Introductory Author's Note (sort of important): Okay, the first time I
posted this some people pointed out some things to me. Mainly that this and
the next chapter are very OOC and that really they aren't that funny.
*bows* Many thanks, as I can explain this now.
This fic and the next are not meant to be a) serious or b) in character. We in the DW fanfiction section have been spoiled by some kick-ass characterization (*waves to Mercator, VimesLady and the rest of the gang*). I should have made a larger note about the fact that this is extremely OOC. I don't even think of these things as anything but sugar-induced speculations. And so, bearing that in mind, I ask the (kind, forgiving, gentle, not homicidal in any way . . . ) readers to read this with the fact that this is supposed to just be FUN in the forefronts of their minds. *bows again* Many thanks.
*
Introduction
Summary: A drabble written in the fever of the night. Teenage!Havelock wants a piercing.
Disclaimer: Wow . . . I think Havelock's the only character in this I don't own. Cool.
*
Bruce Joneson was closing up shop for the night when the teenager stumbled in. He was very drunk, Bruce noted. He also was an Assassin-in-training. Bruce opted his kindest 'I-care-about-the-customer' face.
"What can I do fer ye, boy?"
The boy slumped over the counter and looked Bruce up and down. He licked his lips a few times and continued glancing around the front room.
"Alright, boy?"
"Name's Havelock. Not boy," the Assassin said finally. "Need something." Bruce eyed Havelock warily; the boy was obviously beyond the merry drunkenness portrayed in taven advertisements over the town. He looked ill for a moment before fixing Bruce with the most disturbing stare the man had ever encountered.
"What is it?"
"Piercing. Need to get pierced." Havelock coughed once before regaining something resembling control of himself. "Gotta get pierced. Dammit Downey."
Bruce watched the boy for a few minutes before walking around to the front of the counter. He gently took the boy under the shoulder with intents of leading him out of the shop. What did it matter if the curfew wagon picked him up; one less problem for Bruce.
Bruce was not prepared when the boy whirled and suddenly there was a dagger in his face. The young Assassin grabbed Bruce's vest to keep himself on two feet.
"Listen up, Mr. Bruce's Wholesale Tattoos and Piercing," Havelock hissed. "I'm very drunk. I'm also an Assassin-in-training with exceptionally low marks in everything. And I'm bloody rich. So either you stick something in me or I'll kill you."
Bruce nodded and put his hands up in a position of surrender. The boy made no sense but he did, in fact, have more than three knives on his person and one of them happened to be in Bruce's face. So Bruce opted for the 'survival' option and took the boy once again under the shoulder. This time, however, he led him into the back room.
"So where would you like a piercing?" Bruce asked caustiously once he had depostied the boy in the reclining chair. Havelock sprawled in it bonelessly. The boy bit his lip and stared at the ceiling for a while. Bruce waited patiently, running his hand over his bald head.
"Two," Havelock said suddenly. "Want two. One in the tongue and . . . and one right here." He pulled up his black shirt and pointed to his navel. Bruce, who usually didn't consider men's bodies beautiful, found himself amazed by the white skin and the six-pack beneath it. It was a thing of beauty. Havelock coughed again and Bruce snapped out of his fascination. "Can you do it?" the Assassin asked.
"Would you like some ice?" Bruce asked.
END
Author's Note: Okay, the first time I posted this some people pointed out some things to me. Mainly that this and the next chapter are very OOC and that really they aren't that funny. *bows* Many thanks, as I can explain this now.
This fic and the next are not meant to be a) serious or b) in character. We in the DW fanfiction section have been spoiled by some kick-ass characterization (*waves to Mercator, VimesLady and the rest of the gang*). I should have made a larger note about the fact that this is extremely OOC. I don't even think of these things as anything but sugar-induced speculations. And so, bearing that in mind, I ask the (kind, forgiving, gentle, not homicidal in any way . . . ) readers to read this with the fact that this is supposed to just be FUN in the forefronts of their minds. *bows again* Many thanks.
This fic and the next are not meant to be a) serious or b) in character. We in the DW fanfiction section have been spoiled by some kick-ass characterization (*waves to Mercator, VimesLady and the rest of the gang*). I should have made a larger note about the fact that this is extremely OOC. I don't even think of these things as anything but sugar-induced speculations. And so, bearing that in mind, I ask the (kind, forgiving, gentle, not homicidal in any way . . . ) readers to read this with the fact that this is supposed to just be FUN in the forefronts of their minds. *bows again* Many thanks.
*
Introduction
Summary: A drabble written in the fever of the night. Teenage!Havelock wants a piercing.
Disclaimer: Wow . . . I think Havelock's the only character in this I don't own. Cool.
*
Bruce Joneson was closing up shop for the night when the teenager stumbled in. He was very drunk, Bruce noted. He also was an Assassin-in-training. Bruce opted his kindest 'I-care-about-the-customer' face.
"What can I do fer ye, boy?"
The boy slumped over the counter and looked Bruce up and down. He licked his lips a few times and continued glancing around the front room.
"Alright, boy?"
"Name's Havelock. Not boy," the Assassin said finally. "Need something." Bruce eyed Havelock warily; the boy was obviously beyond the merry drunkenness portrayed in taven advertisements over the town. He looked ill for a moment before fixing Bruce with the most disturbing stare the man had ever encountered.
"What is it?"
"Piercing. Need to get pierced." Havelock coughed once before regaining something resembling control of himself. "Gotta get pierced. Dammit Downey."
Bruce watched the boy for a few minutes before walking around to the front of the counter. He gently took the boy under the shoulder with intents of leading him out of the shop. What did it matter if the curfew wagon picked him up; one less problem for Bruce.
Bruce was not prepared when the boy whirled and suddenly there was a dagger in his face. The young Assassin grabbed Bruce's vest to keep himself on two feet.
"Listen up, Mr. Bruce's Wholesale Tattoos and Piercing," Havelock hissed. "I'm very drunk. I'm also an Assassin-in-training with exceptionally low marks in everything. And I'm bloody rich. So either you stick something in me or I'll kill you."
Bruce nodded and put his hands up in a position of surrender. The boy made no sense but he did, in fact, have more than three knives on his person and one of them happened to be in Bruce's face. So Bruce opted for the 'survival' option and took the boy once again under the shoulder. This time, however, he led him into the back room.
"So where would you like a piercing?" Bruce asked caustiously once he had depostied the boy in the reclining chair. Havelock sprawled in it bonelessly. The boy bit his lip and stared at the ceiling for a while. Bruce waited patiently, running his hand over his bald head.
"Two," Havelock said suddenly. "Want two. One in the tongue and . . . and one right here." He pulled up his black shirt and pointed to his navel. Bruce, who usually didn't consider men's bodies beautiful, found himself amazed by the white skin and the six-pack beneath it. It was a thing of beauty. Havelock coughed again and Bruce snapped out of his fascination. "Can you do it?" the Assassin asked.
"Would you like some ice?" Bruce asked.
END
Author's Note: Okay, the first time I posted this some people pointed out some things to me. Mainly that this and the next chapter are very OOC and that really they aren't that funny. *bows* Many thanks, as I can explain this now.
This fic and the next are not meant to be a) serious or b) in character. We in the DW fanfiction section have been spoiled by some kick-ass characterization (*waves to Mercator, VimesLady and the rest of the gang*). I should have made a larger note about the fact that this is extremely OOC. I don't even think of these things as anything but sugar-induced speculations. And so, bearing that in mind, I ask the (kind, forgiving, gentle, not homicidal in any way . . . ) readers to read this with the fact that this is supposed to just be FUN in the forefronts of their minds. *bows again* Many thanks.