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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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."

There's something slightly uncomfortable about this, about the way that Faolan is rejecting any idea that he's worth something. Yet Lancelot doesn't want to be mired in a lengthy conversation about this either, because that is probably even less comfortable.

"Well," he tries, "you're welcome. I wouldn't say it's been a hardship, but, if you will insist on giving me credit."

Lancelot shrugs, lifts a the bottle he snagged to Faolan before opening it to take a sip.

"Who am I to reject it?"

Faolan shrugs slightly, raising his drink in turn with the other man's mock toast before kicking back another healthy swallow or two. Hoping it will help him relax a little. It would be nice to have a good time with the other man without having to feel like he's making some sort of faux pas every other step.

"It's odd," Faolan says, gently directing their conversation away from his awkwardness for the time being (he hopes). He glances up at Lancelot and flicks him a smile before looking back at his plate and smirking wryly. "It's odd to be out with you like this, outside of work, and not have to vie for your attentions against a certain canine friend of ours."

"Vying for my attentions? Were you hoping I'd feed you under the table and scratch you behind the ears?"

His lips flick into a teasing smile as he snags a piece of food from his plate, which ends up being a thick slice of carrot, and crunches thoughtfully. He probably can't really continue that thought without it sounding seven types of inappropriate, but it amuses him all the same.

Faolan raises his eyebrows at that slightly, and he watches Lancelot crunching on his carrot slice, and before he knows it he's opening his mouth to respond before his brain has quite caught up with the rest of him.

"That depends, are you offering?" he asks, his face the picture of wry, perhaps somewhat flirtatious innocence, up until the moment that he realizes what exactly he's doing.

"I think we'd cause a stir," Lancelot answers easily. "That, and you might find I eat all the good food while you wait for me to share."

Lily isn't fed from the table, after all, despite the teasing. He hasn't the habit of it! He'd probably forget! A good scratching, though, that much he can definitely do.

Faolan can't help but huff out a laugh at that. Trust Lancelot to not interpret anything he said in an awkward way and instead continue it along in the innocent line of the dog comparison.

"Fair enough, I suppose," he replies. Although it's true, being stingy with the table scraps doesn't negate the possibility of a good head scratch. Though Lancelot's right there as well. They would definitely cause something of a scene, here and now. He's only going to imagine how jealous anyone else might get as well.

"I did think about bringing her, but... well, I thought there might be a risk of this getting lively if someone had a falling out. That, and she gets tired around big groups of people. So many new things to smell and people to meet. So she's with a sitter for the night. A little more peaceful for her."

Even if she probably is quietly waiting for him to come back. Not very patiently, but as patiently as she can manage.

Faolan nods slightly. "More peaceful for her yes. Perhaps not as much so for you though. You were hoping to keep an eye on things you said. And what were you going to do if something did go south?" He raises an eyebrow at the other man.

"Perhaps it's lucky that you have me here with you now then," he adds,airily. "To be there for you if you need backup, and to help you try and enjoy yourself if you don't. How's it sound, then?" he asks, shooting the other man something of s wry grin and raising his drink to his lips to take another sip. Ironic, considering Faolan isn't exactly the party type himself after all.

MABON } 22nd September

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