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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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.

Faolan raises his eyebrows in response to the words, tilting his head towards the other man slightly. "It's certainly convenient," he responds, casually. "But I didn't choose to live there for Westfield." He didn't really choose to live there at all. But it's a place to live. And it's... Well, it isn't really home at all. But it's better than nothing, that's for certain. There are reasons why Lancelot hasn't been by his flat but Faolan's been by Lancelot's several times already, and it's not (just) because Faolan is a private person.

Faolan shifts in place for a moment, glancing up at the other man across the table, before speaking up again to say, "I'm. Sorry I didn't warn you I was coming. I hope that I wasn't interrupting anything? Your phone call..."

"Well I doubt you moved there for proximity to Wormwood Scrubs either."

He lofts an eyebrow in turn, flicks an idly amused smile before shaking his head. Dismissing the last comment.

"It's fine," he says, "you didn't interrupt anything. As you can see, it was just myself and Lily -- and we don't mind a little company."

Which neatly skips the phone call, but who's counting.

"Now -- tell me how hungry you are. How much of this should I give you?"

"I didn't, no." Faolan doesn't miss the diversion, but he lets it go. He appreciates the conversation and the offer of food more than he's after the answer to satisfy his own curiosity.

"Give me as much as you like," Faolan says, honestly. "Or as little. Whatever you give me, I'll eat it. But don't let me take it away from you in the first place." A beat, before. "I promise next time I'll just take you out to dinner instead. I'll even let you pick the place. You've certainly fed me enough. That would be a proper thank you for it."

"I put on extra for you, Faolan, you're not taking anything away from me -- I promise."

Lancelot shakes his head slightly, a little amused by the man's protests and promises, and moves to strain the spaghetti -- sets it aside to drain a little longer as he digs out some plates. The sauce is pretty much done, so he turns off the heat -- chops up some of the bacon now it's cooled a little before beginning to arrange everything out evenly on plates. He sets one down for Faolan, places some cutlery beside him before picking up his own plate and moving to take a seat. Lily stalks him, because she can smell bacon, and every dog knows that bacon is for dogs.

"There we go," he says, "see? There's plenty, and nobody is deprived for your being here."

Faolan watches Lancelot as he prepares the food, watches him as he sets one in front of him and then moves to sit down across from him with one of his own. He's once again at something of a loss for words. He's done enough apologizing for one night, however. And he's done enough humbling himself in regards to the food for another -- he's sure that's what the look on the other man's face means. The food is probably a little too hot to eat still. Which means... Conversation, he supposes.

"It smells good," he says, a bit awkwardly, but hopefully Lancelot can forgive him for it. "If it tastes as good as it smells, you're welcome to feed me any time you like then, how's that." He picks up his fork, twirling some of the pasta on it as he continues, hesitantly, "Do you. Cook like this often?" Recognizing that yes, it isn't even that elaborate, it's just better than he can do himself.

His lips curl into a playful smile at the offer, one brow jumping.

"Am I? I'll keep that under consideration."

Lancelot ruffles at Lily a little as she sits by him, encourages her to lay down rather than beg until she reluctantly complies.

"I try to cook as much as I can, since it's a little healthier. A little fresher. Cheaper on the whole, too, if you're sensible about it."

He works his spaghetti to spread the sauce a little, begins to twirl some up.

"What would you wish for?" Eyes flicking up he studies Faolan, twitches a smile. "If you had three wishes."

Faolan's honestly surprised by the question, although he supposes that he shouldn't be, considering. "What I would wish for?" He takes a moment to think about his answer, taking a few more bites of his food as he does. What would he wish for? He's never really been one for wishing or hoping. Things happen or they don't. He doesn't believe in fate or some higher power that might control the outcome of a situation. He trains to get better because that will give him a greater chance of success. He works hard to do as much as he can to earn money so that he'll be able to keep a roof over his head. It's really as simple as that.

After a few moments, he shrugs. "I don't know," he says at last. "Nothing extravagant or exciting. I think a guarantee of the necessities? Stability? Happiness?" He flicks his eyes over at the other man, looking slightly embarrassed in retrospect. Had that been admitting too much. "I'm not sure that I'd use that for any sort of wishing, though."

Of course, that leaves the opening for Faolan to turn the question around on Lancelot himself. "What would you wish for?"

It's a difficult question, but one Lancelot had anticipated. He'd been thinking about it, after all, it was why he asked. He twirls up some more of the spaghetti, tilts his head in thought.

"Assuming there were no... catches to a wish, that it would be given truly as I asked for it? An end to world debt, or some-such? To war? I suppose it is hard to judge, when we cannot say what... the repercussions of a wish would be, even well meant. Even without the wish itself having a catch... You might wish away debt and then watch the economy begin to crumble."

He shrugs slightly, feeds himself a little pasta as he thinks.

"I do not think I would wish for happiness, because happiness is better when worked for. True happiness is not planned or bought, it surprises you with its warmth."

Of course Lancelot would give an answer like that, Faolan thinks as he eats. Especially in regards to happiness. He shrugs slightly. "I've had enough rough times in my life," he admits. "I can't say that, given the opportunity, I wouldn't wish some of that away. Maybe it is as you say. Maybe a person shouldn't wish for happiness itself. Perhaps only the opportunity to find it."

He pokes at his food slightly. "I've never in the habit of wishing for much anyway," he says. He takes a deep breath, trying to steer himself away from going down that road, admitting too much, darkening the mood again. "Perhaps it's best I did win this thing. Gave it to you. At least now we can say it's in safe hands. If it truly does grant any three wishes, who knows what hands it might have fallen into."

Lancelot puts down his fork, pushes his pasta to one side a moment and folds his arms onto the table -- tilts his head at Faolan. Safe hands? Is that how Faolan sees him, then? Some sort of protective safe haven?

"What about now?" he prompts gently, "are you happy? Or is my pasta rendering you so miserable you hope to poke it into submission."

Faolan falters at the question, at the words to follow. He isn't...unhappy. Not here in the other man's company as he is. "I," he says, looking rather a bit abashed, ducking his head slightly over his plate and no doubt looking a bit closer to his age than he might otherwise do. He tries to figure out whether to keep poking at the food while he searches for an answer, set down the fork, or just start eating again, but all options seem rather awkward in their own way. So instead he simply pauses and glances up at the other man again.

"I suppose I am, yeah," he says, after a moment. As if he hadn't quite thought about it before then. As if he hadn't quite realized he was, until Lancelot had asked. So used to being angry and miserable in general that now that the other man has lulled him into such a state, he hadn't even really recognized it.

"Then there's no need to wish," he supplies gently, "you complicate things, Faolan. Happiness is not so difficult a thing to manage if you let yourself."

Tugging his plate closer again he begins to twirl up some more pasta, lips curling into a smile.

"You should take notes from Lily. She doesn't worry too much about the rest of the world. So long as she has some food and company she can be content."

Faolan flicks his eyes down to the dog, as Lancelot mentions her name, then glances back at his plate. Would that his life were so easy as that, he thinks to himself, as he begins to eat his food once more. Would that it were so simple.

He doesn't voice his complaints, however. He knows that to a certain extent he's only making excuses, even if he's also right to a certain extent as well. He does the only thing he can think of. He deflects. Snarkily. "Would you have me sleeping on your floor and dogging your every move as well, then?" he asks, flicking his gaze back up to Lancelot in turn.

Edited 2015-11-21 02:03 (UTC)

"You don't need to use the floor, I have a futon that will do just as well."

He jerks an eyebrow at Faolan as if challenging him to try it, feeds himself a mouthful of pasta and shrugs. Well? What is his answer to that, then? Another excuse? He has somewhere to be, perhaps? Or couldn't possibly impose? Lancelot almost expects it at this point.

Edited (typo) 2015-11-21 02:08 (UTC)

Faolan gives him a look, long and assessing and rather not unlike a dog might. Rather not unlike a stray who Lancelot has taken in and who is still trying to figure out whether he should really trust this situation or whether it's too good to be true. Where the catch is going to come, when the cruelty is going to start, like it has so many times in the past by so many other hands.

"I draw the line at fetching the paper," Faolan retorts, at last. "And slippers. In fact, fetching of any sort. Just so we're clear on that now."

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