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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"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.

Even if Harry agreed with Robin--which, he wasn't saying he was--he wouldn't admit it. "Thanks, but a little prick should be enough." And that wasn't a loaded sentence at all.

He nodded his thanks at Thomas when he went for the scissors, and tucked the address to Robin's office in his coat. "Another thing I need to know--do you have a reaction to iron?"

Robin snorted. "Iron. Honestly. Your quaint little ideas about what I must be make me want to pat you on the head like a puppy." He shot a look over his shoulder at Thomas as he got the scissors. "Be careful with those things. You're lucky you're a professional, I don't let just anyone touch my hair." Back to Harry, he added, "No reaction to iron. If you're wondering how to kill me, I'd say all the usual ways, it's just a hell of a lot harder. I wouldn't recommend poison though, as evidenced by my continued existence. If you find the sirrush, watch out for the claws. You'd be down before you can cry out for your mother."

"Sure, suck your life energy away during sex, that you trust me on. But hair," Thomas muttered under his breath, flexing his fingers with the scissors to make that wicked little 'snick' sound before he snipped away a few locks, using his fingers to comb out the rest and make sure it was unnoticeable. Which of course it was, he was damn good at hair.

He moved away to fold the hair into a second piece of paper, stiffening slightly at the warning about the sirrush, suddenly considering whether he might want to go with Harry. Of course, his brother could handle himself. He knew that. Still...

"The more you can tell me about your weaknesses, the better I can protect you," Harry informed him, primly. "And the more you can tell me about who could be after you. Magical enemies aren't as rare as they used to be, but it still takes a certain amount of skill to conjure or control something." As he spoke, he opened a drawer and took out a wicked looking knife with a long curved edge. He had a vague idea that it was used to slice something at a dinner that was far above Harry's class level.

Yeah, he could have poked Robin using a spork and gotten blood, but this was more fun.

"Can I have one of those little bottles you use for that hair gunk?" he asked Thomas.

"I thought we'd already established that vanity is my weakness," Robin said flippantly. "And if you're going to ask who might hold a grudge against me, I hope you brought dinner. Thousands of years of ex marks, ex business partners, ex lovers, ex lover's husbands and wives... makes a very, very large rolodex."

He eyed the knife. "I'm going to trust you because Thomas does, but if you open a vein he's going to be very cross with you."

Thomas sighed and headed for the hallway to his bedroom, grumbling quietly to himself. "Cut some hair, get me coffee, bandage my wounds, what's the address, mop my blood up...Cinderella I ain't." But he returned with a small, clean bottle for Harry, flashing Robin a smirk. "Let the bloodletting begin."

Harry rolled his eyes at Thomas's pronouncement and took the bottle. It didn't take much--a slice across the palm--and then he had Robin flex his hand until the small bottle was halfway full. "So...you have no idea who might be trying to kill you," he surmised.

Robin didn't so much as flinch at the cut.

"Very difficult to narrow down," he said.

Which it was. As for the direct answer to Harry's question, he had no intention of giving it. Not that he couldn't lie through his teeth with perfection if he needed to. He was a fucking trickster.

Thomas hopped up onto the counter, perching on the edge as he watched the two of them, keeping his commentary to himself. The two of them were snarky enough without encouragement, god knew.

Harry glanced at Thomas, who was uncharacteristically silent, which likely meant he'd overstayed his welcome.

That was fine. He was tired anyway. "Okay, then. Well...hopefully I'll get something from the samples, and from the office."

Robin honestly wasn't sure how he felt about Harry poking around, but in the end, he really didn't want any more monsters crashing through his window. If Harry and Thomas could find who was after him and take them out, there wasn't any need for him to tell them why. Even if the origin of the monsters had given Robin a really fucking good idea. One he didn't want to think about.

"Sure," he said. "If you can get results, money's not a problem." He grinned and added, "By the way, feel free to look around while you're at the car lot. I'll make you a deal."

Thomas shot Harry a look that said 'SEE?' better than any words could. A paying job, which Harry could probably use. Hell, he could always use them, as far as Thomas knew.

"Thanks for coming over," he said quietly to Harry, hopping back down to see him to the door. "I'll call you later."

"Hey, I have a car," Harry said, defensively. No one could malign the Blue Beetle in his presence. "And sometimes it even runs."

When Thomas began to herd him towards the door, clearly eager to see him gone--and likely get back in bed with Robin--Harry hesitated. The only thing he knew about Robin was that someone wanted to kill him. Well, that, and he had a huge cock. That didn't exactly make him Harry's favorite person to leave alone with his brother. So for a moment--just for a moment--he looked at Robin over Thomas's shoulder at Robin, looking debauched and smug--and opened his Sight.

He wasn't sure what he expected to see, but it definitely wasn't horns sprouting from Robin's forehead. But other than that, and a sense of something old--ancient, even, and eternal--Robin seemed like...Robin. Even that glimpse was enough to make Harry grudgingly admit that Robin seemed not to harbor malicious intent, and he moved towards the door.

"Pleasure meeting you," Robin said dryly, and then immediately returned his attention to Thomas.

"So how long was I out, and should I be thanking you for not taking advantage of my deliciousness while I slept?"

Thomas let Harry out and closed the door behind him, sighing as he turned to face Robin. "Just overnight, and yes, you should. It wasn't easy," he commented, smirking faintly.

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