[SEMI-OPEN] Written by the Victors

[hurtfew]

Date: 30th of October, pre-Samhain celebration!
Plot: Smug Victory Dinner, with political manoeuvring
Areas: Westminster



It may have been a struggle, but Lambeth has finally been won over. A week of hard work to drive out all the unspeakable sorts, and another week of trying to keep control and tidy up, and it's looking like things are slowly beginning to settle. Gilbert Norrell is very pleased by this. Now he has proven he can be a leader, can lead them to victory -- and over a difficult area too! Of course, there were difficulties. Were small problems and losses along the way, but that does not matter now.

A dinner is not normally his style, he refused to hold one himself, but Childermass persuaded someone else to hold this on his behalf and -- well, it would be rude to decline. So he attends, if reluctantly (he does not like parties) and smiles as people applaud him. It is a rush of success, of ego, and as people come to congratulate him and find ways to carefully bring up their own causes and beliefs Gilbert Norrell feels that finally he is beginning to be recognised.

The table is carefully laid with glittering crystal glasses, candles and flowers. Not too ostentatious but still elegant and respectable, suited to the style of Norrell himself. Waiters and waitresses silently move back and forth serving people and taking requests or preferences, and the food is plentiful. If people can suffer the small-talk and ego coming from the head of the table, it will at least be a good meal.

[ ooc; log for the Daybreak victory meal! You can give me a ping if you want to be involved and replied already! It's set on Friday night so people can get drunk and slouch home without having to worry about the following morning, and can still attend Samhain things later. Entry is free, food and drink is free! The meal is being held by a lackey of Norrell's who wants to suck up to him since he's on the way up, and Norrell is therefore the ~guest of honour~. Dress code is black tie, thread with each other and mingle! ]

Comments

[ OPEN ]

[hurtfew]

Drinks: Early on or later
Gilbert Norrell does not particularly enjoy parties.

However, a meal in his honour is something else altogether. He tries his best to hang back a little, but people keep coming up to him to talk to him. At the beginning of the night he is his normal somewhat grumpy and sour self, letting his displeasure be known whenever a person bumps into him or brings up something he does not like. However, as the night wears on he eases a little, beginning to enjoy the attention somewhat, and as he sips the wine his mood buoys somewhat.

Norrell is not used to having friends, and all of a sudden it feels like he has rather a lot. It is an alien sort of feeling, but a rather pleasing one -- to have people who wish to listen to his opinions and perhaps even agree with him. His face is a little flushed with pleasure, and rather than instantly snap he seems to hesitate when bumped into and offer a thin smile instead.

Meal:
By the time the meal begins Norrell has fallen into a tolerable mood, somewhat animated as the food begins to come out. So very many people, all of whom wish to listen to what he has to say.

"Oh!" he says at one point, "but I very much think that the laws on fae should be tightened. It is all very well sealing Daybreak territory, but what about other territories? Even then, sealing it so doors cannot be opened does not stop them brazenly walking in -- as we have already seen in Croydon. No, they should be forbidden from entering entirely!"

Of course, at least a few people agree, even if others do not.

After:
As the night wears in, people retire from the table variously to gather in groups to talk, to go outside and smoke or simply to leave. Norrell himself joins a small group in a corner quietly discussing politics, tones hushed and very serious, but his attention can be caught -- either to call him away for private discussion or to join in. The topic of the moment is the Night Council, and how they should have more power.

Other:
[ Else, if nothing fits invent your own prompt! ]

AFTER

[damnyank]

To be as slippery as Homer Jackson requires a practiced finesse, and more importantly, confidence to fit into any space and lie. To be the soulful artist at a cafe, the patriotic soldier, the manic actor, the successful businessman-- all dependent on time, place, and advantage. But when he's close to the truth, or in this case, a witch among witches, lying becomes more challenging, and Jackson gets far less comfortable. Never mind that he dislikes socializing with his kind, he especially dislikes the hoity-toity pretension of English Witching Kind.

He's always been the outsider, even back home. Here? He's a red sore thumb.

Following a trip back to America recently, Jackson's been reminded of how important it is to work on his-- not friendships, but alliances with his own kind.

