Vampire AU of Fabulosity - Puck-Igor
Puck perches on the edge of the emphatically large and emphatically red four-poster bed, regarding Igor as one might a light snack. Igor, for his part, regards Puck as one might a spoiled rich brat who has broken into his home.
... In the latter instance, three out of four happen to be correct.
"Will you answer me two questions, sirrah?" Puck asks pleasantly.
Igor smiles, stretching the stitches across his face in a horrible and highly intriguing fashion.
"Thlippery, young mathter," he notes.
(Other people might suppose that the smile was meant to intimidate or deter.
Puck is not those people.)
"Yes, well," Puck agrees, legs kicking idly. He smiles back, with considerably less by way of facial stitchery. "At any rate, there is something I should dearly like to know of thee, good thir Igor."
Igor thnor-- err. Snorts.
"Are you mocking me?"
"... Only very slightly," Puck decides. He leans forward with urgency. "But I pray thee, do answer me this."
Igor looks at him skeptically. Puck presses on, with the slightly desperate aspect of one unveiling a conspiracy.
"--Why does your mistress pronounce only some of her w's as v's?" The fairy's expression is woefully perplexed. "Betimes she even chooses to speak the same word with a wholly different accent! I do vonder at it."
Now, the thing to understand about this Igor is that he's been around the block a time or two. (Not that they tend to have blocks in Uberwald.) He's seen the lady's victims come and go, the Morporkian boys with their 'I say's and their unshakeable convictions that the world cannot possibly deviate from the very smooth, very narrow road of their experience.
And he is, even as Igors go, very good about what he does.
"You know, young mathter," he says, with the faintly indulgent air of one imparting a lesson, "the Igor lithp ith jutht ath valuable a cultural artifact ath thethe handth and my father'th right foot."
Puck blinks.
And looks Igor up and down.
"Do you inherit, ah-- all your appendages from somebody else?"
Igor sighs. Puck rolls his eyes and seems to relent.
"Your father was quite generous to part with his foot," he notes, hands folding politely in his lap. "Hadn't he any use for it?"
"Oh, he kept a number of thpareth," Igor says, but seems to warm to the compliment. "He gave it to me when I entered the thervith of Lady Margolotta-- it'th a wonderful foot. Never even blithterth."
Puck's expression darkens.
"Ah," he says. "Yes."
Igor's eyebrows arch, an action that puts Puck in mind of shifting clock-gears for no good reason.
"My only point, young thir, ith that you won't get very far in Uberwald if you inthitht on making fun of other people'th cuthtomth."
'Other people'th cuthtomth,' Puck thinks but does not say, killed him. And it is by her machinations only that he has this imitation to lay claim to.
All he does is smile.
"Now," Igor continues, "if I may athk you two quethtionth."
Puck's smile neither flickers nor diminishes.
"Athk away," he purrs.
Igor looks somewhat irked.
"Where did you come from?" And how soon will you leave is only implied.
Puck laughs at that.
"Oh, sir, good my homespun sir," he says, "ask and ask at your leisure, but as for answers-- I have been a servant myself, and I know that there are precious few confidences that a servant, once he has them, will not share immediately with his master." A tilt of his head. "Or mistress, as it happens."
Igor spares him another ghastly smile.
"It wath worth," he says, with dignity, "a shot."
Puck grins.
"Oh, I expect so. And I expect I shall give you ample opportunity for others." Thunder rumbles outside; Puck looks vaguely perplexed and Igor vaguely amused.
"Ah-- in the meantime," Puck says.
He flashes Igor another smile, bright and beatific.
"How are you at 'Beggar My Neighbor'?"
... In the latter instance, three out of four happen to be correct.
"Will you answer me two questions, sirrah?" Puck asks pleasantly.
Igor smiles, stretching the stitches across his face in a horrible and highly intriguing fashion.
"Thlippery, young mathter," he notes.
(Other people might suppose that the smile was meant to intimidate or deter.
Puck is not those people.)
"Yes, well," Puck agrees, legs kicking idly. He smiles back, with considerably less by way of facial stitchery. "At any rate, there is something I should dearly like to know of thee, good thir Igor."
Igor thnor-- err. Snorts.
"Are you mocking me?"
"... Only very slightly," Puck decides. He leans forward with urgency. "But I pray thee, do answer me this."
Igor looks at him skeptically. Puck presses on, with the slightly desperate aspect of one unveiling a conspiracy.
"--Why does your mistress pronounce only some of her w's as v's?" The fairy's expression is woefully perplexed. "Betimes she even chooses to speak the same word with a wholly different accent! I do vonder at it."
Now, the thing to understand about this Igor is that he's been around the block a time or two. (Not that they tend to have blocks in Uberwald.) He's seen the lady's victims come and go, the Morporkian boys with their 'I say's and their unshakeable convictions that the world cannot possibly deviate from the very smooth, very narrow road of their experience.
And he is, even as Igors go, very good about what he does.
"You know, young mathter," he says, with the faintly indulgent air of one imparting a lesson, "the Igor lithp ith jutht ath valuable a cultural artifact ath thethe handth and my father'th right foot."
Puck blinks.
And looks Igor up and down.
"Do you inherit, ah-- all your appendages from somebody else?"
Igor sighs. Puck rolls his eyes and seems to relent.
"Your father was quite generous to part with his foot," he notes, hands folding politely in his lap. "Hadn't he any use for it?"
"Oh, he kept a number of thpareth," Igor says, but seems to warm to the compliment. "He gave it to me when I entered the thervith of Lady Margolotta-- it'th a wonderful foot. Never even blithterth."
Puck's expression darkens.
"Ah," he says. "Yes."
Igor's eyebrows arch, an action that puts Puck in mind of shifting clock-gears for no good reason.
"My only point, young thir, ith that you won't get very far in Uberwald if you inthitht on making fun of other people'th cuthtomth."
'Other people'th cuthtomth,' Puck thinks but does not say, killed him. And it is by her machinations only that he has this imitation to lay claim to.
All he does is smile.
"Now," Igor continues, "if I may athk you two quethtionth."
Puck's smile neither flickers nor diminishes.
"Athk away," he purrs.
Igor looks somewhat irked.
"Where did you come from?" And how soon will you leave is only implied.
Puck laughs at that.
"Oh, sir, good my homespun sir," he says, "ask and ask at your leisure, but as for answers-- I have been a servant myself, and I know that there are precious few confidences that a servant, once he has them, will not share immediately with his master." A tilt of his head. "Or mistress, as it happens."
Igor spares him another ghastly smile.
"It wath worth," he says, with dignity, "a shot."
Puck grins.
"Oh, I expect so. And I expect I shall give you ample opportunity for others." Thunder rumbles outside; Puck looks vaguely perplexed and Igor vaguely amused.
"Ah-- in the meantime," Puck says.
He flashes Igor another smile, bright and beatific.
"How are you at 'Beggar My Neighbor'?"