undergrounds | Harvest Festival

"" (Watch on YouTube)

Harvest Festival, 19th September 2015
Welcome to the Ealing Harvest Festival! Sponsored by Sylvia Redbright, this event takes place on a bright autumn day in Elthorne Park, Hanwell.

(Images for reference: One. Two. Three.)

FESTIVAL
The park has been transformed into a hub of colourful tents and stalls, a country-style fair selling wood carvings, paintings, baubles, baskets, plant pots and flowers, pretty tin boxes and knick-knacks of all kinds. Of course, this is all to give it an air of legitimacy should the general public wander by. The real wares on offer are those sold by witches: stalls crowded with incense, candles, precious stones, herbs, good-luck charms, spelled trinkets and magical jewellery. Gain entry to one of the small tents and you may be able to buy yourself a low-level spell or potion. It's all there if you know where to look.

Meanwhile, the centrepiece of the festival is the harvest altar: five large bales of hay, stacked around each other, where the festival-goers are encouraged to donate food and other gifts in thanks for the harvest. Tinned food is typically offered. Children attending can make a corn dolly and offer it to the harvest altar. There's food and drink to buy too, of course: vegetable and pumpkin soup, baskets of fruit and seasonal vegetables, home-made bread and jam, tea cakes, fruit cakes, seed cakes, scones and apple pie. Drinks include coffee, tea, cider and fruit juice. In short, it's all very wholesome. And decidedly not vampire-friendly.

A COMMUNITY IN MOURNING
It's not all about giving thanks. Following the hostile takeover by the fae in Croydon and the hard-fought conflict in Barnet, many witches have been displaced and are in desperate need of aid. The poster by the harvest altar says that all donations will be given to the homeless and vulnerable communities in London.

Meanwhile the entrance to the summer house has been disguised by a glamour to prevent the general public from entering. Only supernatural types may climb the steps to pay their respects at the memorial that has been set up to mourn the Daybreak witches and their allies who have recently passed. There are candles, flowers, wreaths and cards jostling for space with pictures of the fallen witches.

RITUAL AT SUNSET
The general public have disappeared but the witches have an important ritual to perform. As the sun sets, they gather up all the donations from the harvest and join hands around the altar. One witch will light a flame. Sylvia herself will invite volunteers of different species to step forward and offer their blood, as a symbol of unity between supernatural communities.

As the hay burns, the witches dance around the altar, their last ritual of the evening.

NB. Sunset is at 18:51.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Childermass is used to watching crowds. He's used to making observations about the people in them, the ones that stand out and the ones that don't. It's part of what he does, part of his unofficial position with Norrell, without Norrell's household. It's part of who he is, besides that. He sees, he observes, he knows. And he can tell that something is distracting her.

He knows who she is. For that is his job, after all, to know things. The fact that she's here at a festival for Circle Daybreak is curious. The fact that she is so obivously uncomfortable, distracted, is even more so. Childermass hangs back a few carts, poking through the various trinkets on the table in front of him -- for trinkets are what they are, if there were anything of worth to be sold at this festival he would have found it by now -- and watching her. With his long, dark hair, and his dark, shabby clothes, without even needing to work his magic he blends well enough into the shadows of the oncoming dusk around him. Perhaps the only thing of note would be the look in his eyes, an intelligent look. Sharp, bright, piercing, as he casually follows her from stall to stall. And observes.

((ooc: feel free to have her not notice him yet or do, i don't mind either way! :) he'll be coming up to talk to her eventually, if he can he'd probably try to get a more sneaky feel for what sort of conversation he's about to have if he could, though!))

It seems like a long time ago that she'd wanted to be part of Circle Daybreak. Now, she's glad she wasn't there, wasn't associated with them. It's dangerous, yes, to stand so firmly for Circle Midnight, but, especially after her meeting with Sylvia, she needs to be here. She needs to hold her head up and smile like she really believes in the purpose of this festival.

She's here for unity and peace.

Even if everyone here knows it's a lie.

If she's aware of being watched, she at least pretends not to notice. Still, her eyes dart around every so often. Of course, that could be her being very aware that she's Midnight and surrounded by Daybreak with the blood on her hands.

After a time, Childermass gets the idea that she may be on to him. If not on to him, then at least perhaps a little jumpy. And it would not do for him to continue lurking on a young girl who is so obviously uncomfortable, no matter who she is or what she is there representing.

And so it is after a long space of time of observation of her behavior, her character, her dealings with the crowd around her, that Childermass steps up to her side, cool as can be. Leaning over the wares laid out before her on the table, poking at them slightly, although when he speaks, it is quite clear that he is addressing her, in his own rough, Yorkshire sort of way.

"You're looking rather grim, for a lady at a festival." He turns to glance down at her, before continuing to say, "A penny for your thoughts?"

"Both Circles have lost loved ones." It's easy to say as she offered a bowed her head in greeting. She's in mourning for her Circle, but she can acknowledge that others have lost, too. "It's a shame that such losses happened so near what should be a happy time."

A time for peace. Which had made the negotiations between herself and Sylvia even more tense. But all the more vital.

Childermass nods in response to her words. He was not there at either battle, he was not involved himself. Norrell had not given him the order on such things -- Norrell frowned on them, just like he frowned on almost everything, and thus Childermass had stayed well away. He wasn't about to give up his life for anyone else's cause. But he does feel remorse for them. It's hard not to, with all these memorials about.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he says, honestly meaning the words as well. Perhaps his words should be noticeable -- 'your' -- implying they are not his. Implying that he recognizes her for her faction? Or implying that he considers himself outside of both of them? It's hard to tell, with the look on his face, but it's up to her whether that matters, in the end.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, bowing her head.

There were funerals to pay for, visits to be made. Every Midnight witch who died, now, was her responsibility. Some had asked her to step up, to stand for all of them, and she'd accepted. If others wished to challenge her for the position or stand apart from those who came to her, she wouldn't blame them. But, for now, she stood alone. A single public figure for the entirety of Circle Midnight.

"We all have much to mourn."

Childermass inclines his head slightly. Perhaps that is true of Daybreak as well, he supposes. Although he has not lost anyone himself. Norrell did not take part in any of the last battles, much to his own chagrin and Childermass' as well, for all that he must now sit back and listen to how he would have done it better and how they probably would have won, if only this and that. Eventually it will get through to him that if he wants something done the way he wants he must do it himself. For now though, Childermass must endure.

"All things can be rebuilt," he says, at last. Which is probably odd, coming from him, considering who he is, but he feels he must say it regardless. "We may mourn, but this too shall pass." He tips his hat at her, slightly. "I wish you well, ma'am."

"All things can be rebuilt," she echoes, offering a bow of her head. It's a strange sentiment, but it warms her a little. Even if he doesn't mean it, and she can't say whether he does or not. She doesn't care. Today, the surface is enough for her. "And we will weather the storms."

She smiles at him. A genuine one, yes, but darker than others might have been. A true Widdowson smile.

"Thank you."

Childermass smiles in return. He knows that it would not do to linger long with someone as publicly opposite of Norrell as Abigail Widdowson. Although he does not regret their short conversation itself. For all that he may be well known to be Norrell's servant, and she, the Midnight coven leader.

"You are more than welcome," he says, touching the brim of his hat in a casual salute to her as he does. "I'd best be getting on. Enjoy your evening, ma'am."

Harvest Festival

festival -- let me know if this is alright/needs changes? :')a

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject