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A) REDBRIGHT RESEARCH -- OPEN

Gaining a sudden gift for telekinesis was not something Lancelot entirely expected. It has been at turns alarming, confusing and funny.

The fact that the power had kicked in before the formal letter from the Night Council hadn't helped, although he'd been a little relieved when he'd read it and realised it wasn't anything more sinister. For all he knew it might have been a curse, after all. He hadn't forgotten the one that he befallen Nancy (had she ever worked out who it was, he wondered? Or was that still a mystery?) and while such an ability didn't seem like punishment he could see how it could quickly become as such if it wanted to.

The trouble of it all is that Lancelot has no experience wielding real magic. He can run faster than others, he can punch harder, he can vault up walls but casting a spell? That is nothing Lancelot has any experience with, and moving things about with his mind is not something he particularly wants to lose control of. Lancelot tries to stay a peaceable person when he can, someone who doesn't go out of his way to take a life, and the last think he'd want to do is hurt someone without meaning to simply because his new-found powers took over.

So it is that Lancelot turns up at Redbright, the best place he knows to learn anything magical, and turns to books. He isn't the best at research -- in truth, he's quite bad at combing books for such things -- but nothing ventured, nothing gained. If it will help him make sure he doesn't toss half his kitchen around with his mind just because he burnt his breakfast then it will be all for the better.

He only wishes he'd brought a bigger cup of coffee with him, because his eyes are starting to glaze over faster than he'd like.

B) GIFT SHOPPING -- OPEN

Why Lancelot thought going shopping on a weekend in December was a good idea remains a mystery, but the fact of the matter is that he has. He hasn't bought any gifts yet, and even devoid of ideas as he is Lancelot knows he has to try. Coffee in hand, and dog safely at home where she won't be too worried by the crowds, Lancelot braves the masses and tries desperately to work out what people might even like.

By lunchtime his energy is beginning to flag, and by the afternoon he's quite certain if another person bumps him out of the way he's liable to perform a citizen's arrest.

He's bought at least one gift, made a few mental notes to compare prices on others and now his feet are starting to hurt and he'd really like to sit down, if he can manage to find somewhere quiet. It's starting to feel borderline impossible, but there has to be somewhere in this place he can get himself a drink and something to eat which isn't packed already. He sighs in irritation, dodges out of the way of a particularly large buggy with large bags hanging off it and vows to do the rest of his shopping online. As much as he likes supporting local shops the people using them really can be terrible.

Steeling himself he makes another attempt to duck his way through the crowds and find himself a coffee shop or a bench. Either would work at this point, he isn't fussed.

C) REPORT -- CLOSED TO SYLVIA

Across Sylvia's desk, toward the end of November, will come a sealed file from Lancelot. It's stamped with an official Night Council marking, and he brings it personally -- he needs to be sure, after all, that it does not get even a glance from the wrong person.

30th November 2015

FAO: SYLVIA REDBRIGHT, PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL

As of the 27th of November Faolan O'Neill officially returned from his time within the Shadow Coven. His new position within Hillingdon made it difficult for him to keep a low profile, and I believe this was for the best both for his own safety and for the integrity of the Night Council as a public outing would be damaging. His status is better used within the Night Council rather than hidden with risk of reprisal.

Below is the combined sum of the information learned.

Known Midnight Supporters.

Listed members of the Shadow Coven have been confirmed.

Nancy Fagin, 18 years old, is a blood worker and streetwalker. Her sentiment is as follows:

"It's not about wanting to do dark, evil things. It's about the freedom to be able to, should we need to."

Kenzi Malikov is also Shadow Coven. Faolan observed her and Abigail setting up wards and protective magic around their designated home, although the exact spells were unknown to him. They remain secretive, and Guardians remain of the opinion further investigation may prove similarly ineffective.

Alice Liddell, exact age unknown but young enough to be studying, is confirmed as a member of Midnight. Has been observed associating with Shadow Coven, Kenzi Malikov specifically. Appears unstable, prone to nerves, violence and possible hallucinations.

Njoki Rainmaker, exact association with Midnight unknown. Arrived in town a few months back, has no strong connections yet to the above mentioned girls. Faolan acquired one of her business cards, which advertises for, "Hoodoo & Conjure / Hands Made, Tricks Crossed, / Uncrossed & Things Done".

Sentiment.

In conversation with members of Circle Midnight several common opinions were ascertained. They expressed a clear doubt of the neutrality of the Night Council and its leadership, citing Barnet as examples of bias and the following memorial as Daybreak witches ‘pretending’ to mourn their Midnight sisters. The belief that the Mother of Witches does not 'really care' is a clear one, that Circle Midnight are in some way oppressed and that Daybreak has a degree of protection. Members are focused on protecting themselves and their own, quickly closing ranks when threatened. Paranoia and recklessness have been observed, suggesting that recent events have increased the feeling they are threatened. This has been especially observed in the member Kenzi Malikov.

Members associate freely with Vampires and Fae alike, although the former appears to be a mixed association. Although some work closely with them others, notably Kenzi and Alice, harbour poor feeling toward them.

A persuasive attempt with Nancy Fagin that attacking the Night Council and Mother of Witches will not gain understanding, instead 'prove' they cannot be trusted, has been declared 'heard'.

General Conclusions and Observations.

Members of Circle Midnight tend toward the younger age range, with late teens to early twenties seeming common.

Members have often displayed a degree of instability in their personal lives, both past and present.

Members display strong opinions, but not of a malicious or destructive nature.

Members desire for the 'freedom' to make their own mistakes.

Members are secretive and slow to trust strangers during current tensions, making private investigation ineffective when compared to open approaches.

When approached candidly, members respond well to being listened to and reassured.

LANCELOT DULAC
GUARDIAN, NIGHT COUNCIL

C) HOMECOMING -- CLOSED TO FAOLAN

Lancelot is fussing. He's aware he's fussing, and that he should take it easy, but it's been a while since he's really been able to spend time with Faolan and he's pleased to have the man back.

So he's fussing, checking on the food he's cooking and that the bathroom has clean towels -- that all his mess is cleared away and that there are sheets and blankets and things ready for the futon when Faolan wants to turn in. Lancelot fully expects Faolan to be exhausted, after all, and grateful for somewhere safe to be able to hide -- for a given value of safe.

Lily barks a short alert at the sound of the doorbell and a few seconds later Lancelot is opening it, greeting Faolan in a flurry of smiles and fluffy white animal enthusiastically bouncing beside him. He's dressed down at this time of night, faded jeans and a loose v-neck -- hair a little mussed from running his fingers through it as he works.

"Come in, please!" he says quickly -- and stands aside to let Faolan bring in his things before he assaults him further. The extractor fan is whirring in the kitchen, signalling food at some point, and Lily dances along by Faolan's feet as he moves -- bouncing as she fights down the enthusiastic urge to jump up at him. "Put your things anywhere you want. I've tried to make a little space. Are you hungry? I've started some food but it can keep or wait if need be. I just wasn't sure if you'd have eaten before or on the way over, so..."

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Faolan takes note of the warning and keeps his hands to himself and stays out of the way as Lancelot sets himself about preparing the table, disappearing into the kitchen and reappearing with more and more food as he comes and goes. He sits in place, idly stroking Lily's ears as he watches Lancelot bustle around, the food smelling delicious and Faolan himself feeling really rather pleased with where he is in the moment. Wondering if maybe this isn't Lancelot in his element, in some way, as some of the most relaxed moments he has witnessed of the other man have been over one of his home-cooked meals.

"Whatever I want, as much as I want," Faolan repeats the other man's offers, glancing up to him with the hint of a smile. "It's a good thing you've already planned to house me for the weekend. You'd have to throw me out the door." He moves to push himself back from the table. "I'll have the coffee, but I can get it. You don't need to be continuously waiting on me."

"You're my guest," Lancelot insists, dropping a hand to rest on Faolan's shoulder. "Don't even think about it. Just tell me what you want. White? Black? Cappuccino? Something else? Sugar, no sugar?"

He pads back through again, begins banging out the grounds from the machine and grinding some more. Lily twitches her ears at the noise, but she's used to the loud machine -- and far more interested in the food Lancelot served out for Faolan. Can she have some? She has been so good! A very good dog! Surely she deserves some stew too?

"Black," Faolan says, after he finds himself forced to stay in his chair. Can't say he didn't at least try. "Strong," he says, after another moment. "The more caffeine the better at this point. Beyond that, you can bring me whatever you like." He sits back in his chair, although not before peering out across into the kitchen where Lancelot had gone, suddenly compelled with the need to ask, "You can really make all of those drinks with that machine?"

Don't think he doesn't notice you, Lily. He's been warned the food is hot, and he's not sure what Lancelot's rules regarding table scraps are for you. Depending on the answer though, he doubts Lancelot would go through all this trouble for homework without spoiling the dog a little too. She is very good, after all.

