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

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

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!]

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"I have not, no," Faolan answers, although his attention is at once drawn entirely to the insect. Like a cat on the hunt, the comparison not entirely unjust. He narrows his eyes at it. He's already tried and failed on several occasions to get the thing. He does not know whether it is the fact that it has thus evaded him or its mere presence that he suddenly finds offensive on a personal level, but to say that it irritates him is an understatement.

His fingers tighten slightly around his coffee mug. "Perhaps I have learned my lesson." Or perhaps he has simply lost the vampire's trail again, as the case may be. The words are directed at Lancelot, but Faolan's eyes remain on the fly, as it circles the room and heads back towards them once more.

"I should hope you have," he answers, setting down his coffee and picking up a napkin as tracks the fly. "Although it was a somewhat painful way to learn a lesson --"

He snatches out suddenly, then calmly balls up the napkin and looks around for a bin.

"Your arm is healing well, too. It could have been far worse, you're lucky in a way. So far as you can call an injury like that luck."

Faolan wonders for a moment, as he half-listens to the other man speak, just what he intends to do with that napkin. And then watches the other man casually snaps the fly out of mid-air, without even pausing in his thought process.

He's pretty certain that his mouth is hanging open in response to the action, but he can't quite say for certain. It takes him a moment to focus on the other things that Lancelot is saying, so off-topic they are from the fact that the other man just did something as impressive as that in so nonchalant a way.

"I..." he says, stumbling over his words slightly, but no, he can't continue that conversation, not until he asks, "How the hell did you do that?"

"Hmm? You mean catch the fly?"

He blinks owlishly, looks down at the napkin then back up with a shrug before pushing back his chair.

"Good reflexes," he says, as if this should be an acceptable answer, and steps away a moment to drop the napkin into a bin. Lily looks up, staring after him until he returns and sits by her -- ruffles her ears reassuringly. "I'm not sure there's a trick to it I can teach, I'm afraid. I've just always had decent reaction times when it comes to these things."

Faolan shakes his head. He hadn't expected there to be a trick to teach, it's just that. Well, he's never seen another with such skills as those. Certainly not another ordinary human being, at any rate.

Something about the action automatically sets Faolan wondering. Could he possibly...?

He shakes his head at the other man, narrowing his eyes slightly. Still not entirely sure that he's managed to close his mouth yet. "That's a whole hell of a lot more than good reflexes."

"I'll take that as a compliment, then."

His lips flick up in a playful smile, lightly amused by Faolan's suspicion. After all, what can he say to that? 'Oh, well, since you mention it I did spend several years in the Seelie court being raised there. That might be part of it!'

Not likely. Especially not to a stranger in the middle of a coffee shop. So he shrugs, lightly deflects.

"I'd say it's all the t'ai chi, but that tends to involve moving slowly not quickly."

Amusingly enough, said description is probably one of the only ones that would have made any sort of sense to Faolan to describe the situation, but since Lancelot does not supply him with it, Faolan can only shake his head at him.

"You should," he says, honestly meaning it. "It was impressive. And I've been trying to get that damn fly all morning." Well, that's perhaps something of an exaggeration, but ever since he'd noticed the thing he couldn't get it off of his mind. He'd needed it dead, a sensation that was more than a little discomforting and disconcerting. "I suppose I should be thanking you," he adds. Although part of him is still a little put out that he couldn't have gotten it himself.

"Not at all, I was simply putting an end to some criminal activity. That fly was clearly loitering with intent."

Lancelot flicks an eyebrow at that, lowers his eyes a little shyly and focuses on sipping his drink. He's not so sure it's that impressive, but it would be rude to insist too far otherwise.

Faolan thinks about commenting on Lancelot's handling of said 'criminal intent', but doesn't want to start up some sort of debate or make the other man feel uncomfortable about his job when really the only thing in question would be Faolan's poor sense of humor. So he thinks better of it. Though he does make note of the other man's shyness, in the face of it all. Most peculiar indeed.

"Perhaps it was," Faolan retorts. "How fortunate this coffee shop was that a man such as yourself were to appear, in that case." He raises his drink to his lips, glancing down at the dog at their feet then back at Lancelot himself, before he speaks up to say, "So. Do you actually ever work, or is the Community Officer bit just a cover for something else?" It's the second time he's run into him, and the second time out with his dog and out of uniform, after all.

"Ah, you've discovered my secret. I'm afraid I can't allow that. Now I'll have to have Lily eat you."

Lily's ears flick a little uncertainly at the sound of her name. Is something happening? She isn't sure. She pads forward a little, rests her head in Lancelot's lap and swishes her tail some more.

"She's a carnivorous beast," He assures Faolan. "Has felled men twice your size."

Faolan raises his eyes at Lancelot slightly, obviously a little surprised at the other man's words and, by proxy, at his sense of humor. But he takes them in stride -- there's no harm in them, after all, even if they are a little ridiculous. And he was the one who had started joking with him anyway.

"Terrifying, she is," Faolan comments, raising his coffee to take a sip from it and watch the other man from over the rim of the mug. "I'm shaking in my shoes, I am. Though I'll warn you. I don't think I'll be all that good eating. And I can put up more of a fight than you'd think."

"Ah, can you? Even against a man-eating dog?"

He leans a hand down to ruffle her mane and Lily rubs her face against his jeans happily, leans into the touch and eventually starts to push up to put her paws on the edge of his chair.

"Ah!" he chides gently, and taps her on the nose. She sits back down, chided and pushes her face into his lap again. Fine, fine, no paws up -- but more petting then!

"Even against man-eating dogs, yes," Faolan retorts, the irony of the conversation not lost on him, considering the original circumstances in which they had met in the first place. Considering what he did for a living. Considering a lot of things, really.

