It is a truth universally acknowledged that the effects of alcohol, even when they themselves have long departed, always leave a calling card. Scumble was no different, only it left a very large and fancy calling card, embossed with cursive writing and huge guilt edges.
Margolotta awoke and blinked several times to get her basic existential bearings* back. It was morning. Still very early in the morning, but to someone who habitually sleeps in the pitch black of a coffin, even the faintest light is enough to wake you. Unfortunately, she thought, wincing and very, very gently raising her head.
*Who am I? Why am I here? What is the meaning of life? Why does my head hurt so much?
She was lying, for the most part of it, on Havelock Vetinari and for the other part on his bed. Neither of them appeared to be wearing anything. Al-right, she thought, let's see, I remember- Vetinari stirred, woken by her movement, and, with some difficulty, she rolled off him and onto her stomach. "Oh gods." he moaned softly, covering his face with his hands.
She rolled her neck around in a circle to try and get the cricks out of it, frowning in concentration as she tried to will the alcoholic side-effects from her system. It is not that vampires have a special ability to erase hangovers; they simply have minds strong enough to control the minds of others. A mind as powerful as that doesn't have much trouble with things like willing away a hangover.
Next to her, Vetinari was trying to do exactly the same thing, but without as much success considering he didn't have the species advantage.
A few moments later, her mind having conquered the matter of the hangover, at least to a sufficient degree, she sat up and, pulling the sheet around her, got out of bed and began locating her clothes. Her jumper required her to venture into the (mercifully) still dark Oblong Office in order to retrieve it. Some of Vetinari's things were there too and she picked them up as well while she was at it.
When she returned, Vetinari had navigated his way out of bed and was now fumbling with the cords of the nightgown he was wearing.
"Good morning?" It was phrased more as a question than as a statement.
Vetinari looked up and flashed her a lightning smile. "Depends." he said, taking the clothes she was holding out to him, "Good night, now, on the other hand…"
She grinned and turned her back to him, holding up her hair, "Would you mind?"
"Not at all," he said, lacing her corset up for her, "Ah, and that reminds me - I would have mentioned it last night already, but what with one thing and another… why on the disc do you still wear corsets? I thought you'd given those up when you started dressing more..." he paused, fishing for the phrase the ghost of the scumble was still holding hostage.
"Jumper-y?" Margolotta offered, parts of her vocabulary also still being held just out of reach.
"Well, yes, I suppose. Not a perfect description but it will do."
"Well, you know what they say about vampires…" Margolotta prompted.
" 'They' say a lot of things about vampires. Does it get a little more specific?"
"Vampires and habits - we find it somewhat hard to break them. Besides," she added smoothly, "I happen to like them."
"As do I." Vetinari added, pulling the last string taut and running his hands down the sides of her corset. In front of him Margolotta swallowed, glad he couldn't see her expression. He grasped hold of her hips and pulled her close against him, winding his arms around her body and brushing his lips against the smooth skin of her shoulder.
"I'm afraid I've missed you, Margolotta." he mumbled matter-of-factly into her hair.
"Hmmn." was the most she could manage at that point, leaning cat-like into his embrace and lacing her fingers into his. "You needn't." she managed, a moment later, "Ambassadorial duties take me to Ankh-Morpork often enough."
"You know what I mean. And now," he said, giving her shoulder one last peck, then slowly releasing her, "I think we'd better get on with things."
Margolotta blinked for a moment, then pulled her jumper over her head and turned to a nearby wall mirror to fix her hair as best she could.
"You know," she began, patting her hair in the mirror and doing her very best impression of nonchalance, "considering the success of the recent exception to the rule of, shall we say non-interference between our two states, I would certainly agree to revising said rule."
"So that the exception becomes the rule?" Vetinari quizzed lightly, as, in the mirror, his reflection smiled at hers. By now, he could read Margolotta like a book. Yes, perhaps he sometimes needed a dictionary to get by, but that was nothing when no-one else could even open it.
"Oh, let's not go quite that far, but yes: I agree." More carefully contrived nonchalance that Vetinari could see through at a glance and that she, deep down, sensed he could.
"You're quite right, Margolotta. A - how shall we put it now - closer, more intimate relationship between our two states would benefit all parties involved, would it not." He didn't even bother to phrase it as a question, instead busying himself with buttoning up his robe of office.
"I have one condition." Margolotta announced, politician once more.
Vetinari paused in the act of straightening his sash and raised an eyebrow at her turned back, "And that would be?"
Margolotta turned away from the mirror and grinned. "Next time, I'll provide the drinks." she said.
A slow smile spread across Vetinari's lips, "Yes, and I do believe something a little less… lethal will be in order."
"Consider it done."
She was at the window now, standing poised and ready to leave. He busied himself with his attire, trying, by pretending not to be in the least disturbed by her departure, to preserve a sense of indifferent detachment that he felt he'd been sorely lacking in the past few hours.
"Havelock."
He looked up. How could he not?
She raised her right hand to her forehead in a casual two-fingered salute. "Here's to us." And with those words, she stepped out of the window.
He turned, slowly, and walked over to the window where, when he reached it, he could just make out a faint light disappearing into the sunrise. Below him, he heard the familiar sounds of the city that famously never slept, waking up from its little catnap. He stayed there for a moment, watching the fading light with the faintest hint of a smile on his face, then turned and walked through the door, headed for the Oblong Office where the City would be waiting for him to rule it.