undergrounds | [OPEN] APRIL CATCH-ALL!

Entry tags:

[OPEN] APRIL CATCH-ALL!

A. TROUBLE AHEAD [CLOSED TO LANCELOT]
Faolan isn't quite sure what to think when he first hears the news. Him? Nominated for a position on the Night Council? It's bad enough that he's somehow found himself Head of Hillingdon and Guardian both, but now this? Should he try for it, now that he's been nominated for it? Does he even want it? He could do a hell of a lot of good on the inside like that, and part of him understands that it's a way to get out of being a Guardian and the dangers involved in walking that line. But a seat on the Council...

He stew on the news on his own for about a day before he can't take it anymore. Locking up his office at Hillingdon House he pulls out his mobile as he heads out the door towards the station, Lancelot's number dialed even before he knows what he's doing. "Hey," he says, as Lancelot answers the phone. "Are you home?"

B. ON THE CAMPAIGN
Faolan doesn't really know whether he wants the position or not. He's got enough on his plate as it is, without complicating matters further with a position on the Night Council. But he has no qualms speaking to people about the idea of it, if they have any thoughts to share on the matter. A candidate from Hillingdon, that's nearly unheard of, considering the faction's less than political slant. Although it's been growing more so, as of late.

He makes sure that he's available to speak at Hillingdon House, and when the idea that he should advocate for himself in the position comes up, he's not quite sure what to do about it. Though it occurs to him that while he may not want the position, it's a good opportunity to spread his ideas about. Carefully. He has to make sure he's not breaking any Council or Guardian rules while he's doing so. But a bit of simple expression of his opinion never hurt anyone. Right?

And so he makes himself available around the Council building, in Night Council Territories, and in Redbright territories as well. Just sitting himself down at a table in a cafe, sometimes grabbing a sandwich but more often than not just a coffee. And being there to talk. About whatever they'd like. His position on his belief in equality for all branches of the supernatural on the Underground, perhaps? Although nothing's stopping anyone from sitting down to chat about anything else. His face has suddenly become a lot more well-known, for better or worse, and Faolan's going to do his best to make use of that while he can.

C. LIES AND SLANDER
He should have known it was only a matter of time before someone started slinging his name through the mud. And he should have known that it would be Gilbert Norrell doing the mudslinging. What with the position he'd taken against him in the latest territory dispute and his own personal stance on the matter of equality for all. Including the fae, a hot button item as far as Norrell is concerned.

The flier he's just been handed by some unknowing volunteer is much the same as any other political flier might be. No doubt the poor kid didn't even know who he'd been handing it to. But it's what it says that has Faolan growling at anyone who dares look at him as he makes his way down the street. There sports on the front of it a large photograph, caught at some function or another, god knows who took it or where, of Faolan standing guard behind the Council Members, Sylvia Redbright and Gilbert Norrell featured prominently in the foreground but it's clearly Faolan in the photograph. Below it reads:

FAOLAN O'NEILL: DISOBEYED HIS SUPERIORS TO SUPPORT THE FAE. WOULD YOU GIVE A GUARDIAN LIKE THAT MORE POWER???

He'd been so careful. He'd jumped through hoops to keep his position with the Night Council a secret. But the story is out now. God knows how many other fliers have been printed up. God knows what other things they say about him. By the time he reaches Hillingdon House he's in the blackest of moods, shutting himself in his office and hiding away from the world as best he can. But he can't hide forever. People at Hillingdon will be able to find him. And people out and about now too for that matter...

D. GOING SHOPPING
He needs something to take his mind off of all of this political business, and the one thing he can think of is the fact that he knows that Lancelot's birthday is coming up. At least, he's fairly certain that it's coming up. He's got a pretty good handle that it's in May at least, although the exact date he's a bit hazy on. The 5th stands out most prominently in his mind, but he'll need confirmation on that for certain before he starts making any plans. But he'll need to make plans. And he'll need to get the other man something. Something good. Something to make up for this mess that he's put him through, time and time again. Better than a bottle of wine, or a dog toy. Certainly better than the Monkey's Paw, what with that and the decapitated head he's sure Lancelot's had enough of dismembered body parts in boxes for a while yet.

He finds himself standing staring into the window of a pet shop one afternoon, wondering if maybe the secret to the other man's heart really is through his furry friend, and how lame a gift it would be to repeat a gift he's already done, knowing at least that it would be appreciated. But Lancelot had bought him a coffee machine. No, he's going to have to do much better than that.

