raith_rogue | To Kill a Puck--the debriefing

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To Kill a Puck--the debriefing

Thomas was pacing. Prowling. He had a poisoned and recovering puck in his bed, he'd spent an uncomfortable, restless night on the couch, and his demon was all for taking advantage of the weakened state of his houseguest, which was the main reason for the pacing.

Also, because Harry was supposed to be there. He hadn't pushed when Harry had asked if it could wait until morning, because he wasn't sure just how serious the current situation was--probably not 'drop everything and get over here' serious, at any rate. But now it was morning, and Thomas was hungry and had had about three cups of coffee too many, and he just wanted Harry to get here so he could have something to distract him. Oh, and because Harry could probably help, if anyone could, but at the moment that was secondary.

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At Thomas' comment, Robin snorted disdainfully. "Of course they do," he said. "Though not everyone should be so lucky."

Still, as much as he liked being contrary, Thomas had done him a hell of a favor, and he could appreciate that much, at least. So he turned, displaying his own magnificent ass as he walked back to the bedroom to pull on Thomas' robe.

"Charming, isn't he?" Thomas drawled as Robin departed, releasing his hold on Harry to move around the bar and get himself another cup of coffee. What the hell, he'd probably need it. "A sirrush. That's what he called that thing, yeah."

Harry moved away from Thomas as soon as he was released, but refrained from glaring again. "Okay. I'll talk to Bob." He glanced towards Thomas's bedroom and then back at his brother. "What is he?" he asked softly.

"He's...a puck," Thomas answered just as softly. "A faerie...sort of. Nothing like any fae I've ever encountered, though," he was quick to add.

"Hell's bells," Harry swore, because didn't that just figure? "What court?"

It didn't take Robin long to find the robe and throw it on (he even cinched it shut), and he walked back in just in time to catch that.

"Court," he repeated with clear disdain. "Honestly. I was around before your fae knew how to count their own toes, let along organize into an arbitrary monarchy."

Thomas arched an eyebrow at Robin's reply. It wasn't a question he'd known the answer to, but he found it hard to believe that Robin was that old.

Then again, he didn't believe two-thirds of what came out of Robin's mouth, so he just lumped this time in with those and poured him a cup of coffee. "Here. Tell Harry about the..." he couldn't remember the name and didn't think that was the important part anyway, "the scorpion-men. And any other attempts we haven't gotten around to discussing--at least in the last few weeks. We don't need to hear about all of the no doubt countless attempts on your life."

Which meant that Robin was some kind of....wildfae. Old. Powerful, even if not necessarily magical. Which, admittedly, intimidated Harry a little--not that he was going to let it show.

"Can't imagine why you'd be such a popular target," he quipped, and held out his cup for Thomas to refill, batting his eyelashes.

"Jealousy," Robin said flatly, and took the cup of coffee from Thomas. He took a sip and sighed. "Not the best I've had, Thomas. If your friend is going to distract us from other activities you could at least break out the good stuff." But without waiting for a response he waived a hand flippantly and said, "Scorpion men. Very inconvenient. I mean, as if bodies aren't difficult enough to dispose of in general, try the seven foot tall and covered with an exoskeleton sort."

Thomas refilled Harry's cup and put the nearly-empty carafe back into place. He completely agreed with Harry's smart-ass assessment, but as he was personally rather fond of Robin, annoying as he could be, he kept silent on the matter. It was counterproductive to encourage Harry's snarking, anyway. Harry would do plenty of it without help.

"Hey, I'm more than happy to leave," Harry said, sharply. Far be it from him to get between Thomas and a meal, as willing a meal as Robin appeared to be. "Surrish and scorpion men trying to kill you. Got it. My advice? Stay indoors."

Robin lifted a brow at that. "Oh, he is jealous," he said, and glanced at Thomas. "I should have known you'd be popular, kitten." Then back to Harry. "Well - Harry, is it? - the problem with staying indoors, Harry, is the mess and expense of cleaning up broken plate glass windows that the nasties seem intent upon busting through. Now for some reason Thomas seems very confident in whatever it is you do, so I will say this - if you can work your magic in my direction in such a way that I can relax and keep my hand away from my sword - the metal one, that is - then I'm willing to pay for it."

Thomas shot a quick sidelong look at Harry at Robin's comment and then shook his head. "It's not like that between us," he said, and left it at that. He may like Robin, may even trust him a little at this point, but he wasn't about to tell him about his relationship to Harry. The fewer people that knew that the better.

"It's really not like that," Harry reiterated, insistently, because it wasn't, no matter what crazy dream he might have had the other day. And he was tempted to leave, but Thomas gave him this look like he was maybe letting him down and Harry sighed.

He took off his Dead Man's bracelet and held it out to Robin with a solemn expression. "This will protect you from nasties--at least a little bit. And it's tied to me, so if you do get into trouble, I'll know about it." He'd been particularly proud of that little spell he'd woven in there. Who said he couldn't learn from his mistakes?

"To do more I'll need a few things, but we'll start with the address to where this thing attacked you."

Robin did not take the bracelet. In fact, he looked down at it as if it were likely to attack him any second.

"You're joking," he said. "Nothing touches this skin but solid gold. Preferably designed by someone with far too many syllables in their name."

"Take the damn bracelet," Thomas growled. "Your vanity puts mine to shame, and that's saying something." He set his coffee down to grab a notepad and jot the address of Robin's car lot for Harry.

Harry took some perverse delight in handing Robin his tarnished silver bracelet held together by a dirty and stained leather thong.

"Your vanity or your life," he said, and shrugged. "I'll also need some uh....samples. Bodily fluids, hair...that kind of thing."

After a petulant glare at Thomas, Robin plucked up the bracelet from Harry as if it were covered in slime. Reluctantly, he slid it onto his wrist. "Fashion or life," he muttered, as if weighing the options seriously.

Though at Harry's next comment, he looked up again with a smirk settling on his lips. "Bodily fluids? Well, that's easy enough. I know Thomas isn't the jealous sort. Though I must insist you shower first. You look like the underside of Hermes' winged boots."

Thomas coughed to keep from laughing. Harry had walked right into that one, truly he had. He tore off the piece of paper with the address written on it and set it next to Harry. He didn't want anything to distract from this moment.

At Robin's suggestion Harry turned bright red, and his mouth opened and closed without actually forming words. "...blood," he finally sputtered. "Not...ew."

"Ew?" Robin's eyes narrowed. He'd clearly taken offense. "Oh, please. You should be so lucky. Tell him, Thomas."

Still looking amused, Thomas glanced at Harry and said, "He is pretty damn fantastic in bed." And then he took pity on Harry and turned to add for Robin, "And he's straight. Save your breath."

"...right," Harry said, uncertainly. "I'm straight. So...none of that...stuff. Just blood and hair, and I'll be gone so you two can get back to...." Well, he didn't want to think about that, except he was now, of course. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the image from his mind. "...breakfast."

The genuine assessment of Robin's prowess put Thomas back in Robin's good graces, and he flashed him a puckish grin before looking back to Harry with considerably less... puckishness.

He rolled his eyes. "Straight," he said disdainfully, "is an invented concept. And I should know, I was around before you people decided to invent it. Trust me, you were much better off. But." He flipped a hand in the air in a gesture of dismissal. "No flawless skin off my well-formed back. Feel free to collect my blood in a method of your choosing, be it pin prick or fang." He smiled. "I've been told I taste of honey and the earth when it was new."

Thomas continued to enjoy Harry's discomfort more than he should, but then Harry was his brother. It was his duty as family.

He took a sip of his coffee, licking his lips at the reminder of how Robin tasted, and moved to get a pair of scissors. Hair he could do, and still leave Robin looking good enough to eat. Blood was going to be all up to Harry.

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