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)
undergrounds2016-02-20 12:45 pm
knightscode) wrote in undergrounds2016-02-20 12:45 pm
Entry tags:
MEMORIES [ ACTIVE / OPEN ]
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.
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.
no subject
Poor Faolan. Siobhan isn't sure how to comfort him, and she doesn't like knowing that most likely she plain can't.
Maybe she can at least sort out this tea situation for him, if she tries hard enough.
"I trust you, love. Might be a bit more careful around you than usual, but I trust you. How'd you end up drinking the tea?"
no subject
"It's all right," he assures Faolan, "we both trust you."
He reaches out and squeezes Faolan's shoulder, drops the hand to rub at his arm before turning to check the coffee. Faolan can answer the questions himself, after all, he isn't a child and Lancelot refuses to speak for him.
no subject
His gaze Lancelot's movements to the coffee despite himself, even as he answers the question asked. "I had a headache," he says, honestly. "I thought that tea might help. Maybe I'd had too much coffee already. There was some just out in the kitchen here. I didn't even question it," he continues, his voice growing slightly more bitter as he does. As though he's angry with himself for the mistake -- and in some ways, he is.
no subject
"So someone planted it here. Any reason to suspect it might be a fae thing?"
She doesn't like to make assumptions but the whole thing does kind of have a fae sort of touch to it.
no subject
He tugs out some cups and begins to pour out the coffee for them, handing out the mugs and sliding the sugar and milk toward Siobhan. If memory serves she'll want to drown hers in the stuff.
"It's not your fault," he adds, lifting his own coffee to take a sip as he stops beside Faolan. Trying to keep himself casually in the other man's personal space in the vague hope it'll keep him calm. "It isn't as if you could have known they hit this place too."
no subject
"I'm never going to drink another cup of tea again," Faolan grumbles, raising his coffee to take a small sip of it, even though he knows the liquid is still too hot for him to really drink from yet. He takes a moment to collect himself, sticking to Lancelot's side, before he hazards a question himself. "If they planted it here, it was certainly targeting the council. And as far as enemies of the council are concerned, the obvious signs would point to either the fae or Circle midnight." He raises an eyebrow at the pair of them in turn.
no subject
No, she doesn't mean that it was clumsily done, she means that there was an ugly intent to it. She doesn't understand why anyone would want to do such a thing, plant misery inside people. As if there isn't enough suffering in the world as it is.
"I can probably cook something up that'll negate it."
She's less sure that she can figure out who did it.
no subject
"Thank you," Lancelot says, "anything would help. It isn't just Faolan, after all. There are plenty of people who I'm sure would appreciate such a thing. Is there anything you need? Forgive me, obviously I am not exactly stocked for doing magic."
no subject
Of course, that begs the question of what he'll be doing in the meanwhile. What if they want him out of the way. No, on second thought, he should stick around. He should watch what they do. How dare Lancelot turn to someone else like this, after all, how dare he bring in a woman to help them -- Faolan doesn't know how much they've been seeing each other behind his back after all, he doesn't know what they could have been up to when he wasn't watching, when he wasn't around, when he didn't know. How can he possibly let her get away with it, how can he --
"How soon can you fix this?" he asks, abruptly, and there's a tightness in his voice, in his expression that may or may not suggest that he's only just holding on to himself.
no subject
She digs around in her bag and takes out what looks like small boxes with pieces of fabric carefully folded around them. It's her little stash of dried herbs, she's running low on a few things but hopefully she can improvise something together that can help Faolan here.
"Dunno if I can fix it at all. Whoever did this might be better than me."
She's hardly the most powerful witch around, and she knows it.
no subject
It feels rather an apt comparison, with the way he's behaving.
"If -- there's anything you need, anything we can do to help..."
Then, obviously, Lancelot will do so. Faolan is his friend, and an important one at that. His brow furrows in soft concern as he studies Siobhan, then glances around at Faolan and flickers a smile at him.
"Same to you, of course."
no subject
He glances aside at the other man at the offer of help. If there's anything they can do to help him...? He can't even begin to think. Then again, he's having a hard time thinking straight in general. "The biggest help would be to feel in control of myself again," Faolan admits, with a shrug. "Beyond that... I don't know. Hope?" He glances between the pair of them. "It helps to know that you still trust me. Enough not to have locked me up for any of this yet, anyway."