Jack Harkness' room :: Mid-2005 timewarp AU :: Milliways

[othercaptjack]

Jack's room is mostly basic, it has to be said.

In fairness, he hasn't had much chance to make it his own - it has only been (ahem) somewhere private to go that is not the TARDIS for when he visits Milliways.

And since he is not Bound, for most of the time it stays empty, storing just some clean clothes and basic necessities (well - basic if you're Jack) and not much else.


There is this to be said for it, too:

The door may be locked, but it is not booby-trapped.

Lucky for some.

Comments

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

"... 'Who's there'?" the voice echoes, somewhat poshly.

"I say, old chap-- you come upon somebody in the bloody throes of the worst dashed shock he's ever had, right as he intends to have a bit of a snack, and you're going to go round asking his name instead of if he's in any bloody pain?"

Laboriously, a pale hand appears over a counter at the far end of the room.

"Have it your own way, I suppose." And as the speaker hauls himself over the edge of the counter, he reveals himself to be a well-to-do gentleman in his middle twenties, sporting a jaunty green tie and a good deal of blood. "Bertram Wooster, at your service. And I do apologize about the swearing, dashed impolite of me, but you see I've fallen somewhat in the line of duty."

He holds out his arm for inspection. Something, or someone, has bitten him rather badly in the forearm.

"Hurts like bloody hell."

[oneman_onevote]

And Havelock thought his accent was a little too upper-class.

The young gentleman is dressed in a style not quite what he is used to, but the manner is more familiar than a good part of the people he meets in Milliways, enough to identify him- wealthy, well-born, no combat experience whatsoever, idiot.

Not necessarily in that order.

"That's to be expected," he says clinically, eyeing it, but making no move to get closer. "Still, you don't appear to have hit any major blood vessels."

You can tell, by the way it isn't spurting. In spite of the apparent depth of the wound.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck sidles a little nearer, sniffing the air. He frowns.

"Who has done it?" he asks.

Bertram Wooster appears affronted by the memory.

"Some fellow just popped up to me and did it. No explanation, no account of himself whatever! Naturally, I got clear of there in a hurry." He frowns around at the kitchen. "This place is a jolly wretched mess. I could use a bit of a repast, myself, but none of it looks the least bit appetizing."

He peers speculatively at Puck, who flashes him a perfectly charming smile.

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock's eyes slide to where Puck has reappeared, and he very carefully doesn't move while he registers the fact that he does not like Puck moving closer to this possible source of - not danger directly, the man is a harmless buffoon, but of contagion, of... -

Then he looks back, and begins a rather warier approach of his own, sword still in hand.

"We encountered similar trouble," he says. "They are most everywhere now. From where have you arrived?"

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Bertram Wooster appears troubled by this revelation. He was already pale when first he appeared; now he looks positively ghastly.

"Why-- I popped in for a spot of something. The spread at Aunt Gussie's wasn't exactly capital, not that it does to tell the old girl. Dreadfully bad manners, that. Anyway, I popped in here from I suppose the sitting-room, and happened on a very dull sort of crowd; nearly everybody looked in a bad way. Then the fellow bit me-- and here I stand before you."

Puck has drawn quite close now. Bertie glances to him with a look between unease and appreciation.

"I say," he says, unsteadily, "have you got anything for this, by any chance? Bandages and whatnot?"

[oneman_onevote]

The fellow clearly has no idea how lucky he has been.

"We can look," Havelock says, eyes lighting on a promising set of drawers. "It's a kitchen, there should be something."

Still keeping within a certain perimeter apparently of his own devising, he begins to look.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck should, perhaps, be flitting about to search for bandages. However, for the moment, he and the wounded man remain in low-voiced conference; at one point, something Puck says evokes a greenish chuckle from Bertie.

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock keeps searching, trying to ignore the prickle of unease that comes from conversation in the same room just out of hearing.

One drawer sticks, but seems to contain folded; and more importantly clean cloths, so he applied himself to opening the thing. They will do.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

So about that unease ...

When Havelock looks next, Bertie seems to have his arms about the fairy's waist. Puck, however, has begun to struggle, making first a low growling sound in his throat and then a noise like a top as he ducks free.

