undergrounds | A Little Bit of Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust [Closed]

She had a stake in her purse, as well as a few knives, which was really all she needed. She slung said bag over her shoulder as they approached the bike. Annie looked at it apprehensively, accepting the helmet.

"Are you... Are you, ah... sure this is a good idea?" The bike, not taking a look at what he found. That had to be a good idea. "I'm not really good at things like, ah, this."

Daryl gave her a look that basically said 'shut up and stop being a pussy'. He swung his own leg over and slid forward in the seat so there was plenty of room behind him.

"We'll go slow so you can get the hang of it," Daryl drawled out, putting his own helmet on. "You're gonna hang on to me. Hands hooked into my belt, either side, not around my waist. If you need to, you can lay against my back. What you gotta remember is to lean with me. No matter what the bike is doing, you keep your body doing the same thing mine is. Do that, you'll be fine."

After a moment, "When we get close to your house, I'll need you to start pointing out where to go. If you don't want to let go of me, just tap the back of my legs with your foot on which every side you want me to turn. Both legs at once for me to stop. Lightly. I still need 'em to drive."

Annie took his look, and responded with a very pointed puppy-dog frown. Wither under her pout, Daryl. C'mon.

Still, Annie cast a glance over her shoulder, then slid the helmet on, listening to Daryl's instructions. "Why not your waist?" Is what she asks as she slides on, placing her hands carefully on his hips, looking to find purchase in his belt.

The rest, she can understand that. Lean with him, ignore what the bike was doing. It seemed simple enough.

She gave him a pointed look through the helmet. "I'm only 7 stones, I'm not going to break your legs with my feet."

"Ain't about the weight. You kick me too hard, you're liable to make my foot slip," ha answered quite seriously. "And it ain't the waist 'cause I don't need you squeezing me like a rag doll when you scared and cutting off my breathing. You need to squeeze, you squeeze my belt."

It was bad enough she'd be pressed up against his back the whole time.

"Ready?"

"I won't try to get payback, then," she says, before realizing just how serious he was. Aiming to hide her blush, she put the helmet on and placed a hand on either side of him.

"No," she tells him. "But go anyway! Before I change my mind!"

He snorted again but got the engine roaring to life. He didn't immediately peal out of the parking area, though, taking it relatively slow for a fair distance to let her get used to it, even leaning back and forth in that lazy way that made them swerve from one side of the street to the other without actually turning. Made sure she could, and would, stay with him.

Only after they got on the main streets did he gun it to match the speed limit, weaving in and out of traffic as he was able and making his way to the neighborhood she'd told him to go to. It would be his first time going to her house, so it was after they got to the general area that he slowed to and gave her time to tell him where and how to turn.

Annie lets out a small shriek but clings to his belt even as he slowly gets them out onto the main roads. Lean with him. Stay with him, she reminds herself, and practices as he leans.

By the time they're at the main roads, she's leaning against his back, alternating between opening and shutting her eyes. The wind whips at her hair that sticks out from the helmet, but by the time they're in Kensington, she's feeling a bit more confident.

A few lefts and rights and she's telling him to stop in front of a white house. Kensington is easily the nicest neighborhood in London, and Annie feels her cheeks burn at the thought of what Daryl's going to think. When they stop, she waits for the bike to turn off before she steps off, removing her helmet.

"So, uhm, this is my gran's," she says, by way of explanation. She'd grown up in a much more humble home in Inishmaan, only moving here with her grandmother after the massacre. "I don't know if she's home... Just, ah... wipe your feet?" She's got the key in the lock, turning it to let them in.

The neighborhood was nice. Real nice. The kind of neighborhood he'd dreamed of being in once, a long, long time ago, before the reality of his place in the world settled heavily on his shoulders. It wasn't the kind of neighborhood a man like him belonged in. And it wasn't the kind of neighborhood he'd expected anyone from Hillingdon to live in, either. But it was her Grandma's place, so maybe it wasn't hers so much as it was what she'd been given. Which made it all the sadder, really. She had an opportunity to have so many nicer things, standing there in a whitewashed house and she was spending time with the likes of him.

He knew she didn't think of Hillingdon of a joke. She'd been there too long. Become too much a part of the loose family for him to believe that. But it sure felt like one as he slowly followed her up the walkway.

"I don't have to come in if it'll be a problem," he grunted, accent thickening in his awkwardness.

Not many people get to come to Annie's. She's taken Finnick there multiple times, but mostly the two of them would spend time at his place. Though, she didn't really have anyone she wanted to invite over. Ringer, maybe. That could be fun to have a girl's night. But she was here with Daryl, only too aware how he lagged behind her.

"It's not a problem," she says almost too quickly. "I don't think Gran is home, but, ah, she always wants to meet my, uhm. ...Friends." She had so few, the older woman loved meeting the ones that Annie felt were important enough to bring over. So... She'd met Finnick.

"She used to be a hunter, too," Annie said by way of explanation, but that side of the family had always been wealthier. She knows it's a nice house, in a nice neighborhood, and inside the foyer, it's a nice house, warm and clean and impressive. She tries to downplay it. "My stuff's uhm, in the training room." They'd turned a room into a home gym, and it went from there.

