Abigail Widdowson (
acrookedchild) wrote in
undergrounds2015-06-01 08:03 pm
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Fires at Midnight
June 1st, night:
Abigail had never seen the Reds and Night Council in action before. She'd stayed tucked away in Geap Manor, learning about the Night Council and Institute and all those things she'd face in the real world, but she'd only heard of them. They existed only as an abstract concept. Being in Barnet was an entirely different situation.
On the surface, it seemed peaceful. Emissaries came from the Institute to the factions -- the vampies and the covens being the central focus, but there were others who looked for people who were different. The meta-humans. From what she could tell, they were simply being convinced to join the Institute.
But there were darker things at work, too.
Her attention was primarily on the covens. Most of them seemed to welcome the influence of Redbright, as it meant they were closer to the heart of Circle Daybreak. For a light witch, that was everything. But she saw what some of the others tried to hide because she was looking for it. One skittish girl had particularly caught her attention, so Abigail followed her, meaning to pull her aside when it was safe.
Someone else had been waiting to get her alone, too, though.
From where she'd stood, Abigail watched as the man -- a large one, all brawn but very quiet too -- grabbed the girl. None of her magic could protect either her or the victim, so Abigail had ducked down, hiding behind the large bin. She'd tried not to even breathe as she listened. The girl screamed, and the man threatened her. If she didn't give him the names of her fellow dark witches, he'd kill her.
Over and over, she'd said there weren't any others. She didn't know who they were. She didn't know where they were. He hadn't been satisfied. So, he stabbed her twice. As the girl slumped down against the brick wall, the man took her purse and ran. Anyone who found her would see a mugging gone bad.
She waited for some time, trying to make herself stop shaking, before she pulled herself to her feet and staggered away from the bin and scene, almost completely without thinking that the noise and smell of blood might easily have drawn others who weren't part of the engagement.
June 3rd, day:
Abigail kept to herself on the second. She'd always been taught to mind the phases of the moon, so she'd stayed in Geap Manor all that night, safely tucked away from anything that might want to hurt her. After that, though, she went back to Barnet.
The girl's face hadn't ever left her. She could still hear her screaming.
But it told Abigail what she had to do. There was still the official order that every dark witch who wouldn't renounce the magic she practiced had to leave Barnet. Those were the ones Abigail was trying to help now.
The cards she distributed (passed off to people she could recognize as witches who didn't seem to be violently opposed to dark witches) were simple:
Need to leave Barnet? Have nowhere to go?
Help is available.
020 7946 0660
Call or text. Any time day or night.
Dangerous? Possibly. But that was why she had a cheap burner phone for the calls and texts.
She had no solid plan as she went around the borough that day, handing a card or two where it seemed appropriate and leaving them tucked inside the right books in the right stores, places she knew they'd be found by the people who needed them.
June 6th, night:
The job was nearly done, and Abigail knew it. She had done almost everything she could, and she felt she'd helped at least some people. Others were dead, yes, and there were a few fools who thought they could continue to pass as Daybreak under the close scrutiny of the Redbright Institute and their people. Them, Abigail couldn't help, and she was afraid of them. After all, they knew her name, knew about her activity here. But she couldn't let fear stop her.
Still, she waited in a pub she'd been using as a waypoint. She'd made it clear she was leaving Barnet and not coming back at 22:00, period. Any last minute stragglers were welcome to come up until that point, which meant she still had an hour to wait. Just in case.
Abigail had never seen the Reds and Night Council in action before. She'd stayed tucked away in Geap Manor, learning about the Night Council and Institute and all those things she'd face in the real world, but she'd only heard of them. They existed only as an abstract concept. Being in Barnet was an entirely different situation.
On the surface, it seemed peaceful. Emissaries came from the Institute to the factions -- the vampies and the covens being the central focus, but there were others who looked for people who were different. The meta-humans. From what she could tell, they were simply being convinced to join the Institute.
But there were darker things at work, too.
Her attention was primarily on the covens. Most of them seemed to welcome the influence of Redbright, as it meant they were closer to the heart of Circle Daybreak. For a light witch, that was everything. But she saw what some of the others tried to hide because she was looking for it. One skittish girl had particularly caught her attention, so Abigail followed her, meaning to pull her aside when it was safe.
Someone else had been waiting to get her alone, too, though.
From where she'd stood, Abigail watched as the man -- a large one, all brawn but very quiet too -- grabbed the girl. None of her magic could protect either her or the victim, so Abigail had ducked down, hiding behind the large bin. She'd tried not to even breathe as she listened. The girl screamed, and the man threatened her. If she didn't give him the names of her fellow dark witches, he'd kill her.
Over and over, she'd said there weren't any others. She didn't know who they were. She didn't know where they were. He hadn't been satisfied. So, he stabbed her twice. As the girl slumped down against the brick wall, the man took her purse and ran. Anyone who found her would see a mugging gone bad.
She waited for some time, trying to make herself stop shaking, before she pulled herself to her feet and staggered away from the bin and scene, almost completely without thinking that the noise and smell of blood might easily have drawn others who weren't part of the engagement.
June 3rd, day:
Abigail kept to herself on the second. She'd always been taught to mind the phases of the moon, so she'd stayed in Geap Manor all that night, safely tucked away from anything that might want to hurt her. After that, though, she went back to Barnet.
The girl's face hadn't ever left her. She could still hear her screaming.
But it told Abigail what she had to do. There was still the official order that every dark witch who wouldn't renounce the magic she practiced had to leave Barnet. Those were the ones Abigail was trying to help now.
The cards she distributed (passed off to people she could recognize as witches who didn't seem to be violently opposed to dark witches) were simple:
Help is available.
020 7946 0660
Call or text. Any time day or night.
Dangerous? Possibly. But that was why she had a cheap burner phone for the calls and texts.
She had no solid plan as she went around the borough that day, handing a card or two where it seemed appropriate and leaving them tucked inside the right books in the right stores, places she knew they'd be found by the people who needed them.
June 6th, night:
The job was nearly done, and Abigail knew it. She had done almost everything she could, and she felt she'd helped at least some people. Others were dead, yes, and there were a few fools who thought they could continue to pass as Daybreak under the close scrutiny of the Redbright Institute and their people. Them, Abigail couldn't help, and she was afraid of them. After all, they knew her name, knew about her activity here. But she couldn't let fear stop her.
Still, she waited in a pub she'd been using as a waypoint. She'd made it clear she was leaving Barnet and not coming back at 22:00, period. Any last minute stragglers were welcome to come up until that point, which meant she still had an hour to wait. Just in case.
June 1st
"Hey, what's goin' on? Was that you?"
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Slowly, she shook her head.
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"It was definitely a woman... look, if someone's out there, they might need help. You're a witch, ain't ya? You know any healing magic?"
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It didn't seem possible, but she knew what she'd seen.
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"A-- a mugging."
That was the safer way to put it. She didn't know if she could trust him, and she wasn't taking a chance.
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"Here."
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"The police might wanna talk to you about what you saw or heard." He hesitated a moment. "I ain't think that mugger's still around, but... I gotta go examine the body."
This was a bit of a quandary, though. He couldn't just leave a dead woman lying around, but Abigail didn't look too hot herself. And while it was reasonable to assume a mugger wouldn't return to the scene of the crime, tonight wasn't really a night to take chances. "You feel up to going back to where it happened?"
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June 6th
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"Yeah. I'm--" She made herself smile a little more. "Being young and stupid, probably."
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"They're purging the covens. Redbright and the Council. I just... want to try and help. Make sure more people don't get hurt."
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So if they needed help getting out, she'd get them out. It was dangerous, but it had to be done. She needed to be able to help. She'd want someone to do it for her.
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"The official position is 'get out,' I'm helping them do that." Unofficially, she knew no one cared about what happened to dark witches, as long as there was no panic outside the covens. But she's still a stupid teenager. "I won't be a problem unless they come to Enfield."
There was the Widdowson, dark and dangerous. Magic at her fingertips and a temper to be reckoned with. Something not quite the good little socialite, wanting to change the public image of her family.
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June 3rd
Abigail Widdowson seems quite capable of going under the radar as well, but when Derek catches sight of her it's impossible not to remember their recent conversation. She's here for a purpose - there's no doubt in his mind of that much, but when her purpose could so easily swing either way, Derek's curiosity is piqued.
Naturally, he follows her once he sees her, always at a distance and always with the utmost care. It doesn't last long, because it doesn't have to. Soon, he sees what he expected to: Abigail, sliding the card into the hand of a passer-by.
After that, it's simply a case of waiting until they're somewhere quiet.
"Abigail."
He comes to a stop a few feet from her, and his expression is flat as a tile and nigh impossible to read. A few moments pass in heavy silence, and then he raises the card between two fingers, glancing at it as though this is the first time he's read it. Briefly, he considers how different this is to their previous meeting. It is not simply the lack of fancy clothes. Abigail looks pale and drawn, tired.
He passes the card back to her.
"Must be popular."
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Because there's no lying to a werewolf. If their senses are half as keen as she's been led to believe, her scent is all over the card. From printing them to carrying them to distributing them. Which means a denial is stupid.
So, she takes the card and slips it into her pocket.
"No one else seems to be doing anything." Like that explains everything. Or anything. It's insane, she knows that, but it's all she has. She can't be public about it. All that would do is shove her out of Barnet or worse.
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He nods, because she appears to be right. She may not be the only one, but there definitely aren't many, and there probably aren't enough.
"You didn't expect different." It isn't a question. "But you came here anyway."
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But seeing what had happened to Jennifer -- Jennifer Carter, she'd learned from the news, which had presented it just as a local tragedy -- made her certain. There is nothing else she can do.
"But I have to."
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Sliding his hands into his pockets, he comes closer to her.
"Hard to come back from a decision like that." She knows, he thinks, but the warning comes anyway.
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"I think the word 'impossible' is more appropriate." If anyone from Redbright or the Night Council finds out what she's doing, she will be permanently marked. Any hope of studying at the Institute will be gone forever. Probably always has been for being a Widdowson, regardless of what Sylvia had said. "But... yeah. I know."
It still has to be done. She has to do it.
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"Need a ride anywhere?"
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"Yeah. Dunno where though. But I could use a ride. And to talk a bit."
It sounds weird, and she knows it. She probably sounds like a psycho. Or just a dumb little girl meddling in things she shouldn't.
"I just... I've got a few questions."
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