E. WILDCARD
What it says on the tin! Want to do something that I haven't written a prompt for! Either run it by me first if you like or just GO FOR IT!! c:

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Faolan pauses for a moment, puzzled slightly by the thought of it. Helping bathe Lily? Well, he's never bathed a dog, but he supposes that it would be easier with help? Especially given the tone the other man is giving him.

"I could help," he offers, off-handed. "Might as well make myself useful or something. I'm sorry to drop in on your plans..." He just doesn't know what he's doing, and he wishes he had some guidance. Barring that, he would welcome some advice at least. And Lancelot always seems to be able to keep a level head, no matter what he's faced with. He should have some decent thoughts on the matter. Shouldn't he...?

"I'm just leaving now from Hillingdon," he says, to give the other man a reference on timing and when to expect him.

"Send me a text when you're walking distance? I'm going to try and brush some of the worst of this out before I get her more wet, so I'll be in the back garden -- might not hear you knock."

'The worst of this,' of course, being a clue to what Faolan might be letting himself in for.

"Sure," Faolan responds absentmindedly. Lancelot's sending him all sorts of clues as to what he's getting himself into when he arrives, but his mind is a bit otherwise preoccupied. On the election, on the nomination, on what his options are and the consequences of each choice. "See you in a while."

Faolan pretty much sleepwalks the rest of the way to the train and off of it again, sending the other man a text when he's about five minutes out and making a leisurely pace the rest of the way there. It's as he's approaching the other man's front door that he thinks he could have brought something, or offered to bring something, but it's too late now. He pulls out his phone to send another text if necessary.

When Faolan checks his phone there will be another message waiting for him, one that is simply a photo of a dog that used to be white. Lancelot himself is moving about inside cleaning his hands, and when he opens the door he's still drying them off with a cloth. He's dressed down in faded and worn through jeans, a worn out t-shirt already a little flecked with dirt.

"Hi!" he says simply, "please, come in. Would you like a drink? Before I start making a mess of you, that is."

Edited 2016-04-17 22:07 (UTC)

Faolan does a double-take at the photograph the other man had sent. Is that really Lily? What had they been doing, to get her so dirty as that? It hadn't been especially wet that afternoon -- had Lancelot gotten it in his head to let her help with some gardening, perhaps, he wonders, as he looks at the other man as he opens the door and spots him dressed down and flecked with dirt as well.

"Ah, thanks," Faolan says, stepping inside the other man's flat -- a place that is quickly becoming, if not already done so, a second home to him, of sorts. "Please. Dare I ask? About the mud?" he says, gesturing to the spots on Lancelot's shirt and wondering at the suspiciously absent dog.

"We went for a walk," he says simply, "and she she had an adventure. Coffee? Fruit juice? I've still got some coke, I think, but it hasn't been in the fridge..."

He shoves the door so it swings closed and pads around into the kitchen, begins rummaging in a cupboard and finds a bottle to stick in the fridge -- either for later or just for a few minutes, or just in case. Lily, for the moment, is nowhere to be seen. She is in muddy dog exile.

Faolan raises his eyebrows at the explanation -- 'an adventure' -- but doesn't push it. Whatever sort of an adventure she'd had, it had obviously made quite the mess, from the photograph at least. And from the fact that she's nowhere to be seen in the other man's flat.

"Coffee'll be fine for now," he says, even though it will probably be his fourth or so for the day. Ah, well. He'll save a harder drink for later. When he doesn't have to think too hard about whatever point it is that he's trying to make. "I'm sorry to drop in like this. At least I called this time," he says, sheepishly. "And you'll have an extra set of hands for her, yeah?"

"That will be appreciated, helps holding doors and restraining wet dog enthusiasm. She's outside at the moment, save her tracking dirt everywhere."

He sets a mug under the coffee machine and hits a button to begin it grinding, gestures with his other hand in the vague direction of the garden. Through the glass Lily is staring in intently, eyes flicking between the two of them. Every so often she paces a few steps around but then comes right back to fix them with her big dark eyes. She can come in soon, yes? She wants to be inside with them! She must be!

Faolan glances in the direction that Lancelot has gestured, to spot her staring through the glass at them, looking just as bedraggled as she had in the photograph he'd sent. He quirks a smile at her, Hello Lily, before glancing back at Lancelot himself.

