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Westminster -- CLOSED TO FAOLAN

Lancelot is getting somewhat used to Night Council work, little by little. He's getting used to travelling to Westminster, checking in, reading reports and generally investigating things that are not quite mundane.

He's also getting used to Faolan. Faolan is a strange sort of person, varying on days between a surly sort of grumpiness and casual friendliness. Lancelot can't quite work out what to make of the man, and he suspects Faolan can't quite work out what to make of him in turn. So much as he insists that he is not used to things or feels he doesn't belong, Lancelot... well, Lancelot isn't exactly in a much better position. He's still learning, but he's learning quickly. He's already been promoted, after all, much to his own surprise. No, Faolan... Faolan is withdrawn, and perhaps the reality of it is that he's a hunter. Hunters are not, exactly, people who work in groups. Perhaps he just needs a little coaxing?

So it is that Lancelot arrives early, waiting outside for Faolan with two cups of coffee from a place up the road and two pastries. Something to help him wake up and perhaps bribe him into conversation.

b) Police & Guardian work -- OPEN

Adjusting to life as both a Community Support Officer and a Night Council Guardian has been easy enough in one aspect: both roles are investigative, and both roles are about upholding the law and protecting people.

So it is that on some days he can be found out and about Richmond and the surrounding areas, neatly dressed in his police uniform and fielding questions from tourists and generally lost people. It's especially busy at the moment with the rugby world cup, and they have a lot of drunks to carefully handle and crowd control to do, but Lancelot doesn't mind it. He's polite and easy going, but he's more than able to handle himself when necessary.

Of course, on the days he isn't there -- or even late at night after work -- Lancelot has his other job to think of. Dressed down into tidy, smart clothing in place of his uniform he heads out back and forth from Westminster investigating Night Council business. From the smallest lead to the biggest problem he does his best to keep on top of things. Moving on troublemakers, carefully dissuading people being too open with their magic or looking into bigger crimes. Lancelot has a good sense for danger, and he's both quick on his feet and strong. Much to the annoyance of people he's looking to apprehend.

c) Crime Scene -- OPEN

Lancelot has made it before the police, for which he's glad. It gives him time to find out what he needs and get away again, cover up as much evidence of non-human action as he can.

Which may prove difficult.

As he crouches down and studies the body the pallor of it finally sinks in. About as pale as you can get, and aside from the damage produced by the fight something else nags at him until he carefully reaches out and pushes aside her hair.

She's been bitten.

The question then is if she's already been turned, or if she's just been drained. Lancelot belatedly realises he's not sure if there's any way you can tell at this point. Vampires are dead, so he can't check for a heartbeat. Is there another test for vampirism?

He supposes he'll have to add it to his list of things to read up on.

d) Off Duty Coffee Shop-- OPEN

When Lancelot isn't running between jobs he still has another responsibility, of course. Lily. His white Samoyed is slowly getting more and more confident around people, and so he does his best to make sure he always has time to take her out and about to meet new people. The parks around London, the high streets in various places and along the river -- she's a very well travelled dog in that respect.

He's sitting outside despite the cloudy weather, eyeing the sky warily as he sips his coffee and Lily laps some water from a bowl. She looks up sharply as someone walks near and flicks her ears, trying to decide if she needs to alert Lancelot before he looks up and around himself.

"Don't worry, she won't bite. She's probably more afraid of you."

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Faolan has been settling in in his own right, albeit in different ways than Lancelot himself. This sort of work is not all that foreign to him, having been a private investigator before, among other things as well. Anything to make ends meet, in the end (save perhaps for the one mean he was actually trained in). The adjustment is more who he is working for than the work he is doing. More the nature of how the Night Council operates than the operation of getting it done. And yes, he has ever been something of a lone gunman, in a manner of speaking. This level of procedure is still rather foreign to him. He suspects he will ever be a man on the edge, even in the areas where he is most at home.

Of course, the fact that he is well aware that he has been signed on as something of a spy, with the intention of creating him into something of a spy, may have something to do with it as well.

He supposes that it isn't all that bad. And he does have a friend in it, for that matter, even if Lancelot does perplex him even at the best of times. He hasn't given up on him yet, and that is always something to be grateful for. He hasn't exactly made it easy for the other man, after all. Especially not since his newest assignment has started up.

Trudging into the office in Westminster, Faolan has already had one cup of coffee but it's hardly helped his mood nor his energy levels, given how late he'd had to be out the night before. So upon the sight of the other man and his two cups of coffee, as well as his two pastries besides, it takes him a moment to register that he's likely waiting for someone, and another moment besides to register that that someone may in fact be him. But how to determine that delicately...

