undergrounds | Croydon territory claim

Heiji attended this offensive in 'official' attire, as a large black fox loping along the rooftops and issuing commands to the twin karasu-tengu up above. Wisps of blue flame marked his footsteps, dancing brightly on the shingles for a moment or two before disappearing into the night air. Little flowers were were strewn in his fur, and he brought with them the fragrance of spring.

[Let me know if you'd like anything specific!]

The streets started out quiet that evening, but occasionally one would ice over with the black ice no one could see until they were slipping across it. Michê was glamoured to look like a typical human thug (though perhaps an outdated one with his bowler hat), not a nine foot tall pure white yeti and he lumbered behind Mab while Grimalkin slipped through shadows almost completely unseen other than the glow of his eyes occasionally.

Mab pulled darkness around them, making her quite hard to see and making it easier to throw up a glamour when necessary or broadcast an image in frozen water. Summer was finally giving way to Autumn though only just barely but her power was waxing now instead of waning. Frost danced around her occasionally but otherwise she was silent and patient.

They weren't spending the whole time in Croydon separately, sometimes one of his karasu-tengu would show up and deliver a message or Grimalkin would find the fox and give a status update. But on this particular evening, Mab convened between buildings, looking up at the rooftops for the Summer fae. She was conserving energy so most of her powers were being held within, the alley was only marginally cooler than the immediate area around it and other than a soft glamour that made her look like a well-off human at a glance, she was mostly unchanged.

"The coven in the south has retreated to Sutton." She offered when she felt his presence nearby.

Edited 2015-09-05 19:05 (UTC)

"That's good news for us, ain't it?" said Heiji, his tails weaving slowly back and forth in the night air. The movement of them was often bewitching in itself. He was in good spirits; tonight's strategy gave him a chance to exercise one thing he loved best: cunning.

One illusion of his had sent some poor young witches practically in circles throughout the city streets until they ended up in Lambeth, and then they had other problems. "How does the night find you?"

Mab could be found throughout Croydon during the time the fae were claiming the territory. Heiji had insisted on keeping it fairly low key so she had spent some time sending images through any nearby water to distract, glamouring areas of the borough either to make them more imposing or confusing. Frankly it was a lot of output when things could be met more head on but he had been helpful last month.

Found near the clocktower or outside one of the newer high rises Mab moved looking mostly human for the moment, odd coloring aside, most of her work was done in the evenings when the humans wouldn't get in the way but occasionally during the time she could also be found either observing or tracking certain members of Daybreak and if not her, one of the lower fae who claimed loyalty to the Unseelie court.

An attack like this demanded a personal response. The reports from the local witches were confused, panicked. The fae used dirty tactics, of course: illusions, bewitchments, decoy attacks. They left the covens scattered and unable to effectively respond.

Sylvia came in prepared. She had protected herself and her allies with a fairy ward that would cut through fae illusions and combat some of their magic. This would make it easier to spot the enemy and to deal with them. And she had layered in other protections, magic meant to keep her people from harm.

Surrounded by high rise flats, in one of the rougher areas of the borough, it didn't take long to come across the first of the invaders.

"With me!"

Her tone was stern, Sylvia striding forward with other witches at her side, ready to confront the enemy.

[ooc: happy for this to be a direct confrontation with Mab or other fae, whichever you prefer!]

The wards would make her glamoured business suit fall away replaced with something out of a fairytale. She turned her head as Sylvia's voice broke out across the street from the shadows she'd been drawing around herself. Fortunately they'd zeroed in on one of the lesser fae to begin so it gave her a moment to take in who the Mother of Witches had brought along for the ride.

The troll who only looked like a large human to those eyes not protected by a ward, actually towered over the witches in the street as he turned with a rumbling growl. A yowl answered from a nearby alley in chalkboard scratching cacophony. Trolls tended to be a little magic resistant but he still wore fae armor under the glamour, light and strong.

She had yet to meet this woman beyond seeing her across a crowded room looking sour. The expression really hadn't changed much, though the set of her jaw was firmer, with what Mab thought might be righteousness. She didn't hide, instead turning to fully face the coming witches, considering each of them in turn as magic sharpened the air and charged it like static.

Well, Heiji was just out of luck, a cornered fae would have to directly counter something of this magnitude.

Sylvia's team, at least, was disciplined. Unlike the witches in the borough, they were not caught unprepared. They recognized the troll for what it was and acted accordingly.

A spell of binding: Sylvia drew a handful of salt from a small leather bag at her hip and threw it at the troll while the other witches began their chant. Caught by magic, the salt scattered through the air and landed in a perfect circle entrapping the troll, preventing it from stepping outside its bounds or escaping to the Other Realm. It was a crude barrier and would not last the night, but in the short-term it was effective.

A quick fix solution, because Sylvia knew there were other more powerful fae to deal with. The moment the spell was finished, they moved swiftly on.

It was actually somewhat impressive to see the witches working as a group. The fae tended to be individualistic unless a monarch was calling the shots so a coven that had it's stuff together could actually be a problem for the fae if they weren't cautious. They took down the troll with ruthless efficiency but interestingly did not kill it. Perhaps they wanted to subdue the entirety of the fae first before bringing bane or spell to finish the job. It was logical if not terribly effective, all it took was luring something over to break the circle of salt.

As the witches approached, Mab watched cooly, her hands at her sides, her eyes focused on Sylvia who was the real threat. She controlled the others even if by word alone. Fear though, was not something Mab thought Sylvia was incapable of instilling when she chose. Cool air spooled out from Mab, as her magic waited. "Madame Redbright." Mab's voice was as cool as her gaze and she lifted her hand, palm up, "Finally we meet. It seems long overdue." It was more curiosity than courtesy that made her greet the other woman. Perhaps the witch would not stop to chat. But if it came down to it, Mab was certainly ready. Noises continued outside their line of site, a yowl here a yell there. A rumble that could be mistaken for a large truck but was more likely one of the larger fae, perhaps a yeti.

The salt circle could not be broken by mere physical means; it would take another more potent ingredient to disrupt it. The witches were not above killing fae where necessary, but their task was to clear out the area. Nullifying the weaker fae conserved energy which they would need to face the stronger ones.

Like this icy creature. As the cold billowed over the small group of witches, so too Sylvia felt the sharp tang of power, far greater than the troll. She halted.

"Who are you?" A challenge, her eyes meeting the fae's.

Around her, the witches hastily sketched protection spells, made nervous by the strength of the magic they sensed.

Mab might notice those other witches spelling against her power but she only has eyes for the real threat at the moment. Sylvia does not disappoint. It isn't surprising the the woman doesn't know who Mab is. After all, Mab has been very careful about who knows her name. A cool smile slips across her face but doesn't reach her eyes. She very much doubts the witch expects her to just give out her true name. "I shall give you the answer for free, I think, just this once." She replied and it is clear she thinks this is stretching her own limits. "I am the Winter Lady."

Something clatters in a nearby alley but Mab ignores it, she can feel Grimalkin pacing closer still hidden in the shadows but near enough if he is needed.

Sylvia took in a breath. She knew the structure of fae society well enough to realize that Winter Lady was a high-ranking title. The fae who represented the seasons answered only to the king and queen.

"It's a little early for winter." Fire, she thought, would be the best weapon. Could cause a lot of collateral damage though– "You're out of time and out of place. Call your people off. You're not wanted here."

"Summer wanes, my time only grows more appropriate with the day." Mab raised one pale eyebrow but that was the only expression that crossed her face. "Oh I think you have made it perfectly clear we are not welcome, Madame. Did you truly believe the fae would allow themselves to be boxed in?" The question sounded as though she was considering that very thought. "You held so much less interest before this campaign, perhaps diplomacy would have been a better option."

