[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!

[reticence]

Cocktail Hour:
Faolan isn't quite certain why he accepted the invitation to this party. No, that's a lie. He knows why. He knows that, with the invitation extended to the members of Hillingdon as well as the members of the Night Council, it's his duty as Sylvia Redbright's personal hound to spy in on the conversation and the dinner. No, that's not fair either. He signed himself up for this, knowing full well what he was getting himself into. Better him than someone who would use the position to his advantage, he had said, and he'd meant it. Ah, well. He'd agreed to be a spy, and so a spy he shall be.

And so Faolan attends the dinner party, dressed up for a change -- he wouldn't want to offend the host nor the honored guest, now would he? He wears the suit well but it feels stifling, and it's still nowhere near as formal an attire as some of the others have chosen. It suits him, though, and it suits the gathering, and so it will do.

He takes a drink when it's offered him, and even appears to be enjoying the mingling. Making quiet conversation with those around him while assessing the key players in the room. To the casual eye, he seems like any other guest. To anyone who knows Faolan, he will not seem himself at all, as he turns to any person who may approach him in the room with a smile.

Meal:
As the night progresses into the food and the conversation opens up into more blatantly political discussion, Faolan keeps an ear open to who's expressing what opinions where. And who, for that matter, is keeping their mouths shut, in what manner. Those who are uncomfortable with the topics, those who are upset with it, those impassioned who are looking to stir up trouble in Norrell's favor, and those who might actually take a move against him.

The food is good. Fancy. Despite Faolan's somewhat scruffy and casual appearance, he knows what cutlery goes with what course, and his table manners would rival those of even Gilbert Norrell himself. He's passed on his first drink, returned to the kitchens untouched, and moved on to another glass of wine, which he nurses throughout dinner but does not take more than a few sips of here and there. He has to keep a keen mind about him, on the job like this. And of course, the same mask stays on.

"And what contribution did you make to this latest victory, then?" he asks, smiling at his dinner neighbor over the rim of his wine glass as he tastes the drink yet again before setting it down before him.

After:
It's only towards the end of the night that Faolan finally lets his guard slip a little. It's been a while since he's had to play polite and fancy for so long, and he finds himself so irritated with the general atmosphere of the place (as well as the persona he's adopted with them) that he has to excuse himself lest he blow his cover. Standing out in the front of the house, breathing in the cool night air, he feels a little better now he's gone. He'll have to make his report to Sylvia in the next few days, however, and just thinking of it sours his mood. He takes in a deep breath, letting it out in a heavy sigh, before reaching up and angrily tugging the knot out of his necktie, dragging it off and balling it up in his fist.

Other:
[ choose your own adventure! c: ]

After

[falsify]

Well this guy seems tense as heck.

Kathryn looks to her side at him and tilts her head, debating whether or not to talk to him. We all know the post-party tie rage and it's always tough to know which way a stranger's gonna go on someone talking to them.

But why not, eh. She smiles at him, "had enough?"

[reticence]

Tense as heck is certainly one way of putting it. Faolan jumps slightly as her voice sounds, not realizing he'd had company out here, else he'd probably have saved the dramatic tie gesture for a more obviously solitary moment. Ah well, too late for that either way.

"Something like that," he manages, his voice low and slightly rumbling. He's had enough of playing the nice guest tonight.

[falsify]

She laughs softly, recognising the manner of a man who isn't exactly the dinner party type. Turning fully to face Faolan, she tilts her head with a quiet smile and hushes her voice as if about to impart some great secret. "Rather obnoxious, aren't they?"

[reticence]

Faolan gives her a look, a good look, rather than the sideways glance he'd thrown her before, and recognizes her for the woman he'd seen flirting with Lancelot earlier. Or was it the other way around? Could the night possibly get any better than this, he wonders to himself, dryly.

"It's not exactly my kind of party, no," he explains, his voice still gruff. Sure, he might be dressed up, and he might even know how to wear a suit and act the part in there. But there's something about his manner now that he's here, outside, with no one to impress that clearly suggests he'd be much more at home in a pair of jeans, a leather jacket, and a sturdy pair of boots, not this fancy getup. (In other words, what he wears pretty much every other day of the week.)

[falsify]

Her expression is curious in return, though she maintains her friendly demeanour. There's no magic in him, a normal human as far as she can tell, so that does beg the question of what he's done to be invited. One of the hunters Norrell hired, maybe? But very few of that sort seem to have been invited.

Kathryn takes a step closer, nothing flirtatious in her manner, just someone who'd like to know this stranger a little better. "And what is your kind of party, Mr...?"

[reticence]

Faolan knows that he needs to curb his mood. Get a grip. Wait until he's really alone before he finally lets out the steam that's boiling up inside of him and has been all night. And so he does what he can to swallow it down and be as pleasant as he might. Which is to say, slightly less gruff than before.

"O'Neill," he supplies her, before continuing on to instead correct with his given name. "Faolan." One of the most Irish names she'll have probably heard all night, to go with the Irish accent of the man relating it to her. "And my kind of party?" He shrugs slightly. "Not sure that I have one, I guess. Never really been the type. Certainly not the type for fancy dress like this. Parading around, pretending to care about politics and the like. Pretending to be just as self-important as them." Having to avoid the few friends he knows there and watch them enjoy themselves with beautiful women such as this one herself? "Let's just say that I didn't have much of a choice in the matter."

[falsify]

She nods as he speaks, actually listening like so few do at these kinds of things. It's not such a surprise that someone as seemingly dour as Faolan seems to be isn't much of a party guy, nor is his distaste for the pomp and façade involved in this particular kind of gathering, but his admission that he had to come is a bit of one. Kathryn smiles, a little like she's expecting an answer she can give him some gentle ribbing over when she asks, "no choice? Why's that?"

[reticence]

Ah. Faolan recognizes a bit too late that he might have gone too far in saying as much. He shrugs slightly, and then decides that, well. The best lie is one close to the truth. He's not about to say anything about the fact that he was there keeping an eye on the activities as Night Council Guardian. But he can certainly speak up about Hillingdon.

"Norrell invited the hunters," he says. "The ones he had fight for him. Not many of us are all that keen on participating in this sort of thing. They sent me to play nice for them." He shrugs again, as if to say, 'Don't ask me to explain why they chose me, I don't know either.'

[falsify]

"Well that's boring." Her tone is well-meaning and a little joking, though the idea that this guy is better at playing nice than the other folks at Hillingdon is kind of hilarious. "And here I was hoping for something a little scandalous," she says with a small laugh in her voice, like the idea is ridiculous.

[reticence]

Faolan shrugs slightly. "I'm sorry if I'm disappointing you," he says, dryly. "It's politics. If you wait long enough, I'm sure you'll find your scandal eventually. Hang around Norrell long enough and one will come creeping along no doubt." Ah, and he's letting his personal thoughts and opinions color his comments to a stranger while he's supposed to be laying low. He really ought to just be leaving. Something about the fact that this is the first honest conversation he's had all night keeps him right where he is, though.