Faolan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reticence) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2016-02-07 02:26 pm
reticence) wrote in undergrounds2016-02-07 02:26 pm
Entry tags:
early february catch-all
I. WESTMINSTER - Closed to Night Council
Faolan knows that the headaches Lancelot had had the month before were not due to any earthly illness, but rather the further development of his abilities. Still, as he pops his second course of painkillers that day, he can't help but but feel like he'd caught it. Well, not exactly. It isn't that his head hurts, exactly. But he feels hot. Dizzy. It comes in spells, which illnesses generally do, and for the most part Faolan is sticking to his desk.
Which, luckily enough for him, is easy to do if you volunteer for the desk work on this purge business. The majority of the knocking down doors and raiding homes has calmed and settled into the occasional report here and there, which suits Faolan just fine. Although he hadn't had much of a choice in the matter, he hadn't liked it one bit. It also meant that there was a lot of background paperwork to catch up on, both keeping track of the seized items and their inventorying, as well as everything that had fallen to the wayside when their priorities had been elsewhere.
Still, Faolan can't seem to keep his eyes focused. He sits forward and puts his head in his hands for a moment, leaning his elbows on the edge of the desk. If he went home early, would anyone notice? Does he need special permission for that sort of thing, he wonders to himself. Having hardly ever taken a sickday in his life, especially not since he'd become a Guardian, he hasn't the slightest idea.
II. HILLINGDON - Closed to Hillingdon
Hillingdon House can be awkward at times, for the fact that it had at one point been a real house. As such, it's fitted much the same as an older mansion would be, even if not quite in the same way. Kitchen, library, sitting room, dining room, living room, the last three of which double as larger meeting rooms, with the upper floor containing offices, smaller meeting rooms, and yes, one or two rooms that have kept their function as a bedroom. It's odd, unique, and sometimes it works well for what you want to do there, sometimes less so.
Right now, seated on one of the rigid-backed sofas in the sitting room, in front of an actual fire in the actual fireplace, Faolan has very little regret about the fact that it had been a house at one point at all. He's even gone so far as to search out a slightly pilled old throw from one of the bedrooms upstairs, which he's huddled himself under in an attempt to regulate something of his temperature. He's feeling better now that he's sitting here in front of the fire with a coffee perched on his knee, having created himself a home away from home of sorts, but he's got a feeling that it's not going to last. That's the trouble with being ill, after all. As long as you're not doing anything, you're fine. He might actually be able to concentrate on some of the reports he has upstairs at this rate, but the trouble is that that's where he's left them...
III. ANYWHERE - OPEN
Despite feeling lightheaded and feverish, that hasn't kept Faolan from making appearances at his regular cafe, as he is known to do in the course of any regular week. To the average onlooker, there might not even seem to be anything wrong, as he makes his order and parks himself in the back corner of the cafe itself with a regular coffee and a bowl of soup. To those who do see Faolan on a regular basis, however, he might seem sluggish. He certainly feels that way, as if he's navigating the world through varying levels of fog that he can't seem to shake no matter what different medicines he tries. And for another thing, he's ordered soup, rather than his regular heaping of god knows what that he would happily help himself to.
He keeps his jacket on, but his body can't quite seem to decide whether it's too hot or too cold or what at odd intervals, and it's oddly disconcerting. He knows that if he really is this ill, he probably shouldn't be walking around, frequenting cafes as he is. But if it were contagious, he would have shaken it by now, shouldn't he have? As the first few weeks of February drag on, and Faolan's symptoms remain the same, he starts to wonder. And he starts to get really tired of soup.
IV. LANCELOT'S FLAT - Closed to Lancelot
Faolan knows that he probably shouldn't be hiding how awful he feels from the other man, considering how he'd reprimanded Lancelot himself for much of the same thing. But this is different, isn't it? Well. Sort of. He's been trying to take care of himself, really he is. Perhaps better than he would normally, even. But he can't quite seem to shake whatever this is. And at least he hasn't holed himself up in his own flat, waiting for it all to pass, yeah? Even if that means that he's been sticking to Lancelot's a bit more than he might otherwise have done. Hoping that the steady meals and more regular hours might have something of an affect.
