Faolan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reticence) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2016-02-07 02:26 pm
reticence) wrote in undergrounds2016-02-07 02:26 pm
Entry tags:
early february catch-all
I. WESTMINSTER - Closed to Night Council
Faolan knows that the headaches Lancelot had had the month before were not due to any earthly illness, but rather the further development of his abilities. Still, as he pops his second course of painkillers that day, he can't help but but feel like he'd caught it. Well, not exactly. It isn't that his head hurts, exactly. But he feels hot. Dizzy. It comes in spells, which illnesses generally do, and for the most part Faolan is sticking to his desk.
Which, luckily enough for him, is easy to do if you volunteer for the desk work on this purge business. The majority of the knocking down doors and raiding homes has calmed and settled into the occasional report here and there, which suits Faolan just fine. Although he hadn't had much of a choice in the matter, he hadn't liked it one bit. It also meant that there was a lot of background paperwork to catch up on, both keeping track of the seized items and their inventorying, as well as everything that had fallen to the wayside when their priorities had been elsewhere.
Still, Faolan can't seem to keep his eyes focused. He sits forward and puts his head in his hands for a moment, leaning his elbows on the edge of the desk. If he went home early, would anyone notice? Does he need special permission for that sort of thing, he wonders to himself. Having hardly ever taken a sickday in his life, especially not since he'd become a Guardian, he hasn't the slightest idea.
II. HILLINGDON - Closed to Hillingdon
Hillingdon House can be awkward at times, for the fact that it had at one point been a real house. As such, it's fitted much the same as an older mansion would be, even if not quite in the same way. Kitchen, library, sitting room, dining room, living room, the last three of which double as larger meeting rooms, with the upper floor containing offices, smaller meeting rooms, and yes, one or two rooms that have kept their function as a bedroom. It's odd, unique, and sometimes it works well for what you want to do there, sometimes less so.
Right now, seated on one of the rigid-backed sofas in the sitting room, in front of an actual fire in the actual fireplace, Faolan has very little regret about the fact that it had been a house at one point at all. He's even gone so far as to search out a slightly pilled old throw from one of the bedrooms upstairs, which he's huddled himself under in an attempt to regulate something of his temperature. He's feeling better now that he's sitting here in front of the fire with a coffee perched on his knee, having created himself a home away from home of sorts, but he's got a feeling that it's not going to last. That's the trouble with being ill, after all. As long as you're not doing anything, you're fine. He might actually be able to concentrate on some of the reports he has upstairs at this rate, but the trouble is that that's where he's left them...
III. ANYWHERE - OPEN
Despite feeling lightheaded and feverish, that hasn't kept Faolan from making appearances at his regular cafe, as he is known to do in the course of any regular week. To the average onlooker, there might not even seem to be anything wrong, as he makes his order and parks himself in the back corner of the cafe itself with a regular coffee and a bowl of soup. To those who do see Faolan on a regular basis, however, he might seem sluggish. He certainly feels that way, as if he's navigating the world through varying levels of fog that he can't seem to shake no matter what different medicines he tries. And for another thing, he's ordered soup, rather than his regular heaping of god knows what that he would happily help himself to.
He keeps his jacket on, but his body can't quite seem to decide whether it's too hot or too cold or what at odd intervals, and it's oddly disconcerting. He knows that if he really is this ill, he probably shouldn't be walking around, frequenting cafes as he is. But if it were contagious, he would have shaken it by now, shouldn't he have? As the first few weeks of February drag on, and Faolan's symptoms remain the same, he starts to wonder. And he starts to get really tired of soup.
IV. LANCELOT'S FLAT - Closed to Lancelot
Faolan knows that he probably shouldn't be hiding how awful he feels from the other man, considering how he'd reprimanded Lancelot himself for much of the same thing. But this is different, isn't it? Well. Sort of. He's been trying to take care of himself, really he is. Perhaps better than he would normally, even. But he can't quite seem to shake whatever this is. And at least he hasn't holed himself up in his own flat, waiting for it all to pass, yeah? Even if that means that he's been sticking to Lancelot's a bit more than he might otherwise have done. Hoping that the steady meals and more regular hours might have something of an affect.
