undergrounds | Small Town Celebrities party log for Sept17-Oct6

Entry tags:

Small Town Celebrities party log for Sept17-Oct6

The Redbright students clearly aren't getting enough homework if they have the time to start following their favorite members of supernatural society around for the chance at getting The Perfect Shot of them looking hot. It starts slow and small, for the first week, anyway. Just a random person pulling out their phone and taking a quick shot. Can't even be sure it was you they were photographing. By the five days in, though, they've started making a game of it. Groups of two and three going out together. Following people for a while. Having the audacity to wave when they're looked at. Some even invite their target to take a picture with them and their friends. (If you say yes to that, please do flex a little.)

Ratings on the website change on a day to day basis and currently both Redbright Professors and the Hillingdon Clan lists are the current most popular due to the territory change over and general familiarity with the groups.

Hans Estergaard had been reigning supreme as #1 in Hillingdon since he had the audacity to challenge Sylvia for her seat on the council. An unprecedented length of time! (It's like the students enjoy the idea of someone standing up to Sylvia, the person ultimately in charge of telling them what to do. Go figure.)

Most factions are getting more attention from these folks, though. They really have a lot of time on their hands.

[[ooc: post around like it's a party log. If you want an npc bothering you and want me to play them, put NPC request in the subject line.]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Lancelot watches the proceedings uncomfortably, starting to hunch over slightly as if to make himself smaller and less visible. Then Faolan says And neither will we and he straightens suddenly, blinks at Faolan in open surprise and relief. Let's go, Faolan says, and he brightens considerably before pushing up and -- hesitating, looking at Elaine.

"Forgive me, Elaine, we really are -- very busy --" He tries to find a way to circle past her closer to Faolan, slightly awkward again now as she frowns in confusion. People have begun looking up from their food curiously.

"Oh, no, please stay! I was only thinking of having the soup! You've only been here ten minutes or so, you can't even have ordered yet!"

Faolan's eyes narrow as Lancelot stands and Elaine protests their departure. Only been here ten minutes or so, she says, and how can she know that, save for if she had followed them there. Followed Lancelot there. The idea of it sets his teeth on edge, and Faolan moves to make certain that he is standing between the pair of them.

"We are leaving," Faolan repeats, keeping from raising his voice but making certain that he is absolutely clear on the matter. "We are leaving and you are staying here. And if you don't..." Faolan says, trailing off and lowering his voice so that only those in the immediate area will hear him as he continues. "If you don't and you choose to follow us then you had better believe I will call the police on you."

He makes certain he's made his point before he places his hand on Lancelot's back and without a second thought or glance, turns to lead him out of the restaurant to the street beyond.

Lancelot realises, with a belated sinking sense of embarrassment, that call the police is a peculiar threat to be making when standing beside a police officer. He cringes at his own inability to deal with the situation but lets Faolan lead him out regardless, keeping his eyes down so he doesn't have to see the awkward looks he's getting. The waiter, at least, has the sense to try and stop Elaine following too quickly, so she isn't on their heels as they reach the door and make their way out.

"I'm sorry," Lancelot is saying softly, "I have no idea how she found us here. She's... a little -- strange, but I never thought..."

That she'd be that invasive. Which is strange, because he should have recognised the signs. He's a police officer. How did he not?

Faolan shakes his head slightly. "It's not your fault," he says, keeping his hand on the other man's back, throwing glances over his shoulder until they are safely around the corner and out of the view of the restaurant itself. So much for his plans for the evening, he thinks to himself, before turning back to Lancelot again.

"She was following you," he said. "You didn't have any say in the matter yourself. Even if you'd noticed before, there wouldn't have been much else to do about it besides this anyway." He shrugs slightly, before turning his gaze to the road ahead of them. Sticking his hands in his pockets as he does.

"At least we hadn't gotten around to ordering yet. It would have been harder to walk out if there had been a ticket to handle." Small blessings, he supposes.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, and glances around uneasily -- trying to put Elaine out of his mind but still a little uncomfortable. "We could go somewhere else? I admit, I don't know this area very well but there has to be somewhere. I said I'd eat out with you and I'd still like to. It's like you said, the place doesn't matter so much as the company."

Right? He forces a hopeful smile, trying to rally they both of them by sheer force of will.

