Faolan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reticence) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2016-08-14 09:03 pm
reticence) wrote in undergrounds2016-08-14 09:03 pm
Entry tags:
[OPEN: PLOT] KIDNAPPED BY VAMPIRES?!
There aren’t many narrow, dark alleyways in Richmond -- but there are some.
Lancelot only needs to walk down one to get in trouble.
He’s cutting through between houses on his way back from Tesco. He hadn’t meant to be long, just needed some fresh milk and a loaf of bread for next week, so he’s only dressed in a light t-shirt and some cut-offs. The air is still warm even this late, and he’s distracted -- half tapping his phone awake every so often wondering if he should say something. Faolan doesn’t normally stand him up, but it has been difficult lately. Then again what if something happened? Should he check? He doesn’t want to be clingy, after all…
His senses prickle, telling him something is happening, and he barely gets enough time to turn around before something is being swung at him. There’s a soft clack as his phone hits the ground and skitters away into someone’s front garden, and bread and milk get dumped unceremoniously into someone’s bin before the vampires vanish away.
All the lights are on in his flat, music still softly cycling through his library, but anyone who hops the fence into his back garden will realise Lily is pacing the kitchen all alone.
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Faolan is a man dedicated to his job, dedicated to his cause, and dedicated to finding an answer when a challenge presents itself to him. Which is why, when confronted with the issue of what to do about Raymond, he finds himself struggling with the dilemma. Of course the vampire is a maniac, a danger to the public, but he is also currently faction leader for Islington, which means that by proxy, he is creating a danger through his vampires as well.
It gives him a lot to think about, which is exactly what he's doing, going over various reports of vampire activity from the past month, taking note of the steady incline of injury or homicide at the hands of the Islington vampires, and correlating it with the changes in policy that the vampires have enacted since then. He's not sure exactly what he's looking for, but he knows he'll find it if he just looks hard enough. And in fact, he's looking so hard that he works straight through the time that he'd arranged to meet up with Lancelot, and a good hour beyond that point before he realizes what he's done and leaps to his feet to track down his mobile with a curse.
Lancelot's mobile rings out with no response and Faolan curses again before shooting him a quick text to apologize for himself. And then another to ask if he'd rather reschedule. While Faolan waits for a response he checks the time and clears up his desk for the night. Putting away the reports and locking them up in the bottom drawer of his desk. Grabbing his phone and impatiently waiting for a response as he slips on his jacket and jogs downstairs to the main floor.
Ten minutes pass and he tries calling again. The phone rings out. Faolan wonders whether Lancelot had just gone to bed at this point, but it's early yet. Maybe he's left it on vibrate? He calls a few more times in succession, all of them ringing out to voicemail. He leaves one, as he heads out to the train station, deciding he might as well head to Lancelot's flat to apologize for himself, if nothing else. Sending another text, asking him if he's alright with that. Waiting for a response as he makes the trip that never comes.
By the time Faolan's made it to Lancelot's neighborhood, he's made his way through feeling guilty, then angry at himself, then angry at Lancelot for reacting this way, then working his way increasingly through a state of concern. He's pulled far more stupid stunts than missing a planned get-together with Lancelot, and the other man had never purposely stopped talking to him then. He tries to reason out what might have happened, maybe he had a headache, maybe he'd gone to bed, but the fact is that until Faolan knows for certain he can't help but feel an increasing amount of dread building up within him.
A feeling that does nothing to dissipate as Faolan reaches the other man's flat to find the lights on, the doors locked, music quietly seeping through from the stereo, and no response to the door. Not even when he rings the bell several times. The fact that he can hear Lily pacing inside concerns him even more, to the point where he decides to pop over to Lancelot's neighbor's to beg the key off of her (on the pretense that he'd lost the one he'd been given, which earned him a wary once-over but he'd been over enough to be recognizable at this point, for better or worse).
