undergrounds | Semi-open: May 05

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Semi-open: May 05

Who: Lancelot and friends!
What: It's a birthday party! With both regular people and supernatural types. What could go wrong?
When: May 05
Where: Lancelot's flat & garden, Richmond!
Warnings: Gratuitous doggy! Probably a punch up later. Possibly some drunk kissing.

Lancelot's garden is not exactly an acre-large tented paradise.

He's not made of money.

It's big enough to just about fit the people invited across the patio and grass, with Lily variously herding them and rolling around, and he's flitting between them and the kitchen and living room and generally doing his best to butterfly around all of them making sure they're happy. The garden is relatively tidy, as tidy and well kept as a garden that suffers an enthusiastic dog can be. The hedges are neatly trimmed, the tree in one corner healthy and big enough to throw a little shade, and the one flowerbed border seems to mostly have some roses that are yet to fully bloom.

For those who he's only known since the incident last year he's given them a warning: not everyone who will be there is aware of the supernatural side of things, so try not to blurt it to people you don't know.

Despite it being his own birthday Lancelot is, of course, playing host. There's a table set up outside with finger food, salads, drinks and all sorts -- and food strategically inside for those who can't be out in the sun too. He appears to still be checking on more in the oven every so often too, but Lancelot does like to cook -- and he seems quite focused on making sure everyone has something they could eat.

Some of the drinks are alcoholic. The punch isn't that strong, but he has a few other drinks along the side for people who want them and some bottles of beer in an ice bucket. If someone decides to do a little mixing of course then it might wind up stronger.

His sound system is playing the soothing strains of Dire Straits through the place and all in all, for now at least things are going smoothly. So long as nobody says the wrong thing to the wrong person, it will probably be a nice evening. With the mixture of factions present alongside those who have no idea what a faction is, of course... that may be difficult.

[ OOC: Feel free to mingle away on the post with others here! ]

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Who would be inside on a day like this? There's an obvious answer to that, if you think about it.

Natasha sits inside near the food, keeping an eye on the other guests. She engages with them briefly, smooth and pleasant, but she didn't try to keep most of them inside. She enjoys watching well enough for the most part. The fact Lancelot invited her at all, even if she recognizes that it was as a courtesy because they ran into each other the night before, made it worth coming.

That and seeing his dog again, of course.

There's a small wrapped box next to her, waiting for when she can steal the host. Otherwise, she's content to fade into the background.

Faolan is rather awkward in this gathering, being familiar with the setting but not used to having to share it (and the other man) with anyone else while he's there. He'd been bad enough at the Christmas party, and only Lancelot's closest work friends had been invited to that. Never mind this.

So of course he finds himself nursing a drink. Again. He's definitely not stepping inside to keep an eye on Lancelot as he flits around the kitchen, fussing here and there over his guests. That would be silly...

"We have to stop meeting like this," he says. If he said that he didn't spend all of his days drunk and grumpy, would she believe him at all at this point?

"I don't know about that," Natasha says, torn a bit between being amused and being surprised. Those two reactions aren't mutually exclusive, though. "Better than not running into each other at all?"

Who knows if that's true? But it sounds good, and Natasha is willing to let herself believe it for the moment, sipping on a gin and tonic and eyeing him sideways—taking in the way he tracks Lancelot.

"I didn't realize you two were friends. Though I suppose there's no way I would have...?" She raises her voice slightly at the end, turning it into a subtle question. Should she have known?

Faolan still hasn't confirmed that she is what he thinks she is. He's getting a strong feeling of vampire off of her, but she hasn't given him any other reason to believe that's what she might be. Lancelot hasn't helped matters in inviting both normals and supernaturals to this party either.

"That depends, I suppose," he says, giving her a very direct look, as he continues, "on how closely you keep up with your politics."

It's an innocent comment, if a bit confusing, to anyone who might not have known about the Night Council elections. But if she had seen anything in the way of a ballot or a flyer. Well, his name would have been on it, if nothing else. Of course, that's assuming she knew about Lancelot's position in the Night Council as well. Maybe she really was new to the city.

