undergrounds | Small Town Celebrities party log for Sept17-Oct6

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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.]]

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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.

Faolan glances back up at the other man and flicks him a soft smile as he does. He appreciates Lancelot's touch, appreciates his company. He tightens his fingers around the other man's again before letting his grip slacken once more. Lancelot can pull free if he wants, he just. He likes this, honestly.

"I'll do my best," he replies, "but don't let that stop you from enjoying yourself. I'll see that you get safely home regardless, don't worry." He thinks about making some sort of terrible joke or another about role reversals, how he wouldn't mind it if Lancelot crashed on his couch for a change although if he made a habit of it he'd have to invest in a futon of his own, but he knows Lancelot would never stay. Not when Lily was at home waiting for him. And so he doesn't.

"I know you will," Lancelot replies, then his eyes flick away to watch the traffic go by again.

He's quiet until they get into Shepherd's Bush, then he sits up a little more and frees his hand from Faolan, watches the streets go past half curiously and half wary.

If a vampire can know where Lancelot lives, why can't an obsessive student know where Faolan lives after all? The taxi pulls up and Lancelot digs for his wallet, scrunches his face at Faolan when he waves him off then awkwardly waits on the pavement until the man has paid and goes to lead him up. The air is cooling off, and Faolan's flat is heated the way someone heats a place they aren't in very often -- low, and infrequent so as not to escalate the bills. Lancelot flips his coat over the back of the sofa and is glad of his v-neck, even if it isn't the warmest he owns.

"You wanted to order in, then?" he prompts, flopping onto the sofa and rubbing absently at his arms.

"Mmm, I don't know whether I could brave the shop proper just now," Faolan says, watching the other man all but shivering in front of him. It's good to have him there, and for a longer period of time than just stopping by, but he doesn't want to freeze him either.

"I have a menu if you want to look it over," he offers, as he pads over to the thermostat and gently bumps it up. He turns to look over his shoulder at the other man, offering him a half smile in apology at the temperature as he continues, "If you're still set on katsu curry though, I suppose there's no need?"

"Unless there's something better you'd recommend? I'm easy to please."

Despite what Faolan apparently thinks. He lounges further into the sofa and drops his head onto the back of it, blinks tiredly at the ceiling.

Faolan shakes his head. "If you want katsu and curry, that's your bet. The pork belly is pretty good too," he says with a shrug, pulling out his phone and tabbing through to place the order. "You can try some of mine if you like?" Easy to please, huh? He adds a few of his favorite appetizers onto the order as well then. It will be the test of that statement he supposes.

Finishing the order, he glances back up at the other man, at the way he's nearly draped over the back of the sofa and frowns slightly. "Can I get you something to drink?" he asks, putting his phone away and padding over to the kitchen. He doesn't have much but what he does have is alcohol, mixers, and water. Probably the only thing he makes for himself anymore is drinks, sadly.

"Please," Lancelot answers, and squirms enough to peer over the back of the sofa at Faolan. "Something not too strong? What do you have?"

Since Lancelot isn't the kind of person to drink anything straight, most of the time. Largely due to the fact that it sends him to sleep, but also because he spends a lot of time as a community officer around drunk people who smell strongly of alcohol and it makes the whole thing faintly off-putting.

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