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 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.

Colour creeps into Lancelot's skin at that and his smile turns a little shy, eyes dropping to his drink. He can't think of a witty answer to that, takes a sip to buy himself time before going back to poking at his pasta.

"Well, I doubt I'm your type to begin with. So I suppose I shall consider myself safe."

Faolan catches the other man's response, how shy it is, the hint of color creeping onto his cheeks as he says it. And he can't help but raising his eyebrows at the other man. Not that he wants to make the situation uncomfortable, of course. But Lancelot has opened himself up for it.

"You sell yourself short, you know," he says twirling a bit of pasta and calmly chewing through the bite before continuing, "you always do. But you needn't worry about your virtue, no. Not around me. Drink as much or as little as you like, I'm not going to take advantage of you either way," he says, quirking a smile. "Though I suppose I should ask what sort of type you think I have?"

Virtue? He lofts an eyebrow at that, opens his mouth to protest before deciding to let it slide. To focus on the question. His lips twitch a little as he thinks, eyes flitting between Faolan and the food.

"Strong women," he says finally, "fiery. Confident. Challenging, but good at what they do."

Like Faolan, in that sense.

Faolan can't help but raise an eyebrow further at the description that Lancelot has given him. Not that such a person -- woman, as Lancelot has described it, he supposes -- wouldn't be attractive. But.

"Fiery and challenging," he repeats. "Why should such a person like that put up with someone like me, then?" he questions the other man further. No, not that such a person wouldn't be attractive to him. But the chemistry wouldn't be there. It would be all fire and no... Well. There are other things too, that Faolan needs in a person. That he would look for. Not that he'd really care to list them out in full, but he's definitely got a softer side than it would seem Lancelot realizes.

"Why should they not?" he tilts his head, shrugs after a moment and begins to get some more pasta onto his fork. "You'd compliment each other, challenge each other, keep things exciting. Unless you think yourself boring." Feeding himself some of it finally he chews a moment, looks up again to regard Faolan with idle amusement. "The amount of trouble you've gotten me into," he says finally, "I do not think you can call yourself boring."

Faolan lets out something of a snort at that. Getting a friend into trouble is hardly a redeeming quality, not as far as he's concerned at least. "It isn't the idea that I might be boring that I'd be worried about," he says. He moves to pick up his drink, swirling it around in his hand for a moment before elaborating at last.

"No one would want someone like that, not in the end. Challenging. Complicated. Troublesome." He tosses a glance at Lancelot, then shrugs. "It'd be fun while it lasted I suppose, but we'd burn each other up. There's something to be said about a quiet night in over a good meal and conversation, after all," he says, quirking a smile at the other man over the rim of his glass as he raises it to take another sip.

Lancelot blinks a moment then lets out a soft laugh, drops eyes back to his food and sets down his fork to take another sip of his drink.

"Well, then I suppose I'm glad to oblige. I have far more quiet nights in than I think is fashionable."

Faolan cocks his head to the side at that, quirking his smile wider as he does. "Ah," he responds. "So you're saying that you would prefer a few more nights of excitement yourself, then? I can make note of that. I'm sure I can find something," he says, with the quiet huff of a laugh, before he turns back to his food again. Now that he's finished pushing it around on his plate, he's making quick work of it. It helps that it's good, besides. Faolan wouldn't mind stopping by for dinner more often, although perhaps he'd give the other man more of a warning next time. Perhaps.

"You said it yourself. I seem to be pretty good at finding myself trouble to get into," Faolan says. "Shouldn't be too hard to find more for you besides."

"Careful, Faolan, people may begin to talk if they overhear you offering me nights of excitement."

He lofts an eyebrow curiously, smiles a little to himself as he finishes up the last of his pasta before sliding the plate to one side so he can focus on nursing his drink.

"If you'd like anything else," he adds softly, "just ask. I'm sure I can find something."

Food, that is.

Faolan lifts both eyebrows at the other man, quirking something of a smirk at him besides. He rather enjoys the fact that the other man is joking with him like this, rather than getting weird about it. Even if in truth it was merely a choice of words that wound up accidentally suggestive. And, if he was being honest with himself, he had rather enjoyed the blushing and the shy look Lancelot had given him earlier. Even if he hadn't meant to draw those out of him either.

He sets about finishing his food, all but licking the sauce off the plate once he was finished before glancing up at Lancelot curiously. He'd already been offered so much -- to ask for anything else is almost unthinkable, as far as he's concerned. He sits back in his chair, reaching for his own drink as well, swirling the liquid in his glass as he does.

"You've already been more than generous," he replies. "I was the one who dropped in on you unannounced. Although the way that things have worked out, maybe I should do it more often." His smile quirks more, slightly. "Help liven things up for you, if nothing else, yeah?"

"I would not mind it. I like having company -- although a little warning may help make sure that I am here and I have enough food for you."

Lancelot shrugs minutely, dropping a hand to ruffle at Lily again as she rests her head in his lap -- tail swishing along the floor as she absorbs his attention. Not as good as food, but still very good. She likes this.

"You can use the futon any time you like. I'll even shut Lily in my room overnight so she doesn't wake you first thing."

Faolan feels like making a joke about how generous the offer of a dog-free futon to sleep on is, but the truth of the matter is that it is generous, and he knows so. He appreciates it, for that matter. So any such joking would seem rude, in comparison.

So he shrugs slightly, lifting his glass to take another sip of the drink, because it gives him something to do with his hands for the moment. Before deciding that he might as well be honest with the other man, in the face of his generosity.

