[open] I've found that just surviving was a noble fight

[reticence]

Faolan doesn't really have any particular agenda for the day. In between cases, no clients on the book for the afternoon, he finds himself with free time and well. He's never really much cared for the idea of such a thing. Mostly perhaps because he doesn't really know much what to do with himself when it happens. Not really having that many hobbies, not really much for staying idle, he finds himself wandering. Coffee at this shop, breakfast at another. Finding a seat to sit and enjoy both before wandering more. Idly staring in shop windows. Finding himself lunch. He supposes that this is time that people who had friends might call some of them up and get together to do something, but that would require having any, a luxury he had not been afforded. Not since moving to London, at least. Besides all of that, these last few days especially he's been feeling rather odd...

A. COFFEE
Being a man with a varying schedule, often pulling late-nights, Faolan has developed a particular affinity for coffee. Another man might call it a caffeine addiction, but that is perhaps neither here nor there, and anyway, he really only ever indulges in the coffee version of the drug. Which is why he finds himself seated in a shop early that morning, a mug of it clutched in both hands as he sits at the counter by the window and stares out the window at the passers-by. He might not have normally chosen this seat. There are occasions where he'd rather opt for a table by himself in the corner, where he can pull out his tablet and get some work done. But there's something about today where he feels compelled to watch. Feels compelled to sit there and observe, poised silent and still on the stool as he surveys the people on the street in front of him. There's a tension in the way he's holding himself, and if he didn't pause every once and a while to take a sip from the coffee, it would probably be a little painful to watch him at it. It's probably a little painful still.

He knows what he's doing, so after a while, he forces his eyes away. And that's when he spots it. A fly. It must have come in the shop with one of the other patrons. The place is nice and clean enough, he doesn't think that they're likely to have an infestation, especially since he's seen only the one. But now all of his attentions are focused on it, and try as hard as he might to just sit and enjoy his coffee, he can hear it. Buzzing around, doing its dirty fly business god knows where. He manages maybe five minutes of valiant efforts to keep his mind away, before he gives up and rolls up the paper he has sitting in front of him. That fly is dead.

B. PARK
Faolan sits on a bench in the park, nursing his second coffee of the day, this one in a cardboard cup. He's been trying to relax and enjoy the quite, natural atmosphere around him, something that usually works to soothe his ragged temper. Today, on the other hand, he's having no such luck. Too many sounds keep happening around him. People passing by. Walking their dogs. Going out for a jog. Taking a quiet stroll with their children. And it's distracting him. He finds himself honing in on every conversation being had, every laugh, every sound being made by the noisy life around him.

And that's nothing compared to the distraction that the nature itself is causing him. He finds himself fixating on a squirrel across the way, staring it down until the small, bushy-tailed creature gives up the contest and absconds itself into the nearest tree, where he can still hear it, scuttling around up there. And that's nothing compared to the duck that keeps leisurely swimming by, expecting him to have some sort of treat for it as apparently all visitors to this spot must have had in the past. As the web-footed creature circles closer and closer, Faolan finds himself wishing for a stone to throw at it. Or perhaps his gun. No, what is he kidding, that's crazy. He sits forward on the bench and runs his hand over his face. Maybe the whole park thing was a bad idea after all...

C. BAR
It's been a long day, from start to finish, and since no amount of coffee, fresh air, or sunshine has done anything to cure Faolan's odd mood, there's only one more direction that he can turn. Well, there are probably more, but since he's not looking to break any laws tonight, that means alcohol. It means getting himself a drink or three or as many as it takes until whatever it is that's wound so tight within him settles down and allows him a moment's peace.

He should have known that the sort of slow burning fury building within him had no business mixing with drink, but that's neither here nor there, and it isn't until he left to go take a piss and comes back to find the seat he was in otherwise occupied that he realizes he has a problem. Because that something within him is just as raring to go as ever. And rather than calming that, if anything the only thing the alcohol has calmed is his sense of reason, which is not good. Fists clenched tight at his sides, Faolan doesn't really make all that menacing of an image. Not at first glance. But the sound of his voice clearly means business as he manages to grind out at the newcomer, "That seat's taken."

D. CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE

[ooc note: this log takes place during the HUNTING SEASON event, and as such is loosely dated between the 20th and the 25th! faolan is a human and a hunter in the hillingdon clan, and if you want to get into trouble with him of a supernatural, hunting sort, by all means choose your own adventure or contact me and we can work something out. THANKS!]

Comments

[reticence]

Faolan glances sideways at her again. How much should he be admitting to a total stranger like this? How much should he be keeping to himself. He's just about to say that it's nothing when she places a hand on his and he's so unused to other people doing such things that of course he doesn't pull away. And he does feel how unusually cool her skin is against his, although he can't be sure that it wasn't just. Well, was he imagining that? He's been getting strange vibes from pretty much everything the last few days, why not people as well.

"I, uh," he says, trying to figure out the right words, the right excuse for his behavior. "I've been feeling a little off, lately." Well, it's not untrue?

[rules_winter]

Mab always felt it was best to hold your cards close to your chest. But she certainly benefited when others were less circumspect. She crosses her legs as she considers his answer, staring out across the lake. The answer is vague but true. Such a fae answer.

"You seem quite tense for such a nice day." She remarks, turning her head back to look at him. "This time of year does seem to set people on edge." Be it the customer in the store screaming at an employee for not having something in stock, or the lone human at night checking over their shoulder because they are certain the feel something coming. And to those who hunted naturally, the fae's bloodlust might rub off a little when the hunt rides through the mortal realm as it had recently. She suspected he was suffering one of the latter two, feeling like prey, or feeling like hunting.

[reticence]

Feeling like hunting was certainly the truth of the matter. Whether it was wanting to go after ducks in the lake, flies in the coffee shop, or rats in the alleyways at night, Faolan feels like a man on edge. And not unlike a cat on the hunt, the accuracy of the statement not lost on him, for hunting is what he does, but hunting is what he feels the urgency to do now. He has always prided himself on discrepancy in the field, on the fact that he does not go after creatures indiscriminately. That he has morals. But the urgency of this feeling within him is leaving him hard-pressed not to literally chase anything that moves.

He finds her words curious though. Curious enough that he turns in his seat slightly, studying her face curiously. "This time of the year?" he asks.

[rules_winter]

She wouldn't be surprised to hear him grinding his teeth the way tension sang around him like a plucked bowstring. But she's caught his attention fully now. She considers how to play this. And it is a game, somewhat.

She lifted a pale hand, indicating the general state of London. "The heat and humidity alone can press in on people." She really does not like heat. It's not in her nature to like heat. It drains her and her powers are only beginning to wax now that solstice has passed. "And some say the fair folk hunt at the end of July." She looked at him steadily, cool green-blue eyes watching his to see what he takes from her statement. "Or perhaps it is the coming full moon." She doesn't think he's a werewolf, he doesn't feel like wolf magic. But the Full Moon even effects humans. It changes magics as well, of course.

[reticence]

Faolan tries to make sense of what she's trying to say, and even more so, how in depth he should be looking into it. Is she trying to figure out what he is? Or is she just pointing out truths? Whatever she's doing, with that cool green-blue stare and the way that she's doing it, he's feeling rather uncomfortable about the whole thing. And wondering whether he should come out and, well. Say that he believes in things like that. Or whether she's just twisting his leg.

"Mmm," he hums, in response to her. Trying to feel her out for himself, but having no magical abilities of his own, so he has to rely entirely on intuition. "They say that the full moon does play strange things on people. This is the first I've heard of anything to do with a hunt however." He shoots her a curious look. Won't you care to tell him more?

[rules_winter]

He is uncomfortable, but that's not something she's unused to. Often it works in her favor making people try to fill conversation in to deal with the discomfort. Her lips curve up at the corners a little and she considers his curiosity for a moment. "Surely you have heard of the hunt? The British hunting season starts next month I believe but it is said the Other Realm has an earlier season and this can effect those of similar bent of either hunter or prey. A magnifier of the natural inclination if you will." Her expression went curious in response to his finally. "Do you believe in fairy tales?"

