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undergrounds2015-09-19 11:18 pm
undergroundmods) wrote in undergrounds2015-09-19 11:18 pm
Harvest Festival
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.
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It's a bit of a sharp reply, but it allows her to vent some of her frustrations over the last couple of weeks. The struggle at Barnet, especially with the loss... And then her interview with Sylvia.
"Therefore, Circle Midnight are as much her daughters as Circle Daybreak. We have every right to be here."
No. No, they didn't. But like Hell Abigail was going to let that stop her, let it make her run scared. If she didn't stand firm now, she would look like she was hiding. She refused to give Sylvia or anyone that satisfaction.
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It's a dismissive, snide sort of answer -- as if he disregards not only any rights she believes she has, but her as well. Who does she think she is, after all? To come here, to call Sylvia the Mother of all Witches after what their Circle did?
Norrell has never particularly understood women, does not agree with Sylvia on all things either. Perhaps it is because they tend towards being so very emotional and delicate, they are simply incomprehensible to him. It is why there should be more men on the Night Council, in his opinion.
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"And mothers who let their children die deserve to be in prison."
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He can tell he's hit a mark, the way she straightens, but Norrell is little good at social cues. Where someone else might be clever enough to know when to back off, to know when he has misstepped or even to manipulate a conversation... Gilbert Norrell is not. He is so consumed in the belief that he is superior and right that such things little concern him. A little girl who is causing trouble is all she is, and he supposes perhaps some education might help. Perhaps he should offer to teach her? He idly considers this a moment, wondering how much trouble that would be.
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"We all do what we feel we need to."
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"What you need to? There is nothing that cannot be done without the help of fae! What have I ever done that has needed the help of fae? They are not to be trust, let them in and they will ruin the reputation of English witches and English magic!"
Of course, Norrell is a hypocrite. There has been one time. Yet Norrell does absolutely everything within his power to make sure that incident will never be found. He has Childermass to act for him, to quietly make sure people do not talk of things. The hows and whys are something he does not ask.
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It was the way of the immortal. Of creatures so old that time was nothing to them. Living with one, Abigail had developed a keen respect for them. Of course, it might be a near worship that had been carefully cultivated by Unthank, but she wasn't able to see it as such.
"And people will always be scared. Feel the need to protect themselves or others. And they will turn to methods others disapprove of, thinking they have to."
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"You," he begins, "and your kind will do more to hurt English magic than you know. What do people think of when they thing of magic now? They think of fae, they think of whimsical spells -- they do not take it seriously. If we wish magical to be respectable, to be recognised, then we must focus on modern magic. We must bury the old ways or we will find ourselves ruined.
"We must make magic respectable. I should not be surprised that you would turn out to be this way."
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Nails that refused to come out. Or, when they finally did, scratched the palm and saw it infected. A door knocker that couldn't be moved. And, when it finally gave way, seemed to reappear without cause the next morning.
She had been raised shrouded in the old ways. Which, yes, made her protective of them. Respectful and somewhat afraid. But she still wanted to see them preserved.
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"I will not see English magic fall into disrepute," he says firmly, "even if I must fight this battle alone."
In truth, Gilbert Norrell would much prefer to fight alone. Alone is how he works best. Or at least, what he perceives to be alone. The assistance given to him by servants and companions is not particularly counted, since it is expected and thus cannot detract from his carefully self-built image of a martyr struggling to revive and renew something against all odds.