Utterly ridiculous.
Lord Havelock Vetinari regarded the mess of corsetry; it was like a very complex game of dominos, only with ribbons and pointless little frilly bow bits and hooks that appeared to hook onto absolutely nothing, and the unfortunate side affect that, unlike dominos, if you made a wrong move they didn't just all fall over, they did up tighter.
His eyes narrowed minutely, face impassive.
"Everything alright, Havelock?" Margolotta asked sweetly, pushing back her hair and watching him over her shoulder, absolutely not smirking smugly.
There was a pause.
"I am going to outlaw corsets."
"On what grounds?"
He could work out the physics of juggling with one glance, and juggle a whole city's political system with his mind. He could make half the city soil their pants with the lifting of one eyebrow.
He considered briefly, in a somewhat detached manner, that the Disc could forget sonkies - corsets with lacing like this were the real reason the city's overcrowding issues were being curbed. You couldn't get within a foot of woman without encountering some sort of ridiculous intricate lacework with the strength of iron bars. He was going to have to have a word with the Dressmakers.
"The same reason I outlawed mimes; the greater good."
He lifted one end of a ribbon between his fingers, tugged gently, and…yes, he nodded triumphantly as the criss-crossing lacework unravelled and he was able to access the hooks, slipping them all off with a single hand movement. The two halves of the corset separated cleanly and slipped apart.
"It appears I've finally found a dressmaker good enough to challenge you." Margolotta turned and grinned - victorious and infuriatingly radiant.
Vetinari glanced at a small pocket watch, "Indeed. Forty seven seconds; a personal best for you, I believe."
"Capital," she laughed, but he'd already stood up, climbed off the bed, and was halfway to the door.
"You think you're so funny."
The minute curling of his lips directed towards her as he turned back was so genuine that one might have assigned special meaning to it. Especially as its recipient was sat on his bed, distinctly corset-less. "I beg to differ. I know I am so funny."
And then the lights went out.
"That's cheating, Margolotta."
Lord Vetinari had better night vision than most men, but there was a difference between darkness and total absence of light. He sensed Margolotta's presence beside him before he felt her deft fingers undoing his shirt buttons.
"The roof?" he stilled her hands with his own.
"Yes."
"How many?"
"…Four." he could hear the grin in her voice, and if the moonlight had invested in better dramatic timing it would have glinted pleasingly off her incisors, "Around the wrong window, though."
"Now, Margolotta," he murmured, leaning forwards until he could feel her hair brush his cheek, "You've done something cruel, haven't you?"
Her voice was teasing as she darted away into the blackness, "I'm afraid those plucky Times reporters won't get much sleep tonight."
"A secret bedroom in the palace's west wing?"
"With an underground passage connecting to the Uberwaldian Embassy's cellar, no less."
"Inventive."
"Practical. I wish it were true. Much easier than arriving here a la bat."
Vetinari crept towards her voice carefully, "No corsets with the bats, though."
"Oh, but the corsets are the fun part."
He consulted the map of the room in his head, and altered his course to avoid barking his shin on the bedpost. His fingers brushed duvet, then window ledge.
"I can think of many things far more fun, madam."
"Paperwork? Politics?"
"This." he gripped the curtains, then pulled them apart, a beam of moonlight illuminating the area where he'd - correctly - suspected her ladyship to be hiding. The silver light made her pale skin almost luminescent as she stood in front of the dresser, hands on hips and amused. His mind informed him (rather belatedly, since the rest of him was very much aware) that she wasn't wearing her skirt anymore. Or anything anymore, for that matter.
"Everything alright, Havelock?"
He effected nonchalance expertly and nodded, "Of course, my Lady."
She tilted her head to one side thoughtfully, listening for the sounds of heartbeats, as he slowly made his way over to her. "Poor Mr De Worde and his friends have gone home now."
"They'll try again tomorrow, no doubt."
"No doubt."
Vetinari stopped pointedly. Three feet of twilight stretched out between them.
"You're treading a fine line, Margolotta…" he murmured.
"So are you. So are we all." for a split second, her face worked, as if she were debating whether or not to depart something troubling her, "Sometimes I-"
"Yes?"
