undergrounds | PLEASE BE STRONG I KNOW I'M NOT WRONG (Closed to Lancelot)

Entry tags:

faolan,
lancelot

PLEASE BE STRONG I KNOW I'M NOT WRONG (Closed to Lancelot)

Faolan has for the most part stayed out of the politics of the other factions. He has enough to worry about being at the till at Hillingdon. Trying to understand what the faction wants, trying to understand what sort of direction to take it in. He knows that he's going to have to take a step up sooner or later, and he knows that whatever he chooses to do, he cannot under any circumstances disobey the oath he took as Guardian.

The oath that they are hanging over his head as they use him as muscle to force him into peoples' homes, under whatever pretenses they can think of, to upend their lives for dark magical objects. Anyone they are seen to be using dark magic will be arrested, while the rest are written fine after fine for everything unearthed. Faolan doesn't like it, it makes him uncomfortable to be thrust into other people's lives like this, and the objects themselves, the people he's being forced to investigate, are making him uncomfortable in another way that he just can't put his finger on at the moment.

To top it all off, Willard has left, and with him left all the organizing of Hillingdon's paperwork to Faolan himself, or for Faolan to find someone else to delegate it to instead. And no one is exactly jumping at the chance. The combination of it all has left him in worse of a mood than usual, and he has no intention of returning home to his flat to drink himself into something even worse as he sits alone in the sad, empty little place.

Which is why he finds himself ringing Lancelot's bell. Really he should have told the other man that he was coming over. Asked if he was going to be interrupting anything. But one foot had led in front of the other and he had found himself there before he realized where he'd been headed.

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Faolan shifts his hand off of the other man's forehead where he'd had the cloth pressed, and he'd just been setting it aside when Lancelot pushes himself to stand and nearly falls over on him.

"Whoa, whoa," he says, quickly reaching up to brace the other man, not trusting Lancelot to keep himself on his feet or upright at all. "Easy, yeah? Take it easy. Here, lean on me. Are you okay?" he asks, knowing the answer is of course, no, but not knowing what else to ask in order to determine whether Lancelot's about to throw up on him or... Who knows. Start bleeding out his eyes.

"Ah," Lancelot answers helpfully, and gropes his way up to try and find Faolan's shoulder -- to try and give himself a better sense of things than he currently has. Which appears to be no sense at all. "It... may be... better if I lay down after all. I..."

He fumbles out his hand blindly away from Faolan to grope out for the counter top again, for the edge of it to try and judge how to move around it. He nearly trips over Lily in the process, who has moved directly in front of him out of a doggy desire to help.

Faolan quickly pushes himself to stand and grab for the other man, uncertain what he's attempting to do, but whatever it is, he's anything but steady while he's doing it. "Hey, hey, hey," he cautions, slipping his arm further around Lancelot's waist and pulling him closer to his side, trying to ignore how warm he feels and the fact that he isn't certain whether he's ever touched the other man as much as he's done in the last few minutes.

"Slow down. We'll get you lying down, alright? Just take it easy. The last thing you want to do is trip and crack your head on anything, yeah? Then you'll really have a headache, and I'd really call you an ambulance besides," he threatens. He glances down at Lily, gesturing her out of the room before them. As much as she might want to help, the best help she'll be right now is out of the way.

"Here," he says, gently manipulating the other man's arm around his shoulders. He's not sure that he'll be able to truly hold all of Lancelot's weight if he winds up passing out on him, but this will give him a good start. "Stop trying to be so goddamn noble and just let me help you, alright? Just lean on me. I've got you." He tightens his arm around Lancelot's waist for emphasis.

Lily stands watching a few moments longer, ears perked forward as she surveys the proceedings in concern, then she relents and backs out of the room -- turns to trot to where the hallway turns toward the living room and stands to watch from there instead. Lancelot lets himself be shuffled about -- in truth he feels as if he hasn't got much choice, he's struggling to place himself spatially in the room when he can't see. Which feels strange, because he's lived here for years and he can picture it perfectly.

"I don't need an ambulance," he protests, hand stuttering along the counter as he tries to edge himself past it toward the bathroom door. It hits the wall and fumbles up the door frame as he tries to judge how to aim himself through it.

Faolan watches the other man fumbling with the door frame and frowns at him harder, before pulling him closer against his side, steadying him further. What he's trying to accomplish with that, Faolan can only imagine, but whatever it is it's not helping them get across the flat to the bedroom any faster.

"Well then quit pushing yourself and let me help you here," he says. "Are you okay to make it that far? If you need me to stop for you, I can. No one's in any hurry, here." Except maybe Lancelot himself, it would seem, groping about as he is. Faolan takes a few experimental steps forward, beginning to lead the other man out of the bathroom and into the hall.

Faolan takes a few steps and Lancelot flails out to keep balance, seemingly leaving the entirety of the steering to the other man himself. He stumbles slightly, still feeling for the wall to guide himself then sliding his hands around on the bedroom door searching for the handle as they near it.

"Forgive me Faolan," he says, with some small amount of embarrassment. "You need not stay. I will be little good as a host in this state. Do not feel obligated to watch over me, I am sure I will be fine with a little rest."

Faolan looks at Lancelot with an expression to suggest that he's said something stupid -- which, as a matter of fact in Faolan's eyes, he has. "I'm not still here because I'm waiting for you to recover enough to entertain me, Lancelot," he says, frowning harder. "I'm still here because..." He stumbles over his explanation slightly, words and explanation like this not nearly as easy for him as it seems to be for Lancelot, but he soldiers on. "Because you're my friend. And since the day that we've met, you've always been there for me. Please. Just let me return the favor for once, yeah?"

"Come on," he says, reaching forward to get the door for the other man, since he seems to be having some trouble with it. "Don't worry about me. I've stayed here long enough to practically have my name on the futon, remember? I think I know my way around by now."

He might not see the expression but Lancelot hears the tone, hears the incredulousness in it -- even if Faolan stumbles.

The door moves away from his hand and he flails uncertainly, steps hesitant even with the other man to guide him. Lancelot trusts Faolan, of course he does, but he doesn't trust himself when he can't see. He's bound to keep knocking himself and walking into things. He flails vaguely ahead of himself, reaches out and down a little in an attempt to make sure the door is open all the way and feel when he steps close to the bed so he doesn't stub his foot against the edge.

"Thank you," he says, still a little quiet. "You may have to... steer me in the right direction."

Faolan watches Lancelot reaching for the door, shuffling forward uncertainly, and his chest tightens for a moment, his heart stuttering and picking up speed as he realizes what's going on. And what the other man isn't telling him. He feels... Angry at Lancelot, for keeping this from him. Scared for him, for what's happening to him. His arm tightens around the other man's waist as he struggles to keep himself in check.

"Were you planning on telling me there was something wrong with your vision," Faolan asks the other man, automatically slowing their progress across the room towards the bed once he realizes what's going on, "or were you hoping that I wouldn't notice and leave you here to fend for yourself like this. God damn it, Lancelot..." Faolan growls, and he wants to say more -- that he's really concerned here, and the least that the other man could do is take his own condition seriously as well. That he has half a mind to turn around and march him to the front room and really call that ambulance, for real. What if he's got a brain hemorrhage? What if something worse is coming? What if? What if?

"Once I was laying down?"

Lancelot slows as Faolan does, wobbling slightly and flailing out a hand. Has he slowed because they're near the bed? Will he warn him once he reaches out? He sighs, a sound filled with his mix of frustration and pain and exhaustion.

"Faolan, it only went just now in the bathroom. It's probably dizziness or low blood sugar, I've been queasy all day. Please, I'd just like to lay down a moment?"

He has far too much of a headache to indulge Faolan's nervous anger.

Faolan takes in a deep breath as well, trying to calm the emotions roiling inside of him, trying to keep himself from lashing out at the other man. He's scared for Lancelot because he is ill, and terribly so, and his anger at the other man for hiding further symptoms from him isn't going to fix anything or even make him feel better himself.

"You should have told me then," he chides the other man, and though Lancelot might not be able to see the frown on his face, he should be able to hear it in his voice. He steps closer to the other man, reaching out to take the other man's flailing hand in his own.

"Here," he says leading him forward and guiding Lancelot's hand to the edge of the bed. "I'm not stopping you from lying down," he says, trying to sound more reasonable, but it comes out gruff. "But if you want me to help you, then let me help you. If you keep pushing yourself you're only going to make it worse, you know."

He flails out for the bed, grips at the sheets and moves to ease his other arm from around Faolan's shoulders so he can shift to sit on it. He sways a little, unsure exactly which way he's facing, then fumbles out a hand again to try and judge as he flops onto it.

"I'm not stopping you from staying," Lancelot says finally, then flinches suddenly as he feels something fluffy near his face. Lily. "... If you do stay, though, if you could... help with my friend here..."

Shuffling he tries to move away from the edge, misjudges and nearly half-falls off the other side in the process until he orientates himself properly and crawls himself up the length of the bed so he can lay out.

Edited (html) 2016-01-14 19:04 (UTC)

Faolan can do more than help with Lily. He frowns at the other man insisting on doing everything himself, frowns at him refusing to ask for help, wondering whether he's going to be forced to offer. Uncertain how well that would go down, whether Lancelot would refuse even his insistence as well or not.

He glances to Lily, meeting her eyes before jerking his head towards the door. "Lily, come here," he commands her, although his tone isn't too harsh. He's never really given her commands before but she either knows this one or she simply knows what he wants because she listens, even if she seems to be apprehensive about the whole thing. He reaches down to snake a hand into her collar for good measure nonetheless before turning back to the other man.

"Do you... Want me to get you anything?" he asks. "When's the last time you ate?" That could have something with the way the man's feeling as well, after all. He hopes.

"This morning? I skipped lunch."

Finally having crawled up the bed he drops his head onto the pillow, rubs at his forehead as he thinks.

"Stomach felt too..." Lancelot gestures vaguely. Weird. Unsettled? Something like that. He knew it was his headache, really, but he was a little worried he might not keep something down and not keen to test during work.

"There should be some plain biscuits in the cupboard. That might be an easy start. Maybe some... juice. It might be my blood sugar isn't helping."

"Yeah, alright." Faolan nods and turns to head across the room, shooing Lily out the door of the bedroom before turning back to the other man. He frowns at him, taking in the sight of him lying where he is, the slightly blank look in his eyes which Faolan now recognizes is because the other man's vision is being affected by the headache as well.

He thinks about asking if he should need anything else, but he shuts his mouth as soon as he's opened it, and shakes his head, heading out the bedroom door and shutting it behind him, to give Lancelot peace without Lily trying to 'help' him. He finds the biscuits easily enough, and he pours out a small-ish glass of juice on the side, not wanting to force too much on the other man at once. He can always refill it if so desired. He indicates that Lily should stay, which she does, reluctantly, although she looks as though he has betrayed her in some way by exiling her to the living room as he has, as Faolan re-enters the bedroom and closes the door behind himself again.

"Here," he says, softly. "Biscuits and juice. I can get you something else if you want. Toast, if this sits well enough? Something for your head?" He moves to sit on the edge of the bed beside Lancelot, balancing the plate on his lap and wondering how this is going to work, with the other man unable to see and yet so stubborn against his help. "Have you taken anything lately?" he asks. He reaches a hand out again, before thinking better of himself and awkwardly laying it on his lap. "You're very warm."

Lancelot feels the bed dip, turns a little in the direction of Faolan and frowns as he tries to focus past the headache.

"It wasn't helping," he begins, "painkillers, that is. Then again, perhaps you're meant to take something other than ibuprofen for headaches that are magical in nature."

He moves to try and sit up slightly, squinting and hesitantly holding out his hands. On the bright side, his vision is starting to fade back in -- dark shapes helping him make out where Faolan is in the room.

"Unless you'd like me to grope you it's probably advisable you hand things to me."

Faolan lets out a soft, humming noise in response to Lancelot's comment about medicine not helping. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised. He's had even non-magical headaches that hadn't gone away until he forced himself to get some decent fluids and rest.

He huffs out a breath in response to Lancelot's suggestion that he hand things to him, watching him squint and attempt to make things out around him, reaching towards him. "Unless you'd like to be wearing this," Faolan counters Lancelot's words with his own, "it's probably advisable that you let me help you." He waits a beat, giving the other man a poignant look that he knows he won't see, before he reaches forward to take his hand.

