undergrounds | [ Active / Open ] How long can I neglect me for

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[ Active / Open ] How long can I neglect me for

The month has become a little rough for Lancelot. First there was his suspicions regarding Jean-Claude, then Raymond's declaration, then... then everything got a little worse. It was only a weekend hes spent in the basement with Raymond's lackeys, but he's still recovering from the blood loss -- and it's shaken him more than he'd care to admit.

i) Semi-Open: At Home, Richmond.

For a few days after, Lancelot simply shuts himself in and tries to recharge. He's sore, covered in vampire bites and bruises and a little uneasy still. Lancelot may not have been taken directly from his home, but he wasn't far from it. He still can't be sure if they were watching his house, how long for if they were. If it was chance or luck, if it was planned.

He won't refuse visitors, but in truth Lancelot is rather content with just Lily for company at the moment. His mind is busy, and having lost a fair amount of blood he's also tired.

An awkward amount of time has been spent inventing a passable reason he's in such a state for people he simply can't tell 'oh it was vampires', and that's... difficult. He hates lying. Yet all the same he's managed it, somehow, had to halfway makeup that he's already done something about charging those responsible and he doesn't want to talk about it.

Which just leaves Lancelot standing in his kitchen staring absently at the coffee he's just made, wondering if he can get away with putting some alcohol in it this early in the day. Lily stays pressed to his side like a peculiarly white and fluffy shadow of concern, perhaps wondering what she might be able to do to help.

ii) Open: Night Council territory & various others.

He knows he can't stay at home forever, though. Eventually Lancelot has to go back to work, and he knows the longer he leaves it the harder it will be. So a few days after it Lancelot heads back in, wearing a little more clothing than strictly sensible on a hot day to try and cover up some of the bites and bruises he's sporting. He checks in with all his cases and paperwork in Westminster, picks up a few things and heads out onto the street.

Lily tags along with him for support, so he tries to walk in the shade when he can -- her thick white fur making her suffer a little in the summer. He's pausing by a shop at one point to pour out a little water for her when she nearly trips someone up moving, and Lancelot makes a little ah sound and bodily pulls her closer.

"Forgive me," he says softly, shuffling the bowl so she can lap some of the water up. "She's a little restless in the heat."

Samoyeds are built for Siberia, after all, not for 30°C. The dog fusses to get at the water, leash looping around her a little even as Lancelot looks up to offer an apology smile.

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Finnick watches him while he answers, and then turns his gaze to Lily, as if she'll help push back some of his own nightmares.

"I'm sorry," he offers after a moment's hesitation, "I went missing too, for a while." He lets out a cold, quiet laugh as he goes on, "a few decades, in fact."

It's harder not to talk about it when he's this tired. The words flow easily, and it's a combination of wanting to show Lancelot that he understands and just a need to get it out there. He couldn't possibly make it known to his whole court; they'd lose respect for him. Lancelot seems like a decent man, not that he can help what he's saying much right now. Whatever has happened to Lancelot is all too familiar.

"You're alive," he adds, almost as a question. He doesn't know if Lancelot thinks that's a good thing or a bad one.

Decades? His brow furrows slightly at that. Then again, he supposes decades don't seem as long to the fae, do they? Not when they live as long as they do. So he doesn't push, nods slightly at the question instead.

"I am," he allows. "I have good friends who saw to that."

After all, he can't be entirely sure he would be if he was left in the care of those vampires much longer. They might have kept him alive, for information or bargaining, but they also might have simply removed him as an inconvenience.

"Good," Finnick says, nodding to show he really means it. He feels a twinge of jealousy that Lancelot had friends to help him but he dismisses it and keeps it to himself.

He doesn't know where to go from here, and so he glances nervously up and down the road, like he's waiting for someone to come arrest him just for existing in this territory.

"I should leave you be."

Someone that would probably be him if anyone. Lancelot shakes his head slightly, faint frown still in place.

"It's fine," he assures Finnick. "We could get a drink, if you like? There's a few places here."

Places Lily can go, obviously, since those are the ones Lancelot would know best.

Finnick hesitates, but he's spent so much time alone recently, he should probably spend time with another living thing for a while. He's even kept Annie at arm's length, relatively speaking, and he's spending far too much time in his own head.

"Yes, I think I would," he says. "Please, lead the way."

He nods, coaxing Lily closer to his side and beginning picking up the bowl and bottle of water -- stashing them away in his bag before starting to walk. It's easiest to pick a place that he knows is largely regular people, since if he's walking with Finnick then people are less likely to sense what he is and look twice. So Lancelot picks a relatively generic decent-ish gastrpub that he knows won't be bothered about Lily and pushes his way in. It isn't too busy, so it's easy enough to pick a quiet corner and go unbothered. Lancelot shrugs off his jacket and is about to start rolling up his sleeves before he remembers. In the end he just tosses it over the back of a chair and looks up at Finnick curiously.

"What can I get you?"

Lancelot has decided he's paying, largely because it was his dog Finnick nearly tripped over. That counts as a reason.

"A beer is fine," Finnick says, though there's not much heart to it. He's not paying attention to what kind of supernatural types are around them, if any, but he figures if he's with a Guardian there shouldn't be a problem. There may be a few people that hate fae around but he's not going to try anything.

