undergrounds | The Maiden Anointed [semi-closed] [majorly backdated to March 1]

"For five years, I have been the Maiden of Witches," Katherine Terrance, the former holder of the title, said with a soft smile. There might even have been some pride in it, though she was trying to hide that. After all, no one was supposed to be pleased that someone from Circle Midnight had been meant for this position. "Now, the time has come to step down and let another take my place."

Beside her stood Abigail Widdowson, dressed in a modest white dress that made her look remarkably more pale, almost like she was dressed for her own burial. The impression wasn't lost on her, either.

They were deep in Daybreak territory, overlooking the Thames from Wandsworth. The building was meant for ceremonies like this and large gatherings of a group of covens. Now, it was for this, with all witches invited to witness the making of a new Maiden, as she was to serve both Circles. To stand for all of them.

"I was told when I took the role that I would know when the time had come to step down, and I was told that I would know who to hand this mantle to. You are never given more than you can bear, the Maiden before me said. Now, I pass those words on to you."

Abigail knelt down on a pale blue pillow and bowed her head politely.

"I ask three questions of you," Katherine said with all due solemnity.

"I will answer," replied Abigail.

"Will you serve as the Maiden of Circle Midnight?"

"I shall."

"Will you serve as the Maiden of Circle Daybreak?"

"I shall."

"Will you serve as the Maiden of all Witches?"

"I shall."

"Then let it be known, that you, Abigail Widdowson, stand as Maiden of Witches. Part of the trinity that holds together all our sisters: the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. From this day on, you are an example to us all. And you will be watched."

Katherine picked up a small silver urn and poured a few drops of the scented oil onto Abigail's forehead. She bowed her head, then, and rose of her own power. Katherine offered no hand, and Abigail sought none. She stood straight, took a deep breath, then nodded to Katherine. The former Maiden responded by bowing her head to kiss the spot on Abigail's head where the oil was placed before she stepped away. Then, Abigail took the few steps down from the dais.

Under her own volition, she'd have scurried away. But she had cause to mingle. So, she would.

(Open to all witches!)

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"They should have been, by rights!" he insists, "you had fair warning the law was going to be in place. You could have disposed of them beforehand. The fact that you did not is no fault of mine! What else am I to do? Everything I have done has been for the betterment of English magic. If you are to continue to associate with fae and insist on flouting the laws then there can be no other choice."

He flits his eyes away unhappily, scanning the crowds as if looking for someone else to talk to who will not work him up so much.

"Did we?" She raises an eyebrow, because really, she doesn't think so. Jerkface.

"Who I associate with is none of your business." She says it pointedly, and takes a sip of her drink to punctuate her statement.

"Isn't it? If you are breaking the law it becomes my business, Miss Fagin. If you associate with fae then you associate with Dark Magic."

Which Norrell believes is very much his business.

Hearing him say his name made her stomach turn.

"I'm not breaking the law. Associating with the fae is not actually committing any crime. You wouldn't tell me to stop speaking with my father, would you?" Fagin was not her father. He was a cruel bastard who'd been the one to place her in the hospital in the first place. But he was smart, and so was she. "With my brothers?"

Who could make your life hell again, Norrell. Just say the word.

"If your family practice dark magic or associate with fae then yes, I would. You should keep better company, find better influences. It would do you good."

The way he phrases the statement perhaps betrays he does not truly know much her association with Fagin -- perhaps nothing at all save the name, it would be hard to say. Either way he seems to think little of throwing it about, a long with his somewhat lacking opinions on family. Such statements, of course, are easier for a man with no living family worth speaking of.

"My family," she presses, nearly through clenched teeth, "did not choose to be taken in by Fagin."

They had been orphans and runaways, and he took them all in, turned them into thieves and took them for all they were worth. Then there were the ones like her. The ones who had been taken, or rather, given to Fagin. They were the cautionary tales about why you didn't make deals with the fae. The first born children promised. Because Fagin always collected.