'All those drinks?' Lancelot glances back at Faolan, twitching an amused smile.

"White coffee is just black coffee with milk in it," he teases, then shrugs after a moment. "It can make a few things, if you know how to set it up. Adjust the strength, add the right amount of milk, that's all it is. So, if you want to be more precise... Epresso, Americano, Macchiato.."

He tilts his head questioningly, stopping the machine grinding finally and beginning to set it up.

"I know the gauges for most, although if you're expecting patterns drawn in the foam you'll be disappointed."

Faolan shakes his head, making something of a face in response to the teasing. Yes, he knows what white coffee is, thank you very much. Just because he doesn't have a machine himself doesn't mean that he lives under a rock. Don't you understand how much of his time is spent in coffee shops? He does branch out and try all the different options available, even if his regular favorite order is rather traditional (and possibly fairly boring).

"Impress me with your coffee-making talents when I'm more capable of appreciating them, but for now, just black is fine," he says, dryly. "If it's good quality coffee, more the better."

He grins at that, grabs down a cup and saucer and begins adjusting switches before letting the machine whirr into action.

"I have a question for you, Faolan," he begins, voice a little playfully sing-song as he leaves the coffee to grind. "Did you do anything for your birthday?"

Lancelot tilts his head curiously, widens his eyes in mock surprise after a second and holds up his hands in self defence.

"Just curious, since you didn't mention it, but I happened to stumble on the information while you were away."

"My..." Faolan's brows furrow, confusion spreading across his face, before Lancelot explains himself. Stumbled across the information... In his file, he supposes. He'd needed to give some information about himself, when he'd become employed by the Night Council. He's suddenly very grateful that his record only requires things like name, date of birth, and previous hire experience, and not anything more personal than that, like his past for instance. Things he really doesn't known, and certainly not from someone having read his file.

He takes a moment to continue frowning at Lancelot as he contemplates his response, trying to figure out how he feels about the other man 'having stumbled' on such information as well. "It's not something I'm in the regular habit of celebrating," he says at last. Really, it had been a day just like any other day. He had woken up, done what he needed to do to get through the day, and found a way to get to sleep again somehow. Looking back on it now, he hardly remembered the day itself at all, truth be told.

Lancelot wrinkles his nose a little at Faolan's frown, sensing his unease easily enough.

"Don't worry, I didn't go looking through everything they have on you. I just looked up the date -- I was curious! I've known you nearly six months and you've never mentioned it, I just wanted to know if I'd missed it. Turns out I had."

He flickers a wry smile, retrieves the coffee as the cycle finishes and begins to dig Faolan out a spoon and some sugar cubes.

"So, I may be nearly a month late... but, since you didn't do anything, does it matter?" Sliding the coffee onto the table beside Faolan he sets down the sugar cubes beside it, squeezes Faolan's shoulder in reassurance and lowers his voice as he leans in. "Happy birthday," he murmurs, and smiles before standing again and ruffling Faolan's hair a little. "I won't sing, I promise."

Edited (repitition also dicks) 2015-12-09 00:42 (UTC)

Faolan isn't sure what it is that has his pulse quickening as it does. Perhaps it has something to do with the way that Lancelot laid his hand on his shoulder, the warmth of it, the weight of it, and the fact that Faolan is nowhere near to anyone touching him with the ease that Lancelot does. Perhaps it's the way that he leans in and murmurs in his ear, his voice as soft and affectionate as it is. Or perhaps it's the mixed smell of the soup on the table in front of him, and the coffee that he's just set before him, and whatever it is that makes Lancelot smell the way he does, that musky, earthy something. Perhaps it's some combination thereof. Regardless, Faolan finds his body reacting to it, and as Lancelot reaches out to ruffle his hair, he shifts in his chair slightly, on the pretense of ducking out from underneath the man's hand but really he is just looking to sit further under the table.

"You haven't shared your own, you know," Faolan points out, awkwardly. Flushing slightly as he reaches forward for his coffee, to give himself something to do with his hands. Dropping a couple of sugar cubes into the cup for good measure. "Don't go pointing fingers at me when you're equally guilty. You could have just asked."

"May 5th!" He supplies easily, dropping down into his own chair and beginning to serve himself some food. "I have nothing to be guilty of, you haven't missed mine yet. You didn't know me in May."