Not that it does, really. Despite it all, he still feels the same. Worse, these days, maybe. He can't really tell, it comes in waves, and seems to be worse when he actually lets himself stop and take a breather, ironically enough. The few chances Lancelot allowed him to sleep in. The quiet moments, just sitting with the other man together at the table. He's honestly amazed that Lancelot hasn't noticed or if he has, hasn't said anything yet, at the fact that he's begun to cling to him and this place like his home away from home, aside from Hillingdon house that is. And moreover, he's starting to wonder if it might be connected to...
No, that's crazy. And impossible. Still, as he makes his way back from Hillingdon House that evening and rings the bell (because despite the fact that he's been staying there, he's still not about to just let himself in), he can't help noticing that, as he hears Lancelot's feet padding toward the door, his blood almost seems to heat in reaction to it. ...god, he must be losing his mind, with thoughts like that, he thinks to himself, as he runs a hand over his face and through his hair and tries to cool down.
(ooc note: as stated, this is really only for early february, everything up until feb 14? that should still be long enough to catch working with the new guardians and everyone else besides, though! c: )
Faolan knows that the headaches Lancelot had had the month before were not due to any earthly illness, but rather the further development of his abilities. Still, as he pops his second course of painkillers that day, he can't help but but feel like he'd caught it. Well, not exactly. It isn't that his head hurts, exactly. But he feels hot. Dizzy. It comes in spells, which illnesses generally do, and for the most part Faolan is sticking to his desk.
Which, luckily enough for him, is easy to do if you volunteer for the desk work on this purge business. The majority of the knocking down doors and raiding homes has calmed and settled into the occasional report here and there, which suits Faolan just fine. Although he hadn't had much of a choice in the matter, he hadn't liked it one bit. It also meant that there was a lot of background paperwork to catch up on, both keeping track of the seized items and their inventorying, as well as everything that had fallen to the wayside when their priorities had been elsewhere.
Still, Faolan can't seem to keep his eyes focused. He sits forward and puts his head in his hands for a moment, leaning his elbows on the edge of the desk. If he went home early, would anyone notice? Does he need special permission for that sort of thing, he wonders to himself. Having hardly ever taken a sickday in his life, especially not since he'd become a Guardian, he hasn't the slightest idea.
II. HILLINGDON - Closed to Hillingdon
Hillingdon House can be awkward at times, for the fact that it had at one point been a real house. As such, it's fitted much the same as an older mansion would be, even if not quite in the same way. Kitchen, library, sitting room, dining room, living room, the last three of which double as larger meeting rooms, with the upper floor containing offices, smaller meeting rooms, and yes, one or two rooms that have kept their function as a bedroom. It's odd, unique, and sometimes it works well for what you want to do there, sometimes less so.
Right now, seated on one of the rigid-backed sofas in the sitting room, in front of an actual fire in the actual fireplace, Faolan has very little regret about the fact that it had been a house at one point at all. He's even gone so far as to search out a slightly pilled old throw from one of the bedrooms upstairs, which he's huddled himself under in an attempt to regulate something of his temperature. He's feeling better now that he's sitting here in front of the fire with a coffee perched on his knee, having created himself a home away from home of sorts, but he's got a feeling that it's not going to last. That's the trouble with being ill, after all. As long as you're not doing anything, you're fine. He might actually be able to concentrate on some of the reports he has upstairs at this rate, but the trouble is that that's where he's left them...
III. ANYWHERE - OPEN
Despite feeling lightheaded and feverish, that hasn't kept Faolan from making appearances at his regular cafe, as he is known to do in the course of any regular week. To the average onlooker, there might not even seem to be anything wrong, as he makes his order and parks himself in the back corner of the cafe itself with a regular coffee and a bowl of soup. To those who do see Faolan on a regular basis, however, he might seem sluggish. He certainly feels that way, as if he's navigating the world through varying levels of fog that he can't seem to shake no matter what different medicines he tries. And for another thing, he's ordered soup, rather than his regular heaping of god knows what that he would happily help himself to.
He keeps his jacket on, but his body can't quite seem to decide whether it's too hot or too cold or what at odd intervals, and it's oddly disconcerting. He knows that if he really is this ill, he probably shouldn't be walking around, frequenting cafes as he is. But if it were contagious, he would have shaken it by now, shouldn't he have? As the first few weeks of February drag on, and Faolan's symptoms remain the same, he starts to wonder. And he starts to get really tired of soup.
