Lancelot du Lac (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
knightscode) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2016-08-06 01:12 am
knightscode) wrote in undergrounds2016-08-06 01:12 am
Entry tags:
[ Active / Closed ] Caught in the crossfire
It's been a complicated few months for Lancelot.
As a Guardian, it isn't terribly great to know one of the Night Council has 'vanished' under mysterious circumstances. Gilbert Norrell may not have been a personal favourite of his, but he was still someone the Guardians were there to protect. Moreover, the investigation is going slowly.
Which is also not brilliant, considering he'd just been promoted.
As both a Police Officer and a Guardian both, there's little Lancelot likes less than the feeling of a dead end.
Then, of course, there's the vampire problem.
Lancelot thinks he can be forgiven for feeling a touch bitter over that.
Richmond -- Early August, Closed to Natasha
Lancelot is starting to feel more than uneasy about what is happening with Islington.
Especially since he has unwittingly helped create the current situation.
He dislikes feeling used, and even if he has managed to fend them off once from taking back the territory he took the loss of trust is something that stings.
Jean-Claude makes him feel uneasy. He'd liked him at first, the man had even saved him. Yet everything that came after makes Lancelot wonder if he has trusted too easily. What the vampire has told him is true -- in comparison surely he is far from the worst one, but then again perhaps that is only because Lancelot has not seen him at his worse. Perhaps he is being fooled all over again.
What he needs is someone who better understands vampires than he does, which is honestly not difficult. Yet... equally, there is someone he can think of.
Although most likely this isn't what she'd been thinking of when he'd offered to meet her.
He's standing outside the small, brightly coloured shop with one hand shoved into the pockets of faded jeans. The sun is long set, but the place is open until midnight -- although Lancelot suspects the fact that this caters to the supernatural community is entirely unintentional. Lily is sat pressed up against his legs, leaning slightly into him as his free hand ruffles her white fur. She's the first to sense Natasha approaching, and looks around before pushing to all fours -- tail beginning to swish up over her back. Lancelot looks up in turn, brightens a little at the sight of her and offers a small smile.
Then he belatedly realises he's standing in front of a small frozen yogurt shop and looks back at it self-consciously for a second before offering her a shrug.
"I hope it's everything you thought it would be," he says, and his lips twitch in barely repressed amusement.
Southwark -- backdated to June / Closed to Faolan.
Lancelot is more than a little surprised he actually won, but he's not arguing with it.
Now, though, as adrenaline begins to wear off all the cuts and scrapes he's wearing begin to hurt and as he looks down at himself... Lancelot can't help but laugh a little.
He looks like he belongs on the cover of some utterly ridiculous romance novel, shirt sliced and covered with blood. Doesn't help that it's a white shirt. Why did he wear a white shirt? He wasn't thinking, that's why, he was too angry to think. Sighing a little he tries to work out the best way to get home like this. He'll be stared at if he takes public transport. Maybe a taxi would be more forgiving.
With a heavy sigh he plods his way back toward the gaggle of Daybreak witches -- then catches sight of something out of the corner of his eye.
Faolan? Of all people -- well, Lancelot would have dragged him into such a thing once upon a time but... Faolan is now the leader of Hillingdon, and already has enough political complication without looking as if he's assisting in a Daybreak claim.
Lancelot blinks at him a moment before frowning and beginning to cautiously step over.
"If you're looking to help," he begins slowly, "you're a little late now. I'm afraid it appears to be over."
As a Guardian, it isn't terribly great to know one of the Night Council has 'vanished' under mysterious circumstances. Gilbert Norrell may not have been a personal favourite of his, but he was still someone the Guardians were there to protect. Moreover, the investigation is going slowly.
Which is also not brilliant, considering he'd just been promoted.
As both a Police Officer and a Guardian both, there's little Lancelot likes less than the feeling of a dead end.
Then, of course, there's the vampire problem.
Lancelot thinks he can be forgiven for feeling a touch bitter over that.
Richmond -- Early August, Closed to Natasha
Lancelot is starting to feel more than uneasy about what is happening with Islington.
Especially since he has unwittingly helped create the current situation.
He dislikes feeling used, and even if he has managed to fend them off once from taking back the territory he took the loss of trust is something that stings.
Jean-Claude makes him feel uneasy. He'd liked him at first, the man had even saved him. Yet everything that came after makes Lancelot wonder if he has trusted too easily. What the vampire has told him is true -- in comparison surely he is far from the worst one, but then again perhaps that is only because Lancelot has not seen him at his worse. Perhaps he is being fooled all over again.
What he needs is someone who better understands vampires than he does, which is honestly not difficult. Yet... equally, there is someone he can think of.
Although most likely this isn't what she'd been thinking of when he'd offered to meet her.
He's standing outside the small, brightly coloured shop with one hand shoved into the pockets of faded jeans. The sun is long set, but the place is open until midnight -- although Lancelot suspects the fact that this caters to the supernatural community is entirely unintentional. Lily is sat pressed up against his legs, leaning slightly into him as his free hand ruffles her white fur. She's the first to sense Natasha approaching, and looks around before pushing to all fours -- tail beginning to swish up over her back. Lancelot looks up in turn, brightens a little at the sight of her and offers a small smile.
Then he belatedly realises he's standing in front of a small frozen yogurt shop and looks back at it self-consciously for a second before offering her a shrug.
"I hope it's everything you thought it would be," he says, and his lips twitch in barely repressed amusement.
Southwark -- backdated to June / Closed to Faolan.
Lancelot is more than a little surprised he actually won, but he's not arguing with it.
Now, though, as adrenaline begins to wear off all the cuts and scrapes he's wearing begin to hurt and as he looks down at himself... Lancelot can't help but laugh a little.
He looks like he belongs on the cover of some utterly ridiculous romance novel, shirt sliced and covered with blood. Doesn't help that it's a white shirt. Why did he wear a white shirt? He wasn't thinking, that's why, he was too angry to think. Sighing a little he tries to work out the best way to get home like this. He'll be stared at if he takes public transport. Maybe a taxi would be more forgiving.
With a heavy sigh he plods his way back toward the gaggle of Daybreak witches -- then catches sight of something out of the corner of his eye.
Faolan? Of all people -- well, Lancelot would have dragged him into such a thing once upon a time but... Faolan is now the leader of Hillingdon, and already has enough political complication without looking as if he's assisting in a Daybreak claim.
Lancelot blinks at him a moment before frowning and beginning to cautiously step over.
"If you're looking to help," he begins slowly, "you're a little late now. I'm afraid it appears to be over."
no subject
Still, he would never want the other man to caution himself, not around him. Not because of him. So he does his best to rally himself, taking a sip of his drink before he replies, "You know, somehow I don't find myself feeling particularly threatened by that."
no subject
Although, somehow, the idea of Lily -- white, fluffy Samoyed who shies from surprises and loud noises -- being a man-eating dog and a terror is perhaps a little hard to sell.
Not that he expects Faolan to believe him, but still.
no subject
He gives the other man a wry look, before he takes another sip of his drink. Yes, as a matter of fact he's finding that he can still banter with him. But there's a part of him that wonders whether it is strange for Lancelot. After all -- it is for the other man that everything has changed. Faolan has had time to adjust to and settle down into his feelings for the other man himself, after all.
He wonders whether it's because Lancelot hasn't said no that he's still even allowed as much. He wonders -- not for the first nor the last time that day -- why he hasn't turned him down. And then he shuts down that train of thought for the moment. It's not going to do him any good in the here and now.
no subject
"You probably can't," he says honestly, "you wouldn't believe it unless you saw it, I think. I can brush enough fur out of her for an entire second dog and she'll still have some left."
It's a lot of fur. He's often wondered if he should see if something can be done with it. Dog wool? Dog fur stuffed pillows instead of feathers?
"I should make you help one day. Then you can see for yourself."
no subject
"Believe it or not, I have faced more precarious situations," he replies instead. "I think you'll find me more than up to the challenge."