undergrounds | upon the hill he'll hear my secrets -- open post for october

She was a free witch, baby, and it was all thanks to Lancelot du Lac. As such, Nancy had taken over Eames' old flat in Canary Warf, the one she was slowly now outfitting for business. She still wasn't sure about the status of her former Enfield flat, and it wasn't right to invite a Guardian to Cooper's home. That was stupid, even she knew that. And while she trusted Lance with her life now, she couldn't so easily say the same about Cooper and Lance.

So here she was, working on a glass of gin while she cooked, the entire apartment smelling like garlic and cheese. A lasagna was in the oven, and bread was on the small table, waiting for Lance to arrive. She wanted to thank him properly for giving her a second chance at life, a clean record.

And for his sake, she'd do her best to avoid getting any blemishes on that record. But that didn't mean she would stop.

When Lance arrives, she greats him with a warm hug, practically throwing herself at him in thanks. "You made it!"

So Eames wanted to meet the man that had done what she'd thought was impossible. That was totally fine with her, because Eames deserved to meet Lance, and Lance should meet Eames, and you know what else? Both of these men had amazing dogs that certainly would help the two of them get along.

Honestly, besides the fact that Lance worked for the Night Council, she didn't see why they wouldn't get along.

So when Eames said he wanted to meet Lance, she readily agreed, under the condition that she come along, just in case. Hopefully this case of men-in-her-life-meeting would go far better than her dinner party. Regardless, she'd brought them both to a cafe, picking out a table outside for the three of them to sit at and get to know each other, and for the dogs to sniff each other's butts.

She was quite sure she'd made a good choice, enjoying the fall sun. Proudly, she'll smile back and fourth between the two men, occasionally petting a dog, waiting for them to really make the first move. She was just here to watch, really.

One of the other hunters had let her in, hardly trusting the vampire. Evie didn't blame them: she was a vampire, in broad daylight, approaching Hillingdon under a white flag. She introduced herself, stating she wanted to speak with the leader of Hillingdon. They'd let her sit in a sort of sitting room while they'd dashed off to find one of their leaders.

Evie had been here before, nearly a hundred years ago. Like the rest of London, so much had changed, but so much had changed. Usually, she would have wandered, looking at the room, but in order to appear as unthreatening as she possibly could, she remained on the couch, her hands neatly folded in her lap. Hopefully, this would go easy.

When Arthur rounds the corner, however, she stands, extending a hand in greeting- her sleeve pushed up showing she has no hidden blade on. "Sir- my name is Evie Frye. I'm the Countess of Clerkenwell, and I come here to speak to you about a common enemy." Completely transparent, in the name of making the hunters feel safe in her presence.

Arthur hasn't been at this post very long, and he certainly isn't used to being called on to see visitors to the house. Sure, it's part of the reason he sticks around, to be available and all that, but that doesn't mean he feels entire prepared the first few times it happens. This is one of those times.

He plays it off though, striding in confidently with a light frown on his face as he looks to see if he recognizes the person here to see him. He doesn't, but she introduces herself right away, and his frown becomes suspicious and hesitant as he shakes her hand and then steps back.

"Countess," he says, gesturing to the chair she got out of. That's a designation one would get if they were from the nest. "Please, sit down."

Eames is here with a latte and a dog by his feet; there's a bowl of water for Boxer, but mostly he seems interested in Lily. Sat straight, having positioned himself between Eames and Lily, watching her until she makes her intentions clear. Is she a friend, is she going to try to hurt him? Eames seems pretty relaxed, but he is not a dog he doesn't see everything.

Meanwhile, at table level, Eames has some regrets about his coffee. In hindsight maybe he should've just gotten a black coffee instead. But it's here now and it's not bad, so he takes a sip while he regards Lancelot for a moment, carefully pushing everything he already knows about the man to the back of his mind to avoid any slip-ups.

"So. I hear you got Nancy a pardon from the Council."

Best to get straight to it, right?

Evie raises an eyebrow. "Please- you don't need to call me Countess. If you were going to be that formal, I'd insist on something else entirely." She's not just going to casually drop that she's a dame. "Just Evie will do, or Ms. Frye if you're apt enough." She doesn't care one way or another, being a relatively formal woman herself.

She crosses her legs and leans back into the chair.

"Hillingdon is as lovely as always. But as I've stated, I've come here on business. I come with a proposal."

He laughs brightly as she hurls herself at him, letting his arms loop around her in turn -- as much to keep her steady as anything else.

"I did!" he confirms, "of course. Normally I'm the one cooking for everyone else. I could hardly resist the offer for someone to do it in turn! It smells good, too."

Gently releasing her he puts some space between them, waiting to be waved in and told where to put himself.

"If there's anything I can help with, please -- don't let me be idle."

Lancelot does like to fuss, after all. He isn't used to being fussed over when it comes to food.

Lancelot is alternately sipping a flat white coffee and fussing over Lily, who is fussing between him and Nancy -- variously making absolutely sure nobody has any food they're hiding from her. Boxer is not particularly a big interest her, since he isn't barking and isn't moving and also doesn't have food. She's just starting to settle, and finally turn to watch Boxer now there's definitely no food -- Lancelot's fingers fussing with her ruff until the question makes him pause. He recognises Eames, distantly from somewhere. Probably one of the many supernatural events he's been to. Which one, though? Not recently, for certain. Last year, maybe?

"Yes," he answers, still turning it over in his head. "I thought it seemed a better choice than trying to hide her and being arrested myself."

"Thank you!" She gushes, settling back down on both feet. She waved him in. "Here- pour yourself a glass, then." She waves towards where she's got glasses set on the counter.

"Yeah- had to learn to cook early." Between the boys and then Bill, there were a million reasons to learn how to cook. So she did, and now that she had been living on her own, and again with Cooper, it was a good skill to have. "So now you can enjoy the benefits of it." She smiles.

"I hope you don't mind Italian. I think I've made enough you'll be able to take some home with you, too." she didn't actually know what his cooking skills were, so for all she knew, a thirty-something community officer bachelor probably defrosted a lot of things in his microwave.

This was gonna be great. Nancy's own latte sits in front of her. Each hand is occupied by a dog, because they are good dogs, yes, yes they are. The best dogs, and though Nancy's love of Juliet reigned supreme, she did love some pups.

Juliet, for the record, was living with Cooper right now quite happily.

"He didn't hide me," she assures Lance. She never told him where she'd been, just that she'd had someone she was staying with, the same thing she told the Night Council. And so far, she really did like staying with Cooper. But that was besides the point.

She looks over at Eames, "I didn't think he could do it." But he did. He'd stayed by her side the whole time, kept her as calm as he could.

"Italian is good! Don't underestimate how much I can eat, though."

He grins playfully and shoves his hands into his pockets as he ambles in, pauses by the counter and glances at the glass before pouring himself a small amount to drink. He'll probably nurse it the whole night, he doesn't drink too often so he doesn't want to risk getting horrifically drunk.

"This is a nice place."

She gives him a look. "I grew up with a bunch of boys. We'll see." But she's all playful about it.

While Lance doesn't drink much, Nancy will certainly drink all of the wine and then some. Oh well. More for her.

"Thank you- it's not mine, per-say." she still had to figure out what to do about her Enfield flat, but that came when she had time to sit down and talk with Cooper about it. "I didn't really want to impose on my boyfriend tonight, so I thought this was best." He was still irritated she'd gone to the Night Council without letting him know ("What if you'd been exiled!").

"This is essentially my new office."

Nancy's cheeks were flushed when she opened the door to Cooper's flat. Breathless with excitement she reached for the first thing she could to share the good news. She'd been pardoned! Of all crimes, even ones they had no idea she had committed. Norrell, voter fraud, it was all pardoned. Every last bit.

Still dressed as young and demurely as possible from the trial, the only addition was a bit of alcohol on her breath as a way to calm her nerves after. "Cooper! Good news!" She cried, moving towards where she was sure her boyfriend was. He'd be happy for her, right?

Arthur likes that she's all business. Saves him the trouble of any small talk. His expression is neutral and unreadable as he watches her, wondering what she could possibly be approaching them with and idly wondering as well what her previous business with Hillingdon has been. They've never been the type to keep records of things.

"Please, go ahead. I'm all ears."

Wonderful- Evie didn't have much patience for small-talk.

"I propose a truce." She knows it's a risky offer, but she says it first to get Arthur's attention. From there, she can continue: "Not all of us- in fact a good number of us don't agree with the way things are being run at Islington. We prefer to keep to the old laws." Not feeding on locals, not skinning werewolves and shifters for fun.

"We mean to strike against Harris from within. And when that happens, we would like your assistance. So that together we can remove the greater monster from our midst." If he wants names, she has names. One, in particular.

Eames tilts his head, considering Lancelot for a moment. The man is chronically nice, heroic to a fatal degree, one might stay, but the idea of just helping someone in that situation. He doesn't know what the Council does, but he's always assumed they have some way of compelling loyalty; there's gotta be a reason he's never heard of a rogue Guardian.