Faolan shakes his head again. "No," he says. "She's still in the area. She might... 'Happen' upon us again if we stick around. There's too much of a risk here. We've already been chased out of one restaurant, and that waiter won't hold her back forever." He doesn't think his temper could handle another such fiasco in one day.

He glances aside at the other man and his expression softens somewhat in response to Lancelot's. The place doesn't matter, so much as the company. "I'd still like to treat you out some day," he admits softly, "but. Maybe... We could go back to mine? Order some takeaway? My treat."

He glances away again. "I know it won't be the same, but. It's probably the best chance of salvaging we have, without the chance of interruption. If...you're interested, that is..."

Lancelot, in truth, looks a little relieved at the suggestion.

"I'd like that, and I think my nerves would appreciate it too."

Even if Elaine didn't find them Lancelot knows he'd be looking over his shoulder, wary that she might spring out of the shadows.

"Train or cab?"

Faolan tosses another glance behind them -- truth be told he isn't certain that she won't pop out hot on the pursuit sooner rather than later. There's no guarantee that she won't, really.

He turns back to Lancelot with an apologetic glance. "Maybe we should take a cab," he suggests. It'll be a more private way of traveling, and besides... "There's less of a risk of being tracked that way. She might be something of a stalker, but she's not a professional." He flicks the other man something of a smile. "Hopefully your nerves will appreciate that even more. Mine certainly do."

Lancelot nods, glancing up and down the road vaguely as they walk then shifting closer to the edge of the pavement to flag down a black cab. He clambers into the back and lets Faolan handle giving his address, pressing himself into a corner slightly and trying to force himself not to look back out the window. He waits until Faolan is in too and doing up his seat-belt, studies him a second.

"I'll be honest," he says softly, "I didn't think French food was really your thing anyway. Seemed a little fussy for your taste."

Faolan settles himself in beside the other man with a sigh, fastening up his own belt more because he's certain Lancelot might say something about it otherwise than out of any particular habit of his own. He can feel the other man's gaze on him and so he glances up at the other man for a moment, quietly listening to Lancelot's observations before sinking back further in his seat and wishing that the earth might just decide to swallow him up there and then.

When the universe doesn't cooperate -- for the second time that evening -- Faolan speaks up to answer. "It's not, really," he confirms quietly, turning his eyes down to his hands in his lap. "But I... Wanted to go somewhere nice, I suppose. For you. With you." He shrugs slightly, helplessly, swallowing slightly before turning to glance out the window. "I suppose that I've learned my lesson now though, haven't I," he says, trying to play off the fiasco of the evening but the words are slightly too self-deprecating for humor.

He considers that for a long moment, considers the way Faolan turns away, then drops his eyes to his lap as he tries to decide how to word his answer.

"You don't need to impress me," he settles on. "I like you well enough already, Faolan. I won't like you more just because you try to be someone else. Besides which, when have you ever seen me serve fussy food? I make everything in big vats and ladle it out."

Faolan's gaze falls from looking out the window itself to the trim on the door of the cab at Lancelot's words. He supposes that it had been a ridiculous idea, from start to finish. Asking him out -- of course he would never have understood he had meant it as a date, Lancelot did everything he could to see them as nothing more than platonic friends. He liked him well enough already, after all. And the food? Apparently that choice had been a mistake as well. He had seen the relief in the other man's face at his choice to leave. Of course some of it had to do with the girl, but.

God, he really is a fool, isn't he? A fool who just doesn't seem to know when enough is enough. Faolan shifts to scrub his face with his hands for a moment, letting out a heavy sigh as he does. "But I wanted to impress you," he admits, from behind his hands. "That was rather the point." Of all of it, really. Well enough isn't going to get him anywhere anytime soon, after all.

Lancelot lets out a soft sigh, reaches over for one of Faolan's hands and links their fingers together -- gently squeezes it. His voice drops to something soft, barely above a whisper.

"But you don't need to, Faolan. I promise."

Faolan turns to look at the other man, an openly questioning and uncertain look in his eyes. Tentatively he tightens his fingers around Lancelot's in turn, although he isn't quite sure he understands.

"Don't I?" he asks softly, his own voice barely above a whisper himself.

"You don't," Lancelot confirms, and he glances up at Faolan -- studies him in silence a moment before letting his eyes flit out the taxi window to the traffic going past. His fingers loosen slightly around Faolan's, just in case he wants to escape the touch, but stay twined through them. "Which means if you want to stop for chicken nuggets, we can."

Faolan lets out a huff of laughter in response to the other man's words despite himself, and tightens his fingers gently around Lancelot's. Sitting back in his seat and relaxing slightly. He can't help it. Lancelot just seems to have that way with him.

He quirks something of a smile at the other man. "If that is what you truly desire, then I will do my best to make it happen. It's nearly on the way anyway." He tilts his head at the driver slightly, as if to inquire whether he should change their destination to the Market instead of his flat itself.

"I wouldn't say I desire chicken nuggets. Something easy does sound good, though. You'll know what is available around here better than I would. What's good?"

He turns from the window again, lofting an eyebrow at Faolan questioningly. Faolan, he suspects, orders takeaway fairly regularly. He probably has favourites.

Lancelot's suspicions would be right, of course. Faolan is hardly ever in his flat for much more than sleeping there, certainly not for cooking himself any decent meals. All in all, he's honestly rather pleased with the selection of takeaway in the area nearby.

He offers the other man something of a shrug. "Honestly, there are a lot of good choices. Burgers, burritos, Asian..." He pauses, squinting as he tries to recall what else there is that he likes. "A lot of Asian, really. Falafel?" He tilts his head at the other man, questioningly. He'd obviously botched the first restaurant, at least if Lancelot narrows down to the category that he'd be interested in Faolan can deliver from there.

Lancelot leans back slightly more into this seat, turning over the choices in his head -- as much from the perspective of what will equally appeal to Faolan as what appeals to him. He feels a little tired after the tension of escaping the restaurant (even if he doubts he was in danger of much other than extreme embarrassment) so something he can just shovel into his face is all he wants.

"Any of the Asian places do a good katsu curry?" he prompts, letting his eyes flit over again. Rice is easy to eat even when you're tired.

"The sushi place has a pretty good one," Faolan says, after a moment's thought. "In the shopping centre. Though... We could even have it delivered, if you'd rather." It'd probably be easier than braving Westfield after all, coming up on peak shopping hour on a Friday night.

He tilts his head slightly, carefully watching the other man's expression as he does. The way he leans back in his seat, the way he keeps looking out the window himself. "We don't... Have to go back to mine if you don't want," he offers quietly, after a moment. His eyes dark and searching as he speaks. "I could have the driver turn around, you know. Take you home. Try something else, another night perhaps..." He doesn't want to force an evening on the other man after all.

Turn around? Lancelot frowns at that, confused.

"Why?" he prompts, "I mean, we don't have to... if you don't want me to, I can go back -- it's no trouble."

Maybe the driver can stop by a tube station, even? Stop them having to turn around completely. He lets go of Faolan's hand to rummage for his phone, checking for train times.

Faolan's heart leaps into his throat. He had thought that that was what Lancelot had wanted, he had thought that maybe the other man had had too much excitement, what with the stalker and the argument in the restaurant and the fiasco the whole idea had been anyway. But the thought that it's instead his words that might drive Lancelot away is nearly too much.

"If I don't want you to? Lancelot..." He reaches out without thinking and closes his hand around the other man's once more. Gently guiding the phone (and subsequently, the train schedule) down and out of his view. "Of course I want -- it isn't like that, I'd only meant that you have the option, if..." He stops himself, biting his lip slightly before continuing. "I would prefer it if you stayed. Please."

Lancelot lets out a soft sigh as Faolan pushes his phone away, leans more heavily into the seat of taxi and lets his head roll against it to study him sideways.

"Then please stop suggesting I can leave? I was starting to warm to the idea of some curry. I can only cope with so many changes of plan in one day before my head starts to spin."

Faolan worries at his lip slightly, nodding in response to the other man's gentle chastisement. "I will," he reassures softly. "I... I'm sorry. Curry it is. Let's... Let's just go back to mine and get it delivered, yeah?" He squeezes Lancelot's hand once more before gently releasing him.

"I don't know about you, but I could use a drink or two as well," he adds, after a moment. Maybe he'll finally relax a little if he does. He certainly hopes so.

"That sounds perfect, although you'll have to make sure it isn't anything too strong -- otherwise you might be peeling me off your sofa and dragging me into a taxi later."

He winces a touch self-deprecatingly at that, rubs his thumb idly against Faolan's hand where it grips his to try and soothe him.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject