stilljustandrew | (no subject)

(no subject)

*The thing about Summoning, the key thing, is knowing the true name of whatever it is you're trying to Summon.*

*This guy, well ... he's called several things. But Andrew's pretty sure he's got the right name. And he's got the circle of salt, and the crystals set at the precise points around it, and a few carefully placed drops of his own blood. (The band-aid on his finger has a picture of Spongebob Squarepants on it.)*

*He's crouched at the circle's edge, chanting, and his low voice rises to a near-shout as a pale glow appears at its center and brightens rapidly.*

*And coalesces into a humanoid shape.*

*Andrew slowly rises, smiling.*

Hi there, Puck.

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You know, Puck was having a fairly decent evening.

But then he started to get rather a strange feeling, as if his body didn't want to be where it was, but instead were being drawn somewhere else entirely-- and then, too quickly for much to be done about it, it was true.

There is, therefore, a rather baffled and irritable fae standing at the center of Andrew's circle.

*Andrew perches on the edge of the bed.*

I won't keep you too long -- matter of fact, I won't keep you at all. No Binding. I just wanted a word with you, and you're kind of a hard guy to find sometimes, you know that?

Puck glances around, affecting boredom to disguise more-than-faint agitation, and steps neatly out of the circle.

No Binding, after all.

"I have been told that, from time to time," he says, tone at that nebulous and hostile pitch between a growl and a purr.

"But now that you have my attention, sirrah, what sort of word would suit you?"

Well, it's the funniest thing. Someone's been dropping love-in-idleness all over the place, past couple weeks.

*He leans forward, elbows on knees.*

Which, I figure either it's you or someone's stealing your schtick, and either way you'd have some interest in the matter.

"Have they really?"

Puck's eyebrows arch delicately.

"I suppose that does explain the unusual numbers of sleepers in recent days. I had wondered."

*Check.*

And you know what else?

I was reading up on the problem, and someone knocked me out and stole my book.

And I want it back.

"Really."

Puck shakes his head sympathetically.

"What a world we live in. How do you propose to go about regaining it, precisely?"

*Andrew smiles at him. Almost brightly.*

I propose to make it your problem.

You get me my book back, and no questions asked about who took it in the first place.

*He is totally not saying that in a fake James Bond voice.*

*...Maybe a little.*

Puck tilts his head.

"You shall have to forgive me for wondering why I should care whether such questions were raised." A smile, as if Andrew's telling a joke and simply hasn't hit the punchline yet. "Or does no one care for evidence, these days?"

*Andrew just looks at him for a long moment.*

I'm not talking about taking this to Security or anything. Just that you might care about whether or not people believe you were responsible.

If it wasn't you who did it, I bet you could find out who it was.

Again, the eyebrows go up.

"And you should really trade all that knowledge for a book."

*Another pause.*

Everything else wore off. The book being missing is the only thing still wrong, and if I get that back we're good. No harm, no foul.

.... Oh crap, did it wear off?

That doesn't bode well for Demetrius and Helena.

SORRY KIDS PUCK'S BAD.

Meanwhile, Puck smiles curiously. "You really do miss it." The smile turns abruptly to something closer to a grin. "I wonder what was in it."

*Well, no, it didn't wear off exactly. But Andrew's not going to tell him everything, now is he?*

Herbology, mostly. Stuff I need for work.

"Herbology."

Puck pouts. He's been standing just outside the circle, but now he takes one step forward, two. Lazy and deliberate.

"Is that really all you called on me for?" A quick glance over his shoulder, down at the circle, then up to Andrew again. "One would think, hard to find though I may be, that a conjurer such as yourself shouldn't waste such a pretty trick on something so trifling."

Okay, (a), it's not trifling. And (b), that's not the point.

*Andrew's starting to sound annoyed.*

"Really?"

Puck sighs. Another step nearer.

"Then what is? Because usually, you understand, when I am summoned so close by someone's bed, the general purpose is somewhat less dry than books and letters." His lashes flutter. "For all I know this might be foreplay; I hardly know your tastes."

*A beat, and when he speaks it's very flat.*

Didn't stop you from messing with them, though, did it.

Puck may or may not be impressed with the lack of sputtering.

Coolly, "With whom?"

Not whom, what. With my tastes.

All in good fun, right?

Oh, right.

Those.

"Prithee don't sulk, duck," he says, resisting an urge to roll his eyes. "In terms of the charms and hazards of this place, I judge that there are far worse than mine. Do all who work those enchantments merit such a cozy visit, or only the ones who offend you personally?"

*Again there's a long pause.*

You shouldn't've dosed River Tam.

That was low.

Puck blinks, surprised.

"I quite like River Tam. And she nearly fell in love with me, you know. That really should have been dreadful."

...Dude, you're totally in your own little world, aren't you.

"... Is that a problem?"

You know what, this is not my day to teach you a Valuable Life Lesson, 'kay?

Leave the book with Bar. I'll call you again if I don't see it in the next two days.

Puck smiles, eyebrows arching curiously.

"Do you know what I think?" He tilts his head to the side, almost friendly.

"I think you shan't ever call me again. For if you do, I really won't be inclined to deal nicely with you, and what may come of that I hardly care to discover. In the meantime, you may save your lessons and threats both, and I shall see what I can do about your book."

*A long, put-upon sigh.*

I wasn't threatening you.

If I were, it would've included something like, um ... *He glances up, and starts ticking off points on his fingers.*

Cold iron. Rowan berries. Summoning Oberon and telling him what you've been up to. Or, uh, this --

*He reaches into his pocket, and holds up his cellphone.*

Puck does not point out that while cold iron is definitely threatening, rowan berries don't usually do more than sting and leave itchy rashes.

Nor does he point out that Oberon, wherever he is, would a) not take kindly to being summoned, and b) not care what the hell Puck's doing anyway.

The cell phone, however, merits a curious once-over. Then a twice-over.

"And what, pray tell," coolly, "is that?"

Is it a death laser?

Because if it were a death laser that might be cool.

It's a cellphone. A device for communicating.

It's been transmitting this entire conversation to a recording device in the Security office.

Puck looks slightly alarmed.

"... Has it? Prove it."

*Andrew's eyes flicker to the phone and away again.*

...Oh, sure. You'd like that, wouldn't you.

"I really should," Puck says, beginning to look a little anxious, "because if it has been, and the dear, hardworking souls of Security already have this entire exchange ringing in their ears, it shall be too late by far to bother with bargains concerning what you will or will not make known to them, the bar at large, or anyone, really."

A beat.

"Not to mention they'll know I thought you called me here for sex."

Oh, no one's listening to it yet. It's just recording, not playing out loud.

That was more sort of insurance, in case you decided to ... not be inclined to deal nicely with me.

"But if it is in their office," Puck protests, frowning, "how on Earth are you to ensure they shan't listen to it before you can go to claim it? What did you tell them, anyhow, when you put it there? 'Please be careful of my recording device, no really it isn't important don't trouble yourself'?"

I didn't tell them anything. I just set it up with Baby.

You did know I'm in charge of Baby since Tim Hunter left?

Puck resolutely does not look ill. Even if there is little love lost between him and Baby.

"I do seem to recall something of the sort." He makes a face. "'Twas the Megling who told me, as I recall. She was quite pleased about it, and the fact that you allegedly spoke a dozen demonic languages."

His expression might say, But you won't show me how that cellphone works, so who knows?

...Yeah.

*If Andrew's own expression grows a little tighter at the mention of Meg, it's not very much so.*

Anyway. I'm not threatening you. I'm not Binding you. I'm not even reporting you to Security, and I probably should after what you pulled.

So you think maybe you could see your way clear to giving me my frelling book back?

Puck heaves a long-suffering sigh, and doesn't even attempt to argue that no, he really shouldn't get reported to Security after what he pulled.

There's just no convincing some people, you know.

"Maybe," he says finally, as if he is doing Andrew a huge favor by considering returning his stolen property.

"Two days, at least, shall give me ample time to investigate the veracity of your claims."

...forget it. If you could find the recording, you could destroy it.

Though anyway it doesn't matter. If I went to Security and told them you admitted it to me, even if I didn't have proof, who do you think they'd believe?

Puck smiles slowly.

And not particularly nicely.

"You wound me, Andrew," he drawls, a drawl that is almost a purr. "One does wonder what became of a trial of one's peers, if ever there was anything. I'll tell thee, however, quite friendly in your ear: This place does not hold me any longer. If I wished to disappear before your darling Security could get hold of me, disappear I certainly should."

Leaning in closer now, and he never was very far away; still, he's ready to dart back if Andrew pulls out any manner of weapon.

"You play a decent sorceror, dearling, but I have known better than you, and even they are mostly glamours and bluster." He smiles, stepping back lightly to the center of his circle. "In the meantime, two days. I shall see about your book."

And with that, he disappears.

*He takes a step forward and flings out a hand, his movements involuntary, jerky and stiff. And too late. Puck's gone.*

*This place does not hold me any longer.*

*Somewhere in Andrew's head, he's hearing a different voice, saying: Because I get to do whatever I want now.*

*His hand falls back to his side and clenches into a fist, tight enough to start the pinprick on his finger bleeding again.*

Two days, trickster, *he says aloud, very softly.*

You get two days.

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