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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 Faolan is withdrawn, and perhaps the reality of it is that he's a hunter.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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"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.

"You'll be fine," Lancelot assures him more quietly, "and I will always be here if you need fishing out. You've seen me jump walls before, I think I can break you out if you end up caught somewhere."

He flicks a lopsided smile, breaks off a smaller piece of pastry and begins to chew as he thinks.

"You have the Night Council behind you, Daybreak too. No doubt people from your own faction would help you in a pinch. Get yourself a witch's amulet, that'll protect you from anyone getting into your head..."

Lancelot digs in his pockets a moment, begins digging through his phone before he's bringing up a list of names. Names Faolan will recognise as the list Sylvia had. His voice stays soft, barely more than a whisper now they're talking more seriously.

"Make sure you don't keep a hard copy of this. We'll get everyone in trouble quickly. This girl here..."

He scrolls down to Nancy's name, taps it. One of the one's without a surname.

"This girl I know. Streetwalker."

Faolan gives Lancelot a direct look, raising an eyebrow at him in a very pointed expression.

"You know her personally then, do you?" he asks, only managing to keep a straight face until the question is out, before the corner of his lips quirk slightly. Honestly, the idea of Lancelot picking up a streetwalker is. Laughable, all things considered.

"I've moved her on," he counters, since no. He hasn't picked her up. "Offered her a coffee once when she was in trouble. She's short, red hair, a little wavy. Looks young, early twenties latest. Strong personality, emotional, drinks."

None of which is, perhaps, surprising in particular. He shrugs after a moment.

"Not dangerous, not purposely."

Edited 2015-11-13 01:08 (UTC)

Faolan lets the other man pass his gentle jab on. It sounds like the sort of things that he'd do, honestly. Help her out when she needed it, buy her food and drink. Honestly, not far off from what he'd done for him, to start. The physical description helps, though. He makes note of it, just in case he should run into her while in the field. In case he should wind up with her, for that matter, though he won't let himself get ahead of himself.

"Is she vulnerable?" Faolan asks, raising his eyebrows at the other man. Sylvia had told him to look for an in with someone in Circle Midnight who'd needed one, after all. It sounds like Lancelot had been doing a lot of helping her out -- did she really need the help, or was that just Lancelot being Lancelot?

Lancelot considers this seriously a moment, thinking.

"Yes," he says finally, "but not helpless. She's proud, stubborn. Not stupid. I don't doubt she could do something about it if she were in trouble, although I could not say how effectively -- forgive me. All the same she is vulnerable. Her work makes her that way."

Faolan nods slightly, rolling over the information in his head, filing it away in turn. She'd make a good friend in this, but he isn't certain whether she'd be a good way into their world or not. He'd have to look into the other names as well.

"Thanks," he says, obviously preoccupied with the idea of it all, the gears working fast in his head. "I'm not sure how successful I'll be no matter what way in I find," he admits, honestly. "It's a Sisterhood. I don't exactly fit in."

"You could try wearing a wig," Lancelot offers, and leans back in his chair again -- takes another slow sip of his coffee. "Some heels. Might have to lose the beard, though, for it to be convincing."

He shrugs, blandly, a ghost of a smile teasing at his lips but not quite taking over.

Faolan glances across at Lancelot at that, realizing he's been sitting there poking at the last bits of his pastry for a fair minute now, and forcing himself to stop and take up his coffee once more.

"I'm sorry to say that I don't think they'll let me in like that no matter how good my legs look in pumps," Faolan says, quirking something of a smile back of him. "But thanks for the advice. I'll keep it in mind."

"Does that mean you've worn pumps before?"

Lancelot squints sceptically at Faolan over his coffee, lofting an eyebrow questioningly.

"Because if there's a story there, I think I should like to hear it."

Faolan shoots Lancelot a look, not dissimilar to some of the looks that Lancelot has given him in the past, widening his eyes, his expression innocent. "Me?" he asks. He gives it a few moments, milking the expression, before he lets the act drop and quirks a smirk at the other man instead.

"You would like to, wouldn't you," he says, before sitting back in his chair, taking a careful sip of his coffee. "What do you think? You were the one to suggest it, after all. Does that seem like something I would do?" It certainly doesn't seem like it. Not something that he'd do now, anyway.

What does he think? Well, from Lancelot's perspective it seems an easy answer. Then again, Lancelot has only known Faolan as he is to him. Has never known a different version of the man, younger and more carefree. As far as Lancelot is concerned he wouldn't be surprised if 17 year old Faolan was equally growly and sat in the corner of his lectures glaring down the rest of the classroom from behind a drink.

"I'd say no," he says finally, "too effeminate for you. You'd be uncomfortable."

Faolan doesn't seem, to him, secure enough in his masculinity to undermine it. Yet he'd be content with being wrong, too.

Perhaps it's for the best that Faolan doesn't know about any opinions about his masculinity and whether or not he's secure enough in it or not. There are a lot of things a person would do for money. Or friends. Especially when alcohol is involved, and you're off at boarding school, living your dream. The dream you used to have, anyway. It's treading some pretty hazardous waters though, so Faolan doesn't elaborate further, and instead spreads his hands as if to say 'who knows' before sitting back in the chair, nursing his coffee instead.

"I wouldn't say no to the extra height," he mutters to himself as much as to Lancelot, before continuing. "But I'm not about to dress in drag and try that way in, no. I'd make a pretty poor woman, at that."

"You don't need any extra height," Lancelot chides gently -- smiling at him over his coffee as he circles it idly with one hand. "You're fine the way you are, Faolan, which means yes -- perhaps you are better as a man. We can save the cross-dressing for costume party.

His lips flick up in idle amusement at the mental image for a moment. He's not sure he'd ever persuade Faolan to go for it, but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy thinking about it.

Faolan quirks his eyebrows at the idea of cross-dressing at a costume party, but doesn't comment on it. Nor does he comment on the idea of whether or not he should need to be any taller. He's short, as far as he's concerned, especially compared to the other man. But he's been short all his life, and he's (generally) learned to accept that fact.

"Don't let anyone replace me, while I'm gone," he says, after a moment. He reaches a hand out, to run over his desk. It's pretty minimalist, all things considered. He hasn't put anything personal on it, which he supposes isn't too surprising. He's barely got anything personal to bring in, his flat equally depressingly barren. It'd be fairly easy, to let someone else move in, in the meanwhile, however much he hates to admit it. However much he doesn't want it to happen.

He isn't, of course, talking about just the desk either. For better or worse, and through a lot of effort on the other man's part, Lancelot has begun to worm his way into Faolan's regular routine. Losing that would be a bigger loss than Faolan would care to admit.

"I would not worry about that. Nobody else tolerates my sense of humour quite as well as you do."

In truth, Faolan might believe it more to the reverse -- that Lancelot tolerates him far better than others -- but Lancelot has come to be used to Faolan's friendship so much as the man has become used to him. His teasing is fond rather than pointed, and he would miss the other man so much as Faolan might miss him.

"I'll get Lily to keep your seat warm," he offers finally, "she can bark at anyone who tries to take it."

Faolan huffs out a laugh in turn, shaking his head at that. Always with the dog jokes, although Faolan can't say that he minds much. He is laughing, isn't he? Even if he does think the humor is a little silly. Fondly so, of course. "Well, with such a ferocious guard dog on my side, who would dare?" he questions, toying with his coffee for a moment.

He supposes he should start to get ready. Do some research, figure out where he's going with this. Pack up whatever he has here that he'll need for however long he'll be gone, since he won't be able to be seen coming into this part of the city, and certainly not into this building. Who knows when he'll be back? Who knows how busy his life is about to become?

No rest for the weary, he thinks to himself, as the pair of them set to work.

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