undergrounds | The Initiation (Closed to Lancelot and Faolan)

Entry tags:

The Initiation (Closed to Lancelot and Faolan)

The day has come for the new Guardians to be initiated by the Night Council. Step inside their headquarters in Westminster, take a seat in the study, and wait. There's a large, empty fireplace, a live owl perched in an iron cage by the mantelpiece, a bookcase of old and dusty tomes (mostly supernatural history and biographies) and several overstuffed leather armchairs. The bay window affords a view over Whitehall.

The owl watches with beady eyes. You get the sense it's watching you.

The initiates are called one by one. A woman wearing glasses pops her head into the study every few minutes to collect the next one. She'll take you to a large dimly lit chamber, usher you in, then leave, closing the door behind you.

At first glance, you'd be forgiven for thinking that you're surrounded by people. The chamber is circular and around the walls there are standing figures, men and women, life-size. They're statues in various poses, some with their hands in front of their faces as if trying to protect themselves. The expressions carved into their faces are mostly grimaces and many of them are wide-eyed, perhaps shocked or fearful.

But the statues are just decoration. There are real people here: the Council members, all sitting in front of you. They're arranged in a rough semi circle around a table, with the President Sylvia Redbright in the centre. Her seat is raised above the others, almost a throne. She's directly ahead of you.

Also directly ahead of you, between you and the Council members, is a small square table upon which sits a thick sheaf of paper and a golden pen. Both have a magical aura. The paper is high quality, printed on in black ink and bears the seal of the Night Council. It runs to twelve pages.

Sylvia nods at you, smiling. "Come forward. Don't worry, it's a quick process, nothing complicated. All you have to do is repeat a few words, then sign the contract. Okay?" She glances at her fellow representatives and they each stand up, Sylvia included. "Stand by the table and place your hand on the contract." She gestures with her palm flat, and waits for you to follow her lead. "Then repeat after me. 'I stand here before the Night Council to swear an oath. I am a Guardian of the Night Council. From this moment on, I pledge my allegiance to the Night Council, in life and in death eternal. I swear to devote myself to the Night Council, to the protection of its members, and to my duties as a Guardian. I swear this by everything I hold sacred and dear in the world.'"

She pauses, then indicates the contract on the table. "On the bottom of the first page, you'll see a space for your signature. Go ahead and sign it."

As you step forward, Peter Vrinak, the Witch Representative on the end of the row, stands up. He comes over to stand next to you, waiting for you to sign the document. The moment you have, he takes the document and strides back to his seat while the other Council members sit down.

"Thank you," Sylvia says. She smiles. "And welcome! We look forward to working with you. Just one more thing before you go. We take security very seriously. We also take our oaths very seriously. That's why the contract you signed is magically binding. It will hold you to your word. If ever you break your oath, you will turn to stone."

She pauses a moment to let that sink in. The statues around you, were they...?

Sylvia clears her throat. "Of course, this is a measure of last resort – a precaution only. But you are forbidden to reveal it." Her tone is matter-of-fact, laying down the law. "That means you will be unable to discuss the oath at all, or make any attempt to reveal it to anyone else, whether in speech, writing or any other form of communication. Every Guardian makes the same oath and none of you can speak of it."

The eyes of the Council members are all staring down at you, every one of them serious, stern. Your secret will not leave this room, any more than the stone statues can wake up and walk themselves out of here.

Sylvia waves a hand, dropping the formal tone. "And that's all. Thank you. Really, I do mean thank you. Being a Guardian is a lot to take on. We have your contract for safekeeping and if you want to come back and read it over in more detail, it's always available. Your training starts tomorrow. Best of luck."

Best of luck, newbie. You've been officially initiated.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Lancelot is nervous.

Rightly so, in his opinion.

He has hardly been apart of this... community long, and had applied to the Night Council as it seemed logical. Lancelot Dulac is a Community Officer, and the Night Council is not so far from the Metropolitan Police -- it governs the supernatural community, so he understands. It keeps the peace, enforces rules. Surely that is a way he could help? Surely it is something he would be good at?

Yet all the same, Lancelot does not expect to be accepted. After all, who is he? A Community Officer, he carries no weapon or handcuffs. His knowledge of the supernatural is limited, his experience is very low. Why should he be picked?

Still here he is, waiting to be called, staring down the owl above the fireplace with a sense of unease. The last thing he expects, honestly, is someone he knows.

Faolan is perhaps not as nervous as Lancelot is. Perhaps because he has not been sitting there in that room, staring at the owl, waiting to be called in for the last half hour or so, like the other man. No, while Lancelot has been diligently watching the time tick by and the hour to arrive for the initiations to begin, Faolan has been stuck in traffic. On the underground. Or more precisely, he had been on the underground, when there'd been engineering works on the line and he'd been forced to change and everything had shuddered to a halt from there. So Faolan had done the next best thing he could, and hailed a taxi. He may be rolling in a minute late or so, but at least he's there, at least he's dressed appropriately, and it's not like they can initiate him without him being there anyway now can they?

He'd sent in the application much the same as Lancelot had, on a whim. Hillingdon hardly cared for politics. Hillingdon hardly cared for much of anything, that was rather Faolan's frustration with the clan. He'd been a hunter nearly ten years now, and he figured if ever he was going to be making a difference, he would do so here. And then lo and behold, his letter had arrived. So there he is at last.

Him, and Lancelot, apparently. Faolan nearly does a double-take. "What are you doing here?" he asks, wincing because if he hadn't just been rushing to get there for the last god knows how long that had taken, he probably could have phrased that better.

Lancelot's reaction is almost a mirror to Faolan's own. He glances up at the sound of someone entering, nearly dismisses it before looking up sharply and taking in the man just as Faolan asks exactly what he's thinking himself: what are you doing here?

He blinks a moment, slightly at a loss, then straightens in his chair and shifts slightly to face the hunter.

"... Well, I-- I'm here to register. As a guardian -- that is, they had applications and I thought..."

He wets his lips nervously, a little hesitant about it all now -- as if perhaps Faolan might inform him he cannot or he is doing something fundamentally wrong.

Ah, yes, of course Faolan's put his foot in it right the first thing he's said as he's opened his mouth. He purses his lips slightly for a moment, stepping in the door and then wincing again as it shuts firmly behind him.

"No, I meant. I didn't expect--... It's just that it's a surprise..." He sighs, breathing out heavily, knowing that he's just digging himself deeper with each choice of words that he makes. "It's good to see you," he says, finally. "Really it is. I didn't think that I'd recognize anyone here. Certainly not know them. I didn't mean..."

He shrugs slightly, looking a little sheepish. Please save him from his own self in this awkward exchange, Lancelot. "Welcome to the club, then, I suppose," he says. "It seems that there are at least two of us, this go around." He fishes out his acceptance letter and invitation and brandishes it, as proof of his own reason for being there.

Welcome to the club, Faolan says, and Lancelot eases a little -- lets out a slow breath and jerks an eyebrow.

"I'm not so sure either of us are officially in it until we're called and signed it. Perhaps that will be when we get the key to the clubhouse and secret password."

He flickers a smile, finally, waves Faolan over to come sit beside him.

"I admit, I had not thought you the type for something so..." Lancelot hesitates, trying to find a word that will not accidentally come across offensive. "... Organised. Official?"

That works, he thinks.

Faolan lets out a huff of laughter, stepping forward as the other man eases before him and moving to take a chair beside him. "Just because I'm not in the police force myself, you don't think that I can be trusted in such a position, is that it?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at him in return, before he flicks a smile as well.

"Truth be told, I wasn't certain that I would go for it," he says, sitting back in his seat. It's obvious, even despite the fact that he's almost late, that they're not starting on time. They have a little while to indulge in conversation. He glances sideways at the other man, as he speaks up to say, "How much do you know about the clans? You'll forgive me for saying so I hope, but you don't exactly strike me as the type to volunteer yourself into this mess either." With his police job and his dog and his big, innocent eyes. Even despite what he'd told him before, he really doesn't strike Faolan as the sort to associate with... Well. Werewolves and vampires and the likes of him.

Lancelot opens his mouth to interrupt with process (not at all, he never said Faolan could not be trusted!) before closing it again and letting it slide as the man smiles. He's being teased, he thinks, and that is all fine but he frowns a little regardless -- honestly! Even as a joke to imply he did not trust Faolan, after the man helped him escape a beast and then he let him into his home!

To the question, however, his brow furrows further -- considering it.

"A little," he admits, "perhaps not as much as I should. I know something of the Seelie and Unseelie, as you know, of Daybreak, of Redbright. I have been told a little of Circle Midnight and -- well. The Night Council, although I suppose that is an encompassing faction of sorts."

