londoncallingrpg | Gathering Post

He didn't work Sundays, but he'd been called in late last night for an emergency operation. It had gone well, but it had taken all night, and Yves looked tired as he sat at a table outside a cafe near the hospital.

He had showered and changed into a spare suit he kept in his office, and he sipped his coffee as he tried to decide if he should just go home and sleep the day away, or if he ought to practice a bit of self discipline and find something to keep him alert today.

It was busy though, and the tables around him were all filling up, leaving the next customer to step outside with nowhere to sit- Unless they were bold enough to ask to share his table.

'Bold' was a fair descriptor of the very tall red-haired man bearing a large cup, balancing a plate of bagel and lox, with a book tucked under his arm. If his height and hair and strange eyes weren't enough, he dressed in blue and violet and patterns that seemed determined to draw attention to himself, no matter how carelessly his designer scarf draped around his neck.

"Pardon me, but I'll be quiet as a church mouse if I could just set this down here," Felix told the man at the only half-occupied table, smiling his can't-say-no smile and nodding to the available chair.

Yves had been reading something on his phone, but he glanced up at the sound of the man's voice. The fae's gaze raked over the ginger peacock, noting everything from his shoes to his miss-matched eyes.

"By all means," he said after a beat, gesturing at the table. "Be my guest."

Felix set the book down first, a fairly sizable volume on Egyptian funereal practices, then set his plate on top of the book, and cup of what appeared, by aroma, to be a chai latte on the table beside it. Finally, he folded himself into the chair, tugging and smoothing down his cardigan as he did.

"Truly, you're a savior, messire," Felix confided in his low, breathless near-purr. "I can't go back to my flat for at least an hour, and I severely miscalculated the patronage of this cafe at this hour. I promise you, you're doing a public service in helping me avoid my lover's brother for another hour."

It was as though the stranger aimed to entice, from his purring voice to his choice of words. So Yves did what any wicked Fae would do- He deliberately denied him his attention.

"Hmm? Oh, you're welcome," he replied lazily, his gaze back on his phone, thumbing through the news.

He only looked away from the small screen to pick up his coffee, sipping it slowly, and humming his approval at the rich and perfectly acidic flavour.

Felix did not dress this way, did not push his way through the everyday world like this, just to be ignored. Granted, he had brought his book and he had just imposed on the gentleman, but he was deeply unaccustomed to such a complete lack of interest. Anyone uninterested in the picture he presented, generally, would be interested in politely and swiftly excising themselves from his company. Even negative attention was better than being ignored.

He settled back, eyeing the stranger sidelong as best he could with his own terrible peripheral vision. Without some sort of external manifestation, like Manuel's constant trail of glitter, Felix needed to see an individual's eyes to sense their magic, so this man seemed perfectly normal to him so far. Other than the fact, of course, that he seemed capable of studiously ignoring Felix Harrowgate, which was a feat that even many of his fellow English didn't manage.

Rather than pick up his book, Felix sat back, and frankly observed his table-mate over the edge of his white latte cup held gingerly in tattooed hands.

Yves could feel his gaze, and a hint of a smile rested on his lips.

"Careful," he said after a long stretch of silence. "Someone might notice your feathers are a bit ruffled."

Only then did he offer a scrap of attention, lowering his phone and meeting the wizard's gaze with his own.

Felix's slim red brows arched up at this comment, and he tilted his head just so at the stranger. He expected to summon a tart response (those were so simple for him), but then he met the other's gaze, and Felix quite forgot to be annoyed. There was magic behind those eyes, and not of a flavor he could immediately identify. Still, it felt familiar, somehow.

"I promise you, I'm not hiding any feathers," he said with a small smile that never reached his eyes. "I couldn't say for certain the same is true for all company present, but I wouldn't presume."

"I'm very much featherless," Yves assured him. "Though you're welcome to check," he purred, flashing that slightly dangerous smile, before returning his attention to his phone.

"I've not seen markings like yours in some time," he noted. "What do they call your lot again?"

Felix's glance flicked down and up the other man's form at his invitation, but he said nothing untoward. There may be time for that, later.

"Animalia chordata mammalia primates hominidae homo sapiens," Felix replied, a flow of Latin like music. "Sex and self-identification: male. Presentation: fabulous. Affinity: wizard. Order... Cabaline." That, of course he knew, was the word the other man had been looking for.

"Cabaline," Yves echoed, speaking the word slowly. As though he could taste it- and he wasn't certain he liked the flavour.

That was the extent of the information Felix was willing to provide for so little in return. He smiled, not particularly pleasantly, over his chai. The Cabal had been the primary, if deeply xenophobic, magical power in London for centuries. Over time, their power had become consolidated in smaller and smaller, yet higher and higher, positions in the government of England and later the United Kingdom. Now, they were virtually unknown to any but the most elite... and the very, very old.

"And what are your people calling themselves these days?" Felix enquired, perfectly pleasant.

"If I still had kin, they would call me fae. Unseelie, if you wish to get political about it," Yves replied, shrugging one shoulder as he spoke.

If he had kin? Fae familial relationships were still a mystery to Felix, but he did understand some of it. One brow quirked with interest. "Ah, the wicked ones. Or, so says the other political party."

"A bit like taking two sweets of the same flavour and asking which is better, really," Yves replied blandly. "If you bothered to taste them, you'd find them both sour."

"You don't participate in the political season?" Felix inquired. If he recalled correctly, it was the change of seasons when the Fae went to war. "I confess, I have no taste for it, myself. To belabour the metaphor, I'd prefer to make the sweets, not taste them."

"I don't participate in anything over there," Yves replied. "I don't participate in much here either, honestly. Unlike my kin, I've no need to partake in mindless rituals and pointless battles."

Felix thought it perhaps not wise to pry too much into the business of a man who quite comfortably announced himself as Unseelie Fae, no matter how wickedly handsome he was, or how strangely enchanting is voice. "You prefer to partake in fine coffee instead?" he inquired conversationally. "Or is the news of the mortal world really that fascinating?"

"I do enjoy coffee, but this cup is purely to make up for a lack of sleep," Yves replied honestly. "As for the news, I tend to limit my interests to the sciences. Medical, primarily. Currently I'm reading about how paracetamol possibly dampens a human's ability to feel empathy. Wouldn't that be a fascinating tid-bit if it proved to be true, hmm?"

"It potentially explains a few things about the current direction of humanity. We've all been giving one another headaches for decades, centuries, even." Felix may not be an expert, but he was well-read enough to hold forth on a broad variety of topics. "Though I'm a touch relieved that I prefer ibuprofen. I'm told I'm already lacking in that virtue."

Yves eyed him for a moment, saying nothing. Many mortals claimed to lack true empathy, but when it all boiled down to it, most of them had a weak spot for something or someone. You just had to know where to apply pressure.

The ones who truly didn't were rare and fascinating creatures.

"It's an overrated trait, in my opinion," he said finally.

Felix quirked a brow briefly, somewhat amused. Based on his bare knowledge of the Fae, that was an extremely Unseelie thing to say. "As a human being, I'll never fully be rid of it," he observed, thoughtful. "No matter how much paracetamol I take. If one listens to popular culture, a dearth of empathy leads directly to serial murder and all manner of mayhem, but I'm not certain that's true. It's just easier for us to understand monsters if we decide they lack some essential human quality. How much more terrible if a man thinks, feels, and reasons like I do, and still decides to behave like a beast."

Yves would have said it was actually just a very Yves thing to say. To be generalized as just another of his kind would have been an insult to both sides.

"I don't think you have to worry about Law and Order being cited by someone as a source in the next BMJ," he replied blandly. "Certainly not by me, anyway."

He finally looked at the peacock full on then, taking in his clothes, his hair, his mismatched eyes... Partially blind? Seemed likely.

"Dr. Yves Francium," he said, though he didn't offer his hand.

It was just on the edge of infuriating, how reserved and untouchable the other man seemed. By now, Felix had typically either charmed or at least warmed most strangers... or had found a way under their skin in a manner which was satisfying. Yves just seemed only barely interested in him, but gave him just enough that Felix didn't feel ignored. That unusual tangle of threads left Felix not quite able to define what bothered him about the interaction, but did nothing to relieve the bother itself.

"Felix Harrowgate," he offered in reply. "Do you publish anywhere, Dr. Francium? I would be very interested to read your work."

"Several journals- And it's just Yves. No need to call me doctor unless I'm slicing you open."

He tilted his head slightly, studying Felix as if he were some sort of specimen. "How poor is your vision?" he asked bluntly.

Sunday Morning

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