IV. LANCELOT'S FLAT - Closed to Lancelot
Faolan knows that he probably shouldn't be hiding how awful he feels from the other man, considering how he'd reprimanded Lancelot himself for much of the same thing. But this is different, isn't it? Well. Sort of. He's been trying to take care of himself, really he is. Perhaps better than he would normally, even. But he can't quite seem to shake whatever this is. And at least he hasn't holed himself up in his own flat, waiting for it all to pass, yeah? Even if that means that he's been sticking to Lancelot's a bit more than he might otherwise have done. Hoping that the steady meals and more regular hours might have something of an affect.
Not that it does, really. Despite it all, he still feels the same. Worse, these days, maybe. He can't really tell, it comes in waves, and seems to be worse when he actually lets himself stop and take a breather, ironically enough. The few chances Lancelot allowed him to sleep in. The quiet moments, just sitting with the other man together at the table. He's honestly amazed that Lancelot hasn't noticed or if he has, hasn't said anything yet, at the fact that he's begun to cling to him and this place like his home away from home, aside from Hillingdon house that is. And moreover, he's starting to wonder if it might be connected to...
No, that's crazy. And impossible. Still, as he makes his way back from Hillingdon House that evening and rings the bell (because despite the fact that he's been staying there, he's still not about to just let himself in), he can't help noticing that, as he hears Lancelot's feet padding toward the door, his blood almost seems to heat in reaction to it. ...god, he must be losing his mind, with thoughts like that, he thinks to himself, as he runs a hand over his face and through his hair and tries to cool down.
(ooc note: as stated, this is really only for early february, everything up until feb 14? that should still be long enough to catch working with the new guardians and everyone else besides, though! c: )
II
"Well, this looks comfortable," he said, coming into the room. "I don't think anyone's lit a fire in there for years."
no subject
"Well," he says, nodding towards the fire. "It hadn't been covered up, and there were ashes in the grate. I figured as long as I kept an eye on it, should be safe enough?" He glances back at Sirius with a further sheepish smile. He may or may not have dozed off a few times during this vigil, after all.
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It doesn't stop Sirius from being wary but he figures he can trust Faolan not to let things get caught on fire.
"What's the occasion?"
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"Ah," he says, a bit awkwardly. "Well, I haven't. Been feeling all that well, so I suppose it just seemed like a good idea at the time." He shrugs slightly, gesturing to the fire. "Creature comforts I suppose."
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Curling up by the fire was something that seemed almost foreign to Sirius, who was trying to remember the last time he'd done it, if ever.
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"A friend of mine thinks I'm just not taking enough care of myself," he says. "I didn't point it out then, but I've taken far worse care and come out the better for it than this." He glances sideways at the other man. "I wouldn't worry about catching it, though. If you are. Whatever my problem is, I doubt it's contagious at this point."
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"I've already gotten the dressing down, don't worry. If I start passing out or god even knows, vomiting blood, feel free to call an ambulance on me, permission or no. But I'll be fine, really. And so will you." He's got half a mind that this isn't a physical ailment after all.
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Because he will call the ambulance, but he can't say he'll be happy about it. Also that just sounds gross.
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"So what's brought you around to Hillingdon House this time then?" he asks, tilting his head at the other man inquisitively. "While I should consider myself flattered, I doubt it's just to pay me a visit."
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A typical day for him, really. Trying to keep his presence known while not drawing too much attention to himself.
"Got to keep myself fed somehow."
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"Don't we all," he responds. "I hope it's keeping you busy enough. I haven't been keeping nearly as close an eye on all of that as I probably should be..." The reports of what actions Hillingdon has taken, yes. But not what bounties there generally are available out there. They can be pretty hit and miss, especially depending on who's funding them.
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Sirius shrugs.
"I think everything's been fairly peaceful for the most part."
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He glances aside at Sirius, uncertain whether he follows any of that himself. Uncertain whether bringing them up is rather like announcing a taboo, like discussing politics in the workplace or something. Still, he'd like to know Sirius' take on it all...
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"I'm sure they'll start back up again soon enough."
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Let the other factions sort themselves out. He'll just stick to the sidelines for now. Although, knowing him, he can't really keep his nose out of trouble for long.