Her eyes seemed to glow in cold colors for a moment though it might have just been reflected light. "Nevertheless, we will not retreat." A chill wind seemed to blow past them all for a moment. "Shall I offer you an equally insulting ultimatum? Call your people off and we will not harry your flank."

"Isn't your own land enough for you? Now you want to take ours as well?" She shook her head, despairing. "Why?"

It was an honest question, but it was also a distraction. Sylvia glanced at the witch next to her, who murmured fire? and gave a slight nod. If they could kill this fae or at least drive it off, they might yet gain the upper hand.

Lancelot is a blur of activity, trying to minimise the damage being done and track down the fae causing it. He has no ability to cast magic of his own, no special wards or gifts to keep safe, but the aura of Seelie magic that surrounds him makes some of the fae dismiss him (assuming he might be on their side, he suspects) and that has given him an edge. That has allowed him a few small victories, coupled with his speed and strength.

He dodges out of the way as another tries to make for him, using a car as a shield and wincing as the creature slams into it and the alarm begins to go off. He's on it in a minute, grabbing it to quickly try and cut off its breath until it passes out while his eyes rove around the rest of the chaos.

Every so often, he thinks he recognises a face among the fae. Not quite right, not quite exactly how he remembers, yet close enough. Pale hair and skin and startling eyes.

As the fae sags he slowly lets it slide to sit down, begins to quickly bind its hands with cable ties before taking a deep breath and working out where to go next. He knows in a straight fight against some of the stronger fae he'd be useless, so he has to try and do what he can. Has to try and avoid that, try and keep himself alive.

He hopes Faolan is doing the same, if he's here like he said he'd be.

The fae he'd taken down belongs to the seelie court, what appears to be a gnome. They might be small but they're strong, the fire that lit from hitting the metal of the car starts to go out and he groaned, still passed out.

In a nearby fountain, something horrifying seems to be crawling out, bits of slime drip from it, as it straightens, water cascading over long black hair, longer than normal fingers stretch topped with nails that taper to razor points and it turns it's head in his direction, the sullen glow of yellow eyes focusing on him as it stands below the spray.

Mab watches from an alley behind the fountain as her creature focuses on a familiar face. He'd proven himself impressive once already but it was never a problem to test someone she found interesting.

Lancelot's senses prick and he turns to watch the creature emerge.

It's at this point that, belatedly, he somewhat regrets not having a decent weapon. He has a silver knife and that's it. Knives require getting close, and from the looks of the claws on that thing he'll need to be careful it doesn't rip his insides out. He swallows hard, gropes up the blade from where he dropped it while strangling the gnome and takes a slow breath.

Well, he reminds himself, he's quick. Perhaps it will be slower than him? Less agile? He can hope.

"Come on then," he murmurs, and takes a half step forward -- braces himself and waits to see if it will make the first move.

The water plops out of the fountain, black algae dripping with plops onto the sidewalk, sizzling against the stone and then the thing steps out of the fountain. She steps out of the alley and turns to watch him stare at the creature. It gathers a glooping ball of whatever holds it together and throws it at Lancelot's head, continuing to move forward with steady, smooshey steps.

Whatever burns through the stone doesn't seem to do so until it leaves direct contact with the creature itself.

Well that doesn't seem... good. Is it acid? Or something acidic in nature, he assumes, from the way it sizzles. As a rule, Lancelot tends to find anything that sizzles isn't something you want on your skin. The creature gathers up some of it to throw and Lancelot's eyes widen in alarm, throws himself out of the way behind something and tries to think. Can he touch it at all? He can't be sure he can touch it. Best not to get too close, avoid any -- stuff getting on his skin. He swallows, eyes darting around in thought. How can he stop something without touching it? Hit it with something? He's not keen on throwing his knife, it might just get... stuck in goop. Then he'd be weaponless. What else? The street is frustratingly devoid of projectiles. If he at least had something to use as a shield, then maybe...

