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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"Good to know! Forgive me if I'm a little careful just in case, regardless."

He moves to dump off a few more plates into the bin, fills the dishwasher as much as he can before closing it and starting it up. Lily moves to sit up a little and yawns as she watches the proceedings. All those people were very tiring, she had so much greeting to do!

"I don't know if you want to change or anything," Lancelot begins, walking around to the futon to begin tugging it out to fold flat. "I can grab your bag for you. You can use the bathroom if you want to wash up? I don't mind, I'll probably be up before you tomorrow anyway. If you have any more breakfast requests speak now, or else I'll probably be googling good food for hangovers and making whatever rates highest."

Faolan shakes his head slightly, although he realizes belatedly that Lancelot probably has no idea what he's responding to. He had said a lot of things just then, it's a lot to process in his current state.

"No requests," he says. He glances to the hallway before back at Lancelot. He still doesn't know why he's keeping him here. He feels like there are a lot of things that should be concerning him now, questions he wants to have answered, but he can't really wrap his mind around it. The only real question he can get behind is why does Lancelot still want him here, after--

"I should..." Use the toilet at the very least. Get changed he supposes. He runs a hand over his face and pushes himself to stand. "You don't have to take care of me. Like that, I mean. I don't." Deserve it. Don't know how to handle it right now. "It's your birthday," he finishes, lamely.

"It is! Which means I get to decide what I do, and this is what I've decided to do."

He smooths the futon out and ducks away into his room, comes back with Faolan's bag and a pillow.

"Here you go, and..." Lancelot vanishes away again, finally emerges with a blanket. "There! That should do you. I can shut Lily in my room so you can sleep without her fussing. Not that she has much energy left, but she may in the morning. I can leave a packet of painkillers out as well if you like, on the off chance you wake before I do and don't want to move too far to get some."

Shaking out the blanket he drapes it over the futon, brushes out the wrinkles and studies Faolan for a long moment.

"There's no need to punish yourself, Faolan. I'm certainly not going to punish you."

Lancelot is fussing, and Faolan shouldn't be surprised by it, considering how much he's fussed over him in the past, but he is rather. Mostly because he's generally uncertain how to handle himself, after everything. And uncertain what Lancelot thinks of it all, for that matter. It's leaving him rather on edge although he's going to need to sleep and sober up to really comprehend and deal with it.

He grabs his bag and takes a step forward with it towards the bathroom, but. "Why not?" he can't help but ask. "I've. Been a terrible guest. ...among other things." Emotional rantings. Kisses. Which had seemed too much for the other man at the time, he might add. "I certainly haven't earned anything better, today. So. Why not?"

"Because you're my friend, Faolan. You don't have to be perfect every day to stay my friend."

He lofts an eyebrow at the man, studies him a moment longer before padding back into the kitchen for a bottle water -- setting it beside the futon for him.

"And you'll still be my friend in the morning. Painkillers should be in the cabinet over the bathroom sink if you want to keep some nearby."

That said he paces back into the kitchen to turn out some of the lights, locks the back door and then heads over to make sure the front door is properly closed up.

(And he locks that too, just to make sure Faolan doesn't bolt in the night. He doesn't trust him not to. Faolan is good at running away from his problems.)

Satisfied, he ushers Lily through to his room -- humming to her under his breath as she fusses around his feet.

"Just knock if you need anything," he adds, "I'm only closing the door to keep Lily in."

Faolan isn't certain that he'd blame the other man for shutting his door because of him at this point either. Or locking it, for that matter. He nods slightly in response to the other man's words, watching him in there for a moment, before he turns and steps into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

He takes time to use the toilet and wash his face, trying to snap himself out of the haze that he'd fallen into, but he's not really sure that it helps much. He glances up in the mirror at himself, trying to take stock of the situation before he shakes his head, coming to the conclusion that he really doesn't have the mental capacity for that right now.

He gets himself undressed without falling over and cracking his head on the sink, which is a feat in and of itself, all things considered. He makes it as far as to get his sweatpants on that he usually sleeps in before he decides that's good enough. Pausing a moment on the way out the door before stepping back and grabbing the painkillers that the other man had pointed out for him.