It doesn't take long for Faolan to determine that he isn't home. Nor does it take him long to determine that there's more at play than the other man being angry at him at this point. Whatever Lancelot might be feeling about Faolan after he'd skipped out on him that night, Lancelot would never leave Lily alone like this.
After three hours, sitting in the other man's flat with his dog, calling his mobile with no response, Faolan knows without a doubt that something is wrong. That Lancelot is missing. And come hell or high water, he will find him, he will find who did this, and he will make them pay.
((ooc: there are three threads below -- feel free to tag into one or more as you like! planning for this plot began here, but if you hadn't tagged into that please don't let that stop you from participating in this plot! LET'S RESCUE LANCELOT YOU GUYS!!))
Lancelot only needs to walk down one to get in trouble.
He’s cutting through between houses on his way back from Tesco. He hadn’t meant to be long, just needed some fresh milk and a loaf of bread for next week, so he’s only dressed in a light t-shirt and some cut-offs. The air is still warm even this late, and he’s distracted -- half tapping his phone awake every so often wondering if he should say something. Faolan doesn’t normally stand him up, but it has been difficult lately. Then again what if something happened? Should he check? He doesn’t want to be clingy, after all…
His senses prickle, telling him something is happening, and he barely gets enough time to turn around before something is being swung at him. There’s a soft clack as his phone hits the ground and skitters away into someone’s front garden, and bread and milk get dumped unceremoniously into someone’s bin before the vampires vanish away.
All the lights are on in his flat, music still softly cycling through his library, but anyone who hops the fence into his back garden will realise Lily is pacing the kitchen all alone.
Faolan is a man dedicated to his job, dedicated to his cause, and dedicated to finding an answer when a challenge presents itself to him. Which is why, when confronted with the issue of what to do about Raymond, he finds himself struggling with the dilemma. Of course the vampire is a maniac, a danger to the public, but he is also currently faction leader for Islington, which means that by proxy, he is creating a danger through his vampires as well.
It gives him a lot to think about, which is exactly what he's doing, going over various reports of vampire activity from the past month, taking note of the steady incline of injury or homicide at the hands of the Islington vampires, and correlating it with the changes in policy that the vampires have enacted since then. He's not sure exactly what he's looking for, but he knows he'll find it if he just looks hard enough. And in fact, he's looking so hard that he works straight through the time that he'd arranged to meet up with Lancelot, and a good hour beyond that point before he realizes what he's done and leaps to his feet to track down his mobile with a curse.
Lancelot's mobile rings out with no response and Faolan curses again before shooting him a quick text to apologize for himself. And then another to ask if he'd rather reschedule. While Faolan waits for a response he checks the time and clears up his desk for the night. Putting away the reports and locking them up in the bottom drawer of his desk. Grabbing his phone and impatiently waiting for a response as he slips on his jacket and jogs downstairs to the main floor.
Ten minutes pass and he tries calling again. The phone rings out. Faolan wonders whether Lancelot had just gone to bed at this point, but it's early yet. Maybe he's left it on vibrate? He calls a few more times in succession, all of them ringing out to voicemail. He leaves one, as he heads out to the train station, deciding he might as well head to Lancelot's flat to apologize for himself, if nothing else. Sending another text, asking him if he's alright with that. Waiting for a response as he makes the trip that never comes.
By the time Faolan's made it to Lancelot's neighborhood, he's made his way through feeling guilty, then angry at himself, then angry at Lancelot for reacting this way, then working his way increasingly through a state of concern. He's pulled far more stupid stunts than missing a planned get-together with Lancelot, and the other man had never purposely stopped talking to him then. He tries to reason out what might have happened, maybe he had a headache, maybe he'd gone to bed, but the fact is that until Faolan knows for certain he can't help but feel an increasing amount of dread building up within him.
A feeling that does nothing to dissipate as Faolan reaches the other man's flat to find the lights on, the doors locked, music quietly seeping through from the stereo, and no response to the door. Not even when he rings the bell several times. The fact that he can hear Lily pacing inside concerns him even more, to the point where he decides to pop over to Lancelot's neighbor's to beg the key off of her (on the pretense that he'd lost the one he'd been given, which earned him a wary once-over but he'd been over enough to be recognizable at this point, for better or worse).