[reticence]

"Do you?" he asks, his eyes dark and the expression on his face difficult to read in that moment, as he searches her for some sign of something, anything that might give him some answers, other than the curiosity that he is finding. "You will forgive me for saying so, but you seem to know an awful lot about this Other Realm you speak of." He has half a mind to continue that sentence with, 'You wouldn't happen to be from there, would you?' but if she isn't then he's just labeled himself as a lunatic. A lunatic sitting on a park bench, how much of a stereotype would that be now? No, he'd better not.

[rules_winter]

"Certainly." She replied as though it was the easiest thing in the world to admit and her expression made it clear she noticed he'd redirected the question. She sat back a little, though her bearing was still more proper than relaxed as she looked out over the lake. "We are in London. The tales live on in the people of the British Isles. Many claim to know a great deal about the fair folk, to have found a fairy circle or glimpsed a leperchaun. There are still celebrations at Stonehenge that draw hundreds."

She turned her head back to him. "I have quite an extensive collection of books on the subject, myself." Everything she said was absolutely true. Perhaps not what he wanted to hear though. Mab could play games with words for days. But she could be quite straightforward as well. "If it is the hunt that interests you the most, are you feeling like prey, as though something is stalking you, or do you wish to chase something down and strike true?"

[reticence]

Faolan eyes her cautiously. No, none of the earlier information is anything that he was exactly looking for -- while it's not particularly helpful, it's not particularly unhelpful either. Moreover, she's seeming to do it on purpose too, and entirely aware of the fact that it more than a little frustrating on his part. Faolan himself is not one to play games, though, not if he can help it, so it is with a sigh that he gives in.

"The latter," he confirms. Though she's probably a little aware of that herself anyway, if the way that he's been watching the ducks and squirrels around them is anything to go by.

[rules_winter]

He gives in easily, finally stopping the dance around what truly bothers him. "A predator then." She murmured, confirming what she'd suspected. He wouldn't be out in the open like this if he'd been feeling like prey. Many a human had succumbed and murdered outright, raped, pillaged. The fae could have terrible effects on humans when they weren't careful. Then again, humans could have terrible effects on themselves and hardly needed the excuse of a fae hunting party to commit acts of horror.

"Perhaps you need a hunt of your own to take the edge off." She recommended.

[reticence]

Good thing for both man and beast alike that Faolan isn't 'many a human'. He does have a pretty good self-control. It's part of the reason why this feeling is so aggravating, all things considered. He's not used to barely being able to contain himself. He's a hunter, but he's not a savage. It's not the thrill of the kill that spurs him on, it's the knowledge that once he's pulled that trigger, once he's finished his job, that there will be one less monster out on those streets, and countless future victims spared. That, at least, is how he justifies himself. It's how his parents justified themselves, and he hopes that even in death he might make them proud. Even if he is a bit more ruthless than they ever were.

He raises an eyebrow at her, at the phrasing of it, and at the suggestion itself. "That isn't how I operate," he says, voicing something of his internal troubles to her.

[rules_winter]

His high moral standards will mean very little to the instincts the hunt brings out. But they may keep him from doing too much damage in the mortal realm. His words make her smile just a little. "Is it not better to handle the desire for violence in a controlled environment as opposed to worrying that it might take over at a less opportune moment?" Someone saying something just wrong?

She gave him a sly look, "One need not kill to hunt. And as I understand it, hunting is not the only way to curb the urge." Let him sit and think about that for a time. She turns her head away to look out across the small pond, a peaceful look slipping across her face.

[reticence]

Faolan sees the sly look on her face, and he narrows her eyes at it. He's not certain what she's getting at, but he's fairly certain he won't like it, whatever it is. She's far too devious for her own good, and for his for that matter. He's grateful in this moment that he hasn't given her his name yet -- not that he would have, he's not exactly the friendliest sort, but he doesn't understand who or what she is and old habits ingrained since childhood from his parents certainly die hard.

"It isn't, is it?" he posits aloud. "And just what exactly are you suggesting?"

[rules_winter]

Her eyes are drawn back to him. "I understand there are games with paint guns now?" All the satisfaction of a hunt, none of the blood and gore. And humans could be great game. "And catch and release hunting." Of which there was very little point in her opinion if her expression was anything to go by. "And though less satisfying, simply running can assist. Any of the baser needs being met can help, breaking things, having sex, bar fighting, racing." She lists them off with slow thoughtfulness. "Not all will get rid of the urge completely but many will make it bearable."