"Thanks," he says, feeling slightly awkward again. "I wouldn't mind if you made me sleep with her, truth be told. You're still offering me somewhere to stay. A roof over my head. Even sharing with the dog, I've had worse. You could equally just send me on my way, after all." He's grateful that he doesn't, though. That he hasn't. That the offer's open. There are some nights when Faolan can't imagine heading back to his sad little flat by himself and this night in particular is one of them.

"You might not say that if you knew what it was like to be woken up by a dog of her size with that much fur."

She's not light, after all, and her fur gets everywhere. He shifts to push her back after a second, clambers out of his chair and picks up the two empty plates to take to the sink.

"Sure you don't want anything else?" he prompts, and lofts an eyebrow before turning to open the freezer -- crouching to dug open one of the drawers and fish out a heavy glass dish. He rests it on his knee while he closes the drawer again, juggles it as he closes the door and stands to hold it out to Faolan questioningly. It mostly seems to be layers of something creamy and a dusting of chocolate. "I can cut some of this if you'd like it, although it'll need to defrost for a few minutes. Ah -- Tiramisu," he adds, tilting the dish a little so he can see the bottom layer of finger biscuits.

Faolan could counter with the thought that he might not say that if he knew what it was like to be woken up with the feeling of rain on his face and the feeling that he might never be warm or dry again.

But he doesn't. He doesn't even counter with the thought that he might welcome the presence of another in his bed for a change -- though the thought is tempting, if only to see the look on the other man's face, and maybe catch another glimpse of that blush again. Because instead his thought process is interrupted. By dessert. And he finds himself momentarily speechless. "You..." He stutters at the other man, before trying again. "Were you planning on company?" Or did Lancelot just like to cook? Maybe he did need more excitement in his life after all

Company? Lancelot lofts an eyebrow before shaking his head, stepping back to the kitchen and placing the glass dish onto a work-surface. It's cold and he can't hold it much longer.

"No," he assures him, "but that doesn't mean you have to have any if you don't want to. It'll keep a while, after all, that's why I froze it. I can just put it back in the freezer..."

Since he's... assuming, perhaps, that this is the meaning of Faolan's peculiar stuttering surprise? That he doesn't want any?

"Wait," Faolan says, holding his hand out towards the other man as he does. "No, it's. Dessert sounds good. I just." He fights for words again for a moment, gesturing idly and shaking his head slightly as he does. "I can't believe you've got all this food without expecting someone over is all. A tiramisu?" he says, laughing awkwardly, moving to run a hand through his hair. "You either have a lot of free time on your hands, like to cook, or..." He shrugs slightly, huffing out another breath. "Or you just take better care of yourself than I have a habit of doing, I suppose."

He sits back in his chair, reaching for his drink again. Running his fingers around the edge of the glass before moving to pick it up. He really isn't used to such treatment. Although he could get used to it, he thinks to himself. Sooner than even he might realize, truth be told. And he doesn't know how to feel about that at all. He wants to ask Lancelot why. Why he's so kind to him, why he keeps on being his friend even though Faolan knows he doesn't make it easy, why he stopped him that first time he found him in the streets. But he doesn't. Instead when he speaks up it's to say, "Treatment like this, I'm surprised that there aren't more people dropping by, just the same as me." He can't say for certain but he doesn't think there are, anyway.

"'All' this food? It isn't that much. I put on extra spaghetti for you, and this was kept frozen..."

He wrinkles his nose at Faolan, shakes his head in turn.

"That, and I do like cooking. Making extra food means I always have some spare to eat for lunch or dinner another day. Or some spare, of course, if a friend turns up. Although other people are usually polite enough to call ahead."

Since Faolan isn't actually the only friend he has, just the most troublesome.

Ah. Well, he can't help the troublesome part. Faolan purses his lips slightly in response to Lancelot's words, his eyes flicking across the table at the frankly terrible gift that he'd already spent far too much time apologizing over as it was. "I hadn't expected to be invited in for dinner," he says, honestly. "I hadn't really expected to be invited in at all." And how should he have called ahead? 'Hey, mind if I swing by to give you a body part in a box?' No, probably wouldn't have gone over very well.

"I'll... Try and call ahead next time," he says, awkward despite his best efforts otherwise. He shrugs slightly. "I can't make any promises though. Maybe next time you won't let me in if I do. If I'm so much trouble." Referencing, of course, the other man's earlier commentary.

Lancelot shrugs, tugs a sharp knife out of a block and sets an electric kettle nearby to boil a little water.

"I might, if Lily agrees. You need to win both of us over, you know."

Lily looks around at the sound of her name, ears pricking curiously. What is going on? What is he doing? Is he going to be making more food?

(Yes, but not food for dogs!)

The water begins to roll finally and he holds the knife out into the cloud of steam, turning it over a few times as the metal heats before turning back to the dish and cutting two squares out of the tiramisu. The hot metal melts through the frozen food easily and he tugs down two small plates, lifts out the slices onto them before recovering the dish and turning to put it back in the freezer.

"It'll need a few minutes to defrost, anyway."

Faolan nods absently in response to the other man's words, watching him set the dessert on the plates and put the rest of it back from whence it came. "I'll do my best," he says, instead. In response to the idea of winning her over, of course. Although he hardly thinks that it's all that hard, as sweet as she is. Timid, yes, but she wants to trust him. And does, if the fact that she seems to be more concerned about begging for food than keeping an eye on him is anything to go by.

"Although," he continues, because he can tell that this is a topic which Lancelot has some opinions on, and which he would not mind talking about for hours if he could, "I would not mind it if you gave me some tips. Hints, perhaps. Who better to guide me on winning her over than you, after all. Perhaps I shall turn to her for pointers on you in return," he adds, lightly.

The Night Auction

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