Havelock still has no idea what this place is, why he keeps opening doors and finding it there waiting, and why he doesn't do the sensible thing and turn around again every time
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"I shall bear it in mind," Puck replies, rather dry himself.
That wasn't quite what he was getting at, but whatever. Mortals.
Puck is not quite sure how to proceed-- in Faerie, most enmities are settled quickly, decisively, or both, and among mortals he has not lingered long. But he is not entirely sure what to do now.
At the very least, he can likely make a pest of himself. He stays put, watching.
That apparently settled, Havelock turns back to the book.
In the Assassin's Guild, it might surprise some to know that violence is not the general recourse during conflict - or at least, not apparent violence.
They are a subtle folk, in enmity as in everything.
(Or at least: This is what they like to think.)
Havelock flips back to the index, and starts running a fingertip thoughtfully down each page.
That should not frighten him. Off-putting and odd he may be, but this man is only a mortal. Puck resents bitterly that his expression should betray anything at all, and resents it more that he does not know what that is, or what power this mortal may glean from it.
Well. There is more left to him than shifting shape, or at least there ought to be.
Voice pitched low, and eyes locked on Havelock's face, he murmurs, "Have I distracted you from your scholarship?"
It's intended to compel, and Puck notes with sharp relief that it's working the way it always has: with a sweetening of the air, a lilting quality to light and sound. "You ought to see to it. You seem a great one for taking no notice."
The fae aren't really what you'd call big readers.
Still, when all is done, this fellow is only a mortal man, and surely no great taxation as a foe. Puck sidles invisibly and curiously closer.
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"I was not given to understand that a mortal man may possess brain as well as brawn. In fact, a great many of them are altogether wanting of either."
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(This is, by the way, possibly the only time that Havelock has ever been described as possessing brawn.)
"But I have to pass the time somehow."
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"Does not time pass thee by with swiftness enough?"
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His glance towards the door is just slightly sour.
Time running at different speeds, he feels, is somehow cheating.
(Which doesn't mean he won't take full advantage.)
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"Ay me, Sir Cypher. Are you trapped?"
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Havelock is not reassured to know that people can be trapped here.
But he hides it well.
"And so I wait for the opportune time to leave."
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"Pity."
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"I am terribly sorry to trespass on your time so."
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That wasn't quite what he was getting at, but whatever. Mortals.
Puck is not quite sure how to proceed-- in Faerie, most enmities are settled quickly, decisively, or both, and among mortals he has not lingered long. But he is not entirely sure what to do now.
At the very least, he can likely make a pest of himself. He stays put, watching.
Reply
In the Assassin's Guild, it might surprise some to know that violence is not the general recourse during conflict - or at least, not apparent violence.
They are a subtle folk, in enmity as in everything.
(Or at least: This is what they like to think.)
Havelock flips back to the index, and starts running a fingertip thoughtfully down each page.
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And, after a pause, tilts his head slightly and makes the very mild effort required to turn the book into a large, hairy spider.
Except that nothing happens.
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...That does indeed seem to be all.
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He focuses a little harder. Like before, nothing changes.
This will be decidedly ungood, he thinks distantly, if the king really does send an emissary to seek him out.
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The book stays open but unheeded in his hands.
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Well. There is more left to him than shifting shape, or at least there ought to be.
Voice pitched low, and eyes locked on Havelock's face, he murmurs, "Have I distracted you from your scholarship?"
It's intended to compel, and Puck notes with sharp relief that it's working the way it always has: with a sweetening of the air, a lilting quality to light and sound. "You ought to see to it. You seem a great one for taking no notice."
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