Her gazed moved to the window, the moonlight highlighting the deep burgundy of her eyes. It was amazing how a simple reflection of solar energy could create such an illusion of vulnerability. She folded her arms, a natural reflex to the cool breeze hitting the body that had never felt cold.
"Nevermind."
He closed the gap between them, placing his hand gently on her shoulder; somehow, it was more intimate than a kiss or caress could ever be. He said, without speaking, I know.
They stood there for a moment, his chin resting atop her head, her forehead against his chest. She exhaled and stepped back, the radiant smile returning.
"Lord Havelock Vetinari!"
He raised a hand in a slow mock salute, "Madam?"
"Look at you! Shirt half-buttoned, tie untied, and gods knows where your waistcoat and outer robes are!"
"I believe you threw them onto the chair," he gestured towards them with one fluid movement of his wrist, "Though at any rate, they are now on the floor."
She regarded them, tapping her lips playfully with a finger. He felt himself instinctively growing wary; when a vampire becomes playful, one is meddling in things man was meant to not wot of. Without even needing to glance downwards, he took a calculating step forward.
There was a crunch. Margolotta's eyes narrowed in a way that would make whole mountain ranges whimper and lie down flat. He smiled back.
"You didn't."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
She swept the corsetry up from the floor, "I can't believe you put your shoes back on specifically…"
"Specifically? I don't believe I ever took them off. I do apologise for my clumsiness, however."
Margolotta considered the hooks and ribbons, all bent and ripped past use. With the smallest of sighs, she snapped her fingers, the corset disappearing into a small pile of ash into her palm. "I shall have to commission Amelia to make Lady Mortal another, and this time I assure you it will be devious."
"Lady Mortal?" Vetinari asked, amused, "Her first name being…?"
"Toga."
"I was afraid it would be Goat."
"The Mortals are a highly respected, though rather…little-known noble family from Von Blintz, you know." She crossed the room and sprinkled the ashes out of the window, "We're awfully good friends."
"Well, do not trouble poor Lady Toga with another order; Ankh-Morpork boasts the best seamstresses after all, so I shall purchase one for you and send it along."
"How very generous of you, Havelock."
The two powers of state stood in the middle of the room facing each other, examining the contents of each others' heads. It tended to happen rather a lot.
"It appears the mood has rather gotten away from us," Margolotta sighed. Vetinari arched an eyebrow.
"From you, maybe."
"Hmmm. Your fault, you know." She walked back over to the bed and sat down, legs crossed elegantly, on the end of it, then examined her nails nonchalantly.
Vetinari smiled, and it would be difficult not to attach a very distinct meaning to it this time, as he slowly approached her. "Allow me to make amends, then."
-x-x-x-
"What a magnificent parcel, Igor. Is it for me?"
Igor's larger eye twitched slightly in irritation; Ladyship had always had the knack for knowing exactly when he was behind her. "It ith indeed, Mithtreth."
She turned on her chair, stroking the small dog in her lap absently as she reached for the large package, "How exciting. I do love getting parcels. And with no address? Stimulating indeed."
"It wath thent via Igor, Igor's couthin in Ankh-Morpork, to me. Ath there wath no note, I thuthpected it would be for you."
Ladyship slipped a small dagger from her sleeve and ran it down the side of the packaging, splitting the brown paper and sliding the large box out from inside. She opened it.
A corset, coloured cream with beautiful crimson stitching sat inside. She lifted it and turned it over; a tremendous array of deep maroon lacing joined the two halves, criss-crossing ribbons covered the split in an arrangement more complicated than any she'd seen before. Quite a feat, since there were only so many ways one could lace a corset.
"Hmm." she murmured, suspicious. She placed one hand on either side of the adjoining ribbons and bows and stupid hooks that looked like they did absolutely nothing…
…Because they didn't actually do anything. She tugged, and with a satisfying czzzch-noise the two parts of the corset separated cleanly. Her eyes narrowed. The mountains cowered. A small piece of paper dropped into her lap. She read it.
"Veni, Vidi, Velcro…*"
*which means, if your Latatian is a little rusty - I came, I saw, I got rid of all the bloody fiddly bits.
