MEMORIES [ ACTIVE / OPEN ]

[knightscode]

i ) IGNORE THE SLANDER

It's been a complicated month for Lance. A complicated new year, really. Recovering from being in jail and having a doppelgänger is easier said than done. There had been apologies to write, and even then he had to work out who needed apologising to.

That, and his headaches had flourished into this odd ability to sense things. It would be far more useful, he thinks, if he knew what on earth it was that he could sense. Most of the time it just clued him in that something (or someone) was supernatural. Most of the time it just made his head hurt.

Still, he needed to learn to make use of it. The same as the magic the Night Council gave him, really, it was all things he was unpractised at. All new and peculiar. So it is that he decides to combine the two goals: he begins February by making his rounds. Redbright, the covens, people he knows. Generally apologising and then, on the off chance they know something, asking what they know about sensing magic. Can they sense it? What does it feel like to them? How do they tell it all apart?

When all else fails he sits and flicks through books in the library at Redbright, eyes glazing a little as he tries to take it all in.

ii ) DO YOU DRINK TEA

It's one of the more odd Night Council investigations that he's been a part of, but the more he thinks about it the more he wonders why he's surprised. It may sound like the plot of a children's tale, love potions, but children's stories about magic have to come from somewhere.

He's set up an investigation room in Westminster, trying to track where all the reports are coming from. See if there's some pattern to it all, something that might help them see an obvious target. At the moment, though, it appears relatively random. The act has a peculiarly prankish feel to it, however, so perhaps he is looking for something that doesn't exist. Perhaps there is no pattern, and it's simply a random act of childish 'fun'. Lancelot sighs, spends a few more hours leafing through reports before deciding to hit the streets to find help.

Someone must know something, have seen something, or have drunk some of the tea and kept some.

Although, of course, raising such a line of conversation is a little awkward.

iii ) I'VE GOT A BAD IDEA

Lancelot has been dwelling on this for a while, the problem of his missing memories. They've been unlocked in drips, usually by some less than comfortable encounter that chipped away at the block, but up until now he'd been content to leave it at that. After all, he could not be sure what these memories might reveal. What might be hidden from him. It may be nothing serious, may be nothing bad -- but equally it could be something he would rather had stayed forgotten.

Now, though, now things are different. With his magic slowly seeming to come to life he has the distant hope that... his memories might help him make sense of everything. That if he were to unlock them he might understand the world around them, and himself, a lot better.

So Lancelot goes looking -- for witches, vampires, fae. For situations that might trigger a memory, perhaps, or people who might know how to bring down the walls preventing him from remembering. He walks into trouble on the off chance something might happen. Nine times out of ten, nothing much does. Other than a fight breaking out and him ending up gaining a few bruises.

It's a bad idea. He knows it's a bad idea. Yet what's the worst that could happen?

He can think of plenty.

Comments

bad ideas!

[falsify]

As it happens, it's an altercation between a witch and a fae that Lancelot seems to have run into. Tensions have been high for the past few months and scuffles are to kind of to be expected really. Neither of the involved parties seem to be that strong, and it's really kind of a sad display on both sides.

Eames probably arrives at roughly the same time as Lancelot to break it up, the commanding tone he takes with the fae and the way they stop when told speaking a lot for this later 'promotion' of his.

He's a little too focused on making sure random witches don't end up dead and ruin everything he's been working on to pay much attention to the feel of Seelie magic however.

[knightscode]

Lancelot is crouched beside the girl, talking quietly but firmly to her --you'll be fine, please, just head back. Here, take this. I understand, but this could have been a lot worse-- until eventually she seems to relent and push to her feet. She shoots Eames and the other fae a last glance before scurrying off into the shadows, and its a that point that Lancelot gets a good look on him.

The memory is hazy, but it's there. Walking past the stalls at the festival, looking for something for Lily. He thinks this was the man. He hadn't --

The feel of Eames' magic hits him, prickling his skin like a rush of cold air and sending a shiver through him. Before, at the festival, he hadn't the faintest idea what Eames was. Now, as he collects himself, he thinks he recognises something in the strains of the magic that makes Eames being here at all make a lot more sense. Makes the way the fae had reacted to him make a lot more sense.

"Hello again," he begins softly, and pushes his hands into his pockets -- tries to keep his body language relaxed even though his heart is still racing a little from trying to break up the fight. "Thank you. For helping."

[falsify]

He's having a similar conversation with the fae-- well. Similar is a strong word. Mostly he's telling them to learn some self-control before they fuck up everything for everyone, but they seem to heed his words all the same, throwing their hands up in frustration before they leave.

It's then that he turns to face the other man, smiling in recognition. "Lancelot, was it?" He asks as though he can't remember for certain. The magic on him is stronger than he remembers; perhaps he's learned something of what he is? Learned to use it, maybe? Eames gives him a considering look, thinking about all this before he asks, "no dog today?"

That's the important question.

[knightscode]

He lets out a huff of amusement at that, drops his eyes and slides his hands into his pockets as he shrugs.

"It's not exactly the best place to walk a dog," he says, and looks up again hesitantly. "Probably not the best place for me to walk either, but -- here I am."

And here Eames is, for whatever reason. It's a peculiar sort of coincidence, but then again London does always end up feeling smaller than you'd expect. However many people there are in it you always seem to end up running into someone you know.

[falsify]

"No, I guess not." Eames looks around the area thoughtfully. It's not as bad as it was a month ago, but tempers are still running hot, and he looks back to Lancelot with a wry smile. Whatever it is he does, he's certainly more knowledgeable than when they first met. "One might wonder if you weren't looking for trouble on purpose."

