Lancelot du Lac (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
knightscode) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-07-29 11:30 pm
knightscode) wrote in undergrounds2015-07-29 11:30 pm
Entry tags:
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.
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.