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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"Doesn't it?" asks Havelock mildly.

....Yes, that does appear to be it, unless his failure to move counts.

"I won't interrupt, if nothing you speak of is my business."

Odds of that eventuality? Small.

~~In Soviet Hell, Logic faults YOU.~~

Which is to say, Satan is ambivalent towards pretty much any suggestion that things he utters should make sense or follow any pattern, except to him.

Anyway, he is smiling casually in Havelock's direction, though his eyes once more roam over Puck behind his shades.

'Well then, Robin. I have come to tell you that I have thought over your proposition that I help you with the woman and now that I've met her, I think you and I can probably settle our terms.'

It's not that he hadn't liked Blodwen. She'd been interesting. Just not as interesting as it will be to see Puck take her on and no doubt fail, as he has no confidence in the fairy's ability to do....well, anything.

'Assistance comes at a price, as you know. And you should get used to the idea that I'm not going to tell you anything at all until you've proved yourself worthy.'

Puck truly does do his best not to look fretful, or anxious, or much of anything at Havelock's refusal to depart. And while the fairy is an excellent dissembler, he has never done well when backed into corners.

Something of this, therefore, may show in the slight tension in his neck and shoulders-- as if he were thinking of flitting away, but anchoring himself by sheer force of will.

It's not terribly apparent, but Havelock at least can probably tell.

"Yes," Puck agrees in a polite murmur.

"I recall you had said, when last we met, that you should think on what terms would be agreeable to you."

A beat.

"I take it you have discovered them."

If Havelock can tell, he doesn't show it.

He just leans his head sideways to watch Satan and Puck talk, loose and relaxed.

'Yes, I have.'

He moves languidly, pulling his shades from his eyes in an easy movement. His eyes, as ever, gleam blue and there's a hint of mischief in them if you're looking for it. He's looking at Havelock now, as though an idea has just occured to him, though of course it hasn't. He'd rather been hoping that Puck would make a deal on behalf of his boyfriend because he knows just how well that would have gone down.

'And I had to think...what's in this for me? What do you have to offer me that I couldn't get from a thousand, a million, other places?'

He can't just get to the point, of course. That would be no fun.

'It came to me that all the humans on my world - well. They're human, Robin. They don't come to me asking for the weapons to kill a near-immortal creature of great strength. So, what do I want?'

He leans forward, mouth splitting into a grin.

'I want fun. I want you to dance for me, Puck. And seeing as he's here, why not Havelock too? I want you to entertain me.'

Sits back and lights another cigarette.

'And all you have to do to secure my entertainment is to survive. For one night. The two of you in a series of tests; let's see what you're made of. One night, here in Milliways. If you make it, I'll tell you what you want to know.'

Puck does not draw back when Satan leans forward, but the sight of that grin sets something blazing in his eyes that is-- momentarily-- rather akin to hatred.

"Havelock," he says coolly.

"Is a terrible dancer."

You insult him, Puck.

Havelock remains still, turning this thought over in his mind. The instant reaction is one of incredulity - what could he possibly survive that Satan could throw at him? Given that Puck was apparently helpless against him, it seems ludicrously unlikely.

Their lives risked for one piece of information?

But far be it for him to reject something out of hand without considering all the angles.

"Maybe," he says, very softly. "But do elaborate."

He laughs at Puck's comment, all relaxation now, endlessly amused by this little creature.

'I doubt that's true, Robin.'

A glance at Havelock.

'As for elaboration - where would be the fun in that? I've told you what you need to know. Survive the night. That's all you have to do.'

"Hardly," Puck drawls.

"In the absence of constraints of some sort upon the exercise of your power, agreeing to a proposal such as that would be to sentence ourselves to death."

Havelock nods.

"It defeats the point of agreeing at all."

A shoulder rises, then drops. He doesn't see that as his problem.

'If you need reassurance, perhaps think of it this way - that if you die, I lose my dancers. So you needn't think I'm just going to kill you outright.'

"Indeed not," Puck agrees cheerily.

"You might kill us an hour before dawn."

His eyes narrow, in a very slight increment.

"I think you are quite aware by now, sir, that my people do not bargain without something more by way of specificities."

Edited 2010-03-26 23:10 (UTC)

And Havelock's don't bargain without multiple sub-clauses.

Politicians.

He raises an eyebrow, plainly waiting to see how this plays out.

'Then I imagine you have to think about how badly you want Ms. Rowlands dead.'

Another slow shrug. It doesn't matter to him whether she lives or dies.

