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)
undergrounds2016-08-28 12:34 am
knightscode) wrote in undergrounds2016-08-28 12:34 am
Entry tags:
[ 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.
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.
no subject
Though one suspects it's kind of impossible.
A little coquettish when she looks up through her hair at him, "you're pretty kind and beautiful yourself."
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"Now I know that's empty flattery. We both know I look terrible."
Bruises and bites and shadows under his eyes, he can hardly be termed beautiful unless you're thinking beautiful disaster or something similar. Or unless you are particularly fond of men who look roughed up.
Nobody's judging, Kathryn.
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It's taking an obvious amount of effort for Kathryn not to laugh, and it shows on her face. It's just very important that Lancelot understands he's beautiful on the inside. Like an ugly duck baby.
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"You don't have to stay," he adds more softly, "normally I'd offer to cook but..." but, well. He gestures slightly with their linked heads, half-indicating the bruises. "But I could order us something in? We could watch a film if you like."
Netflix and chill. Only since it's Lancelot he didn't really intend it as anything other than innocent. Not that he'd say no to some comfort, but he'd be just as content with a cuddle -- he's that kind of person.
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For a relative degree of quiet, anyway. Lancelot may be entirely genuine, but Kathryn has some ideas about what to do tonight that she'd quite like to capitalise on.
In the meantime though, food sounds pretty good.
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She'll get to pick the film too. Probably to share the biscuits if she wants one. Let's be real, he's a push over, she can have anything she wants.
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"Speaking of the drink--" She says, pausing in front of him first, "do you want me to get rid of yours? It's not good."
Hers tastes awful at any rate, and she raises her eyebrows as if daring Lancelot to tell her any different.
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His eyes widen a little and then he hesitates, torn between politeness and not wanting to disagree.
"I didn't think it was so bad," he hedges, then, "but if you'd like something else...?"
Since obviously she does, and he wont stop her from having whatever she wants.
no subject
"Suit yourself," she says, turning to go into the kitchen, "don't complain to me when your mouth tastes bitter and dusty."