(Untitled)

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald Craven has always been a selfish and self-indulgent man, and there have been very few willing to challenge him when he went into his darker moods since Lilias Craven died. In the days since he quarreled with Lucy Pevensie he indulged himself first by shutting himself up in his rooms and later by expressing his will rather forcibly to the

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[a_poor_guardian]

At some point in the evening, Archibald empties his bottle of wine (a mellow red wine from the Rhône valley) into his glass and walks out towards the lake.

[puckishly]

When this point in the evening occurs, Puck's appearance outdoors should be chalked up to coincidence.

As should the presence of love-in-idleness in his pocket.

"Oh!" he says, sounding quite surprised. "Master Craven, isn't it?"

[a_poor_guardian]

"Robin," Archibald replies rather curtly. "Good evening."

He'd been hoping to find solitude in the Milliways grounds, and he isn't particularly pleased to be disturbed.

[puckishly]

Man. This would be a bit easier if he wasn't in a bad mood.

"Good even," Puck says, cheerfully enough. "I hope the night finds you well."

(Is anybody watching? He casts a few discreet glances at the surrounding trees.)

[a_poor_guardian]

If there is anyone else about, Archibald has not noticed.

"Quite well, thank you," replies Archibald; the intonation suggests It is not any of your business.

[puckishly]

... You know.

For all that Puck claims to be both clever and crafty, sometimes he is about as sneaky as an elephant in clogs.

That probably explains why, once he finds the coast clear, he points quite dramatically over Archibald's shoulder and exclaims, "My, what is that?"

Whether or not Archibald actually turns, the result is still the same: one lightning-quick, incapacitating blow to the back of the head. Puck hasn't had a lot of practice knocking people out, but he knows how to do it without killing them.

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald, fortunately, is not used to watching out for himself. He does turn, although not very far.

Fairly soon after that he's unconscious on the grass near the lake.

It's a shame about the wine glass he was carrying, not to mention the wine.

[puckishly]

Er, yes. About that. Puck's terribly sorry.

But on the upside, the little wine that he managed to save before it seeped into the ground was very good.

"I am sorry," he tells Archibald's unconscious form, apologetically, as he discreetly tugs him towards a slightly more secluded spot. "But you see it shall all be the most marvelous experiment. I really am looking forward to it."

He digs around in his pocket a moment and pulls out some of the love-in-idleness, which fortunately has not gotten too crushed. Bending over Archibald, he very meticulously applies the juice of the flower to his eyelids.

"There," he says, satisfied, and sits cross-legged on the ground. "That should do nicely, 'til you wake."

He glances up and around to see if anyone's coming, but so far he's good. Puck returns his attention to Archibald; he didn't hit him very hard.

He ought to regain his senses quite soon, really.

[a_poor_guardian]

He has a terrible headache, and small hard objects are pressing into his side.

When Archibald Craven blinks and opens his eyes, neither the headache nor the rocks and twigs seem to matter any more.

"Fair creature," he says to the being looking down at him. "I am sorry you have to see me in such an unflattering position. Could you forgive me, my dear?"

[puckishly]

.... Well! Good to know the stuff still works.

"Without a doubt," he says cheerfully, extending a hand to help Archibald up.

Never let it be said that Puck is not courteous to those he has drugged!

"You're quite well, then? I expect you've something of a headache."

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald lets Robin help him off of the ground, but when he is sitting up again he does not immediately let go of Robin's hand. The hand is quite warm, and quite soft, and it seems to Archibald that it has been a very long time since the last time he sat in the grass, holding hands with a beautiful ...er... person.

"Hardly anything to speak of," Archibald answers. "I do not mind it. Are you well, fair one?"

[puckishly]

Puck grins.

It's nice when people don't mind about the concussions he's given them. And it happens so rarely, too!

"I am most excellent well," he assures him, lashes fluttering.

Now to find the kid.

"Though I had thought," he adds, "though it is a beautiful night-- that we might venture indoors for some ... refreshments, perhaps. If you would be amenable?"

Ignoooore the fallen wineglass, Archibald.

[mmquitecontrary]

As Puck's luck would have it, a certain young girl happens to be coming through the greenhouse with her cousin just at this time.

Two for the price of one, you might say!

She's saying something relatively cheerful about next year's roses, as they walk - but she breaks off, when she sees her uncle and Puck.

Her uncle and Puck . . . holding hands.

"Colin!" she hisses.

[outta_a_chair]

Archibald is holding someone's hand.

This confuses Colin in and of itself. His father is not the sort to just randomly hold hands.

Male, female, it doesn't matter.

"Who is that?" he demands while staring.

[a_poor_guardian]

Archibald smiles warmly at the children. "Colin, Mary, I would like to present my dear friend Robin, who has been so kind as to help me up and keep me company after I fell. Robin, my son Colin and my ward Mary."

Neither Mary nor Colin have ever had the opportunity to see Archibald looking so adoringly at anyone before.

[puckishly]

Puck, for his part, smiles brightly.

"'Tis a delight to meet you both," he says. "Particularly under such auspicious circumstances as these."