Something uncertain flickers across Norrell's face, perhaps a clue that Norrell did indeed not fully understand quite what he'd manage to entangle himself in, and he frowns at her. Puts together this with the their previous conversation -- the one where Childermass knew she associated with the troublemaking young fae. Something clicks for him, and he presses his lips together unhappily.

"Such associations," he says finally, carefully, "can be broken, by force if both parties are not willing."

It sounds almost like a threat.

Too bad Nancy's already cut her ties with Fagin as best she can, given her circumstances. He was still in her life. But she wasn't under his protection. No, now she was under the protection of your favorite face-punching fae.

"I hope that wasn't a threat, Mr. Norrell."

A look of genuine surprise crosses his face at that, eyebrows lofting, and then he hesitates -- winces.

"Miss Fagin, I did not mean it as such. I meant if one party --" her, "should wish to leave and the other... did not wish to release them, then such a thing... can still be done."

His expression is, perhaps surprisingly for her, one of sympathy. To be trapped by a fae is not something pleasant, he well knows.

What?

Nancy blinks her swollen eyes at him, her jaw open and brow furrowed. He seemed so- almost grandfatherly. Perhaps this was why some people liked him. But some people also liked Fagin, and also liked Hitler, so you know how that goes.

She looks at him solemnly. "Yes, it can. But even then, there are consequences." She meets his eyes. A particularly nasty set of stairs, for example.

For all his faults, Norrell is not a inherently bad man. He is not someone who would willingly wish to do a young girl like Nancy harm. He winces sympathetically at her, studying her.

"There do not have to be," he adds after a moments hesitation. "A fae's permission to enter can be revoked, there are wards, and... they can be banished. To the other realm or more permanently."

She shakes her head. He doesn't understand. She can't expect him to. This man raised her. He was her father. As much as she hated him, she owed him some loyalty. And the boys. She couldn't cut them from her life. She couldn't do that to them.

"It's not so simple."

Is it not? Norrell looks doubtful, but he seems to accept that -- thins his lips and drops his eyes before darting them away.

"The women of your Circle are all equally stubborn," he says finally, "but the offer is there. Whatever you think of me."

Norrell studies her again a moment, lips pressed together, then slides his eyes away once more.

"There is always a solution, Miss Fagin. It does not always have to be a drastic action, at that."

"We have to be. Only way to survive." SERIOUSLY especially with the shit you put them through. That's really just the icing on the Nancy's Shitty Life cake. It's not even a good cake. There are egg-shells in there, and it's slightly burned but also still extremely battery. Not a good cake.

She exhales. "...Thank you." Surprisingly, she means it. "I've taken small steps." But Fagin is powerful. More powerful than she wants to admit. "I appreciate it. Truly." Even if it didn't seem like it.

"I do what I do," he adds, "so that it is more difficult for fae to make witches like yourself suffer. I know you dislike me, you think me heartless, but we all have our reasons."

He studies her a moment longer, considering, then adds.

"You know where my house in Mayfair is. It is well warded."

If you need a place to hide sometime.

Something stirs in her and Nancy finds herself looking up at Norrell with clear eyes once again.

"I do," she says with a nod, because she can't thank him for it. She won't need it. But it's nice to know it's there.

She presses her lips together and looks down, shifting slightly. "That's good to know."

Yes, well. Don't tell anyone he offered, Nancy. He has a reputation! He straightens and seems to sort of shrug back his shoulders, try to paint himself back into a haughty sort of expression.

"With London as it is one can never be too careful. See you are more careful yourself."

You know, with those stairs.

A reputation that she's going to destroy piece by piece.

She notices the shift in him, and it stirs her to raise her head just a little, remember who she was speaking with.

"I'll try to remember," she says.

Seriously though. Thank you.

The Maiden Anointed [semi-closed] [majorly backdated to March 1]

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