheerfully. "Bar darling, could you see your way to a bit of cocoa?"

A few moments later sees the pair drying by the fire, Puck having been coaxed into a fresh shirt and breeches and Havelock with a towel, idly rubbing at his hair. The swords - both cleaned and dried before Havelock started on himself - are still in evidence.

[OOC: A combo post for all your threading needs! Merc and I are both here, taggable, and good for slowtimes!

EDIT: And now I am abed! Threads continue tomorrow? <3!]

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"Hullo, gentlemen," Tom says, strolling over with a scotch in hand. It's been a long day, and he's earned one. Maybe even two.

"All is well, I hope? If rather damp."

Havelock glances up, and nods courteously.

The grace of the gesture is a little hampered by the towel as he rubs his hair dry.

"Tom," he greets him, in a manner close to friendly.

"Hullo, Master Riddle," Puck says cheerily.

If he is thrown by the proximity-to-friendliness in any way, it doesn't show.

"All's well enough, I think. How do matters go with you?"

The power of Ingress compels him. It was a matter of time before the goodwill towards Puck wore off on Tom.

"Aside from dealing with a tiresome new conflict in the Underside, quite well. Although Ingress informs me she would like to keep knives in her new boots once she receives the permission."

He doesn't look overly perturbed by this, but he tries, at least, to look slightly stern.

"I can't imagine where she got such an idea."

Havelock raises his eyebrows.

"She is keen," he remarks, mildly amused. "She'll have to wait a little longer if it's my permission she's waiting for."

Sliced ankles are not in the least conducive to learning.*

* Unless other methods of encouragement fail.

Puck laughs, surprised.

"Is she? I must confess I should not have expected it of her-- but she is a sensible sort of child, after all."

Puck's definition of the word 'sensible' may be slightly skewed.

"She's been learning the sword since she was six. She's quite the prodigy."

He's not proud at all.

(He also doesn't know Ingress killed a monster with Buffy in the ladies room. He might have mixed feelings on that, but once the shock wore off, there'd be pride, as well.)

"And yes, it's your permission, Havelock, that she awaits. I trust your judgment on the matter."

"She did grasp the essentials quickly," Havelock agrees.

(You know. Hold the knife by the handle.

Keeps your wrists steady.

Put your full weight behind a stab if at all possible, as you want to maim.)

He rubs his fingertips together thoughtfully, feeling the faint lines of old scars there.

"I won't let her go too far yet, however. There's little sense in causing her injury through haste."

Puck's bright eyes flick curiously to the motion of Havelock's fingertips; the scars may only be faint, but he knows them well.

His lips quirk into a small half-smile, and for a moment he just sips his drink to see what else they'll say.

(Watching Havelock interact with people is fun.)

"Take your time," Tom implores. "Please. She's in far too great a hurry."

He thinks Ingress is in a reckless rush to grow up, and he worries this is not as it should be. If he stopped and remembered, he'd see himself at eleven, newly entered into a world of magic and devouring knowledge as quickly as possible. He desired to grow up at an even faster pace than she could imagine. It's funny how the years help one forget.

He sips his scotch. "I want to tell her that she should enjoy being as young as she is for a while longer. It certainly doesn't get any easier as you age."

"I'll make sure she paces herself," Havelock says agreeably.

But then, he would have done that anyway.

"Havelock is terribly prudent in these matters," Puck assures Tom, though in terms of this 'rush to grow up' thing he's a little puzzled.

When it comes to aging, he has a distinct lack of expertise.

"He has taught me the whole of what paltry skill with a blade I possess, and I assure you I should not have learned even as much as I have at the hands of any other." His smile spreads crookedly. "I am a rather intractable pupil."

"I can only imagine," he says, to Puck. "He must have the patience of a saint."

Oops. Old habits, it would seem, die hard. At least he's not scowling, as was the case when Puck and Tom used to talk.

The swords and the dampness do make more sense, though. "Caught out in the rain by the lake, were you?"

Either that or there's been a massive leak. Or a pool installation. Neither of which would surprise Tom.

Havelock tries.

He doesn't look in the least abashed by this discussion of his teaching prowess, although he does shoot Puck a silently amused glance.

"Yes," he says. "Sparring in adversity is only of benefit for so long."

Puck sticks out his tongue at Tom, before subsiding and returning Havelock's look with a faint grin.

"I imagine we can bear it better than our swords. I, at least, shan't so quickly come to rust."

"I remember those wretched spring showers," he says.

Which makes no sense if you don't know Milliways history, Tom realizes, and he has no idea whether either of them do.

"The lake and grounds were modeled after Hogwarts, my old school in Scotland, you see. I got caught out of doors in the rain every now and again."

"I didn't know that," Havelock says, raking his damp hair back off his face with his fingers, and leaving off with the towel.

"I suppose I always assumed the lake and grounds were just a normal part of the bar. You say someone added them?"

That must have taken a huge amount of skill. He may be impressed.

"It is all of it magic-made," Puck says idly, gaze falling to Havelock for a moment before he returns his attention to Tom.

"Or at the very least maintained. Is it not?"

"There wasn't much out there at all when I first arrived. A wizard of my world created the lake and others have added on, as they continue to do even now."

Narration would like to bitchily point out that this original feat of magic was a tad beyond said wizard's canonical capabilities, but that is beside the point.

"It hardly looks like the Hogwarts any longer, but the weather remains the same."

Havelock considers that.

It's impressive.

"I'm not sure what weather would suit it better," Havelock says thoughtfully.

The weather is boring! As is Tom's school of origin, really (sry Tom).

Puck finishes off his cocoa and looks very sorry into the bottom of the mug.

"Heat and sun come to mind."

He does like the Caribbean inlet. Except when he runs into Veelas in gold mesh bikinis there.

"I fear our discussion has turned to the weather. I must have used up all my conversational skills during negotiations today."

Havelock fails generally at hot weather.

And, for the record, at Veelas in gold mesh bikinis, although in his case it was a goddess of love.

Havelock assesses their conversation.

"So it has," he says lazily. "I don't know what my excuse can be."

Puck pretends, cheerfully, to be asleep.

Oh wait! Words!

"Perhaps 'tis simply that I exhausted you."

"Perhaps," Tom says, and the scowl appears. Oh, Puck. You make it so easy for Tom to scowl. Tom's not that dull!

"And perhaps I should leave you gentlemen to dry out and enjoy your evening beside the fire. In any case, I'm debating whether I want another scotch or whether I should go tackle my paperwork and be done with it."

He nods his head to Havelock and manages to stop scowling at Puck.

"Good evening."

Tom walks over to the bar, still undecided whether he's staying much longer or not.