AUTHOR'S NOTE - I HAVE NO INTENTION OF MAKING THIS TEATIME/SUSAN! HE IS THERE BECAUSE SUSAN NEEDS A PARTNER (FOR REASONS MENTIONED) AND BECAUSE I AM RELUCTANT TO WRITE LOBSANG BECAUSE I HAVE NOT READ THEIF OF TIME AND WOULD BE WORRIED ABOUT KEEPING HIM IN CHARACTER
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Susan sighed heavily; and it had started off as such a normal week. On Sunday night she'd had a normal dinner, a very normal bath, with a normal amount of bubbles in at a normal temperature, then she'd got dressed into her very normal nightgown and got into her normal bed, blowing out her normal candle before falling into relatively normal sleep.
Then on Monday morning she'd woken up at a normal time, got out of bed and put on her normal dressing gown, walked down the normal stairs into the normal kitchen for a bloody normal cup of coffee.
And found a dead assassin with the kettle, making hot chocolate. An assassin that she'd killed just the year before, a dead assassin who'd turned around, grinned brightly and asked her if she wanted marshmallows or not.
That was where the week got slightly less normal, sadly.
She'd thrown the poker at him again, without even thinking, but it had done little more than make him complain and nearly spill the drinks. When he removed it he'd kept careful hold of it and hadn't let her near the kettle, or any of the kitchen knives, either. And then he'd pressed the warm mug into her hands and chirped at her with that big stupid grin on his face until she'd hit him over the head with a frying pan.
"Susan!" he'd hissed, losing the cheerful tone from his voice for a moment, pulling the pan from her grip then grabbing her wrist and twisting it painfully, "You're not playing fair! I've been very polite, I haven't tried to hurt you, and I made you hot chocolate. I thought we were friends!"
"Friends? You tried to kill me, and grandfather - and enslave the whole Disc! You're a murderer, a monster, a freak!" Susan, to her chagrin, had realised that she was shaking at this point. Disbelief and panic were throttling her senses, anger hadn't quite caught up yet. "And I killed you! You're dead!"
He'd tightened his grip on her wrist until she gasped, before dropping it. He'd stuck out his bottom lip in the manner of a small child, "That's very sad, Susan. I thought we were very good friends, we were having such fun! And then you went and killed me." He faltered for a second, then the malice had gone from his expression, replaced by the usual slash of white teeth. "But now I'm back, Susan! And we can have fun for simply ages!"
He'd made her promise on her grandfather not to hit him again before he would tell her exactly how he'd managed to return. He was a little hazy on the details, but what he did remember was that he'd been offered zombiedom, which he'd turned down on the premise that it 'wasn't particularly elegant'. And then he'd asked if there were any other options.
Any other options. He'd asked. The sheer audacity of the little bugger still astounded her. Since the conversation, she'd researched into the option that Teatime had been granted - poltergeism - and discovered that it was, essentially, a contract with the god of mischief with the intention to cause as much inconvenience as possible, even to the poltergeists themselves.
The poltergeist picked one being on the Disc, whose irritation would power their life energy. They could then live as a normal…individual, provided the irritation continued, until the source died, or just gave in and didn't find the poltergeist annoying anymore. In turn, whenever the poltergeist and subject interacted, the belief generated would go back to the god.
Teatime had chosen well, Susan thought with a scowl; indeed, he'd managed to live for nearly a year without even meeting her because she was generally such an irritable person. And the only way to get rid of him was to kill herself, which she really wasn't planning on doing anytime soon.
On the plus side, though. it meant that he was unable to kill her, which she was feeling very smug about, and it meant that it would be in his interests to step in in case anyone else tried. The protection of an assassin was not something to be sniffed at.
She ran herself a bath; it was a week later, he was still there - and he just wouldn't leave. She'd hoped that he'd just get bored and pick another target, but Teatime really seemed to be serious about the poltergeist thing. Yet another wave of irritation hit her as she realised it was going to be difficult to explain to Lobsang why she had this little cretin hanging around. She pushed the thought away with the twang of loneliness that it brought and concentrated on pouring in the bubble bath.
"You have a very large collection of rubber ducks, Susan."
"I - what?"
There he was, sitting cross-legged in the corner of her bathroom, examining the small bath toys one by one. He held each up for inspection, mismatched eyes wide in boyish curiosity, before tossing it down beside him and picking up the next.
"This one is purple and has a hat. Is it normal to have this many rubber ducks?"
I don't know, I'm not normal was Susan's first answer.
