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 throws one arm over the back of the sofa to allow himself to comfortably turn in and clinks his bottle against Faolan's, takes a long drink from it.

"You have to make it mutual, though," he warns, a flicker of amusement in his features. "If you're allowed to growl at all the women who come near me I need the same right."

Faolan takes a good drink of his own bottle as Lancelot does, though he has to fight to keep himself from choking at the other man's gentle teasing. Does he mean any of it? He honestly has no idea. He's probably only teasing. He tries to push down that little part of him that wishes there were something more to it though.

Perhaps it's that desire that motivates him to raise an eyebrow at the other man and respond, "No one is stopping you." Realizing he's being embarrassingly direct and glancing away at his bottle again, playing with it in his hands as he elaborates to say, "Though I'd like to see you try to growl at anyone, truth be told."

He wrinkles his nose in protest at that, shifting himself to settle more comfortably.

"Do you think me incapable of anger? I can growl at people if I want to."

Faolan raises his eyebrows at the other man further. Does he think him incapable of anger? No. Growling at someone, though, really growling at them? A man that probably would have worn a tshirt about his dog if he hadn't been forced into somewhat more formal attire for the evening?

"Sure you can," he replies, obviously not believing it for an instant.

Lancelot studies Faolan in bemusement, then pushes to his feet and paces away.

"You know, you're the second person this month to tell me I'm not intimidating. I think I could intimidate you if I wanted to. What're we betting?"

Since, he thinks, wagering makes it more fun.

Faolan watches the other man jump to his feet, more than a little surprised that he did but slightly intrigued to find out where this might be going. "Betting?" he asks, sitting forward to be able to get a better view of where Lancelot stands and what it is that he's doing exactly. He'll bite, though.

"Alright then. If you manage it..." He contemplates his request for a moment. He doesn't honestly expect to be intimidated by the other man, but he needs to lay out the terms regardless. There's always a chance, he supposes. "If you do, I will brush Lily and cook you dinner for a change. Plus one other 'I owe you' of your choice." Yes, he does know how to make some things. A handful of them. Just don't expect a masterpiece.

"And if I don't?" Lancelot wrinkles his nose. "I cook for you myself already, that doesn't seem much of a reward. I can cook something of your choice I suppose?"

That isn't exactly a very even exchange, though, when Faolan also offered an extra 'I owe you' and to brush his dog.

Faolan thinks about all the things that he wants from the other man, and thinks about how ridiculous it would feel to ask any of them in turn. Another attempt at a date? A kiss? Even just to tell him the truth -- would he be interested, if not for the thought that it might ruin their friendship as Lancelot seems to be so certain it would? But he doesn't want to push, doesn't want to ruin this moment between them by making awkward demands. If only he didn't have these feelings in the first place, his life would be a lot easier, he bemoans to himself. Not for the first time. Nor the last, he is sure.

He flicks his eyes away from the other man for a moment and tries desperately to keep himself from blurting out anything embarrassing. "You would cook for me regardless of who won this bet or not," he agrees. He searches blindly for something to ask for -- everything seems too much or too little -- before he finally glances back at the other man and shrugs slightly. "If I win, then we do this again. We plan a date for it. Lily can come too if you like, but. You and me. Here." He flicks something of a smile at the other man. "No stalkers driving us here this time. And..." He digs around for something else to add, realizing he had offered a lot himself in his stalling to keep from having to name his own reward. "And you owe me coffee for the next week."

He looks a touch bemused by this choice of reward at first (how is making Lancelot return to his flat to eat take-way much of a reward? He'd do that anyway if he asked.) before finally giving a helpless shrug.

"If that's what you want, although forgive me for saying so but coming to your flat isn't what I'd call a hardship. I'd come any time if you wanted me to."

"But. I do want you to come here any time," Faolan says, before he can stop himself, flicking his eyes away from the other man uncomfortably at the admission. "Most of the time I've spent in this flat I've spent sleeping, drinking, contemplating my life's mistakes, or any combination thereof," he admits. "Mostly drinking, contemplating my life's mistakes, watching my neighbors across the street through their curtains they never shut, and then drinking some more really." He shrugs.

"But that's not. That doesn't make it feel like much of a home. Much less than it does when I kip on your futon those few nights a week I sometimes do. So." He shifts his beer in his hands, reaching up to run his hand through his hair awkwardly. "I suppose... It's something of a selfish request, because it won't really get me out of your hair any more, but. I'm not in your way here. You don't have to feel like you have to take care of me here, and maybe I can even return something of the favor. Maybe with your help..." he shrugs slightly, helplessly. "Maybe we can make better memories for this place so that when I'm on my own in it, it isn't so much of a shit hole, and I don't know..." He trails off, feeling ridiculous, a slight flush creeping across his face as he does.

Watching his.... neighbours? Lancelot's brow furrows slowly at the rambling admission, feeling an awkward mixture of confusion, pity and embarrassment. He hesitates a moment, lofts an eyebrow at Faolan. For a few seconds he's quiet, trying to work out how he should reply.

"I did say I'd come any time," he tries finally, "even without a... bet."

Faolan flushes further at Lancelot's response and sits forward for a moment to run his hand over his face. Get a grip, he tries to tell himself, trying to convince himself into relaxing. He hasn't had nearly enough to drink to settle his nerves yet though, and it might look suspicious if he just downed the rest of his bottle right there and then.

"You did," he agrees. "I'm sorry, I... If you can think of something better to offer, something that you think might be more of a reward, I'm all ears. I'm afraid that I'm far too easy to please as far as you're concerned to be able to name any terms properly myself."