He flashes a satisfied sort of smile at that, eyes sliding sideways to Lily as she pricks her toward him. He's serving food, she can smell it and hear it. Yet still none of dogs! Why is this?

"Of course, if you want to mark the date down you can be prepared for next year. You have a lot of time to plan if you start now."

Recovering the pot to keep it warm he jerks an eyebrow, reaches to take a slice of the warm bread before offering the plate to Faolan.

"As much as you want, like I said. As you can see there's not exactly a shortage of food here."

Faolan's waited for Lancelot to join him before eating, even though the other man had served him a while ago. At least that means that his food has been cooling this whole time. He glances at the other man again, feeling -- well, so comfortable in this moment he's wondering why he's not feeling less so -- taking a slice from the plate offered as well.

"Just don't expect a home-cooked meal," he says. "I'll just embarrass myself in comparison." He's probably made the bread too, the overachiever. As much as you like, Lancelot had said. He'll eat what's given him and then decide whether he'd like more. He's not exactly used to feasting, after all. Lancelot may think his cooking is simple, but when put up against a normal days' meal for Faolan, there's no comparison.

Faolan shifts in his seat again, sliding his eyes sideways to watch the other man for a moment. On the pretense of figuring out how to eat this food. If he happens to be studying Lancelot's expression, the way he holds himself, how relaxed he seems to be with just the two of them and the dog sitting down to a meal, then that's only for Faolan to know.

"You can take me somewhere if you like," Lancelot quips, starting on his food easily enough. "Or we could order take-away and sit watching terrible films. I'm easy enough to please after all. Company is enough for me. What about you? You said you don't normally celebrate, why not? Just don't like the fuss?"

Faolan shrugs, picking a piece off of his bread to stick it in the broth and soak some of it up, searching for the right response as he does. Knowing that it's pretty obvious that he's stalling. Being difficult. But what does he say? Every reason he can think of mentioning sounds not only like an excuse, but depressing at that. The main reason of course is that it's been a long time since anyone else has bothered or cared, and celebrating by himself hardly holds appeal for him.

"Something like that," he says at last, raising the soaked bread to his mouth, excusing himself from having to explain further -- for the moment at least.

"Worried it might ruin your tough guy image?"

He lofts an eyebrow, smirks a little as begins to cut up a little piece of meat. Not that much cutting is needed, it's been cooked in the stew after all.

"I admit, I'm not fond of making it all a big thing myself. Too uncomfortable. But... I think it's a nice excuse to have fun. I hope you don't mind...?" Lancelot wrinkles his nose a little at Faolan, as if preparing to wince if the man says he does. "I promise there isn't a secret surprise party about to launch itself out of my bedroom. There isn't enough room for one thing, and Lily doesn't like balloons."

Faolan raises his head to give Lancelot something of a deadpan at his little joke. Tough guy image indeed. He huffs out a breath, shifting slightly in his chair again, before dunking some more bread to eat. No balloons is good. No surprise party is better than good. But it isn't Lancelot's fault that he hasn't celebrated before now, and in all honesty, he doesn't mind it. So he takes in a breath, poking around at his food for a moment as he finds the right thing to say.

"I don't mind," he says. "I just wasn't expecting it. It has nothing to do with my 'image'," he adds, giving the other man another look, before shrugging and returning his gaze to his bowl. "I just. Haven't had the opportunity, I guess." There. A better way of putting it than stating the truth.

"Good! Then you won't mind that there's cake too."

Lancelog grins at that, a little sheepish -- aware that he had somewhat arranged said cake before asking if Faolan was okay with it. Still, a cake is just a cake -- he could have somehow claimed it wasn't specifically for Faolan's birthday if the man had objected too fiercely.

"Since it's already in the fridge," he goes on, "and I can't eat it alone, and Lily certainly can't have any since chocolate isn't good for dogs..."

Faolan raises his eyebrows at the other man for a moment, but can't help letting out the huff of a laugh as well. Asking all those questions... Lancelot had been planning this from the start. There's something about the thought of him going through that much effort on his account, when he really didn't have to, that makes Faolan feel. Odd. But not in a bad way. Warm. Happy. And combined with the way that his body had reacted moments earlier. Well, it's confusing at best. But he's certainly not complaining.

"You," he says, shaking his head and setting the bread aside to reach for his spoon to try some of the soup itself now. "How could I refuse a cake? How could I refuse any of this, even if I hadn't just come off of the assignment that I did?" He shakes his head again, going quiet for a moment, poking at a potato as he tries to work out how best to express himself again. "I'm. I won't begin to imagine what got into your head, to do all this. For me. But thank you." He huffs out another breath. "I feel like I just keep owing you more and more..."