It doesn't take long for Faolan to determine that he isn't home. Nor does it take him long to determine that there's more at play than the other man being angry at him at this point. Whatever Lancelot might be feeling about Faolan after he'd skipped out on him that night, Lancelot would never leave Lily alone like this.
After three hours, sitting in the other man's flat with his dog, calling his mobile with no response, Faolan knows without a doubt that something is wrong. That Lancelot is missing. And come hell or high water, he will find him, he will find who did this, and he will make them pay.
((ooc: there are three threads below -- feel free to tag into one or more as you like! planning for this plot began here, but if you hadn't tagged into that please don't let that stop you from participating in this plot! LET'S RESCUE LANCELOT YOU GUYS!!))
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Though he pauses as he gets used to the scents in the room, finally catching onto one that's all too familiar.
"I don't think he's upstairs!"
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Firing once more on another approaching vampire, Faolan whirls at the other man's words. Not 'I don't think he's here' -- which part of Faolan's doubts had started to fear, after it was beginning to look like he wasn't in any of the rooms upstairs -- but 'I don't think he's upstairs'. Maybe Sirius had found something. A clue?
"What do you mean?" Faolan asks, trying to keep his voice shy of demanding the answer of the other man. Sirius had volunteered to come on this mission after all. "Have you found something?"
He stiffens at the creak of a door to his left and has just enough time to turn and blindly fire a shot into the room beyond, swearing under his breath as that signals the last of the rounds in his revolver. He fumbles to slot in another six bullets, hoping the pair of them will cover for him in the moment as he continues, "Where else? The ground floor was a wash, if he's not upstairs--" He cuts himself short. Of course. A building like this. There has to be a cellar. Why hadn't he thought of that first.
Clicking his gun back together Faolan turns and tears back down the stairs.
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"Hard to tell! But I think I'm picking up his scent."
It's faint, but recognizable considering how long he's been focuses on it. But there's lots of other scents and things going on in the room which make it hard to follow.
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"God damn, watch your back, asshole," Daryl muttered where no one could hear it, double backing once he was done and setting his butt on the rail to slide down just to catch up.
When he was on the first floor again, he started moving toward the kitchen, "If he ain't on the top floor and he ain't in one of the rooms here, he's probably in the basement. Houses like this, access is usually through the pantry."
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They duck through the kitchen and into the pantry, and Faolan can't help thinking that if they really were holding Lancelot in a place like that, wouldn't they be protecting the kitchen more? Then again, maybe they werent expecting the company? Or maybe there are more of them waiting in the basement below.
Locating the door is easier said than done, however. Faolan makes a full circuit of the pantry and then the kitchen proper before coming back to the pantry again, swearing under his breath. "Damn it..." he mutters, before noticing conspicuous drag marks on the floor. Something heavy had been pushed through here, and recently. Disturbing the settled dust and scratching the wooden floor underneath. The marks themselves could have led either direction, but looking in the pantry the only thing heavy enough would be...
Faolan jumps forward towards a large, antique cupboard. That barely budges when he puts his whole weight into the effort. He swears again. "Help me move this!!" he calls out. Hoping that they've got all the vampires nearby at least. There's no way any of them are going to be able to do this one-handed.
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He's tired, his shoulders and wrists are hurting in a way he's never quite experienced before from the strain of hanging this way, and blood loss is hardly helping but he can still focus enough to squirm. He has one or two slightly purple bruises, and some bites that aren't entirely clean from where he tried to shake them off. Nothing is bleeding, though, and nothing looks like it will need serious work.
Right now, his first thought on the cupboard moving is someone is coming down to either question him or drink from him again. He isn't particularly fond of either idea.
