undergrounds | Semi-open: May 05

Entry tags:

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! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I've seen stranger," Lancelot says, holding out a hand to Lily to keep her from coming too close as he crosses to the coffee machine and begins making himself a cup. "I suspect plenty of other people have, too. But, if you'd rather not draw too much of the wrong sort of attention it might be an idea."

He flashes Faolan a wry smile, leaning a hip against the counter as the machine grinds.

"I can lend you anything you need."

Faolan flushes slightly, glancing down at himself and then away at his bag. "I'm... I'll be fine," he says, "I've got another shirt in my bag, I'll just..." Put his jeans back on and get ready to go.

He steps away from the other man and towards the bag itself, hesitating before abandoning the blanket on the futon and crouching to grab what he needs out of it after a moment and slinking out towards the bathroom. He gets dressed as fast as he can in his extra tshirt, shorts, and jeans, uses the toilet, washes his face, before making his way back into the living room to tuck his things away in his bag and slinking his way back to the table for his coffee.

"I'll have a better clothes at my flat," he says, awkwardly. "For the results, that is. More like..." He gestures to Lancelot himself, and resolutely tries to keep from openly admiring the other man's outfit in turn.

"More like a suit?"

He's sipping his coffee as he watches Faolan slink about, studying him curiously. Lancelot can tell he's self-conscious about things but suspects drawing attention to that fact isn't about to work.

"If you tell me you're going to dress to match I might have something to say about it."

Faolan flicks his eyes to the other man for a moment, then down into his coffee, feeling the flush spreading across his face as he does.

"More like a suit," he confirms, quietly. "I haven't got anything even remotely similar to be able to dress to match, even if I were to make the attempt. Grey isn't exactly my color." It looks good on Lancelot, though, he might have said. If he was feeling more courageous than he does in this moment. He's had enough admissions of the like for one day, besides.

Faolan takes a few more sips of his coffee, glancing across again at the other man as he does. "We should... Probably head out," he admits, reluctantly. "Especially if you want to keep that suit clean." He's not exactly excited to show the man over to his flat. What will he make of him, after it? Though there's a part of him that's secretly glad of it. Maybe Lancelot's presence there will help make the little place a bit less depressing. Maybe.

"Isn't it? I'm not even sure it's my colour, but it's smart enough."

Lancelot shrugs and downs the rest of his coffee, drops the cup into the sink and gives Lily a last pat.

"Stay here then, there's a good girl. You can keep the flat safe for us, can't you? That's right! And it's a lot cooler in here, too. A little too warm for furry people outside, and it will only get warmer."

She leans into his touch until he finally releases her, pockets his keys and phone before giving the flat a last critical glance. What has he forgotten? Something, probably -- wallet. Vanishing back into bedroom a second he emerges again quickly and gives it a vague wave before sliding it into the pocket of the jacket he's carrying.

"Right, are we ready then?"

Faolan holds back any sort of agreement with the other man that yes, in fact, it does flatter him to wear such a color as that. That it compliments a great many things about him, and while Faolan himself would just look pale and peaky in it, Lancelot looks tan, healthy, and handsome. No, he holds back such comments and he takes another sip of his coffee instead, glancing down at Lily before downing the lot of it and setting the mug on the table. Waiting for Lancelot to return.

He inclines his head at him once he does, stepping forward to pick up his jacket and his bag once he does, patting his pockets to make sure he's got his phone and his wallet himself before nodding. "...yeah," he says, not certain that he really is in truth, but not certain that he will be either. "Let's go."

He pauses a beat, before, "You don't, uh. Mind if we do still stop though? For the powerade?" His head is still threatening to thunder itself apart, and he doubts stepping out into the warmth of the day and a ride on the train is going to help make it all that much better.

"No, no not at all! Why would I mind?"

Lancelot flicks a bemused smile, leaning to open the door and holding out his other hand to Lily to get her to stay.

"We can stop at the supermarket on the way. Which way do you usually go back? Shepherd's Bush or the Shepherd's Bush Market? There isn't a lot in the travel time from here, so it isn't as if I have a preference. Whichever is easiest."

"The Market," Faolan replies, stepping forward, ruffling Lily's ears on the way out the door before turning to wait for Lancelot to join him outside. Juggling his jacket in his hands as he squints across at him in the sunlight. Definitely won't be needing to put that on any time soon, he thinks to himself, wishing he had some sunglasses besides. "My building isn't too far off from there."

Why would he mind? Because he's already been enough of a pain in the neck already. Because he's going to be accompanying him back to his flat as much to keep him safe as to probably be sure that he doesn't pull a runner. Faolan appreciates his company though. Even if it makes him feel guilty at the same time at the moment. "It's nowhere near as nice as this," he says, apologetically. "But. I can afford it at least."

"I'm sure it's fine," Lancelot assures him, locking up and pocketing the keys before guiding Faolan aware from the door with a hand to the small of his back. Just enough to make sure he's steady and walking in the right direction before Lancelot drops it away and shoves it into his pocket. "It isn't a property inspection, Faolan. You aren't going to be rated on the state of your home."

