[Witches' Horses] Witches' Horses
Title: it'll end. 'well', on the other hand . . .
'Verse/characters: Witches' Horses; Sinclair, Andrei Andreievich
Prompt: 27C "mania"
Word Count: 312
Notes: Prompted by a poll response. Same sequence as hammers and wrenches and plans, plans, plans.
"One would think you'd have taken the hint of the hammer, Andrei."
He had to give the idiot credit for balls--he didn't scream. Mind, that might've been because he'd just been scared into a heart attack, given the gawping fish-face.
"I--you--how--"
He let the grin out to play. "You're not the only one with a hold on people's earrings, Andryosha." Oh, flicker of anger, there. "You think I wouldn't notice people following me around? Or that you seem to have developed this obsessive mania about my horse?"
Ah, balls, not the heart attack. Stupid balls, but balls. "What did you do to the men you hired?"
"Me? Not a thing." He pulled out a knife from his jacket, noted the way the idiot's eyes flicked to it, then back to his face. Cleaning his nails with the knife, "My horse, now, she doesn't much like people trying to mess with her hearth. Or her still. Or hel, her paint job. Saints only know why, it's ugly. So there I am, woke up out of a sound sleep by somebody screaming and wondering why the hel I'm on the ceiling, and I have to talk my horse out of dumping a man into the black. Not exactly my favourite wake cycle, Andryosha."
Another flicker, and the beginnings of bluster. Idiot. "Do you have any idea how things work here?"
"One can probably safely assume that it's something to do with alliances, and agreements, and that a man with something new can be expecting a few gents with hammers at his door within days. Now, Andreievich? I didn't enter into your agreements. Or any of your alliances. And you won't see me the third time."
He put the knife back where it belonged, then turned his back, and palmed open the door. Stepped over the man who'd been guarding the threshold, waved over a shoulder, and walked away.
'Verse/characters: Witches' Horses; Sinclair, Andrei Andreievich
Prompt: 27C "mania"
Word Count: 312
Notes: Prompted by a poll response. Same sequence as hammers and wrenches and plans, plans, plans.
"One would think you'd have taken the hint of the hammer, Andrei."
He had to give the idiot credit for balls--he didn't scream. Mind, that might've been because he'd just been scared into a heart attack, given the gawping fish-face.
"I--you--how--"
He let the grin out to play. "You're not the only one with a hold on people's earrings, Andryosha." Oh, flicker of anger, there. "You think I wouldn't notice people following me around? Or that you seem to have developed this obsessive mania about my horse?"
Ah, balls, not the heart attack. Stupid balls, but balls. "What did you do to the men you hired?"
"Me? Not a thing." He pulled out a knife from his jacket, noted the way the idiot's eyes flicked to it, then back to his face. Cleaning his nails with the knife, "My horse, now, she doesn't much like people trying to mess with her hearth. Or her still. Or hel, her paint job. Saints only know why, it's ugly. So there I am, woke up out of a sound sleep by somebody screaming and wondering why the hel I'm on the ceiling, and I have to talk my horse out of dumping a man into the black. Not exactly my favourite wake cycle, Andryosha."
Another flicker, and the beginnings of bluster. Idiot. "Do you have any idea how things work here?"
"One can probably safely assume that it's something to do with alliances, and agreements, and that a man with something new can be expecting a few gents with hammers at his door within days. Now, Andreievich? I didn't enter into your agreements. Or any of your alliances. And you won't see me the third time."
He put the knife back where it belonged, then turned his back, and palmed open the door. Stepped over the man who'd been guarding the threshold, waved over a shoulder, and walked away.