undergrounds | Once you're lost in twillights's blue

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Once you're lost in twillights's blue

Closed to Faolan: Night-time Walk
If he has meant to or not, Lancelot has found himself associating more and more with people like him.

People with abilities, or knowledge of them. People who know about witches and ghosts, fae and doorways. People who know these things exist not just in films and TV shows and books, but in the shadows around them.

Lancelot had never expected to be anything special, to be anything other than what he is. After all, what qualities does Lancelot have? He's a Community Officer, he loves his dog, he goes to work like anyone else and comes home and goes to bed. His life is hardly rife with excitement and adventure.

Or at least, it hadn't been.

He's thinking about this one evening, having belatedly realised he'll need to run back out to the shops to get a few things. He leaves Lily behind, not meaning to be long, and cuts up a few side roads to get to the supermarket before it closes.

That's when he hears the sound. It sounds like a dog distantly, he thinks, the clack-clack of a big dog's claws on pavement. He glances back idly, but ignores it, expecting someone was out walking their dog late.

Something makes his hackles rise, some sense telling him to run. Making his pulse pick up.

He starts to walk faster, and the animal does too.

That answers the question. Lancelot breaks into a run, and tries to remember the quickest route to somewhere with a gate he can close.

Open: A Day-time Investigation

Lancelot is bruised, a little jumpy, but he's alive -- and now he's somewhat determined to prove what was chasing him.

He's dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt, sleeves pushed up as he re-walks the path from the night before with his Lily at his side. The fluffy white Samoyed may not be the world's best hunting dog, but she has a good sense of smell. Far better than his by any estimation. He frowns at the ground as he walks, looking for anything -- fur, blood, scraps of something from the fight. Anything that might help him work out what attacked him, if it was truly a werewolf. Anything that might help track such a thing, or that might tell him if it was alone.

Pausing at the sight of something he crouches down, frowning at a dark patch on the pavement and trying to replay the scenario in his head. Perhaps if he could get someone to run a trace -- would such a thing even work? Could the blood of a werewolf be traced? Would it match the human before they shifted? Would that even help? He lets out a sigh and reaches out to ruffle Lily as she sniffs at it. At the rate they were going, it was most definitely going to be a long day.

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Perhaps it is luck, that has found him here in the same place at the same time as the other man and his persuer. Or perhaps it is the fact that Faolan has been tracking the wolf, or at least trying his damnedest to do so. It is a task that has preoccupied most of the nights that Faolan is not working on other, more immediately rewarding jobs at hand. Once or twice, he's almost certain that he's nearly found them again, though time and time again he has come up empty despite his best attempts.

That is, until tonight. Until tonight when, from the streets in front of him, he should hear a familiar growl, and should spot a familiar figure starting to break into a run down the street towards him in response to the sound of it. But no, the two sounds couldn't possibly go together, and it takes Faolan a few moments to connect the dots.

"Lancelot...?!"

Lancelot doesn't slow down, doesn't answer. He's quick on his feet, quicker than he might look -- Lancelot hardly has the lean, wirey build of a runner -- and grabs out for Faolan as he passes. Grabs out to draw him along with him because like hell he's leaving the man to be clawed by another animal.

He doesn't want to look back, and has no intention of -- especially not after the look on Faolan's face.

After the incident with the fly, Faolan isn't honestly surprised that Lancelot's fast on his feet, the former being a much more surprising pill to swallow. Luckily for the pair of them however, Faolan jogs in his free time for this reason specifically. When your life depends on it, he wants to make sure that he's quick on his feet, and for extended amounts of time if need be. So when Lancelot grabs him and drags him along for the ride, Faolan spares a glance behind them -- and then reaches inside his jacket for his gun.

"We need more distance!" he calls out to the man beside him. At least far enough for him to be able to turn around and get a few decent shots off. "He's too close!"

Is that a gun?

Lancelot nearly stumbles in surprise at the sight of the gun, then at Faolan shooting it -- he doesn't even know what to say. He doesn't even know what's going on.

The animal yelps and Lancelot risks a glance back long enough to realise it's big and furry.

Well, that doesn't narrow it down much.

He reaches out to yank Faolan toward another turn, tries to think quickly.

"Is that what attacked you?"

Oh, it most certainly is a gun, and he's definitely firing it off, but he can't get a good aim. They're going to need to find a corner or two, trick it into running past like he'd managed a time or two the last time. That is if it isn't onto him about the whole thing by this point.

He realizes that he's surprised Lancelot with it, but really, he's a Community Officer, of course he's surprised him with the appearance of a gun. And honestly, would he prefer to be with or without one against the creature coming up behind them, in all honesty's sake?

"One and the same," Faolan grinds out. He shoots a glance over his shoulder again, to make sure that they aren't about to be eaten as it feels that they are, before casting a glance at Lancelot as well. "I tried to tell you, but you wouldn't have believed me."

"Can you blame me?" He hisses and ducks around another corner -- presses his back against the wall of a shop as he tries to decide where to go. "Forgive me, but this is all a little new to me!"

First the fae, then witches, then ghosts, now werewolves?

Lancelot fervently wishes all this had at least spread itself out a little more, and even better that it had come with manuals. Any sort of guide. 'What to do when being chased through London by a werewolf' would be particularly useful about now.

Even if there were a guide, it's not like they would have time to read it. Besides, that's why Faolan is there, right?

Faolan ducks around the corner and shoves Lancelot further along the wall so he can at once be between the other man and the creature and so that he can have a better shot once it runs by or figures out where they've gone and turns the corner. He doesn't have endless ammunition -- only the one clip in the gun, so he's got to make his shots count as best he can.

"Can you blame me for not wanting to give you a report?" he hisses right back at the other man. "He probably thinks that you're with me. Probably saw you helping me, I don't know. Just stay quiet. He can smell wherever we go, and he sure as hell can hear us. And whatever you do, do not let it bite you." Faolan squares his stance, preparing himself for the wolf to come.

Right. Stay still, stay quiet, don't get bitten. Lancelot can do that. Although he'd rather be helping -- rather be doing something other than letting this man handle everything. His breaths are coming fast, more from fear than from running, and he can feel his skin prickling -- hairs lifting. The moon is bright, flooding the dim streets with extra light on top of the streetlights. Two full moons in one month. That makes this a blue moon, doesn't it? There's something about that, about being attacked on a blue moon, that strikes him as funny.

The sound of claws scrabbling around the corner snaps his attention back and he sees it lunge around, pause before turning toward them.

No longer funny. Lancelot braces to run again.

This time Faolan's got him. He doesn't have any sense of the moon himself, no otherworldly anything. Just plain human, with a plain steel gun in his hands, a gun that is perfectly aimed and ready to fire at the thing as it tears around the corner at them. Or at least, that's the idea. Faolan's a good shot, and there's hardly any missing from this range. Of course, there's hardly any aiming at this range either, for that matter. And werewolves are unnaturally strong and fast in this form. What was once a head shot becomes a graze off its shoulder and down its back and he isn't certain that he hasn't just made it angrier.

Damn.

"Run!" Faolan shouts to the other man, as he starts backwards after him, firing another shot at the thing and catching it this time squarely in the shoulder. Which he knows will slow it down, buy them some time, but not enough to stop it coming after them. With a curse, Faolan turns on his heel and tears off down the street himself.

Lancelot doesn't need telling twice.

He breaks into a run again, eyes skimming around the street. They land on a big commercial bin, on wheels -- and he crosses quickly, grabs one of the handles and throws all his strength into getting it moving in the direction of the wolf.

As soon as it is moving on its own he lets go, trips a few steps back before scanning the street and breaking into a run again.

It'll either buy them a few seconds or the wolf will dodge completely and it will have wasted time.

Faolan's hands are otherwise preoccupied with his gun and keeping his balance as he runs -- he doesn't particularly want to put it up even to help the other man try to slow the thing down. But he seems to be doing a pretty good job of it on his own. Hell, better than a pretty good job of it. How the hell did he just move that bin on his own like that, as far as he did, Faolan wonders to himself. He doesn't exactly have time to dwell on it, however. The wolf snarls in response to the blockade, and it distracts him for a few moments. The shoulder shot is probably the only thing keeping him from bounding over it -- well done, Faolan thinks, in retrospect.

He doesn't stop to see what it does from there, and without a good view of it to keep firing, Faolan glances back to make sure that the other man is running again, and keeps going himself. "Fucking vampires," he mutters to himself.

"Vampires?" Lancelot prompts, skidding to a halt and trying to decide which way to go. Left, more houses. More residential area. No, bad idea, don't lead the angry creature toward people. Right -- "Rail crossing," Lancelot adds, and points to the right. The bridge is narrow, easier to tunnel the creature over to get a good aim. Or else they can hope it's stupid enough to leap onto the tracks. He breaks into a run, dodging around cars to make for the narrow stone staircase that leads up and over the lines.

"Long story," Faolan grinds out in response. "I'll explain later." If they ever make it out of this cat and mouse chase scene. No, not if. They will. Faolan will make sure of that much. He's really hoping that he's going to make it out of this encounter without any more stitches, though.

He lets out a pant of air then speeds off after the other man. It's not a bad idea, in theory. Of course, there's not really anywhere for them to hide either, if anything goes wrong. He supposes it's lucky that there's only one of them, that they shouldn't end up cornered on this crossing -- then he supposes he really shouldn't even think like that, because what if he jinxes them in the process.

He hazards a glance behind him to catch the wolf gaining on them, swears, and turns to look back at Lancelot to warn him only to catch him further ahead than he was before. Damn fast bastard. "How the hell do you do that..." Faolan bemoans, forcing himself on. He's going to tell himself it's because his balance is off, running with the gun in his hand, that's it.

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