[OPEN] APRIL CATCH-ALL!

[reticence]

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:

Comments

[whatmatters]

"Just me then?" She bites back, cool facade dropping as her very genuine hurt and anger break through. Ringer's hands drop to the edge of the chair on either side of her legs, fingers tightening there to try to ground her and keep her from becoming enraged. Even her anger is cold, aside from the occasional outburst. "You prefer to lie to your friends instead of risking their dislike? Or were you just following orders? No choice, no options. Lie to Ringer because she won't know any better."

She takes in a deep breath, steadying herself. Her grip on the chair is the only thing that keeps her hands from shaking. Talking to him is a mistake. She wants to leave, but there are answers that still compel her to stay.

"I assumed you were human and you never contradicted me. I want to know if you failed to tell me about your race or extra-human abilities too."

[reticence]

"What? No," Faolan counters, narrowing his eyes, confused and trying not to make the situation any worse than he already has. "It wasn't like that. It wasn't..." He'd lied to everyone. Not that that was any better, he supposes. He raises his hands to run through his hair, over his face.

"I went under cover, shortly after I was volunteered into being a Guardian. They wanted to know information about Circle Midnight. I couldn't tell anyone, anyone what I was doing. No one. And that lasted for months. I had to call it off when I got promoted in Hillingdon. By then I was in too deep. I didn't know how..."

He keeps his gaze on his hands on the desk as he answers the rest of it. "I used to think I was human. Lately... I don't know. I'm not sure anymore. Ever since we were in the other world, since I helped take down that fae that was impersonating Lancelot... I don't know."

[whatmatters]

"You didn't know how to extricate yourself, so you stayed and followed orders." She says, as a way of clarifying. There's definite judgment there. Ringer can't help it, or doesn't want to. That's supposed to be what friends are for, the people you tell the things you can't tell anyone else. That's why she called him about her abilities, at least.

She pauses, gathering her thoughts. She wants clarification on his humanity, or lack thereof, but wonders if it makes a difference. Faolan is probably not human. More importantly, it's another thing he failed to mention.

Ringer sighs, grip tightening on the chair for a moment and then lessening again. She regains composure as she looks at him again, speaking with an uncharacteristically emotional tone, an undertone of the pain she's reeling from. "I don't want you to confess your secrets because you feel guilty. If you want to tell me- Anything you want to tell me, I'm here now. It's your choice. And I'll listen, no matter what you say."

[reticence]

"Near as I can tell, there isn't any way to extricate myself," Faolan responds, honestly. Which is as close as he can come to admitting anything about the oath without actually talking about it. He'd rather not turn into stone due to a slip of the tongue, not if he can help it at least.

"...I can feel magic," he admits to her. "Somehow, I've begun to be able to sense it. I'm still trying to get a feel for it. Trying to tell the difference between them. Vampire from fae, from a witch. But I didn't ask for it. I didn't ask for any of this. I'm. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for... For any of this, the election, the Night Council, ending up in charge of this place..." Everything had just gotten so complicated so fast, and Faolan had done his best to keep his head above water. She had let him kip in her guest room, she has to know how terrible he was at caring for himself. Never mind how terrible he is with friendships.

[whatmatters]

Ringer presses her lips out into the smallest hint of a pout before returning to a more concern expression. The idea that it's impossible to extricate himself is beyond her. There's pretty much always a way if one tries hard enough, even if it means killing him and bringing him back somehow or finding someone to serve in his stead. Classic literature has taught her that. But she says nothing in response, waiting and listening, as promised.

She doesn't bother to hide the surprise, concern, and eventual frustration from floating across her expression, each in turn. She wonders if he can feel magic in her, if that's what her abilities are. At the end of it, she nods and waits a beat to see if there's anything else he wants to add at this moment before she finally speaks again.

"You could have said no," she replies plainly. Faolan may not have asked for any of this, but he did nothing to prevent it either. Any of it, all of it. He hid it all away to be his own burden, to play the martyr when at last the skeletons were dragged from his closet and laid bare for the world to see. For Hillingdon, and his friends to see. She knows Lancelot, having been aware of all of this already, won't be distancing himself from Faolan at all. So she doesn't really worry about Faolan's well being right now. "You could have trusted me."

