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Introducing: Havelock Vetinari
Oct. 30th, 2023 09:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
primusinterparesVetinari seems to have gotten somewhat carried away.
Not in the typical meaning of the phrase, of course. The Lord Patrician is not the kind man known for losing himself in the throes of any kind of passion, especially not the kind that would lead him ambling clueless down the middle of a dark and unfamiliar forest.
Rather, it seems as though he'd been carried away in a very literal, very physical sense; picked up, held for some time, and then half-heartedly dropped by some large, intangible — but not by any means metaphorical — hand of fate. Stranger "things" had (possibly) happened.[1]
It is all a little inconvenient, however. He had just been in the middle of sealing the deal on some very important negotiations. But no matter; he will get his way regardless, it is just a matter of deciding on which way he decides that will be. No doubt, the other party will think of the Patrician's sudden disappearance as a very deliberate Move to coerce them into conceding that one prickly little detail of the agreement.[3] He certainly won't complain about that.
And so, he slips silently through the forest, in the direction of what appears to be an unfamiliar manor. It's not particularly difficult terrain, although as he draws nearer to the border between forest and clearing (and therefore, into the eyes of any likely onlookers), he appears to struggle with clambering over a mossy log. Despite the subsequent emergence of a slight limp, it's not long until he's at the front step of the mansion.
He raises one hand to knock on the door — but the hand draws back, makes a U-turn, and surreptitiously draws itself into the inner darkness of his robe. Then, he pauses, and with an expression of impatient expectation he turns his head to glance over his shoulder.
"Ah, you've finally decided to say hello," he remarks, staring straight at the target of his words. It is decidedly not a question. Nevertheless, there's an edge of aged authority to his voice which demands an answer.
Not in the typical meaning of the phrase, of course. The Lord Patrician is not the kind man known for losing himself in the throes of any kind of passion, especially not the kind that would lead him ambling clueless down the middle of a dark and unfamiliar forest.
Rather, it seems as though he'd been carried away in a very literal, very physical sense; picked up, held for some time, and then half-heartedly dropped by some large, intangible — but not by any means metaphorical — hand of fate. Stranger "things" had (possibly) happened.[1]
It is all a little inconvenient, however. He had just been in the middle of sealing the deal on some very important negotiations. But no matter; he will get his way regardless, it is just a matter of deciding on which way he decides that will be. No doubt, the other party will think of the Patrician's sudden disappearance as a very deliberate Move to coerce them into conceding that one prickly little detail of the agreement.[3] He certainly won't complain about that.
And so, he slips silently through the forest, in the direction of what appears to be an unfamiliar manor. It's not particularly difficult terrain, although as he draws nearer to the border between forest and clearing (and therefore, into the eyes of any likely onlookers), he appears to struggle with clambering over a mossy log. Despite the subsequent emergence of a slight limp, it's not long until he's at the front step of the mansion.
He raises one hand to knock on the door — but the hand draws back, makes a U-turn, and surreptitiously draws itself into the inner darkness of his robe. Then, he pauses, and with an expression of impatient expectation he turns his head to glance over his shoulder.
"Ah, you've finally decided to say hello," he remarks, staring straight at the target of his words. It is decidedly not a question. Nevertheless, there's an edge of aged authority to his voice which demands an answer.
1. Typically these "things" were reports coming from the more...disreputable sorts, men with something to hide, or with remarkable minds which held unshakable beliefs in such things as "You Ephe Ohs" — or, more alarmingly, perhaps "You F****** Foes" — which no one had been able to consistently define nor reliably spot anywhere in the vicinity of Ankh-Morpork. Still, the Patrician keeps Tabs[2] on such "things".
2. Some suspect the Tabs might be physical tabs, though no one's quite sure what kind. The note tabs on the books in the Patrician's study were considered, but were eventually abandoned, as neither rhyme nor reason could be ascertained from their placement. There was also the one spy who was certain that the enormous collection of soda tabs found between Drumknott's desk and the adjacent wall must be related, though she was never able to explain how or why, given the fact that she's still sorting through them to this day. Vetinari still finds himself amused by that one. He can't wait to hear what it is that she finds.
3. That, or Vimes will visit some great act of violence upon the poor fellows, on the suspicion of them having kidnapped him. Which, now that he thinks about it, is a distinct possibility.
