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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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Lancelot huffs at that, sipping his drink and letting his eyes slip to some absent spot on the cazuela.

"I'm a passable cook," he protests, "I can follow instructions well enough. If that means people enjoy when I cook then that's good enough for me. I'm not good enough to start changing careers and opening a restaurant."

Not that Lancelot would want to anyway, cooking for your friends is far more relaxing than cooking to order for tables full of people.

Faolan shrugs slightly. He doesn't press the subject, when Lancelot's obviously somewhat embarrassed by something that he's said, but good luck to him trying to figure it out, he hasn't the slightest clue. Was it the complimenting that he can't take? Or the borderline flirtation that happened after? Wouldn't Faolan like to know.

He swirls his drink in his glass for a moment before taking a healthy swallow of it. "'S just as well," he says. "Who'd be around to keep rescuing me from trouble, if you did?" He glances at the other man with a small smile, sheepish, apologetic, and softly grateful all at once.

The smile is matched with one of Lancelot's own, a little shy but still genuine enough.

"Very true. Someone else might have to scale buildings for you and pull you up."

He takes a last sip of his drink before pushing back from the table, gesturing to Faolan's dish as he picks up his own.

"You done?"

Faolan lets out a huff of breath through his nose, which could be construed as laughter, under the right circumstances -- which maybe these are. "If it helps, you're the only person I've let haul me through the second-floor window of a building to date," he admits, before glancing at the dish Lancelot gestures to and nods.

"Yeah, I am," he says. "Here." He moves to reach for the plate in an attempt to help Lancelot clear the table, although he's half assuming he's about to be pushed back into his seat anyway, knowing the other man.

Sure enough Lancelot pushes Faolan back into his chair, hand on his shoulder to hold him there a second.

"You're my guest, Faolan. Let me."

He picks up Faolan's dish, washes up everything and moves the cazuela off the table. There's enough left that they could have some tomorrow for lunch or some-such, it will keep a little while and he can always refresh it. Drying off his hands he pads around a while, digging in a drawer for what appear to be matches then two small plates

A moment later he's slide a coffee and walnut cake onto the table, a single candle standing in the middle of it already lit. He sets down the small plates and cutlery beside Faolan, stays behind him with his hands on the man's shoulders.

"Happy birthday," he whispers, as if not wanting to break the moment with anything louder. "Now, think of a wish."

Faolan isn't quite sure what to do with himself while Lancelot bustles around the kitchen and does a little washing up here, a little putting away of the leftovers there. He watches the other man work and fiddles with his glass, taking slow and careful sips as he tries not to feel too awkward about being hosted as completely as the other man likes to do.

And then he's setting down a cake in front of him, and plates, only it doesn't stop there, but Lancelot sets a little candle in the middle of it, and sets the thing alight. Whispering to him from behind, where he stands with his hands on his shoulders, Faolan can feel his heart racing in his chest once more. All of this? For him? Faolan can't remember when the last time someone knew his birthday, never mind celebrated it, never mind made him a cake with a candle in it. He turns to shoot a wary glance over his shoulder at the other man, equal parts uncertain, vulnerable, but hesitantly grateful all at once.

Part of him can't believe that at 28, he's sitting here blowing out a birthday candle and making a wish. Part of him quiets that part down and blows out the candle and makes the wish anyway. Even if he does feel slightly embarrassed for it. A healthy flush works its way across his face, down his neck, and over his ears, and he's pretty sure that he can hear his heart pounding in his chest. He's going to need another moment before he stands from the table again as well, and he isn't sure why. The hands on his shoulders? That smell, the other man's cologne perhaps it is? That whispering in his ear, maybe.

"I haven't blown out a candle like that in over a decade, you know," he says, because he needs to find some reason to explain why he should appear so flustered in front of the other man.

He grins and gives Faolan's shoulder a squeeze of reassurance, slides around to sit in his own chair and pushes a knife toward him for the cake.

"I guessed," he admits. "So I thought it might be fun."

Reaching over he gently extracts the candle from the soft sponge and thin icing, setting it aside and looking hesitant.

"I thought coffee and walnut seemed a good bet," he adds, "but if I've made it too sweet for you don't feel obligated to eat a lot. I can always feed people at work with it, after all."

Faolan huffs out a breath of a laugh at Lancelot's hesitation and fussing now, reaching for the knife and moving to cut off two decent sized pieces for both of them, serving them both and sliding Lancelot's plate towards him.