A beat. "Anything else?"

[reticence]

Faolan's lips tighten in a line, and his face looks slightly pained. Surely she has to realize that, despite everything he has kept from her, he's given her more than most people have ever gotten. What more secrets are there? Nothing that he really wants to give away to anyone, not a friend, not an enemy, not Sylvia, nor Lancelot, nor Ringer herself.

"You know everything that I can tell. What else there is..." He shakes his head. There's the oath, but he cannot share that. "There are things in my past that I do not talk about. I would ask you not fault me for keeping them to myself. They are not... Happy things to discuss."

[whatmatters]

"I don't," she admits honestly, though another sigh soon follows. She doesn't fault him for keep secrets about his past. She only wants to know the things that affect her, their friendship, and Hillingdon. Ringer doesn't know how to feel with the new knowledge. Faolan the Guardian, Faolan the inhuman. It'll take time for her to work out on her own, assuming he gives it to her, as he always does. The distance is probably worse for their friendship, not that she'll ever express as much. "Thanks for telling me."

Another pause. Ringer lifts her hands from the chair to tuck her hair behind her ears, an unnecessary gesture that only showcases her unease.

"James Memon has made us an offer that I think you should accept," she says finally, completely changing the subject without any sequitur or apology. "I'd like my involvement to be anonymous. I'd prefer the offer stay secret too, unless you accept. Assuming I can trust that much from you."

[reticence]

He disregards the comment about trust, instead contemplating the meat of her words there. James Memon. Faolan has heard the name before, although it takes him a moment to place it. The werewolves. "What kind of an offer?" he asks. Of course a political one. Given the direction he has taken the faction lately, he has half a mind to assume she means something for a faction dispute as well.

He wants to say that he'll agree to her offer no matter what, because she is his friend and making his errors up to her means more now than ever before, but even so. He is the leader of the Hillingdon clan and a Guardian besides. He can't jump into anything without thinking about it first.

[whatmatters]

Ringer hesitates, warring wither herself about whether she should insist upon secrecy before she tells him or trust that he'll keep quiet. Faolan has betrayed her trust, unquestionably, but she's never heard of any of her secrets being leaked by the man. His problem seems to be the opposite. Which is why, finally, she acquiesces.

"He wants your support in taking Havering." She pauses to let that sink in before continuing.

"The fae barely acknowledged our help before and you got in trouble." She's assuming that, based on comments made by Norrell and learning that he's a Guardian, but it's not hard to see. "We gain respect from the fae, you make the Council happy, and James has agreed to an official alliance between the East End and Hillingdon if we support them. It's a chance for Hillingdon to be taken seriously."

As seriously as it can be taken, lead by Sylvia's pet project.

[reticence]

Faolan considers the option of it. The werewolves are very much on the outside as Hillingdon themselves are. If they were looking to collect strategic support in that regard, it would be a smart move. However he has to consider the rest of the facts as well.

"I'll give you my honest opinion on the matter, and I hope that will mean something to you," he says, softly. "I trust that you will not repeat everything I have and will say to you back to others outside of this room." He pauses a beat, watching her face before he continues. "Sylvia was not happy with me for participating in the last territory dispute, nor was she impressed with the nomination for Night Council. She has made it clear that she wants things quiet as far as I'm concerned. For the next while at least. But--" he says quickly, holding up a hand lest she get it in her head to protest. "That is not what sways my decision. I will always put the clan first, and if this should be important to the clan and furthering our long-term goal, then of course I would act, at risk to myself."

"The trouble is," he says, "I am not sure that it does. Certainly tying ourselves to a blind alliance may not be in our best interests, all things considered. What is their motive, in going after Havering?"

[whatmatters]

Faolan's honest opinion is a refreshing break from his usual stoic refrain. And Ringer believes that it is his honest opinion. He has no reason to lie, unless he intends to use her somehow. She's confident Faolan isn't the type. In spite of his failure to give an affirmation, she gives a small nod to encourage him to continue. The information is new but not surprising.

She purses her lips practically on cue for his hand to dissuade her from preemptive judgment and so she returns her expression to one more neutral and continues to listen.