That's why Jackson's here, picking idly at the collar of his finest tuxedo. He's been awkward and quiet throughout the party, which is unusual for Jackson, but goddammit, he has to try. So when he hears conversation that piques his interest in this circle of Witches: something about American-British Coven relations, he speaks up.

"I think we oughtta not rock the boat. Isolationism is the best way to maintain power-- why should Daybreak cultivate relations with an American coven, when we can barely handle our own shit?"

[hurtfew]

"I agree," Norrell says quickly, "at least in part. British magic should be able to make a mark on its own terms. We have no need of assistance from America of all places. Just look at history! Look at what happens whenever the Americans get involved! No, British magic must stay respectable. We must look to ourselves first, although -- sir, I think we are very much handling ourselves. We may have lost one territory, but we have gained another. It is my belief that we will continue to drive the fae back, that we must. That is how we will keep ourselves in control, and set an example for how things should be done."

[damnyank]

"Now, wait a darn minute. American magic's plenty respectable." Jackson steps closer, as he raises his voice. "I'm just saying-- these international relations, transatlantic coven alliances. It's an over-extension."

There's a difference between being critical of America, and insulting it, and while Jackson may not be a patriot, he's still a Yankee.

"If either side could handle their shit, we wouldn't be complainin' about Fae in the first place." He shrugs, chasing down his words with a throwback of Scotch. "Brits can't handle their shit. The Yanks can't either. What business do we have stickin' our noses into each other's business?"

[hurtfew]

As if suddenly realising he is speaking to an American Norrell pauses, draws himself up a little even though he still sits. The man is drinking, and loud, both very American traits he thinks. His accent is strong. Norrell's face falls a little, twitches in something like mild distaste.

"That is why we need change," Norrell persists, taking his own angle at the topic that carefully avoids the idea of not being able to handle shit. "Up until now the laws on fae have been too forgiving. We have sealed them out, yes, but even if they cannot open a door they are still allowed to walk in from other territories! We have overturned one place they wished to take, and now we must continue to take back what they claimed from us."

[damnyank]

Oh, he can just sense the judgement, though to Jackson, it seems more like Norrell's shriveling into himself. Once you start drawing conclusions, based on a witch being of this or that millieu, well, your're probably a shrewish piece of shit yourself.

Then again, Jackson's also a piece of shit. Like and like.

He smiles widely, ignoring Norrell's changing expression.

"I wasn't even referring to the Fae." He pauses to taking a sip of his drink, "That relationship, on the other hand, has it's benefits. I mean, I ain't the biggest fan of them myself, but you can't ignore what magic they have to offer. Magic we can't get elsewhere."

Jackson finishes his drink.

"Science calls it symbiosis."

[hurtfew]

Symbiosis? Symbiosis! Norrell's expression flicks into an angry snarl for a split second before he stands, takes a sip of his drink and paces a little.

"And what have the fae done for English magic?" he prompts. "They have ruined its reputation! Made it laughable in the public eye! Every witch who has relied on the fae has been brought to their knees. No, we do not need fae magic. We need to make magic respectable without their help! What magic have I ever done that needed the help of fae? No, we do not need help from America and we do not need help from the fae."

[damnyank]

Jackson's all raised eyebrows, as he's observes what is the quintessence of uppercrust British stick-up-the-ass.

"Not to crush your hopes and dreams, but as long as humans are performing magic, it ain't gonna happen." He shrugs, then takes a generous gulp of his drink. "I mean, consider it-- just how many respectable humans do you know?"

[hurtfew]

True enough. Norrell exhales through his nose, calms a little in the face of that and frowns. Tries to rally himself a little, to make himself more confident sounding. Charm. Courage. He can do this.

"When people think of English magic," he says finally, "they should think of the fine witches we have working to make England a better place. Not of... fae, not of mysticism and nonsense."

after;

[reticence]

Faolan waits until the night has passed for the most part. Until most of the conversations have been voiced and he has a good idea of who Norrell is and what his thoughts and opinions are, before he approaches the man himself. While taking notes from the sidelines would probably have done him just as well, no doubt speaking to the man himself might gain him further knowledge and insight into his opinions and motives. So he takes a deep breath and steels himself for the worst as he steps forward towards the other man.

"Mr Norrell," he says, inclining his head politely towards the man in question. "A magnificent party to celebrate a solid victory. I must congratulate you on it." Compliments. Every egotistic loves compliments, do they not?

[hurtfew]

He looks up and around in faint surprise at being addressed, and for a moment Norrell regards Faolan with idle curiosity. He does not particularly recognise Faolan as someone he worked with personally, but there were more than a few people at Lambeth. He does not look like a witch for that matter either, and Gilbert Norrell does make it his business to know Daybreak witches at the very least. Hillingdon, perhaps, or Redbright? He would guess Hillingdon...

"Something had to be done," he says in answer. "The fae have already been allowed to take Croydon from us. I had hoped others might act, but if it must fall to me..."

Norrell tilts his head sadly, as if contemplating on the great burden of this all. The terrible fate of being forced to handle this all, since no others would step up.

[reticence]

Faolan raises his eyebrows slightly, but manages to school his expression into politeness rather than the disbelief he feels.

"It's true," he responds. "I was there, defending Croydon against the fae in the battle which you speak of. There were too many and their magic was too much for us. It's just as well that they be put in their place and made to understand that one victory does not mean a sweep."

He tilts his head before continuing, "Forgive me for asking so, sir, but I can't help wondering. Is it just the loss of Croydon that turns you against the fae? Or is there more reason why you have cause to distrust them?"

[hurtfew]

"Oh, not at all! Look at how much territory the fae have taken already, and in only a few months! No, the fae have been too bold for some time now. They cannot be trusted. Fae are the worst part of English magic, and must be sealed out of London before they do more damage!"

This Norrell says with the greatest confidence, and a frown upon his features that says Faolan must surely agree! That this is common sense, and any other opinion is unacceptable.

[reticence]

"Sealed out of London," he repeats. "Back to the Other Realm, you mean." The words half a question, half a statement. Neither agreeing nor disagreeing to the other man's words. He notes that while this Norrell has not seemed to give him a personal reason to distrust the fae, that the other man's protestations still seem personal. As though this is his personal crusade to be undertaken and he shall follow through with it regardless as to how many are backing his right and just cause or not.

He cocks his head to the side again. "How might one do such a thing, then, sir? It seems a complicated undertaking."

[hurtfew]

"Of course! The fae have plenty of their own territory to live in. They do not need land in London, in this realm! Yet they take it from us all the same, from humanity! If they are allowed to continue we risk being conquered! No, sir, I will not allow that."

He pauses, takes a moment to collect himself before continuing on -- intense and focused. This is a very important topic to Norrell, and one he greatly loves to speak on.

"Daybreak territories always have a ritual performed upon them to prevent doors to the other realm being opened. The more territories perform this ritual the harder it will be for the fae to enter London. If all of London could be sealed then all that would be left were fae already here, and the population would be much easier to control or banish."

[reticence]

Banish the fae from this plane of existence entirely. It's an interesting thought, and one that should hold weight to it, considering what Faolan knows of people being stolen by the fae. By the mischief caused by them. But at the same time he can't help but feel as though this man is overly generalizing a problem, and to act on what he suggests might create one more massive than he even realizes. Than he might be able to handle, or anyone might be able to for that matter.

"You have obviously given this a great deal of thought, sir," Faolan retorts on the matter. Because he realizes the last thing he should do is argue a point against such a man as this. He's here to collect information, not to draw attention to himself and cause a scene. "Might I ask how one would banish the fae left behind though, if all the doors had been sealed?"

[hurtfew]

"With magic, of course."

He offers Faolan a look that suggests this is obvious, and that perhaps Faolan himself may be a little slow for not understanding.

"We can seal all the doors and force them to leave London entirely. I have indeed given this a great deal of thought, as you say, because it is a topic that should warrant such a thing. The fae need to be challenged, and Circle Daybreak must be that challenge. We must show them we are strong, or else they will continue to harass us and take territory from us."