He watches the pair of them for a moment, sipping his coffee. Now that the fly is gone, he can relax a little, although there is still that niggling urge, in the back of his mind. Chase. Hunt. Good thing that Lily's a dog, and a bigger one at that, she's definitely not hitting on any of those, thank god. He can only imagine what the other man might think, to have him suddenly start looking at his dog as though he should like nothing better than to chase it down and have it for dinner.

He forces himself to take another sip of his coffee, realizing he's irritating himself with this train of thought. Frowning into his mug slightly as he does.

Lancelot lets out a heavy sick of mock-defeat, tilting his head down at Lily before smiling up at Faolan.

"Well, then I suppose I will have to swear you to secrecy in some way. Name your price." He squints, as if trying to judge what this might be. "Are we talking cups of coffee or glasses of whiskey?"

Snapped out of his troubled thoughts for now, Faolan raises his eyebrows slightly at the suggestion, but recovers himself quickly enough as he suggests, "Who's to say I can't lay a claim on both. You're to placate me into secrecy, after all, yeah? Better make it an offer I can't refuse."

And truth be told, he wouldn't mind an excuse to run into the other man on purpose for a change. He would have to be slow and blind, to mind something like that. He smirks at the other man over the rim of his mug. "Of course, they don't serve whiskey here," he observes, casual as you please. Continuing his internal thought processes aloud.

"They don't?" Lancelot prompts, and he affects surprise at this. "Well, and here I thought they simply kept it well hidden."

Still, his expression slips down into an easy smile -- hands still ruffling at Lily's ears as she uses his lap for a makeshift pillow.

"I thought you considered it frowned upon at this hour of the day, are you changing your mind so soon?"

"No," Faolan says, lowering his mug so that he can see his face properly as he continues, needing to be sure whether he's reading their interactions here correctly or whether he needs to work on his social skills even more than he thought. "Though I am suggesting you might offer me a rain check for it. Perhaps in a different establishment, considering the general lack of alcohol in this one."

He cocks his head at the other man slightly, trying to read his response as he goes on to say, "I think that, perhaps, would be sufficient enough to keep me quiet."

Aha. Lancelot lofts an eyebrow curiously, freeing his hands from thick white fur to lift his own coffee and sip it as he considers this.

"Met police officers cannot be seen to be offering bribes," he says finally, lips curling into something teasing. "It would have to stay between the two of us, or my cover would be blown regardless. Are you about to tell me you have very expensive, exclusive taste? I am afraid my pockets are not as deep as all that."

Faolan shakes his head at the question. "As long as it's alcohol, and it's good enough to be served in a bar, I'm easy. Not that I suppose I should be telling you as much, but I'm certainly not going to ask you for anything off the top shelf, if that's what you're worried about."

"You're supposed to be keeping me quiet, though," he adds, swirling his coffee in his hand, raising an eyebrow at the other man as he quirks an eyebrow to point out, "so you'd better at least try, yeah?"

"I always try my best in everything, scout's honour."

He fidgets with his drink thoughtfully, tilts his head at Faolan finally and squints a little.

"How many extra drinks would it take to buy your story?" he ventures finally, "on top of the silence about Lily, of course."

"My story...?" Faolan asks, raising his eyebrows slightly as he does. He wants to ask why the other man might want something like that from him, but stops. Considering how they met, he supposes he really shouldn't be surprised. He's told Lancelot almost next to nothing about himself, while he already knows quite a lot about him and his job and his sweet fluffy white dog as well.

He takes in a deep breath, looking down at his coffee with a shrug before speaking up. "At least two," he says, casually. "One for the story, and one for the fact that you want me to keep my silence. Just think, though. The more there are, the easier you'll find it is to wrestle the information out of me, you know."

"I hope you are not suggesting I would get you drunk. That would count as slander, and I'll have you know I am always a perfect gentleman about such things."

He arches an eyebrow in turn, daring Faolan to suggest otherwise before shrugging and sipping his coffee.

"But don't feel you have to, we could equally just drink and talk about something else. I suppose I'm just curious."

Faolan laughs slightly, shaking his head. "It's not exactly a secret. Though I'd request a mutual exchange, if I can. I'm not much of a talker." Well. He's fallen out of the habit of it in recent years at least. The conversation here and now is pretty much proof that he can hold a decent conversation with whoever he likes, though. So really he's just selling himself short.

"No slander," he promises. "You can be as much of a gentleman as you like. And I'll do my best in return. Fair's fair, yeah?" He actually rather does like the sound of a night out with the other man. Even if he's not certain where Lancelot is going with this, he could use the socialization.

"That sounds fair to me," he says, and Lancelot begins patting himself down -- reaches for an inside pocket and tugs a pen out and the receipt from his coffee. He flips it over and clicks out the pen, scribbles down what is quickly obvious as a mobile phone number. "You can let me know when suits you," he says, and scribbles an email address under -- work address, obvious, if the @met.police.uk string is anything to go by. "No pressure. It's your bribe, after all, it should be done at your leisure."

Faolan takes the receipt from the other man, glancing over the number and the email address for a moment, before reaching to tuck it in his coat pocket. Maybe some people would start to program these things into their phones right away so they don't lose them, but Faolan's old-fashioned. (And his mobile isn't really all that good, considering.) And then, rather than leaving it at there, he reaches further into the breast pocket of his coat and pulls out a card, before sliding it across the table to the other man. Written on it is his name, first and last, in simple black lettering on the white background, a phone number (his mobile, considering it's easier to work that way), and an email address. No address or professional designation, but it's obviously a professional business card.

"Here," he says. "So you know who's contacting you, when I do. Or in case you should feel inspired. To enact any more bribes." He smirks, slightly.

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

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