"Power," she replies easily. James failed to provide his reasoning to her, but he's obvious in that regard. Whether it's a deal with the people who hate the fae or simply East End's own prejudice, James will move if it means another territory for his faction. And now seems to be the time, with the fae so grossly outnumbered. "Will you abstain? Or fight it?"

[reticence]

Faolan shakes his head slightly. "I can't. Can't willingly ask Hillingdon to join them in this. Not for that. Power is dangerous. I recognize why the werewolves should want more than they have, and they're not wrong. The scale is severely unbalanced as it is. But I don't know that Hillingdon has a place in such matters."

He lets out a slow breath. "The claim against the vampires, we were acting on the defense. To keep Islington and Daybreak and the alliance they had created from spreading further, from gaining more. To join with the werewolves, to swear our support in such a move -- it would be to act for everything we had just stood against."

He shakes his head again. "I can't ask Hillingdon to do that. You can tell him that we'll sit it out. There is no reason to stand against the werewolves, they are not abusing what they have. But I cannot swear to stand by their side. There will be times when we should stand together. But a formal alliance is too much of a promise to give."

[whatmatters]

Ringer frowns a little as he speaks. Faolan's by no means an aggressive man and, especially being on Sylvia's leash, probably doesn't have much ability to take risks. But she's disappointed to hear him talk as if power is something foreign and reserved for the larger factions. As if Hillingdon has no place among them at all.

"I asked for the alliance to gain us something in return," she clarifies. Hillingdon can support the werewolves without being united, if that's what he wants. It's a dumb choice, but it's important to her that he knows his options.

Ringer shifts, still frowning. "What do you see for Hillingdon? What do you believe to be in its best interests in the long-term?"

It's hard to picture the clan as a peacekeeper, the Outsiders, an after school special. Ringer wants Hillingdon to be taken seriously and, thus far, all they've done is stand idly by and then help an ungrateful faction in one defense. Not that she isn't glad of that one action, at the least. It's not Faolan's fault that the faction has been so worthless before, but she wants it to actually effect change, which is impossible if they continue limping around as the red-headed stepchild of the supernatural community.

[reticence]

"It has been in its best interests thus far to stay well out of it," Faolan answers, honesty. "But I don't know that we can remain in such a position without effectively becoming defunct, as far as our relation to the rest of the community is concerned."

"We are a faction of hunters, though," he points out, inclining his head at her to give her something of a direct look. "And that is what I would like us to remain. The cat and the mouse are not often allied with one another, and never for long. In the long-term?" He sits back slightly. "In the long-term I would honestly like to see Hillingdon come into its own as such. The Night Council has its rules and regulations. And the Underground has its own. I'd like for Hillingdon to be able to maintain the balance in that regard. Someone has to keep the powerful in check, and the Night Council is made up of the lot of them, so they're certainly not going to do it." He shrugs slightly. "That's what I would like, at least."

[whatmatters]

"We're already irrelevant. Being a weak gang of hunters makes us more so. Your dream for Hillingdon is good, Faolan, but how are you hoping to achieve it when you're loyal to the group you want to keep in check? The entire system is corrupt. The solution to ending that corruption is not to buy into it. Hillingdon needs to exist outside of it."

Ringer purses her lips, thinking. It's the nicest way she can think of to tell Faolan that he's getting in the way of his own dream. For her part, Ringer would like to see Hillingdon become what he's imagining. She also believes it's pretty much impossible at the moment, and she really does believe the whole system is corrupt. It's why she's considering changing factions at all.

[reticence]

Faolan nods in response to her words. "I know," he says, because he does. If he had any choice in the matter, he might quit. He might take the knowledge he'd gained from being a Guardian, seeing things as they were on the inside, and use it for the betterment of Hillingdon. But he can't. With the damned contract, it wouldn't do any of them any good. And the other choice -- to give up Hillingdon instead...?

He lets out another sigh. "I'm trying," he says, because he is. "This bid, for the Night Council. I probably won't win it. But I'm doing my best to get our opinions out there. To stir things up within their own ranks. To already have a foot into the door... I'm trying to make the best of it. That's all." To put it as delicately as he can.