Faolan threads his fingers together in his lap, trying to figure out how best to explain himself here. "The faction that I belong to stands... Outside of the rest of them. It doesn't participate in, well. The rest of the politics as much as I think the rest enjoy. We're sort of. Divided on the inside, even. There are those that think that we should stay as we are, keep ourselves to ourselves, the way it's been. There's another section, gaining voice I suppose, that thinks we can never have peace so long as there are monsters out there to be taken out." They've even spoken up against the Night Council itself, although he's certainly not going to share that much, especially considering where they are and who may be listening in.

"I guess you could say that I'm a firm believer in the former. Things are going to change, and as long as they don't force it on us, it'll be alright. I've been there long enough, I guess the higher-ups decided they needed to do something about it." He shrugs. "So here I am." And he's not entirely sure how many directions they're going to try and pull him in. He'll try his best to stay true to himself regardless. But it will certainly be a challenge, that's for certain.

"Here you are," he echoes, studying Faolan in thought. "As I understand it... as Guardians we protect the council, keep the peace, looking into law breaking -- well, when it involves the supernatural. That would... not necessarily be a conflict of interest, would not stop you keeping out of politics if you wished to."

Unless, of course, he was pushed to do otherwise. Unless, of course, someone used his faction against him. There are a lot of possibilities, and it is... complicated. Complicated enough that Lancelot lets out a sigh just thinking about it.

It is complicated indeed. More complicated than Faolan even knows, yet. Though he has some idea of it. Considering one faction is basically the law -- the faction that creates the rules and governs the others by them -- while the other halfway wants nothing to do with them, halfway wants to bring the system down entirely. Yes, it's complicated indeed. And Faolan is not so fool as to assume that the Night Council is unaware of Hillingdon's opinions. Which means that he's caught in the middle of all of this potential political mess. He agreed to it, he supposes. Volunteered, even. Given that fact, what right does he have to complain.

"I'm fairly certain that no matter what I do, I'm going to be right in the middle of the politics," Faolan says. "But it's better myself than someone else from Hillingdon." He tilts his head at Lancelot. "What about you? What had you signing yourself up for something like this?" Enough about him and his problems. Problems he's not even certain he has yet. He'll cross those bridges when he gets to them, really.

He shrugs at that, drops his eyes down to his lap.

"It made sense, to me. After all, I am a Community Officer by day. I already... investigate, question, handle victims. The skills translate well enough. For all I know, I am interacting with crimes that should fall under Night Council as it is. If... by putting my name forward I can help better, can more easily bright people who have broken laws to justice then it is the right thing to do."

Lancelot pauses then, hesitates and flickers a sheepish sort of smile.

"I know what you are thinking. Who am I try and join when I know so little? I admit, I am new. There are plenty more deserving of this role than me, who understand better. Who are better investigators, brighter, who have studied the factions far more intricately. Perhaps they will bring me into that room only to turn me away, but... All I have ever wanted is to help people. The last I can do is try."

Faolan flicks something of a smile at the other man, shaking his head in return. "Don't go putting words in my mouth," he says. "I think you'd be surprised what it is I'm thinking, but that certainly isn't it."

Truth be told, he doesn't think that Lancelot's lack of experience is a reason not to put himself forward in this. It's true, he knows very little about each faction and their inner politics. But that means he has little grounds to be swayed by outside information. If he truly is volunteering for this to help people -- a rather naive ideal in Faolan's mind, he'll give it that much, but -- then Faolan thinks that this is just what something like the Night Council needs. Granted, he's not sure how well it will work in practice, but he can see why choosing someone like Lancelot was a good move on their part.

"If we're the only two to be initiated this go around, I figure we'll be seeing a lot more of each other, in times to come. Think you can live with that? If we end up being partners, of sorts?" Faolan asks, with a wry smile. Okay, so Night Guardians may not work in pairs, but still.

He lets out a huff of amusement, a little awkward, eyes lifting to study Faolan.

"It may be bad for my bank balance," he offers finally. "If I am to keep promising to buy you drinks as bribes. I suppose I would need to keep some in my flat, too, unless you want to keep being offered white wine and amaretto."

Lancelot winces slightly, a sort of self-deprecating expression of apology for the experience. As if Faolan might still hold his lack of decent alcohol supplies against him.

