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
He pulls a face at the other man in turn, uncertain that he should really answer, all things considered. What sort of picture would he be painting himself into if he admitted to the fact that he was a faction leader, not to mention a Guardian, and he was stumbling about on the street looking like... A drug addict, apparently.
He shakes his head and takes a step back and away from the other man. "Obviously no one to you," he replies, which is obviously true.
no subject
Not that he's judging. He doesn't particularly care what a person wants to do with their time or money, and while he may not know this man from Adam, he doesn't want to watch him stagger out in front of a bus, either. Which is why, when Faolan steps back, Ghoul mistakenly thinks he's losing his balance or something of the sort. He darts forward, reaching out for his arm as if to steady him while scolding, "Hold on, you're gonna run in to more people or bust your ass."
Making a grab for someone experiencing touch-based hallucinations isn't the best idea, buuut...
no subject
He jerks as the other man's fingers close around around his arm, and the sound of canine growling echoes at his side, and just for a moment he was so certain those were teeth closing on his jacket. His eyes widen at the other man, not in surprise, but in fear. What the hell is going on?
"S-stop...!" he commands, shakily. "Don't touch me!"
no subject
It's not even close to the sort of reaction Ghoul would've expected, even for someone he suspects is riding on a bad high. The motherfucker looks terrified.
He snatches his hands away quicker than if Faolan had burned him, eyes wide and startled. "Okay. Okay, not touching." He holds his hands up in surrender, and true to his word, he doesn't try to touch him again. "Do you need to go to a hospital, though...? Or at least lemme get you a cab back home- or something."