At least he hopes not, or else Lancelot would have to wonder how he rated and if excess dog hair would be held against him.

Faolan glances aside at the other man, more than a little unsure of himself as he does so. Lancelot's hand on his back gives him some support though, even if the other man removes it sooner than he would have liked. But it isn't up to him, and Lancelot isn't obligated to keep touching him. So Faolan shoves his own hands in his pockets, hoisting his bag higher on his shoulder as he does.

"Maybe not," he agrees, slightly gruffly. "I'd still prefer it if you were being honest about whether or not you could stand to be there though." It really isn't the best place -- it's not like he's not cleaning up after himself or that it would be unpleasant at all in that regard. It's just that it's, well. Small, dark, bare, and kind of sad if Faolan is being entirely honest with himself.

He shifts awkwardly on his feet as he walks. "Where is that market you had mentioned we were stopping at?" he asks, trying to change the subject for a moment instead.

Could stand to be there? Lancelot shoots Faolan an incredulous look at that, as if the statement is quite a mad one.

"Faolan you're making it sound like some roach and blood encrusted torture chamber, and forgive me for saying so but I highly doubt that is what it is. For one thing I'd be impressed you could leave it with a clean white shirt. We'll pass a place on the way to the station, and if you aren't careful I'll find you another Mr Grumpy mug to decant your powerade into."

Faolan glances away from the other man, slightly embarrassed by his response. No, it's definitely not as bad as that. Certainly, Faolan had lived in worse places. He'd had no home at all, even, and he vaguely remembered telling Lancelot as much even.

The threat of another Mr Grumpy mug is hardly better, but it at least lightens Faolan's mood. "I think I can manage to drink out of the bottle just fine, but your point is noted," Faolan replies. He keeps his eyes on his feet as they walk, as much because moving his eyes around too much hurts his head as because he's going to be self-conscious the whole way to his flat, and maybe the whole time he spends in Lancelot's company for the day for that matter. He's made a lot of mistakes today, after all.

Lancelot ducks into a small shop near the station to pick up some powerade and a cold drink for himself, waving off Faolan and paying for it. The bright blue colour for it is perhaps a clue it isn't the most natural of drinks, but its point is to hydrate and wire you through and it certainly does that.

The trip is about 15 minutes through to hammersmith station, a five minute walk to change lines then another short two stops. Hammersmith is a little busy, and Shepherds Bush itself moderately so, but once they begin walking they're heading away from the city centre anyway. Lancelot is squinting up at the sky, half debating how long the heat will last and half basking in it. It's probably a good thing Lily is inside, the kitchen tiles at least will stay cool.

Faolan takes the bottle from the other man, opening it and carefully taking a few sips before they're on their way. Quietly following along behind the other man, letting him be their guide despite the fact that he has made this journey a number of times at this point in their friendship. The heat isn't really doing anything to help his headache, but at least he has the drink, and there are more painkillers at his flat that he will no doubt make a dip into when they get there.

He gestures at his building as they make their way towards it. "It's just over there," he says, fumbling to get his keys out of his bag to let them in the front door and through to the stairs. Four flights up and a few doors down on the left, Faolan glances towards Lancelot for a moment before fumbling out another key and opening up the door. "I, ehm," he says, knowing Lancelot won't be pleased for another apology for the place so fighting for something else to say as he lets the other man in. "Welcome in, then."

The flat is small and sparsely furnished. He's got a small kitchen table with two chairs (because it came with two in the set), and a small sofa with a book case, also sparsely filled. Lancelot could probably cross the place in three strides each way. Aside from the little kitchen itself which is essentially part of the main room, there are two doors off of the main area. One no doubt a closet, considering its proximity to the kitchen. Which means the other is Faolan's bedroom, and that the bathroom will be through the tiny bedroom there is an equally if not tinier bathroom besides. His laptop sits out on the kitchen table, and there's a stereo near the sofa, but than that and the bookcase there really isn't much there in the way of personal items. And between the lack of that and the little sliding door which opens out onto a railing that is really the closest thing he can get to a balcony, it's perhaps a bit sad really. In his estimation of things at least.

Faolan steps forward and sets his bag down on the table, trying (and failing) to be too self-conscious of Lancelot's opinion of what little he has to call his own.

Whatever Lancelot may think of his flat, Faolan himself seems to not react at all. A flat is a flat, and perhaps it's a little sparse but what does that matter? To Lancelot it matters little, it is dry and clean and anything else is a bonus.

He flops down onto the small sofa and sets his jacket vaguely over the back of it, making himself comfortable.

"I can wait here while you change," he says, "unless you need help deciding."

The teasing flick of his smile suggests this is meant as a joke, really, although with how hesitant Faolan seems about near enough everything he supposes he might struggle.

Faolan pauses in his trek towards the bedroom, glancing back to Lancelot as he stands in the doorway before shrugging slightly. "Considering how things have been going for me lately, your input certainly wouldn't hurt," he says, flicking the other man something of a smile to say that he's joking somewhat himself, but at the same time he really wouldn't dismiss the help.

He doesn't stick around to wait if Lancelot is going to join him though, he slinks into the bedroom and towards his closet to stare at the small number of choices he has. He's only got the one suit, after all, a simple black that's pretty much good for every occasion, so it's really a question of shirt and tie instead. What he would give to be able to just go to bed and pretend he didn't exist instead...

"Plain is easiest?" Lance calls out, a vague attempt at advice just in case Faolan was serious. He can't entirely tell. Surely picking out something smart isn't that difficult? "Not that I think you plan to wear Hawaiian print, but perhaps a plain tie if you wear one?"

Not one with dogs on, for example, which is a think which does exist and which Lancelot owns.

Faolan quirks something of an eyebrow at the suggestion of Hawaiian print, not even sure that he can imagine himself owning anything like that, never mind wearing it. After a moment, he trails into the bathroom, digging around in his meager medicine cabinet for the strongest painkiller he knows he can take on top what he's done already, tossing back some water from the sink and splashing it on his face before stumbling back into his bedroom and taking account of his situation.

He's acutely aware, as he undresses himself, that he hasn't shut the door between the bedroom and whatever you would call the main space of his flat, he certainly doesn't know. As awkward as he feels about changing with the other man just on the other side of the wall he feels equally awkward about the thought of shutting it and leaving him out there on his own. He compromises by being as quick as he can, slipping into a white shirt and his suit trousers, frowning at the selection of ties he has -- navy, black, what he supposes might be called grey? Or was it blue? Blue-grey? And another that was more definitely blue.

He pulls his jacket off the hanger and grabbing the lot of them, makes his way back in to Lancelot. Holding the lot of them out in front of him and raising an eyebrow in a way that he hopes conveys how hopeless he feels in the moment. He can probably count on one hand the number of times he's had to dress up in the last decade, and he feels severely out of practice.

He looks over them, gestures finally.

"The greyish one perhaps? The black one is too much black."

Gives an awkward over-formality and sense of a funeral. That and it lightens the black suit, which may be good if Faolan is going to stay pale and hungover -- especially if that becomes pale and in shock if he wins the vote by a fluke.

Faolan nods slightly -- while his first thought might not have been funeral but more concert dress, he understands what the other man means by too much black. Good thing he didn't own any black bow ties or that would really fit the bill, though if he did he wouldn't have brought it out as a suggestion anyway.

He tosses his jacket across the arm of the sofa before he turns back and puts the rest of the ties away -- he does like to keep his flat neat and tidy, even if there's hardly anything in it. He makes his way back out into the main room and promptly begins struggling with his tie. "I don't know why I'm bothering with this," he says. Both in frustration as well as because he's convinced himself he isn't going to win.

"Duty? Honour? Pride?"

Lancelot pushes to his feet, pads over and takes hold of Faolan's -- crosses it one way then the other before frowning.

"Do you have a mirror? Forgive me, I'm not good at doing this backwards."

Since he's more used to tying them on himself rather than other people, of course.

Faolan flushes slightly as he realizes what the other man intends to do, before nodding. "In here," he says, motioning towards the bedroom before leading the other man in that way. In through the bedroom to the bathroom, where there is a decent-sized mirror, above the sink. And perhaps just enough room for the pair of them to stand behind it comfortably, if it is perhaps a bit tight.

Faolan wonders if perhaps the universe isn't doing this on purpose. Or if not the universe, perhaps Lancelot himself.

He steps in after Faolan and stands behind him, tall enough to see over Faolan's shoulder as he reaches around him to begin doing up his tie. Lancelot watches his own hands as he does it up, frowning in concentration then adjusting it and folding Faolan's shirt collar back down.

"There you go, how's that?"

Squeezing Faolan's shoulders in gentle reassurance he takes a few steps back, giving him space to fuss as he likes or turn and come out if he's done.

Faolan watches him in the mirror -- it's hard not to, with the look of concentration on his face so intense it's forced him into a frown. It's hard not to be extra aware of their close quarters as well and the little touches the other man is offering here and there, as he straightens the tie and as he folds his shirt collar back down. After everything that he'd dumped on the other man now and the day before, he's surprised that he's here with him at all, never mind touching him.

It makes the rest of it so much more confusing, though.

"It's perfect," he says, though he flushes slightly at his own choice of wording, knowing he hadn't been talking all about the tie, and knowing Lancelot might catch on to that as well. He glances down at the tie itself and starts to fuss with it before deciding to leave it alone if he doesn't want to mess up the whole thing entirely. "I mean. Certainly better than anything I could tie over anyone else's shoulders." Not that Faolan can reach over many other people's shoulders for that matter, but that's neither here nor there.

Lancelot wrinkles his nose a little at that, flicks an idly amused smile.

"It will do," he allows, and shoves his hands into his pocket -- gives a small shrug. "If you're happy with it that's good enough. Are you ready, then? Or is there anything else you want to do first?"

Take something for his head? Drink some more water? Splash cold water on his face? Eating something? Anything of that sort.

Semi-open: May 05

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

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)