undergrounds | [Open] Baby's Got Blue Eyes

Entry tags:

[Open] Baby's Got Blue Eyes

Who: Elizabeth DeWitt & You
What: Canceling a vacation sucks. It's worse when you're Elizabeth.
When: Late April
Where: Various
Warnings: None so far!

Yes, she probably should have expected that this was how it would pan out. Namely, that it wouldn't pan out at all.

Illya had at least called to say he was going away and that she could go to Paris with somebody else, but halfway through the explanation Elizabeth had just hung up. She'd talked to him about how she felt used, how much it hurt, and here she was again. The provider of wolfsbane, promised a trip to Paris and then... he left before it was safe to go. Convenient, it felt so convenient to her, and typical. When hadn't this happened with her? Did she have any friends, really?

[A - Circle Daybreak]

Work is an obvious distraction. Elizabeth has been feeling her abilities getting stronger as of late, and so she spends almost all of her free time from classes at the Circle studying and working with her mentors there. When she's not reading, she's practicing, and her feelings are once again seeping into her magic. It's like she's in Columbia again, and her tenuous control is, again, slipping.

She's carefully laying frost over the surface of delicate flowers one afternoon, and it looks as though she's doing a passable job until her phone buzzes in her bag. For a moment she imagines it's someone needing another free favor, and her anger spikes. The ice instantly thickens and spikes, and Elizabeth shouts in teeth-clenched frustration. She discards the attempt with the rest of the melting, twisted ice-sculptures with flowers inside, and pulls over another one to start over.

[B - Groceries]

Usually Elizabeth likes cooking, and her weekly haul consists mostly of vegetables and meat and rice or pasta to make something healthy and delicious for the week. Cooking sounds like too much effort now. Apparently this week, she's going to be consuming frozen pizza, two bags of chips, garlic bread, ice cream, canned soup, and a large package of beef jerky. She's trying to decide if she wants to pay the exorbitant price of a pineapple, holding it up and scrutinizing the fruit intensely.

She has no idea what makes a good pineapple, she realizes.

[C - Westminster Library]

She doesn't want to read anything, either. Nothing sounds good.

There's plenty of recent fiction on the shelf, and she scans the spines waiting for something to jump out at her. It all sounds like garbage, though. Pointless garbage. Three-hundred pages of fictional people and their problems while Elizabeth's life is actually dangerous and difficult.

She shoulders her bag and walks out of the shelving without picking out anything.

[D - Westminster Park]

Elizabeth sits there with her phone on her usual park bench, staring intently at the screen. It's got a message written on it, but she knows she's angry and she's texting angry. Part of her says she's allowed to be angry, the other says to just delete the message and move on. Nothing good will come of being angry.

She hits send anyway.

I wanted to go with you. I thought of you as my friend.

There's a pause.

900000278: Delivery has failed.

She locks the phone and tilts her head back over the back of the bench. That felt like her last way out of feeling so low, and now... she's missed her chance.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Miss DeWitt!"

Norrell's voice is quiet, as it ever is, even when raised -- this the best attempt at 'raised' he has and it is still not very loud. He's walking in short but very quick strides toward her, bundles of papers in his arms that are sure to be related to the election and his own campaign. Several times he has spoken to her about it already, yet for some reason she has been ever so busy! Lucky he found her now.

"Miss DeWitt, I --good lord."

He frowns at the mess of ice in spikes and then at Elizabeth. Well, perhaps not the best time...

"I've almost got it," she snaps back, holding out the next poor floral victim. "It's-- really distracting in here, but I'll get it this time."

She can do one thing, just one thing, correctly before Norrell makes her copy more flyers or show him how to use Photoshop again or go out trying to find something to stick a flyer on that doesn't look completely sacrilegious.

As if he would ask her how to use Photoshop! No, no -- he will make her use Photoshop while he instructs her on what he wants and why that is wrong. He will not touch it himself.

"Perhaps," he begins, "you should take a break. If you overwork yourself you may well only make things worse! I have some good tea we can have, and there are some nice scones we can share."

And a stack of envelopes that need stuffing.

She can hope that someday he'll try to do it himself if she does it enough for him.

That day will probably never come.

The suggestion that she take a break is probably a sound one, given she's wrecked almost half a bouquet trying to work on her control, but she knows what all of that paper means and what he's trying to do by luring her with promises of tea and scones. That's just what he does, offer something nice so that somebody else can't say no when the unpleasant part starts--

She looks back at her hand and the most recent flower now looks like a particularly ugly sea urchin on a stick made of solid ice. Elizabeth puts it down in frustration and then drops her head into her hands with another growl.

"Alright! Alright, fine--" she says, piling the errors into the bag the flowers came in. "Fine, fine, not like I'm making any progress here."

Might as well help Norrell make his own progress, right? Because that's all she's good for, helping other people.

Excellent! He brightens and waves at follow, quickly pads back through. Large areas of the main hall are already devoted to campaign tasks. People tasked with phoning others, counting and organising fliers, letters, and a few tasked with... investigating rival campaigns.

He pushes through and makes his way through the labyrinth hallway into his office, a peculiar speciality spell of his that means the short walk seems more like a confusing winding path far longer than it is. Once inside he dumps down the stack of folders and begins fussing with the tea, heating some water for them and opening a large wooden box full of several types of tea.

"This china set was a gift from Miss Redbright!" he tells her. "I was much surprised myself when she gave it to me, but it has served me well. It is enchanted to detect poison, you see."

Which is always a concern for someone as paranoid as Gilbert Norrell.

"Mm," she hums, clearly not in the mood to gush about what an honor it must have been to receive a tea set from Sylvia Redbright that could assuage every anxiety he must have. Instead, Elizabeth pulls over the folders, to start on whatever Norrell is having her do this time. Clearly they should just cut right to the chase, yes? The tea is just the carrot in this situation.

"Oh --" Norrell says, turning and regarding her with hesitance. He's a little thrown by her simply going directly into his folders without asking or being prompted, but too awkward in the face of her apparent bad mood to properly protest. "That can wait," he offers somewhat uncertainly. The folders themselves contain letters of appeal, fliers and small leaflets variously. One seems to be largely information on a few locations and some menu and drinks prices. Norrell is of course planning a dinner to coax people.

He pours out some hot water for her tea and begins to fuss with the tin of scones in turn.

Elizabeth looks up from the folders, eyebrows raised. "You sure? I thought I'd get a head start on... whatever this is."

They both know why she's there, don't they? True, in the past Elizabeth has played the polite game of pretending like he wasn't using her for practically-free labor, but she's too worn down by her own depression and disappointment to dance around the truth.

"Have some tea," he insists, and waves at her to sit down. She does look rather tired, and tea often helps him when he is feeling a little out of sorts! As much as he might really rather push her around and use her Norrell would rather she felt well and happy. She is a young lady, after all, and most likely a little more delicate. He can understand that. "Shall I cut you a scone?"

"...okay," she says, closing the folder and sitting down in one of the chairs. Even if it's got an ulterior motive, nobody's offered to do something at least generally nice for her since she didn't go on her trip. Maybe knowing what was behind the offer of tea and scones made it less depressing-- she at least knew what Norrell wanted from her, she wouldn't have to question what his motivations were.

...it would no doubt be horrifying to an outside observer that Elizabeth actively felt better knowing for certain that somebody was using her.

Much better! He beams at her and pushes a cup toward her, followed by a bowl of sugar cubes, then begins to set out two plates from the same china set and cut some scones for them.

"I find I myself am often soothed by a cup of tea! The campaign, especially has become quite stressful to me! Sometimes I find I have become so engrossed in my work I have forgotten lunch entirely!"

Almost mechanically, Elizabeth takes the cup and puts two cubes of sugar into it, and stirs.

"I ate a package of Starburst and a handful of raisins for dinner last night. At maybe... two in the morning?" She sips her tea. "Is this lunch for you today?"

A packet of...

Norrell stares in horror at her for a long moment before finally seeming to recover, as if the very thought of her diet and its consequences momentarily rendered him unable to speak.

"But you must eat more than that!" He exclaims, "or you will simply waste away! I know it is the fashion to be so terribly thin, but you will make yourself ill! Shall I order some sandwiches?"

She narrows her eyes briefly-- sure it was probably 'the fashion' to be thin, but she's wondering where he got the idea that Elizabeth cares a whit for what's fashionable. She looks like she fell into a retro thrift bin almost every day (probably because she more or less does whenever she needs clothes).

"If you're hungry, I could eat something I suppose."

It probably helps that Norrell does not, in fact, have any idea what is in fashion or not. He assumes it probably is.

He picks up a bell and rings impatiently for attention, determined now to save Elizabeth from her perceived fate of probable starvation.

"You cannot be expected to concentrate on studies, on practice or much of anything else if you have not eaten properly!" he exclaims, "it is no wonder you find yourself struggling! No, no, we will find you something -- it is a wonder you have not fainted clean away!"

"Well it's not like I'm starving myself or anything like that. Just not eating well, by my estimation..." She hasn't had the time or heart to think about planning meals and all that.

"...Mister Norrell, how do you go about deciding whether or not to do someone a favor?"

Assuming he ever has.

The question surprises him, and he blinks rapidly at her -- pauses a moment before slowly setting down the bell and letting his face fall into a curious frown.

"A favour?" he echoes, and mulls this over. "I suppose it would depend on the nature of the favour. A favour can be very big or very small, Miss DeWitt! To be owed a favour by the right people can be very useful, very useful indeed! But it must be something you feel comfortable doing, of course! You must consider yourself first!"

Yes, she supposed that she could expect something like 'you must consider yourself first' from Norrell. But in a twisted kind of way, she needed to know how someone like him thought about service to others. In some form or other.

"I don't think you have to worry about me going too far outside my comfort zone, Mister Norrell. But what if you did something small for someone, something that didn't take too much time but was important to them, and then after you did it for them, they just disappeared?"

A small favour, unreturned? He settles into his chair a little more, cocking his head slowly.

"If this person has vanished," he answers finally, "then there is little to be done..."

Yet it makes him think of Coward all of a sudden, and that makes his frown deeper in irritation.

"Were this person to return, of course, I would not trust them. I could not! Not after such an action."

Perhaps, there, his feelings colour the words -- but Cowards sudden disappearance is a betrayal to Norrell, one he cannot let go of.

"I don't think he's coming back. Ever. And it's not that I want anything done about it, but..." Elizabeth curls into herself, suddenly looking incredibly wounded though her voice doesn't seem to indicate it.

"I thought we were friends."

Ah, yes. Norrell's expression changes now. Frown shifting from one of irritation to something more sympathetic. He nods once, is quiet a moment before speaking.

"I understand," he says finally, "such things are difficult. Very difficult indeed. I have known many people, Miss DeWitt, who I thought were my friends. Who acted as my friends until they had what they wanted. The world is a cruel place, especially to those it disagrees with. But just remember -- you are better than them. They will come back, and when they do they will see that you are stronger. That you do not need them now. Then they will regret what they have done very much."

Norrell has done plenty of terrible things, and Elizabeth knows that she should take Norrell's words with a tiniest grain of salt possible. But in her hurt, she can see some logic to it. The world is a cruel place, it's been cruel to her since the day she was born. She'd just hoped that it would let up, just a little, if she put enough good into her life.

It doesn't seem that way, though. Not from where she's sitting now.

"I don't think people who do these kinds of things regret their actions, Mister Norrell. I think there in so deep they think it's justified somehow."

"They will regret it," Norrell assures her, "when they see the person you become without them. The person who is much greater than they will ever be."

He offers her a small, awkward sort of smile --interrupted by a quick knock at the door that proceeds a manservant peering in. Norrell looks up in surprise, annoyed for a moment before remembering he rang.

"Sandwiches?" he prompts. He has no idea what manner of sandwich she might like, but surely the kitchens can come up with something! That is what he pays them for!

"You have a lot of faith in me," she says with a faint smirk. Elizabeth has never had much faith in her own magic-- she can barely control it when she feels this upset about something. She can't control her emotions, she can't control her magic... is there anything she has control over?

She looks up and turns to look at the servant, smiling faintly. "Do you have ham and egg salad?"

He nods and Norrell waves impatiently at the man, as if even the time he has taken to agree is making him too slow.

"Bring us a selection," he insists, and the man slips from the room before he can be chided again.

"I have faith in you," Norrell adds finally, "because I have seen your potential, Miss DeWitt! If you could only focus a little more -- then, then you could be a great witch! I am sure of it! Oh, but I understand your struggles! You are still young!"

[Open] Baby's Got Blue Eyes

A

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)