His eyes land on a large dustbin and he frowns at the lid in thought. That might be bordering on comical but equally it might work...

This man has yet to disappoint her. She watches him assess quickly the threat of the creature while dodging flung, horrible smelling clumps of swampiness, eyes scanning for a weapon. She can almost see him considering the large metallic cylinder even as the fountain fae grabs another handful of gunk and takes aim.

It's actually a good choice even if the use of metals offends the fae irrationally. Mab might not particularly like it when people employ the bane in their defense but she can appreciate the resourcefulness Lancelot employs by focusing on the one thing nearby he might actually be able to use. The other glob of stuff is sliding down the car door burning warm blue as it disintegrates.

The creature lets loose it's handful of nastiness aiming again for Lancelot with unerring accuracy which is impressive when it's eyes seem to be just two glowey bits behind all the dripping muck on it's head.

He flinches as it hits the car, staring at it as the glob sides down and begins to burn through it. The car alarm starts to go off and he winces again at the noise, eyes flitting up and around at the buildings. Another glob sails close and he startles, throws himself sideways to grab for the metal bin. It brushes his shoulder and he curses, begins frantically shrugging off the jacket and throwing it aside before the stuff burns through to his skin. The black jacket sizzles and he pulls the lid off the bin, sheathes his dagger and grabs the empty body of the bin too.

Right. Time to go to battle with a dustbin. Adopt, adapt and improve etc.

He hauls it around and wields the lid like a shield -- grabs the edge of the container and runs at it. Maybe he can ram the dustbin over the horrible thing's head. That sounds satisfying, and would buy him time until it burns through.

Edited (icon not grumpy enough!!) 2015-09-22 13:42 (UTC)

Lancelot has yet to disappoint her, he grabs the bin and lid and looks like he knows what he's doing as he runs into the fray all courage and determination.

The water monster roars as Lancelot charges, turning to face him head on and lumbering forward to meet him. The initial contact with that shield makes it reel back with a bellow of pain, more fire flaring up as it swipes at him like a human might swipe at a bee that's stung it.

Well, that -- worked better even than he hoped. An initially slightly ludicrous plan appears to have somehow managed to go in his favour. He pressures it as it reels back, slams the lid into it and then turns to crack the actual bin in its direction. It's a clumsy sort of swing, swinging a large hollow cylindrical object is not exactly easy, but it's the best he can do one handed and he supposes if he's going to enact his questionable plan of attempt to put an irritating fairy in an actual bin he's going to need it at least dazed or at best on the ground out cold.

This, he thinks, is either a stroke of genius or the best case of dumb luck he has ever had.

The creature roared when the lid hit it again, more green fire erupting between the lid and it's body and tried to again hit Lancelot with blunt force despite the fact that it was being pressed backward. Creatures like this were not particularly bright, the general mentality went along the lines of 'Grog smash'. It was yanking back a limb to fling more goop at Lancelot when that big crashes into it's body flaming green along a massive length of it, some of the gloop splattered in Lancelot's direction and some fell to eat away at sidewalk.

The creature's scream rattles the glass in the nearby windows and Mab puffs out a breath. Lancelot has already proven himself impressive on the fly and she's not sure if he was just smart enough to remember what the metals did to the fae or if he genuinely lucked out. The monster was still screaming as the fire died away, leaving a section of it's sludge hardened like a shell of dead fae. It was clearly limping now and she could see when it decided that running was the best way to survive human rubbish bins. It turned and began to limp in the opposite direction, bits of sludge leaving a trail, a pained moan still escaping it.

It's somewhere between, really. He'd been holding a silver knife, after all -- Lancelot is aware what works against a fae. When he'd picked up the bin he'd hoped it might have at least a little iron in it, but it's pure dumb luck that it seems to. Luck he is very glad to have on his side right now.