"I think I'll manage just fine," he says. "I don't think you'll ever go wrong with coffee in my book, sweet or otherwise." He glances over at the other man, the corner of his lips quirking up at him despite himself. "Though I'm sure you probably knew that when making the choice, besides."

"Had an idea that might be right."

Lancelot watches Faolan a moment, looking at two plates in thought, then reaches out to touch the man's arm lightly.

"Stay here," he says, and gets up to vanish away toward his bedroom. Lily pads halfway after him, pauses in the living room to stare after him questioningly. A moment later he's padding back through, a box in hand neatly wrapped with autumnal themed wrapping paper and curled ribbon. He slips it onto the table beside Faolan and sits down to try a bit of his cake. An envelope tucked under the ribbon contains a card declaring that Friendship must be built on a solid foundation of alcohol, sarcasm, inappropriateness and shenanigans. Under the wrapping paper is a neat box which contains a thermos decorated with Mr Grumpy, a jar filled with mints labelled Faolan's Chill Pills and a bag of chocolate coated coffee beans.

Faolan takes a bite of his cake, hoping the other man won't begrudge him that when he's not certain what Lancelot is doing or why he's telling him to stay there. He can still feel the ghost of the other man's touch on his arm, on his shoulders -- had he always touched him so often as that? Had Faolan simply not noticed? Was he just happy to have him back? Faolan hopes that he's still happy once he learns what happened and what he did afterwards.

He watches as Lancelot slips back into the room and deposits card and gift in front of him, his eyebrows raising further. He hadn't expected any of this, not a cake, not a gift, not even Lancelot knowing his birthday had passed at all. It's overwhelming. He pauses in the middle of another bite of cake, taking it all in. "I suppose if I tell you that you really didn't have to go through all of this for me, you'll have something to say about it," he says, glancing towards Lancelot, as if in permission to be able to reach forward for the gift in the first place.

"I wanted to," Lancelot insists, and shrugs slightly as he cuts himself a piece of cake to test. "You're my friend, Faolan, and I like doing things for my friends."

Although he supposes it has been rather a... sudden burst of things. Still, Faolan has been away awhile. Lancelot has missed the man, despite all his griping and grumbling and doubts about it. So what's wrong with a nice meal and a belated birthday gift? Nothing at all, in Lancelot's opinion.

No, there isn't anything wrong with it at all. Faolan just isn't used to such treatment, not even from Lancelot himself. He doesn't think he could sit back and get such a royal treatment all the time. But it had been his birthday, and... Well. He's grateful that Lancelot cares this much, to be honest. Even if he's not quite sure how to respond to all of it.

He still hasn't given him a direction whether to open the gift before or after the cake. Faolan's ingrained manners tell him to wait until they're finished. But Lancelot doesn't seem the sort of man to sweat that sort of a thing. (And honestly he'd prefer to have the other man preoccupied with his food than watching him struggle with his emotions.) He takes another bite of his cake, reaching for the card as he does. He snorts slightly as he reads it. He wants to make some sort of a quip about how he's got everything but the inappropriate part figured out, but he's pretty sure that he's got that covered at the moment now too.

"I'm surprised it doesn't have a dog on it," is what he decides to quip instead, hoping it will deflect well enough besides.

"I can get you a dog card next time if you like."

He shrugs, flicking a small smile as he pauses to take a sip of your drink.

"Perhaps I could take a picture of Lily each season and use it for all sorts of cards."

Lily yawns, having flopped out on the ground near Lancelot now he's settled again. Photographs sound dull, they don't involve walks or food.

"Ah," Faolan says, making a soft noise as he puts the card aside and smiles slightly at Lancelot. "And then they will blame me for creating the monster, I see. Ah, well. Neither here nor there."

He reaches for the box, shooting another hesitant glance towards Lancelot, before reaching to open it. Not with the exhuberant glee of a child, as some open their packages, but carefully removing the tape along the seams until he has the box unwrapped so that he might open it and peer inside. And peer inside he does, to find...

"Mr Grumpy."

"Do you deny it?"

Lancelot's eyebrows arch up questioningly, as if daring Faolon to even try and do so, then he cracks a smile -- toys with his cake a moment.