"I'm amazed you got her to stay out there without you," he comments. "How is she with getting a bath, by the way?" he has to ask. What exactly is he getting himself into?

"She doesn't hate it," Lancelot supplies, "but she doesn't quite understand it isn't a fun game. Samoyed fur is very good at staying waterproof too, so it takes a while to get her properly wet. Then she shrinks to about half the size."

Lily wags her tail enthusiastically when Faolan smiles at her. Hello, Faolan! Hello! Are you going to come out? Or let her in? She hopes so! She bounces slightly on the spot, clearly anticipating that this eye contact means something will happen soon.

Faolan quirks another smile at her antics before turning back to the other man, lest he be accidentally riling her up. Which, as amusing as it is to watch her bounce around out there, he really shouldn't be doing. Especially not if they're supposed to get her to behave in a closely confined space, such as Lancelot's bathroom.

"The amazing shrinkable dog, huh?" he says, shaking his head. "Alright. I help you with her, and you feed me for the evening. A fair trade?" He isn't mentioning what he's come here to talk to him about, the advice he needs. As though if he ignores it for long enough it'll go away. But he knows it won't, and he knows Lancelot's the only person he trusts with anything close to the truth, and his real thoughts on the matter. It just doesn't flow very well into a conversation, especially when he'd rather he didn't have to have the conversation in the first place.

"Fair!" Lancelot agrees, retrieving the cup of coffee to hold out to Faolan. "I have some old towels ready, brushes, all that. You'll probably want to take off anything you'd rather not get wet or dog-haired, though. I can lend you an old t-shirt, if you'd like."

Since Lancelot suspects his clothes won't exactly be too small for Faolan.. He sips a little water himself, glancing over at the door where Lily wags her tail faster again and bounces on the spot. She lets out a short back and Lancelot shakes his head, looking away to suppress a smirk.

Faolan raises his eyebrows at the idea of dressing himself in one of Lancelot's old t-shirts, and he looks down at his own in response to it. It's black, of course. No doubt it would get covered in white dog fur, if it's anything like what the other man is implying this upcoming scenario to be. But the idea of wearing something of his...

"If you think I should?" he settles on, glancing up at Lancelot again, unsure of whether to accept the offer or not, even if there's a part of him that suddenly really wants to.

"It's your decision, Faolan, not mine. They're your clothes. I'm just offering something if you'd like to protect them -- save you going home dishevelled if you can change back into something clean."

He shrugs, takes another sip of water before re-capping his water and sticking it back in the fridge.

"It's no trouble, if that's what you're worried about, I have plenty of spare old shirts that I save for the garden or things like this."

Faolan wouldn't exactly call what he's wearing clean, considering he's been wearing it for the whole day, but it's probably cleaner now than what it would be like if he were to wear it for whatever is coming. And imagining the amount of white dog fur that he's liable to pick up on it...

"...Yeah, alright," he says, after a long moment's contemplation. "Probably a good idea." He just hopes that whatever Lancelot chooses, he doesn't wind up swimming in -- he and Lancelot are not exactly the same size and height, after all.

"Good choice," Lancelot says, and flashes Faolan a smile before pacing through to his bedroom to grab a t-shirt. He taps the screen of his sound-system on the way past, waking it up and swiping down the volume. The soft strains of guitar begin to feel the flat, Dire Straits, and a moment later Lancelot jogs back through with a t-shirt in his hand. It's a greenish grey sort of colour, declares properly trained a man can be dog's best friend. The slight smirk Lancelot wears indicates that he might find this funny.

"Here," he prompt, "see if this works."

He imagines it won't be too small, but he has a few different cuts and fits that might work better if necessary. It's short sleeved at least, so he won't need to worry about if he'll be rolling up the sleeves.

Faolan appreciates the music. He's always been one to appreciate good music, although looking at him, knowing him now, it'd be hard to tell. Aside from the band shirts he's been known to wear, possibly the only remnant left of the life he had before. H takes the shirt from Lancelot as he returns with it, holding it up first to judge the sizing and then read the saying on it. He crooks an eyebrow at him and at the expression on the other man's face.

"Don't think I don't know you're doing this on purpose," he says. He hesitates for a moment, and for an absurd half-second actually contemplates going into the bathroom to change. But no, Lancelot has seen him change before, and never commented or questioned about his body or the scars covering it. Though he's still self-conscious about the idea of changing in front of him, he won't refuse it at least.