Faolan huffs out a laugh at the other man's words, shaking his head before speaking up to comment, "I think I might be able to find you a decent red somewhere, if nothing else."

He raises his head to meet Lancelot's eyes, his smile widening before he shakes his head. "Perhaps we can think of other ways you might be able to bribe me off instead, if you are really so intent on doing so. I think you'll find I'm a pretty easy man to please." His smile widens wolfishly, before he lets that comment go. "Though honestly, perhaps in time you'll simply come to realize I'm good at keeping secrets."

His smile flicks up shyly, a little uncertain -- it feels oddly as if he's being flirted with, and honestly Lancelot isn't sure how to respond to that.

He's saved when the door opens and small woman pops her head out to call his name. Lancelot straightens a little, as if mentally reminding himself he's here for work reasons and shouldn't be enjoying himself, and pushes to his feet. Dusts down his jacket and hopes silently he looks presentable.

"Well," he says quietly, "wish me luck."

With that, he follows her through the doorway to begin his initiation.

-----

Admittedly, it isn't... exactly what he had expected.

He supposes it makes sense, but that doesn't make him feel any steadier about the fact that he's just been calmly threatened. Not that he had any intention of breaking his oath, but... all the same. Most contractual obligations don't come with death threats.

Lancelot waits quietly outside the building, hoping to catch Faolan on his way out. It isn't as if he has anyone else to talk with this about, after all. He's hoping Faolan might at least reassure him that... that what? This is normal? Or that it isn't? He's not sure which is better.

Faolan isn't honestly certain what to make of any of this as he makes his way towards the door of the building. Knowing that he's effectively just signed himself away to protect and support people who he honestly doesn't know whether he should be supporting or not makes him... Wary. Perhaps that shows a little on his face, as he steps outside and onto the street. Perhaps not -- he does try to keep his features schooled, especially when he may not be certain who is watching him.

He hasn't expected Lancelot to be waiting for him outside, so when he spots a person hanging about, he starts for a moment, instantly on edge, before he realizes who it is. He raises his eyebrows at the other man slightly. "Still here?" he asks, tucking his hands into his pockets to try and look more nonchalant than he feels, certainly.

Lancelot gives a sort of wince, shrugs at the question.

"That was all a little more dire than I expected. I thought I could use a drink, and perhaps you could too. One that isn't amaretto this time. Unless you're... busy. We can do another rain-check."

He shifts awkwardly, belatedly realising Faolan might already have plans -- or perhaps not even be bothered by veiled threats to turn him into a statue. In truth, he realise she doesn't know much about Faolan at all. Which is strange to think, somehow he's gotten away with barely talking about himself and encouraged Lancelot to do a lot of talking instead.

Faolan lets out a huff of laughter at that, shaking his head for a moment and looking down at his feet before up at the other man. "I'm really not going to hold that against you, you know. Stop apologizing for yourself. I was intruding on your space -- it's fine." He quirks a smile at him, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

"I think I could use one too. If you're offering," he adds, with another half-smile. He's not about to break the other man's wallet, not to worry. He's just not certain whether he can afford it, otherwise. "Wouldn't want to start wracking up too many rain-checks, after all. You might start to lose count on me."

He brightens at that, hesitates before glancing at his watch.

"Actually, if you have the time we may as well get something to eat. Lily has a sitter so I don't need to rush back. Do you like Indian? There's a good place not far from here, nice food and nice atmosphere. Walking distance, decent choice of wine. I owe you for before, so it'll be on me."

Faolan raises his eyebrows, but shrugs, nodding. "I didn't know what to expect with the initiation," he says, "I made sure to keep the evening open. I'm all yours, if you'll have me." He quirks a smile, remembering the other man's earlier comments about how he had better not cost him too much, for all his hospitality. "I promise I'll behave. You can even order for me, if you don't trust I won't eat you out of house and home. I did say that I'm pretty easy to please, and I meant it too."

The idea that Lancelot should have gotten a dog sitter for an evening out amuses Faolan a little, but he supposes he's not surprised by it. The other man does strike him as the type to do something of the sort, especially for that dog. She is sweet, though. He'll give him that much. He has a sinking feeling at the mention of atmosphere and wines, but he decides to let the other man have the benefit of the doubt for now. "Ready when you are, then." He'd certainly like to get out of here for a while, at least. Process what just happened with one of the only people who could understand what he just went through, for that matter.

Lancelot beams happily at Faolan's acceptance, gestures for him to follow with one hand before shoving them deep into his pockets and heading out across the road. London is just starting to pick up, they're a little early for dinner by all accounts but that at least means they'll get a seat and they can spend some time chatting and have a drink in the lounge beforehand. Lancelot is honestly just glad for the company of someone to talk to about this. He's not so sure he'd want to go home and dwell on the room full of statues alone, it's the kind of thing he fears would wear on him.

The walk isn't that long at all, and since the weather is still fair it's nice enough. The Cinnamon Club itself is in an old library building, and therefore somewhat inconspicious from the outside. Without knowing what it was you might not take it for a restaurant at all. Lancelot approaches at an easy pace, carefully waiting for breaks in traffic before crossing to amble up the stairs, and push his way in. Inside it's brightly lit, full of rich wood decor bookshelves reminscent of what the place once was. Lancelot turns and smiles questioningly at Faolan as they pause in the entrance hall.

"Drink first?" he prompts as the usher appears, waiting for the right prompt.

Faolan glances around warily as they step inside. The look of the place on the outside already looks nicer than any establishment he's been to in a long time, and the interior does not disappoint either. In all honesty, it reminds Faolan of Hillingdon House in an odd way, which at once makes him feel at home and as if he really shouldn't be trying to enjoy himself on a night out in a place like this. On a date? Is this a date? He supposes he'll get more of a taste of that after the pair of them work past the whole idea of having effectively signed their souls away.

"Yeah," Faolan says, his eyes scanning the room once more, looking a little warier than he perhaps should have of their surroundings. Having a bad feeling about the fact that he might be horribly underdressed for Lancelot's choice in restaurants, in his blue jeans and leather jacket and, well. The teeshirt underneath the jacket is definitely underdressed for this place. It had been a direct snub against the establishment before -- he hadn't planned on taking his jacket off in there. There's no way he can make it through dinner without taking it off though. "Yeah," he repeats himself. "A drink would be. Drinks first would be good."

"Drinks it is," Lancelot confirms lightly, and the usher nods and leads them through. The lounge is all leather chairs and bottles of wine, hardback books and dark colours. It has the strong air of being a gentleman's club more than anything, the kind of place you might imagine people circling glasses of whiskey and discussing the state of the government quickly followed by the local sports game. Lancelot moves easily toward a small table out of the way in the corner, letting the usher take his black trench coat with a smile before sitting down.

"What would you like?" he prompts, just as the usher hovers watching Faolan expectantly -- waiting to see if he'd like to give up his leather jacket. "They have some beer if you don't want to have to fuss about with a wine list, or ale, whiskey, anything you like."

Faolan notes how easily Lancelot fits in, in a place like this, and wonders if he's been there before. Wonders if this is the sort of place that he frequents. Then again, a man who would offer him white wine and amaretto at his house, maybe he shouldn't be surprised. He looks just about in his element as Faolan feels he isn't. At the offer from the usher to take his own coat, Faolan waves him away, moving instead to take a seat opposite the other man instead.

Faolan thinks about what sort of drink to order. The drink he gets, as much as the outfit he's wearing, will make a statement about who he is. Certainly in a place like this. He can almost feel the usher judging him, sitting there in his blue jeans and leather jacket. He hunches in on himself a little in return. While he might order a lager, if this were a pub, if he were to ask for such a thing he might as well resign himself to his fate. So instead he asks for the next best thing that comes to mind, not wanting to fuss over choices of whiskey or ale. "Rum and coke, if you've got it?" he asks, awkwardly.

Lancelot may look as if he fits in, as if he's in his element, but it isn't exactly like he does come here often. It's more that he's always relaxed.

Well, so long as he isn't being chased by a werewolf.

He gestures vaguely to make it two, sighs as he glances around at the shelves and settles more comfortably into his chair -- flicks Faolan a wry smile and jerks an eyebrow.

"Don't go thinking I can afford to eat here every day. I last came here..." Lancelot pauses, squints a little as he thinks. "Two years ago, maybe? For a friend's birthday. I just like the decoration, the atmosphere. Well -- the food's good too, but it's nice pretending you're part of a gentleman's club for a little while."

Pre-Initiation

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

GENTLE TRANSITION TO POST-INITIATION

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject