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 Faolan is withdrawn, and perhaps the reality of it is that he's a hunter.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

If she bites me I'll just bite her back, Simon thinks absently, holding out his hand for the dog to smell. It's one of those rare days where he has very little to do, so he's been getting in some much-needed exercise at the park. It's been...far longer than he'll ever admit since the last time he ran, and he's definitely feeling it. Especially in his shoulder, which is still injured after Lambeth. He'd just been limping back home when a different kind of fluffy white dog from the fluffy white dog he occasionally turned into started to react to her.

"It's all right," he assures the dog's owner, "she probably just smells..." Me. "...my dog."

Edited 2015-10-22 19:47 (UTC)

"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.

"You have a dog?" The question is light and friendly, one hand resting on Lily to gently keep her from surging forward as she sniffs at Simon's hand. Her tail swishes over her back in greeting, soft ears pointing forward at him as he speaks to keep track of him. "What kind?"

He's not met anyone else with a Samoyed yet, they don't seem particularly popular in London so far as he can tell. Most people have smaller dogs, or dogs with less intense grooming needs -- labradors, retrievers. Dogs that aren't so white as Lily is and liable to get dirty and track water all over.

Simon can't help but wince internally. Oh, if only this man knew. But it was a common enough pleasantry, one Simon's good manners compelled him to answer.

"Yes. I'm not quite sure what kind...he is. Some sort of mix, maybe, with German shepherd. He's all white too, actually. Blue eyes."

Which was quite the counterpoint to Simon's brown hair and brown eyes. He wasn't sure how that worked.

"Lily!" This time when Nancy sees the dog, she's in much higher spirits. "Hullo, beautiful!" She, too, is off-duty- a pair of trainers, jeans, rather than the work get-up that Lance had only ever seen her in. Her makeup, as well, is surprisingly light.

"And hullo to you, too, Lance," she says as she drops to a knee to pet the dog, rubbing her cheeks the way she knows they like. "Good news, before you ask- curse's lifted."

Annie had this wonderful habit of stumbling into the worst of things. In this case, it happened to be a body. A pale, very dead body. She hadn't meant to arrive when she did, walking by on the street, when, as such things did, the body caught her attention. But she wasn't the only one, it appeared.

Not that she cared about that; what she cared about were the two marks on the victim's neck. She'd seen those before. Her hand went up to the scar on her neck as she looked at the body.

"She's dead." Captain Obvious. "Vampire." Also captain obvious.

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?"

Lily swishes her tail in excitement, lifting a paw to brace on Nancy's knee as she lavishes attention on her. This is good! Nancy is good! Lily remember her! She was sad before, but now she is not!

"Lifted?" Lancelot echoes, and his face brightens further than it already had at the sight of her. "Oh, thank goodness! I admit, I was worried you might never find away -- and I'm not sure my skills are quite right for the area. I would not know where to even begin looking."

He winces apologetically, waves her to a chair opposite.

"Please -- do you want a coffee? If you have time, that is."

He starts at the sound of her voice, eyes lifting sharply from the body to her and narrowing.

The problem here is that Annie could be anyone. Annie could be mundane, she could be turned herself, vampire or werewolf. She could be anything. She's an unknown and Lancelot doesn't know if he can trust her.

For one thing, she's blurting about vampires to someone standing beside a dead body. That's already borderline breaking The Statute of Secrecy if she's really aware of such a thing.

"Do you think?" he answers, and lets the hair drop back over the woman's neck. His eyes rove around the area cautiously before he pushes to his feet again and dusts down his dark jeans absently. "Not the dead bit, that's fairly obvious. The rest is a little far fetched though, don't you think?"

"Siberian husky?" he prompts, squinting in thought. "They're known for blue eyes. Tails curl up over their backs a little, though not as much as this."

He runs a hand over Lily's tail and she turns to nose him questioningly.

"They're normally a mix of colours, but they can be pure white too. Lily here is a Samoyed, and therefore also from Siberia -- aren't you?"

Her tail swishes faster at the sound of her name, at the tone of Lancelot's voice, and he smiles indulgently down at her.

Nancy's all too happy to scritch at Lily's ears and cheeks as the dog greeted her.

"Precisely," she said. "Or, well, wore off, I suppose?" Didn't matter. It was over. It had been gone in time for dealing with Barnet. And all that had come with it, unfortunately.