"I'd offer to take you out somewhere but at the rate we're going that may be more of a punishment."

Lancelot widens his eyes a fraction, takes a sip of his beer as he tries to work out how to steer things into safer waters.

"I think you might already be nervous enough without me trying to intimidate you."

Faolan makes something of a strangled sound that is halfway between a laugh and a gurgle of horror at the fact that Lancelot is calling him out so bluntly as he is. He runs his hand over his face again, struggling to keep his composure, but eventually he just gives up. What composure does he have to begin with, after all?

He tosses back a notably long pull on his drink -- he really had needed the drink, he hadn't been lying when he'd said that to the other man, before sitting back into the sofa once more. "Just imagine how bad it'd be if we hadn't been interrupted at that restaurant," he says. He flicks a glance up at the other man through his eyelashes before glancing away again and just coming out with it. It might make the situation even more uncomfortable but at least he won't be crawling out of his skin holding the secret back any longer.

"It was supposed to be a date, you know. When I had asked you to go out to eat with me like that. I was asking you out on a date. It's why the place was so damned over the top," he admits.

"I know," Lancelot answers lightly. Then hesitates, tilts his head. "Well, I didn't at first, but I worked it out. I wouldn't say it was subtle."

Faolan may be a private investigator, may be someone good at investigation that is quiet and deceptive, but when it comes to personal matters he's rarely as subtle as he hopes he is.

When it comes to personal matters Faolan is way out of his element, and so not even Faolan himself understands what he's truly aiming for at some points.

It's a good thing that Faolan hadn't been drinking during Lancelot's answer because he might have choked if he did, or perhaps spat it out across the room at him. So instead the bottle slips in his fingers as the motion to his mouth is paused at the thought of it -- he knew? -- and he spills it on himself instead.

"You... -- fuck!" Faolan exclaims, and jumps up in an attempt to rescue the carpet and the sofa beneath from a similarly embarrassing fate. He makes for the kitchen and the paper towel rack there, buying himself a moment to process the thought of it. He knew.

His eyebrows loft as Faolan spills his drink on himself, hesitating over if he should help before settling on taking a few steps toward the counter and simply waiting to see if he should.

"Well," he hedges, watching Faolan fluster about. "Like I said, it didn't seem... your sort of restaurant."

Which means he picked it for a reason, which means he was probably trying to impress Lancelot. For a reason.

Faolan grabs for a handful of paper towels and tries to get himself cleaned up, even if he knows that he's going to have to at least change, if not set his shirt in the sink to try and soak the drink out. He glances up at Lancelot as the other man joins him and watches -- how can he be so damned calm? -- before just giving up. Setting the paper towels aside he lifts his shirt above his head and starts running water over it.

"You knew," he repeats again, glancing over his shoulder at the other man, "and you let me carry on thinking you didn't like an absolute idiot?" He raises his eyebrows at the other man incredulously. "Do you enjoy watching me flounder at you?"

Enjoy it?

"I didn’t realise you didn't know," he admits, "I didn’t get much of a chance to talk about it either, all things considered."

What with Elaine and chaos after it.

"You didn't give me any clue that you did either!" he insists, turning back to his shirt to see if the water is doing anything to get the staining out, his mind working fast as he does. Trying to process what Lancelot is saying and put it together with everything he thought he knew about the night so far.

Deeming it looks alright, if soaked through, Faolan turns back to the other man with a slightly vulnerable and uncertain look on his face. "Everything you said in the cab," he says. "About not needing to impress you. You knew then? And you... You agreed to come back here with me and continue the evening anyway?"

"Yes?" he prompts, a little confused by the question. In his mind, after all, that had been why he said it. Because he had an idea of what Faolan was trying to do.

Faolan shakes his head at the other man after a second, trying to wrap his head around the lot of it and uncertain whether he can or not. It's a lot for him to take in at once, especially when he had assumed failure.

"I need to... Hang this to dry," he says, after a moment. He grabs the dripping shirt and, after a moment's hesitation, steps away from the sink and back into the bedroom. Disappearing into his bathroom to hang the shirt over a towel rack for now to let it drip before shuffling back into the bedroom proper to dig out another shirt to put on. A tshirt this time. Maybe that will help him feel a little less out of place...

Lancelot ambles after Faolan, stopping just outside his bedroom door and leaning slightly into the frame. He sips at the drink, not particularly watching -- more waiting than anything else.

"If you want me to leave I can," he offers, just because hasn't exactly expressed joy at these various revelations. More surprise and something between anger and frustration. "I can take a taxi and pick up something on the way home."

Faolan pulls the new shirt on over his head and turns at the sound Lancelot's voice. Frowning slightly, although not because of Lancelot himself, but because of the implication behind his words. He bites his lip slightly, shaking his head as he steps back towards the other man and rests his hand against the door frame to lean just against it on this side of the room.

"I want..." he says, trailing off, flicking an uncertain glance up at the other man through his eyelashes. "I'd like. I'd like for you to stay. If. If you'd like to stay. Knowing..." He trails off again, before shrugging helplessly. "Knowing everything, really. Knowing what a mess I am especially I suppose." He glances away again. "I'm sorry," he says, although he doesn't know what specifically he's apologizing about just yet.

"Faolan," he sighs tiredly, and paces the rest of the way into his room -- sets his lager down on the set of drawers and leans his weight onto it with one hand. "Don't do that. Please. I'm already here. I've already said I came here knowing. Don't talk yourself in circles. Don't make this more complicated than it really is."

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