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 hadn't exactly known what he was getting himself into when he had first arrived to this far party. Truth be told, the reasons he was there weren't exactly reasons that he would want spread around the party either. The last thing he needed anyone to know was that he had followed Lancelot there after work, without the other man knowing it, after all.

So he tries to act casual about being there. Like he had intended to attend all along. And in truth, he is a faction leader. Head of Hillingdon. He has as much right to be there as anyone else. Perhaps more, to represent his faction and all, given the current state of the city and all. And yet...

The truth of the matter is that he stands out like a sore thumb. Faolan and glitter are two concepts that had never existed in the same context before this party, and the thought of wandering too close to the dance floor fills him with equal amounts of dread. The alcohol being served is about the only familiar area although Faolan knows, given recent past experience drinking at parties, he has to be careful with how much he drinks this time. And what he might do or say if he does...

Lancelot can't fully explain why he's here.

Part of it is that he needs something else to focus on after the whole... event that was exiling the Midnight witches. Part of it is the general, low-level nervousness he still feels around big fae gatherings. There are rules, and on the surface it sounds like it should be a peaceful event. Yet Lancelot takes his dedication to the Night Council and the safety of the supernatural community to heart, even when he doesn't agree with all the laws. Maybe if he's there he can make sure they're adhered to, help if they aren't? Will the fae even enforce their own laws that roughly, or are they for show?

Part of it is simply the desire to be doing something so he doesn't feel he's still cowering at home, jumping at shadows after what happened to him.

Most of his bruises have faded, and with the weather cooling off into something more autumnal (fitting, in a way) he needs a jacket to keep off the cool evening air. He changes his shirt into a looser v-neck and comes straight from Westminster, half wondering on the tube if he's made a mistake. Still he's vaguely tidied himself up, tamed his hair as best he can and he doesn't think he stands out too much.

Aside from to those who recognise him, perhaps. Which is the downside of all this -- he doesn't want to be making a political statement by being here, but maybe he is? He knows people will probably think Sylvia sent him, and the thought makes him immediately wince internally and steer toward the drinks. He takes a slightly bigger than necessary sip of one, and is turning to step away when he has to catch himself and step back.

"Ah -- forgive me, I was lost in thought."

Over if he should be there or not at all, and exactly how badly it might go. He takes a deep breath and offers an apologetic smile. At least he didn't crash into them completely?

---

One of the reasons Lancelot belatedly might realise it was a bad idea for him to go to a fae party is that Lancelot doesn't drink a lot to begin with. It only takes a few glasses for his laughter to suddenly be a little bit easier and louder and a few more than that and he will probably start to feel incredibly sleepy. Which is better, of course, than being an angry drunk or a ludicrous disaster but accidentally falling asleep at a fae party is probably a dangerous thing to do. He's gotten to the point where he thinks he has a little of someone's glitter on his face and has been trying to rub it off while staring down food and trying to work out what might help balance out the alcohol best when he feels someone standing nearby and instinctively shuffles along.

"Still trying to decide," he says, just in case they'd been waiting for him to get out of the way, then looks up and winces. "Do I have something...?"

He can't actually tell if he's rubbed off the glitter or spread it around, truth be told, and he doesn't have a mirror to check.

Faolan had been working up the nerve to approach the other man throughout the evening. He had tried his best not to make it too obvious that he had actually followed the other man there -- from work, no less. It had been suspicious after all. Lancelot's change of clothes as he had left work, the fact that he hadn't tried to stay and pull extra hours as he usually did but instead had said he was leaving and had instructed Faolan to do the same. Faolan had tailed along without a second thought, and though the end wasn't exactly as bad as he had feared, he'd stayed because well. It may have been a party but these were the fae and hadn't the man been kidnapped enough in the past few months?

But there came a point where trying to appear casual from afar was going to start to look suspicious and so he had tossed back the last of his drink and assumed an air of nonchalance as he made his way over to the food where the other man stood, regarding it thoughtfully. Only to have him turn and question him about something on his face.

"Ehm," Faolan says, because it takes his brain a moment to catch up with him before he responds again. "Yeah, there's. Some glitter. Right..." He motions on his own face to mirror the location of the persistent sparkles. "Here," he says, helpfully.

Edited 2016-09-18 23:05 (UTC)

He rubs and what seems like the spot Faolan is gesturing to, setting down his glass as he does and absently checking his fingers to see if glitter is coming off.

It isn't, so either he's just moving it around, it's transferred somewhere else or he's rubbing in the wrong place.

"I didn't know you were coming, you should have said! I'd have waited for you if I'd known!"

It just, well, didn't seem like it would be Faolan's sort of thing. Not that it's really his either, but -- well, that's beside the point.

There is glitter in Nancy's hair, gold flecks that dance in amongst the red. She's not sure how exactly it happened, somewhere between glasses of drinks, but she likes the way it catches the light. She's been around with Cooper (and his chaperone) for most of the evening, but had somehow managed to lose them in the crowd.

So, clutching a drink in one hand, she's off to try to find him.

And hey, maybe he was near the food. Couldn't hurt to check, right? At least, that was her logic as she went for a large slice of cake. And just as her hands closed on the plate, she heard the voice of the man next to her.

He looks up. She looks up.

Lance.

Lance, who was undoubtedly involved in the Exile.

Lance who knew exactly who she was.

She drops the cake and turns to run.

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.

Daryl only showed up because the fae that had given him a nice little favor had suggested he come and enjoy himself. Suggested in the way that said it wasn't really a suggestion. And as much as Daryl didn't like feeling cornered, he also couldn't say he much wanted to return to the inconvenience of finding a place to strip down before shifting. It was freeing to have that extra bit of power. To be able to simply go without any thought given to it. More so than he'd expected. A heady little rush.

So he came. Made sure the man? woman? he wasn't really sure which, or if it was neither, whatever the fae was, he'd made sure it had seen him. Said hi. Made awkward small talk, then tried to go on his way. But every time he'd headed for an exit, he'd somehow gotten turned around and arrived back near the center of the festivities. After the fourth time he realized there was a glamour or some shit on him forcing him to stick around a while.

And so, resigned to his fate to 'enjoy the party' for the night, he made sure not to try and leave, but definitely hung to the edges of the crowds outside of his forays to get booze. And after the fifth drink he was actually starting to feel a pleasant buzz. Get into the spirit a little. Smile and toast when someone lifted their glass.

"BOOYAH!"

---

Closer to dawn, Daryl had started to wind down and get tired. Both from the drinking and the legitimate partying he'd ended up getting into. It was a strange dicotomy, really. Bobcats like him were most awake and active and dusk and dawn. But he was yawning and blinking sleep from his eyes, not really fighting it, but not able to fall into that welcoming bliss of exhaustion. He wanted to sleep, was tired, just couldn't do it.

He did, however, shift fully into the bobcat and start trying to find quiet or dark places to hide in his attempt to curl up and sleep. Or a warm spot like that lap over there. Screw it. Who cared if he was twice as big as a regular house cat? He could still take over a lap if he wanted to. That was the alcohol talking, of course. Or maybe the glamour that wouldn't let him leave. Maybe something else. But he wasn't in any state to really notice as he hopped up on the seat and then padded his way over to claim that comfy looking lap as his pillow and bed. He could curse himself when he was sober. For now, he was gonna purr.

Edited 2016-09-19 03:40 (UTC)

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?

It takes Lancelot a second to realise that Nancy has dropped her cake and run, and another second to put together why that might be.

"Nancy! Don't --"

Only his hand have food and drink in them, and he's a little tipsy, and all said and done he doesn't really want to cause a scene either. He puts them down and sighs.

In a split second decision fuelled by i) desire not to run, ii) being generally tired of this nonsense to begin with and iii) too tipsy to leave anything well alone Lancelot reaches out toward her and pulls with the magic tingling through him. Not very hard, but hard enough to make her stumble back a little instead of forward if it works. Enough that he can try and grab out for her before she gets too far, he hopes.

"Nancy stop," he hisses, and already he's half bracing himself to have a spell thrown in his face.

Edited 2016-09-19 13:30 (UTC)

Lancelot hadn't been expecting to see Daryl there, the man seemed too grumpy of a sort of person to enjoy a fae party, but as he smiled at him and lifted his drink a little in greeting he'd expected the reply of booyah! even less.

His eyebrows loft a little and a smirk of amusement takes over his face, eyes dropping to his drink as he takes a sip to try and hide it before he threads through closer.

Hello to you too, he thinks.

"Didn't think I'd see you here," he admits once he's close enough to be heard over the party. "Then again, I didn't think Faolan would come either."

Maybe they came together, though, who knows.

In her heels, Nancy stumbles back, eyes wide. Lance's hand encloses on her arm, overlapping with the marks left by Cesare. The repeat pressure is enough to get her to not only stop dead in her tracks, but distracted her enough that any spell she had going throw at him falls to the wayside.

She winces, turning to look at the man who was going to arrest her and ruin her life. She'd be exiled with the rest of them, banned from entering the city she'd called home her entire life. She's not supposed to fight, but she can't let this go. She's already fallen so far in the past month that she'd do anything to avoid it happening again.

She tries to wrench her arm out of his grasp the old fashioned way. "Let me go!"

Eames has never really enjoyed hosting parties, he doesn't need the stress, much prefers being a guest. But here he is, staying the sober side of drunk in case something really needs his attention. He'd considered bringing the dog, but it's still too soon for this kind of thing, so he sent Boxer off with a sitter once they were ready to start taking guests.

For the most part, Eames is easy to find. He seems equally pleased to see everyone who greets him, and despite his sobriety seems to always have a drink in his hand. He seems to have made the effort clothes-wise though; no hideous patterns on his shirt and a lapel pin of bronze filigree. It takes approximately thirty seconds before there's glitter on him, but he wears it well despite the ridiculousness of it.

For the next 24 hours, he's pretty much wherever you need him to be. Rarely does he turn down a dance or a conversation (good manners and all that) and if there's any kind of situation, Eames is the person who gets called over to deal with it.

It kind of sucks.

"Please," he hisses, and wraps one arm around her to try and tug her back against himself. "Listen to me! I'm not going to arrest you but if you draw too much attention I might have to explain why."

If Nancy causes a scene people will look, and if people look they might gossip about this, and if it gets back to someone like Sylvia then Lancelot will have a very hard time talking himself out of trouble.

Nancy's small, he can easily wrap an arm around her and hold her to him. Eyes wide, she moves to struggle out of his grasp.

But he's right, and she can't convince the crowd it's anything else. Not here, not now. So she stops struggling. "God help you if you're lying to me, Lance." She speaks through her teeth, fear edging into her voice.

Best dad, hello! Nancy practically bounces over towards him, with gold glitter trapped in her mass of red hair. She wears it well, and better yet, she stops herself short of wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

"Thanks for inviting us!" She tells him happily, because the us included her boyfriend, who had been given an escort. "And look at you! Lord of Autumn!" She's so proud of Eames, really. Even if most of their dealings together had been something on the other side of shady. But that was Nancy's entire life, so why should it stop now?

"You didn't bring Boxer?" Honestly, Nancy's a bit shocked.

Edited 2016-09-19 17:06 (UTC)

Annie isn't really drinking. She wants to remain clear headed enough that the crowds (and the vampires) don't bother her. Finnick assured her that there was to be no violence at the festival, and so Annie had gone with him, dressing her best for the autumnal festival. She knew what it meant- Finnick's court was falling out of power, but it was a fae celebration all the same. It was important she be there for him.

It's the loud Southern Booyah! that gets her to turn and look and actually see a tipsy looking Daryl. "Daryl!" She cries, bouncing over towards him. "I didn't expect you to be here. Uhm- is booyah still a thing in US? When you drink?" She preferred a quiet cheers.

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.

