Finished with my woman 'cause she couldn't help me with my mind

[harry_b_dresden]

Who: Harry Dresden and Puppetnade
When: late Friday evening, Harry's room.
Summary: Tsunade's been acting off all week. Things don't add up, and Harry's gotten paranoid. When something pushes him past the edge, there'll be hell to pay by the thing impersonating Tsunade. The real question is... exactly how sure is he?
Warnings: Death, blood, all the

Comments

[slug_sannin]

The week had, for the most part, gone to plan. The puppet strolled down the hallway while the intern scanned her notes of the week. Tsunade was engaged to Harry after a heartfelt love confession and had bedded Tyki. The Link attempt was a bust, but she could deal with that. Attempting to seduce Sasha had to be abandoned due to him being a psychic secret agent.

Her initial goals completed, it was time to go for some stretch goals. In this case, seeing what she could get Harry to do. He would do anything for the woman he loved. The couple was always so puritanical in bed, barely venturing beyond missionary position. With the correct motivation, what was possible?

The puppet stopped outside of Harry's door and rapped on the wall. The week was almost over, she had nothing to lose.

[harry_b_dresden]

Harry heard the knock, tipping his head upside down to look at the door. A gesture of his hand and a whispered "Ventus servitas" and the door swung open.

Harry's eyes flicked back to his frost covered arm a little guiltily, bracing himself for the shitstorm.

[slug_sannin]

Tsunade stepped into the room and paused when she took in the unexpected sight. Harry's arm covered in frost, evidence of damage on the ceiling. Was he . . .

Yum.

The puppet's expression remained neutral. "Harry? What are you doing?"

[harry_b_dresden]

"Ah.. nothing it- going away..."

He relaxes his arm, the frost already receding from the now red flesh as Harry sets the beer down to rub some life back into it.

"I was just... practicing. I mean, it's important if there was any kind of.. fighting...thing...to do."

it was a lame excuse, and he knew it, but he was too tense and frustrated to come up with a better one, dammit.