Abigail Widdowson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
acrookedchild) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-06-01 08:03 pm
acrookedchild) wrote in undergrounds2015-06-01 08:03 pm
Entry tags:
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.
no subject
no subject
"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.
no subject
no subject
"Here."
no subject
"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?"
no subject
If she had to, she'd talk to the police. The girl deserved that much. Even if she couldn't tell the whole truth. She'd do what she could.
no subject
He tucked his apron to the side and crouched beside the girl, careful not to disturb any blood spatter as he took quick stock of her fingernails, clothes, the bloodstains. "Big guy, probably right-handed..." He put a hand up above his head in an unconscious measuring gesture as he estimated the attacker's height. Then he frowned.
This girl had also been a witch.
Coincidence?
no subject
Abigail didn't care that she was the one screaming right now. Someone interfering, maybe altering something, terrified her. This girl deserved justice, even if she probably wouldn't.
"This isn't some detective story or crime show! You've called the police, now let them do their job!"
They'd have video footage of the guy, Abigail told herself. Nothing happened in London without something being caught by the CCTV. Redbright and the Night Council might protect their own, might interfere, but it was, at least, a chance of him answering.
no subject
Which meant that Abigail had, if not lied, certainly not been telling the whole truth.
He stood. He could hear the sound of sirens in the distance. "You're right, it's not. But I don't think the cops are going to get to the bottom of this one. If the they wanna talk to me -- which I doubt, I work at Cafe Poirot. They should know who I am. 'Scuse me."
He turned his head in the direction that the mugger had fled. The scent was still fairly strong. And as long as he followed it away from the scene, there were no chance of the perpetrator coming back and finding Abigail. That was good enough for him. He headed off to follow the man's trail.
no subject
Still, he spoke quietly to her. He was older, and the way he looked at Abigail made her think he had a daughter. He was gentle in coaxing out the details from her, which she gave as best she could. She hadn't seen the man well, just his build. He'd wanted money, and the girl had refused. (She couldn't tell someone from the outside about the whole truth. That would just mark her as a target for the Night Council and as insane to the officer.) He'd stabbed her, taken her purse, and gone.
At some point, Abigail started crying. Because she knew how this ended. Even a normal mugger might never be caught. Someone with Redbright or the Night Council? They'd close ranks. This girl -- whoever she was -- was just a dead dark witch to everyone. No one would care.
She gave her name, phone number, and addresses to the officer. If there was an investigation, she wanted to help as much as she could. Then, when the man offered her a ride home, she accepted. She didn't want to think about being alone in her flat tonight. So, she told him to take her to Geap Manor. Nothing could hurt her there.
no subject
Of course, there were plenty more bodies milling around tonight...