undergrounds | To hide away, hide away

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To hide away, hide away

1. SPY TACTICS [OPEN]
Ringer realized not long ago how objectively little she knew about the various factions she was dealing with. While Reznik had taught her the basic tidbits of each, their strengths and weaknesses, their loose affiliations, there were disputes and alliances forming that she found herself tragically ignorant to and often surprised by. For these reasons, she made the choice to set her more aggressive protective hunting aside for the moment to instead begin spying on people.

It didn't matter so much what significance the person held in their respective faction. She was trying to learn relationships between factions, who belonged to which, and so on. Sometimes it meant accidentally following a human who wasn't involved in any way. Most of the time, however, it meant following people she knew to be witches, werewolves, fae, and so on. Anyone who might be interesting.

The girl wasn't deliberately provocative in her pursuits, but she wasn't meticulously careful either. After all, she had no training for this kind of thing specifically. Ringer lurked in shadows and tried to follow a block or so behind, tried to appear distracted and caught up in her own world, and simply hoped that was enough. It was only a matter of time before someone caught on.

2. CAFE RESEARCH [OPEN]
Along with following people at night and in between her studies at uni, Ringer spent her free time studying. After the library became a tomb of isolation, she opted instead of the noisier and more oblivious patrons at the cafe. She turned up almost every day to grab a table in the corner or near to, ordering a tea and occasionally a scone or the like, laptop open on one half of the space in front of her while the other was filled with a book, or two, or three. For the casual observer, it would look like research for a paper, perhaps for a class on mythology or media. For those in the know, it might be obvious, but that only helped her to begin making more allies - or enemies.

3. GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN [CLOSED to Annie, early Feb]
All work and no play makes Ringer a dull girl. After a pleasant, albeit short, chat with Annie in the street, Ringer had done something rather un-Ringer-like and invited the girl over to hang out. She ordered some food from the Indian place down the lane, had a couple bottles of wine on standby, and had even ensured her television was prepared to play movies that they could rent if they chose. She didn't really know how things like this worked, but had heard enough stories and seen enough films to have an idea.

When the time approached, Ringer double-checked that her apartment was clean and that no signs of her real name were about for casual consumption. It wouldn't be hard to find if Annie went digging, but Ringer was hoping she wasn't that kind of acquaintance. The risk wasn't great enough for her to be concerned. After the final sweep, she settled in with awkward anticipation, waiting for Annie to arrive.

4. 'I LOVE DOGS' [CLOSED to James, mid Feb]
Ringer drank tea every day, like any good Brit should. She took it where she could get it, for the most part, and it never occurred to her to question why the one she drank this morning tasted any differently than the usual beyond trying a new cafe. Even when she began to notice that she was feeling off and some of her thoughts seemed new and not entirely justified, it never entered her mind that she might have been cursed or poisoned - or simply consumed a love potion.

She didn't know exactly why she felt compelled to visit James Memon at work. Objectively, it seemed like a terrible idea. There was no way of knowing how many of his colleagues were also members of the supernatural and it wasn't as if she had any special relationship with the man to merit her appearance, despite her one-time claim of being family. So when the secretary asked why she wished to see Mr. Memon, she said the first thing that popped into her head: "He's been talking to me about a case. He should be expecting me."

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"The Night Council is against the fae," Faolan says, firmly. "Or, more accurately, Gilbert Norrell is against the fae, and he has just secured himself a seat on the Council itself. Together with Vrinak, the pair of them both Daybreak witches, he is hoping to work to abolish the fae from this realm." His jaw tightens. "His words, not mine."

Luckily for Faolan, because of the position he holds as Head of Hillingdon, he doesn't need to admit to being a Guardian to know all of these things. He's been invited to enough gatherings as of late, including the Council River Cruise, that he has plenty of reason to have spoken with Norrell and gained an inside view on the situation.

"As far as recusing myself from Hillingdon is concerned," Faolan continues, his voice hard and firm, especially around her own choice of words, "I should think you can forgive me the one friendship I have made within the Council circle." Because he imagines that's what she's hinting at when she mentions working with them. She couldn't possibly know about him being a Guardian himself... Could she? No, he figures she'd have a much different approach to this whole conversation if so.

She nods, accepting the new information and immediately incorporating it into what she knows already. The more she learns, the more impossible it all seems. She wonders if assassinating Redbright would actually make a difference, if it's even possible. Killing Norrell would likely only martyr him and sway people to his cause; killing Millicent would effectively poke the hornet's nest. Neither of those would be beneficial, but Redbright might be. Depending on the risk.