"Here," he says, fitting the glass of juice into it and then guiding both closer to Lancelot's face. "I made sure not to fill it too much. Just sip. And ask me to take it back." He waits for Lancelot to do this much, figuring the juice is enough for now, he'll get to the biscuits in a moment.

He sighs at that, letting Faolan fit his hand around the glass and move it toward him. It's a little embarrassing, to be helped this way, but he knows he can't fight Faolan on it. He's only trying to help, and it's true that Lancelot is still a little too unsteady to trust himself not to spill. His other hand loops over Faolan's to help guide the speed and he sips slowly, feeling a little tired all of a sudden.

"Thank you," he murmurs, and his eyes drop away instinctively -- even if all they're making out is blurs anyway. "It's kind of you to stay."

Faolan nods, keeping his hand on the glass as Lancelot sips from it before taking it back after he's done. Balancing it on his knee as he watches the other man's face and contemplates how to explain himself. What to say in response to such a thing.

"Yeah, well," he says, after a long moment. "Lily is a very good dog, but she doesn't know how to fetch you juice or water. I'm here, aren't I? I might as well make myself useful for you." He's hardly going to leave without hard reassurance that this is just a headache as well, for that matter.

"I'm sure she'd try, but perhaps not as effectively as you."

Lancelot shuffles to lay down again, trying to keen his even breathing and slow -- idly fussing to smooth out his t-shirt where's ridden up from all the blind wriggling about.

"You shouldn't keep her shut out. She'll be worried. Let her in and just keep her off the mattress. She'll calm down after a minute or two. Her bed is in here anyway. If you're going to stay in here and fuss over me we may as well all be in the same place."

Faolan's eyes follow the other man's movements, and he flicks his eyes away after a moment, realizing he's watching perhaps a little more intently than he should. The fact that Lancelot can't really notice him watching almost makes it worse, somehow.

"Yeah, alright," Faolan responds, glancing around to figure out where to put down the glass before spotting the shelf behind the bed. He braces a hand on the mattress beside the other man so that he can lean forward across him and rest the juice up on the shelf, along with the plate of biscuits he'd fetched earlier, before sitting upright again. "I'll let her in," he agrees, "so long as you promise to tell me if you need anything. And not to feel guilty about it when you do."

He squirms over onto his side, blinks at the dark vague shape of Faolan and frowns a little.

"I can promise to tell you, but I cannot promise not to feel guilty. I don't make promises I can't keep, Faolan."

His lips flick into a faint, wry sort of smile at that and Lancelot reaches out a hand to touch his arm.

"You're a good friend."

Faolan glances down at the hand on his arm and then back at Lancelot's face and the faint and gentle, wry smile there. He isn't sure that he's ever been called a good friend before, not in such an honest, earnest way as the other man has just done. He licks his lips slightly, uncertain of how to follow such a statement, before he simply nods.

"So long as you will offer me that much, then I suppose that we have ourselves a deal," he says. He's reluctant to slip out from the other man's touch, but he does, moving to stand and cross the room to get the door. To find Lily, of course, sitting there waiting for him just on the other side of it.

"Come on, then," he tells her, and opens the door wider to usher her in.

Lily surges in at the invitation, doing a quick lap of the room in case it might have changed in the few minutes she's been shut out. Lancelot can hear her paws padding around on the wooden floor, can easily imagine her checking every corner and nosing at things. She paces around the bed, picking the side Lancelot is closes to finally to stick her head over the edge and wag her tail at him. Hello! She has found him! Hello!

"Good girl," Lancelot offers quietly, and reaches out to gently ruffle her ears. "You found me, there's a good girl. Can you sit for me? Sit nicely, now."

Faolan stays at the door for a moment, watching Lily nose around the room, watching her nose at Lancelot and watching the other man reaching out to her and quietly urging for her to sit for him. He steps forward and, after a hesitant moment, returns to perch where he'd been sitting on the edge of the bed before. Reaching a hand out to stroke through Lily's fur as well.

"Good girl, Lily," he tells her, softly, letting Lancelot know that she's done as he's asked and being rewarded with a doe-eyed doggy glance in his direction and a little tail wag besides. "I think that someone has been worried for you," he tells Lancelot, glancing at the other man as he does. Speaking as much for himself as he is for Lily as he says so.

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