"You don't owe me a thing," Lancelot chides, "I have done this because you are my friend. Because I knew you'd probably not had a chance with your assignment, and because you deserved a little downtime. If you've enjoyed it at all then I have done my job. Now, try eating your rather than poking it. Even better that way, I promise you."

He lofts an eyebrow at Faolan, lets his expression settle into a warm smile before going back to working his way through his food.

"Still have to eat this first before the cake comes out."

Faolan raises his eyebrows sat the other man chiding him like that. He has half a mind to make a joke about Lancelot's parenting skills, but considering how his body was still reacting slightly to the man's earlier touch and sudden closeness... Better not create mixed signals for himself.

"Sir, yes, sir," he says instead, and cuts apart the potato he's been poking at to finally eat at last. It's still rather hot, but not too much, and flavored just right from the broth. If Lancelot actually does want him to eat his fill, it certainly won't be hard to do, all things considered. The harder part will be knowing when to stop, especially since there's dessert to come.

"As nice as titles are they aren't required."

Lancelot sets down his fork and sits back for a moment, breaking a piece of bread in half and chewing as he regards Faolan curiously.

"So, are you going to tell me how things went?"

Faolan's mission, that is. He might not want to talk about it, of course, and Lancelot could understand if he needed to decompress a bit first -- but still. He's curious, too.

Faolan shrugs slightly, using the excuse that he's eating not to answer for a few moments. How much does he say, here? He should probably wait for the full story after they're finished. He has a feeling Lancelot isn't going to be happy about it one way or the other, and he's not entirely certain whether he'll be happy with him for it either for that matter.

"I was a bodyguard," he says, after he's given himself enough time to stall and any more would be a little too obvious. "For the most part all she needed me there for was making sure she or her friends got home safe on any given night, or that the right people got the right message to keep well enough away." He shrugs again.

"I suppose I should be glad you didn't have to bodyguard her from me. I might have had to go easy on you."

He flickers a wry smile, amused by his own joke, and feeds himself a little more before going on.

"Nothing much exciting happened then, I take it? No life-changing discoveries, daring adventures, perilous life or death situations?"

He'd really rather the answer was no, in truth, because although Faolan may be sat in front of him the thought of him being in trouble while Lancelot couldn't do anything to help is one that doesn't sit comfortably.

Faolan shrugs slightly. There's part of him that doesn't want to worry the other man, knowing that he will and there's nothing he can do about that. But he's already done the best he can to make sure everything's taken care of, and. Well. He doesn't want to lie to him. Not here, not now, not even when he'd rather be asked these questions after their meal was over.

"There was... A situation. I handled it. But it gave me the excuse I was looking for to leave," Faolan glances up at the other man from where he had been fixated on his stew, and wills him to let it go for now. "I can tell you about it later," he offers, somewhat apologetically, "I wouldn't want the food to get cold." A poor excuse if ever there was one, but hopefully Lancelot will take it. Admitting to much more will put him in pretty dangerous waters, all things considered.

'A situation', he says, and Lance lofts an eyebrow as he feeds himself a little more food. Well, isn't that suitably vague. He supposes Faolan is here in one piece, so it can't have been too disastrous, but still. The way he's being delicate about it makes it a little suspicious.

"Well, I suppose I'm glad you got out of it all right and that it gave you an excuse." Although the faint lines of concern are already creeping into Lancelot's expression. He reaches past Faolan to grab some some of the beets, serves himself a little before setting them back down. "You're right, though, probably better we eat first before you give me stomach ulcers."

Faolan glances across at Lancelot warily, but he's grateful that the other man's let it drop for now. He wouldn't know how else to explain himself but dropping the full truth on him, and judging by the frown lines appearing on his face as it stands, he'd really rather not ruin the meal by doing so. He reaches across the table to serve himself some beets as well, not quite certain how to incorporate the rest of the food into the meal so following Lancelot's lead as he does.

"After we're finished eating," he promises. "I'll tell you everything then," he promises. He really isn't looking to hide this from Lancelot. Not forever at least. But he isn't looking forward to telling him about it either. He tries to turn the conversation back on the other man instead. "How have you been yourself?" Knowing he asked that the last time they spoke for any length of time, but seeing as how that was weeks ago, he figures he's allowed to ask again.

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