[reticence]

Faolan doesn't know what's wrong with him. He doesn't know whether there really is something about her that should make him uneasy, on edge, or whether it's just the nature of how he has been feeling for the last while that is doing that for him. He had hardly thought that paintball would be the first suggestion out of her mouth. Hell, he hardly understands why she's suggesting such things to him in the first place. And the larger question of course, remains...

"How do you know about any of this?" he asks her, bluntly. The hunt, the desires, everything. (He certainly doesn't mean the paintball, that's for certain.)

[rules_winter]

The poor man has good instincts. Most people should be concerned when Mab shows an interest so his instincts aren't leading him wrong. But Mab doesn't go around making it clear that she is dangerous. She's just always a little off. She hasn't spent enough time among humans to fit in easily, she doesn't have enough expression, her mannerisms are older. She may have finally discovered google no thanks to purchasing a horribly outdated phone so she does know about things like paintball. Mostly though, she's just a little amused to see a human so affected by the hunt that he looks a little like he'd enjoy grabbing and throttling the duck that circles warily farther out on the water now.

His insistence on more clarification than book knowledge does change her expression though. Rudeness, trying to force an answer out of her. Her lips thin in irritation. The fae do not like being cornered into answers. So she answers without giving him the answer he obviously wants. "Because I have felt many of the same urges." And that is the truth. The fae who join the hunt have a heightened bloodlust during the hunt and it seeps over even when they're not actively chasing down their quarry. It explains why she might have looked some things up. "Surely curiosity has driven you to find answers before?" And carefully redirecting questions meant she could mislead all she needed to.

[reticence]

"Curiosity has driven me to a lot of things," Faolan retorts, carefully. "Not all of them good." He's getting the feeling from her, that sense of her being off, although he can't understand why. Really, if he'd dealt with more Fae, he would have understood in a heartbeat, but hunters do not often deal with the fae in such ways. Not this hunter, anyway. They have their own courts, their own rules, their own dealings, and Faolan is... An outsider frankly. Though he's learning. Learning enough not to have asked her straight out what she is. Curiosity killed the cat, after all. He doesn't want to know what will happen to him.

"Is that what has driven you here, to me?" he posits aloud, glancing sideways at her. "Curiosity?" He cannot imagine why else she would have chosen to join him. Although he imagines he has an idea as to why she's stayed.

[rules_winter]

She waves a hand dismissively. "Good and bad, people are always so worried about these things. Actions simply are. Morality changes over time." It hadn't been so very long ago that humans found it perfectly moral to own other people. In some countries it was still thus. Mab had vassals of her own, and considered the fair trades that had put them there perfectly normal. Most of them even seemed to like it in their own way.

She considers the question for a moment. "I imagine so." She finally decided, patting her package. "Though I did plan to sit for a moment and peruse my find." She turned her face back to him again, "Did you realize that you had driven away most others. They could sense something in you." She glanced around as though to show him that this section of the park was almost empty, a few people were picnicking in the distance but most of the animals and mortals were giving him wide berth, choosing other paths, almost unintentionally sensing this part of the park might be dangerous. It had likely happened slowly enough as people had been passing much closer less than ten minutes ago, but slowly the path had grown quieter and quieter. Mab, with better senses could almost feel the desire for violence in him battered down by his own determination.

Yes curiosity had definitely brought her to him, though she would have been in the park for a while either way.

[reticence]

Faolan looks up and glances around, not having realized as much, no. Not until she'd pointed it out, certainly. Once she had, however, it's hard to miss. And even harder to think of how he might stop such a thing. Perhaps he should go home. Perhaps he has spent long enough disturbing the peace of the outdoors. But shut in the four walls of his flat, he feels like he really might kill something.

He doesn't miss her usage of the word 'humans' again. A curious choice of phrasing, as if she is putting herself outside of it. He's getting that vibe off of her, and though he can't put his finger on what she is, he at least understands that she is Other. What with the way she talks and acts, she can't not be. Something about the fact that she mentions the package brings his attention back on it, and he glances back at her, at the package in question, then back up again. Is he going to like what this is? Is he going to regret this question...

