Faolan has hardly been one for crowds, especially ones such as this. It's been quite the trip up to Manchester, and there's no way he can make it all the way back to London without breathing fire or tearing someone's throat out for simple things like talking on the train or meandering three abreast with their friends on the sidewalk -- so he's had to grab a hotel room and spend more money than he'd care for. And though it's largely on the Council's budget, since this is their investigation, needless to say he's not starting the night in the best of moods.
He knows there are other people that Lancelot had sent to investigate from London somewhere in the audience but at this stage in the game the tickets for their seats were purchased individually, and he hasn't much of an idea who all they might be. Perhaps it's for the best. He will know if he runs into them at the after party, after all -- the tickets all do at least include a given invitation to that. With separate seats however, he sits in the midst of a sea of what seem to him to be a broad collection some of the most gullible, excitable people in the whole of England as the applause erupts and Silverton herself waltzes onto the stage.
He can't get much of a read on her as the show progresses. There's too much interference, too many people around him and between the two of them. He feels at least several 'others' in the crowd, but he's not so good as to be able to pinpoint their locations as that. He supposes, as he watches her preach to a woman whose deceased parents apparently need to reassure her of her parenting skills from the beyond, that he's going to have to actually secure a conversation with her at this VIP meet and greet. And that, more than the theatrical flickering of the lights and the following terrified running audience members, fills him with a quiet sense of dread.
Showing his VIP ticket to the man checking them, Faolan shuffles around on the edge of the meet and greet until he finds himself a glass of the promised champagne. He's pretty sure he's going to need it, if he's going to make it through any sort of conversation with the woman at all...
OPEN;
He knows there are other people that Lancelot had sent to investigate from London somewhere in the audience but at this stage in the game the tickets for their seats were purchased individually, and he hasn't much of an idea who all they might be. Perhaps it's for the best. He will know if he runs into them at the after party, after all -- the tickets all do at least include a given invitation to that. With separate seats however, he sits in the midst of a sea of what seem to him to be a broad collection some of the most gullible, excitable people in the whole of England as the applause erupts and Silverton herself waltzes onto the stage.
He can't get much of a read on her as the show progresses. There's too much interference, too many people around him and between the two of them. He feels at least several 'others' in the crowd, but he's not so good as to be able to pinpoint their locations as that. He supposes, as he watches her preach to a woman whose deceased parents apparently need to reassure her of her parenting skills from the beyond, that he's going to have to actually secure a conversation with her at this VIP meet and greet. And that, more than the theatrical flickering of the lights and the following terrified running audience members, fills him with a quiet sense of dread.
Showing his VIP ticket to the man checking them, Faolan shuffles around on the edge of the meet and greet until he finds himself a glass of the promised champagne. He's pretty sure he's going to need it, if he's going to make it through any sort of conversation with the woman at all...