"Coffee?" he asks, hopefully. Ah, well. He could have done worse.

"Coffee," Lancelot confirms, and holds one out to Faolan. "And a croissant too, if you'd like one. You look like you need it, too. Rough night?"

It could have been a good night, he supposes, a date or out drinking with a friend, but... Well, he hasn't really known Faolan to ever talk about doing such things. It could simply be that he's very private, but Faolan honestly doesn't appear to do much other than work. Lancelot quietly suspects he needs the money, but isn't about to ask such a thing outright. He might be sensitive about it. Easier to simply help where he can.

Faolan takes the coffee offered to him graciously, huddling around the drink like the lifeline that it is. He grunts softly in response to the other man's question, before nodding slightly. "Yeah," he confirms. "A late one too. Thanks for this." He glances up at Lancelot, only just now wondering...

"What's the occasion?" Not that he supposes the other man needs one, to buy him coffee and breakfast, but he wouldn't have known that he'd had a late night before now, would he? Lucky guess, perhaps? Coincidence? Although no, the other man doesn't believe in such things.

And as for Faolan himself. Well, it's a combination of several of the above listed, really. He is rather private, although mostly he simply doesn't know how to open up and share. And what is there to share about his life anyway? Aside from some rather dark secrets in his past, there's not a lot to him. He does work a lot, yes, because he does need the money. And he can't be a private investigator and a Night Council Guardian at once. He's had to give up the one job for the slightly better paid, definitely more steady one. But he's not living comfortably by any means. It just means he can afford food and rent. Basic necessities. For now, at least. The winter's coming, though, that'll be expensive, though if he's being honest he's trying not to think that far ahead.

"Do I need an occasion to buy a friend a drink?" he quips, and offers Faolan a crooked smile before shrugging -- stepping properly into the hall and beginning to walk through. "You did say food was the way to way to charm you, after all, perhaps I am just working on my charm?"

He pushes his way into the office area, paces around to where Faolan's desk is and hovers beside it as he sips his own coffee -- setting down the other pastry for him.

"Actually, I did want to talk to you about something. I missed you yesterday. Sylvia briefed you, I think?"

Faolan nods, slightly, as he lifts his coffee and takes a sip of it, taking a seat behind the desk appointed him. Not too hot, not too cold, he's grateful for the other man's generosity (and for the caffeine, for that matter). He raises it in thanks as Lancelot places the pastry down in front of him, before swallowing and putting the coffee down to speak up.

"She did," he says, glancing up at the other man, and then around at the desks surrounding. It's early yet, there's hardly anyone about, but it pays to be cautious. They seem to be clear, though. He flicks his eyes back to Lancelot.

"Did she also tell you she promoted me?"

Lancelot jerks an eyebrow at Faolan, offers a helpless half-shrug.

"I suppose I've done something right, although I'm not so sure what that is. It might mean I can give you orders now, I'm not entirely sure."

He wrinkles his nose playfully at the man, hiding a smile by taking another sip of his drink.

Faolan gives Lancelot a look at the idea of having to follow orders from the other man. Something tells him he's not the sort of underling that Lancelot would enjoy having. He gets the job done but he's not always great at following the rules. It's no wonder that the charming, handsome, Officer Dulac would have gotten the promotion before him, despite the fact that they'd been hired at the same time as one another. Faolan tries not to think too hard on that one.

"She did not," Faolan says, looking up at the other man from where he sits, going to pick up his coffee again. He takes another sip of it, eyes assessing the other man over the rim of the cup, before he speaks up to say, "She did tell me that I can have you to thank for my next assignment, however. Perhaps you've started giving me orders without even knowing."

Assignment? He blinks at Faolan, brow furrowing in thought.

"I suggested to her that you might be better at more subtle investigating than I would be. Forgive me if that was bold, I only thought... well, with your experience it seemed to make sense."

Yet perhaps he should not have? His face screws up into a sort of apologetic wince, already trying to decide how to fix things if he has overstepped in some way.

Faolan raises his eyebrows at Lancelot slightly. "I believe the way that she put it was. 'Lancelot tells me that spying is part of your skill set'," he says, adjusting the tone of his voice, as well as his accent (which he actually does a pretty convincing imitation of, for that matter), to mimic Sylvia's. He raises his eyebrows at Lancelot further, taking a sip of his coffee, as he watches the other man.

"I take it that those weren't your exact words yourself, then?" he asks, flicking something of a smile of the other man as he does.

He winces at that, shakes his head. No, those hadn't been his exact words at all.