"Your find...?" he asks.

[rules_winter]

Technically she'd used the words 'people' and 'others'. But she certainly did have a long view of morality. His heightened senses aren't helping him in the paranoia department. But then again, it was probably how he'd survived his teens. She just raised a brow at him as he looked at her, uncomfortably.

"Mmm, yes." She pulled her bag up and took a book out of the paper packaging, fingers running over the old leather cover almost reverently. It was in German so unless he spoke the language it wouldn't tell him anything about it aside from the picture of trees embossed on the cover in faded gold leaf with the words "Das Märchen von der Schwarzwald; der Nekromant" across the title area. "This was written in 1794. It was quite a find. There was a more recent translation by an Englishman but he did a poor job and had an agenda of his own." She tilted the book so he could see it a little better. "I will have to do some preserving before I can really spend quality time with it." She shrugged. It did not mean she wouldn't spend a moment appreciating the book.

wow PLEASE EXCUSE MY FAILURE IN READING COMPREHENSION

[reticence]

It was certainly how he'd survived, after his family had been slaughtered before him, that was for certain. And how he'd made it this long as a hunter as well. It isn't generally a very long-lived career, as his parents had tragically proved.

Whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been a book. He doesn't speak German, but he does recognize one word in the title, enough to have him further questioning who and what she is. "Can you speak German then?" he asks, trying to keep his nerves from being too much on edge -- and focusing on her otherness is not helping anyone in that regard.

Haha, no problem I re-read it like three times to make sure

[rules_winter]

She can almost see his surprise when he sees a book. He hides it well though. And he just seems more wary now that he's seen it. "Ich las es besser, als ich es zu sprechen. I am rather better at reading it than speaking." Though you wouldn't know by listening.

"It is presumably fiction, though some in the mystic communities believe it was a basis for Kemmler's research during the great wars." Kemmler had been horrifyingly effective necromancer though mostly only witches and other supernatural creatures were even aware of him. "Many of the works were destroyed by the Church. I was quite pleased to find a surviving copy."

Her hand slid across the leather almost like the touch of a lover as she looked down at it. When she looked back up at him she seemed to blush though not much color entered her cheeks. "Well, I have gone on a bit haven't I? I don't imagine it holds much interest outside of my contacts at Oxford."

orz

[reticence]

It's interesting, to hear her go on like this. Even if it's true, he doesn't quite have the same appreciation for books that she does. (He certainly doesn't go about stroking their bindings with a touch like that, at any rate.)

"Contacts at Oxford," Faolan repeats, raising his eyebrows slightly. It certainly sounds impressive, at any rate. Maybe he'll be able to hold a decent conversation with such a person when he's not feeling like crawling out of his skin. Maybe not. He's always been pretty naturally suspicious, and she seems to enjoy her teasing. "You're...in academics?"

If Faolan were more socially conscious he might realize that he hasn't even asked her name yet. Or offered his own. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily as the case may be, he's not at all.

[rules_winter]

Mab definitely covets some of her things. Especially the hard to find ones. Her head tilts a little at his question. "Mmm, no. I simply have a thirst for knowledge. Consider it a ... hobby." That's the right word isn't it? The more you know, the easier it is to get what you want.

The glamoured blush has disappeared and she pushes some of her hair back over her shoulder. Her contacts in Oxford were really one harried professor of mythology whom she'd traded a very rare book for a favor owed, and a young professor of ancient languages who thought she was a coed at the school.

[reticence]

Something tells Faolan that knowledge isn't the only thing that the woman has a thirst for, though he's not about to come right out and say as much to her. She has let on that she's affected by the Hunt as well, after all, and she's let on enough for him to get a definite impression of Other about her. He knows enough not to push her from there. At least, he hopes that he does.

"If knowledge is a hobby, then what do you do for a living?" Faolan asks, raising an eyebrow at her. "To be able to acquire such rare finds as you say that is." He's certainly not splurging any spare cash on rare books himself, in his job as a Private Investigator. Not that that's what he'd be spending it on in the first place, but that's neither here nor there.