undergrounds | [OPEN POST] The game is on

Entry tags:

[OPEN POST] The game is on

This event runs from 20th-25th July 2015.

Hello, Londoners! Bit hot, isn't it? Blimey, you might even get a tan at this rate, assuming you're not a vampire.

But there's no time to relax and enjoy the sunshine. No. This is the third and final week of the hunting season in the Other Realm and the magic of the hunt is about to bleed into all of London...

Basically, if you're a predatory type, your hunting instincts may be sharper than usual this week. By how much? Not a lot, we're not talking rabid wolves or losing self-control here, but conditions are perfect for hunting. You can feel it in the air. Hunters of all kinds can expect good fortune – yes, that includes humans who track down other supernatural species too.

As for everyone else... try not to be lunch. Welcome to London.

Prompts

1) HUNGRY LIKE THE WOLF. Bare those fangs and sharpen those claws. You're feeling a little... peckish.

2) THE WHITE HART. The hunt for the legendary White Hart has begun. Fae hunting parties compete to pursue the beast, and upon its capture much merry-making ensues. Should a party pass through into the mortal realm during this hunt, they will appear as drunken louts searching for a pub.

3) HUNTING PARTY. No reason to let the fae have all the fun! Choose your quarry, gather your team and pursue your prey. This could be a serious hunt-to-kill party or something more light-hearted.

4) CAPTURE/KILL. The moment you've been waiting for. Your prey, cornered. Do you allow your instincts to take over and let rip?

5) I DIDN'T SIGN UP FOR THIS. I just got to London and now I'm being chased by a vicious pack of supernatural beings. FML.

6) CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE. What's the first thing you see when you set foot in London? Make up your own scenario here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Lancelot dodges back a step closer to the woods, nearly loses his footing for a second before snapping out a hand to try and grab the fae's arm, to try and twist it violently behind his back. He isn't armed, not now, which is good -- but Lancelot is still clearly a community police officer to anyone who spots them. If he can pin the fae he can fake an arrest, perhaps he doesn't need to run at all?

If he fails, that's it -- he isn't risking an altercation out here. He's darting into the woods as soon as he can. Their audience can come or not come, he isn't worried -- Mab seems to be enjoying herself, after all. So long as she doesn't start working against him instead of helping Lancelot isn't bothered either way.

He's quick. Not really fae quick but quick enough. The fae, still looking put out about having Mab watching and, in a manner, referring his fight, feels his arm caught and yanked back before he can twist out of the grip. But instead of letting the arm get yanked up too far he twists with it and spins in to jab a knee up at Lancelot's side.

The woods are close in behind him and Mab is quite aware of that route of escape. If the young sidhe keeps Lancelot close it will be hard to get away right off, but Lancelot seems to be smart, he might be able to find a way out of the other man's grip. Running is perhaps, not the best choice on the night of the hunt. Some things have difficulty not giving chase on such nights.

He grunts as the fae twists with him and knees him (that hurts) and he stumbles back a step -- keeps his grip and tries to shift his weight to haul the way around and hurl him away toward the woods. Come on, he thinks fiercely this way, come on, come with me. The fog might be masking things but people are going to get curious about the noise and the mysterious fog itself. He wants a tree to smack this guy into until he passes out. He wants this over with before more police get called. Nothing good will come of police trying to arrest fae folk. Running might not be wise, but Lancelot isn't worried about himself anyway -- he's worried about everyone else.

(Which is equally not wise).

Edited 2015-07-26 14:01 (UTC)

The fae, with one leg still falling to the ground cannot completely count on his fae balance with a man with more weight than he is yanking him in another direction. Mab's smile is almost hungry as Lancelot manages to throw the fae in the direction of the forest, and the fae stumbles forward, trying to regain his footing and get his hand away at the same time. So long as Lancelot keeps contact with him he can't veil to hide. Predators don't much like fighting on equal footing.

It takes him several steps closer to the forest and then another one as he tries to pull away from Lancelot looking frustrated, the trees rising up around him. The fingers of his other hand curl into a claw and he slaps his had out at Lancelot's face.

Lancelot inhales sharply, tries to turn his head away as the fae lashes out but ends up with scratches across his face anyway. They burn, and he can feel blood welling up in them, but it doesn't matter. He can deal with a few scratches.