The disgusting stuff splashes toward him and he catches it on the lid, makes a face as it starts to burn through the metal and the thing starts to scream. It makes his ears ring and he's disorientated by the sound a moment, recovers just in time to drop the lid before it burns through too close to the handle he's holding.

His ears still hurt, but the thing is running away and he's not about to let it go throw horrible acid at someone else if he can help it. He shifts to grip the actual bin itself and darts after the creature to take a swing at it. He is going to trap the horrible thing in this bin if it's the last thing he does.

After that, he's not sure what the plan is. He'll work on that bit if he gets that far.

The creature tried to get back to the water fountain, and it made it about halfway there when the bin takes it across the back sending it to the concrete with a pained yelp. Rolling once it lashes a sloppy foot out at Lancelot desperately trying to distract him from hitting him with firey bane again.

Mab's lips set in a thin line but she doesn't step in. If the creature could not handle this itself it really wasn't much use in the long run anyway. Though the excessive use of metal was ... troubling.

The creature on the ground swipes out a terrible hand and amongst the gloopy mess there seem to be sharp claws as well.

It swipes out and Lancelot reels back a little, trying to avoid claws and the horrible acidic burn of its slime.

"Come on," he growls, and drips of the stuff are starting to make it difficult to step safely. He nearly treads in a blob of it and stumbles back just as the creature's hand swipes out, reels again and flails out with the bin.

This fight, he thinks absently, is quite possibly the strangest fight he has been in. If he survives the day he'll just have to hope it doesn't earn him some ludicrous nickname.

The creature's hand connects with the bin and it shreiks again looking somewhat desperately for escape from that horrible burn. It climbs to it's knees and lumbers up again, trying to get away.

It is not nearly as lovely to watch as his last fight but it gets points for creativity at the very least. Mab's expression is passively intent. Watching as the creature sways above Lancelot moaning horribly and clutching it's arm to it's body. It starts to tip in his direction.

It starts to try and lumber away, sways and tips and Lancelot feels bad for a moment. The creature is alive, after all, and the horrible knowledge that he may have effectively beaten it to death suddenly connects and begins taking hold. He scrambles away as it falls, dragging the bin with him before noticing a part of it is beginning to rot with sludge and quickly letting go.

Has he... killed it? How would you even be able to tell? He can hardly take the pulse of something that appears to be largely sludge.

The adrenaline begins to fade and he hesitates, glancing around for anyone who might have seen. Well, equally he supposes he should be worried about leaving a sludge-ridden fae lying about even if it is dead. He picks up the bin again and very delicately pokes it with the corner of it. It's a particularly scientific test for life with fae, since they seem to hate the touch of this stuff.

If it's dead, he supposes he could try and scoop it up. When his life became such an awkward black comedy he really doesn't know.

Oh, Faolan's definitely there alright. He owes Lancelot for helping him with that Shapeshifter business a little while back. Though he can't exactly say what he's doing there. With no magic of his own, and very average human strength, Faolan's feeling a little out-gunned. Metaphorically speaking, at least. Literally speaking, he's about as tooled up as he can get and still be practical about it. And yes, his ammunition is silver. They're up against the Fae, after all. Faolan knows better than that.

Perhaps the most intriguing piece in his arsenal -- his newest gun. Not just any weapon, it's a concept weapon, and the thing had cost him a pretty penny that he hadn't necessarily had to give. But he couldn't let the opportunity to have one made pass him by. He's hoping it will work well and it's not going to just drain the hell out of him and leave him useless with a useless silver piece in his hand. Only one way to find out, of course. And no better time than a time like this.

Faolan stands his ground where he's been stationed, his stance poised at the ready, the concept weapon aimed and at the ready in front of him. He doesn't quite recognize who might be approaching just yet, but he's ready for them as they do.

"I wouldn't come any further, if I were you," he calls out to the figure approaching.