Not that it does, really. Despite it all, he still feels the same. Worse, these days, maybe. He can't really tell, it comes in waves, and seems to be worse when he actually lets himself stop and take a breather, ironically enough. The few chances Lancelot allowed him to sleep in. The quiet moments, just sitting with the other man together at the table. He's honestly amazed that Lancelot hasn't noticed or if he has, hasn't said anything yet, at the fact that he's begun to cling to him and this place like his home away from home, aside from Hillingdon house that is. And moreover, he's starting to wonder if it might be connected to...
No, that's crazy. And impossible. Still, as he makes his way back from Hillingdon House that evening and rings the bell (because despite the fact that he's been staying there, he's still not about to just let himself in), he can't help noticing that, as he hears Lancelot's feet padding toward the door, his blood almost seems to heat in reaction to it. ...god, he must be losing his mind, with thoughts like that, he thinks to himself, as he runs a hand over his face and through his hair and tries to cool down.
(ooc note: as stated, this is really only for early february, everything up until feb 14? that should still be long enough to catch working with the new guardians and everyone else besides, though! c: )
Faolan knows that the headaches Lancelot had had the month before were not due to any earthly illness, but rather the further development of his abilities. Still, as he pops his second course of painkillers that day, he can't help but but feel like he'd caught it. Well, not exactly. It isn't that his head hurts, exactly. But he feels hot. Dizzy. It comes in spells, which illnesses generally do, and for the most part Faolan is sticking to his desk.
Which, luckily enough for him, is easy to do if you volunteer for the desk work on this purge business. The majority of the knocking down doors and raiding homes has calmed and settled into the occasional report here and there, which suits Faolan just fine. Although he hadn't had much of a choice in the matter, he hadn't liked it one bit. It also meant that there was a lot of background paperwork to catch up on, both keeping track of the seized items and their inventorying, as well as everything that had fallen to the wayside when their priorities had been elsewhere.
Still, Faolan can't seem to keep his eyes focused. He sits forward and puts his head in his hands for a moment, leaning his elbows on the edge of the desk. If he went home early, would anyone notice? Does he need special permission for that sort of thing, he wonders to himself. Having hardly ever taken a sickday in his life, especially not since he'd become a Guardian, he hasn't the slightest idea.
II. HILLINGDON - Closed to Hillingdon
Hillingdon House can be awkward at times, for the fact that it had at one point been a real house. As such, it's fitted much the same as an older mansion would be, even if not quite in the same way. Kitchen, library, sitting room, dining room, living room, the last three of which double as larger meeting rooms, with the upper floor containing offices, smaller meeting rooms, and yes, one or two rooms that have kept their function as a bedroom. It's odd, unique, and sometimes it works well for what you want to do there, sometimes less so.
Right now, seated on one of the rigid-backed sofas in the sitting room, in front of an actual fire in the actual fireplace, Faolan has very little regret about the fact that it had been a house at one point at all. He's even gone so far as to search out a slightly pilled old throw from one of the bedrooms upstairs, which he's huddled himself under in an attempt to regulate something of his temperature. He's feeling better now that he's sitting here in front of the fire with a coffee perched on his knee, having created himself a home away from home of sorts, but he's got a feeling that it's not going to last. That's the trouble with being ill, after all. As long as you're not doing anything, you're fine. He might actually be able to concentrate on some of the reports he has upstairs at this rate, but the trouble is that that's where he's left them...
III. ANYWHERE - OPEN
Despite feeling lightheaded and feverish, that hasn't kept Faolan from making appearances at his regular cafe, as he is known to do in the course of any regular week. To the average onlooker, there might not even seem to be anything wrong, as he makes his order and parks himself in the back corner of the cafe itself with a regular coffee and a bowl of soup. To those who do see Faolan on a regular basis, however, he might seem sluggish. He certainly feels that way, as if he's navigating the world through varying levels of fog that he can't seem to shake no matter what different medicines he tries. And for another thing, he's ordered soup, rather than his regular heaping of god knows what that he would happily help himself to.
He keeps his jacket on, but his body can't quite seem to decide whether it's too hot or too cold or what at odd intervals, and it's oddly disconcerting. He knows that if he really is this ill, he probably shouldn't be walking around, frequenting cafes as he is. But if it were contagious, he would have shaken it by now, shouldn't he have? As the first few weeks of February drag on, and Faolan's symptoms remain the same, he starts to wonder. And he starts to get really tired of soup.
IV. LANCELOT'S FLAT - Closed to Lancelot
Faolan knows that he probably shouldn't be hiding how awful he feels from the other man, considering how he'd reprimanded Lancelot himself for much of the same thing. But this is different, isn't it? Well. Sort of. He's been trying to take care of himself, really he is. Perhaps better than he would normally, even. But he can't quite seem to shake whatever this is. And at least he hasn't holed himself up in his own flat, waiting for it all to pass, yeah? Even if that means that he's been sticking to Lancelot's a bit more than he might otherwise have done. Hoping that the steady meals and more regular hours might have something of an affect.
Not that it does, really. Despite it all, he still feels the same. Worse, these days, maybe. He can't really tell, it comes in waves, and seems to be worse when he actually lets himself stop and take a breather, ironically enough. The few chances Lancelot allowed him to sleep in. The quiet moments, just sitting with the other man together at the table. He's honestly amazed that Lancelot hasn't noticed or if he has, hasn't said anything yet, at the fact that he's begun to cling to him and this place like his home away from home, aside from Hillingdon house that is. And moreover, he's starting to wonder if it might be connected to...
No, that's crazy. And impossible. Still, as he makes his way back from Hillingdon House that evening and rings the bell (because despite the fact that he's been staying there, he's still not about to just let himself in), he can't help noticing that, as he hears Lancelot's feet padding toward the door, his blood almost seems to heat in reaction to it. ...god, he must be losing his mind, with thoughts like that, he thinks to himself, as he runs a hand over his face and through his hair and tries to cool down.
(ooc note: as stated, this is really only for early february, everything up until feb 14? that should still be long enough to catch working with the new guardians and everyone else besides, though! c: )
no subject
"If you're worried, I seriously doubt that it's contagious at this point. I'm not sure that there's anything even wrong." He shrugs slightly, turning his gaze back to the fire himself. "A friend of mine seems to think it's my body's way of telling me that I need to take better care of myself." And Lancelot is right, to some extent for that matter. But he's taken worse care of himself before than this and been fine. Maybe he's just getting older and he can't pull the same shit as he used to.
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"We all get sick once in a while, despite anything we do to avoid it."
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"Maybe," Faolan confirms with a shrug. He isn't about to speak up and say that he isn't sure that this is a physical malady. That would sound paranoid and even though Arthur of course lives in the same world of metaphysical monsters that Faolan does... He really doesn't want to make himself sound like he might be jumping at shadows. So instead he turns the conversation away from himself. "Anyway, enough about that. What brings you to Hillingdon House today then?"
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"Checking to see if any new bounties are up," he says in response to Faolan's question. "It's been a bit slow lately."
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He makes a soft noise under his breath, nodding slightly. The bounties had been a bit dry lately. Faolan was only just managing to get by on his Guardian's salary himself. It makes him realize he has absolutely no idea what the other man does with his time outside of Hillingdon, for that matter. "Found anything good?" he asks, wondering if there's a way to ease into that conversation or whether he's better off waiting instead.
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After a beat of silence, he raises an eyebrow at Faolan. "Is there a reason you're not at home right now? I'm sure the clan can get by without you for a day."
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Is he serious? It's hard to tell, with Faolan, especially when he gets to be like this. There's only so much hanging around Lancelot's flat he can do before he feels like he's overstaying his welcome as well, regardless as to how generous the other man seems to be.
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