Robin Goodfellow (
puckishly) wrote in
milliways_bar2012-05-03 06:54 pm
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After this shining example of functional romance ...
For the first few minutes, Puck sat very still. He couldn't help feeling that Havelock might be coming back at any moment, even while he knew that the actual probability was slim.
Then he spent some time glancing up at the rafters.
Then he wondered if he might prevail upon the waitrats to fetch him supper.
Then he rather lost track of time.
Now, Puck is sitting in a booth, waiting forGodot Havelock but fairly certain he shan't be returning, and nearing the anger-bargaining-grief stage of the process.
There is a bright green necktie looped about his neck, rather more like a noose or a leash than a proper garment.
For the first few minutes, Puck sat very still. He couldn't help feeling that Havelock might be coming back at any moment, even while he knew that the actual probability was slim.
Then he spent some time glancing up at the rafters.
Then he wondered if he might prevail upon the waitrats to fetch him supper.
Then he rather lost track of time.
Now, Puck is sitting in a booth, waiting for
There is a bright green necktie looped about his neck, rather more like a noose or a leash than a proper garment.

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"Puckling," he says, what sort of mischief have you got yourself into now?"
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"I am afraid I cannot be quite sure."
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"Oh, perhaps. And one there is no help for."
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He's not even sure he's teasing.
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"His name is Havelock Vetinari."
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"Is this some sort of voluntary confinement..?"
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"I suppose," he allows.
"He bade me stay."
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It's a test.
Jack's not entirely sure he approves.
"Do you want help?"
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"Though if you have an apple handy ..."
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"Do I want to know how things came to such a pass?"
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Within moments, he has worked his way down to the core, and starts in on that.
"As to that," he admits, mouth rather full, "I suspect I have done him some offense."
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"Is this some kind of 'let the punishment fit the crime' type of arrangement?"
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To be perfectly honest, he wasn't entirely sure that Puck would stay there as long as he has. It's something to consider.
Still, it's getting late.
He wouldn't leave him there all night.
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And he is so accustomed to glancing up at rafters.
At this moment he peers, suspicious, rather wondering if he is like the madman in the desert who spots a lovely but sadistic oasis.
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He wonders, vaguely, what he would even do if he truly stopped trusting Puck.
He doesn't want to think about it.
(Which means, the tiny, cold part of him thinks, he probably should.)
Almost tentative, he extends a hand.
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And smiles faintly.
"Back so soon?"
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"Sorry to disappoint. Should I go?"
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"I should hate to put you to any inconvenience."
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He doesn't look inclined to come down.
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If Havelock's just going to look at him, he may as well have stayed away.
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He can give him this one.
Quietly he untucks his legs and gets up to walk along the rafter and closer to where Puck sits below.
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He is not sure whether he trusts himself to speak; it occurs to him that an absent Havelock was at least an uncomplicated one.
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