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)
undergrounds2016-01-14 02:44 am
knightscode) wrote in undergrounds2016-01-14 02:44 am
Entry tags:
GUARDIANS GONE WILD [ Active/ Open ]
i) The Build up [ Locked to Faolan ]
It was a normal enough Monday for Lancelot. Or, it had been. He'd gotten up, gone to work, caught up on things he'd missed, answered some emails, dealt with a minor fracas near the station when someone turned suddenly to jump lanes after realising they were in the wrong one and scraped another person's car.
He'd not even been home that long when the door went, still half sipping water to try and calm a headache threatening again and playing with Lily. It isn't really late, truth be told, but part of him really just wants to grab something to eat and relax. Whenever his doorbell goes it rarely results in him relaxing.
Lancelot sips a little more water, the doorbell goes again.
Defeated he sighs, recaps the bottle he was drinking from and accompanies Lily to the door.
When he opens it his expression does something complicated, a flip from 'oh' to 'ah' to 'hang on, why are you here?'
"Faolan?" he manages, and inwardly hopes this isn't about to begin another round of Faolan angrily beginning a tirade followed by Lancelot's headache worsening and furniture moving.
ii) The Jail Bird
In truth, Lancelot isn't exactly worried. He isn't exactly worried because he hasn't done anything wrong. He knows he hasn't. He has a lot of witnesses who'd testify he was, in fact, at work or shopping or some-such rather than wherever he was meant to be murdering people.
The problem is the fact that people have, equally, given an exact description of him doing these things.
Magic.
It's the only answer, and Lancelot knows less than he'd like about magic.
He certainly doesn't know about any sort of magic that would somehow enable a person to look like him and do this, nor does he know why anyone would. To discredit him? Or Daybreak? Or the Night Council? There's no shortage of options, but that's hardly a reassuring thought.
Luckily he gets the impression Sylvia is fairly sure he isn't lying, but equally she isn't just letting him out. He might not be lying, but -- unsettling as it is -- that isn't proof he hasn't done something awful unwilling.
So here he is, Lancelot -- Metropolitan Police Office and Guardian for the Night Council. In jail. He wishes he at least had something to pass the time while he waits it out. After all, surely someone will catch the true culprit soon? Surely they will find evidence it isn't him?
He's mentally in the middle of making a list of things to consider, people he may have upset, factions who might dislike him etc when he hears someone approaching. Lancelot himself is a little tired and dishevelled but he perks up at the sound of footsteps, inwardly hoping for news, and stands to approach the bars of his cell.
iii) The Free Bird [ Pick a location to meet the fae! ]
The fact that Lancelot was a reasonably harmless, friendly sort of person makes the fae's job a whole lot easier.
Few people were rarely scared of Lancelot, and few suspected him of anything sinister. He had plenty of friends in and out of the supernatural community, and although that did mean suspicion raised quickly once it began work it also meant that people were loathe to believe the rumours.
If anything, it was beginning to wonder why it hadn't done this before.
The fae's glamour was perfect. It looked like Lancelot, its voice was Lancelot's voice and its smile was his smile. It was missing his dog, but it always had a reason if anyone asked. It helped that Lancelot always had an aura of fae magic about him too, which meant that the fae's own magic did not seem out of place to those who could sense it.
Things are a little trickier once the real Lancelot is arrested, of course, but that's neither here nor there. It can brazenly tell people that -- oh, no no! It wasn't him who was arrested! There's a fae about, you see, that's made itself look like him. Good job they caught it!
It's trickier with people who know Lancelot well, but an easy smile often disarms them quickly.
When that doesn't work, there's always a little good old fashioned violence to escape.
iv) The Chase [ Late on Wednesday onward ]
Lancelot is entirely glad to be out of jail, but entirely less glad that the thing is still out there causing trouble.
Still, he's a Guardian -- thankfully he hasn't been fired. Which means it's his job to keep the peace, and he absolutely intends to keep the peace by stopping the creature pretending to be him.
He arms himself, dresses casually with a stab vest hidden under his shirt and begins to try and track it down.
The problem now, however, as much as the fae itself is the people who met it. It's done all sorts of violent, awkward and incredibly strange things in his name -- including starting a tab at a few places. Lancelot secrets away a silver knife as he picks his way through the streets. His headaches have begun to slowly clear, at least, and now that he finally understands what they are it helps. If he can sense magic, then maybe he can sense the fae before he sees it. Maybe that will help him track it.
