It is some days later, when Puck is absently wandering the halls and considering what book he could drop out a fourth-story window for maximum hilarity, that Margolotta manifests shadowily behind him.
"I don't suppose you can tell me the meaning of this," she says, with coolly and carefully cultivated amusement.
Puck turns, slowly.
In her hands, Margolotta is holding up what was, in all likelihood, once a very lovely cardigan. Now, however, it looks a little as if a dog has been at the collar and eaten all the bats, after dragging it through the mud and quite possibly rolling around on it.
Puck blinks.
"Oh my," he says.
A beat.
"Do you think it might be a moth?"
Margolotta smiles.
"I thought you might say somezing like that. Vhat troublesome creatures moths can be, wouldn't you say?"
She sighs, glancing to the ruined cardigan.
"I shall have to iron this."
Puck blinks.
Neutrally.
Margolotta spares him a smile that is really-- he feels-- very nasty.
... He admits he may have gone a little far this time.
The castle feels colder with Puck gone. Havelock attributes this to personal feelings of isolation and reduced physical proximity to someone who has, after all, a pulse - which could account for his trouble sleeping, but probably not for the fact that he feels the same standing by the raging fire.
He also accepts that he may be trying to distract himself with self-analysis.
It would be better if he focused on his training really, he thinks, ducking a sideways slash of Lady Margolotta's rapier. But what kind of politician can't carry more than one line of thought at once?
There comes an irritated snort from his opponent. "Boy, do you think shirts are disposable?"Hmm, she had indeed nicked him. It isn't worth the thought, as it would have been before. Instinct is the key to fighting like this. It could also be his downfall, if he forgets to think. It's just one more thing to learn - the difference between a wound he can shrug off, and one that could incapacitate him long enough to be killed
( ... )
Comments 7
"I don't suppose you can tell me the meaning of this," she says, with coolly and carefully cultivated amusement.
Puck turns, slowly.
In her hands, Margolotta is holding up what was, in all likelihood, once a very lovely cardigan. Now, however, it looks a little as if a dog has been at the collar and eaten all the bats, after dragging it through the mud and quite possibly rolling around on it.
Puck blinks.
"Oh my," he says.
A beat.
"Do you think it might be a moth?"
Margolotta smiles.
"I thought you might say somezing like that. Vhat troublesome creatures moths can be, wouldn't you say?"
She sighs, glancing to the ruined cardigan.
"I shall have to iron this."
Puck blinks.
Neutrally.
Margolotta spares him a smile that is really-- he feels-- very nasty.
... He admits he may have gone a little far this time.
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He also accepts that he may be trying to distract himself with self-analysis.
It would be better if he focused on his training really, he thinks, ducking a sideways slash of Lady Margolotta's rapier. But what kind of politician can't carry more than one line of thought at once?
There comes an irritated snort from his opponent. "Boy, do you think shirts are disposable?"Hmm, she had indeed nicked him. It isn't worth the thought, as it would have been before. Instinct is the key to fighting like this. It could also be his downfall, if he forgets to think. It's just one more thing to learn - the difference between a wound he can shrug off, and one that could incapacitate him long enough to be killed ( ... )
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