"It's a conflict of interest." She replies easily, not so stern as he is. Her suggestion was a logical deduction of what might benefit the group as a whole from her perspective. "You see that. If you do choose to ally yourself opposite the Council, the friendship might give other members of Hillingdon pause. There's nothing to guarantee you aren't selling us out to them."

Ringer pauses, as if only just realizing the truth of the words. It's a dangerous position. As much as she wants to trust Faolan more than that - and does, for now, if pressed to choose - it continues to make her nervous that he forms the friendships that he does. His agenda is still a mystery to her.

Faolan has to narrow his eyes somewhat at that. He can't help but feel as though this is somewhat personal. "Because of one friendship, that puts me in the Council's pocket?" he asks. "A friendship that existed even before he was sworn to the Night Council, I might add."

No, he's taking this too personally and he knows it. He forces himself to sit back and think, running a hand over his face and taking in a deep breath. "I appreciate your concern for the faction. It's...admirable. But there's nothing to guarantee that I am selling you out either. Because I'm not," he adds, firmly. "If you're worried about what they might think of me, I'll make sure to keep my private life to myself. But this isn't about factions or who's paying his salary. Look," he continues awkwardly, because this sort of a conversation doesn't come naturally to him, not really, but he's trying to reach some sort of settlement here.

"There are two people in this city total who I would even think to refer to by that word. And one of them has been avoiding me for weeks. So what other choice do I have?"

Ringer's halfway to asking who the other one is before she realizes who he means. Her brows pull together in something like a confused scowl as she thinks about what he's saying and why he might be saying it. Using her as an excuse to justify his relationship with Lancelot isn't exactly winning him any points.

"You're exaggerating," she says finally, finding it easier to look at the logical rather than deal with the emotional. "My concern isn't admirable. It's necessary to my survival. As is a good leader." A beat. "And the right alliances."

She straightens in her chair, sighing a little as she thinks. "I don't know if it's better to support Circle Midnight or try to help eliminate them. Both the Night Council and the fae are a threat to us. The werewolves are the only faction who might work with us instead of using us. They'll try to use us, but we can preempt that."

Another pause before her expression tightens. "You know where to find me if you need me."

'If you need me.' It sounds like a dismissal if ever there was one. It's probably for the best. Faolan may be good at thinking logically to a point, but within his heart of hearts, he's something of a romantic. And the fact that, as something of a friend to him herself, that she doesn't approve of one of the only friends he's managed to find himself in these few long, lonely years of his life. That bothers him. Probably more than it should, but it does. Never would he have thought he would have needed to justify Lancelot to anyone, but there it is, and he's not sure how it should be done. He's not even sure that it can be, frankly. All he does know is that he doesn't want to lose either of them, and that's not a very rational thought to be sitting there making at her just then.

"And you know where my office is," he says, as he moves to stand, although he can't help but adding somewhat self-deprecatingly, perhaps because of the mood he's in, perhaps because the idea that she doesn't consider him very good when he's questioned himself countless times himself just rankling it further. "No one's thrown me out of it yet."

Ringer frowns, not understanding why he stood until her words replay in her mind. She reaches out to take hold of his wrist as she, too, stands, trying to stop him from walking away in such a state. It's a sign of her caring, if ever there was one.

"You said I've been avoiding you. But you know where I live if you needed me." A beat. "You didn't need me."

It's not that she wants or needs to be needed, but her way of explaining what she means. Faolan not specifically seeking her out made it easy for her to avoid him. Until he did, which is the reason they're talking now. Ringer drops her hand from his arm, standing awkwardly next to the table.

"I'm not good at.. this." Being friends. As if evidence of that, she suddenly interrupts her own thought as something else he said strikes her. "When was Lancelot sworn to the Night Council?"

Faolan glances down at her hand on his wrist before up at Ringer herself. "I didn't think you wanted me there," he admits, before her question catches him by surprise. Some of which shows on his face, he's sure. But he answers, of course. Because he does value this friendship, or whatever it is that they have between the pair of them.

"This August," he says, not even needing to consider the date of course, because he'd been sworn in then as well. "Well before I found myself anything important." He still doesn't know how he wound up in charge of Hillingdon. He's still not sure if he's the right man for the job, but by god he's going to do the best he can while he's there, if nothing else.