Her attempts to downplay it only made it stand out all the more. 'Cause it made it obvious just how aware of the disparity she was. Like she was saying he didn't really belong.

Daryl had wiped his feet like she asked. He also hugged his arms to himself, fingers curled into the armholes of his vest so his torso was as compacted as possible. He made special care not to bump into anything lest the dirt and grease from his bike and way of life smear itself on some unsuspecting clean object in the house. Like a wall, or a vase, or a chair. But he followed her, lips pressed tightly closed and body wound up, clearly uncomfortable.

As they made their way through the house, movement caught his eye down a hall they passed and instinct made him pause and step back to gauge what he was seeing. Be it a person or an animal or a mirror and if it was a threat. Well, luckily it wasn't exactly a 'threat', but it was definitely a person.

Looks like Gran was home, and she'd spotted Daryl with Annie no where in sight. Daryl blinked at her wide-eyed, suddenly aware it probably looked like he'd broken in.

"Uh, Ma'am," he murmured, all southern manners now, trying to get his words out before she screamed or attacked him. "Lovely house you have."

Well. There is a stranger in her home, and thank goodness he's not a vampire or a fae, because then there would be hell to pay. He had to be the sort that didn't need to be invited in, Gran knew. Narrowing her eyes, the tiny woman started to walk towards him.

"Who are you?" She asked in her thick Irish accent, "Quickly, or I'll have the police here." She didn't need the cops, she could probably take him down herself, still being particularly agile for her age.

"Daryl?" Annie had made it to the training room before realizing that her guest wasn't with her, and called his name as she retraced her steps. Gran had just reached him when she returned to the scene of the potential crime. "Daryl- there you are. Oh, Gran- hi. This is Daryl Dixon." Quick, damage control. "He's uhm, a friend from Hillingdon."

Gran seems to accept this, and extends a wrinkled hand. "Another American friend, Annie?" She says with a small smile as she looks over at her granddaughter. "And the first I get to meet. Welcome to my home, Daryl. You may call me Mags."

"Daryl. Daryl Dixon, Ma'am," he answered for himself before Annie got back to them, shoulders hunching more than a little with a sense of shame he really shouldn't have felt. He was there because he'd been invited in, not because he was causing trouble. But the accusation was one he was familiar with. An easy assumption to make.

Fortunately Annie was there in the next moment, introducing him again and explaining who he was. There was a monumental sense of relief that came with Mags' change in demeanor and the smile she offered. Daryl wiped one hand on his pants to try and clean it before taking it gingerly, giving a single shake before tucking his fingers back into the arm holes of his vest. His voice remained soft and quiet, very subdued as he nodded again, "Nice to meet you, Ma'am. Just getting Annie's help with something. Won't be long."

In case she wanted him out of her house fast. Experience had taught him that was likely.

Mags surveyed the two younger people carefully. Daryl was obviously uncomfortable, something she wouldn't have expected with a thief. And Annie's more than happily on his side, and that's good enough for her. Plus, Hillingdon had done great things for her granddaughter.

"Don't worry- I hardly see her lately it seems." She gives Annie a soft, pointed look. "She's usually with that fae lord boyfriend of hers."

"Gran, shush," Annie says, clearly embarrassed. "Daryl and I are just gonna grab my stuff. I'll come back tonight, I promise." She reaches out and touches his elbow. "C'mon. Love you, Gran."

Daryl flinched slightly, almost unnoticeably at the unexpected touch, covering it with a quick gulp and a jerky step toward Annie. He gave another nod to Mags as he began walking away, "Ma'am."

The entire way to the training room, Daryl kept his head down and his body as drawn in as he could, feeling like the old woman's eyes were on him. Once inside the room, he sucked in a heavy breath before speaking, "She uh... she don't like that fae you been hanging around with?"

"Be careful, Annzie," Mags calls after her granddaughter.

The training room looked like a home gym. There were weights and mirrors and a treadmill, as well as a few punching bags, one that even looked like a proper torso. Down the hall was actually a small wave pool for swimming. A few racks held training weapons, and it didn't take Annie long to locate her back-pack for such things. Instead fo training weapons, however, she put in a few real ones, including two iron knives in her boots.

"Finnick? No, she thinks he's absolutely charming. That's why she doesn't trust him." Why most people didn't. "She doesn't trust any fae, really." And with Annie's history, she had every reason not to trust much of anyone around her. The last thing Mags wanted was Annie getting hurt again. She'd already lost her son and daughter-in-law, and thought she'd lost Annie a few times, too. She didn't think she could handle such a loss again.

He grunted in lieu of a proper answer. Most fae made his hackles raise, so he was with her Grandma on that one. But it was Annie's life and her choices.

"Where these books of yours at?" he asked, starting to idly wander the gym set-up. It all looked pretty well used, but all to slick at the same time. The things money got people...

