[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!

[knowstheworld]

Prep:
Childermass is not one to be idle. And thus, as soon as Norrell and Daybreak have secured their victory in the latest battle for territory, he knows that the other man must not waste this opportunity. And waste it Norrell very well might have done, considering his tendency towards keeping himself to himself. What he could truly do with would be a party. A victory gathering. But Norrell himself would never throw such an event, being generally opposed to such things. And thus does Childermass persuade another to do it for him, with just the right words in the man's ear -- how very well they have done, do not you think? Would not it be nice to celebrate with a dinner, all of them together? Oh yes, he's certain that Mr Norrell will make an appearance himself, if they are to give him a place of honor at such an event. In fact, he'll make sure of it. Of course he will help with the setup himself, he would not want to leave the man to do it all alone.

And so it comes to pass that the whole dinner gets put in place, and not a soul in the room knows that the man to thank for it is the one hanging back to the shadows, dressed up in a dark suit and tie, casually overseeing that the drinks are out in time and that the dinner is chosen to everyone's liking (read: Norrell's). Keeping an eye on the attendees and which ones it would be best to keep clear of Norrell, if possible. All in all, it's a rather busy evening, but Childermass is nothing if up for a challenge.

He does his best to be polite to the guests themselves. If he's approached personally, he will peer down his nose and give an assessing look, before drawling casually, in his rough, Yorkshire sort of way, "May I help you, sir/ma'am?" (He really is doing his best...)

Dinner:
Childermass does not get a place at the table. For better or for worse, he is the 'help', and that is always how Norrell will see him. So when the meal is begun and the guests are called to take their seats at the table, Childermass makes his way into the kitchen with the rest of the 'help'. The caterers and the likes. The men and women hired on that day for that particular job. And he takes his own meal around that little island in the kitchen with the rest of them, keeping an ear on the door should he be called for, or should tempers begin to raise and it become necessary for him to step through and bodyguard, as it is yet another hat he wears for Mr Norrell.

Here, amongst people more obviously of his own rank, he feels a great deal more at home. And so, if one were to poke their head in the kitchen at such a time, in search of anything, you might even catch a smile out of him. Maybe even a laugh. Maybe.

After:
Dinner cleared, coffees served and taken away, Childermass is doing his best to help clear the guests out of the house. And help clear Norrell home to his own, for that matter. The other man seems pretty content to be left alone to his conversation, and Childermass does his best to stay out of the way until the time that he is needed.

Other:
[ choose your own adventure! u3u ]

dinner.

[damnyank]

Meanwhile, Jackson has been doing his best to ignore the meal, 'cause technically he had stuck to the sidelines while everyone else was pulling their weight, being proper members of Daybreak, so on and so forth. He's like the guy who walks into a party, only to partake in free food and drinks.

That's why he's wandered into the kitchen, hoping to find some good 'ol beer, or maybe to nibble on desserts while the others are dining on their meats.

Upon walking in, Jackson immediately feels more at ease. It's far nicer than the cloistering, oppressive feeling of being among proper witches. It calls home too many bad memories. But that's beside the point--

The point is that he encounters Childermass on his survey of the kitchen. Jackson tosses him an easy smile, before making his request.

"You got any beer here? Or is it all wine and apéritifs," he says, mocking a french accent on the ending word.

[knowstheworld]

Childermass glances up from where he has settled in among the serving staff as a figure steps through the door. He recognizes the men as one of the attendees and specifically, not the help. He stands, giving the man a once-over, assessing him, his smile and the accents he switches between, both the mock one and the one he has already. American. Norrell wouldn't really approve of that.

He likes him already.

"Might be able to scavenge something up," he says. As if he doesn't know exactly where there are some bottles of lager waiting chilled, in the fridge behind him. He turns, busying himself with preparing the other man's drink, fetching the bottle and an opener. "Glass?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder once again.

[damnyank]

Most people don't approve of him, and it's not because of the American thing. He's what people would deem, uncouth and crass, and if it wasn't 'cause he was so damn good at his job... well, he probably wouldn't be here.

"Not necessary. Just the bottle's fine." Jackson replies, as he walks over to where Childermass is preparing the drink. He places a hand on his wrist. "You don't gotta go to the trouble of preparin' it for me."

He chuckles, then offers a wink. "I mean, I may be Daybreak, but I'm hardly what you'd call a gentleman."

[knowstheworld]

Childermass raises an eyebrow at the other man wryly, but steps back, leaving the bottle and the opener to the other man in turn. "As you like," he says. "Call it habit, if you will. This may not be my house, but I'll still be playing host regardless." Then again, he doesn't live in his own house either, but that of Mr Norrell's, and yet he finds himself playing host time enough there as well.

"You need not be a gentleman to be a member of Daybreak," he drawls in response to the other man's words. "I'm Daybreak myself, after all, and I'm the sorry sod serving the drinks." He steps back, reclaiming his own drink and raising it in something of a toast towards the other man in turn.

[damnyank]

To the bottle Jackson goes, a smile spread on his face as he strides over to claim the bottle.

"This ain't the 18th century, brother. You don't gotta stay that sorry sod," he says, raising his bottle and extending his second finger to point at Childermass. "It's your prerogative to improve your prospects, assuming you've got the guile or talent to pull it off."

He passes the bottle to Childermass.

"My gut tells me you do-- especially, if you're a witch."