Appearing at the assassin's elbow, he says, "The man is somewhat-- translated--"

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock gets as far as spinning around at the sound before Puck has removed himself, which at least gives them a moment to breathe and stare at the late Bertie's tranformation.

"So it would seem," he says, advancing to meet the thwarted zombie heading their way.

And then, with a form not a single master at the Guild could fault (if not quite the ideal delicacy of language),

"Mr. Wooster. If you are now unable to get ahold of yourself, I will kill you."

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

The late Bertie Wooster, having shifted in complexion from white to gray, stares at Havelock a moment in distant, film-eyed confusion.

Then he lurches forward, groaning.

(Puck goes for a knife, but decides to let Havelock take this one.)

[oneman_onevote]

Well, that's nice and clear.

Havelock feints right in order to get a clear swing, and cuts hard at neck-height. The creature is still slow - too slow to move.

When it lies, twitching toward stillness on the floor, Havelock looks over at Puck again.

"Did he bite you?" he asks, with sudden foreboding.

That single injury is unlikely to be coincidence.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck blinks, slightly stunned.

"He ... did seem to make quite the effort," he says. He rubs his neck. "But I was away ere he could manage it."

He's thinking of how the creatures devoured Hellebore.

"Will you be satisfied? Or had you rather inspect yourself?"

[oneman_onevote]

"I believe you. Any scratches?"

He is tense and still, gazing at Puck's skin in search of marks that might prove fatally similar to the unfortunate Bertram Wooster's.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck returns his regard, shaking his head.

It doesn't occur to him to feel embarrassment for his bare chest, as a fairy's customary weeds may or may not take a form acceptable to a mortal. It does, however, occur to him to step absently nearer.

"If he had managed it," he says, with a glance down at the fallen Bertram, "you think it should have made me likewise mad?"

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock looks down, and nudges at Bertram's dead arm, where he had been wounded.

"According to him, a bite was his only occurrence of contact. I wish I had asked exactly how long ago it was, but perhaps..."

He crouches down to examine the wound, using the swordtip to pull cloth aside.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

"A curse, then."

What Puck doesn't know about germ theory could fill volumes.

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock shrugs.

"It was too fast for any normal infection. I had barely taken my eyes off you both before he... changed."

His tone is mildly and almost unconsciously apologetic.

(He should have known not to look away. Then again, isn't hindsight always perfect like that?)

Meanwhile, he continues examining the dead flesh before him. The wound can't be more than a few hours old, he thinks. Promising, that neither of them have yet showed symptoms.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck draws near him from the side, not quite behind him and certainly not out of his peripheral vision. He touches Havelock's shoulder very lightly with his fingertips.

"If," he says, very patiently, "it is a curse, I think you ought not to go too near-- nor linger long."

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock looks at him sharply, but after a moment he nods slowly, and stands up again.

Of the two of them, he is willing to concede that Puck is likely to know more about curses.

"Perhaps not."

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

... Ah. There's a look to remind him why he has been wary of this fellow.

Puck withdraws with every outward showing of decorum. (Although to be fair, he looks rather like decorum was once described to him and he decided to emulate it on a dare.)

"Besides," he says, "I have yet found only but little repast. You do sup and drink, do you not?"

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Naturally," he says. Then he glances around the room, listening to the sudden quiet.

"Let's make the most of the time we have to search. I don't hear anything else approaching for the moment."

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck smiles.

And, sniffing the air curiously as he goes, he slips over to a covered basket on the table and reveals a quantity of muffins and scones.

It is such a pity the zombies have possession of the meat.

[oneman_onevote]

Indeed.

Havelock hunts in silence - swift, methodical, and just this side of twitchy as he keeps an ear out for any other danger. Apart from anything else, he needs to remain focused, or the lack of sleep will start to catch up with him.

He finds a bag under one of the cabinets, and fills that with whatever he can find that is practical to take away - apples, bread, various cans (once he studies the label and figures out what the ringpull is) - then looks over to see how Puck is getting on.

[puckishly.livejournal.com]

Puck has eaten two scones and one muffin, and slides the basket down the table towards Havelock. (He adds a pair of knives to it first.)

Next up: some slightly suspect cheese.