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!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

Havelock's eyes follow him, thoughtful.

"Stay here a moment?" he murmurs to Puck, unfolding himself from the couch.

Puck laughs a little at Tom's departure, waving, but tilts his head curiously as Havelock rises.

"Of course," he says, and looks up at him with a decidedly puppydoggish aspect.

"Do hurry back."

Havelock nods absently, but brushes the back of his hand lightly against Puck's hair as he passes behind.

The bar is crowded this time of the evening, but he doesn't have far to follow Tom.

"Before you leave entirely," he says, once he is close enough, and his expression has slid into something much cooler and quieter. "May I join you for a moment?"

"I decided on a second scotch, so yes, of course," he says, frowning slightly.

Hmm. He hopes Havelock wasn't offended by the scowling at Puck. It's second nature by now.

Whatever the emotion buried beneath a glacial exterior is, it probably isn't offense.

Havelock leans forwards on his elbows against the bar.

"I wanted to ask you a little more about your magic," he says. "It's something I have no aptitude for, but living here-- only a fool would ignore it."

"Oh, yes," he says, somewhat surprised. Although, truly, it's a sensible matter of inquiry for someone living at Milliways
without access to it.

"What would you like to know?"

Havelock pauses just a little longer than necessary.

It's probable that Tom will read something into it - that's all right. he intended it that way.

"Magic that can be used on the mind," he says quietly. "Reading it, or affecting it. I would be interested to know what types there are - what applications."

Usually people don't ask him about specific kinds of magic unless they have need of them. Interesting. Tom is intrigued.

"I can speak to both, actually. In my world, mind magic is not unknown, but neither is it common. I am gifted in both Legilimency, which is the reading of minds, and Occlumency, or the shielding of one's own mind. I do not use Legilimency here, unless I've been asked. It's- an intrusive method, but I've helped others retrieve lost memories at their request. However, I use Occlumency at all times."

"May I ask why you want to know?"

Havelock listens intently.

Intrusive describes the vampire's methods well enough, although their styles clearly differ. It's possible that it could help.

He turns a little, towards Tom, and then his eyes track past back to where Puck still sits near the fire.

"It's for a friend," he says, grim and pointed. "With an unfortunate inability to speak of what trouble he may be in."

He follows Havelock's look. Ah. Tom knows how it is to seek out help for someone close to him in need.

"He's bespelled?" Tom asks, his voice low. "Was it done by one we've discussed recently?"

Meaning Blodwen, of course.

Havelock shakes his head.

"A vampire of some kind, it seems," he says, voice soft but manner calmly conversational.

As if there's more than one trouble-causing bloodsucker out there.

(Well. It is Milliways - but only one is currently notorious.

Somewhere, Harth Fray gets the sudden feeling that he's letting the side down.)

"Oh. Oh, the one that's been causing problems since the holidays? I had no idea Puck would be susceptible to such a creature."

But then again, he doesn't know a great deal about fairies in general, aside from the fact that they seem to get into predicaments at a fairly frequent rate.

"You say he cannot speak of it. Can he write words down? That's how I got around a similar situation with Blodwen, as I recall mentioning."

He knows too well that feeling of not being able to help oneself in the face of a more powerful opponent.