Hanging on is the only advantage he has. He may be a human, but Seelie magic still renders him faster and stronger than he should be. Maybe not as light and quick as a fae, but it can be enough. He doesn't let go, keeps hauling around to try and shove the fae up against a tree -- eyes flitting between the one he has and Mab still. He doesn't trust her, doesn't trust the hungry way she watches him. Doesn't trust the way she's almost helping him. Why would she? Fae do nothing for free, and the last thing he needs is to end up owing favours to a fae.

She can almost smell his blood on the wind, it was a good attempt to get loose by the fae who was finding his prey much less agreeable now that they were both unarmed. He fetched up against the tree with a jarring impact, of his shoulder and snarled twisting like an eel in Lancelot's grip. Finally, stuck between a rock an a hard place the fae grits his teeth. He doesn't talk to Lancelot though, his words are for Mab. "I grew carried away." It sounds sulky. "My apologies, Lady, for deviating from the hunt. I am bested." And if it sounded like saying so disgusted him a little it was probably because it did.

Mab's face had gone impassive as soon as the Fae had drooped in Lancelot's grip. Now her horse stepped forward a few steps so that she was looking down at the Fae. "The mortal lawman has the right to see you put in an iron cage." And that would be slow death for a fae. Mab lifted her eyes to Lancelot and tilted her head a little. The distrust in Lancelot eyes was all but palpable. The fae in his hands started to look distinctly worried. "What say you, constable?"

His heart is still racing, adrenaline crashing through his veins, and it doesn't slow at all with Mab so close. Lancelot can tell easily enough if she took a dislike to him that he would know it well, and he lifts his chin a little -- tries to stand strong even as she eyes him.

What would he do with an arrested fae? If a creature died in prison it would be more trouble than it's worth. He flits his eyes to the creature, takes in the concern on its face. If he was a crueler man perhaps he might want to take revenge for the cuts on his face. As it is, he doesn't care so long as the thing is away from him.

"He does not answer to my laws," Lancelot says finally, lifting his eyes back to Mab and lofting an eyebrow. "He answers to yours. His fate should be yours to decide, not mine."

Her head dipped a little acknowledging Lancelot's decision. Magnanimous for someone who knew what they were. Perhaps it wasn't as kind as it might seem considering what kinds of punishments the fae could come up with. "Report to the King." The queen just didn't care much anymore so Mab directed him to the monarch who might actually take action. "If you do not, I will find you and I will not be as kind as the lawman." And that is horrifyingly true. Mab thought the Romans were hobbyists.

The fae grit his teeth but once Lancelot released him he did a formal sort of half bow one might give to a superior, though not as low as one might to a monarch. "As you wish, Lady." Before turning and opening a door just wide enough to step through, allowing it to zip closed behind him.

Mab sighed and dismounted, considering at Lancelot thoughtfully. "It was well done." She murmured, referring to the fight. There was clearly a reason this man was fast enough to beat an Unseelie in unarmed combat. His magic felt Seelie but he definitely wasn't. Blood dripped lightly down his face form the scratch. "Would you like it healed." It would not incur debt as he was fighting because she allowed the fight to happen. But perhaps he didn't know that.

Lancelot lifts a hand to his face at that, dabs at the blood. It stings, but it's a dull sort of sensation -- the rush the fight had given him had all but kept him from even noticing.

"That would be kind, my lady," he allows, and dips his head a little in acknowledgment. No need to upset the fae still here, especially as she is clearly a court lady in some way -- the one he fought has already used her title. If she can summon a fog and freeze someone's weapon she could easily get rid of him if he failed to be entertaining any longer.

He quietly resolves to try and stay in a general state of 'more interesting alive'. It seems for the best.

Deferential. Mab approves. She looks satisfied with the answer and steps into his personal space, lifting her hand to his cheek, fingers soft against his beard. The touch is like a lover, cupping his cheek and looking into his eyes. But her expression is not precisely human. The emotions are remote as she studies his face, the healing not yet begun.

"You are not quite human, mortal Knight." Let's face it, the closest fae come to law are knights. "How interesting." Well he's got the 'be interesting' part down. And then her hand shifts a little and cold ices through his wounds searing the wounds shut and knitting together skin, capillary and muscle. It definitely isn't pleasant which might be an odd contrast to the gentle hold she has on his face. As he took care of her problem it is enough for her magic to do the small healing. She might not have been able to heal anything more grievous as he was not loyal to her. But it has not come to that which is useful. If worst had come to worst she knew a doctor.

He inhales sharply at the rush of cold that hits his face, the freezing burn of it through his veins even as it knits flesh closed and seals away his cuts. In a moment hs is struck both by her beauty and her lack of humanity, the way she studies him, and he finds it hard not to meet her gaze -- as if hypnotised.

"I was raised in the other realm," he admits, unsure even as he does why. "Five years."

Something about her touch is kind despite the cold, reassuring. It would be easy to forget the pain, he thinks, in the wake of such a touch.

"Five years in our Realm. A difficult upbringing for a mortal." He seems lost in her eyes, almost dreamy even with the wound searing itself shut, the prickle of ice along veins. It makes her smile a little. "Which court raised you?"

The prickles of ice start to fade and her hand warms slowly. When it is completely warm she runs her thumb across pristine cheek.

The question snaps his attention back a little, makes him realise that he'd lost focus. Her hand is warmer now, soothing after the burn of the cold, but as he focuses and his heart-rate begins slow he becomes dimly aware he should stay alert. Should not forget that this conversation could be dangerous.

He's unsure if he should answer, at first. Unsure if she might not like it -- yet equally he does not doubt that she could find out if she so wished.

"The Seelie court," he admits, "although my memories are... weak. They were locked away when I was returned."

He seems to wake a little from his stupor, such a shame. Her fingers slip slowly along his jaw as she watches him and then finally, almost reluctantly, she pulls her hand back from his face.

"They were not locked away well if you remember as much." She replied. Shoddy work. If he was raised in the Seelie court, perhaps a parent was the one that chose to raise him. Which made him even more interesting. "You fight well, child." And clearly she thought this was a high compliment.

He dips his head in acknowledgment of the compliment and the remark both.

"I did not recall any of it until recently. I saw a woman closing a fae door with a spell. It... I suppose it stirred a memory even a block could not hold. If I fight well now, I suppose it is only because I was taught to -- and I only survived because you allowed it."

If Mab's expression was anything to go by, she thought it shoddy spell work regardless of how much familiarity an action might draw. "You should take credit for your own skills." She replied, "If you learned them in my Realm or the mortal one, you put in the effort." It was true he survived because she allowed it and she was well pleased he'd noticed. Perhaps it was why he was being so polite. Too few were these days.

"Your lost memories upset you?"

Do they upset him? Lancelot considers that a moment, tilts his head a little in thought as he does.

"I am not sure what I have lost, so I find it difficult to mourn it."

Which is the truth, but also a careful truth. Lancelot suspects Mab could offer to restore them, yet he does not know if he could afford the price of such a thing. It is true he does not know what he lacks, but equally it does confuse and unnerve him to have such gaps. At the same time, not knowing what fills them makes him unsure if it would be better not to know. Which, he wonders, is better? Ignorance can be bliss.

He considers the question. It is a good sign.

"But knowledge is power, even if only over yourself." She points out. It would make her quite angry to have something taken from her such as that. But it was a lot easier to anger the other fae. Perhaps it was different for mortals.

She can almost hear him realizing she might be able to help. She doesn't even have to make the offer, he knows it exists on some level which makes her smile.

"What shall I call you, Constable?"

Her answer is equally true. Knowledge is power, and Lancelot may well have talents yet locked away that could help him if his life is to continue to be more dangerous. Would knowing be worth it? He cannot say, he supposes, unless he risks it.

"Lancelot, my lady," he offers, and drops his eyes a little in deference. "Who should I say showed me such kindness in turn?"

She allows his consideration to settle, he'll ask for help if he needs it, Mab is confident she projects capability to others. "Lancelot." She repeats his name, letting the sound of it roll off her tongue in perfect mimic of his own pronunciation. Someone raised with the Seelie will know not to give her name out even if only on an instinctual level. And he seems like the type to appreciate honesty.

"I am Mab. Lady of Air and Darkness." She does not correct his decision that her intervention was kindness. In a way it was. And he is being so polite it seems a shame to do anything to ruin it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[OPEN POST] The game is on

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject