undergrounds | HOUNSLOW TERRITORY CLAIM

"There's been a lot going on. I can hardly blame you for being distracted. I imagine we've both been busy." She glaces at him sideways, smiling gently to signal that she accepts his apology none the less. "Nice to see you again, though. It has been a while."

This is peculiarly formal for Faolan, which gives Lancelot an oddly wary feeling. Why would he be so formal about something? Is it serious? Is he in trouble? Is Lancelot in trouble and he hadn't realised yet?

Lancelot is suddenly mentally planning for the various eventualities.

Come by about half six? I was going to just make myself a salad tonight, but I can cook something if you'd prefer? I have enough for a stir-fry.

Arthur's easy to find most days. Now that he's Chief Hunter he does most of his research at Hillingdon House so that he's available. It's preferable to handing out his contact information and there have turned out to be a few cozy rooms in the old house that are relatively quiet throughout the day. He spends at least an hour there on a regular day, coordinating both his daylight business and compiling research for his hunts.

The clacking of his keyboard and mouse is constant but it'll fall quiet if someone approaches as Arthur waits for the inevitable but welcome interruption.

What is it about asking to come over that makes Lancelot think he needs to be fed, Faolan wonders to himself as he contemplates his answer. Does he seem like he doesn't feed himself well enough? Which is a ridiculous question to contemplate, of course he doesn't look like he feeds himself well enough. Probably because he doesn't. He wonders whether Lancelot is acting out of pity for him or out of some European hosting kneejerk reaction every time he has to cook for him like this, but he supposes he doesn't mind it so much. Lancelot is good at what he makes, after all.

Only if you'd like. Don't go out of your way for me, I can eat on the way over if you'd rather.

Of course, he doesn't know where. But he can stop somewhere. Lancelot shouldn't feel obligated to feed him just because he wants to come over to talk to him. Theoretically he could just call of course, but there's something about discussing faction business over his mobile that doesn't feel very secure to him.

Faolan watches the other man walking back and forth in front of him, unable to help from making the connection with the stalking even if it is less pronounced than the previous few times that Daryl has done so in his office. Something is obviously on Daryl's mind. And for once, it isn't something that he's done wrong.

It's a nice change of pace, so Faolan sits back and quietly waits for Daryl to out his thoughts. Leaning forward over his desk slightly as he does. "There have been a lot of changes to how Islington has been handling their business with the community at large since the last meeting regarding the vampires, it's true," he agrees. Not only open season, but Raymond and the vampires have been cast out of the Night Council. They consider themselves above the law, and that's dangerous, with only the law itself to patrol them.

"Striking up a conversation with Redbright," Faolan replies to the question. "If we are to gain power, we need more territory. And they have it -- the most logical areas to claim at least. In negotiating with them, while we are lacking in a lot of the regular areas they might seek, we still have resources we might bring to the table."

He glances around the table at the lot of them, before suggesting, "Manpower. We are hunters. We have a problem with vampires. They might have their own fighters in their own factions, but their people will never be as good against such odds as we will. And they will recognize that." He will make them recognize that.

Nightingale is busy. Classes have started, and although he'd be happy to help escort Hillingdon members around the area, no one seems to be asking. And as such, he doesn't exactly feel compelled to go searching for someone to escort either.

He sets himself up on a bench in a rather common area. Balancing a carryout coffee on one arm of the bench as he sorts out his paperwork before him. Given the fact that he's sitting doing his grading outside of the Redbright Institute, it's almost definitely obvious he's a professor at the school. And a rather eccentric one at that it would seem, as he sits there in his three-piece suit, a silver-topped gentleman's cane leaning on the bench beside him.

Sylvia has now learned Annie's name but other than that she knows nothing about the girl except that Faolan thought it was a good idea to bring her. The thought occurs that she's Faolan's girlfriend, but he doesn't say as much and she doesn't ask. Regardless, she seems pleasant enough, Sylvia nodding in acknowledgement when Annie compliments her home.

As for the tea, there's nothing wrong with it. It's good tea. Sylvia sips hers while she listens to Faolan, then nods, offering a smile.

"School starts on Monday, so it's all hands on deck. It's frantic, but always exciting to welcome the new students. Some of them have never met others like them, especially of their own age." Her smile becomes reminiscent. She can think of so many wide-eyed students over the years who grew up to become valuable members of the supernatural community. "What about you, Faolan? How are things in Hillingdon?"

Arthur is doing as Faolan wishes, getting the lay of the land so to speak, trying to gather as much information as possible without ruffling any feathers. He's very cautious, keeping quiet and not making much contact with anyone but clanmates for the time being, but when he sees Natasha he can't really help himself. He observes her helping out some of the others first, and he wonders what capacity Redbright has her working in, but he's sure that's information he can glean just by talking to her.

So he approaches her with a smooth "excuse me" like he's about to ask for a goddamn campus tour.

Sirius has mixed feelings about being at the school, as it provides a sense of painful nostalgia for his own school days, which at this point were arguably the best of his life. But it's a good place to find Redbright members to follow, so he'll grin and bear it. Or maybe just bear it.

He really should have asked more about who to approach. Although a professor grading papers might be the best place to start, and so Sirius trots over, watching from a distance.

"So, we offer our resources and they give us their territory," Sirius replied, contemplating. It seemed fair, but this was also a little out of his scope of knowledge. He was just generally wary of Redbright due to it's connection with the Night council. Though at the same time, he could probably trust Faolan's resolve.

"Which one are we looking at? They have a few, don't they?"

Natasha turns, recognizing his voice. She can't claim that she's really surprised. Not after what happened before. Still, it was strange seeing him in such a different context. When they've interacted before, she's largely been pretending to be mortal. The one exception was Harris's party, but even there their interactions were largely superficial.

She recovers quickly, though. "Can I help you?"

I'd rather we were both eating together than just me eating and you watching. See you then.

Which is Lancelot's way of gently putting an end to Faolan's protests.

He ends up deciding on a stir-fry in the end, mostly because he thinks Faolan might be a little hungrier than he is. The sound of the door gets Lily crashing toward it in her habitual way with a bark, and a moment later the door opens with Lancelot gently restraining her so she doesn't shoot out. The house smells slightly of frying oil and beef and some sort of sauce, and Lancelot is dressed down in faded jeans and a loose short-sleeved t-shirt.

"Hi -- come in, please."

He twitches Faolan a smile and stands aside, trying to encourage Lily to follow. The flat is mostly tidy, aside from a box haphazardly left on a chair in the breakfast area, and the white roses Jean-Claude sent him are still largely open and alive. Lily bounds toward Faolan as soon as the door is closed and Lancelot releases her, wagging excitedly. Hello, Faolan! Hello! You are her friend!

He shrugs loosely. "Just taking a look around," he says. "It's not every day your organization doubles its footprint."

Organization. Just a house full of hunters and a safe haven for everyone that isn't a vampire. Arthur wonders how Natasha feels about them, knowing what they are, especially seeing as she's not with Islington. He makes a point of only hunting vampires that have already killed indiscriminately, but it's not like he can say for sure the rest of Hillingdon's hunters follow the same moral compass.

Faolan reaches down to greet Lily -- they are indeed friends! They have kept each other company in stressful moments while Lancelot was missing, after all -- before stepping further into Lancelot's flat. Toeing his shoes off by the door and smiling sheepishly at Lancelot himself. Who has obviously decided to make the stir fry he said he would, judging by the smells wafting over from the kitchen.

"Thanks," he says, greeting the other man. "For having me over. I'm sorry. For making a habit of this sort of thing." He flashes the other man something of a self-conscious, almost self-deprecating smile as he continues, "I promise that I appreciate you for more than just your advice and your cooking. Though I do value both."

He shrugs his jacket off and moves to go hang it on the back of a kitchen chair, as much out of habit as to give himself something to do, to shy away from skirting around opening up another can of worms, mentioning his feelings and all. Which of course brings him closer to the breakfast nook. And the box. And the roses.

Faolan very carefully continues what he was doing before he spotted them, resisting the urge to reach straight for the card as he -- equally as carefully -- asks, "...what's all this?"

"I wish I knew," Lancelot answers honestly, heading back through to the kitchen to begin stirring at something. "They're from Jean-Claude, who it seems knows where I live and my shirt size."

He wrinkles his nose slightly in distaste, glancing back over to where Faolan is.

"He sent me a suit, which... is kind of him, but... strange. Perhaps it's an old fashioned gesture? He is an older vampire, after all... not that I'll be wearing it."

The thought makes his skin crawl a little, although he cannot truly pinpoint the exact reason why. Only that it feels wrong to do so.

"I imagine," Natasha says neutrally. "It's a bold move."

Nothing personal. She puts on a professional face, keeping whatever her feelings are on the exchange to herself. For the time being, she'd handle this the way he's always handled work; rational, precise, level headed.

Arthur, she hopes, will be the kind of person to appreciate that.

"It's a good strategy."

Jean-Claude. A vampire. And not just any vampire at that. Faolan's hackles are instantly on the rise. What's he doing, sending him gifts like that? Maybe it is an old-fashioned gesture as Lancelot assumes, but what more could there be to it besides that. An old-fashioned gesture of what.

"He didn't give you any indication of why?" Faolan asks, forcing himself to stay calm and think rationally about this. Looking away from the flowers -- roses, he thinks to himself -- helps a little. Watching Lancelot work helps a little more.

"He said it was 'for my trouble'. Which trouble he didn't specify."

Since Lancelot has had no shortage of vampire-related trouble, although not all of it involves Jean-Claude himself. The most recent seems to be the most likely, but why would he feel the need to make a gesture when it hadn't been involved?

Unless he has, Lancelot supposes, and the thought gives him a slightly shiver of unease.

"Busy's one way of putting it," he agreed in the most general of senses. A slightly forced half smile turned up the edges of his lips. He was fighting with himself to not be a dour asshole. It wasn't like Natasha was one of the vampires that had done what they had to him. She probably didn't know anything about it.

"Nice to see you, too. Redbright got you busy?"

"They ain't exactly the neighborly type," Daryl agreed, still pacing. Thumb dropping away from his mouth and hands going to his hips. "And that's the biggest problem. They're crossing boundaries and targeting us. Not just the wolves they've always been at the throats of, but us. Our people. And yours."

He nodded at Faolan, chin lifting, "Yer boyfriend wasn't no where near their territory when he was taken. Hell, those of us that got pulled into that pit fighting shit couple months back, none of us was near Nest territory. And we couldn't stop 'em. Even if we tried patrolling outside of our own land, the other groups'd tell us to stop. Put pressure on the Night Council to have us run back to our own with our tails between our legs. And the Night Council don't even care to treat us like we're people, neither. We're just here and another notch in their damn belts."

Daryl stopped, took a breather. He was getting off track.

"Point is, we need ta be able to go out there and meet the vampires where they're comin' at us from. And we can't do that from the other side of the city from them. We need to make the Night Council see we ain't a bunch of pussies they can keep stepping all over. We need more power. We need people to sit up and take notice. Only way to get that in this city? Land."

She doesn't. While she's tried to keep on top of what's been happening, her attention has largely been on Harris and a few other key targets. She hadn't been tracking Daryl, of course. That would have seemed like an invasion of privacy. Now, she takes the hint that she missed something important though. Important and probably relevant.

"Yeah. I've had a lot of work. A lot to keep on top of." She smiles a little, ginger but testing. "No time for nighttime rides. Which is a shame, because they'd be a lot more fun than what I've been up to."

Daryl stopped trying to force the smile and dropped his head, "Ain't been on much of those myself."

He'd gotten out of the city only a couple times since he'd been pulled out of that hell hole and neither time had been at night. He'd stayed around other people or at home for the most part until he decided to start hunting in the Nest. The reaction hadn't been intentional. He hadn't meant to look afraid to go out and live his life normally. It'd just happened and it was only when he realized it was happening that he forced himself to stop. To take up arms. To fight back and stop acting like he was some chickenshit sacred of his own shadow.

"Need to find the time again."

Faolan's body language is very tense as he thinks about the idea of the gift, and the knowledge that it must mean that Jean-Claude knows where Lancelot lives. Although he supposes that the vampires do, considering how closely Lancelot was taken to home. It isn't a happy thought.

"For your trouble," Faolan repeats, tensing with anger despite his best efforts to hold himself together, to keep calm. "What a load of shit," he continues, not realizing he's speaking aloud until the words are out in the air between them. Somehow, the knowledge that he has seems to cool his steam a little, and he glances over apologetically at the other man. "I'm sorry," he adds. "I just..." He gestures behind him to the gift itself. "I wouldn't be making such friends if I were you." Where was he when his people were forcibly kidnapping Lancelot and holding him captive? What good is a suit and a bunch of flowers against that?

"I think so," he replies easily. He was the one who advised Faolan that it was a good idea, after all, and he wouldn't have done that without thinking it over. Like she said, it's a bold move. He continues cautiously.

"I would, however, be interested to know how someone on the Redbright side of things feels about it."

HOUNSLOW TERRITORY CLAIM

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