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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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."

"Discretion is important and clearly something that a lover may trust you for. It is good of your to say anything at all. Though I imagine keeping a romance secret in Milliways is a rather difficult thing."

Havelock glances at Puck with all-consuming innocence.

"You are quite probably right on that score," he tells Jane.

Puck returns the glance and nods sagely, then looks back to Jane.

"I imagine it is because we are all kept so close together. Word does get about." A tilt of his head. "Though if your sweetheart were to come here, mistress-- unless he does already-- surely you'd see no need for secrecy?"

"He did for a time but has not had a door for many weeks. If he were able to come here again, I would rejoice in being able to spend time with him without the watching eyes of others upon us. I feel as if there is more to this than I know. Tell me, Master Goodfellow, do you know of Mister Venitari's lover?"

Puck blinks, owlishly.

"I may know them, I suppose, but as for knowing of ..."

He grins. "I am afraid Havelock really is terribly secretive. But if you wish to discover who it may be, is it not best you hear from him, or not at all? Else I should think he might find fault with you for prurient inquiry."

Right? Totally!

"If I have a secret, I keep it," Havelock says, rasing his eyebrows.

"Otherwise it is scarcely a secret at all."

"True though it does seem a shame to have to hide your happiness. I am sure that you have good reasons and I will ask no more as long as you and your lover are happy."

Jane keeps smiling, she has done all the prying that she wishes.

Puck laughs.

"I hope after it myself."

"As do I."

Happiness is a tricky thing.

But Havelock he might have it, for now.

"I do hope that your lover sees your smile often since it seems a great shame to hide it."

Havelock is after all an attractive though rather dour man so unlike Puck who wears his emotions so clearly.

"Oh, on the contrary," Puck protests.

"I pray your love may see your smile hardly at all-- as that which is rare is given greater value."

"I seem to have a lot of ground to cover between here and there," Havelock says, desert-dry.

"But I shall endeavor."

"I have no doubt that you could cover it if you wished."

"Nor have I," Puck agrees cheerfully. "And, regardless, e'imai eroteum'enos."

He puts a hand to his mouth and yawns suddenly, a kittenlike gesture.

"Oh," he murmurs. "My. Our swordplay must have wearied me."

"Has it? It never usually does," Havelock says solicitously.

Um.

"Perhaps you do not know your own strength, Mister Vetinari. For you must be quite impressive to weary Master Goodfellow."

Puck clears his throat to disguise the sound that would otherwise be there: choked-down laughter.

"Well. Regardless, I think I'll away for a bit of a rest." He gets to his feet, picking up his sword. "I hope the two of you shall pardon me."

"Of course," Havelock says, watching him stand with apparent friendly concern.

"I'm sure I shall see you later on, Robin."

She did call him 'Master Goodfellow,' after all. It's sometimes confusing, keeping track of what name Puck has told which person.

"Do rest well and I think I sadly must return home to my own duties."

She bobs a curtsy to them both and turns to leave,

"It was a pleasure."

"A pleasure indeed, Mistress Austen," Puck calls brightly, though with a tinge of weariness.

And once she has gone far enough off, he glances to Havelock and hums under his breath, "Doceo, docere, docui ..."