So he starts to try and haul himself up toward the hook. To try and get himself off it -- something he might be able to do at full strength if he really tried but which is pretty questionable now. The rope is keeping his wrists bound tight together, and there isn't much leverage. If nothing else, he's psyching himself up to kick whatever comes down the stairs clean in the chest if it tries anything. It may not help, but for a minute or so it'll make him feel better about life.
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So with great reluctance, he shoved his bow into Sirius' chest, "You see anyone comin' that shouldn't you, you shoot 'em. Aim for the heart, not the arm."
It would probably be easier if Sirius tried helping with the moving and Daryl watched their backs, but Daryl wasn't exactly thinking straight at this point. Too focused on Faolan being a complete idiot with his rush-in approach to do more than than try to cover his ass.
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"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he says to one vampire who was looking at them curiously.
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He darts his eyes in the direction that Sirius has spoken up, warning the vampires away. He's kept his gun close at hand if he needs it but he might not be fast enough to draw it, even so. They just need to get this damned cabinet moved, and fast.
"Ready? Push!!" Faolan instructs. The piece begins to shift as Daryl moves to help him, and Faolan throws everything he has into the effort. There's everything to lose if he doesn't, after all. And sure enough, there it is, hidden directly behind where the cabinet had sat -- a door from the pantry leading to what Faolan could only assume to be a basement.
He waits until they've got the cabinet moved far enough to open the door and fit through and then with only a half a glance behind himself to Sirius and the vampires beyond he's darting to the door and down the stairs...
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He catches sight of movement on the stairs and grits his teeth, lifts his eyes to try and see the hook above him and squirms harder. Come on, come on. He flails out his feet as he senses someone moving close, hoping to kick them away and buy himself more time. Lancelot isn't beaten yet, he still has a chance. He can still do something about this if he just tries a little harder.
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Rushing his way down the stairs, the adrenaline and relief of finding Lancelot alive and kicking spurs Faolan faster. For all the calling out that he had done for the other man before now he only wants to be at his side and make certain that he's alright. He supposes in retrospect he should have announced his presence a bit more obviously, as suddenly he finds Lancelot's foot connecting with his lower rib cage. He stumbles back a step, grunting in pain and surprise though he supposes he can't blame the other man, given the state of things.
"Easy," he hisses at the other man. "Lancelot." He hopes that the other man has enough within himself to focus on his voice. Looking at him hanging there by his wrists like that, covered in bruises, bites, blood, and god knows what else, Faolan feels as though he could literally breathe fire. "Just take it easy, I'll get you down..."
He glances at his companions behind him, letting Daryl and then Sirius in turn know that they are definitely in charge of covering his back while he does this before turning to Lancelot again and approaching cautiously. Hoping he doesn't get kicked again. Even as weakened as the other man seems to be, that's going to leave a mark.
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"You need a hand at all?"
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Struggling again he tries to hoist himself up to fight free of his ropes at little more.
"Knife?" He prompts, wincing as his wrists squirm in the ropes. Something to cut him free with. Although he supposes Faolan can't actually reach on his own unless he has something to stand on. Stopping mid struggle he casts around for something that will fit and spots a table and chairs, cocks his head toward them then yanks one over toward them with magic perhaps a little more aggressively than he intended. His eyes are still flitting about a little nervously, slightly afraid that any minute now they'll be swarmed with vampires again.
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"Don't talk to 'em," Daryl growled at Sirius, "Just shoot 'em."
If he'd had a silvered knife, he'd have already thrown it through the guy's head. But he didn't. What he did have, however, were a good seven hunting and skinning knives strapped to himself. Mostly at the waist, but a couple at the boots. When he heard the request from down below, he pulled one and gave a sharp whistle to draw attention his way. Then held it out at arms length where he hoped it'd be visible past the turn in the stairs if he leaned just a little.
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"Make sure none of them make their way down this way!" he calls out to the others. Realizing at once that there's a bit of a problem with this picture. For one, the rope suspending the other man is very high up. And for another, the chair isn't quite tall enough to allow him to reach that far. Faolan swears under his breath about his height not for the first time before untangling the table from the rest of the chairs and pulling it over as well. Awkwardly clambering up on it and stretching (on the tips of his toes, god damn it) to be able to reach the rope to begin cutting it off. Slipping the knife in between the other man's wrist and the material and sawing away at it.
He thinks about advising Lancelot to brace himself as the rope begins to fray but really what is there to say? Getting down is better than staying up there, and there's no easy way of getting down but falling...
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"You redecorating down there?" He called down, obviously perturbed that more than thirty seconds had passed and Faolan wasn't back upstairs with Lance. "What's takin' you so long? Your boyfriend forget how to walk or something?"
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The rope snaps suddenly and Lancelot drops to ground, crashing slightly against the table but managing not to overturn it. He curses slightly louder than he really intended, cringes in on himself as pain sears through his arms after having them stretched out for so long. For a second he just swallows back the pain in silence, then he flicks his eyes up to Faolan.
Yes, he looks terrible, but yes, he really does want to get out of there as soon as possible. Carefully picking his way over he half turns to stand beside the table in case Faolan wants to steady himself on him as he jumps down.
"Who else is here?"
Are there more people outside? Lancelot feels oddly self-conscious already that three people have come to rescue him.
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"You should probably have this back as well."
He really doesn't trust himself with it.
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"Knock the glass out the windows," Daryl ordered before he called down the stairs, "Think we're clear to go out the kitchen door. Get your asses up here!"
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"God, Lancelot. What have they done to you..." he asks, softly, reaching out to brush some of Lancelot's curls out of his eyes where they have fallen and he hasn't yet reached up to brush them away himself. Fingers catching on a sticky patch of blood, and he brushes his hair aside further to find an older gash on Lancelot's temple.
There's something about the sight of it -- perhaps the knowledge that despite how bad it is at least he is alive and he's found him -- that has Faolan stepping forward and wrapping his arms around the other man for a moment. That has him stepping back to slide his hand down Lancelot's face and -- despite the presence of the two men just beyond on the stairs, yelling at them to hurry -- leaning up to press a kiss against Lancelot's lips. Slightly more chaste than another kiss might be, given the circumstances, but equally demonstrative of how grateful and relieved he is to have found him again.
It only lasts a moment, and then Faolan is stepping back and pressing a hand to the small of Lancelot's back, turning to guide him up the stairs. "Sirius and Daryl," he answers Lancelot's previous question. "They're keeping watch, but we need to get out of this place. Do you think you can run, if you need to?"
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It's still sore, rather like everything else.
Faolan's arms come around him and Lancelot lets out a slight sigh, feeling exhausted all of a sudden with relief.
Then Faolan is moving back, leaning to kiss him, and Lancelot is slightly at a loss for how to react to that. He's tired and confused, and people are shouting instructions, and before he can awkwardly try to say the right thing Faolan is trying to move him again. To guide him upstairs and out.
He's a little grateful, in truth, that he isn't expected to have done anything there himself. He really does just want to get out and go home.
"I have no idea," he answers honestly, because even if his legs don't hurt too much he's still lightheaded and short of breath. "I can try though."
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At least, he thinks to himself, given how weak the other man seems to be at this moment, he won't be able to run too fast for Faolan to keep up with. Which isn't necessarily a good sign but in the moment, if he's unsteady and needs his presence there to help him keep going, it'll help Faolan do exactly that.
"Let's give it a go, then," Faolan replies, wrapping his arm tighter around the other man before beginning to guide him up towards the men above. "Let's get the hell out of here!" he calls out to them.
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"Toss him over your shoulder. We only got so much daylight left." They had six more hours of daylight. Daryl just really felt the need to lash out in someway. To fight the fear the thought of being surrounded by so many vampires just watching him (even if it wasn't him they were after) brought back.
/end
He rolls his eyes slightly at the thought of it, before all but dragging Lancelot up the stairs with him. Relying on Sirius and Daryl to keep them all safe from attack as they stumble from the kitchen and out through the house towards the safety of the sunlight beyond.