Dropping his bag by the end of the futon, Faolan crawls under the blanket Lancelot had laid out on it, setting the medicine aside for now but within reach for when he'd need it. He curls up against the pillow, pulling the cover as tight as he can without smothering himself, and wills for the night to come and swallow him up. While nothing so dramatic as that, he does find himself slowly lulled to sleep by the distant swishing of the dishwasher in the next room and the thrum of the alcohol still coursing through his system.

Which is, incidentally, what wakes him up again at last. Or rather, the thrum of his blood in his head and the distant swishing of what must be the shower down the hall. He groans slightly, groggily wondering where he had left his phone and if he'd have to move to retrieve that water bottle Lancelot had put out for him or not. Probably. He groans again and curls up further on the futon, squeezing his eyes shut against any light in the room and listening for the other man in turn. He'll try to make himself look less pathetic before he's out of the bathroom. If he doesn't fall asleep again first...

Lancelot is someone who finds morning relatively harmless, probably helped by the fact that he didn't drink nearly enough to end up in the shape Faolan is. The bathroom's extractor fan grows louder a moment as he opens the door and darts back into his room, the vague scent of damp and ginger body wash escaping into the flat, and a moment later Lancelot pads through quietly -- one hand on Lily to keep her moving so she doesn't bother their half-asleep guest. His hair is still in wet curls, only roughly towel-dried enough for him to get changed, and he's dressed down in a pair of worn grey jogging bottoms and a loose t-shirt that declares him The Dogfather.

Lily circles him until he puts down food for her, and then he vanishes back into his room and re-appears with his MacBook that he sets on the kitchen counter.

"Did you know that the NHS has an official 'hangover cures' page?"

He glances over at Faolan, flicks a faint smile before opening the fridge to dig out things.

"It says drinking more won't help, if there was any doubt. It suggests sports drinks, but I don't have any fancy ones. I do have vitamin water, though..."

Pulling out a bottle he grabs a plastic cup and pours out a little, pads over with it and crouches by the futon.

Faolan finds himself drifting more than not as Lancelot finishes his shower and pops out the door back to his bedroom, though he smells the shower, the other man's bodywash, and it's... Nice. He continues to drift in the smell of it and the sound of the other man padding around before he realizes that Lancelot has joined him and he doesn't remember him doing so.

He blinks at the other man where he's crouching in front of him for a moment, trying to gather himself enough to determine what he's supposed to be doing -- what Lancelot expects him to do, as he's crouched there with that cup of water that's presumably for him. He supposes starting with drinking it would be good though. And taking some of the medicine he'd brought out with himself earlier and then probably wound up sleeping on, since he'd left it on the futon beside him.

"...morning," he says roughly. And makes absolutely no move to get up just yet at all.

"Morning," Lancelot echoes, and he flickers a smile at how bleary Faolan looks. "Here, try a little of this. Do you have the paracetamol with you or should I fetch it?"

Since he thinks Faolan took it, but he can't see it on the floor by the futon and he doesn't know if Faolan has already taken some, for that matter. Better to ask.

Faolan blinks at him for another moment before making a sound that he hopes sounds like he's going to cooperate, though he takes a few moments more before he responds further. "I've got it," he says. "Here." And he moves to push himself up, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself as he realizes he's only half gotten dressed for bed last night.

He casts his hand around on the futon and produces the box after a moment, although he hands it out to Lancelot instead of trying to fight it open instead. Trading him for the cup of vitamin water, although he doesn't drink from it just yet. Just sits with the cup in his hands, wishing it were coffee, knowing there's probably a reason that it isn't though. Feeling a little lost, and not uncertain that he doesn't look that way too.

Lance takes the packet and opens it for him, presses out two of the coated tablets and holds them out in the palm of his hand.

"Here, take these, then I'll make us some breakfast. The internet claims bananas and eggs are both good things, and hydration is important, so I'll try to incorporate all three. Sip that, too, the sweetener in it should help steady you."

He waits until Faolan has everything, then sets the package by the futon and pushes to his feet -- dusts himself down and gently holds Lily back from coming to say hello.

"Do you need any anti-acid? I might have some, if your stomach feels like it needs something."

Faolan wordlessly accepts the tablets back from Lancelot, tipping them into his mouth and continuing to watch the other man as he sips at the water in his hands. In response to the question, he considers whether he really does need anything for his stomach before shrugging slightly. He doesn't really know, he's only just started sipping the water and he hasn't tried eating yet.

"My head is worse than anything," he offers, "but I suppose it couldn't hurt." He wonders what sort of an image he must make, sitting up on Lancelot's futon as he is, wrapped up tightly in the blanket and clutching the cup of vitamin water close to him in both hands. If he were actually ill it would be one thing, but the fact that he had brought this on himself... He's surprised Lancelot has any pity for him whatsoever. Especially after the spectacle he'd made of himself the day before.

"Don't...feel like you have to, though. Any of this, I mean," he specifies, realizing he probably sounds like a broken record, but he's really struggling to understand, here. Did the mistakes he had made the night before really not matter to the other man?

"I know I don't have to, Faolan. That doesn't mean I don't want to."

He flicks the man a wry smile, coaxes Lily to follow and vanishes away into the bathroom again before returning with a packet of tablets -- holds them out to him before encouraging her to come with him again as he heads back into the kitchen. He pulls out pans as quietly as he can, begins shuffling through the fridge for things and setting them on the side. Lily shuffles about his feet and he hums softly under his breath, reaching down every so often to ruffle her ears again before turning back to his laptop.

"Peanut butter and banana smoothie? I wonder if that would be too rich for you. Hmmm -- honey, yoghurt and banana? Do you like honey?"

"Yes, but. I don't really like yoghurt," Faolan answers awkwardly, huddling in place as he watches the other man from across the way. He looks down at the packet in his hands before starting to pry it open to get one of the tablets out. Peanut butter sounds better, in his opinion. And his stomach isn't bothering him that much. He isn't sure that whatever discomfort he's feeling internally isn't just nerves after the stunt he'd pulled the night before, but he swallows the tablet regardless just in case.

He takes another few sips of the vitamin water, feeling very small as he sits there, cross-legged on the futon, wrapped up in the blanket and watching the other man. Not exactly like a child per se, but the analogy isn't far off. He wonders vaguely whether he should be apologizing to him. He recalls somewhat having done so last night, but he's not sure he has enough words to over his errors. So he stays quiet for the moment at least.

"Ah, no yoghurt then! I can probably substitute it..."

He squints at the screen, humming in thought and going for the fruit bowl. Bananas, honey, and... hmm. Something else to make it a little thinner.

"Coconut milk?" he hazards, "or --hmm, apples and raspberries are a little acidic..."

Lancelot mulls over the problem of how to make a banana smoothie that isn't too sharp with perhaps more thought than is strictly necessary, rinsing his hands off before he begins cutting up bananas as a starting place.

Faolan doesn't really know how to help the other man brainstorm his smoothie. He isn't really used to drinking smoothies in the first place (he isn't sure he's ever had coconut milk before and if he has then he certainly doesn't remember it), or any sort of blended drinks that aren't related to coffee for that matter. Which he assumes that he wont' be getting any of, as long as his stomach is still somewhat iffy. Ah, well.

"I don't know," he says, honestly. "I'm sorry. I'm not. Much help as far as this is concerned..." He doesn't usually make himself blended drinks or fancy breakfasts when he has a hangover. He's lucky if he gets himself fed at all, for that matter. He shifts slightly on the futon where he sits, clutching the blanket tighter around himself.

"Hmm, that's okay. I think I have an idea. Do you like vanilla?"

Lancelot jerks an eyebrow over at Faolan, dumping fruit into the blender and beginning to heat a pan the other side -- turning on the grill as well as he juggles things. A banana, honey and vanilla sort of combo could work -- with milk to thin it out maybe. If Faolan doesn't mind vanilla? Or would that make it too yoghurty, he wonders. Lily, bored of smoothies, pads back over to Faolan now that Lance isn't keeping an eye on her and wags at him questioningly. Hello, Faolan! Hello! You look uneasy! Can she help?

"Mmm," Faolan says, making a noise of confirmation before elaborating, "yeah, I do." He doesn't really know what Lancelot has in mind, but he figures he'll trust the other man no matter what. He owes him that much at least, especially since he's going through all this trouble for him in the first place.

