Faolan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
reticence) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2017-01-13 06:47 pm
reticence) wrote in undergrounds2017-01-13 06:47 pm
Entry tags:
[OPEN] It's a kind of magic
[ooc info: faolan has just gained a new metahuman power and he doesn't know how to process it. cue him feeling like he's going crazy! :')]
A. ON THE STREET
When Faolan woke up this morning, he hadn't anticipated there being anything all that different about the day. Truth be told, he didn't have any plans besides work, and thus as he dragged himself out of bed and towards the coffee machine in his kitchen that Lancelot had given him, he was already somewhat bored with it.
It was once he left the house, his Mr Grumpy mug full of coffee in hand to prepare him for the train ride in, that the city seemed to get a little more exciting. More exciting than really it should have been, for that matter. The first time he'd bumped into someone on the street that he had recognized as a witch and felt the brush of a cat against the back of his legs and the smell of burning sage, he had thought he just hadn't woken up enough yet. Too suggestible to the stimulations around him.
After the third time passing by a spot and getting a flash of sensation, accidentally jostling into another person and hearing things that no one else could, Faolan is well and truly spooked, and he looks it too. He doesn't know what's happening, but this isn't natural. Not for him at least. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought he was sensing ghosts, hauntings, but that can't be right either. Not unless there's something big and nasty following him around specifically.
B. HILLINGDON HOUSE
By the time Faolan gets to Hillingdon House, he makes a beeline up to his office where he intends to hide for the rest of the day. In the quiet of that particular space, it seems whatever this mysterious malady he had been afflicted with on the commute in seems to have abated. That is, until he has to look up a record for a file he is working on and stepping into the basement where they keep their paper files, nearly passes out from the combination of smells, sounds, and senses threatening to overwhelm him.
The file he was working on abandoned and forgotten on the table at the bottom of the stairs, Faolan manages to make his way back up and into the kitchen, where he slumps against the counter and struggles to collect himself. Water, he should get himself a glass of water. He glances at the water faucet, suddenly afraid of even attempting something so mundane as that.
C. LANCELOT'S [CLOSED]
Faolan doesn't know quite how he makes it through the rest of the day, but he does. He thinks about calling someone, a taxi perhaps, to get a ride home direct, but what if he's stuck with something there in the cab with him the whole time. He finds himself jumping at shadows as he makes his way to the train, uncertain whether what he's seeing or hearing is really there or a figment of his imagination. No, not his imagination -- of whatever it is that has come over him like this.
Unsurprisingly, Faolan is not paying attention to his commute, working on autopilot and seeming on the edge of a panic attack the whole train ride over. It isn't until he's stepped off the train and onto the platform that he realizes he hasn't taken himself home, but to the station near Lancelot. Clutching his bag close to his shoulder, he contemplates turning around and getting back on, but the promise of a listening ear and perhaps even a comforting embrace is too great and has him making his way away from the station towards Lancelot's flat.
He can only hope, Faolan thinks to himself, as he spooks himself on the walk over and winds up nearly running the rest of the way to the other man's front door, that the other man is home.
A. ON THE STREET
When Faolan woke up this morning, he hadn't anticipated there being anything all that different about the day. Truth be told, he didn't have any plans besides work, and thus as he dragged himself out of bed and towards the coffee machine in his kitchen that Lancelot had given him, he was already somewhat bored with it.
It was once he left the house, his Mr Grumpy mug full of coffee in hand to prepare him for the train ride in, that the city seemed to get a little more exciting. More exciting than really it should have been, for that matter. The first time he'd bumped into someone on the street that he had recognized as a witch and felt the brush of a cat against the back of his legs and the smell of burning sage, he had thought he just hadn't woken up enough yet. Too suggestible to the stimulations around him.
After the third time passing by a spot and getting a flash of sensation, accidentally jostling into another person and hearing things that no one else could, Faolan is well and truly spooked, and he looks it too. He doesn't know what's happening, but this isn't natural. Not for him at least. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought he was sensing ghosts, hauntings, but that can't be right either. Not unless there's something big and nasty following him around specifically.
B. HILLINGDON HOUSE
By the time Faolan gets to Hillingdon House, he makes a beeline up to his office where he intends to hide for the rest of the day. In the quiet of that particular space, it seems whatever this mysterious malady he had been afflicted with on the commute in seems to have abated. That is, until he has to look up a record for a file he is working on and stepping into the basement where they keep their paper files, nearly passes out from the combination of smells, sounds, and senses threatening to overwhelm him.