Which means he's so focused on trying to sense things (which, unfortunately for him, he isn't very good at yet) that he nearly bumps into someone in the narrow alleyway -- lifts his hands quickly in supplication just in case they're angry about it.
"Ah -- forgive me, please, I was miles away."
[ ooc; Plot details here if you missed it! ]
It was a normal enough Monday for Lancelot. Or, it had been. He'd gotten up, gone to work, caught up on things he'd missed, answered some emails, dealt with a minor fracas near the station when someone turned suddenly to jump lanes after realising they were in the wrong one and scraped another person's car.
He'd not even been home that long when the door went, still half sipping water to try and calm a headache threatening again and playing with Lily. It isn't really late, truth be told, but part of him really just wants to grab something to eat and relax. Whenever his doorbell goes it rarely results in him relaxing.
Lancelot sips a little more water, the doorbell goes again.
Defeated he sighs, recaps the bottle he was drinking from and accompanies Lily to the door.
When he opens it his expression does something complicated, a flip from 'oh' to 'ah' to 'hang on, why are you here?'
"Faolan?" he manages, and inwardly hopes this isn't about to begin another round of Faolan angrily beginning a tirade followed by Lancelot's headache worsening and furniture moving.
ii) The Jail Bird
In truth, Lancelot isn't exactly worried. He isn't exactly worried because he hasn't done anything wrong. He knows he hasn't. He has a lot of witnesses who'd testify he was, in fact, at work or shopping or some-such rather than wherever he was meant to be murdering people.
The problem is the fact that people have, equally, given an exact description of him doing these things.
Magic.
It's the only answer, and Lancelot knows less than he'd like about magic.
He certainly doesn't know about any sort of magic that would somehow enable a person to look like him and do this, nor does he know why anyone would. To discredit him? Or Daybreak? Or the Night Council? There's no shortage of options, but that's hardly a reassuring thought.
Luckily he gets the impression Sylvia is fairly sure he isn't lying, but equally she isn't just letting him out. He might not be lying, but -- unsettling as it is -- that isn't proof he hasn't done something awful unwilling.
So here he is, Lancelot -- Metropolitan Police Office and Guardian for the Night Council. In jail. He wishes he at least had something to pass the time while he waits it out. After all, surely someone will catch the true culprit soon? Surely they will find evidence it isn't him?
He's mentally in the middle of making a list of things to consider, people he may have upset, factions who might dislike him etc when he hears someone approaching. Lancelot himself is a little tired and dishevelled but he perks up at the sound of footsteps, inwardly hoping for news, and stands to approach the bars of his cell.
iii) The Free Bird [ Pick a location to meet the fae! ]
The fact that Lancelot was a reasonably harmless, friendly sort of person makes the fae's job a whole lot easier.
Few people were rarely scared of Lancelot, and few suspected him of anything sinister. He had plenty of friends in and out of the supernatural community, and although that did mean suspicion raised quickly once it began work it also meant that people were loathe to believe the rumours.
If anything, it was beginning to wonder why it hadn't done this before.
The fae's glamour was perfect. It looked like Lancelot, its voice was Lancelot's voice and its smile was his smile. It was missing his dog, but it always had a reason if anyone asked. It helped that Lancelot always had an aura of fae magic about him too, which meant that the fae's own magic did not seem out of place to those who could sense it.
Things are a little trickier once the real Lancelot is arrested, of course, but that's neither here nor there. It can brazenly tell people that -- oh, no no! It wasn't him who was arrested! There's a fae about, you see, that's made itself look like him. Good job they caught it!
It's trickier with people who know Lancelot well, but an easy smile often disarms them quickly.
When that doesn't work, there's always a little good old fashioned violence to escape.
iv) The Chase [ Late on Wednesday onward ]
Lancelot is entirely glad to be out of jail, but entirely less glad that the thing is still out there causing trouble.
Still, he's a Guardian -- thankfully he hasn't been fired. Which means it's his job to keep the peace, and he absolutely intends to keep the peace by stopping the creature pretending to be him.
He arms himself, dresses casually with a stab vest hidden under his shirt and begins to try and track it down.
The problem now, however, as much as the fae itself is the people who met it. It's done all sorts of violent, awkward and incredibly strange things in his name -- including starting a tab at a few places. Lancelot secrets away a silver knife as he picks his way through the streets. His headaches have begun to slowly clear, at least, and now that he finally understands what they are it helps. If he can sense magic, then maybe he can sense the fae before he sees it. Maybe that will help him track it.
Which means he's so focused on trying to sense things (which, unfortunately for him, he isn't very good at yet) that he nearly bumps into someone in the narrow alleyway -- lifts his hands quickly in supplication just in case they're angry about it.
"Ah -- forgive me, please, I was miles away."
[ ooc; Plot details here if you missed it! ]
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"I..." Faolan says, but is broken off from his thought by the sound of...growling? He blinks and turns to look at where the noise is coming from. There's a table not too far off where a woman is sitting with a small dog who had been, up until she'd sat down, contently dozing in her large handbag. It continues its frenzied growling and yapping until the woman, looking rather embarrassed and ashamed by the inconvenience she's posing on the cafe, makes a hasty getaway.
But it's enough to break Faolan's trance. "I don't make promises unless I'm certain I'll be able to keep them," he says, sitting up straighter in his seat from where he'd been slowly leaning his way more and more towards the other until then.
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"You're making a mistake," it says simply. "I could give you what you want. Better than what you want."
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And it's not being very subtle about the fact that it isn't either. Faolan tries to play that he hasn't caught on, but he's not sure how much longer he can work this game. "I don't know what you mean," he says, sitting back in his chair and reaching for his coffee once more.
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It lounges back in its chair and regards Faolan with idle distaste as it sips its coffee, faux-friendly attitude entirely gone.
"And now you can't even do anything about it, can you?"
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The only chance you have and you can't even do anything about it, it says, and it's right. Faolan's hands tighten around his coffee. No, he needs to make the most about this. Now that it knows he knows, he needs to do something, anything that he can, to get what he can out of this interaction. For Lancelot's sake.
"Why are you doing this?" he hisses, his voice low, barely above the murmur of the cafe around them.
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The fae clearly doesn't know anything about Lancelot, anything about Lancelot's life. Is it because he was a convenient, pretty face? What reason could it possibly have had to have chosen Lancelot?
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"Because," it answers, "it's fun."
The fae's eyes flash with something equal parts malevolent and amused and it sits back, sips its drink again.
"He already has a little fae magic about him anyway, makes the disguise easier. Not that you'd even have noticed." Lofting an eyebrow it downs the rest of its coffee, flashes Faolan an easier smile -- one closer to what's normal for Lancelot. "Enjoy your free coffee," and with that it begins to stand and prepare to leave -- as far is it's concerned there's nothing Faolan can do to stop him and nothing much else of interest here.
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So he lets him leave with a frown, before taking his coffee and his guitar back to the real Lancelot's flat. Where Lily, at least, seems happy to see him. With only a little more information gained and no real direction to be able to take, Faolan does the only thing that he can think of.
Pulling out his mobile, he calls into the office and makes a report.
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With a crowbar.
The conversation with Sylvia, in truth, was not exactly comforting.
He's already told Faolan that he's been let out, is collecting his things and signing for them while quietly hoping the man turns up soon. He wants to be sure Lily is okay, to catch up with anything Faolan might know and -- well, ask for his help. Again. Sylvia had made it very clear that this was a problem she wanted sorted out quickly and Lancelot is now decidedly nervous. He adjusts his bag, crowbar hidden inside it, and folds his jacket over his arms as he makes his way out into the waiting area.
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He'd be lying if he didn't say that he isn't looking for some sign from the other man that it's him, as he crosses the room towards him. Some sign that it's the man that he... Well, his friend and not the fae that he had been confronted with not a day earlier. He wonders whether he'll have been told about that. Probably not. It had been a long day since, but it had only been a day, and Lancelot had been decidedly busy, after all.
"Hey," he greets the other man, searching his face as he steps up beside him. "How are you?"
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He frowns in worry, adjusts his bag as he begins to move toward the exit -- staying near enough glued to Faolan's side. After all, he would like to talk to him more about this but he'd also rather like to be clear of his place before they change their minds and drag him back into a cell just in case.
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So he settles for reaching out a hand to place on the other man's back as he steps forward, on the pretense of leading him out through the building but really just so he has an excuse to touch him. "She's been fine," he says, as they walk. "Wondering what I've done with you, no doubt, but she's behaved herself otherwise." He tosses a glance over his shoulder to see if they're being followed, but so far so good. He tightens his fingers where they've migrated to Lancelot's shoulder as he glances back at the other man, unable to help himself as he speaks up to admit, "It's good to see you." Like this, and not from the other side of an interrogation room.
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Lancelot slows once they're a good safe distance away, turns in toward the other man and wraps him into a hug -- squeezing him gently and lowering his voice.
"Sylvia isn't happy." He pulls back an inch or so, standing with his hands resting on Faolan's arms. "She gave me a crowbar and told me to handle it." He lofts an eyebrow, lips pressing into an unhappy line and lets out a sigh. "If it attacked in Westminster this morning we can hope it's still in the area. They marked its last location for me, so that's a starting point at least."
All the same, he's a little uncomfortable with this -- as much as he dislikes someone impersonating him he'd rather be given room to investigate and question rather than simply have orders to solve it with a crowbar.
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He raises his eyebrows in response to the idea that Sylvia had given Lancelot a crowbar of all things, never mind the instructions to 'handle it'. He licks his lips for a moment, standing close and keeping his voice low himself before speaking up in return. "It very well may be," he responds. He glances around, to make sure that they're alone, that no one's listening in. "I. I met it. Him. I don't know. Yesterday afternoon."
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He blinks at Faolan, unsure exactly how to react a moment before rallying.
"Sylvia thinks it's a fae. They can disguise themselves, and its magic would feel similar to mine for anyone who could sense it. Did it... what did it do? Did it seem like a fae?"
What did Faolan do, for that matter? What happened?
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"Yeah," he says. "I would say that the theory that it's fae would be correct. It certainly seemed like fae, with the way that it was behaving." Flirting with the barista. Flirting with him. Oh. "And it glamoured me," he says, turning to look the other man directly in the eyes. "It wanted me to promise to help him. I tried to get him to tell me what he wanted the help with, but..." He shakes his head.
"I called it in as soon as I could, but." He glances off to the side, flushing slightly. "I don't blame them for waiting for proof. From, you know. Someone else." Someone who hadn't already clearly been invested in the other man's release.
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Lancelot sighs, dropping his eyes a moment as he thinks.
"I... my headaches. I think... that they have been caused by magic. I can... sense it now. I might be able to sense the fae, help track it -- if... it isn't hiding its magic, that is."
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He cannot help but raise his eyebrows at the other man's suggestion though. "Track it?" he repeats. It's a thought, of course, but. "Lancelot," he says carefully, "are you... Are you sure?" He glances around to make sure they are still alone, stepping closer so that he might speak more plainly. "Only a few days ago you still didn't have any idea what they were beyond headaches, and now you want to use them to catch a murderer?" He has to understand how risky this is.
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And if he can feel magic anyway why not try and make use of that? Why not try and focus on the feeling, see if it can be used practically? If it can be used to find and put a stop to his fae doppelgänger? Anything to stop this quickly.
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So he nods. "Alright," he says. "Alright. Just. Be careful, yeah?" The fact that he'll be right there with him through it and thus able to keep a close eye and make sure he isn't getting himself into too much trouble probably has something to do with why he's so accepting of the fact as well.
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He hesitates, shifts his bag awkwardly as he looks at Faolan.
"I was... hoping you might help. If it's not too much trouble. I know it well be dangerous, of course, but -- you have a little more experience tracking things in general, and..."
Well, he'd rather not do it alone. Faolan may have offered to look into it, may have come to pick him up but he hasn't explicitly said that he'll help him catch the fae. Lancelot doesn't want to assume anything.
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Faolan can't help but look surprised at that. At Lancelot's questioning. At his hesitance. Nor can he help but smile in response to it either.
"As if I would let you go alone," he says, reaching out to clasp the other man's shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring way. Lancelot's just spent the last few days in jail, and even before that he hadn't been in top form, not really. Faolan may not be as strong or as fast as the other man, but he's not without his resources, and he's going to do everything in his power to keep the other man safe.
"C'mon," he says, letting his hand drop awkwardly (rather unused to physical touch but feeling drawn to it, around Lancelot) and nodding towards the door. "We can stop by a cafe or something, if you're hungry. Pick up food on the way." They're going to want to get there sooner rather than later. Especially if there's a chance that Lancelot really can track this thing.
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"All right. Maybe some coffee, and something small. Something I can carry with me. All the fae magic might set off my headaches again, so I suppose I should bring something to try and counteract it if I can."
Which, apparently, he is hoping coffee will do.
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He lifts a hand again to place on Lancelot's lower back and begins leading him out the door. "I'll have you know, your doppelganger might look like you, but if he was trying to impersonate you at all, he certainly hadn't done much research," he notes.
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