He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it down and across the nearest piece of furniture before gripping the hem of his shirt and tugging it off and over his head as well. Tossing it down with his jacket and going for the shirt Lancelot had given him. At least there weren't any recent injuries to be hiding from the other man this time. He slips Lancelot's tshirt on over his head, smoothing it down once he's got it on and then standing back to present himself to the other man.

"Well?" He's not swimming, no, but it's obviously big on him. Faolan is naturally slighter than the other man as well and so it drapes more than it should, and hangs a bit lower at the waist, arms, and collar than it should as well. But it's not like he's going out like this -- and maybe it's a good thing that it's covering more of his jeans than not?

Lancelot watches with idle curiosity as Faolan changes, studying him thoughtfully as he pulls the t-shirt on and fidgets it straight.

He offers a shrug in answer.

"It's fine, your only audience is myself and Lily after all. The idea is to protect yourself and your clothes, not be fashionable. Did you want to finish that first?"

Turning he gestures to the coffee Faolan has left on the side, lofts an eyebrow. If he does then he'd better to it now before the beast is unleashed. She lets out another single bark from outside, circling impatiently. When can she come in? When?!

Faolan turns back to his coffee with a look that suggests he's almost forgotten about it completely. His mind really is preoccupied, and not just on his tshirt and the other man in front of him. There's a reason that he came there in the first place after all, even if he has been avoiding it thus far, and it it hadn't been simply to help the other man bathe his dog.

"Yeah, sorry," he says, and turns to pick it up. It's cool enough now that he can drink it faster, which he does. He probably shouldn't leave her waiting out there for too much longer. She's a good dog, but even good dogs don't have infinite amounts of patience.

"Nothing to apologise for, Faolan, I just wanted to check before I made it difficult for you to keep hold of a hot drink."

He wrinkles his nose playfully at the man, leaning one hip against the counter as he waits. Lily bounces by the door, whining as she is forced to suffer exclusion, and after a moment when it looks like Faolan is nearly done Lancelot vanishes away and re-appears with a large beach towel.

"I do have a plan," he says, and grins. "So let me know when you're ready to hear it."

Edited (repitition) 2016-04-26 23:56 (UTC)

"A plan?" Faolan asks, as he glances over at Lily bouncing by the door -- but not off the door, not yet anyway -- before back at Lancelot. He drains the last of his coffee before he steps forward and sets the mug down on the counter and turns to lean against it, much the same way the other man had done before, if perhaps with a little less nonchalance.

"What sort of plan?" About the dog, he imagines. Unless Lancelot's jumping ahead and forcing him to speak about what he'd actually come there for in the first place. He'd let him know what his plans had been, after all. It wouldn't be from out of the blue, at least.

About the dog is right. Lancelot gestures slightly with the towel.

"I'll grab her with this, carry her quickly through. Hold the bathroom door open and I'll set her in the bath, then we can start getting ourselves wet. I have some dog shampoo for her, it's already in there on the side, I just need an extra pair of hands to stop her helping too much."

Or vaulting out the bathtub , or goodness knows what else.

Faolan is about to ask how easy it's going to be to just carry her, but then he remembers Lancelot's strength and thinks better of it. Really the only reason Lancelot probably does appreciate him being there is for an extra pair of hands. He's certainly no help as far as strength or skill in this matter are concerned.

He nods after a moment. "Alright. Hold the door open, yeah? I think I can do that much without too much error," he replies, with the awkward quirk of a smile.

"Don't think this means you avoid the rest of it. Ready?" As soon as Faolan nods Lance opens the door and catches Lily in the beach towel as she bounds in, scoops her into his arms. She struggles gamely, reasonably unsure about all this, and Lancelot begins to carry her quickly through toward the bathroom. It's impressive he can even navigate with armfuls of very big fluffy white dog -- struggling fluffy white dog at that, yet he just about manages it.

Faolan nods slightly before stepping back, helping Lancelot shut the door behind himself once he has Lily scooped up before he steps forward and makes certain to be to the door of the bathroom faster than Lancelot so that he can hold it open in turn.

"Here," he says, trying not to be too exciting. Lily doesn't seem to be too difficult for Lancelot to be able to carry, but he's sure that will not be the case if he puts the idea in her head to start struggling against any of this. Not before they've shut themselves into the bathroom at any rate.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject