(no subject)

[puckishly]

If you are Puck, and are under a mild curse that means you cannot resort to many of your typical diversions, and your other typical diversion is off somewhere sharpening knives, and you don't want to drink heavily just yet, the lengthening autumn evenings begin to grow somewhat troubling.

Puck is, therefore, perched on a table, keeping a keen eye out for any hint of shenanigans.


It's Milliways, so they can't ever be too far away.

Can they?


[ooc: open! questions/comments to artistformerlyknownas at gmail.]

Comments

[balancingminds]

Charles isn't up to anything other than doing the New York Times' crossword, he doesn't the Washington Post one and he can get the Times' one from Bar.

He noted Puck's mind and then stopped listening before taking a drink of his tea. Under the paper on his notes on Cerebro as he plans on doing work later.

[puckishly]

Puck is always at least a little curious about mortals with paper, since he has never bothered to figure out exactly what it is they're doing with it.

He can hazard a guess, of course, and guessing usually strikes him as more fun than fact.

Therefore: That mind is getting a little nearer, and the head attached is peering over Charles' shoulder.

[balancingminds]

Since he's not fully listening, Charles doesn't notice Puck until he's very close and almost spills his tea over his paper when he notices Puck,

"Oh, hello."

[puckishly]

Puck brightens.

Stillll got it.

"God grant thee a good even," he says cheerily.

"What do you here?"

[balancingminds]

"A crossword puzzle, do you know of them?"

When Puck speaks so happily, Charles isn't certain what to make of it but offers the puzzle. He said he wouldn't listen and he won't.

[puckishly]

"I have seen them before," he assures him, peering without much interest.

He slides sideways and slumps down with his elbows on the table, heedless of any other papers.

"Yet I have not been told the rules."

He's rrrrreally bored, or he wouldn't even ask.

[balancingminds]

A few of the papers start to slide and Charles grabs for them to get them out of the way,

"The rules are fairly simple, you fill in the grid with the clues provided."

[puckishly]

Ooh!!

... That still sounds boring.

"What manner of clue?"

[balancingminds]

"Playing on word meanings and sometimes rather awful puns or esoteric knowledge. A rather common one is the word oriel as it has so many vowels."

[puckishly]

"I should like to see an awful pun," Puck says, perking up a little.

"Or a goodly one, yet I doubt that such has ever been."

He would show it to Havelock!

[balancingminds]

"Let me see what I can find," This crossword doesn't have too many puns in it.

"Ah here's one. The clue is 'army cook's apology or is it?' and then the answer is 'what a mess I've made.'"

[puckishly]

Puck blinks a moment.

Then he snorts a laugh.

"Is it indeed. A very mess-- yet as a pun, neither goodly nor poorly but merely so-so."

[balancingminds]

"That's about the quality of most puns in crosswords."

[onceaviking]

Not shenanigans exactly.

Rather, he is being studied intensely by a tall, blond stranger. Somewhat pale. It brings out his blue eyes. His intense and intensely focused blue eyes.

shriek <3

[puckishly]

That kind of regard is rather difficult to ignore.

Puck returns the look with bright blue eyes of his own, though they contain only a wary curiosity.

For the moment he doesn't speak.

[onceaviking]

Eric steps a little closer.

Still looking intently at Puck.

His nostrils flare a little as he draws in breath. Something he has not done so far.

[puckishly]

Puck's eyebrows arch.

He hasn't moved. In fact, all of a sudden, he has gone quite, quite still.

"Sir?"

[onceaviking]

His answer is an appreciative hum.

The sound one makes when eyeing a delicious, mouthwatering plate of something one cannot wait to sink one's teeth into.

[puckishly]

Right now, Puck thinks distantly, he would really like to disappear.

It's a shame he cannot.


"If you can speak, I should like to hear you give some sign of it."

[onceaviking]

"Oh, I can talk, little fairy," Eric practically purrs.

[puckishly]

Puck gives a faint growl.

Not so little but that my nails can reach unto thine eyes.

(Although, to be fair: he is short.)


"Speak, and even mark," he notes.

"Yet shall you be friendly?"

[onceaviking]

"I should like nothing better than to be your friend."

He's smiling now. It's a very big smile.

[puckishly]

"How charming," he says coolly.

"That is not quite what I asked."

[onceaviking]

"I abide by the rules of this place," Eric says. Always willing to soothe away anxieties. "Does that answer reassure you?"

He has stopped moving. If only because it will be difficult to keep to this if he gets any closer.

[puckishly]

A tilt of his head.

"Do you swear it?"