"Yes." she said, somewhat defensively.
"Hmm." Teatime threw the purple be-hatted duck onto the pile and looked over his shoulder at her, "I don't know very much about being normal. I like to think that's something we have in common."
Susan glowered at him and screwed the lid back on the bubble bath with more force than was needed, "Something in common? We have nothing in common, Teatime! We are not friends, I am not having fun, and this is not a game - this is my life!"
Teatime's mouth twitched as he reclined back on the mountain of rubber ducks, hands behind his head. The image was a strange one to behold.
"Tee-ah-tim-eh, Susan." he purred, the dangerous edge back on his chirpy voice, "How many times do I have to tell you?"
"Teatime." she spat. His eyes narrowed.
"I would reintroduce you to my knife, but I fear that would be useless, since we both know that I cannot kill you. More's the pity."
Susan stared at him, trying to communicate as much loathing as possible into one look, before her brain helpfully reminded her that every moment she spent hating him was another moment he got to live. She closed her eyes, then pinched the bridge of her nose, remembering her exact reason for being in the bathroom in the first place.
"Teatime, get out."
"Its Tee-ah-tim-eh. And that's not very polite, Susan. I am always very polite to you."
She rolled her eyes, "I'm having a bath. You need to leave. Now."
"Why?"
He blinked innocently up at her. She glared down at him.
"Go away, Teatime." she picked a loofah up and held it threateningly above her head. He eyed it warily.
"What if I promise not to look?"
She advanced, "It doesn't matter whether you look or not - well, it does, but - its principle! Get out!"
"Won't!" he folded his arms defiantly, "Its so boring hanging around without you, Susan, because the Guild hasn't given me any new clients yet. I won't look, I promise. I'll sit here in the corner and won't move at all."
She rubbed her eyes wearily, lowering the loofah, "Promise?"
"Promise."
She wasn't going to take any chances. Susan clicked her fingers to stop time, slipped out of her dress and into the bath, not restarting time until she'd arranged the bubbles very carefully.
"Oh, that's a very clever trick, Susan." Teatime grinned brightly at her from the other side of then room. She pulled the loofah a little closer. "Can you teach me? I could teach you how to use a knife properly, or how to flip on air, or-"
"It won't work with you, Teatime. You need to be part Death."
Teatime pouted, disappointed, and she picked up her book so she wouldn't have to see the disturbing childlike quality of his face. As she opened her rather heavy hardback copy of 'How to Exorcise your Poltergeist', something slipped out onto the floor.
"You dropped something, Susan. Here." In a flash, he was kneeling by the side of the bath and handing the slip of paper to her. She shrank further into the water and hefted the book at him.
"You said you wouldn't move!"
Needless to say, the book missed, and at any rate he was already back in his little corner with the rubber ducks, reproachful in his confusion. "I was being polite. What is it?"
"Its an invitation to a Midwinter Gala on Thursday, at the Patrician's palace. I hate galas." Susan scowled at the piece of paper, then dropped it into the bathwater, watching with some satisfaction as it turned to pulp.
"Then don't go." he resumed his inspection of the rubber ducks, turning one over in his hands before beheading it deftly with his knife. This seemed to amuse him, so he continued with the rest of the pile.
"Its not that simple. I represent Sto-Helit, so I have to go. And that means I have to go out and buy a new dress, and try and get my hair to look half-tame, and then I have to find someone to go with me. I suppose I could ask Lobsang, but he's so busy…"
"Why do you need to go with someone?"
"Because there are always these ladies there - ones with ratty little husbands that make horrible remarks about how I'm not married yet," she pressed her lips together in a furious grimace, "And then they talk about my parents, and usually insult them, and then they pat me on the shoulder and say - 'never mind, dear!'"
Teatime edged a little closer to the door, putting away his knife to leave both hands free to catch any whirling loofahs that came his way; in the interest of self-preservation, he'd developed a sixth sense in the last week that most men took a lifetime to realise. It was called Oh Shit, She's Upset. Then an idea occurred to him.
"I'll go with you. I'm very good at dancing. And if I'm with you, no one will want talk to you."
Susan stared at him, stunned; she hadn't realised that Teatime was aware of his effect on other people. She looked into his eyes and, for the first time, saw more man than boy.
"Thank you." she said quietly. Teatime's eyes unfocused and he swayed slightly on the spot.
"This isn't good. I think I need to start irritating you again, Susan…" His usual chirp was weak, lifting his hand to his head, "I'm feeling faint…"