[ OPEN ]

[hurtfew]

Date: 12th~18th of October
Plot: Lambeth Territory Claim by Daybreak
Areas: Lambeth and surrounding areas!



The fae may have taken Croydon from Daybreak, but Daybreak is out to prove it is still strong -- and one Daybreak witch in particular is hoping to prove that he is the man to turn them around from the loss. Gilbert Norrell plans to bring order to the lawless territory of Lambeth, via less than pleasant means. He intends to drive out any troublemakers, anyone who disagrees with Daybreak, or have them persuaded by members of Hillingdon. Unfortunately for him, it won't be quite as easy as all that...

[ ooc; log for the Daybreak territory claim! You can give me a ping if you want to be involved and hadn't signed up already! It runs through the entire week, starting off quietly and subtly until the disappearances begin to be noticed and the fight back intensifies. Thread as little or as much as you like, start your own thread or tag what I put up for Norrell! (And sorry it's up a little late!) ]

Comments

[ WESTMINSTER; EARLY WEEK, PLANNING ]

[hurtfew]

Gilbert Norrell is not a particularly rash man. He does not like to act without cause. The trouble of it is, he often feels he has very good cause where few others agree.

The loss of Croydon is a sore topic for many in Daybreak, but especially so for Norrell -- for he has long said that the fae are the biggest problem London has! He has written, at length, many a time to beg for stronger laws policing fae behaviour. Yet would they listen? The fae had kept to their own realm for some time, yet now! Now they see the true darkness of their colours! Coming here, claiming territory that rightfully belongs to them!

Well, in Norrell's opinion it is because Daybreak has been allowed to sleep. It needs stronger leadership.

Perhaps... Well, perhaps that might come from him. A sound plan of action will prove that Gilbert Norrell has all the inherent qualities required to overcome the tradition of matriarchy and prove that a sensible head is what is required, the emotional stability of a man among the ranks of the witches!

The more he thinks about, the more right it seems. So, he sets himself to task. He writes (pen and paper, Gilbert Norrell is not one to perform a formal action via email) declaring his intentions and requesting aid of all those who would offer it. He offers to hire out of Hillingdon, for when things become more troublesome and then -- well, then he has to set himself to waiting Waiting for either formal word back, for the right opportunity to visit people, or for people to come speak with him. He still has Childermass, of course, if there are those who he does not particularly desire to speak to in person -- but Childermass has equally made it clear that he believes Norrell would do well to make himself known a little more in person rather than spending his time usefully on research.

He supposes, in this instance, he allow such neglect of his studies. For the greater good.

[protagonized]

A tall, thin young man leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and blocking Norrell's way out. He does not look pleased. There has to have been some kind of mistake. Not only is Simon most assuredly not Hillingdon, Norrell's got another thing company if he thinks he's going to get an effective shapeshifting bodyguard out of him.

"I've come to officially register my extreme reluctance," he says, trying to sound braver than he is. "What does Daybreak need shifters for? You have plenty of witches to do your dirty work."

[hurtfew]

Norrell looks at Simon with a mixture of extreme distaste and alarm as he blocks his way, taking a half step back and drawing the film he is holding up between them as a makeshift protective barrier. What does Daybreak need shifters for? He asks, and Norrell is about to answer when Simon goes on --

"Dirty work?" he echoes, and his face scrunches up in confusion, then irritation. "Well I would very much like to know what it is about cleaning up a criminal infested territory that you consider dirty. It is the opposite of that! We are making the place safer, better!"

[knowstheworld]

Childermass is honestly rather impressed that Norrell has taken this initiative, considering how content he generally is to sit back and complain about what he would have done while if only he were in charge. For once, it seems that he will be in charge. For once, he will be able to demonstrate his prowess, not simply brag of it behind closed doors. He hopes that Norrell take the opportunity and use it well, though part of him does fear for what might happen if he should fail in this venture.

He will just have to ensure that he does not fail, he supposes.

As Childermass returns from delivering Mr Norrell's letter to the Hillingdon hunters and gathering what support he can from their masses, he lets himself back into the house, making his way back through into the library where he knows he is sure to find the other man, perched on a chair behind his desk. What sort of state he'll find him in however, only time will tell.

"It is done," he says, as he sweeps into the library and towards the other man.

[hurtfew]

He continues writing a few seconds more, finishing his sentence before pausing to set aside his pen and remove the small glasses from his nose. To study Childermass curiously, uncertainty colouring his features as he thins his lips.

"And did they seem interested? Do you think they will come?

After all, Norrell does not have so much help as he would like from Daybreak. They are focusing on licking their wounds, on recovering from Croydon and preparing a defence rather than lashing out as Norrell wishes to show they are still strong. It is an attitude he understands, in truth, yet Norrell needs some way to show his worth. To make a mark.

[WESTMINSTER/LAMBETH; MID WEEK -- NORRELL/NPCing ]

[hurtfew]

Turning up in person at Lambeth, especially during the peak of all this when the resistance is getting stronger, is just about the worst idea Norrell could think of.

So it is that Gilbert Norrell does much of his magic from the relative safety of his library. He does not need to be there in person, for he can watch the goings on in a mirror when he needs to. So far as he is concerned he has hired people to handle this directly, and he will help them as and when he can. That does not need mean he needs to get his hands dirty.

Distance, however, does not mean that Gilbert Norrell cannot show his influence.

He may be a stuffy man, bookish and withdrawn and abrupt, but he has spent a great deal of his life studying magic. Devoting himself to the art, to the understanding of it that he might bend it to his will and show magic to be respectable and practical. A career to be impressed by, not to sniff at in disdain.

So it is that clouds roll in over Lambeth, fog begins to blanket the ground and make it difficult for people to see their way to escape. Yet for members of Daybreak, for people who are helping Norrell the fog will mask them but not impede them. So long as they recite the spell he has given them they will be able to see through the fog with no trouble at all.

The magic is all very controlled, precise, and not particularly showy. It has all the hallmarks of Gilbert Norrell, and is as irritating as the man himself.

[ ooc; if you'd like me to NPC either someone on Daybreak's side or a criminal to chase comment here and I'll think something up! Else, if you'd like to approach Norrell mid-claim you can come talk to him in his hideout in Westminster! ]

[falsify]

A good spell indeed, Eames would be impressed with the show of magic if he wasn't so goddamn pissed off with all of this. As it stands, all it is is something that doesn't stand up to six centuries of magical experience when an angry Eames wants out of the area.

It takes surprisingly little work to find out who amongst Daybreak's ranks is behind all this; but then it is the esteemed Gilbert Norrell. Expecting to gain notoriety and accolades for this, no doubt. Though he's heard a fair amount about Norrell - very little of it positive - he's never actually met the man. But if this is the person who'd deign to see Eames driven out of his home, well. Introductions should be made.

Of a sort, anyway. Even in such a foul mood, he's not nearly so foolish as to take himself to the enemy's home with his own face. Why not wear a badge with his real name on it too? No, that'd be stupid. And because Eames considers himself to be very much not stupid, Norrell (or whoever he gets to answer the door for him) will find a generically handsome young man knocking at the door.

[knowstheworld]

This generally handsome young man will soon find himself greeted with a generally forbidding looking servant. Dark eyes, long dark hair that's mostly tied back but seems to hang about his face, crooked nose, Childermass could be accused of being many things but handsome generally isn't among those titles. He raises a supercilious eyebrow at the knocker, the expression on his face as if to say, 'Well?' Though instead when he opens his mouth it is to say, in his own gruff, Yorkshire sort of way,

"State your business then." He does not hold the door open for the man, but instead holds it in place, leaning sideways against the frame as he takes in the measure of the other before him.

[ LAMBETH; WRAP UP ]

[hurtfew]

It is only once the last of the defence has been broken that Norrell finally ventures out.

Not alone, of course, he has Childermass at his side and one or two Hillingdon members just in case. He strides through Lambeth as a conquering hero, equal parts pleased with himself and somewhat disappointed at the state of the place. The battle has been rough here and there, and it shows -- Night Council members are working to obscure the worst of the damage and explain it away but the very fact that people have dared to cause such damage -- and that they have not been suitably subdued! Well, it grates on him. It has not been an easy victory, and there are still lingering troublemakers -- something Norrell is very aware of, his eyes flicking around uneasily as they walk.

Still, Norrell is here to help fix some of the damage. He has his spell book with him, and is of course ready to address any concerns in his own sort of way.

[ ooc; open to last ditch attacks, to people he hired reporting in, or anything else! ]

[protagonized]

A white dog limps behind Norrell, blood in its fur. Simon had taken a chunk of brick that had been blasted off a building to the shoulder, though with the excitement of the fight and the adrenaline running through his veins he doesn't yet feel any pain.

His predictions were right: he'd made a truly awful bodyguard.

A Hillingdon Clan shifter, a fox, nips at his tail angrily. They're ashamed of how he's conducted himself this week (the word "coward" and variations thereupon have come up in conversation), but Simon's only regret is agreeing to join this insanity in the first place. Discretion is the much better part of valor, after all.

[hurtfew]

Norrell glances down at the white dog with something akin to mild disdain. It had complained when it first joined them, generally grumbled along the way and now it appears to be injured.

He isn't entirely sure what to do with Simon.

Lips pressed into a thin line as he walks he regards him as he's nipped at while he limps, exhales slowly through his nostrils as he tries to decide what do to.

"I do not know what you imagined would happen," he says finally, "this place is full of criminals and lowlifes. They would not go quietly."

[divinerighttorule]

Lambeth is lost. This is something Azula has to admit. She isn't, after all, a fool. There is no point in fighting a losing battle, and it isn't official fae territory that has been taken. Her own attempt to claim it has fallen through, yes, but there is no real shame in pulling out to regroup.

But that doesn't mean she'll let it go out easily. In fact, in the northeast corner of the territory, three buildings go up in bright blue flames, engulfed almost instantly. The blue colour fades quickly, but the red and yellow fire continues to burn. And spread.

If she can't have it, after all, she'll make it difficult for anyone to have it.

[hurtfew]

The fire begins to rage and Norrell startles, tightens his grip on the book he holds. Fae, or Midnight? Both are equally possible. For a moment he is very still, the fear clear in his eyes, when Childermass' voice cuts through.

Mr Norrell!

He rallies himself, opens his book of notes and begins leafing through quickly. Water, water, rain -- rain is what he needs! The clouds are still overhead, in truth, so if he can just...

Norrell begins to recite under his breath, pale face scrunched up in concentration, and the clouds begin to roll and change -- begin to gather like a ferocious storm where the buildings are going up in flames. The rain is sudden and abrupt, like a wall of water crashing into the area. It is something, at least, until they can get there to have a closer look. He swallows, looks around and nods to the others around him and nods nervously. Time to make for a car and see what is going on.

[falsify]

A; Early in the week

[It's not obvious straight away; there's always some kind of issue or dissent in the area, but there's a force moving through the area. Nothing's happened, but it's coming.]

[It takes some knocking heads before he gets to the source of what's happening here, and the answer is less of a surprise than he'd like. A few calls have the word out - no way is he making this easy for Daybreak - but there's no unified front to protect the area. Just fragmented groups in the chaos.]

[He moves out, trying to find more information mostly. Talking to contacts, anyone they point him to. Getting a feel for what's coming and trying to source out who in Daybreak exactly is behind this.]

B; Mid-Late week

[Well isn't this a huge fucking mess.]

[Really, Eames is just taking out his frustration with the situation at this point. He's got number of colleagues around, doing their bit. There's definitely a number of black eyes and more around thanks to yours truly too. It's just a dent in the situation, but hey. Makes a guy feel better about the inevitability of the situation.]

C; for Arthur

[It's been enough of this, of Daybreak and their associates clearing the area of anything unsightly. The chaos is what he'd liked about this borough, but it's coming to an end. Something Eames is steadfastly against, but he has no interest in fighting a losing battle. It'll take time for them to tie everything up, stamp their mark over Lambeth, but the writing's on the wall. He needs to make plans moving forward. And, evidently, find a new flat.]

[Despite Norrell's fog, he navigates the way back to his flat easily. It's time to get things in order and needs someone with the right kind of brain for it. He takes out his phone and dials Arthur's number - loathe as he is to admit he needs Arthur's help, he has a brilliant mind on him.]

I need to talk to you.

[He didn't even say hello. How rude!]

[ooc; HMU if you have other ideas in mind!]

c

[specifiercity]

[When Arthur sees the caller ID, he frowns deeply. He has been expecting this call - he knows what's been going on in Lambeth and if his hands weren't tied with Circle Midnight he'd be helping right now. Unfortunately, that is not the case, and he feels a bit guilty that Eames is being ousted right now and he can't do much to help.]

[However, it is Eames, so he doesn't really feel that bad. Especially with that complete lack of etiquette on the phone. He sighs.]

I can't help you with Daybreak, Eames.

[falsify]

I would've called before now if I expected you to.

[There's some rustling on his end as he lets himself into his place, followed by a sigh. His voice has an edge to it that Eames typically doesn't let show too. This isn't merely annoyance, he is angry.]

They've all but taken the borough. I need to figure out what to do next.

[tearmeanewone]

[Mid-to-Late Week]

[Go to London, he'd said.]

[You'll be safe, he said.]

[More like 'You'll Be in the Middle of a Supernatural War-- That's Your Cover!' Elizabeth hasn't seen anything like this before, and she's still trying to get a handle on the web of intrigue that is the many and varied factions of London. But Norrell was the one providing most of her cover and safety, so ignoring a request for support really isn't something Elizabeth can do in good conscience. Ignoring the fact that people were getting hurt in Lambeth and they needed help is even harder for her.]

[When she gets there, the streets are in chaos. She can barely recognize who is on what side, and sticks to performing as a magical medic. It's the only kind of magic she trusts herself not to mess up in the middle of a highly dangerous situation. She finds the injured and patches them up as best she can, both with magic and practical means.]

[But it's still something of a warzone in places. A few times, Elizabeth does meet with discontented parties-- and while she knows how to take care of herself in a fight, her lack of control makes her nervous. Pushing against an attacker's arm results in her setting his sleeve on fire. She pulls a dustbin between herself and a pursuer and it flies all the way across the alley. These accidents only get worse and more frequent the longer Elizabeth goes without sleep and the more stressed she feels.]

[End]

[By the end of it, Elizabeth feels like she's been wrung out to dry. Her nose has been bleeding on and off from excessive and forceful use of her magic, and she's about ready to pour herself into a cab to go home. Who needs to eat for the week anyway?]

[But she should at least see if she can't help with some of the damage. At least right the dustbins she tossed around.]

End

[protagonized]

Having left Norrell, Simon limps around the street, panting. The adrenaline's worn off; his shoulder hurts and he really wants to shift back so he can get to hospital and have it treated, but his clothes are halfway across Lambeth and he doesn't know if he can walk that far. He's certainly not going to shift back and wander London naked. The last thing he needs in his life is an arrest for public nudity.

So instead he walks over to a pretty, if vaguely familiar girl he's seen fighting and sits, his tail thumping against the concrete. Maybe she can help take him back to where he needs to be. After all, he's such a very nice doggy.

[tearmeanewone]

When Elizabeth was young, she'd wanted a puppy like most girls did. She'd seen some dogs here and there in London, but obviously during the fight for Lambeth wasn't the time to start petting dogs. Now that it's over though, and Elizabeth is nursing her own bleeding nose, the presence of a dog makes her smile out from under her Kleenex.

"Hey there pretty--" She looked down between his legs. "--boy. Somebody kick you?" Elizabeth wipes her bloody hand on her jacket and presents the back of it for the dog's inspection. She'd never had a dog, but she at least knew how to approach one from reading about it.

Late

[falsify]

[Eames has a recently bloody nose and a bit of a bruise colouring the edge of his jaw, but all things considered he should be thankful that's all the damage he's sporting. It's somehow unexpected to see someone doing triage out here, magic or otherwise.]

[He wanders up to see who this friendly witch is, making herself a sitting duck out here.]

Somebody certainly looks out of place here.

[tearmeanewone]

[Elizabeth startles up out of her spot in a doorway, clutching her medical bag to her chest. After a moment she lets out a breath and nods with a small smile.]

Barely a week in the country. I'm surprised anyone out here recognizes me. [Apparently she thinks he's talking about her newness to the circle. He hadn't attacked her outright, that meant he was friend. ...didn't it?]

[She frowns when she sees his injuries and reaches up.] Someone hit you in the face?

END

[hurtfew]

Norrell is busy most of week assisting remotely -- Gilbert Norrell in a warzone, of his own creating? Perish the thought!

He sends fogs and rains, animates statues to assist, does obscure and precise pieces of magic that clearly have some power, cast from out in Westminster as they are and still strong enough to work here, but does not deign to show his face lest someone punch it.

Once most of the rabble are calmed, however, he walks through -- Childermass at his side and Hillingdon escorts quietly shadowing him too. Paying, it turns out, can buy you friends -- if temporarily. Once he spots Elizabeth, however, he pauses -- eyes wide -- and changes track to come to her side.

"Miss DeWitt!," he cries, "but you are bleeding!" and he holds out a hand to Childermass insistently -- at which point the man produces a white handkerchief to hand to him (along with a roll of his eyes at the gesture. "You have pushed yourself too far! Here, take this."

[tearmeanewone]

Elizabeth turns at the sound of her name. She feels almost hollow, and definitely wrung out. When she'd gotten on a plane away from the States, she'd thought she'd never see another magical battlefield again. The only difference between then and this moment is that she doesn't have Booker.

"...thank you," she says weakly, taking the handkerchief and wiping her nose. She looks back down at the handkerchief, and that seems to jump start her brain. "Yes, yes I did push myself too far because every time I turned around, someone else was hurt! I thought this was a community service, not a warzone!"

[constantprisoner]

[Early in the week]

[It's safe to say that Sirius has reservations about the whole thing.

As much as he's aligned with Hillingdon again (and even then, he's still not sure how much), he's tried to say out of the territories game. Stuck to his own side as it were, play it safe. But he'd needed money, and Norell was offering a good amount. Enough to at least get him clothes for the winter and the much needed food.

So he'd agreed to help.

He wanders around Lambeth, familiarizing himself with the area, trying to come up with a strategy but mostly wondering if he'd doing the right thing. He wishes Clara was still around, if only so that she could help him talk it out.]

[Middle to End of the Week]

[He'd done his part as best he could.

It probably wasn't the most impressive showing, given that he didn't have any specific enemy and was mostly trying to scare rather than hurt anyone. But the fog had helped and some barking had snapping had hopefully made him something of a Hound of the Baskervilles. Or so he liked to think of himself.

It hadn't stopped him from sustaining a few injuries, from those who'd seen past the bark. But hopefully he'd done enough to earn the money.

Sirius made a mental note to avoid Lambeth for the next while. That was probably the smart thing to do.]

EARLY; RECRUITMENT

[knowstheworld]

Childermass has ever encouraged Mr Norrell to stand up and take his place in the world, rather than be content to sit back and dictate how things should be done. Childermass has ever been a proponent for the idea that if you want to get something done, you should get it done, not sit around and whine about it, but it is a hard lesson to press on Mr Norrell, considering the life he has lived. The life he has been blessed with living, he supposes is the best way of putting it. But some of them have not been afforded such luxuries. And that, he supposes, is why Mr Norrell has him.

So when Mr Norrell starts making noises about the fae, about Circle Daybreak and what he would like to do, to win back at them, it's only a matter of planting an idea there, laying on some encouragement there, before the other man finally steps into action and sets himself to the task. Writing to Hillingdon hunters for their support, sending Childermass himself to ensure the letter arrives (god forbid Norrell trust in the post), as well as drum up the support of those... Well. Who might be less than charmed by Norrell himself. Which is where Childermass finds himself now. Rallying the troops, one might describe it as.

For if ever there were a man with the requirements to speak up in support of Norrell, difficult, stubborn, and particular as he may be, it would be John Childermass.