He nods and slips away to the bar, digging for his wallet and catching the attention of the man behind it. Lancelot isn't a big drinker himself, for not terribly specific reason -- a mix. He doesn't enjoy being drunk much, he's something of a lightweight, and overall he prefers to be healthier if he can stand it. He can drink a beer if he wants to though, so a few minutes later he slips two onto the table.

"You look like you could use it," he says softly, and twitches a small smile. "Or something stronger, in truth. I wouldn't know how much it would take to have an influence on you, though."

Is it the same for fae? Maybe not, maybe it takes more. Or less. Lancelot doesn't really recall, but then again he was very young when he was there.

"A little more, I think. I've never been the heavyweight that some other fae are. Being tired makes it easier, too," he says, approaching a tone that could be thoughtful. He's trying not to be in his own head too much, trying to allow Lancelot to be a distraction.

"What about yourself? I imagine it takes a bit more for you as well."

He lets out a huff of laughter at that.

"Absolutely not. I need to be careful how much I drink or I start falling asleep. Which, I suppose is better than causing a scene.... but..."

But also not ideal. He wrinkles his nose a little, taking a small sip of his beer as he ruffles at Lily with his other hand.

Finnick smiles at that, his eyes crinkling affectionately at Lancelot and then down at his drink. "I think people expect me to cause a scene, for better or worse. I've tried to make myself the typical fae in that regard, but I think I secretly hate parties and busy places."

"Is that such a crime? There must be a niche for those who buck the norm."

Lancelot settles himself slightly and frowns in thought, fingers still gently smoothing Lily's ears as he does.

"People will always have expectations of you, but changing yourself to suit them... It's like wearing ill fitting clothing. It may look good from the outside but if you're uncomfortable, you can't enjoy the compliments anyway. Besides which -- aren't you meant to be rebellious and fickle too? Why not rebel against the stereotype instead."

When Finnick smiles this time he seems... amused. Lancelot may have lived with the fae, but he doesn't understand. Maybe his view of the entire world is this optimistic, but Finnick knows better.

"There's no acceptable version of me that is also true," he says, missing the regret he might feel if this were in any way a recent revelation. "If I want to be anything, making anything of myself, I have to cover up how I really am. That's all there is to it."

Lancelot flickers a slight from at that, because it isn't... good.

"You can't be happy that way," he ventures, because living a lie is never a happy thing. He circles his drink idly, takes a sip as he thinks. Can it really be so? It might be that Finnick has set himself up to believe it, but there might be a way around it? Or, even, it might be as simple as enacting the change in the way things are himself?

Lancelot is always an optimist though, he believes in a better world and in helping build such a thing if he can.

"I've been happy before, I think that counts for something," Finnick says with an empty laugh. In truth, he's a bit afraid to be happy, because maybe that means he's forgetting about all the awful realities of the world. He has to be careful and alert or else he may get trapped again.

"I'm happy when things are simple, but that doesn't happen very often outside my own home."

'Happy before'.

Something about that makes Lancelot feel terribly sad, but pity is a thing no-one likes. His smile twitches up to something rueful, though, because he understands the sentiment.

"I sometimes wonder what my life would be like," he admits, "if I had stayed oblivious to all of this. I like to imagine it would be simpler, but the truth is I'm not so sure it would be. Life has a way of complicating things if we like it or not."

Finnick nods slowly. He's considered that a lot - the question of why me? He can't even imagine a world where he hasn't been what he's been through, doesn't even know who he'd be right now. Maybe he'd still be some carefree fae thinking only of the next exciting adventure, or maybe something else would come along to make his life hell in a different way. It's not worth dwelling on, is what he's concluded, though he still dwells from time to time.

"I suppose things like this have to happen to someone," he says with a weak smile.

"They do. Perhaps it is better it happens to those of us who can stomach it, instead of those who cannot."

Even if they aren't handling it with grace, they are at least handling it. There are some, Lancelot knows, who would not be able to at all. He takes a sip of his drink, ruffling at Lily as she paces under the table -- slipping his fingers under her chin and tilting it up so he can look into her trusting brown eyes.

"The world can be a cruel place, but there are always good things too." Shifting his fingers he tugs her forward so he can ruffle at her better, smiles back up at Finnick. "If none of this had happened to me I wouldn't have been able to make all the friends I have, or help the people I have. Like Lily."

Yes, like his dog. Prime example. Best dog friend.

Finnick frowns in thought as he watches Lance play with his dog. He thinks of Annie, how he wouldn't have her if not for all of this, but it's still tempting to consider a life where he didn't have to endure what he went through.

"Can you really bring yourself to be grateful like that?"

Can he? Lancelot thinks about it seriously a moment, scratching idly as his chest as he turns over the question.

"Yes," he says finally, "I don't see why I wouldn't be. I've made friends I can count on. I've been given the opportunity to make a difference. My life is not perfect, not in the slightest. A lot of it has been unhappy. Yet... so much of it has been good too. I'd rather suffer but grow from it than have missed all this. After all, who am I to say it would be better? It might be worse. Or it might be boring."

He flicks a small, faint sort of smile. Boring isn't so bad, in truth, but the sentiment stands: he's grateful. He wouldn't change it.

Finnick smiles down at his hands, and it's a tired sort of smile. "I'd love to be as sure as you," he says, despite Lancelot's pause. He thinks far too often that boredom would be preferable to how he feels a lot of the time, but he knows Lancelot is right for the most part. If he didn't have what happened to him he wouldn't have Annie or a purpose like he does now.

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