"No, I would not have been so presumptuous as that. Forgive me, Faolan, I hope you do not feel I have misstepped. I had no intention of burdening you with something you would dislike. If it will be a problem, I am sure something else can be worked out..."

After all, Lancelot may not be the best at such a thing but if it will upset Faolan to do this he has no qualms about trying. Faolan is his friend, after all, he has no wish to make him uncomfortable.

Faolan looks down at his coffee at Lancelot's words. It's a nice thought, and a nice gesture as far as the other man is concerned, but he really doesn't have a choice in the matter. What's done is done. He'd volunteered to be a Guardian for the Night Council, and this is what will become of it. He'd known going into it that he'd be setting himself up for less than savory conditions. But what choice did he have, considering the alternative.

"It does not matter whether I dislike it or not," he says, bluntly. "I have received a direct order from my superior. And now I will do as she bids me, and go undercover with one of them, if I can manage it." He has a feeling that he'd better hope that he can manage, for that matter. Sylvia Redbright doesn't seem a dangerous woman, but he's not ken on getting on her bad side, either.

Now he most definitely feels guilty. He sighs a little, stealing a chair from another desk a moment and drawing it up to Faolan's desk. Flopping down he sips his coffee in thought, turning over the information.

"Well," Lancelot begins finally, "I can still help you with that. Tell you what I already know. Which... is better than nothing. She gave you the list?"

Of girls in the Shadow Coven, that is. Lancelot assumes that is why Faolan is going undercover, after all, to find out more about them.

Faolan glances across at Lancelot, nodding slightly as he joins him by his desk. "She did," he confirms, quietly. They may be alone but he is still mindful of listening ears, regardless of the fact. "I cannot say that I recognize any of them as names alone, but I suppose that is where the investigative work is supposed to come in."

She did not explain to him where she got the list of names from, either. Faolan is not certain that he wants to know, all things considered. The lest he's in on, the less he can be pinned on him should anything go south. He glances at the other man. "I take it that you have had access to it as well, then?" he asks, although there is more to the question than just that. He is to go undercover for this, after all -- tell him what you know, Lancelot.

"I did. I can tell you about what I know, elsewhere."

After all, Lancelot is aware that the treaty is at stake if the fact that the list has been shared leaks. He frowns in thought, nursing his drink between his hands.

"If your job is undercover you'll need to make sure you have everything before you leave, we can't be seen together too often. It'll raise suspicion. Not everyone knows me as Daybreak but I've pulled my Night Council ID more than once. If I turn up with the cavalry I think it'd officially blow your cover."

Faolan isn't sure where and when 'elsewhere' means, and he frowns at the suggestion that they should lessen their association with each other for the time that he's undercover as well. Lancelot has swiftly and surely become of one of the only people Faolan has come to care for and, well, consider a friend. Trust. That he must give such a thing up, even if it is only at face value, because of something beyond his control... He recognizes the truth and logic in the other man's words, but he doesn't like them at all.

"So long as we keep our association private, I don't see the harm in it," Faolan says, gruffly. "Though I would suggest you not go about telling people who and what I work for, if it's all the same to you. No matter what faction they work for." Who knows what Sylvia's going to have him doing next.

He glances at the other man out of the corner of his eye, before looking down at his coffee and saying, "Besides. If I'm calling you to turn up with the cavalry, I'd like for you to trust my judgment that I should really need the help in such a situation. It's good to have someone at my back in this..." And he certainly doesn't feel like he can count on Sylvia, no matter how much he's doing for her here. Not yet, anyway.

He lets out a soft huff of amusement at that, managing a smile again.

"Well, of course if you really need the help... I've a little experience with that, after all."

Lancelot's smile turns wry, playful. He knows Faolan appreciates it, but he also knows he gets a little frustrated sometimes by Lancelot's help. Or at least, the way he helps.

"But, you are the one going undercover. The terms will be yours in the end, not mine -- although of course I can swear not to go about announcing you are undercover in the first place."

That part, he thinks, should at least be reasonably easy. It's the rest of it that might become complex. Faolan is already Hillingdon, at least, so that is a good start. The easiest lies are the ones closest to the truth. Perhaps if he stuck to being Hillingdon, said he was simply hired by whoever paid the most. That way if challenged about his association with Daybreak... Perhaps he could claim he'd simply been paid by them once, end of?

"I don't even know the terms until I know where I'm going," Faolan says, with a sigh. "Until I know who I'm dealing with. What my cover is." He glances at Lancelot, before looking down at the cup in his hands again. "I'll let you know how deep I have to go. How many lies I have to weave to get there. I really shouldn't be seen associating with Night Council members where we might be seen, and I definitely should steer clear of this office for the next while. But."

