Eames. (
falsify) wrote in
undergrounds2016-09-18 03:36 am
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MABON } 22nd September
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The times, they are a'changing. But in this case, it's the same way they change every year. The 22nd of September is the Autumn Equinox, and aside from it being a great time for witches to get up to all sorts of shady shit with fae, it's time for the seasonal change in power between the two Courts. And in typical Fae fashion, this event is to be marked with a hugely ostentatious party. They've taken over Crystal Palace Park for a party that'll be going near on 24 hours. The trees are lit with twinkling lights, and many fae have chosen to forgo their glamours — some are indescribably beautiful, others monstrous, and quite a few... Well, they look more or less human, but obviously it doesn't bother them and it shouldn't bother you either! There is dancing, flirting, and laughter. And the drinks and food are free flowing. Slipping between realms is also extremely easy, but there's been strict instruction not to steal any mortals tonight or there'll be hell to pay. This also marks the first official appearance of Eames as the Lord of Autumn, (it's not something he could readily get out of, you see,) so expect plenty of gossip about how odd it is he seems to shy away from his title, his obsession with mortals, and how very un-Fae it is of him to cancel the hunt. | |
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The RULES are as follows:
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That's about it, they aren't a very rule-heavy bunch and honestly just want to have a fun night. |
Open;
Part of it is that he needs something else to focus on after the whole... event that was exiling the Midnight witches. Part of it is the general, low-level nervousness he still feels around big fae gatherings. There are rules, and on the surface it sounds like it should be a peaceful event. Yet Lancelot takes his dedication to the Night Council and the safety of the supernatural community to heart, even when he doesn't agree with all the laws. Maybe if he's there he can make sure they're adhered to, help if they aren't? Will the fae even enforce their own laws that roughly, or are they for show?
Part of it is simply the desire to be doing something so he doesn't feel he's still cowering at home, jumping at shadows after what happened to him.
Most of his bruises have faded, and with the weather cooling off into something more autumnal (fitting, in a way) he needs a jacket to keep off the cool evening air. He changes his shirt into a looser v-neck and comes straight from Westminster, half wondering on the tube if he's made a mistake. Still he's vaguely tidied himself up, tamed his hair as best he can and he doesn't think he stands out too much.
Aside from to those who recognise him, perhaps. Which is the downside of all this -- he doesn't want to be making a political statement by being here, but maybe he is? He knows people will probably think Sylvia sent him, and the thought makes him immediately wince internally and steer toward the drinks. He takes a slightly bigger than necessary sip of one, and is turning to step away when he has to catch himself and step back.
"Ah -- forgive me, I was lost in thought."
Over if he should be there or not at all, and exactly how badly it might go. He takes a deep breath and offers an apologetic smile. At least he didn't crash into them completely?
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One of the reasons Lancelot belatedly might realise it was a bad idea for him to go to a fae party is that Lancelot doesn't drink a lot to begin with. It only takes a few glasses for his laughter to suddenly be a little bit easier and louder and a few more than that and he will probably start to feel incredibly sleepy. Which is better, of course, than being an angry drunk or a ludicrous disaster but accidentally falling asleep at a fae party is probably a dangerous thing to do. He's gotten to the point where he thinks he has a little of someone's glitter on his face and has been trying to rub it off while staring down food and trying to work out what might help balance out the alcohol best when he feels someone standing nearby and instinctively shuffles along.
"Still trying to decide," he says, just in case they'd been waiting for him to get out of the way, then looks up and winces. "Do I have something...?"
He can't actually tell if he's rubbed off the glitter or spread it around, truth be told, and he doesn't have a mirror to check.
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But there came a point where trying to appear casual from afar was going to start to look suspicious and so he had tossed back the last of his drink and assumed an air of nonchalance as he made his way over to the food where the other man stood, regarding it thoughtfully. Only to have him turn and question him about something on his face.
"Ehm," Faolan says, because it takes his brain a moment to catch up with him before he responds again. "Yeah, there's. Some glitter. Right..." He motions on his own face to mirror the location of the persistent sparkles. "Here," he says, helpfully.
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It isn't, so either he's just moving it around, it's transferred somewhere else or he's rubbing in the wrong place.
"I didn't know you were coming, you should have said! I'd have waited for you if I'd known!"
It just, well, didn't seem like it would be Faolan's sort of thing. Not that it's really his either, but -- well, that's beside the point.
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"There," he says, holding out his hand to show the other man the glitter on his fingers that he had brushed off of him, before dusting his hands off as best he can. The last thing he needs to do is get it on himself now, after all. Then of course he realizes with the distraction resolved he's going to have to find an answer for the rest of it, and fast. So picking up his drink again to give his hands something to do, he finally says, "It was a last-minute decision. I thought maybe I should though." It's technically not a lie, even if he's trying to imply different things than the truth.
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"I'm not sure Sylvia would approve," is what he says finally, "but I thought it best to keep an eye on things. Just in case. I think that excuses my presence."
Even if he is, well, also drinking. He picks up his glass to make sure he's keeping track of it, takes another sip. In a way perhaps it's a good sign if Faolan is attempting to be more social? The company might be dubious but surely it's better than his isolating himself?
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"I don't think that Sylvia really has a say one way or the other over how you spend your down time, so long as you're not breaking any rules." He nods to the drink in Lancelot's hand. "And I don't think enjoying yourself is breaking any of those rules in the slightest." He tilts his head at the other man and raises an eyebrow questioningly. "You are enjoying yourself, yeah?" He has to ask, after all. It's only polite.
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"It isn't really... well, you know I don't normally drink much to begin with. But it's good! I think?"
He looks back at Faolan, blinks a moment then starts to huff with laughter.
"Forgive me, it isn't as if I go to these things a lot. I have no idea what I would even compare it to. There are so many... I want to say people here but now I wonder if that's the right word."
How do you define 'person'? Is it exclusive to humans? He widens his eyes slightly as if to say oh goodness why is this complicated then starts to laugh again quietly.
Lancelot really doesn't think he belongs here, but he can see the humour in that at least.
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Faolan can't help but smile slightly at the other man's laughter, even if he's not entirely certain why he's laughing (and whether it's a good sign or not). He shakes his head slightly, before shrugging himself.
"Why not people?" he inquires. "I'm not sure that they'd take very kindly to you calling them anything else. Even if such terms might be more accurate. Creatures?"
He raises his eyebrows at Lancelot slightly. "Perhaps you could get away with it." In his wide-eyed innocence. "They'd have me strung up from my ankles in seconds flat, though. This may come to you as a surprise, but I tend to get off on the wrong foot at times," he deadpans.
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Lancelot doubts any fae would want that mistake to be made. If anything that might be an insult.
He thinks about it, frowns in thought as he turns over the idea.
"Maybe not creatures," he allows, and sighs. "I'm not very good at this. You might think yourself poor enough, but what do I know? I've already been strung up once in the last few months."
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"I'm sorry.. I didn't mean... But. That wasn't your fault," he says softly. "And it certainly wasn't because you upset any vampires. They would likely have done far worse things if it had been personal." Things like coming after everyone that he held dear. Killing the people he loved most. Turning them -- no, Faolan can't go down that road. Not here and now, not while he's supposed to be at a party. Speaking of...
"Anyway. It doesn't really matter whether you feel like you belong here or not," he says. "None of us will ever quite fit in, after all. I think that's rather the whole point of it all." Trying to create somewhere to feel more at home than among the rest of the citizens of London. He quirks something of a hesitant smile at the other man. "We might as well try to enjoy ourselves here then, yeah?"
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"I'd like to think I'm making a good attempt," he answers finally, lifting his drink a little for emphasis. "Although you may need to keep an eye on me, make sure I don't fall asleep under a table."
Even if Lancelot quietly suspects that Faolan might keep an eye on him regardless. He has that air about him, like he intends to hover.
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Faolan raises an eyebrow slightly at that, although he does know Lancelot and the way he handles his drink and he wouldn't put it past him to fall asleep with it somewhere. Still. Falling asleep at a party is hardly enjoying oneself at it.
"It's a start," he acquiesces. "It's an even better one if you like what you're drinking." He motions towards the food that Lancelot had been eyeing when he'd caught up with him. "Good food helps too, I've heard. Have you eaten yet?"
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He's assuming (hoping) the food isn't drugged, although after the tea incident that's no certainty. That doesn't mean it's all good, though. Turning back to the table he surveys it thoughtfully, examining the spread. Does he want anything substantial or just to go straight to the cakes and sweets? If that's the toughest choice he has to make all night it'll be a successful event in truth, but it's still a tough one.
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So, clutching a drink in one hand, she's off to try to find him.
And hey, maybe he was near the food. Couldn't hurt to check, right? At least, that was her logic as she went for a large slice of cake. And just as her hands closed on the plate, she heard the voice of the man next to her.
He looks up. She looks up.
Lance.
Lance, who was undoubtedly involved in the Exile.
Lance who knew exactly who she was.
She drops the cake and turns to run.
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"Nancy! Don't --"
Only his hand have food and drink in them, and he's a little tipsy, and all said and done he doesn't really want to cause a scene either. He puts them down and sighs.
In a split second decision fuelled by i) desire not to run, ii) being generally tired of this nonsense to begin with and iii) too tipsy to leave anything well alone Lancelot reaches out toward her and pulls with the magic tingling through him. Not very hard, but hard enough to make her stumble back a little instead of forward if it works. Enough that he can try and grab out for her before she gets too far, he hopes.
"Nancy stop," he hisses, and already he's half bracing himself to have a spell thrown in his face.
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She winces, turning to look at the man who was going to arrest her and ruin her life. She'd be exiled with the rest of them, banned from entering the city she'd called home her entire life. She's not supposed to fight, but she can't let this go. She's already fallen so far in the past month that she'd do anything to avoid it happening again.
She tries to wrench her arm out of his grasp the old fashioned way. "Let me go!"
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If Nancy causes a scene people will look, and if people look they might gossip about this, and if it gets back to someone like Sylvia then Lancelot will have a very hard time talking himself out of trouble.
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But he's right, and she can't convince the crowd it's anything else. Not here, not now. So she stops struggling. "God help you if you're lying to me, Lance." She speaks through her teeth, fear edging into her voice.
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There's little to gain from lying, he's already caught her as it were. Why not just arrest her if he's going to? He loosens his arm around her, belatedly realising that it probably looks... odd the way he's holding her and pressed up behind her. They likely as not already have a little attention. He glances up and around casually, trying to think. Displays of affection normally make people uncomfortable, that's probably the best way to get people to look away.
"Pretend it's a game," he says softly, "people are looking. Here --"
He slackens his grip and moves to tickle her, like that was the reason he ran after her in the first place. As long as Cooper doesn't get the wrong idea it is a sound cover.
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He doesn't need to tell her how to pretend it's a game, and Nancy wrinkles her nose, pulling a face in response to the suggestion. But she goes along with it, smiling and laughing and turning in his arms, and then takes a step back. She doesn't trust him.
"What d'you want?"
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"I wasn't involved," he says finally, "Sylvia kept it all to her Outreach team."
It's important to Lancelot that she know that, that he wasn't there doing her dirty work. He didn't arrest any of them.
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She doesn't trust him- and she wants Lance to know that as she keeps her eyes trained on him. "Isn't that lucky- so I suppose I won't blame you, then, for the fact that I lost everything, right?" There's venom in her words, but what else would she have? Lance needs to realize that there are people on the other side of the equation. People like her.
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He stops, takes a breath and rubs at his stubble. Nancy has no reason to trust him, and he can't really promise her anything.
"I never wanted any of this," he says finally, and Lancelot usually manages to keep his cool but he's been drinking. Emotion seeps into his voice, regret -- plenty of it. "Sylvia asked my opinion a long time ago and I told her to give you all a voice, to listen to you. Norrell just -- drowned us all out."
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"Norrell." She barked out a laugh at the mention of his name. "But he's not here now, is he?" She'd personally seen to it, that he was gone. "But sure, let's blame him for the fact I was forced out of my home." She won't mention she has the keys to a place in Canary Wharf, or that she's living with Cooper.
"Let's blame him for the fact that business has taken a nosedive. That'll solve everything, right?"
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Nancy doesn't care if he tries because he failed. In truth he supposes he can understand that. There are no points for effort here. Midnight has still been ripped apart as a faction, and even if he thinks Abigail made a mistake siding with Raymond Nancy herself won't care. Abigail was her friend.
"I'm sorry," he says finally, and he sounds defeated because he is.
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