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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"You do appear quite happy. I was simply inquiring."

Puck looks up to the ceiling.

"I think, mistress Jane," he says, and smiles at her, "that love is an altogether foolish place to be. But were I in it ... oh, I should be so many fathom deep I could not see my way out. I might have writ a dozen ill-rhyming verses and tacked them up to neighboring trees, or sighed a sigh for every hour of the day that my love were not nigh--"

He grins.

"That is what the mortals are wont to do, is it not? I do like to be fashionable."

Havelock watches him, expression quite composed, but a certain light in his eyes.

"You're quite up-to-the-minute," he assures Puck solemnly.

"I fear if you did that your lover would get quite bored of your bad verses. Those poor trees would suffer so horribly. I must say that I have never bothered to be fashionable, it is far too much work."

"You are too kind, Havelock," Puck says pleasantly.

Then he laughs, bright.

"But I suppose Mistress Jane has the right of it-- my verses should doubtless be altogether wretched, and such food of love quickly makes one ill. What is it that you bother to be instead, lady?"

"Never," Havelock assures him.

Kindly.

"Truthful and I do hope strong enough to follow my own passions."

Jane colors slightly at the thought of how she dared to kiss Tom and all that has begun.

Puck's smile lights at that, albeit in a mischievous sort of way.

"And are you in love, lady?"

The blushing says she may be on her way, although Havelock displays no evidence whatsoever of having seen it.

That would be most ungentlemanly.

Puck.

"Yes, I would say that I am, Master Goodfellow."

Jane has rarely known the kind of happiness she does now and it makes her feel rather wonderful.

He grins.

"I wish you luck of it, then. Love is a terribly slippery fish-- and I hear it is just as like to turn cold and gasp for breath once caught."

Of course it is.

"Luck is a tricky thing in itself," Havelock says.

"I plan to hold onto it for as long as possible."

"Quite sensible," Puck approves.

The fairies have stories about that working out pretty well.

"Yes -- that should help, I think."

Havelock also believes that when luck isn't around to lend a helping hand, you can always fall back on competence.

"We are also working on a plan since we must rely on each other."

"What?" Puck says, blinking.

"Whose plan?"

"To marry, neither of our families approve, but we shall find a way."

Puck's expression brightens.

"Ah!" he says. "That is a tale I have heard before." He looks at Jane sympathetically. "They say the course of true love never did run smooth."

"Only in fairy tales but rarely in the world."

He grins.

"Well, with care, perhaps you shall make one for yourself. You did say you were a writer."

Then a thought seems to occur to him.

"Oh! Havelock! How terribly negligent. You are the only one we have not asked." He tilts his head. "Are you in love, by any chance?"

"Desperately," Havelock tells them both, completely straight-faced.

"I pine."

"Truly?"

He does not seem the sort of man to pine,

"May I ask who has stolen your heart so?"

"You may, but I regret I may not answer," Havelock says.

"Lest I find it returned to me for lack of discretion."

Puck, meanwhile, laughs, looking terribly interested.

"Your thief displays a startling generosity with their gain."