Ringer doesn't know what to say in response to his remark, so she says nothing at all of it. She didn't want him there and to deny it would be disingenuous. At the same time, she did, and that dichotomy of thought is something she hardly understands in herself and finds hard to explain. Which is why saying nothing of it is easier. They're speaking now and either they'll make amends or not.

"Isn't that more suspicious? That you found power and success after his being instated in the Night Council?" She asks as evenly. Sensing that she's continuing on the same path that might upset him again, she gestures to his chair for him and then sits down herself, continuing in more hushed tones. "I was raised to ask questions. It doesn't mean that I trust you less when I scrutinize your associations."

She pauses, trying to think. "Do you trust the Night Council?"

Faolan knows he has to be careful in how he answers this question. He isn't sure how the curse works exactly, but suppose he were to turn into a statue before her eyes for speaking exactly what was on his mind. No, he has to stay true to his job, but he'll do so while expressing himself as best he can.

"I believe that... They could be better than they are," he replies. "I don't like the way that some of the factions seem to take precedence while others are mere afterthoughts. We're all part of the supernatural community. The Night Council is our Law. Should they not represent us all to the best of their ability?"

He realizes that it's not as straightforward an answer as she might have hoped but, given his situation it's going to have to do. He hopes she'll catch the meaning of his opinions between the lines of his twisting logic and words.

Ringer is nothing if not a master of understanding subtext and nuance in regards to politics. Even if she fails at the nuances of social situations in general. But it doesn't really make her feel better, to see him hedging his attitudes and potentially allying himself — and, by default, their faction — with a Council he doesn't seem to like much and which she despises.

"Why is Lancelot a part of them?" Maybe if she can understand why Lancelot is involved with the Night Council, she'll be able to understand why it doesn't bother Faolan to associate so closely with the corrupt group. Or, perhaps, Faolan chooses to ignore that fault in Lancelot. In which case the question becomes: "And why do you trust him?"

It's an honest question, factual, not an accusation or judgment. The judgment is there, of course, and he knows it. But only in so far as it relates to the Council, not to the man directly.

Faolan can't help but feel as though he's being interrogated, but he supposes that if it will help... He can't complain so long as he gets such an outcome as that.

"Lancelot is a member of the Guardians because he believes in helping people. Making a difference. He's a Police Community Support Officer -- you've met the man. You know how damned earnest he is." He shrugs slightly, looking down at his feet for a moment. "I don't think he really knew what he was getting himself into at the time." But that's not what she's asking him. What else.

He looks back up at her. Why does he trust him? "Why does anyone trust someone?" he asks her. "Why do you trust me? Assuming you do, of course." It's possible she doesn't. Much as though it pains him to force himself to think about.

Ringers listens. She nods slowly, as Faolan mentions the unexpected results of joining the Night Council, as if it wasn't apparent in the first place, as if the information is supposed to make her feel better about Faolan's indirect affiliation with them. Though, she supposes, it does make her understand better why Lancelot might be involved. Ignorance and naivety had certainly been the cause of worse choices.

After he finishes, her brow creases. She told him she trusts him, didn't she? Maybe not in those exact words. "I trust you because you seem honest and sincere. Our general moral outlines often overlap. You're the leader of my so-called Clan. Thus far, you haven't done anything to prove you aren't worth trusting. Other than putting your trust in someone who may not be trustworthy."

Faolan tries not to think too hard about some of her reasoning given. He is sincere at least. And he's as honest as he can be, given the circumstances. "I trust him for much the same reasons," he says. "He is honest and good. He has been kind to me, gone above and beyond the requirement of any mere acquaintance. And he has put his trust in me."

He inclines his head towards her slightly. "I do not see eye to eye with him on all things, but I trust him to respect my decisions, and I trust him to respect our friendship. Separate from our faction alliances. No faith in an individual is a guarantee," he points out. "But good people tend to do the right thing, in the end. And I believe that he is that, if nothing else."

"Okay," she replies, a confirmation of acceptance if not entirely agreement. "Be a good leader. Don't give them reason to doubt you."

As if it's the easiest thing in the world. It's not and she knows it. She wants to see him try. Ringer wants to see Hillingdon do something more than dwell in the outskirts made of outcasts. They can be- they are so much better than that. Faolan has the chance to make it happen. If he makes the right choices, takes the initiative to make action happen instead of always being responsive. She believes he can.

Faolan nods slightly, relaxing slightly as she seems to have let this one go at least, but not relaxing completely. He's got a lot of work on his hands and he knows it.

"I'll do my best," he replies. And it's all that he can do in the end, really.

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To hide away, hide away

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