undergrounds | MABON } 22nd September

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MABON } 22nd September


The times, they are a'changing. But in this case, it's the same way they change every year. The 22nd of September is the Autumn Equinox, and aside from it being a great time for witches to get up to all sorts of shady shit with fae, it's time for the seasonal change in power between the two Courts. And in typical Fae fashion, this event is to be marked with a hugely ostentatious party. They've taken over Crystal Palace Park for a party that'll be going near on 24 hours. The trees are lit with twinkling lights, and many fae have chosen to forgo their glamours — some are indescribably beautiful, others monstrous, and quite a few... Well, they look more or less human, but obviously it doesn't bother them and it shouldn't bother you either! There is dancing, flirting, and laughter. And the drinks and food are free flowing. Slipping between realms is also extremely easy, but there's been strict instruction not to steal any mortals tonight or there'll be hell to pay. This also marks the first official appearance of Eames as the Lord of Autumn, (it's not something he could readily get out of, you see,) so expect plenty of gossip about how odd it is he seems to shy away from his title, his obsession with mortals, and how very un-Fae it is of him to cancel the hunt.
	The RULES are as follows: All vampires must have a fae chaperone. The open invite does extend to vampires, but we can't just have them walking around doing whatever they like, can we? In addition, drinking blood is strictly forbidden. Consensual or not, any vampire found drinking blood within a half mile radius of the park will be killed. It's just not good manners. Violence is also forbidden. It's just not fun for everyone. If you really need to have it out with someone, challenge them to a duel. The children's playground has been made into a duelling area with guards to make sure it all goes smoothly. There are weapons available and they're all very medieval.
That's about it, they aren't a very rule-heavy bunch and honestly just want to have a fun night.

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No, it really isn't Faolan's sort of thing, but he's loathe to admit why exactly he's there, especially not to Lancelot himself. So instead he focuses on the other man and the glitter, shaking his head slightly. "No, it's. Here..." He steps forward and moves to set his own drink down on the table before them, before searching around for a napkin. Finding nothing so after a moment he just reaches forward and gently rubs the few specks of glitter off of his face.

"There," he says, holding out his hand to show the other man the glitter on his fingers that he had brushed off of him, before dusting his hands off as best he can. The last thing he needs to do is get it on himself now, after all. Then of course he realizes with the distraction resolved he's going to have to find an answer for the rest of it, and fast. So picking up his drink again to give his hands something to do, he finally says, "It was a last-minute decision. I thought maybe I should though." It's technically not a lie, even if he's trying to imply different things than the truth.

Should? It's a vague sort of answer, and Lancelot wrinkles his nose at it. There's no real reason Faolan should or shouldn't be here, but it's up to the man himself.

"I'm not sure Sylvia would approve," is what he says finally, "but I thought it best to keep an eye on things. Just in case. I think that excuses my presence."

Even if he is, well, also drinking. He picks up his glass to make sure he's keeping track of it, takes another sip. In a way perhaps it's a good sign if Faolan is attempting to be more social? The company might be dubious but surely it's better than his isolating himself?

He had meant that he had thought it best to make the political move to make the appearance there, although he doesn't bother correcting that despite the look on Lancelot's face. It would be a lie anyway. It's probably best just to let the conversation move on from there instead, he thinks to himself. And then let's it.

"I don't think that Sylvia really has a say one way or the other over how you spend your down time, so long as you're not breaking any rules." He nods to the drink in Lancelot's hand. "And I don't think enjoying yourself is breaking any of those rules in the slightest." He tilts his head at the other man and raises an eyebrow questioningly. "You are enjoying yourself, yeah?" He has to ask, after all. It's only polite.

Lancelot shrugs slightly at that, glancing around the party.

"It isn't really... well, you know I don't normally drink much to begin with. But it's good! I think?"

He looks back at Faolan, blinks a moment then starts to huff with laughter.

"Forgive me, it isn't as if I go to these things a lot. I have no idea what I would even compare it to. There are so many... I want to say people here but now I wonder if that's the right word."

How do you define 'person'? Is it exclusive to humans? He widens his eyes slightly as if to say oh goodness why is this complicated then starts to laugh again quietly.

Lancelot really doesn't think he belongs here, but he can see the humour in that at least.

Faolan can't help but smile slightly at the other man's laughter, even if he's not entirely certain why he's laughing (and whether it's a good sign or not). He shakes his head slightly, before shrugging himself.

"Why not people?" he inquires. "I'm not sure that they'd take very kindly to you calling them anything else. Even if such terms might be more accurate. Creatures?"

He raises his eyebrows at Lancelot slightly. "Perhaps you could get away with it." In his wide-eyed innocence. "They'd have me strung up from my ankles in seconds flat, though. This may come to you as a surprise, but I tend to get off on the wrong foot at times," he deadpans.

"You think they'd rather be called humans?"

