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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Enjoy your purchases!

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.

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."

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?

"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.

"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.

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...

Lancelot almost protests that it isn't hard to make carbonara, but... well, he doesn't know how often Faolan cooks for himself -- if at all. No need to accidentally insult him if he burns water regularly.

"It isn't trouble," he says instead, and begins measuring out sections of spaghetti -- dumping some in the pan and putting away the packet again. He checks the heat, watching the pasta a moment as it slowly softens so he can get it all under the water and leave it a bit. "Did you want me to open that now?" he says finally, glancing sideways at the box and lofting an eyebrow as he coaxes the spaghetti further into the water. "Or wait until later?"

Faolan moves to shrug off his jacket and hang it on the back of the chair, taking a seat in it once he is done. He feels something of an overwhelming sense of deja vu in the action, but then again he has only been there once before, and Lancelot had sat him down at the same table in exactly the same way before. Perhaps he enjoys playing host for others? Faolan isn't entirely certain. He doesn't know a lot about the other man himself, truth be told. He hadn't even known that he'd spoken Spanish until he'd accidentally invaded his phone call like he had.

"It's going to be the same thing no matter when you do," he says, with a shrug. "So I suppose it's up to you. If I tell you to do it now..." It might ruin his meal. But if he tells him to do it after, then he might lose his meal, depending. He shakes his head. "Perhaps you should do it now," he concludes. "Though I will simply defend myself by saying that... It's not what I would have chosen for you, if I had had more say in the matter."

"You're certainly building it up."

To the point where Lancelot isn't entirely sure what to expect, especially considering he got it from the Night Council auction. He turns the spaghetti a little further, gently bends it until it's all underneath the water finally. Satisfied he can leave it a moment he checks the heat on everything one last time before scooping up a cloth to make sure his hands are clean.

"You didn't have to get me anything, you know. Although it's sweet of you to."

Pulling out a chair he drops down beside Faolan finally, setting the cloth aside and dropping a hand instinctively as Lily appears beside him to nudge at him. Hello! Hello Lancelot! Have you seen the box! What is in the box?

Faolan raises his eyebrows at the other man at the use of the word 'sweet'. Sweet to have gotten him this, that's a bit of a laugh, he thinks to himself. Perhaps it would be more applicable if he'd succeeded in some of the other items, although really, thinking of himself as 'sweet' in any context is a bit of a stretch.

"I owe you," he says, simply. "And I can't help feeling that I still owe you, perhaps even more now, thanks to this." He doesn't explain himself further. Not about the gift, and not about the rest of it either. But Lancelot has ever been there for him, since the moment they'd encountered each other that first night and the other man had taken care of him, forced him to take care of himself, for that matter. He has cheered him up when he has been in a mood, and he has supported him through frankly some pretty terrible ideas and situations. It's the least he can do, to try and thank him for that.

"Next time it'll be better," he promises, awkwardly. "Perhaps I can feed you for a change. Out, that is," he corrects, quickly. He really isn't much of a cook, if Lancelot hadn't already guessed as much.

He laughs a little at the correction, shakes his head at Faolan.

"Only if you want to," he says, giving Lily a last scruff before leaving her be. He tugs the box toward himself finally, checking around it to find the right way to open it before lifting it -- and startling back, hand flying to his chest as his heart skips up a bit.

"Faolan," he chides, and lets out a huffing laugh. "It isn't for two weeks yet!"

Faolan holds his breath slightly as Lancelot reaches to open the box, and the reaction is -- rather what he'd expected. At least until the other man starts laughing. For two weeks? Faolan raises an eyebrow at him in response to such a comment, obviously puzzled by it. "I don't..." he says, uncertainly, before deciding that it's perhaps best to explain himself than struggle to figure out what Lancelot means.

"It's a Monkey's Paw," he says. "They're. Supposed to grant wishes. At least, that's the superstition, anyway. Three of them, to be exact. Though I don't know whether I'd advise it..." He purses his lips slightly, obviously more than a little hesitant about the whole exchange. "You don't have to keep it, I don't. Like I said, I'd tried for something else. I can just take it back. Make it a rain check. A dinner would have been better..."

Oh. The surprise shows on his face. He'd thought -- well, he'd thought it some sort of peculiar Halloween prank in truth. A terribly early one. He frowns down at the box, peers back into the box a little hesitantly.

"A monkey's paw? I'm not sure I'd trust a wish granted by a monkey, it might have a sense of humour."

He lets out an awkward huff of amusement, carefully takes it out of the box. He's a mixture of horrified of fascinated, in truth, because -- well it is part of an animal but it's also magic.

"How does it work? I assume it's enchanted in some way -- that... Well, that you can't just kill a monkey and use it to start making wishes. Surely then everyone would do it?"

"I don't know," Faolan says, awkwardly. "That's all the information I was given when I won the bid. It would grant the three wishes, but. You should be careful how you use them..."

He sits there in his seat, watching the other man carefully lift the thing out of the box. Watching the look on his face. This isn't what he had wanted. He'd wanted to thank the other man, not frighten him. Lancelot had accepted him into his home and here he was, giving him... A severed animal part. As a present. What the hell is wrong with him? What is Lancelot going to think was wrong with him, for that matter? The room is suddenly too hot and Faolan's feeling far more foolish than ever before for bringing the thing here and presenting it to the man in the first place.

"There's bound to be a book on them somewhere. I wonder if it's a form of fae magic? Fae grant wishes themselves, perhaps they can imbue something with some of that..."

Lancelot tilts his head in thought, looks down and around sharply as Lily leans in to sniff at it.

"Ah--! No, no wishes for you. I'm not sure what you'd wish for, but we don't want it whatever it is."

Food, of course! Endless amounts of food. He sets it back in the box carefully, picks up he cloth again to try and rub the odd feel of dead monkey from his hands and stands again.

"Well, I can safely say it's the most unique gift I've ever had."

Faolan abruptly pushes himself to stand from the table, nearly knocking the chair from underneath him with the suddenness of the movement. With the simple gesture of wiping his hands like that and the phrase to follow, Faolan has heard and seen everything he needs to, to know that Lancelot really could have done without the thing. Everything to know he's made a mistake. And, as is so often the case in a moment Faolan is left feeling uncomfortable, his flight instincts kick in full gear.

"I'm sorry," he says, reaching to grab for his coat, "It was a mistake coming here, bringing that. You can. Get rid of it if you want, I'll..." He can't find the right words though, so instead he shakes his head and turns, heading back towards the front door.

He blinks around as Faolan stands suddenly, Lily jumping back in surprise and flicking her ears. What is going on? Are they going somewhere? Are they going for a walk?!

"Faolan," he chides, "it'll be a bigger mistake for you if you leave. I just put spaghetti, don't make me waste it. Sit down, or I'll follow you home and leave it on your doorstep!"

Faolan has only taken a few steps away, although he slows at the tone of the other man's voice. The set of his shoulders is stiff, awkward. He's obviously uncomfortable, obviously embarrassed. He obviously doesn't really know what to do with himself and the shitty gift that he's brought the other man, knowing that he wouldn't appreciate the thing (who would, really?). The fact that Lancelot still wants him to stay puzzles him. Enough to make him pause.

He turns to glance back at the other man, his eyes guarded, wary. Like a stray dog trying to figure out whether this is something he can trust or not. The analogy really isn't that far off, all things considered. After a moment's pause, although Faolan does not step back towards the table, not yet anyway, he does hover there in the threshold of Lancelot's kitchen, and speak up to say, "You've had enough scares this evening as it is without subjecting yourself to my flat."

"Then you had better sit back down, I think."

Lancelot jerks an eyebrow, offers Faolan a twitch of a smile as he moves to stir the pasta. He looks like he's thinking about it, at least, which is reassurance that Lancelot isn't going to have to wrestle him to the ground to keep him there. Lily pads closer to Faolan and studies him questioningly. What is he doing? Why is he standing suddenly?

"We can save the haunted flat routine for Halloween."

Edited (repetition ) 2015-11-01 23:40 (UTC)

Faolan raises his eyebrows at the other man slightly, before looking down at Lily as she pads over to him, nudging his hand with a cold nose and a wag of her fluffy tail. Her unassuming presence does make him feel better, though. And Lancelot has to be stopping him from leaving for some reason, and it can't be the pasta -- food will keep, and he hadn't been expecting the company when he'd started making food in the first place. Giving Lily his hand for a moment, then running his hand through her fur, across her face, he nods slightly, and turns back towards the table. Feeling all the more awkward for turning tail, but at least he's resolved to stand his ground.

(As he sits down, he pushes the box with the paw in it as far across the table away from both of their seats as he can manage.) "It's not haunted," he says, deciding he might as well focus on the change in topics rather than the one before (or his own dramatic near-exit). "To my knowledge anyway. It's just..." He trails off, shrugging slightly, before concluding, as if the comment would explain everything, "Shepherd's Bush."

'It's just Shepherd's Bush.'

Lancelot tilts his head thoughtfully at that. It's not the worst area to live but not exactly the best, either.

"Westfield is good for shopping," he offers finally, "and it has good transport connections."

The place is self is a little run down and has a peculiarly large number of halfway houses and so on, but... you know, there are worse areas.

POST-AUCTION

lancelot & faolan

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