Faolan shifts his grip on the cup, taking a sip before holding his hand out to ruffle Lily's ears as she wanders close. Yes, hello Lily. Please be good and quiet and stay on the ground right there where you won't hurt his head and if you do he'll keep petting you just like this, he promises.

She snuffles at him and shoves her face toward his lap, resting it there as she soaks up the attention.

Lancelot, meanwhile, keeps putting things in the blender before coming to the realisation that it will make a noise when he turns it on. He winces, looks sideways at Faolan as he measures out a little milk.

"I'll try and keep this short," he says warily, "but this won't be quiet."

It isn't the loudest blender in the world but it's still a significant whirr as it comes to life and starts smashing everything together. At least it's only banana and thus won't take much blending?

Faolan is honestly a little amused by the amount of care that Lancelot is putting into the fact that he's had so much to drink that his head is ready to pound itself apart. It's not like this isn't his fault after all -- he put himself right into the situation that he's in, and he deserves whatever suffering he needs to endure while he gets himself out of it. Making him breakfast that's good for hangovers, trying to get him properly hydrated, taking care of his headache. If he didn't feel awkward about other parts of his situation, if he weren't appreciative of the other man's care, he might actually tease him about it.

He doesn't though, instead hunching himself a little further into the blankets to muffle the noise for a moment and reaching down to rub at Lily's ears, stroke her face. She doesn't know what sort of faux pas he's made, nor would she care even if she did, and he appreciates the simplicity of getting to interact with her. It's a lot easier than his complicated stumblings with Lancelot, at the moment.

He gives the blender a few quick, short blasts before taking out the mixture to stir a little -- trying to gauge if it's too thick or not. Banana blends fairly easily, at least, although he supposes he could sieve it to make sure it's smooth....

The thought makes him wrinkle his nose, realising he's perhaps over-thinking it, and Lance stirs it a little and tests a spoonful before pausing to turn and quickly put the eggs on.

"I think this should be all right," he says, "it's mostly slightly sweet banana now. I can blend it more if you prefer, but I was thinking less might be better for your head."

Tugging down a tumbler he pours it out and carries it over to Faolan, waits for him to take it before twitching him a smile.

"You look ridiculous," he adds, and shoves a bit of hair back off Faolan's face before padding back through to kitchen.

Faolan ducks his head slightly, as much in embarrassment that he probably does look ridiculous as in response to the fact that he had been surprised and pleased by Lancelot's casual touch of his fingers in his hair, brushing it back like that.

He looks down to the drink in his hand, the new one, and sets aside his vitamin water before he starts to sip at the banana concoction instead. It's not bad -- maybe not something he would have chosen for himself, but it's good. Especially so because Lancelot has made it specially for him.

"I'm. Comfortable," he says, trying to defend himself and the way he's remained huddled on the futon as he has, but there really is no defending it. He could wander over and watch Lancelot from the breakfast nook, he supposes. That would involve moving however...

"You should probably enjoy it while you can. Election results are being announced today. You're going to have to crawl out of there to go hear them at some point, wouldn't want you to miss them then find out you won."

He flashes Faolan a smile at that, wrapping up some eggs in cling-film to poach and adjusting the temperature.

"I can at least make sure you feel human for that, I think."

Faolan lets out a sigh at the mention of the election results, huddling further into the blanket as he does. He's under no illusions that he's going to win, but Lancelot's right -- he should at least make an appearance. To accept his loss with dignity and poise, no doubt. As much dignity and poise as he can muster at least, given how much he'd had to drink and how much of a fool he'd made of himself last night.

"...I'm sorry," he says, after a long moment. Holding the drink between his hands and staring down into it as he does. He doesn't specify why, or what for. He doesn't think he needs to. Lancelot knows everything that he's done wrong in the last day or so, after all.

"For what?" Lancelot prompts, because there are a few things after all -- and Faolan may not be sorry for all of them. He carries on searching through the cupboards, pulling down plates and digging out some bread as he waits for an answer.

Faolan doesn't need prompting further than that, and Lance is willing to out-wait him.

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