undergrounds | HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS... (DEC CATCH-ALL)

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HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS... (DEC CATCH-ALL)

I. THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR

Faolan draws his coat tighter around him, not so much cold as uncomfortable where he stands, peering into the window display of the store in front of him. He's not been Christmas shopping in... Nearly a decade, if he's being honest with himself. This year is the first he's had reason to in a long while, and while grateful for that fact, he'd spent so much time avoiding the rush he'd forgotten it all. Forgotten how many people there were out in the shops at this time of year. Forgotten about the music.

He glances up at the speaker above him, frowning at it as it starts to pipe up its next Holiday song. The most wonderful time of the year indeed, Faolan thinks to himself. He's got one person to shop for, and he hasn't the faintest idea of what to be getting for him. Save for that he should be. Lancelot's asked him over for the holiday, and he'd have to be a pretty shit friend not to get him something in return for his hospitality. The only question is what. Being on a budget and having very little idea what the other man would like, Faolan is rather at a loss.

If he has to listen to much more of his holiday music he's going to go mad, though. Grumbling low to himself, Faolan fishes his headphones out of the pocket of his jacket and shoves one into one of his ears. At least he's half spared now, he thinks to himself as he turns and, peripheral hearing now gone, walks into the next shopper over--

II. DASHING THROUGH THE SNOW

Faolan slouches behind the line, waiting to switch lines on the way over to Hillingdon. He's been waiting there for god knows how long, and he's half expecting that he'll be waiting there forever. God only knows how late he's going to be in, at least no one's going to be expecting him right away. He wonders (rather dramatically, but then he's been waiting there for a while already, and his normal hour-long commute is dragging on ever longer) if anyone will notice his absence in time or whether he will perish here out of starvation or boredom or whether he'll wind up going mad and getting himself arrested just to have something to do.

His one saving grace perhaps is that he has thought to bring coffee. It's only from his coffee maker at home, nothing fancy, but it's caffeinated and since he's got it in the travel mug that Lancelot had given him for his birthday, it's still warm now too. Though it's going fast.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to flick through it, thinking about possibly calling someone to complain, but who would he call that isn't already at work or probably still sleeping. So with a sigh he slips it back in his pocket and raises his coffee for another sip...

III. O TANNENBAUM, O TANNENBAUM [CLOSED TO HILLINGDON MEMBERS]

Faolan certainly isn't one for this season. Nor is he a particularly social person at all. But he has been saying to all the other members about how there needs to be more of a sense of community to Hillingdon, and while he has no intention of forcing any sort of holiday party on them, well. He did threaten free food to Sirius, and he figures that may not be a bad idea after all. Nothing fancy, but he makes certain that there's a fire going in the fireplace, and he's brought in some donuts and made some coffee and hot chocolate and set it out.

It's by no means a formal party, and it's by no means a required get-together. But Faolan makes it a point to sit out at a table in the sitting room himself, in front of the fire as he works on a bit of the records-keeping that no one but the man in charge would have ever expected there to be for a place like this. And anyone who passes through is welcome to join him, or to talk to anyone else who passes through for that matter. To sit with him in front of the fire and speak to him or quietly on their own as he does his work, it doesn't matter to him. If you build it, they will come, or so the saying goes. Faolan's certainly counting hoping so, at least...

*** ooc note: Hillingdon members, feel free to use this as something of an open post if you like -- just note if the thread is intended to be Open To All (OTA) if you do! :)

IV. FROM NOW ON OUR TROUBLES WILL BE MILES AWAY [CLOSED TO LANCELOT]

Faolan chews on his lip as he makes his way up the walk to the front door of Lancelot's flat. He doesn't quite know why he's nervous about this. Maybe it's because he hasn't been asked to join anyone for a holiday in so long, he can barely remember the last time he's spent one with anyone. Maybe it's because he knows himself and he knows that he's probably making something out of nothing. That he's probably worrying about what he's brought with him more than he should be, and that Lancelot could care less, as long as he's there himself. But he can't help who he is or the fact that he finds himself standing on the other man's front step, fretting over a gift, not for the first time.