Lancelot doubts any fae would want that mistake to be made. If anything that might be an insult.

He thinks about it, frowns in thought as he turns over the idea.

"Maybe not creatures," he allows, and sighs. "I'm not very good at this. You might think yourself poor enough, but what do I know? I've already been strung up once in the last few months."

Faolan winces slightly at the mention of Lancelot's kidnapping. In all honesty he hadn't meant to remind the other man of that time. But he can hardly take anything back once the words are out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry.. I didn't mean... But. That wasn't your fault," he says softly. "And it certainly wasn't because you upset any vampires. They would likely have done far worse things if it had been personal." Things like coming after everyone that he held dear. Killing the people he loved most. Turning them -- no, Faolan can't go down that road. Not here and now, not while he's supposed to be at a party. Speaking of...

"Anyway. It doesn't really matter whether you feel like you belong here or not," he says. "None of us will ever quite fit in, after all. I think that's rather the whole point of it all." Trying to create somewhere to feel more at home than among the rest of the citizens of London. He quirks something of a hesitant smile at the other man. "We might as well try to enjoy ourselves here then, yeah?"

Didn't upset them? Lancelot is about to open his mouth to argue that, point out he did take territory from them, but then Faolan is interrupting and changing the topic. Probably for the best, too.

"I'd like to think I'm making a good attempt," he answers finally, lifting his drink a little for emphasis. "Although you may need to keep an eye on me, make sure I don't fall asleep under a table."

Even if Lancelot quietly suspects that Faolan might keep an eye on him regardless. He has that air about him, like he intends to hover.

Faolan raises an eyebrow slightly at that, although he does know Lancelot and the way he handles his drink and he wouldn't put it past him to fall asleep with it somewhere. Still. Falling asleep at a party is hardly enjoying oneself at it.

"It's a start," he acquiesces. "It's an even better one if you like what you're drinking." He motions towards the food that Lancelot had been eyeing when he'd caught up with him. "Good food helps too, I've heard. Have you eaten yet?"

"Not yet -- what do we think's safe?"

He's assuming (hoping) the food isn't drugged, although after the tea incident that's no certainty. That doesn't mean it's all good, though. Turning back to the table he surveys it thoughtfully, examining the spread. Does he want anything substantial or just to go straight to the cakes and sweets? If that's the toughest choice he has to make all night it'll be a successful event in truth, but it's still a tough one.

Faolan's going to hope that it isn't drugged, or at least if it is, he'll seek the solidarity of knowing that the whole lot of them will be affected by it and not only the select targeted few as before.

He glances towards the food and tries to reason it out. Quietly glad that the spread does not include a single sausage roll, for that matter. "I think," he says at last, "that you should go for what you like. There's no sense in trying to make sense of what they may or may not have done anything to. They're the fae. Mischief runs in their blood."

He glances aside at the other man, before stepping forward and reaching for a plate to fill. "As far I'm concerned, I think I'll stay away from any sort of tea or teacakes, myself. There is such a thing as being hit by lightning twice."

"That seems fair. Drugs and alcohol could be quite the mix if it was what they went for."

Lancelot is off duty, in the police sense, so he'd rather not be trying to handle that sort of mess. He examines some bottles to see if the seals have been broken before belatedly realising magic probably doesn't care about seals and sighing in resignation, picking up a plate and picking himself a few pieces of cold meat.

"If I start acting peculiar you have my full permission to knock me out and drag me home before I cause a scene."

Faolan raises his eyebrows slightly in response to that. He thinks about suggesting the same in return but he's already made a fair number of scenes already and he knows that Lancelot will likely do no such thing in response to it. "I promise to make certain you aren't embarrassing yourself, and to see you safely home before you do," he concedes, which he thinks is a much better solution.

He reaches for a plate himself and begins to load it up with the fancy finger foods that the fae had assembed together. Taking what he knew was probably more than his fair share of cheese and crackers but it was one of the only selections he recognizes and trusts he has seen other people consuming with little side-effect.

"Just don't fight me if I must," he says, idly continuing on the other man's train of thought. Glancing up at him with something of a wry smile as he does. "I think we both know who would win that one." And it definitely wouldn't be him.

"If you practice enough it might be a close call."

His lips flick up playfully to let Faolan know he's teasing. He might win, after all, if he was tactical about it! It isn't a sure thing! Content with his plate of food he swipes up one of the bottles chilling and gestures in a vague sort of questioning way to what seems like a quieter spot, lofts an eyebrow to punctuate. If Faolan can see a better place he'll happily follow, otherwise that seems like the best they might get to eat and talk with a little breathing room.

Faolan shoots the other man a look at the comment. He knows damn well that he can practice all he likes but Lancelot can reach out and pick him up by the scruff of his neck and that will be that.