'An area outside that you will be bound not to leave. Various tasks testing mental ability, physical, that sort of thing. If you succeed, you live. I don't see what more you need to know.'

A beat.

'None of the games will be impossible, if that's what you're worried about.'

"It is hardly that," Puck protests, thought apparently calm. (Possibly bargaining for his life is routine enough to be soothing.) "'Tis simply that it is no matter to me whether I am dead at her hands or at your own-- either way there is little remedy."

He shrugs. "I should wish to ensure that such tests would not be impossible for myself; for instance, if you wished it, I have no doubt you could ignite either of us where we stood-- and while not impossible to avoid, nor is it, one might say, altogether fair as tests go. So that, at least, I should like to see ruled out, for better sport."

"Who will judge what is and is not impossible?" Havelock asks, after a moment.

And, for that matter, make sure that the rules are adhered to, once decided.

"I fear any one of us might weight the odds somewhat."

Satan raises an eyebrow.

'Judge.'

Who said anything about judges? Or fairness, for that matter.

'It's my show. No one else need be involved. I stick to my word, as Puck knows.'

"And all I wish to know is something more of what that word shall be."

Puck does not say, I know a thing or two besides.

"The terms we have named seem reasonable enough-- if you'll not have even they, perhaps we should be better after all to throw in our lot with Mistress Rowlands."

Puck had said once before that when this person makes bargains they are indeed binding for him as well.

But Havelock suspects that without an arbiter of some kind, they may as well be dead before they even begin.

He watches.

'That's a very negative outlook to take, Havelock,' he murmurs, without looking at the man. 'If you believe you'll be dead before you begin then you might well be, with or without my help.'

Did Puck tell him of his ability to read human minds? If not, it was very lax of him.

'So that's your only term - that there be a judge? And what, may I ask, would be the point? What are they going to do if they dislike the turn the game takes? And as I have no rules written down, how are they to know if any are being broken?'

He is Very Much against the idea of written rules, for obvious reasons.

Puck's eyebrows arch, mouth pressed into a thin line.

"I've several terms, if you like ... or, I expect, if you do not. Havelock, being a mortal man and certainly under no charge to deal with you, may take an interest in them as well."

He resists the urge to count points off on his fingers. "First-- that in whatever contest any of us is party to, there shall be no infliction of instantaneous and irreparable torment. Being torn asunder, or burnt to a crisp, or subject to any killing force taking place at such an interval-- that shall be the first test of whether your games may be won." A slight pause. "Second, that there shall be some judge, agreed to by us all and in full apprised of any rules we should create, who shall interpret them as justly and strictly as they may."

A beat.

"Third ... that the game shall take place in Milliways, somewhere within its confines, and in no other place for its duration. And that this contest, once its rules are determined in full, shall be waged over a single night, from sundown to sunup in its natural course, in exchange for the knowledge of how Blodwen Rowlands may be forever destroyed and made harmless to us while we live. And, I shall amend, if there be no objection, for the assured security of Lilly Kane and the children Aria Moonshine, Adrian Sunbeam, and Raspberry Beret Goodfellow-Kane from any violence, harm, or other molestation from yourself or at your direction."

Edited 2010-03-27 06:14 (UTC)

Havelock prefers to consider the worst in all situations. That way, he can decide what to do should it come to pass.

As far in advance as possible.

He brings out a notepad and pen from a pocket, and starts noting down what Puck says in shorthand.

He rolls his eyes behind his shades and does a good impression of not listening. But he's Satan. He hears just about everything, whether he wants to or not.

'I've heard a lot of things in my time. Things you couldn't start to imagine.'

Beat.

'But I still can't believe you called the squid Raspberry.

That aside, I have no objection to keeping your children out of this. And their mother.'

For now. Puck didn't, after all, specify a time frame.

'I already told you it would be in Milliways, and last for one night. A judge...' he sighs. '...I suppose so. On the stipulation that any interpretation of the rules will not be conveyed by either of you if I'm not present. Make a list of suggestions for that and I'll think about that.

As to the first one,' he shrugs, 'if you'd prefer me to think up some slow deaths for you, I'm fine with that. So I can agree to that one, yes.'

"I imagine slow death is rather the purpose," Puck points out dryly, and adds to Havelock, "do feel free to improve upon my terms should something strike you. Have you aught to add at present?"

Havelock keeps writing absently.

"The judge being a party neutral towards all of us seems fair," he says. "More generally, what happens on the night's conclusion - one way or another? A clean slate on both sides would seem logical."