At least this one is better than a Monkey's paw, he thinks to himself, as he adjusts his overnight bag over one shoulder and the bag of gifts in his hand, before he steps forward and, hesitating, rings the bell. The muffled sound of music creeps out at him through the cracks in the door, and Faolan shifts slightly in place, struggling to make it out as he does.

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Faolan raises eyebrows at the suggestion, unsure whether Lancelot is just having him on completely or whether this has something to do with the fact that his friends had encouraged him into several drinks over the course of their stay, after the announcement that he was something of a lightweight besides. "You needn't go so far on my account," he says, watching Lancelot squirm around on the futon beside him.

"I'm sure I can find other ways of claiming my territory in your flat, besides," he adds. "I'll leave the chewing to Lily, if it's all the same to you."

"It's already your territory."

He huffs at that, fumbles for the remote control and turns on the television to begin flicking through channels idly -- eyes widening and narrowing as he skips through the guide and glancing sideways at Faolan for a reaction.

Lily gets up and begin to fuss beside the futon so Lancelot reaches out and shakes out the blanket he keeps for her, drapes it beside him so she can jump up and lean into him. He sighs and his eyes half lid as he settles in to barely pay attention to what feels like the hundredth re-run of Saving Private Ryan.

Lancelot isn't entirely aware of the point that he begins to actually fall asleep, but it doesn't take long.

Faolan shrugs slightly as the other man cycles through television channels. He honestly doesn't care about what the other man chooses, nor does he particularly mind that he's turned it on for that matter. He glances aside as Lily shuffles over and the other man creates a place for her on the futon with them as well. Lancelot sitting beside him, slumped against his side, it's comfortable, this moment between them. Lancelot's warm and heavy against his shoulder, and Faolan can't help but notice yet again that he smells good. That this is nice.

Perhaps a little too nice. Faolan shifts slightly, and Lancelot stays where he is, pressed against his shoulder. He opens his mouth to ask the other man whether he's really watching or not, whether he should turn it off and send him off to bed instead. He even goes so far as to reach for the remote to the television. But in the end he decides against it, settling his hand on his knee and focusing on the film. Watching it through until the other man's warmth and soft, quiet breathing slowly coaxes him into slipping off to sleep where he sits as well.

Lancelot dozes comfortably until about 3am when he awakes with a start to Faolan's nudging.

The TV has turned itself off by now, the room dark apart from the distant low of street lights. Lancelot yawns and moves enough to catch's Faolan's eyes, gently nudges Lily awake too and gets up off the futon to help pull it out. He pads away to retrieve blankets for Faolan, blearily helps set it up with a pillow then drags himself off to sleep.

Lily is always the first up.

Lancelot has her shut in his room, but the clack-clack of her claws on the wood and the jingle of her collar is distantly audible. Not loud, the walls and doors are thick enough, but still audible. He persuades her to lay down and rest as long as he can, but eventually she grows restless. By the time Lancelot gets up to go to the bathroom himself she can't tolerate waiting any longer. She pushes out herself, wanders out into the living room all wet nose and fluffy tail to greet Faolan. It's near enough half nine in the morning, but that is already late to a dog.

He appears a moment later, gently grabbing for her collar and wincing apologetically.

"Forgive me, Faolan, I can feed her and take her out if you want to rest longer?"

Faolan wakes to the sound of Lily's claws on the hardwood floor, though he tries to ignore it for a little while longer. Through the shushing and the fact that the other man has obviously been up for a while himself at least. It's when the other man at last excuses himself from his room to go to the bathroom that he knows he can't make her wait much longer. Especially not as he hears her padding out into the living room towards him.