So instead he happily lets the other man direct them away from the banquet table and towards the quiet corner that he's found for them. Settling himself down into as comfortable a seat as he can next to the other man before taking a bite. Might as well not worry about it. Either he stays hungry or he risks it, he thinks to himself, and he's little fun to be around as it is, never mind when he's been starving himself.

"It's not bad," he says. "Especially for something that I might be damning myself with, I suppose."

"Damning yourself?" he echoes, "if it was that bad I'd have hoped we'd have noticed by now. Unless you think everyone else immune, and this an elaborate ploy to just embarrass the two of us. To get back at Sylvia, perhaps? I can see the headlines now. 'Guardians in Great British Bunk Off', 'off duty supernatural enforcers cause chaos at mabon party!'"

He lets his smile drop to something more conspiratorial, sly, and lowers his voice.

"It might be worth it, though."

Faolan can't help the slight flush that spreads across his face at the conspiratorial whispering the other man is offering. He's vaguely aware that however the other man means what he's saying its not how his brain is interpreting it but that is neither here nor there really. It might be worth it indeed, he thinks to himself, and shifts awkwardly in his seat for a moment.

"I happen to have been one of the lucky few to have consumed the tea the last time they tried anything of the sort," Faolan points out, not realizing until after the fact that maybe he doesn't really want to be reminding the other man of that time. "I could get lucky again. You never know. Maybe they'd do it on purpose. I am a faction leader, you know."

"You are," Lancelot agrees. "Is that a hint? Should I start addressing you more respectfully? What's the correct form? 'Sir'?"

His smile turns teasing, studying Faolan a moment before he drops his eyes back down to his food.

"'Sir Faolan O'Neill, Head of Hillingdon House'?"

Faolan huffs out something of a laugh in response to that, shaking his head as he does. "No, no sir. More's the pity, though. I'd love to try and see you keep a straight face, having to address me like that." He tilts his head at the other man for a moment. "It'd be a bit weird, though. For you to be so formal. I think I rather like just being Faolan. To you, at any rate..."

He shrugs slightly, realizing he's said more than perhaps he should, and forces himself to take a bite of food to stop talking. Problem solved. For the time being, at least.

"You're already Faolan. I don't think you'll ever be anything but Faolan, to me. Just as I'd like to think I'll always be Lancelot to you. The titles don't matter so much, I think."

The person behind the title is what matters. They don't change. Faolan hasn't changed from the person he first met running from a werewolf.

'I don't think you'll ever be anything but Faolan to me,' the other man had said, and there was something inside of him that had tightened, twinged, for just the slightest of moments. It isn't what Lancelot had meant after all, but. He couldn't help but hear it. If only for a few moments.

Faolan forces himself to take a deep breath and let it pass. "You are," he confirms, after a moment. "You will be." He shrugs slightly, picking at his plate as he continues, "I don't know that anyone but 'Lancelot' would put up with me, all things considered."

"You sell yourself too short, plenty of people would given the chance. You have to admit, you don't give anyone much of a chance."

Faolan is always working, after all, and rarely seems to socialise much if he can avoid it. He isn't exactly drowning himself in opportunities to make friends and get to know people, but so long as Faolan is happy he supposes that's fine. He's made the effort today at least, for whatever reason.

He sobers slightly (further) at that. Shrugging for a moment, because he hardly thinks here and now is the time to get into what he really thinks about himself. That there are reasons that he doesn't give anyone much of a chance, and he can only imagine what Lancelot might think of him if he knew. Knew that he didn't really consider himself worth befriending. Convinced that in all honesty getting to know him is more of a burden than anything, a curse, and most of the world is better off without it. Look at how much trouble he's put Lancelot through already.

"I recognize that I'm not very promising friend material and have decided to spare them their efforts," he explains instead. Which is the truth of course, as far as Faolan sees it, while also managing to keep the self-deprecation to as much of a minimum as he can.

'Not very promising friend material'? Lancelot wrinkles his nose at that, not liking the self-deprecation in it.

"You've been a good friend to me, Faolan. You've helped me more than once. You've saved my life more than once. Who am I to ask more than that in a friend?"

It certainly seems more than good enough to him. What more can he possibly ask? When Faolan has been by his side through everything, tended to his wounds, worried for him, brought him gifts and never asked for anything in return. Who is he to say Faolan is a poor friend? The truth is the opposite.

Faolan huffs out something of a laugh, although it's not exactly a happy sound, shaking his head as he does and reaching for his drink to take a healthy swallow of it. "I'm not sure that you haven't gotten a better experience of me than the average layman might," Faolan responds, before shrugging slightly. He doesn't want to get into an argument about this. He doesn't want to insist and demonstrate to the other man how little he truly thinks of himself in turn.

He glances up at the other man after a moment. "Thank you, though," he says. Because it needs said, he thinks. "For... For being a good friend for me in turn. Despite..." He shrugs slightly. "Despite it all, I suppose. Just. Thank you."

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