Lance's words catch her off-guard. "Wait- you're serious? You were worried?" She turns towards him, eyebrows arched in pleasant surprise. "I've got time- I can pay." Nancy's already reaching for her purse with one hand.

Siberian husky, huh?

Simon knows enough about dogs to vaguely identify breeds, and he has seen German shepherds with a similar tail to the one he sometimes finds himself wearing. Huh. So maybe he's both.

Hell, maybe his birth parents are a mix of Russian and German.

He absently scratches behind the dog's ears. He knew how positively soppy people could be about their pets, despite never having one himself, so the man's interaction with the dog--Lily--doesn't phase him much.

"Well, she's a lovely dog." What else is there to say?

She's aware of it. The problem is finding out when to apply it. Bodies and vampires kind of went hand-in-hand, and Annie didn't exactly have what you could call a filter. She said what she thought and thought what she said.

So she nods, and this time, she's the one to reach for the hair (crime scene, Cresta) to gesture. "No- no it's not. I know it's real. See? Look." She gestures. He'd laugh at her, call her crazy, everyone did. Claim she was delusional, but this wasn't one of her delusions.

"I know vampire victims."

"She's beautiful," Skip replies.

She doesn't approach the dog further, but it doesn't take her long to drop to a knee and hold her hand out toward the dog. Not forcing her to smell it, no, but offering. She wondered how much of a sense of the supernatural animals had, really. Was there a difference, to them, between a human, a shapeshifter, and a werewolf? If scent lasted too long, she probably had all three for the poor animal's nose.

But it wasn't something she was too worried about.

"I love dogs."

"Of course! If you had been sharing your life with the wrong people such a thing could have been dangerous. Secrecy is a little difficult when you are compelled to tell the truth. Do you know who cast such a thing?"

He gently reins Lily back as Nancy reaches for her purse, ruffling at her fluffy white mane of fur and offering a questioning smile. He's tempted to insist, but... Well, perhaps it would be overbearing to try and pay for her coffee when he's already bought her a drink and food before. Lancelot can never quite tell.

"Thank you. Ah, I'm Lancelot," he offers, and offers a slightly wincing smile. "Forgive me, I hope her enthusiasm isn't delaying you in getting somewhere..."

After all, Lily has no concept of how people might have schedules or places to be.

"You've seen them before?" he prompts, frowning curiously. She could simply be... well, particularly into vampire fiction. She could be delusional. Yet she could be telling the truth. He supposes he needs to ask something a little more direct to find out. Searching for his wallet he thinks a moment what to ask.

"Are you with Islington?"

A simple enough question he can pass off as something else if she doesn't know what he means, but if she does he has more reason to listen to her.

Lily's ears twitch thoughtfully, sniffing the air as she regards Skip before leaning forward just a little to catch the scent a little better off her offered hand.

"I have no doubt she appreciates the compliment," he says, and reaches to ruffle her ears as she cautiously stretches out. Skip smells different, but she isn't quite sure why! What is it she can smell? It isn't like anything she has smelled before!

"She's a Samoyed," he adds, "rescue dog, forgive her if she's a little uncertain. She's still gaining her confidence back around people."

Skip stays put, leaving her hand out casually but not making any attempt to pet the dog yet. She keeps smiling, too, looking up at the owner. Who is, really, the only reason she stopped to admire the dog. It makes striking up a conversation so much easier. Not that most guys minded much if a girl struck up a conversation with them.

"How long have you had her?"

His face scrunches in thought at the question, hands still ruffling at the dog.

"Six months? Something along those lines. I volunteer at Battersea, walk the dogs and help them adjust. She'd been there a while, had behavioural problems. I suppose I'm just a soft touch and took to her. Animals are like people, after all, they'll always behave badly if treated badly. They just need to learn that not everyone is bad."

"Kinda hard sometimes," Skip says, as if speaking to the dog. She reaches out tentatively to gently rub the fur near the scruff of the dog's neck. "People don' always make it easy t' see the good, huh, babe?"

Her gaze turns back to him, and she smiles.

"Least she has you now, though."

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.

Lily leans into the touch, eyes half-closing a little in pleasure and tail swishing up over her back. They don't always make it easy, but Skip is nice! She is giving her attention! That is good, Lily likes when people pet her this way.

"She does," Lancelot agrees, and his lips twitch into a smile. "Her name is Lily," he adds, "and -- I'm Lancelot, although obviously I am nowhere near as appealing as my companion. Everyone wants to talk to her, it seems. She's been popular today, haven't you?"

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