He tries to pretend to still be asleep, but she's a dog, and it means little to her. She's still there, pressing her cold, wet nose into his exposed hand and then the crook of his neck, inside his ear, flicking out a tentative lick. Faolan winces, huddling in on himself, but the damage is done, even as Lancelot is there pulling her off of him. He blinks his eyes open to look up at the other man blearily from where he lays on the futon in front of him. He blinks at him for a moment, before shaking his head, clearing his throat before he speaks up though his voice is still rough with sleep at first.

"No, it's. It's alright. Unless you need to. Don't think I can get back to sleep now, though," he says, reaching up a hand run over his face in turn.

Lily thrashes her tail excitedly at the signs of movement, bouncing despite Lancelot's restraining hand as she looks between the two of them. Yes! Yes everyone is awake now! Yes, this is good!

He sighs ruefully, dropping his hand around to hold Lily close and rub down her chest.

"I can make you coffee?" he offers apologetically, "and some breakfast. Eggs, pancakes, cereal, toast -- whatever you like."

Breaking free of his grip Lily bounces away, darts into the kitchen and begins circling impatiently as she waits for her own breakfast.

Faolan takes in a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh, watching as Lily bounces around the flat and into the kitchen. How she has so much energy right after waking up like that, he'll never understand. He certainly doesn't think he'll ever wake up and feel like leaping about the place, that's for certain.

He sits up, running his hand through his hair again, trying to tame it as best he can. Humming softly to himself under his breath as he nods in response to the other man's offer. "Coffee," he responds, after a moment. "Coffee sounds good. And breakfast..." Breakfast sounds good, although he'll need a moment to wake up enough to appreciate it. Had Lancelot offered him choices? "What d'you want to make?" he asks, rubbing his face again. Not having yet made the connection that it's Christmas proper yet either. He really never did all that well before his first coffee of the morning.

Lancelot nods at that, goes to flick the switches on his coffee machine and shove a glass underneath to catch the water from its rinse cycle.

"Well, we're having fish tonight, but we need to make it through until then, and through past midnight to celebrate Christmas..."

He flashes Faolan a playfully smile, dropping a hand to pet at Lily as she fusses around him.

"So, coffee to wake us up -- maybe something simple? I have some avocado that should be ripe... poached egg on toast maybe? With a bit of avocado and spinach to keep us going?"

Lancelot tilts his head questioningly, reaching into a cupboard to pull out dog food for Lily as she sits staring at him impatiently.

Faolan realizes after a moment that the other man is waiting for his response, his opinion, but he's distracted by watching the coffee machine go through its rinse cycle as he shifts forward to sit on the edge of the futon, huddling himself in the blankets to stay warm.

"Hm?" he asks, glancing to Lancelot, before shaking himself and nodding. "Ah. Yeah. Sounds good to me." Actually Faolan has never had anything like what Lancelot's proposing to him, but Lancelot has never let him down with anything he's made for him before. Though the coffee before anything else would probably be more welcome than not.

At some point while he's sitting there, his brain catches up with everything Lancelot's saying, and he blinks at him uncertainly. "Through past midnight?" he asks.

"It is Christmas eve," he points out, lips flicking up into a smile as he scoops out dry dog food into a bowl. Lily watches intently, ears pinned toward Lancelot's every move. "Which means, after midnight it will be Christmas day..."

He shrugs, setting down the bag and putting down the bowl for Lily -- who surges toward it as if she hasn't seen food in days.

(She has, but it feels like she hasn't.)

"You don't have to stay up, of course, I just usually do."

Faolan shrugs slightly. Truth be told, he doesn't usually do anything on Christmas Eve. But he's Lancelot's guest. There's no reason that he shouldn't. "I can stay up with you," he offers. "No reason not to. Just keep the coffee coming if I start to fade, I suppose," he adds, with the flicker of a smile at the other man.

He rises from the futon at last, resisting the urge to take the blanket with him into the kitchen (it isn't his blanket, and he doesn't know how Lancelot would feel about such a thing), and instead hoping that the coffee will do enough of the job to warm him up instead. He glances down at Lily at her dish for a moment, before moving to lean on the counter next to Lancelot. Wondering if he should be helping in some way. Not sure if he's awake enough to be much help just yet, or if the other man would let him even if he were. Mostly he's just hovering, but he isn't conscious enough to recognize he is, not just yet at least.

Lancelot shrugs again, tips out the glass into the sink and places a cup under the machine's spout instead -- presses a button to start the machine grinding.

"It's up to you. Go on, sit down before you fall down, I'll bring over your coffee."

He nudges Faolan slightly, goes for the fridge to begin digging out the makings of some breakfast.

Faolan glances at the machine as it starts up its grinding, staring at it for a long moment before nodding in response to the other man's direction. "Yeah," he says, "alright." And turns to shuffle over and deposit himself in one of the chairs at the breakfast nook.

He keeps himself upright, which is a point for him, all things considered. But Faolan has never really been completely functional before his first (or sometimes second) coffee, unless he really has to be. And today being a holiday, there's nothing really to force him to jump-start his day in any such way as that. He leans forward, propping himself up on his elbows on the table in front of him, hazily watching Lancelot work his magic across the room.

It clicks and grinds a moment, whirs as it begins pouring coffee into the mug and Lancelot begins to dig out a pan to poach the eggs in. He fills it with water, begins pulling out bread and plates and avocados and fussing around the stove. The machine gives a last click as it empties its grounds and Lancelot grabs up the coffee, carries it over to the table and sets a small container of sugar cubes and a milk jug beside it.

"There you go. Give me about ten minutes to get the food going, all right? May as well get back into your blankets if you're tired."

He ruffles a hand through Faolan's hair before pacing back into the kitchen to start the water heating, humming under his breath as he shoves another mug under the machine to make himself some coffee too.

Faolan blinks up at Lancelot, watching him head back into the kitchen to start the food. If he'd been more awake he would have been more embarrassed, the other man ruffling his hair like that. As it is, he's thinking that it was rather nice. He turns to glance behind him back at the futon and the blankets mentioned, but he's not sure that if he goes back to bed he'll manage to drag himself back out of it anytime soon, so he settles for reaching for the coffee and pulling it towards himself.

He raises it to take a sip of the coffee as it is, just straight black before he sits back and splashes a little milk in as well. And stays put where he is, planted at the breakfast nook. Feeling rather like a much more relaxed version of Lily as he sits there watching Lancelot cooking. "Do you always make breakfasts this elaborate?" he asks, after a long moment. "Or are you just making the effort for my sake?"

"It isn't elaborate, poaching too eggs and putting them on toast with avocado mashed all over it is hardly elaborate. But, in answer to your question, I don't always cook. Depends how quickly I get myself moving, or if someone is being extra needy in the morning."

Someone has finished her own food, and is now pacing around watching what Lancelot is doing curiously -- eyes flicking to Faolan every so often to keep track of him. What is going on? Are they making something? Is it for her?

(All food should be for her.)

Faolan shrugs at that. It certainly seems elaborate to him. He's lucky if he even manages the toast before he's out the door, never mind the rest of it. Poached eggs and avocado? He might as well be eating out. He really isn't joking about getting spoiled during his stays here.

For a moment Faolan thinks that that 'someone' Lancelot's talking about is him, and is about to protest the idea of it, before he realizes that the other man means the dog, and he lets it go instead. He supposes it makes sense. Especially with today being a holiday, and with nowhere to be going, with him to entertain, of course the breakfast will be fancier than some. He sips at his coffee in contemplation of the other man.

"Just seems like you do a lot of cooking, that's all," he says, after he's taken a moment to parse through the previous thought. "Either that, or I've done a lot of sitting here, letting you feed me, lately. Not that I'm complaining," he adds, hastily. "It's probably better than I've eaten in years."

"I like cooking. Is that a crime?"

He pulls out a small circular dish, covers it in cling film and cracks an egg into it before wrapping it up and dropping the parcel into the heating water, doing the same for another and checking the temperature.

"Besides which, you give off the aura of someone who could use feeding a little better."

Faolan looks down into his coffee mug and shrugs slightly. The fact that he's regretting not having taken the blanket with him to the table is hardly helping his image, he's sure. Slumped over on himself at the table as he is, nearly crawling into the coffee mug placed before him and all.

"Maybe I do," he says, because in all honesty, it isn't untrue. He glances up to study what Lancelot's doing, the whole process of cooking an egg like this rather unfamiliar to him, truth be told. "You certainly take better care of me than I do," he muses aloud, sleepily.

"So far as I know, nobody else was volunteering."

He neatly cuts the avocado in half, twists it and lays out the two halves ready before putting two slices of bread in the toaster ready.

"If they do, we might have to put them through trials to be sure they're up to scratch."

Faolan ducks his head slightly at that. No, no one else was volunteering. And why would they be, he wonders to himself. He half wonders why Lancelot himself even bothers with him, knowing how he exasperates the other man at times, with the way he is.

"A trial would certainly give them enough time to realize what a poor decision they're making," he notes. He reaches forward, idly tracing a line on the table before him with his fingertip. "Perhaps I should be grateful that you never truly got a trial yourself. That you were just thrown into the thick of it."

"I wouldn't say that. It has been something of a trial settling into your lifestyle."

Lancelot smirks a little at that, picking up a ladle to cautiously stir the eggs as the water bubbles.

"You certainly haven't made it easy, even if I had little time to protest."

Not that Lancelot would have, and the expression on his face shows that. He reaches out and pulls down the lever on the toaster, checks the eggs again warily and squints at his watch.

"Do you prefer your eggs soft, or?"

Faolan shrugs slightly at the question, not really in the habit of having his eggs prepared in this way to know whether he preferred them soft or not. He realizes that Lancelot's only just teasing him, but it does bother him a little, the idea of it in general. The idea that he's made it a trial for the other man. The idea that he didn't have time to protest the idea. Even if he's making it clear that he wouldn't have.

Faolan shifts uncomfortably in his seat for a moment and tries to shake himself out of it. They've been through this before. Lancelot wouldn't have him over, wouldn't be cooking for him, if he didn't want to, in the end.

"Dunno," he answers, at last. "Just make it the way you like. I wouldn't know enough to tell the difference anyway..."

"I think you might, if you tried."

He wrinkles his nose at Faolan, but accepts the answer regardless -- checks his watch again to keep timing the eggs. The toaster pops a moment later and he begins spreading the avocado, arranging a little spinach before finally turning off the heat and fishing out the eggs. The cling-film peels free easily and just leaves neatly poached eggs, cooked enough that the yolk is semi-hard but not entirely so. The brioche bread is thick and soft, toasted just enough to give it a slight crispness and warmth but not much more, and the smell of it invades the kitchen even before Lancelot brings over the plates. He sets them down, doubles back for hollandaise sauce and salt and pepper shakers.

"Here we go..." he says, and drops into a chair himself finally as he pushes a set of cutlery toward Faolan. "There's fruit juice too, if you want some."

Faolan shakes his head. "Coffee's fine," he says absently, as he stares down at the food in front of him and tries to make sense of it. It seems to be like some sort of open-faced sandwich. Greens and toasted bread and avocado and an egg, all piled on top of itself, and apparently there's a sauce as well, and Faolan doesn't know the first thing about how to eat it. Do you pick it up? Is it really like a sandwich? But no, there's a sauce, and the bread seems too soft for that, and the egg might still be runny? And Lancelot has brought over cutlery.

He picks up his fork and leans forward over it, wondering how to start. Wondering where to begin. He pokes at the bread and it's definitely soft enough to cut with fork if he wanted to, although he should probably use his knife as well if he wants to keep it all together well enough. He glances up to Lancelot, the expression on his face a little uncertain as he does.

"...maybe I should follow your lead," he suggests, after a moment.

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