Lancelot du Lac (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
knightscode) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-12-03 09:25 pm
knightscode) wrote in undergrounds2015-12-03 09:25 pm
Entry tags:
[ Active / Open ]
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.
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..."
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..."
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
"Was there anything else she looked at, or just this?"
no subject
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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
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..."
no subject
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."
no subject
"If you'd like," he says, trying not to look too guilty as he does so. "I did the best that I could myself, but. Not the best spot. They didn't seem bad enough to worry her with." Which should probably let Lancelot know something of what the cut on his arm used to look like, before Njoki had worked her magic on him. He tries not to think of the idea of it unraveling in the night, especially since it's healed. He knows what Lancelot means, but he'd imagine that would hurt, regardless. It certainly hurt the first time around.
He turns his eyes away from the other man once more. "I'm sorry," he says, unsure why he's apologizing exactly, just feeling as though he ought to.
no subject
He twitches a smile, pushes up to rummage through a kitchen cupboard and tug down a first aid kit -- snapping it open and digging through for antiseptic wipes. Shuffling his chair around to get a better look at Faolan's shoulder he frowns a little, tracing a finger over the edges of the cuts thoughtfully before opening up a packet.
"Let me know if it stings, I can try and be gentler."
no subject
"You're fine," he says. "Nothing you do will hurt as much as it did to get them in the first place. To have her take a look at my arm..." He shrugs again. "Part of me wished I had gone to a hospital instead, after that. But I survived it. And here we are now..." Lancelot worrying, having to take care of him again anyway.
no subject
He works his way over the scratches carefully, some of them re-opening a little under the attention. It makes Lancelot wince a little, since that probably isn't exactly pleasant, but this way at least he can be sure it's all clean and he can put something on them to stop Faolan's clothes rubbing.
"Was it deep?" he prompts, then touches a finger to the cut down Faolan's arm. "This, before she looked at it?"
no subject
He pauses for a moment at the question posed to him, turning to glance at the cut in question and the way that Lancelot's touching it. He shrugs again, as if that answers the question (but he knows it doesn't), before nodding slightly. "Yeah," he says. "It was pretty deep. At least as bad as what I'd had on the night we first met." If not worse. And Lancelot had forced him to go get stitches then. There's a distinct lack of stitches on this new wound now though. Hell, it doesn't look as fresh as the other wounds at all. Whatever Njoki did it must have sped up the healing, although Faolan didn't stick around to ask for specifics to be frank.
no subject
He sets down the wipes and begins to tape some gauze over the wound to keep it clean.
"And I'm sure you'll be fine, but if you aren't -- let me know, all right? Do you want some painkillers?"
Lancelot pauses with a hand on Faolan's arm, tilts his head as he leans around to catch his eyes.
"I haven't anything stronger than off the shelf, forgive me, but it's better than nothing if it still hurts."
no subject
He turns his head so that he can meet Lancelot's gaze as the other man leans in towards him before shying away. "It doesn't hurt any more than you'd expect that it would," he mumbles in response. Which is to say that yes, it does still hurt, and no, he hadn't really taken anything for it. He'd done his best to clean it out himself -- stood under the shower with the hot water on it for a good long while -- but that had been about it.
no subject
He flicks Faolan an idly amused smile, finishing taping him up and stands again -- one hand brushing along Faolan's shoulder in gentle reassurance.
"Painkillers it is, then. We can always pick up something stronger if this turns out not to be enough."
Letting go he pads away through to the bathroom finally, the cabinet opening with a distant clink as he shuffles through it before reappearing a moment later with a small packet. They're about the strongest over the counter stuff you can get, but they're still not prescription painkillers.
no subject
For god's sake, Faolan thinks to himself, as he reaches for his shirt and tries to get a grip on himself. He tugs it on over his shirt and by the time Lancelot returns it will be to find him hunched over in his chair, playing with the cuffs of his sleeves.
"Thanks," he says, tearing open the packet and reaching forward for the glass of water he'd left on the table and tossing the painkillers Lancelot had brought him back with a swallow of it. "For, uh." He gestures over his shoulder, playing with the glass in his hands. "For that as well. I didn't want to worry you..." But he's probably managed to do it anyway, he knows.
Fin!