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

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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 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.

"Samoyeds are pack dogs. A pack should stay together, that is safest."

As if agreeing she stands long enough to move closer, sits beside Faolan and shoves her face into his lap for attention. Since he is going to be in the way she will do this, and now she can subtly see Lancelot and be closer! Faolan will never know, she is clever! Her tail swishes happily while her ears prick in Lancelot's direction, eyes flitting over to him every so often. She wants to be in the bed. Will they stop her being on the bed? They want her to sit. Can she sit on the bed?

Faolan will certainly stop her from sitting on Lancelot and from trying to help too much, but he hasn't been given orders one way or the other about what to do about Lily, other than to 'help with her'. And he's never really 'helped' with Lily before, truth be told. That's always been Lancelot's area alone. But he'll give it a go, for the other man's sake.

He pets her head in his lap. "Be a good girl, Lily," he reminds her, and hopes that she understands what that means better than he does himself, in the moment, before turning back to Lancelot. Pack. Well, they certainly care for each other, to be sure. "You should try and get some rest," he says. "See if it feels better after that. I can turn out the light, if it would help at all." He frowns some more. "Where is it? Your headache? Does it hurt more in any particular spot?" he asks, knowing that he's fussing, but trying to think of something, anything he can do that might actually help, here.

"Everywhere," Lancelot grumbles, and he lets his eyes slip closer again with a sigh -- vaguely reaching out to ruffle Lily's ears haphazardly. "But I suppose I could rest a little. My vision is beginning to come back but at the moment you're a dark blob among other dark blobs. No offence intended, I assure you you're a nice shadowy shape."

He huffs a little, drops his hand from Lily and curls himself up slightly as if to get more comfortable.

Faolan quirks something of a smile at the other man's grumbling. He must be feeling a little better, if he's being like that about it. Or maybe Faolan's just slowly working his way in around Lancelot's defenses and his desire to pretend that he's fine, really he is, no matter what. Who can say for certain.

"Well, I suppose it's better to be a nice shadowy shape than not," Faolan responds. He watches Lancelot squirm and shift to get comfortable and drops a hand to his forehead again despite himself. "You still feel warm," he says, his fingers pressed against Lancelot's skin as he does.

"Apple juice doesn't reduce temperature."

Lancelot opens his eyes again slowly, studying the vague shadowy shape of Faolan before smiling a little as he closes them once more.

"Cold hands might, though."

Faolan's hand feels cold, anyway, although he supposes that may be the difference in temperature alone -- that it may simply be he's so much warmer that Faolan feels cold in comparison. It doesn't matter, it's nice regardless.

"No, I suppose it doesn't," Faolan says. He should have gotten up and insisted that the other man take the ibuprofen regardless, but he'd said that it hadn't been helping with his head, so maybe it hadn't been reducing his temperature that well either.

He flushes slightly at the suggestion from Lancelot, although he doesn't move his hand away, simply shifting it on the other man's forehead instead. His hands are generally on the cooler side, and combined with the fact that Lancelot's face is warmer than usual, it's quite the contrast. "I could fetch a cool cloth for you again, if you'd like," he offers, brushing his hand through Lancelot's hair before resting it on his temple again. That would of course involve moving though, and Faolan isn't quite prepared to do so. Not just yet at least.

"Might be nice," Lancelot agrees, if a little sleepily. With his eyes closed and Faolan's cool hand soothing his forehead it's a struggle not to drift, although he supposes there's no particular reason not to. His fingers slow a little as they ruffle Lily's ears, hand dropping away to rest on the bed after a moment. "Why don't you go to bed, mm Lily? We can both have a nap. How's that?" She perks up at the sudden stop to her attention, shifting after a moment to try and inch around Faolan -- get closer to the edge of the bed and Lancelot. She is a good girl! They said so! She should go to bed! This is bed too, what he lays on. Can she be on the bed with him? Maybe that is what he means. She fusses a moment, then her front paws lift to rest on the edge of the mattress questioningly.

Faolan raises an eyebrow at Lily. Is that really what he told you to do, Lily? Is that really what he usually means, when he tells you to go to bed? He's not going to press the point too much, not when Lancelot himself seems to be more capable of doing so. But he does give her a look to remind her to behave, running his hand through Lancelot's hair once more before he moves to stand.

"I'll be back with that, then," he says, crossing to the door. "If you don't want her on the bed with you, you'd better speak now, though," he throws over his shoulder, before he steps out of the room to fetch and rewet that cloth from earlier, returning with it just as quickly as he can. He's not above fighting a dog to get his spot back if he has to.

He feels the bed dip, then rise again as Faolan stands -- fumbles out hands to light on Lily and gently push at her.

"Not with me," he chides, and she drops down again. Flicks her eyes unhappily as she glances away after Faolan. Where is he going? Why is he not staying? Why can she not get on the bed? This is troubling, and she cannot decide what she wants to do. Yet with Faolan no longer there she at least has space to move, so she pushes her snout over the edge toward Lancelot again -- tail wagging questioningly. She cannot jump up, what should she do? Is she still a good girl? Will he still pet her?

It doesn't take Faolan too long to return from the bathroom, where he gently pushes Lily out of the way so that he can reclaim the spot he had settled himself into before. He reaches out to ruffle her ears reassuringly before motioning towards her bed.

"Go lie down, Lily," he instructs her gently, before turning back to Lancelot. "Here," he says, reaching out to brush Lancelot's hair out of his face before he places the cloth there in it's place. He keeps his hand pressed to the cloth to keep it in place, watching the other man for a long moment before speaking up at last. "How's that?" he asks.

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