"I saw it and couldn't resist. Now you can bring coffee with you into work, though. Try and wake yourself up on the way in. Don't worry, I can still buy you some for when you arrive. It doesn't negate that."

Faolan shrugs slightly, picking the travel mug up and turning it in his hands before setting it down on the table before him. "Good to know that this isn't just an elaborate dance to get rid of me," he says, glancing up at the other man before sorting through the items in the box some more. Holding up the 'Chill Pills' and raising another eyebrow before turning his gaze at the other man again.

"And these?" he asks. Because for all that he's grumbling, there is some pleasure in forcing the other man to explain himself. Even if it ends up being at his own expense.

"I thought you might need them."

His expression paints itself innocently curious now, as if it were genuinely simply desire to help that made him buy them.

"To help when the stress becomes a little too much. After all," and here he inclines his head fractionally toward the cake. "You aren't getting any younger..."

Faolan narrows his eyes and frowns at the other man in response to this statement. He knows for a fact that Lancelot is older than he is, although he hardly looks it. Is Lancelot trying to make a comment about him in return? Does Faolan himself look as tired and as old as he feels sometimes? Only twenty-eight, and he feels as though he has the weight of the world on his shoulders at times.

"So now I'm grumpy, neurotic, and old, is it?" he asks, dryly. "Tell me how you really feel, why don't you..."

Lancelot winks playfully at that, feeds himself some cake to try and mute the grin threatening.

"You're right, I can't stand you, that's why I made you a meal and a cake and bought you gifts. It's all an elaborate plot to lull you into a false sense of security before I feed you to Lily."

Faolan sets the 'chill pills' down for the moment, reaching for his own plate to pull it closer and set to eating as well. "It's as I suspected," he says, as casual as he can to the other man. "Your true colors are revealed. Makes me think twice about accepting food from you, with words like that, to be sure."

He glances down at Lily, sitting expectantly at their feet. "Makes me think twice about your dog with words like that too," he says, meeting her gaze and giving her a significant look that she probably has no way of interpreting herself.

Lily thrashes her tail faster on being looked at and scrabbles forward to shove her face into Faolan's lap, eagerly trying to absorb the attention. Yes! Yes she heard you say dog, that is her! She is dog! Hello, Faolan! Hello!

"I have to feed her somehow," he laments, "a creature like her cannot live on dog food alone. How do you think I keep her fur so healthy?"

Faolan moves to run his fingers through Lily's fur, ruffling her ears and combing through her ruff before glancing up at Lancelot. "I don't think that you'd want to feed me to her, no matter how much you might fatten me up. You've already accused me of being grumpy and bitter. Suppose that were to rub off on your friend here. They always say that you are what you eat, after all..."

He raises his eyebrows at the other man, turning one of Lancelot's more common expressions back at him, before sitting back and moving to take another bite of his cake. It really is good. Lancelot may have been concerned about the flavors, but he had nothing to worry about when his food is as delicious as it is.

"That's true, you might give her indigestion."

Not that she is concerned about indigestion herself, she would eat anything at all! Even things bad for her! Especially things bad for her! She rubs her jaw against Faolan's legs enthusiastically, shifting her weight between her paws as she resists the urge to jump up and rest them on his chair.

Lancelot watches them both a moment, smiling to himself.

"I am glad to have you back," he says finally, because it's true. He has missed this, missed Faolan.

Faolan takes another bite of cake, running his hand through Lily's fur before Lancelot speaks. He glances up at the other man as he does, and the fond smile on his face brings something of a flush to his face. To have such an expression directed at him, it's. Well, not unwelcome, but he's certainly not used to such a thing either. To say that he had missed the other man as well is an understatement, but the full truth of it isn't something he's certain he knows how to put into words.

So he glances down at his food, at Lily's face pressed into his lap, and does his best to manage a response. "I'm glad that you are," he says. "And. To be here, really." Ah, he supposes he's going to have to tell Lancelot sometime, and that smile on the other man's face. He feels like he owes him the truth. He pokes at his cake again. "You had asked me if anything had happened..." he says, trying for subtlety and failing. Horribly.

Lancelot blinks at that, lofts his eyebrows slightly as he processes the remark. It isn't subtle at all, no.

"I suppose I thought you'd tell me if something did."

Which Faolan, from the sounds of it, is gearing up to do. He feeds himself a little cake, half imagining what such a story might entail.

"You appear to be in one piece, so it can't be too terrible..."

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