"Mathter Goodfellow," Igor says in exasperation. (Puck and Havelock had agreed, some days into his stay at the castle, that 'Robin Goodfellow' was as safe a name as any other and safer than most.)
"What?" Puck replies, with perfect innocence.
Igor, meanwhile, stumps fretfully about the castle library with an armful of books, replacing them on shelves with the occasional aid of a stepladder.
"You mutht remember," he sighs, with the sort of droning dullness of one who does not expect an oft-repeated lesson to be taken to heart, "that while you are a guetht in thith cathtle--"
He shoots Puck a look. The fairy regards him with a too-bright smile, hands clasped decorously in his lap. Igor rolls his eyes and abandons that line of reasoning.
"Thuffithe it to thay," he concludes, "that my mithtreth ith very particular about the way her bookth are kept. And about everything elthe."
Havelock shudders at the command, but doesn't break away, teeth still locked on the woman's throat until a strong hand grips his hair, pulling him away and breaking the flow of hot blood. She staggers when he releases her abruptly, skin very pale under her modest peasant's dress, but expression dreamy and untroubled even as she slumps down against the wall. He shakes himself, trying half-heartedly to pull away from Margolotta's hand.
The bloodlust is fading faster than before now, but still only once he has stopped drinking - been forced to stop
( ... )
First it's the books-- conservative misplacements. They could almost, almost be absentminded-- a history among the biographies, an art history among the philosophy, etcetera. A desk lamp moves to another table, upsetting the not-exactly-feng-shui of the place; a few artful cobwebs are artlessly swept behind the door.
Puck can afford to play a game such as this.
After all, they've all got time.
It is, in fact, exactly a week before he moves his attack to the halls, strategically targeting those well away from the room that houses the coffins. Despite Igor's best efforts, the cobwebs simply will not gather; it's almost as if someone were brushing them away in secret, when he's not looking. It is even his private suspicion that in some of the more distant hallways, several of the portraits have been moved around.
It is because of these preoccupations that Igor does not immediately notice the theft of one of Lady Margolotta's sweaters.
Havelock still isn't quite sure why he picks things up so excessively, when Igor does all the tidying he can lay his hands on in any case, but it's become a habit at some point.
Clothes go into the wardrobe, and he straightens the bedclothes absently - occasionally while Puck is still in them; puts books away the instant he is done with them, even when he has made a note to check back for something later.
It's very peculiar.
All the same, when he starts finding books on the wrong shelf, and furniture shifted illogically - he leaves it be. The niggling sense of wrongness is more than countered by the desire to smile.
Comments 7
"Mathter Goodfellow," Igor says in exasperation. (Puck and Havelock had agreed, some days into his stay at the castle, that 'Robin Goodfellow' was as safe a name as any other and safer than most.)
"What?" Puck replies, with perfect innocence.
Igor, meanwhile, stumps fretfully about the castle library with an armful of books, replacing them on shelves with the occasional aid of a stepladder.
"You mutht remember," he sighs, with the sort of droning dullness of one who does not expect an oft-repeated lesson to be taken to heart, "that while you are a guetht in thith cathtle--"
He shoots Puck a look. The fairy regards him with a too-bright smile, hands clasped decorously in his lap. Igor rolls his eyes and abandons that line of reasoning.
"Thuffithe it to thay," he concludes, "that my mithtreth ith very particular about the way her bookth are kept. And about everything elthe."
Puck blinks, slowly.
"... Oh," he says.
"Is she?"
Reply
Havelock shudders at the command, but doesn't break away, teeth still locked on the woman's throat until a strong hand grips his hair, pulling him away and breaking the flow of hot blood. She staggers when he releases her abruptly, skin very pale under her modest peasant's dress, but expression dreamy and untroubled even as she slumps down against the wall. He shakes himself, trying half-heartedly to pull away from Margolotta's hand.
The bloodlust is fading faster than before now, but still only once he has stopped drinking - been forced to stop ( ... )
Reply
First it's the books-- conservative misplacements. They could almost, almost be absentminded-- a history among the biographies, an art history among the philosophy, etcetera. A desk lamp moves to another table, upsetting the not-exactly-feng-shui of the place; a few artful cobwebs are artlessly swept behind the door.
Puck can afford to play a game such as this.
After all, they've all got time.
It is, in fact, exactly a week before he moves his attack to the halls, strategically targeting those well away from the room that houses the coffins. Despite Igor's best efforts, the cobwebs simply will not gather; it's almost as if someone were brushing them away in secret, when he's not looking. It is even his private suspicion that in some of the more distant hallways, several of the portraits have been moved around.
It is because of these preoccupations that Igor does not immediately notice the theft of one of Lady Margolotta's sweaters.
(Puck really does think the bats are tacky.)
Reply
Clothes go into the wardrobe, and he straightens the bedclothes absently - occasionally while Puck is still in them; puts books away the instant he is done with them, even when he has made a note to check back for something later.
It's very peculiar.
All the same, when he starts finding books on the wrong shelf, and furniture shifted illogically - he leaves it be. The niggling sense of wrongness is more than countered by the desire to smile.
Reply
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