The file he was working on abandoned and forgotten on the table at the bottom of the stairs, Faolan manages to make his way back up and into the kitchen, where he slumps against the counter and struggles to collect himself. Water, he should get himself a glass of water. He glances at the water faucet, suddenly afraid of even attempting something so mundane as that.
C. LANCELOT'S [CLOSED]
Faolan doesn't know quite how he makes it through the rest of the day, but he does. He thinks about calling someone, a taxi perhaps, to get a ride home direct, but what if he's stuck with something there in the cab with him the whole time. He finds himself jumping at shadows as he makes his way to the train, uncertain whether what he's seeing or hearing is really there or a figment of his imagination. No, not his imagination -- of whatever it is that has come over him like this.
Unsurprisingly, Faolan is not paying attention to his commute, working on autopilot and seeming on the edge of a panic attack the whole train ride over. It isn't until he's stepped off the train and onto the platform that he realizes he hasn't taken himself home, but to the station near Lancelot. Clutching his bag close to his shoulder, he contemplates turning around and getting back on, but the promise of a listening ear and perhaps even a comforting embrace is too great and has him making his way away from the station towards Lancelot's flat.
He can only hope, Faolan thinks to himself, as he spooks himself on the walk over and winds up nearly running the rest of the way to the other man's front door, that the other man is home.
no subject
Although maybe be a touch less practical, but that is why he's offering to find a witch after all. Lancelot knows a lot of his slightly wild fae magic is far from practical.
no subject
Faolan turns to regard the other man for a moment, studying his expression from as close as they're sitting, grateful again for the fact that he doesn't get flashes of Lancelot's magic every time they touch. He'll probably have to figure out the way it works, but for now. He'll revel in the fact that he has the time to do so. He leans in to press a gentle kiss to the other man's lips, before leaning his forehead against Lancelot's.
"Thank you," he says quietly.
no subject
Don't mind him, he'l just carry on soaking up all this attention and affection. He's absolutely fine with that.
"Did you eat? I've nothing prepared, but I can make something if you're hungry."
no subject
"I haven't," he admits, sheepishly. "You don't have to, we can order takeaway if you'd rather. I know that you weren't expecting..." To have to cook for two. Not that this is the first time that he's just stopped by unannounced, of course, but he's been at least trying to make more of an effort to plan ahead these days.
"Or..." he says, after a moment's consideration. "I... Could help?"
no subject
"You could. I'd still have to decide what to make first, though. How hungry are you? If you're in the mood for something now is the time to say."
Since he generally has enough basic ingredients to come close to most things if not exactly match the recipe.
no subject
He shifts to sit closer, moving to rest his hand on Lancelot's chest, gently curling his fingers against his sweatshirt as he offers the other man a gentler, more private smile and continues, "And you have provided it admirably."
no subject
Not that he minds. He leans over and rubs his cheek against Faolan for a moment before moving him off a little so he can get up.
"We can't cook from here, though. I could try, but I don't think I can move things accurate enough for that not to end in disaster."
Either a big mess or a fire or both, Lancelot thinks it best not to test which it will end up. Food isn't worth all that.
no subject
He takes the hint though and moves to sit up and let Lancelot free. He'll still need some time to get used to this whole touch, proximity, magic sensation business. Perhaps he can use that as an excuse to stick close to the other man for a little, he thinks to himself, with a private smile, before shaking his head at Lancelot's words.
"Probably best not to try it then," he says. "I think I've had enough excitement for the day, without you throwing your cookware at me as well." He pushes himself up to stand and offers Lancelot a hand in turn. Not that he needs it, but Faolan likes having the excuse to touch just now.
no subject
"Well, you still haven't told me what you're in the mood for. I have some salmon, chicken, lamb... eggs obviously, if you'd rather none of the previous."
Reaching the fridge he tugs it open and leans against the wall beside it, drawing Faolan closer as he frowns at the contents.
"About the only thing I can't do is anything like a real paella, I haven't any shellfish. I could make you cazuela but... normally you'd marinate things, cook it slowly. So it might not be as good as before."
no subject
"Salmon sounds good?" he says, after a moment's contemplation. He flicks his eyes towards the other man before leaning against him slightly. He has a feeling that Lancelot's idea of salmon isn't the same as his own though, which is fine. So long as it isn't too spicy, he's sure he'll love it.