undergrounds | The Night Auction

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The Night Auction

The auction house
At exactly half past eleven on Saturday night, the auction house in Knightsbridge opens to its supernatural customers. Inside the elegant surroundings are a wide range of antique, unusual and plain odd items.

As midnight approaches, the seats gradually fill up. The auctioneer, a spindly pale-faced man in a waistcoat, calls for attention. Bidding opens at midnight and ends when all items have been sold or the sun comes up, whichever comes sooner. Let the bidding commence.

On sale tonight
Enchanted Necklace
A necklace which is enchanted to become a map of the city in which the owner is standing.
Starting price: £12

Monkey's Paw
The preserved paw of a monkey, able to grant every individual who touches it three wishes. Caution is advised.
Starting price: £20
Will be sold to Faolan

Runic Coin
A heavy silver coin for use in spell work, carved with runic patterns.
Starting price: £25

Skeleton of a Lady
The bones of a woman called Eliza, preserved by magic.
Starting price: £30

Antique Pagan Jewellery
A set of brooches, pendants, rings, and earrings made in honour of the ancient gods. In various conditions depending on the piece itself.
Starting price: £40

Vanity Mirror
An enchanted mirror that speaks, forever complimenting the person who looks into it.
Starting price: £50

Mogwai
This adorable creature is an extremely rare and unusual pet. The mogwai is nocturnal and should be kept away from water and sunlight.
Starting price: £50

Vampire Compass
A compass that always, without fail, points to the nearest vampire.
Starting price: £60

Bestiary of English and Welsh Faeries
A 17th century two volume bestiary of the lesser inhabitants of the Other Realm, with detailed and sometimes gruesome illustrations.
Starting price: £200
Will be sold to Gilbert Norrell

Antique Harp
Beautiful Victorian Stumpff harp with carved figures, in need of restoration work. Under enchantment.
Starting price: £500

Gleipnir
According to legend, a section of the chain that once held Fenris.
Starting price: £2,000

Notes
Bidding opens at midnight GMT+1 and continues until 07:29 the next morning! Note that while anyone can bid on any item, the items that are listed as being sold to certain characters are reserved for them to win the bid. The last highest bid in the thread at the point when the auction has closed will win the item.

When characters bid on the item, all they know is the description given by the auctioneer, as above. However, some of these items have other properties – both good and bad – that will not be apparent until after purchase. You'll find out what these are after the auction has concluded.

For more information, please refer to this OOC post.

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"Yes." It was how they'd met. Something they'd bonded over, had in common, despite the initial arguments. Vampires had killed her mother. Killed her father, her friends, and left her this mad, broken shadow of a girl. There weren't words in her vocabulary to accurately describe the loathing she felt for such creatures.

Hesitantly, Annie looks around- she couldn't exactly see any, but what did that even say? They didn't wear huge signs that said Hello, I Am A Vampire. Though that would be easier, too. At the thought, she giggles to herself, a private joke. A few patrons around them give her an odd look and she shies up against Finnick.

"But I like the harp better."

"From an outside perspective," Skip replies.

Her shoulders raise and fall in a shrug, and her expression remains carefully neutral. It isn't something she often announces, but she knows she can't act as if it is shameful. Because it isn't. Still, it's something to say with caution.

"I was raised among them."

Huh. Kenzi thought Alice would be into Shakespeare. She seemed the type. Whatever, maybe she hadn't been allowed to read up on crap before she came here. Still, Kenzi's attempt to gently tell her the reference comes across as more 'duh, dummy' than anything.

She's trying?

"Macbeth? Three Witches? I thought it was appropriate."

To be fair those were three witches. Not four.

"Thought there's more than three of us so....nah. It still works."

Kenzi's crisis' of faith don't last long ever. As far as why she was here was concerned...

Auctions were like thief Christmas. Not only were there plenty of rich folks wearing their most expensive jewelry and not only were there plenty of wallets to pick and not only were there lots of old men to try and sidle up to.

There were also pretty things being sold. And Kenzi wanted some.

"Christmas shopping for me."

Kenzi is under the impression that only the wealthy - or clever - need apply here and she nudges Alice softly before smiling.

"You didn't tell me you were loaded."

Shockingly she doesn't sound as if she's going to rob her blind. Maybe she actually likes Alice?

Raised among werewolves! The surprise shows on his face at first, followed by a furrowing of his brows. Her wording is somewhat peculiar, and he tilts his head -- scholarly curiosity taking over rather then fear or mistrust. She is now a puzzle, after all, something he must understand.

"Am I to understand you are not one yourself? Forgive me, but it seems you would be in a position to know more than most if you lived among them. What is it you hope to learn from further study?"

"I know about them from the inside," Skip answers, considering it, "but I'm curious about what people from the outside see."

It was like a painting. The artist who shaped it created the work and displayed it. But it never just meant that. Everyone who saw the work interpreted it differently. Whether they were artists themselves or not, everyone saw something a little different. Even in a basic still life.

To look at the species like that...

It might be interesting. Besides, she was never escaping the life. So she might as well find ways to bring new viewpoints into her world.

But he asked if she was a werewolf. That...

"My connection with the community is a little odd. How much do you know about their culture?"

Know about it? Well, Norrell has read a great deal about them of course -- but reading and experiencing are different things. Although Norrell himself might disagree on that.

So it is that when he begins to speak the manner of it is that of a teacher reciting from a book, even if the person he speaks to may have more direct experience themselves.

"It is my understanding," he begins, "that weres are very territorial creatures and have a strong hierarchy. A pack is lead by an Alpha, who will have a second, and then the rest of the pack will be Betas who are ranked by experience. The strength of the pack depends on the ability of the Alpha, and the Alpha's position in turn is dependent on their own strength and ability to defend the pack and turn away any who seek to undermine them."

"Ah, but that's hierarchy, not culture." Skip can't help but smile a little. It's a world she knows intimately, so it's interesting to hear someone from the outside. "Different regions have different details. In Ireland, we have one Alpha. But the different districts all have what might be considered betas. We call them chieftains."

And each of those chieftains could expect the loyalty of the wolves of his district. And they owed their loyalty to the Alpha.

"But the culture. For instance." Her shoulders shrug again as she, somewhat, shows the cards in her hand. Lets him in on her world just a little. Mostly out of curiosity herself. "What a female child born to a werewolf means."

Despite her words Norrell does not seem particularly shaken from his demeanour, still regarding her with scholarly curiosity. To him, hierarchy is a very important part of culture! It drives all other things! He does not consider his answer incorrect, but then again he never does. Any connection between her and the example is largely lost on him, since subtlety is not his strong point.

"A child born to a werewolf?" he echoes, "Well, that would be difficult. It is very hard for a werewolf to carry a child to term, you see, what with the changes. A surrogate mother is possible, of course, but it is said women are discouraged from activating. I suppose its standing would depend on the standing of its parents."

"Impossible, actually." Skip seemed quite pleased to say it, actually. "A female werewolf -- born or changed -- will always miscarry when she transforms."

Which is why, much to her displeasure sometimes, Skip understands the cardinal rule of her life. She cannot, under any circumstances, kill anyone. That is crucial.

"And with the current laws against turning people into werewolves within packs? Everything changes,"

Her smile then is one of satisfaction.

"The daughter of a werewolf? Is often more valueable than even an Alpha. Because she is guaranteed, with a werewolf husband, to have werewolf children."

"Unless the changes are controlled in some way," he says, half tilting his head as he thinks to himself. Very difficult over such a great length of time, perhaps possible by way of suppression of some sort -- although that could lead to terrible mood swings and other such things. Equally not good for a mother carrying a child. Not necessarily impossible, but far from guaranteed. He seems to remember she's there, lifts his eyes to focus on her again.

"Well then, I believe you are right. In the instance that there is a shortage of women able to carry children who are marked to term, I should thing such a thing valuable indeed to the clan."

"It's always interesting," Skip says, her smile almost a smirk, "learning what people outside packs think. It's why I wouldn't mind finding some books."

It's not a priority. Really, nothing here is. The auction itself is more a formality. A chance to be seen. Because she can't be totally antisocial or just around in clubs if she wants to make a name for herself in the art world.

Faolan had tried his best to acquire something interesting at the auction that might be a way of saying 'thank you' to the other man, although as he stares down at the only item he managed to be able to get his hands on, he's wondering how much of a mistake this is. A monkey's paw, it had said? He'd put his money down on it, as he had for the majority of the items that had stared low and in his budget, as he knew he wasn't going to end up with all of them. He just hadn't anticipated ending up with this one.

As he walks up the path to Lancelot's house, he tries to think of how he's going to present this to him. It isn't exactly the gesture of gratitude that he had intended it to be. But it's still a gesture, isn't it? He stares down at the thing in his hand. Maybe not after all...

He's just about to turn and leave, keep it for himself and try and find something better, when the dog starts barking. And he knows that he's got no other choice now, Lancelot will undoubtedly look out and see him fleeing the scene. So he has no choice. Steeling himself to the best of his ability, he knocks on the door.

Lily barks twice before Lancelot shushes her. There are sounds distantly coming from inside the house, and the gentle jingle of a dog collar chiming as Lily runs. Lancelot's voice gets a little closer, seemingly talking to someone, and as the door opens it's a rush of sound. Lancelot speaking rapidly in... Spanish? The extractor fan in the kitchen, the sound of the television in the background. He's dressed in a loose v-neck sweater, sleeves rolled up, and faded jeans -- phone caught between his cheek and shoulder as he opens the door. He jerks an eyebrow questioningly at Faolan, drops a hand to catch Lily's collar to stop her surging forward and drops his eyes as he concentrates on something being said to him. Covers the phone for a second to mime come in? and tilt his head back along the hallway, taking a step back away from the door and gently dragging Lily with him.

Faolan isn't certain that he still shouldn't have turned away and run, but it's too late now, with Lancelot stand there staring at him like that. So he does what he's told and steps in the door, closing it behind him quietly. Shifting the box awkwardly in his hands before him, glancing around, knowing that he's interrupted what must have been the other man's night off. Maybe he should have rung first? (Maybe he just should have known better in the first place.) And moreover -- what was Lancelot saying, anyway? Who is he talking to, on the other side of that phone? Was that Spanish? Had he known the other man spoke it? He does now, he supposes.

She wrinkles her nose in a way that indicates some embarrassment at missing the reference, (hell, Eames was around to see that shit during its first run on stage,) but Kenzi seems in high spirits and moves on quickly enough. So Alice'll follow suit.

"I certainly am tonight." And every other night, but that's neither here nor there. She smiles over the rim of her wineglass, "I handle acquisitions for a... Wide variety of clients."

He lets Faolan walk past him on into the the house. He knows where the living area is after all, they've sat there before drinking. Lily pads after Faolan, tail swishing up over her back as she fusses about his feet, and Lancelot follows a second later -- sweeping past into the kitchen to turn down the heat on something and the extractor fan so he can hear better. One minute he mouths, with an apologetic wince, before going back into a flurry of conversation -- frowning in thought and shaking his head about whatever the reply he gets is. A minute later his body language seems to slouch in something like resigned irritation and he barely suppresses an eye roll, lets go of the ladle he was using as he gestures vaguely along with a last reply before seeming to come to an abrupt halt and hang up. He lets the phone drop from his shoulder, catches it and sets it aside as he goes back to stirring for a second before recovering the pan.

"You should have told me you were coming. Are you hungry? There should be enough here for two if you don't object to pasta."

He inclines his head a fraction, as if accepting her point, and thinks for a moment.

"There are... some good writers on the topic. For research de Burgh had some sound theories, although..." Norrell's face screws up in distaste and he shakes his head after a moment. "... He can tend toward the mystical, rather than the factual. Aherne did some sound work looking into the Weres of Scotland, that I could recommend. He is very clear about it and does not waste time on assumptions. For the history of the Were curse de Chepe is interesting, but..." He shakes his head, winces a little. "Again, he can be mystical. His fascination with the fae can make his work unsound."

Once again Faolan finds himself in Lancelot's kitchen, vaguely uncertain what to do with himself there. Should he sit down, make himself at home? He settles for standing back, continuing to awkwardly clutch the box in one hand, bending to instead greet Lily, who represents something of a safe and neutral zone in all of this. His gift might not go over well and he probably should have called first, but at least the dog's happy to see him, right? Listening to Lancelot's conversation, not able to understand more than a word here and there and the general tone of voice and body language he's using, he can't feel as though he's interrupted something. He still can't help but feel that, even when the other man hangs up.

"Oh," he says, surprised at the offer of food. "I mean. You don't have to. I did show up unannounced. I won't force you to entertain me on my schedule." Though it does smell good and he has yet to have eaten... He rises to stand again with one final stroke of Lily's ears. "I only came because I have something for you, but. It's a bit shit. You're probably not going to want me sticking around afterwards," he says, honestly.

He jerks an eyebrow at that, somewhat bemused by the description.

"I wouldn't consider a career change to sales any time soon," he quips, reaching for a cloth to rub his hands dry a moment. "What's the occassion? You're months late for my birthday and a little early fo Christmas."

Lily, suitably put out by the sudden stop to petting, moves to start fussing around Lancelot in the kitchen instead. People are here, Lancelot! Did he know? What is going on? Are they going to go somewhere together?

"Good," Finnick says, grinning at her. "Because that's what I'm getting you."

He looks up at any patrons that may have looked at her and there's a warning look in his eye. No one better dare make her feel out of place here.

"Please," Faolan says, with a dry laugh. "I would be a terrible salesman. Although that's good to know. Though I'll always be late if I never find out the exact day, you know."

He shakes his head slightly. "No, it's not for your birthday, and not for Christmas. It's. Well, it's supposed to be a thank you," he says, stepping forward and setting the box on the table. "For. Helping me." Taking him to the hospital. Buying him food. All the other things that Faolan's sure he probably hasn't even noticed yet. "I, ehm. Got it from the Night Council auction. I was hoping to find something unique, but..." Well, it's certainly unique at least.

"Anyway," he says, awkwardly swinging his arms for a moment before stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I can go. I didn't let you know I was coming, you don't have to let me stay. You're busy..." he says, motioning towards the stove and the phone.

"Don't get it for me," she insists, tugging at his arm to pull him a little closer to her. "Get it for your place." Maybe their place, eventually. Even if his real home was in the Other Realm.

"No, no, you're here now -- may as well sit. I don't mind company."

He opens a cupboard and digs a moment, finally tugs out a packet of spaghetti and gestures to Faolan with it.

"This fine with you? It's just carbonara, nothing fancy. Just tell me how hungry you are. If you're bringing me presents the least I can do is feed you."

He flashes a smile, starting to open the packet regardless. Even if Faolan really doesn't want any, after all, he's still got to cook some for himself.

"You got a job?"

Kenzi has yet to catch on to the fact that Alice is acting...weird. Kenzi's worn a number of faces in front of people who knew the real her - if Alice did the same, who was she to question it?

Still. She hadn't seen this side of the girl before. It was...interesting.

"Good for you!"

Faolan raises his eyebrows at the other man. "I'm not going to ask you what is fancy, if homemade carbonara isn't," he says, "lest you get it into your head that I'm requesting for you to make it for me sometime." Not that he'd say no, exactly. But he'd feel awkward that he couldn't return the favor. At all. He's not much of a cook. He can fry an egg and boil water for pasta, but that's about it.

He takes a hesitant step forward towards the table. "I. Could eat," he says, after a moment. "That sounds more than fine. Really. Don't. Don't go through any trouble on my account," he says, awkwardly stumbling over his words. This really wasn't how he thought things would go (hell, he wasn't certain how he thought things would go, for that matter). And he's pretty sure he's going to ruin whatever mood they find for themselves when Lancelot opens that box. Ah well. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts...

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The Night Auction

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MANSPLAINING IN ACTION

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lancelot & faolan

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