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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

"No fetching," Lancelot agrees, and offers him a smile. "Can't put Lily out of a job, after all. She's already the household fetcher. You'll have to find yourself a different title."

Lily regards Faolan with a worried look, head still resting on her paws. As if he might, in fact, just do that. Do her out of a job. Mostly she is worried, though, by all the food not being shared with her. It is a sorely unfair turn of events, especially since she can smell it and it smells good.

Faolan glances down at her, offering her a smile in turn. "I wouldn't dare," he says, his voice fonder now. She's an innocent, after all. A sweet dog, really. And she has little idea what they're talking about, to be sure. "I'm sure we can find something else for me."

He turns back to his food at last, twirling some up to eat, attending it lest it start to get cold. Which would be a pity, it is good. Certainly better than anything he usually feeds himself, to be sure. "I don't suppose that you've invested in anything better to drink since my last visit?" he asks, flicking a wry glance up at the other man as he does.

He blinks up at Faolan, lofting an eyebrow at the question before understanding dawns -- nodding as he finishes another mouthful of pasta.

"Actually, yes," he says finally. "Forgive me I should have asked. I remembered you ordered rum and coke before so I bought some, but I don't know much about rum so forgive me if it's terrible..." Pushing away from the table he pads back out into the kitchen, Lily on her feet instantly to escort him as he opens his cupboard and rummages around. "The only thing I knew to avoid instinctively was Bacardi, but someone recommended this so I hope it's okay -- you can tell if not and I can buy something else next time."

He finally sets a bottle of coke on the table, a bottle of Diamond Distillery rum next to it and a pair of glasses before loosening the caps quickly.

"I won't pour it for you, you can decide how strong you want it."

Flicking a faint smile he drops back into his chair, reaching to ruffle Lily's fur as she moves to sit back beside him in abject disappointment. Still no food. A dog can dream.

Faolan watches Lancelot walk back into the kitchen, following his movements, honestly surprised that he'd bought things to keep around just because he had liked them. By the time Lancelot gets back to the table, the look on his face is hard to decipher, but it's clear that he's surprised, to say the least.

"No, it's. It's fine. More than fine." He can't fail to miss the fact that Lancelot's brought two glasses with him, for that matter. He'll offer to mix one for the other man, if he likes, though he doesn't know whether Lancelot's much of a drinker, considering his previous selection and his hesitation with the rum now. He has to ask first, however... "You really bought this just because I ordered it out?"

Lancelot hesitates at the question, digging at his food with his fork a little uneasily.

"Should I not have? You don't have to drink it, of course, if it's the wrong type or... if you aren't in the mood. I just thought -- well, because you ordered it before it seemed like a good idea. If I was wrong..."

Or if it was... too forward? He supposes it might be, perhaps, as if he were assuming something by being it.

Faolan shakes his head at the other man's words. "No, no, it's. It's perfect, really." He stands, reaching for the bottle, moving to mix himself a drink. He glances sideways at Lancelot, quirking something of a hesitant smile at him as he does.

"I guess I'm just not used to such treatment. Making me dinner? Keeping things on hand that you've bought specifically because you know that I'll like them?" His smile flashes a little wider. "Careful, treating me so well. You might have a hard time getting rid of me."

He finishes making his drink, sliding it next to his plate before turning again to Lancelot with a question on his face. Want one too?

He relaxes a little at the confirmation, matches Faolan's smile with one of his own as he goes back to his food.

"That's the idea," Lancelot says, and he nods -- gently pushing his glass an inch closer to Faolan. "I tend to prefer to keep hold of my friends, after all, rather than actively trying to get rid of them."

However unsure Faolan may feel about it, after all, Lancelot does see him as his friend.

Faolan really doesn't know what to make of it. Doesn't know what to feel about the words, nor the fact that he should have earned himself a friend in Lancelot. Surely the man befriended everyone, kind and gentle as he was. Took in all the strays, set them on the right path, and let them free again. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before the same would be done for him as well. But he's going to be a tough one to 'set straight', and he might as well enjoy the company while he can, rather than fighting off whether he deserves it or not, he decides.

And so he makes Lancelot a drink as well -- happy to be doing so, for drinking he has found is always more enjoyable in company -- and slides the glass back Lancelot's way before sitting down again. "Here," he says. "Shouldn't be too strong, although if it is let me know and I'll know to go lighter next time." He'd been assuming of course that the man isn't much of a drinker, considering his previous selection and the fact that he'd had to ask for advice on purchasing this much.

He isn't much of a drinker, it's true, because in truth Lancelot doesn't go out much and he only drinks socially. He's not too keen on drinking alone with his dog of a weekend.

"I'm sure it's fine," he says gently, and draws the glass toward himself. "So far as I know you aren't trying to get me drunk, or if you are you're hiding it very well. I think I'll be safe."

Faolan raises his eyebrows at the other man over the edge of his glass as he samples his own drink. Not bad, not bad at all, he thinks to himself, setting it down and picking his fork up again.

"Now why would I go and do a thing like that?" he asks, quirking a smile at the other man and setting about eating his food again in turn. "You're fine. I'd be taking you out for drinks, if I wanted to do a thing like that. Give myself the excuse to take you home." Not pointing out that here he is, in the other man's home, without having had to do all that.

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