The risk just seems much too high to assume solely out of altruism, but what would Eames know? He only knows about altruism from observation. Still, he's suspicious.

"Why?"

Why? Lancelot hesitates, frowning at the question.

"Why not?" he counters. "The Night Council offers pardons to anyone, regardless of crime. Nancy's was mostly a few petty things plus the crime of association. I'm sure Sylvia can call it show of great mercy and get some mileage out of it, so it isn't as if anyone suffers from the choice. Well," he winces, "apart from me, if Nancy is caught again. I'd like to think she's smarter than that, though."

It isn't hers per-say? Lancelot tilts his head at that, turning over options (a friend's? A rental? Something else?) before deciding that, all things considered, it might be better he simply doesn't ask.

"Well, it makes a nice office -- and I have no problem keeping you to myself."

He smiles teasingly, taking a smile sip of his drink and stepping over to investigate what she's cooking.

"There is one thing we should talk about, though." Tilting his head at her a little Lancelot hesitates, knowing it isn't a pleasant topic. "The Night Council asked me to investigate Fagin. I don't want to... cause a problem for you, but I can't ignore the request."

Why? Okay, that was such an Eames question she couldn't even be mad. Nancy had always had a hard time believing that people did anything out of the kindness of their heart. But people like Lance... There was something different about him.

She makes the wise decision not to look at Eames when Lance explains how petty her crimes were. Only the ones she'd admit to were petty.

"Again!" She tries, "Oi listen, I wasn't caught in the first place." And she's very proud of that, all things considered. "I'll be on my best behavior, you know that."

Nancy stiffens, her knuckles white on her wine glass. "No," she says quietly. "You can't." Ignoring the Night Council's requests was bad news bears, especially now that Lance had gone so far out on a limb for her. She couldn't tell him not to, and by all means, the old devil deserved to rot in hell for all he'd done.

But there were so many others at risk, here.

"It's not me I'd be worried about." Her tone is even, if not quiet. She busies herself at the sink, not looking at Lance. She has her brothers to think about.

Eames' expression doesn't falter — he'd hardly have made it this far if he couldn't keep a straight face every time someone edged a little close to something he may or may not have done. He's still staring at Lancelot, because he doesn't feel that his question's been answered.

"What about the risk to yourself?" He asks, electing not to raise an eyebrow at Nancy when she says she'll be on her best behaviour. "Going to bat for a Midnight witch can't endear Sylvia to you any."

"Maybe not, but I've done enough work for her that I'd like to think it evens out. She's already won this battle. She's had Abigail's house burnt down. In the grand scale of things, I'd like to think she can afford a little leeway. If not, she risks publicly losing face herself by having a Guardian disagree with her. I might be at risk from her temper, but she needs me too. "

If he's wrong, well, then that's his problem really. Not Eames or Nancy's problem. He can deal with Sylvia, if he needs to.

He still can't help the feeling that Lancelot must get something out of this, and he shoots an inquisitive glance aside at Nancy, but some people are just that stupid brand of nice. Hell, Lancelot's the kind of person who apologises for having been attacked.

The mention of Abigail's house gets a scoff and a shake of the head from Eames though, a noise that catches Boxer's attention and he reaches down to give him a soothing pet.

"Kind of overkill, don't you think?" Eames says-- he can cycle back around to the topic of Nancy's pardon, but it'll give him an idea of where Lancelot stands in all this. "She's really on the warpath."

"The party line is that Abigail's house is occupied by a dangerous fae which makes it unsafe," he answers smoothly, then jerks an eyebrow -- the rest of his expression staying carefully neutral. "I had no idea that the best way to banish a fae was to burn down a building, but I must defer to her judgement."

He thinks it's ridiculous, a petty last act against Abigail, but he can't do much to stop it.

That's not a truce, Arthur thinks to himself, that's a deal. A truce is about inaction, and Evie is asking for action from Hillingdon. A very big action, in fact.

"You want to take out Harris from the inside?" he says, suspiciously. He believes it, but to come to Hillingdon of all places. Sure, they know what they're doing, but it's not like they could expect friendship after Harris is gone, and it's not like Hillingdon's going to trust Islington to take charge of the situation in a way that works for everyone. All of which begs the question, "And after that? How do we know whoever replaces him will keep to the old laws like you want?"

upon the hill he'll hear my secrets -- open post for october

Early October, Lance

Early October, Lance, Eames & Dogs

Early October, Arthur

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After the Night's Pardon- Cooper

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