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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!) ]

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Norrell considers him a moment, half looking sideways at Childermass as he leans on his desk. Studying him as if to discern the truth of his words. A great witch, he calls him, and that soothes Norrell somewhat. Eases a fraction of his tension.

He nods fractionally, closes fingers over the back of his chair and grips it as he rallies.

"Then we will give them proof. We will take control of this territory and we will make it safe and respectable. Then they will see. They they will know."

Childermass studies the other man's response for a long moment, before nodding himself.

"They will," he confirms. "They will know, and they will be obliged to listen. It will give you much more than a foot in the door, sir. You already have that. It will gain you their respect. And with that, you will be able to do much more than you might ever otherwise, no matter how many letters you write."

Of course, it means that they're going to have to win. But Childermass isn't going to point that out. Better not to work Norrell up about that. Not yet, at any rate.

The idea that they might not win is one that has cross Norrell's mind, has plagued him, but it is not one he is dignifying with outward concern yet. No; for now he is focused on what victory will bring.

"It will take time," he ventures, turning the chair so he can slide into it again with a sigh. He tilts his head a fraction, face screwing up in a wince. "Lambeth will not go easily. There will need to be damage control, and it will be some time before it is stable. Money to be spent. I will need to work on that. We will need to seal the territory. Then there will be the border with Southwark to consider. The Islington Nest may be concerned being trapped between us and the fae. They will need to be reminded the fae are the bigger threat to us all."

Childermass nods again, stepping back and straightening himself now that Norrell has seemed to settle once more. "You will need a plan," he says. "To prepare yourself against what may come. You have sent word to Daybreak and to Hillingdon to gather aid. You will need to gather what you can together and use everything you can to your advantage. It is as you said, sir. They will not go down without a fight. It is a fight that you must prepare yourself for."

Childermass knows Norrell, after all. He has been in his service for many years now. And 'fight' is hardly within the man's vocabulary. But if he is to climb the ladder as he would like, then he must learn, for better or for worse.

A plan. Norrell scowls at Childermass, as if to tell him yes he knows he needs a plan, and he grabs for a pen and piece of paper -- begins to write neatly.

"We will drive them out. A fight is all very well but it will be too much of a mess. No, I will give you spells -- you and the others who come. We will make them leave London altogether. That is the best way. Any who the spells do not take hold of Hillingdon will have to deal with."

'Deal with' being a broad term, but Norrell is not someone who truly has the stomach to consider what that might come to.

It's rather typical of Norrell, to have other men doing the dirty work for him. Childermass should know. Childermass has been that man for decades now. But he will do as he's told, as he always does. And he will see the job done, even if he must wring it out of those who would protest otherwise. If they have come to help then they will help. He will see to it.

"What orders would you give Hillingdon?" If Norrell's not going to address it himself, Childermass may as well put it right out there on the table. He has made a call to arms of the group, after all, but so far as Childermass is aware (and he would know, for he is the one who delivered the letter and did the calling), no more than a summons has been discussed.

Orders? Norrell sighs a little, as if this question is irritating, pauses in his writing and slides his eyes away to the side as he thinks. Studies the nearest pile of books.

"I will cast a fog for them," he decides finally, "to make it easier for them to move unseen. Give them a spell to allow them to see through it. They must eject any fae from the area, and any Midnight witches -- anyone who is at odds with Daybreak. We must make this area safe and respectable, Childermass, that is the only way we will prove ourselves."

Childermass understands that Norrell is skirting around the obvious, trying to keep from actually saying it. But if he is to undertake such an endeavor then he cannot be afforded the luxury of avoiding topics that are less than pleasant to him, like it or not.

"And will you be setting down terms for how they should eject these persons, sir? Or leaving them to their own devices?" he asks. If he does not, if Hillingdon rolls in and slaughters people in his name (unlikely, but possible), there are those amongst his own who will not take kindly to such means, no doubt. That he should call in such brute force to fight the battles for him. But if he sets a limit upon them, will it be enough to win? A delicate balance, to be sure.

He puts down his pen at this, resigned to being questioned when he was trying to work, and looks up at Childermass. Must he do everything himself? It seems he must.

"Well is it not obvious?" he prompts, "they cannot kill Circle Midnight witches or the Night Council will investigate them, and myself as well! No, they should drive any witches from the territory still alive. Fae, it does not matter. The fae have taken territory from us in blood and I will happily drive them out likewise."

Childermass does not show any sign of being affected one way or the other by Norrell's frustrations. That is to say, he has dealt with them before, Norrell does not frighten him, and his temper tantrums frighten him least of all.

He nods in response to the other man's words. Obvious. It is, rather. At least, that he should tread softly as far as Circle Midnight is concerned. He supposes that Norrell does have a fairly good idea of it all, for a man who's made no other move than complain since they had moved to London. "Perhaps it is so," he agrees. "But it may not be so obvious to them. You must put it plainly, to all those who rally in your favor. They are a different people than our own, as well you know."

Norrell lets out another sigh at this, laces his fingers together on the desk a moment. Childermass is, regrettably, right.

"Would you have me write to them all?" he prompts, "I do not have so very much time that I can write to all those who wish to help individually!"

Childermass fixes the other man with another one of his direct, meaningful looks. (A look that means he is resisting the urge to roll his eyes or exasperate at him, for that matter. But he won't. Not to his face, at any rate.)

"You should accept them here," he says. "Make the house a base of operations. Allow them to meet with you and express as much in person. These men do not know you as I do. A letter will only do so much. If you refuse them even this much, why should they bother fighting for you at all?"

The response alarms Norrell, makes him sit up straighter and frown at Childermass in consternation. Surely not!

"Here?! I cannot have them here! There is not enough room! You know as well as I do how small these London houses are, I barely have enough room for my books! I cannot have hunters traipsing in and out at all hours! This place is not an armoury for soldiers! Who knows what they will do, what sort of people they will be?"

Since, apparently, paying them does not mean Norrell has to like them.

Childermass cannot help the face he makes at Norrell now. It says just about as much, for that matter. He'll pay them, he'll have them do his dirty work, but he won't do so much as receive them? Talk to them, even?

"You owe them as much," Childermass points out, his voice rough and hard. "If you would have them risk their lives for you, then the least you can do is meet them. The men will hardly rest their faith in a man cannot even offer them that."

Norrell is momentarily taken aback by these words, blinking at Childermass as he tries to decide how to respond. He hesitates, seems to deflate fractionally after a moment -- although his lips are still thinned in a way that says he is unhappy about it.

"Perhaps something small?"

Really, Childermass more than anyone should know how much Norrell dislikes meeting new people and any sort of fuss. Yet... maybe just refreshments? Disperse a few spells? Would that be enough? He is still paying them...

Childermass understands why Norrell would be unhappy about such an offer. Although really, Norrell is making more of a fuss of it than he needs to. All he needs to do is gain these men's trust, and to do so he's going to need to get to know them. Going to need to do a lot more than write letters to them in exchange for their lives, for better or for worse.

So he nods in return to the other man's proposal. "It needn't be a big to-do," he agrees. "Just something to show these men that you value their services to your cause." A novel concept, to be sure.

Chide over, and now suitably rallying himself a little, Norrell lets out a heavy sigh at this. Value their services indeed.

"The amount I am paying, they should feel valued enough already!"

Too much, in Norrell's opinion, for a pack of unruly hunters! Far too much! All the same, he seems to have accepted that this is a thing that should happen -- if begrudgingly.

"A small reception, then. The kitchen can put on some sandwiches and drinks."

There, will that do?

Childermass makes a motion with his head that is neither a nod nor a shaking dismissal, but something in between. "It will do, sir, so long as you make an appearance yourself. Say a few words, give them a moment to hear you out. And then you can go back to whatever it is that you would rather be doing. Research. Preparation. Perhaps you might consider this preparation in turn. It is a guarantee of better services rendered. A better guarantee than money will ever be able to buy."

He stands straighter, taking a step back from the desk. "But it is your decision to make, sir." Leaving it up to the other man in the end, he has given him all the tools he needs. Norrell has made the wrong decision after such preparation in the past before, but Childermass is hoping he will have at least heard something of what he'd been trying to get through to him. A leader must lead, not delegate from behind closed doors. Even if mostly delegation should happen anyway, if Norrell wants to make anything of himself at all, then he's going to have to overcome this fear and dislike of such gatherings.

A better guarantee than money can buy him? Norrell thins his lips unhappily at the notion (he is spending so much money! Money should guarantee services!) but does not protest for now. He is content to express his unhappiness through the discontent in his gaze and the curl of his lip.

"It is my decision," he replies, the tone suggesting Childermass would do well to remember this, "but it will be done. Although it will not help with the matter of Sylvia Redbright."

Childermass resists the urge to sigh and roll his eyes at the mention of Sylvia Redbright. He understands Norrell, and he understands that he will not let this rivalry go. Not without a fight, for better or for worse.

"I take it that she has refused to support you in any part of this decision then," he says, though it is spoken as less of a question and more of a statement. It is to be expected, really. Sylvia Redbright does not like Gilbert Norrell, and vice versa. If the pair of them were less respectable people, they might be at each other's throats more often than not. Instead, she largely ignores the man, and he largely finds the fact that she does infuriating. A point for her each time, no doubt, though Childermass would honestly like to know if he ever ruffles her feathers as badly as she ruffles Norrell's in turn.

"I have told you," Norrell replies with exaggerated impatience, "that we have little backing from Daybreak."

Which is not an answer, not really, but more a way to show Childermass that his assumption is that this is her decision. That she is not backing him. He hesitates, hands laced together as he leans back in his chair moodily, before going on.

"She believes Daybreak should spend time recovering from its loss. She has grown complacent, allowed us to become weak. Look at how much land the fae have taken! Once upon a time they would not have dared to do so. I do not know what it is that rallies them so, but Daybreak is clearly their biggest opponent and we have shown we cannot protect ourselves.

"What she wants is Croydon back. In time, it will be done. Lambeth will be a good test of strength and organisation. It will let us make sure we have enough resources. Then we can retake Croydon. Then she will see."

Childermass nods slightly. Of course, Croydon is the end goal here. Take back the territories that were taken from them. Lambeth is a test of their skill, a flexing of their muscles. If orchestrated correctly, it will demonstrate them as the serious threat that they are, however. Childermass understands that the fae will not give up easily. But Norrell's magic is strong, as is that of those who are backing him. And those who do not have magic have brute force on their side. It will perhaps be close, considering they do not have Daybreak's full support. But it will be a good demonstration of what they will be capable of if they should.

"Of course, you must win this fight first," Childermass says aloud. "But once you have, I agree. You have the same goals in mind, you and her. She will not oppose you forever. She cannot do so, and claim to be within the same faction herself."

You have the same goals in mind, you and her. Norrell's lips twitch in distaste at that, and he looks away again -- focusing his distaste on his papers temporarily.

"If Sylvia Redbright continues to be an obstacle people will talk. They will wonder why it is she does not want to take action. It will be bad for her. We will have to be sure we are ready. If she begins to see me as too much of a threat she may do something about it."

He pauses, the idea clearly lighting his nerves for a moment, and his eyes dart in thought.

"It would be underhand, of course... but... we cannot be sure she would not... with the power of the Night Council and Daybreak both..."

Childermass nods slightly, although when he speaks he says, "If she should act against you, it would be as Sylvia Redbright, backed by her supporters and followers. Whatever power she holds in either faction, she is not the entire faction itself."

He stands straighter, adjusting his stance. "It is why, regardless of how Sylvia Redbright might feel about you, sir, you must not let her distract you. There are others in the Night Council, and more in Daybreak besides. If you gain enough support from within, whatever Sylvia Redbright may want to do, she may very well be starting a battle between her own people by acting upon her wishes."

It is why Childermass stresses the need for allies in this, rather a solitary climb to the top. Whether Norrell will listen or not is his prerogative. But one can only hope he will, if he has any sense in him at all.

He thins his lips at that, unhappy but still accepting it.

"Peter Vrinak might be of some help. He has more sense than Sylvia."

Thinking a moment longer he finally picks up his pen again, begins to write something.

"I will speak to him after this. Something will be done."

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knowstheworld - 2015-11-22 01:57 (UTC) - Expand

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