[knightscode]

"Maybe I was," he answers lightly, something teasing in it as his lips quirk up again. "I need a little exercise, keep my on my toes."

For a moment he studies Eames curiously, as if he can read what he is the same way he'd read a page of a newspaper, then he tilts his head.

"Is it your magic I can feel? I'm a little new to this, forgive me if that's rude. I couldn't tell, before, obviously."

Something that's interesting, in retrospect. Why had Eames been prowling around the festival to begin with? Bored? Sizing up everyone present there? Genuinely curious? It was something of a ceremony for the witches, but he supposes he doesn't know enough (or remember enough) to know if it is relevant to fae in the same way.

[falsify]

"Probably," Eames says lightly. There's no point skirting around the issue; if he can sense magic now, then he'd pick up on Eames' sooner or later. Though it's a curious thing, and he can't help but wonder what it is that has Lancelot developing his magic all of a sudden.

"New talent?" He asks, even though the answer is obviously yes.

[knightscode]

He gives a non-committal hum at that, shrugs.

"Maybe? That's a strange answer, I suppose, forgive me -- but things are a little... complicated. I've had parts of myself locked away a while now, so it's hard to know if these are things coming back that I've had before or... genuinely new."

Which, perhaps, triggers more questions than answers -- and the realisation makes Lancelot drop his eyes a little shyly.

"It's something about me, I find, things are never as easy as they perhaps should be. I find myself prone to complications."

[falsify]

"That seems to be the case for a lot of people." Eames smiles-- he's curious, but not about to push for more than Lancelot is comfortable sharing. Though he does hope he can make the man feel comfortable sharing more than he would otherwise. It's not hard to guess though, between the Seelie magic on him and the hidden parts of himself. He probably had the misfortune of being a cute child who caught someone's eye, spirited away and treated wonderfully until they got bored.

But his court is the cruel one. Okay.

He gestures for Lancelot to follow, walking aimlessly rather than standing about on the street waiting for some other person to start a fight. "Locked away, you said?"

[knightscode]

He nods slightly, falls into step with Eames and shoves his hands into his pockets -- body language closing off a little because... Well, he doesn't know. It's something awkward he can't quite parse, not knowing truly what you are or why you are what you are. Having been something and not understanding what it was. Having been... thrown out? Rejected? He doesn't even know why he was sent back here, why his memories were wiped. That in and of itself is faintly embarrassing to admit. Lancelot doesn't like talking about himself at the best of times, talking about himself like this is somehow even more strange.

"You can sense what I am, I assume?" he prompts, "since I can sense you, I'll assume it's mutual."

[falsify]

"I can sense the magic on you, and I can tell you it comes from the Seelie court." That much he offers for free. He doesn't know if that's something Lancelot knows already, or what that means to him. His reaction should hopefully tell him a lot.

Eames is quiet for a moment or two, waiting and watching for him to process the information before he inquires further, "you don't remember any of it?"

[knightscode]

If he's surprised it certainly doesn't show, Lancelot keeps walking -- eyes dropped down again as he considers how much to say.

"Some of it," he offers finally. "It comes back to me in patches. Things jog my memory here and there. The sight of something, being chased by something, the feel of magic in a place. I suppose there is only so much the... spell, I assume it was, can hold back once I began to come into contact with magic again. It's impressive enough I went over 20 years without it breaking, at least to me."

He supposes others might disagree. Fae are long lived, after all, 20 years is nothing to them.

"I remember the night I was taken, if... vaguely. I was only 5, maybe 6 years old, so memories that long ago are... patchy, more like disjointed scenes. I didn't understand at that time, but I think it was a territory battle. Between who I'm not sure, but I remember... what I thought were big dogs. A lot of blood. My parents told me to hide, and by the time I worked up the courage to come out there was... nobody else left. Aside from, of course, a fae."

Lancelot's lips flick up in a faint, cynical sort of smile -- since he's fairly sure Eames can work out what happened there. A traumatised, small child is an easy enough thing to persuade away.

[falsify]

Ah. A freshly orphaned child taken by a fae, makes sense. It's hardly an unusual story, less common these days than it used to be, but still far from rare. Eames nods, considering this for a moment - if Lancelot remembers that, surely it's only a matter of time before he starts to remember more. The fae that took him, perhaps?

"And you don't remember your time in the court?"

[knightscode]

"I remember... images, a sense of some things. It was... a long time ago, I'm not so sure how much I should remember even if the block fell away. I was... young, after all."

How much would be important to a child then? How much would his mind retain after having it sealed away as long as it had been? Perhaps his memories will never return, not any more than they have. Perhaps this is simply how his life will be. Truth be told, it is hardly as if he is struggling this way.

[falsify]

"It was probably mostly feasts and dances," Eames says after a moment's thought on it. That's his understanding of what the Seelie do with their time, and Lancelot doesn't seem too cut up about it either way.

"Is this--" he gestures vaguely to Lancelot, implying his newfound senses, "why you're out looking for trouble?"

[knightscode]

Lancelot looks a little abashed at that, like a child caught in the act of doing something bad.

"I was hoping it might jog something," he admits. "Such things have worked before... although, admittedly, I was not looking at the time -- it was all quite by accident."

It's what he gets for helping Faolan that first time, suddenly being chased down by a werewolf and then having rather painful flashbacks to the last time he saw one. The moral of this story is don't help Faolan, it always ends badly.