[reticence]

He's better slow and not a threat than too inquisitive, too smart, and dangerous. Even if it does irk him a little, how condescending the other man seems to be. How carefully he must watch his words around him because of that.

"Have they not taken territory from another faction, then?" he asks, feigning ignorance. Although the point remains -- are the fae really so much of a threat to Daybreak, or is the faction just easily affronted? To take territory from other factions is normal, as far as Faolan sees it. Have not other factions taken from one another before? Is it just Daybreak raising a fuss about it all?

[hurtfew]

"It is the job of Circle Daybreak to keep the peace," Norrell insists, "and the fae are clearly disturbing the peace by infringing on our territories and taking land! How can we have a peaceful and respectable magic tradition if fae are parading about London, stealing territory and causing chaos? No, you miss the point entirely sir! This is a problem for everyone who lives here! Fae cannot be trusted, and they are not the sort of creatures anyone should welcome as neighbours!"

drinks

[protagonized]

Simon would have thought that a person as clearly self-involved as Norrell would be more at ease in such a situation, especially because he is the guest of honor at this rather elaborate little 'do, but he looks almost as ill at ease as Simon feels. Even though he's attended parties like this before, Simon feels deeply uncomfortable. He's used to navigating the world of artists and actors, not witches, hunters, and other things that go bump in the night.

It's all very appropriate for Halloween, though.

"Mr. Norrell," he says politely, extending a hand. "This is quite an event. Thank you for the invitation." He grins slightly. "I hadn't thought I rated one."

[hurtfew]

In truth, had Norrell sent the invitations himself he might not have. Yet Norrell's self-appointed events manager had issued invitations for the celebration to all of Daybreak and Redbright, to all of the hunters who had helped, and to all of the Night Council of course. So it is that he looks up in slight alarm at Simon for a moment before warily taking in his appearance. He at least is well dressed, which is a blessing. Some young people these days have no idea at all how to dress for a social occasion.

He looks at the offered hand with mild disgust, as if the offering it is particularly offensive, and then up at Simon warily again.

"You did help," he allows, "if not as well as some. You still kept your word, there is merit in that."

[protagonized]

...Well, that went over like a lead balloon.

For a moment Simon looks hurt--it's remarkable, really, how much he can look like a kicked puppy even when he's in human form--and then he puts his hand down at his side. So much for his attempt at reconciliation.

"Merit, right."

Simon takes a sip of his gin and tonic.

"Well, if you need someone who doesn't help as well as some in the future, I'm your man."

[hurtfew]

Norrell considers this a moment, as it is something that is not immediately answerable.

"There is potential," he decides finally, since apparently that was in question. "With some training. It would be of benefit to you to meet with some other shifters, I think. There is no magic I can teach you that would help, but the strength in being a shapeshifter is in mastering your form. If you are afraid of what magic may be cast on you then an amulet may help..."

At the last comment Norrell seems genuinely curious -- for despite his demeanour, Norrell does want to help people. He just has a rather regrettable way of going about it at times, and can be selective about who.

[protagonized]

In spite of himself (and his wounded pride), Simon is intrigued. He thinks back to the man he met a few weeks before--Sirius Black. He also shifted into dog form. Could he teach Simon more about it?

"What sort of amulet?" He sounds wary. He doesn't trust magic and he barely trusts Norrell, though he will admit a grudging respect for the old man. He's seen what Norrell can do in a pinch.

"If you know any shapeshifters willing to teach, I wouldn't mind a lesson. There aren't many in Redbright with that particular power, and I may have burned my bridges with Hillingdon. Other shifters aren't overly fond of me."

[hurtfew]

"A witch's amulet," Norrell says, although he sounds a little unhappy about the admission. "It will stop some... mind control, or mind reading, and does deter magical creatures. Fae, werewolves perhaps. Those who dislike the silver and iron that go into it."

He shifts uncomfortably, lips thinning as he thinks. Gilbert Norrell is a man who hordes books like a miser, keeps information to himself and treasures it. Sharing is not a thing that comes naturally to him.

'Hillingdon has the most shifters, but if... you are having difficulty... Redbright would be the next best bet. They have one on the Night Council."