He was only enjoying it because he was three sheets to the wind and not really in a bad mood to begin with. He toasted Lance half-in greeting, half as an excuse to take another shot straight from the bottle, and laughed loudly as it was taken from him and exchanged for a fuller bottle by one of the fae working the crowd. By then Lance had made his way over and Daryl's attention was drawn to him.

At the mention of Faolan, he took a look around. Didn't see him.

"Got invited, didn't I?" Daryl asked good naturedly. It wasn't like Lance had known he'd been invited. "He probably did, too."

Edited 2016-09-20 13:22 (UTC)

Apparently not expecting him to be there was a running theme. Daryl was far enough gone and in a good enough mood that he didn't take it to heart. Yet. And he liked Annie.

"I dunno," he answered her, taking another long drink. "I ain't been there in nearly three years."

Edited 2016-09-20 13:24 (UTC)

And honestly, Annie meant nothing by it. She was happy to see him, but her use of words often left something to be desired. Like other phrases.

"That long! I had no idea!" She hadn't been back to Ireland in near that long, too, so she shouldn't have been so surprised. "I'm glad you're here!" Both at the party, and with them.

"Invited doesn't mean you have to come, but I suppose if there's free food and drink..."

Then why not? He shrugs slightly, flickers Daryl another smile. He seems to be having fun, so maybe he misjudged him. Maybe he's more of a party type than he first thought.

"I admit, I was a... little cautious myself -- but things seem to be going fine for now."

When the fae get drunker though, who knows. Lancelot may be steeped in fae magic himself, but he wouldn't trust a fae more than he had to. Especially not this many on one place.

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.

"What would be the point?"

There's little to gain from lying, he's already caught her as it were. Why not just arrest her if he's going to? He loosens his arm around her, belatedly realising that it probably looks... odd the way he's holding her and pressed up behind her. They likely as not already have a little attention. He glances up and around casually, trying to think. Displays of affection normally make people uncomfortable, that's probably the best way to get people to look away.

"Pretend it's a game," he says softly, "people are looking. Here --"

He slackens his grip and moves to tickle her, like that was the reason he ran after her in the first place. As long as Cooper doesn't get the wrong idea it is a sound cover.

The point? There was plenty to gain from lying to her: getting her to say where she was staying, to go along with him without causing a scene. Well, bigger scene, she supposed.

He doesn't need to tell her how to pretend it's a game, and Nancy wrinkles her nose, pulling a face in response to the suggestion. But she goes along with it, smiling and laughing and turning in his arms, and then takes a step back. She doesn't trust him.

"What d'you want?"

Jean-Claude did not exactly belong here at this party, although that was mostly to do with the fact that it was a party that was fronted by fae -- being a vampire himself -- rather than any other reason in particular. In truth, Jean-Claude and parties have always gone rather hand in hand, and associating in the general population of the city that he does, he looks right at home among the drinking, dancing, glittering masses of this gathering. Even if Jean-Claude is not drinking himself. At least -- not the way that might satisfy him.

One of the benefits of running the business he does, of course, is that it gives him many connections. And so long as his dancers maintain those connections themselves, it allows him to reap the benefits as best he can. Thus he finds himself with an invitation to a party that he might otherwise be entirely unwelcome at. Stephen knows that, as his chaperone, he only really needs to get him through the figurative door, however. From there Jean-Claude has been left on his own to mingle as he so desires. And mingle he does, well throughout the evening, until he can feel dawn approaching, deep within his bones. So long as he keeps his daylight ring on, however, he knows he need not worry.

And so he doesn't. Instead contenting himself with another glass of wine and a quiet seat on the edge of the revelry. Watching the crowd, sitting as still and serene as a statue. Which is probably what draws the cat to him, he muses to himself, as he glances down to him curling up in his lap. For he knows that it's a him. He has seen this cat before, after all.

"If I didn't know any better, I would say that you were beginning to grow fond of me, mon ami," he comments, a smile spreading across his face as he reaches out a hand to stroke the soft space between the creature's ears.

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MABON } 22nd September

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