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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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"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..."

Faolan shifts awkwardly in his seat, not really wanting to explain this to the other man, but figuring he owes it to him. Especially after all this, just for him. Food and presents and cake and feeling so welcome here. He prods at the slice of cake again. He intends to finish it, really he does. He just needs to get through this first. He just hopes that he'll still have an appetite afterwards.

"Well," he says. "Kenzi... I told you that she gave me a pretty good reason to back out, as far as the job itself was concerned, yeah?" He'd called the other man once he'd finished with Njoki, after all. Telling him the barest of details at the time before barely making it back to his flat and crashing into bed. He keeps his eyes firmly locked on the plate in front of him as he continues. "Kenzi got it into her head that she needed me to accompany her into a vampire nest. Unannounced."

Ah. Lancelot doesn't know a huge amount about vampires, as a rule. He hasn't interacted with them too much, doesn't know a lot about how they behave. However, he imagines that like any people they don't take kindly to unannounced visitors. And he can infer that, perhaps, Kenzi wasn't making a polite house-call to chat.

"They weren't happy about it, I assume?"

Faolan keeps his eyes down and on the plate in front of him, toying with his fork as he does. "Not exactly," Faolan admits. He sounds guilty, even to himself, for he is, and it makes it all the harder to recount this to Lancelot. If only he didn't care what the other man thought. Well, then he wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place.

"I was there as her. Well, as her muscle. But we were in their territory, and there was only one of me. She walked right in and demanded answers of them, for cursing her friend or some nonsense. To say they weren't happy about it is putting it mildly. I guess you could say that we were lucky to have gotten out at all, pulling something as stupid as that..."

His eyes widen a fraction at that, brow furrowing in concern. 'Lucky to have gotten out at all.' Well, that's hardly reassuring. He lets out a slow sigh, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his drink.

"I'm glad you did. You both got out, then? And you're all right?"

Faolan hasn't been obviously limping or wincing, not moving in any kind of restricted way. Unless he's simply hiding an injury very well, of course, or has taken so many painkillers that it isn't noticeable.

Faolan chews on his lower lip for a moment, falling silent as he nods in response to the other man's question. And then has to go back and amend even that much. "I... Am now," he says, and doesn't dare look up at Lancelot to see what might be on his face as he continues. "It was. A bit close. Getting out of there. Kenzi wasn't exactly making friends. I got. A little sliced up," he says, to put it mildly. He braces himself before he continues.

"But I'm okay now, yeah. There's a midnight witch I met. On assignment. A healer, sort of. I..." He trails off, not quite sure how to explain him further, figuring he should give the other man a moment to process the news then anyway.

A bit close? A bit sliced up? Lancelot's eyes widen again and he sets down his drink, turns his chair to face Faolan a little closer.

"A midnight witch? A healer? You can trust her? Did she make sure there was no infection?"

Can magic cure infection? Did the witch heal everything properly, for that matter?

Faolan chews his lip for another moment, before shrugging. Honestly, he doesn't really know the answer to that. He just went to her because he didn't want to go get stitched up, and because it might get him healed quicker as well. If he'd been thinking about it more in the moment he might have questioned the safety of such a thing.

"The word was that she was a healer," he tries to explain to the other man. "I needed healing. It was either that or take myself to the hospital..." Having accompanied him to the hospital once when they first met, he's sure that it's not a great surprise that he chose the alternative instead. "It... Seems fine. Better than it would have been if I didn't see her, at least." Faolan knows that he's not exactly being all that reassuring.

"How much damage was there? What did she do? Is it still sore?"

Lancelot hesitates a moment, perhaps realising he is flooding the man with questions somewhat, and tries to swallow back his nerves.

"Forgive me -- I know I am not a doctor but I am at least trained in first aid. I just want to be sure you are well, I would not forgive myself if I took that for granted and was wrong to do so."

Faolan glances up at the other man after a moment, at the stream of questions and the look on Lancelot's face. Feeling somewhat guilty at the look he finds there. (Although he supposes that that face is exactly why he had done such a stupid thing as sought help from a Midnight witch in the first place.) He touches his arm where the deep slice had been.

"It's, ah. A little? Nothing as bad as it was, though. She used this special thread, and..." Well, she hadn't been able to use painkillers like a regular hospital would have, that should have been his first clue. After a moment longer, Faolan puts down his fork. "Here, you can see for yourself," he says, moving to reach for the hem of his shirt.

Lancelot shuffles his chair forward as Faolan shrugs off his shirt, reaches out to examine the arm he'd touched. His eyes flick vaguely over Faolan's torso for other signs of damage, but he doesn't want to push his luck -- focuses his attention on the wound his attention had been drawn to and presses gently. He can let Faolan direct him.

"Was there anything else she looked at, or just this?"

Faolan isn't certain he's ever taken his shirt off in front of the other man like this, and truth be told, he's a little self-conscious about it. A hunter's life is far from kind, and Faolan's life as a hunter had had a rather violent jumpstart when he'd nearly been shredded by a vampire as a teenager. He's fit -- he has to be, if he wants to survive the encounters he knowingly puts himself into -- but he's certainly not muscular. And covered in various different sorts of scarring as he is...

He hunches over slightly, trying to direct the other man's attention away from whatever other bruising he might find (for there is some), and other grazing on his arms from catching himself as he was tossed about. "I only asked her to look at this," he says, and he turns in his chair so that he can position his arm for Lancelot to see the cut. It trails from his shoulder down the back of his bicep, and it looks like at one point it probably had been quite the wound. But all that's left now is the red line of a fresh scar across his skin. There are some scratches across his back that debatably could have done with her attention as well, but they're healing well enough on their own thank you very much.

"Was there anything else she should have looked at?"

He jerks an eyebrow at Faolan sceptically, goes back to gently pressing along the line of scar -- testing how sensitive it is, frowning at the colouration.

"If these were infected in some way closing them is worse, are you sure you can trust her? Did she clean everything properly?"

"I know, Lancelot," Faolan counters, in response to what little chiding the other man has done, and his voice is sharper somewhat than it should be. Maybe because he's feeling guilty, and the other man's concern is just making it worse. He glances away, down at the floor in front of him. "I know," he says again, quieter this time. "It was stupid. I wasn't thinking straight, I just. I didn't want another hospital trip. More stitches. I'd heard about what she could do and thought it might spare me, I don't know."

He takes in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "She did some basic first aid. But she wasn't a doctor. She's a witch. I don't know whether her spells or the thread she used, whether any of that was for clearing out infection. She didn't explain, I didn't ask. I got the hell out of there as soon as I could. I..." Why does he still feel like he should be apologizing, though.

"There are more scratches," he says, gesturing over his shoulder with his other arm. "They weren't as bad, so I didn't say anything while I was there. Besides. If anything were infected I'd know by now..."

"It's better to be safe than sorry."

He sounds like someone's fussy mother, and he's distantly aware of the fact -- but Lancelot doesn't care what Faolan thinks of him. He just wants to be sure Faolan is safe.

"Do you mind if I clean them anyway? This doesn't seem too red or tender, it should be fine. So long as your witch knew what she was doing, of course, and the whole thing doesn't unravel in the night."

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Fin!