He shrugs slightly. "I'll still be around. I'll still have your number. You'll still have mine, yeah? I'll. We can figure something out..." He's trying not to sound desperate. Trying not to think about going back to the lonely nights in his shitty little flat, or being out there in the city, just him against the world.

"I'm sure we can, and it won't be forever after all. You've survived without me before. Perhaps you'll even enjoy the break, with nobody to make jokes at your expensive or force you out into the world to eat apple pie."

He twitches another amused smile, shakes his head. No, he's fairly sure Faolan will survive a little while without him.

"Just be sure to come back in one piece, and without any unfortunate curses. I have no skill with magic and I can't fix a severed limb with basic first aid."

Faolan shakes his head at the request. "I won't make any promises I don't know whether I can keep or not," he says, honestly. If Circle Midnight finds out he's a spy in their midst for the Night Council, even with the truce between them and Daybreak, who knows what they might do to him, after all. "But I'll be careful," he amends, with a quiet sigh, fiddling with his coffee slightly as he does. He doesn't like this, but he really doesn't have much of a choice in the matter, now does he.

After a moment he looks up at Lancelot again. "What about you?" he says. "I suppose you'll get a break from me as well then. Perhaps your wallet will thank me for that," he says, raising the coffee up in something of a salute to the other man. He did have a habit of feeding him. Not that Faolan minded in the least. Someone had to, and he did a pretty poor job of it himself, most days.

"Perhaps it will," Lancelot allows, and quirks a smile. "Perhaps my nerves will, too. No more late night break-ins and chases across London. At least, not with you. I suppose there might be some from the day job."

He settles in his chair a little more comfortably, gives an exaggerated frown of thought as he sips at his coffee

"You might be able to claim danger money and overtime for this. Maybe that means next time you'll be treating me for a change."

"No need to seem so happy about it," Faolan grumbles in response to the other man's smile, although he takes a deep breath in, letting it out heavily and reaches forward for the pastry offered him as well. "The idea of milking more money out of this isn't a bad one, though. You really think that Sylvia would go for that?" he asks, glancing up at the other man as he does.

"Think you could put a good word in for me while I'm gone?" he goes on to ask, taking a bite of the pastry as he does. "You've clearly gotten it all figured out after all, if you've been promoted already."

"Worst she can say is no -- and I did put in a good word for you, and you've been complaining about where it's gotten you. Are you sure you want me to do so again?"

Lancelot lofts an eyebrow casually, giving Faolan a moment to consider this. After all, technically, he had been putting a good word in when he complimented Faolan's skills in subtlety. He hadn't seemed to appreciate that, at least not that he's shown so far. Then again, it could just be the way Faolan is he supposes. A little grumpy regardless.

Faolan heaves a sigh. He's right though, he supposes. He did put in a good word in for him, and even if it isn't exactly the result he should have wished for, he should be grateful for the other man's support in the first place. It's just that... He'd started to get settled, where he was. In the routine that he'd had. Giving that up, on an order. It's difficult. He'll do it, of course. But it doesn't mean that he'll have to like it.

Faolan takes a moment to eat his pastry in silence, considering this. (Grumpily. Yes, that rather is his way of things regardless. Most of the time, anyway.) "I don't like this," he says at last, stating the obvious once more, his voice carefully low. "I'll do it, but I don't like it. It's bad enough I'm spying on Hillingdon, now I've got to create a double-cover. It's... Complicated. I can't be Faolan the hunter. I can't be Faolan the Guardian. There's so much of my life that I'm going to have to avoid while I'm doing this, I don't know who I'm going to be while I'm there." He flicks his eyes up at Lancelot. "That's my problem. Have as much or as little sympathy for it as you like. You're not going to be the one giving yourself up."

"The easiest lie to tell," Lancelot begins, "is the one closest to the truth. Don't make it more complex than it needs to be, Faolan, or you'll trip yourself up."

He reaches forward for his own pastry after a moment, neatly begins to rip it in two so he can start on one half.

"I'm going to start slipping prozac into your coffee if you carry on like this."

Faolan flicks his eyes up at the other man, giving him a look at the prozac comment, but taking the hint. He knows that he's moody, and Lancelot of all people has hardly seen him at his best. He did give him compliments to their boss (it was what had won Faolan the undercover position), and he'd even brought him breakfast.

He takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before, trying again. "I'm sorry," he says. "I know that. I'll think of something. Once I've got those names, I'll build my story around who's more likely to have an opening somewhere." Not as their significant other though, not if he can help it. Sylvia had suggested that but Faolan's against the idea of going that far to get her the information she's after. He'll think of something else.

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