"Library," she said, gesturing for him to follow her down more halls towards another room of her house. IT wasn't a huge library, by any means. A small room that had been converted into one. Most of the books were fiction, only a few books on the supernatural.

"The best stuff is at Hillingdon," she explains. "But Gran has a few here."

Daryl 'mmmd' again, this time wandering closer to the shelves. He was much more interested in books. Fiction was nice sometimes, but he had a slight preference for non-fiction. Poetry and fables, folk lore, legends and texts that analysed their cultural significance. But fiction definitely wasn't terrible. A nice escape sometimes.

And hell, this was the kind of room that Daryl outright envied. Just being able to dedicate the space to owning that many of them and keeping them nice and being able to read them whenever you wanted? That was worth wasting time being envious for a moment.

Annie, luckily, knows exactly where the books she needs are. They're pulled out on a small table where she'd been looking over htem previously. Picking up and examining a few of them, she wound up placing two into her bag.

"I think we're good! So take me to this place."

Daryl reluctantly pulled himself away from the shelves, eyes lingering on them until he was out of the room. He made his way quickly out of the house and tried his best not to make it obvious what a relief it was to be back at his bike.

"Place is over in Brent," he explained. "Already talked to the kid's folks. They ain't been taken seriously by the normal authorities and are willing to keep quiet about what we do so long as we get their daughter back."

It had taken a bit to convince them he wasn't a danger, but their worry over their child had outweighed their caution when the police weren't giving them more than the usual runaway run-around.

Meanwhile, while Daryl is relieved to be back on his bike, Annie's more relieved just to be out of the house. She knows it's a nice place, really nice, and didn't often take people by. To a degree, she was uncomfortable with her own wealth, especially when it wasn't hers. Not really, anyway.

Back on the bike, Annie puts the helmet on and places her hands on Daryl's belt.

"And we'll get her back," Annie agrees. "Hopefully before tea."

"Ain't counting on it," Daryl muttered, trying to be realistic. He definitely thought the fae shit would give them a lead on where to start looking for the kid, but he didn't expect them to catch her that day. Kid had a couple days lead, after all.

------

The house they pulled up to was a modest semi-detached house in a clearly planned neighborhood of similar homes. Two stories, brick, large enough fenced garden for a tree and the small play house to fit without over-whelming the backyard space. Daryl pulled his bike around to the garage and, once they were off it, opened the thing up to pull it inside next to the car already sitting there.

"They said they'd leave it unlocked for when I got back," he explained, hand on the door to the garden. The family had clearly put a lot of faith in Daryl, who seemed (to them at least) to be the only one who believed them and weren't laughing behind their backs or accusing them of toking up, maybe getting drunk, and seeing things. "They uh... they caught me snooping. So they know what I am."

Fair warning that they were now fully aware of the supernatural element involved. Not just that Daryl thought they were telling the truth.

"That's handy," Annie says cautiously, following him out into the garden. Already she's pulling out one of her books and starting to page through it. This wasn't her usual shtick, but it's good to do something that involves putting herself in less danger. Finnick would approve, at least.

"Wait- you changed? In front of them?" That was always a super bad idea. but if their daughter was flying...

"No!" he immediately answered in a hushed, thoroughly offended whisper. If he'd had done that, they would have seen him naked. Ain't no one seeing him naked anytime soon.

A moment later, he was pulling his shoulders in on himself and muttering, "But they saw me when I wasn't human and chased me off before I could finish my look-see. So I cam back - human - and told them I wanted to help them find their daughter. They were suspicious, so I..." he cleared his throat and mumbled the last bit: "told 'em I was the bobcat they saw."

It had convinced them, since there was no way anyone else had known what they'd seen in the back yard. And even if they'd told someone, there was no way a complete stranger, an obvious American at that, would have known. It helped that they were desperate for answers of any kind.

"Just... just be gentle with 'em, okay?" Daryl asked of her, keeping his head turned away as he opened the door to the garden. "If they ask questions, keep yer answers short and simple and polite. They'll accept it if you say you can't get into details about what you're doin'."

The garden was spacious, even for a London home. A rare find to have one that could hold a fully grown tree still have plenty of room to run around and even host a small patio tea if desired. Still tiny, but not so tiny that it was only a garden in name. In the far corner opposite the garage, was the kid's playhouse. Daryl pointed to it, "the weird shit I couldn't suss out's over in there. I'm gonna tell her parents we're here so they know we ain't here to rob 'em."

"sorry, sorry!" Annie said hastily, turning her face away from Daryl. "I just- never mind." she was being stupid. Anyway it was better to focus on the task at hand.

setting her bag down, Annie took in the small yard. It was beautiful, as small as it was. but there was certainly some magic going on. "you do that- I'm going to look at the house." The little play one. It was tucked away enough that it would be the perfect play spot, something she would have loved as a child.

Surveying the area around it, it didn't look dangerous but Annie kept her guard up. Peering in the Windows she saw that it was a well-used house, chairs and a table set up for a child's tea party. But she didn't enter. Instead, she went back to her book, paging through it right outside the play door.

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