Mab stepped out of the shadows, looking at Faolan as though he's done something remarkably interesting. "And here I thought you weren't interested in the hunt." she said into the quiet night air. It was never truly quiet in London but this place was mostly empty for now.

This is definitely the man she'd met in the park. He was strung tight as a bowstring still but at least he had good reason for it now. His life truly was in danger if he had chosen to step into the fray between witches and fae. Behind him her voice seemed to echo back, from the stone of the buildings even with the fountain covering some of it up with the sound of falling water.

Her eyes fell to his gun as she stopped and then lifted to him again, expression indecipherable.

Faolan hears the echo of her voice and something deep within him wants to turn around and look but he holds himself back. He knows that he doesn't need to, that the real danger, the real threat, is right in front of him. Isn't it? That's what he's going to hope, anyway.

He tightens his grip on his gun. "I'm not," he says. "I'm here for a friend." And that's really all the explanation that he feels like he owes, given the circumstances. Even if he would be hesitant about the usage of the word 'friend' in other situations, now's really not the time for that kind of an internal squabble.

"For a friend." Mab considered that. "Such loyalty in the face of adversity. There seem to be so few humans left who believe in such things." Her eyes drop to the gun and looks at it for a moment before pointedly looking back up at the man. Rudeness, but also not terribly foolish given the situation. "Do you plan to shoot me or is that just decoration?" There is a tight annoyance in her voice mostly because she simply does not like being threatened. The fae can be hypocrites when it suits them.

He seems, for the moment, to be alone. Which is interesting. Her form reflects in the fountain behind him, though he stands between her and the water.

Faolan shrugs slightly. "I owed a favor," he says, which is true. He did. After getting Lancelot chased by a werewolf only the second time they had met, putting his life in danger for the fact that he had he definitely owed him for that.

He tightens his hands on the gun at her taunting about it, though he makes no move to put it away or pull the trigger. "You haven't given me a reason to just yet," he points out. "But don't think that I won't if you do." He's been a hunter for ten years now, he didn't survive this long by getting squeamish when he needed to be best on his guard.

"Ahh." Yes she understands favors she lifts a hand slowly, palm out. "I see."

She tilts her head just a touch, at his ultimatum. "So are we simply supposed to stand here and stare at one another, make small talk in the meantime?" She wonders aloud. "Normally I am not pressed for time but I do have prior commitments this evening. It is perhaps time to stop this rudeness." Cool air blows between them, perhaps a sign of Autumn's beginning.

Faolan clicks the safety off of his gun. "I warned you," he says, standing his ground, extremely aware of the changes in the air around them. Especially considering he is supposed to be up against the Fae. Their powers are as varied as the colors of the rainbow, who knows what flavor of power hers could be. "You move any closer -- you make one move, and I'll do it."

He's not about to explain what his gun is to her. But he will not hesitate to use it, if he has to. Against her magic, or against herself, if necessary.

Her expression, what was left of it, disappeared aside from annoyance, hand still extended, it didn't move mostly because the gun didn't feel like a simple piece of metal. There was enchantment of some kind though nothing she recognized there. "I am not yours to order." She replied, voice cool, a sharp ozoney tang of anger in it, "and I will not be held against my will. Do you have a plan, or did you truly expect me to become a statue for you?"

Her eyes slowly lift again from the gun, to what appears to be another of herself behind him. Mirroring her gesture, her voice not actually an echo but a double of the one in front of him.

Faolan tightens his finger on the trigger. The voice from behind him unnerves him. No, it would seem that it's not a reflection. Although it starts to get him wondering, is he looking at the right one? In an instant he has another gun drawn and pointed in the direction of the other, although the first is still aimed at Mab herself. At least, what he would assume to be her.

"That would depend on what you plan yourself," he barks out. "I suggest you leave this place. I cannot dictate what you say or do from there, but I can't you continue on this way. Not if you're going to keep on and go after people that have called me here to help them."

Soon it became clear that the only thing they could do was help the Croydon witches flee. Some were injured, others lost, and still others had fought and fallen.

In a closed café, Sylvia knelt down by a witch weeping over the body of her sister. Here the cruelty of their enemy became apparent: the fae had crafted their illusions to make friend appear as foe, and so the witch had struck down her sister herself. Not only was she mourning her sister's loss, she also had to live with the guilt of killing her.

The witch, whose name was Mary, rocked back and forth, sobbing uncontrollably. "This is my fault... my fault..."

Sylvia embraced her, soothing her as best she could, and blinked tears out of her eyes as she looked up at the others.

"We need to move. I won't leave anyone behind, and that includes the deceased." She addressed the nearest person by name. "Check outside. I want a clear escape route."

Lancelot nods understanding, brow furrowed in concern from having watched the exchange. He has done the best he could, but Lancelot has no ability to break illusions. Has no magic to cast, only has the small blessing that he feels like Seelie magic so some have avoided him.

Even then, that has equally lead some witches to suspect him. Such things are double-edged blades in a battle of this sort.

He pushes to his feet to approach the door, opening it cautiously before slipping out. The chaos is still ongoing, if waning now. Daybreak is being driven back, and Lancelot feels heavy with guilt that he couldn't do more. He has only just become a part of this world and already he tastes the bitter failure of being overwhelmed. It reminds him far too heavily of how it felt as a child, even if the memory is foggy and distant.

His focus now, though, is getting these people to safety. His eyes skim along the street and he mentally begins to map a way out. After a few seconds he ducks back in, moved to crouch beside Mary and places a reassuring hand on one of her arms -- eyes still studying Sylvia. The question is a silent one, one he thinks she can understand. Will she pull together? Will she come? Mary's emotions are understandable, but people that deep in grief are not focused and move slowly -- if they deign to move at all.

"Things are quieter for now," he murmurs, "if we stay off the main roads we stand a chance. If --" His eyes dart down to the body, then back up as he adjusts his wording. "If you want to bring everyone," he says carefully, "that limits our transport options."

"We leave no one behind," Sylvia replies firmly, for while Mary's grief has her falling apart, there's zero chance that she'll move without her sister. "The emergency services won't come. Gather up the fallen. We'll take them in Chris's van."

They've tried calling an ambulance, but in a supernatural fracas it's risky to get the human authorities involved, and no ambulance has come. Mobile phones have short-circuited, witches they thought were right behind them have gone missing. The fae are masters of confusion.

Chris is another meta human drafted in to help, and while Sylvia gets up and pulls Mary to her feet, he moves to help the other injured witches.

"We're leaving now," Sylvia calls, glancing back to make sure that the others will follow. Mary is clinging to her shoulder. Someone else will need to carry her sister's body. They don't have time to wait.

He nods in silent acceptance, glances back at Chris and the others before sliding to kneel and gathering up the body of Mary's sister in his arms. Someone has to, after all, and Lancelot may not be used to carrying dead bodies but he's used to seeing them.

Not that it ever really numbs the pain of it. She didn't deserve to die, especially not by her sister's hand thanks to fae trickery. He secures his arms around her, takes a deep breath and moves to stand by the door. He can't open it with both hands holding the body, so he slides his eyes around the others as he waits.

"Ready?" he prompts softly. Or as ready as they can be, he supposes.

"Quickly," Sylvia urges them.

She's especially concerned about the body. Getting away from the fae is one thing, but they can't afford to be held up by human witnesses either. They need to go quickly, quietly and most of all unnoticed.

Outside, across the road where a nondescript black van awaits. Chris opens the back doors, the dead are smuggled in. It's like they're the ones covering up a murder. Not how she would have liked to do this, but they don't have much choice.

Once on the road, things are easier. The confusion in the air has cleared, but there's a sense of numbness about them. They're fleeing for their lives. Witches who have lived here for generations, who were once so comfortable and settled. None of them expected this, not even after the first rumblings of increased fae activity in the neighbouring boroughs.

Sylvia spends part of the journey in silence, staring out of the window. Finally, she runs a hand through her curls, fingers tightening on her scalp, and glances sideways at Lancelot.

"This changes things."

It's a strange place to be in, for Lancelot. He feels like an outsider, like he shouldn't be here. Not only is he not a witch, but he radiates fae magic -- and the people he is helping have just been ruined by the fae themselves. He's almost waiting to be turned out, as a potential spy, as a symbol of everything they dislike.

Yet he isn't. They sit in numb silence, fleeing their homes while most of London remains unaware of the vicious wars going on under its surface. Months ago he had been unaware himself, and for a moment he almost misses that. Misses when things had been simpler.

He's here, though, and if he'll be allowed to help he will.

Sylvia's voice breaks the silence and Lancelot glances sideways at her, assessing cautiously. He's unsure of their boundaries, of how he should treat her. She's an employer, in a way, but equally she is a person. Someone grieving, in pain.. After a second he holds out a hand to her, palm up, if she wishes to take it. He can offer her that much stability, at least.

"Do you think they'll hit us again?" he asks quietly, eyes flitting around as he does. It's pitched low enough to be just for her, he does not want to incite panic, but it's an important question. If the fae truly wish to go to war, after all, they need to be ready.

Sylvia smiles at him, appreciating the sympathy, but she gives a small shake of her head. It is her job to comfort, not to be comforted. The people here are relying on her and she won't let them down or show weakness.

"They may," she answers, leaning back in her seat. There's no reason to suppose that they won't. The taste of victory is always encouraging. "We'll prepare for the worst."

They'll regroup, mourn their dead, improve their defences. They'll know soon enough whether the fae intend to make another move.

He nods in understand, touches her arm slightly before withdrawing his hand and lacing them together. Studying her as he listens. Preparing for the worst makes sense, but it's also difficult to accept. Daybreak had felt so stable, the blow of being struck so suddenly and so hard is one that will surely be felt worse still be people who have been members longer than him.

"I know I am not... a witch myself, that I am new, but... if there is anything I can do to help -- please, you need only ask."

Lancelot drops his eyes away for a moment, studies the rest of the van before looking up at her again.

"We can come back from this. I know we can."

She nods. This is good, exactly the kind of dedication and positivity that they need. Sylvia has always believed that their strength comes from community, from having each other's backs. She knows that Lancelot will do whatever he can to help them.

"Thank you."

It's a brief, softly-spoken response, but sincerely meant. Despite their loss, Lancelot has proven himself a worthy ally today.

"You need not thank me. Is it not my job to be an ally and guardian?"

Lancelot tilts his head slightly, offers her a small smile before turning his eyes back over the van. Mind working through options. Pragmatism is what is needed now, practical and useful ideas that can help. Things to keep them moving forward so they do not dwell on all this pain.

"It is my... understanding that Daybreak territory is sealed so doors to the other realm cannot be opened. Fae already here can walk in it but... doors cannot be opened to let in new fae. Border territories are probably our concern. If you will give me leave to I will happily see to helping strengthening our boundaries, making sure we are alert for activity."

It is his job, of course, but still there's nothing wrong with praising loyalty. And initiative too. Sylvia nods approvingly.

"Good idea. The most dangerous territory will certainly be along the border, and I don't doubt that the fae will try to break the spell. It may hold until the next full moon... We can't hope for longer than that."

Croydon territory claim

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(For Heiji but open because they're in the middle of the city)

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For those who want to challenge Mab (or other fae)

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Either Mab herself or a minion! c:

We'll start with another fae but she's nearby :)

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my apologies for tagging into this so late, work has been hectic this week :x

no apology necessary I have the same issue this month apparently

ty for understandingggg <3

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Helping Daybreak witches

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