"Politics are a funny thing," Natasha says with a rueful smile. "Paying too much attention and not paying enough can both be a mistake."

It's a hedge, and it's intentional. As much because not everyone here knows about the supernatural as because she doesn't want to admit to giving too much away to Faolan specifically. There's some truth to it, though; Natasha doesn't have a whole lot of faith in the political system, but she has paid attention.

She's seen the flyers.

"I try not to read too much into what I see."

Faolan nods in response to the answer she gives, although it takes him a moment to process just what exactly she's said. He appreciates the sentiment that she doesn't automatically buy into whatever the flyers had stated though.

"Thanks," he says. "To be honest, I never should have accepted the nomination. I didn't really want the position, I just thought..." He shrugs slightly. "Well, obviously someone believes in me. Why not at least try and give it a go. At least get the word out there, for others. I hadn't expected it to be near as much trouble as it wound up."

"That sounds about like politics to me—being more trouble than you ever expected." She takes a slow sip of her beer, her eyebrows going up slightly, meaningfully. "That is exactly why I try not to give them more attention than they deserve."

Part of the reason, at least.

"I will say it was a surprise to find out I'd been drinking with someone so important, though. Didn't quite see that coming."

Faolan shrugs slightly. "I did hint," he says, with something of a smirk. "Although it was honestly rather refreshing that you didn't know, if I'm being honest with myself. Even now..." He shrugs again.

"It's refreshing that you don't care. A lot of people do. Did. Were disappointed in me for things that I was supposed to have said, or wasn't supposed to have said. A lot of people were upset that I was in the running in the first place, and I'm sure that a lot of them will be just as mad that I won't have won." He's not doing too well on any front right now, all things considered.

"I wouldn't say I don't care," Natasha says with a little bit of a catch, a bit of humor mixed surprise. "But reputations and politics don't tell you all that much about a person. I'd say I'm willing to withhold judgment until I know more about you."

Or maybe that's something like not caring, in this context. Natasha feels like it's being cautious, not letting herself be drawn into existing narratives and squabbles.

"I know what you mean, though."

Faolan glances at her, trying to understand what she means and what her motives might be. Whether she really believes what she's saying or whether she's just feeding him this because it makes for an easier, less cautious conversation on his part. He doesn't have reason to suspect much from her though, so he'll give her the benefit of the doubt.

"It's good thinking, really," he admits. "And some that I appreciate. Especially given..." He waves his hand vaguely. "My present situation, and all, I suppose." He shrugs slightly.

Natasha laughs at that, a little wry but not without real humor. "How I see it, the situation right now is a friend's birthday party—a mutual friend, it turns out. It doesn't have to be more than that if you don't want it to be."

She smiles. "You could tell me how you know Lancelot?"

She says it as an extension of their last interaction, and while it might be expedient for her, she doesn't see it as a problem. If it works best for both of them... sometimes the path of least resistance isn't the wrong path. Especially when it means keeping politics out of a party.

Natasha's not sure how long this tack can last, but she's not above drawing it out as long at it works.

"Lancelot?" Faolan asks, and out of habit glances across the party towards the other man. (Perhaps notably knowing exactly where he is...) He shrugs slightly, watching the other man for a few moments before looking back at Natasha.

"We work together," he replies. Which isn't exactly a secret, if she knows who he is. And Lancelot isn't exactly hush hush about his position as a Guardian either, for that matter, so he doesn't feel like he's betraying the other man's confidences if she doesn't. "But we'd met before that." He shrugs again. "It's. A bit of a story, really."

"Is that the kind of story you can share?" She smiles, leaning just a little closer. There's a kind of sincerity in her look that comes from being comfortable in social situations, being taught how to encourage other people to open up to her. She doesn't have any ulterior motive now, but the toolbox is the same.

"That sounds like a good conversation."

Natasha Romanoff | OTA

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