The Actions of a Great Magician [ OPEN ! ]

[hurtfew]

A) An Audience with Norrell

Gilbert Norrell describes himself as having a scholar's love of silence. There are few things he dislikes so much as crowds, as people gossiping about nothing. Norrell's love is for his books, and for writing.

So it is that most days Norrell secludes himself in his offices, planning and reading and writing letters of discontent -- although it could be said that perhaps the letters of discontent take up most of his time, followed by the reading, followed last by the planning.

The rising of his rank is a thing that pleases Norrell, but he is wary of it all the same. There is another person he must work with, a woman, and he is at a loss for how to handle her. The women of Daybreak, on the whole, are stronger in temperament than he is used to. It gives him something of a headache.

Still, as both a High Priest of Daybreak and Coven Leader he has been forced to make an effort to be more accommodating. So it is that he ensures he has a few days set aside in each month to speak to anyone who wishes a moment of his time. It is begrudging, a thing that involves him pursing his lips a great deal and perhaps not being the most tactful of souls, but the grand building that is the Norrellite Coven -- all respectable yet elegant black and white frontage -- is allowing in people to speak with the High Priest himself for short appointments.

Of course, they are asked to identify themselves first, and Norrell does not meet them alone. He is more than aware that people may be jealous of his new position and wish his downfall! So it is that guards flank the room his heavy desk occupies, and Norell himself awaits those who wish to speak to him with palpable impatience.

B) A Visit to Westminster

Norrell's greatest wish, aside from of course to generally be recognised for the great man he is, is to be recognised by the Night Council. The Night Council, to him, is the best place a man can be to ensure the restoration of English magic to greatness! They have the power to make the laws, and so through them -- well! Through them so much could be done! The Fae driven back entirely, Midnight put a stop to, magic made respectable once more and London made a safe place!

So it is that regularly Norrell can be found in Westminster, trying to get an audience with the Night Council or a message to them. It is unfortunate that he has yet to be given a place on it, but Childermass has assured him these things never happen quickly. That soon they will see him for his greatness, it may just take time. Until then, he should of course associate with all the right people and make his voice heard.

This is made difficult when it is so obvious to him that Sylvia Redbright is entirely envious of his success and sees him as a threat. She, he is sure, is the reason why he cannot get an audience nor be heard!

He sits in the waiting area a while, lips pursed in discontent, before finally deciding he cannot wait any longer and rising to leave. Busy indeed! How could they be too busy to see him, High Priest of Daybreak? The man who made peace in Lambeth? It will not do! His time is precious, and cannot be wasted waiting at the Night Council's convenience! So flustered is he that he nearly barges into a person on his way out. Immediately his demeanour changes from one of silent fury to unease and nerves.

"Oh!" he manages in surprise, and lifts his hands up a little as if in defence.

C) Book Store

Most of the time Gilbert Norrell will either request delivery of a book or send a person to pick it up for him.

This time, however, his impatience has gotten the better of him. Childermass is busy, Lucas has time off and he simply cannot wait. Someone might attempt to steal the book away, they might sell it to another if he waits too long to pick it up, all sorts of problems might arise!

That, and it's the only copy he's found so far. Norrell is eager to see what condition it is in and begin reading it and making a copy.

He paces impatiently in the book store, waiting for his order to be fetched. The books around him are, largely, regarded with disdain for they are fiction. Norrell has little interest in fiction, almost as little interest as he has in continuing to be in this book store! He has so much work to be getting done, and yet they insist on keeping him waiting!

Any other patrons he spots are regarded with looks of disinterest, dislike or irritation simply because they are there. He only hopes they do not try and strike up idle conversation with him.

Comments

forward dated to around the Lewisham plot

[growsowngoats]

Siobhan has never been one to respect authority, or rather she doesn't see why she should treat people who have it any different than she treats anyone else. Since her general stance on how to treat people is to be really nice to them this hasn't gotten her in too much trouble so far, but when it comes to people who would prefer it if you were just really impressed by them instead that doesn't tend to go over super well.

Norrel... well, she really isn't all that impressed with him, and he also doesn't always make it easy to be nice to him.

Actually, he makes that hard most of the time so she tends to just stay out of his way since she isn't too terribly invested in being around him. Sometimes you just have to pick your battles.

Still, word is that he wants Daybreak witches to help vampires take over fae territory and that... well, that really doesn't seem like spreading light and goodness and balance and isn't that what being a witch is all about? Because that's what she thought it was all about.

So, it would seem that she has to make her way to the Norrelite Coven and have a bit of a talk with her new High Priest.

This is one of the very rare occasions where she does not enter somewhere with a big smile on her face, though in all honesty a frowning Siobhan is hardly an intimidating sight. She is tiny and looks like her gigantic bright yellow sweater is about to swallow her, and her hair has decided that today is a frizzy day so her head is surrounded by a ginger halo of huffiness.

"Is it true that you're going to help the vampires drive fae out of Lewisham?"

[hurtfew]

Norrell sighs in resignation as the woman enters his room and begins with such a question. When he looks up over the rim of his small glasses the sight of her does little to help. Honestly! She had not even dressed herself appropriately to meet with him! He frowns and removes his glasses, pinches at the bridge of his nose before setting them aside and lacing his hands together -- elbows resting on the desk.

"I have an agreement," he confirms, "to help them with this. The fae took control of this territory when it was lawless, and their influence will do nothing to make it peaceful. I am not pleased to see it in the hands of the Islington Nest but with fae as the alternative I would welcome it."

[growsowngoats]

In her defence she doesn't actually own much by way of clothing that Norrell would find appropriate.

Then again if she did she... probably wouldn't have worn it to this audition, let's be honest here.

"It's that simple to you? You just make an agreement to help rob people of their homes because you just don't like them? Have you ever been there? Have you spoken to any of the people you're gonna help make homeless?"

[hurtfew]

Confusion paints itself over his expression at her questions -- for yes, it is that simple to Gilbert Norrell. He has no interest in going to Lewisham of all places, and certainly no interest in speaking to fae.

"It is only the fae who will be moved on," he says, with a note of hesitance now. Perhaps she did not realise that. "Any others -- witches or otherwise -- who will accept living in Daybreak territory are welcome to stay."

[growsowngoats]

"But people will get hurt!"

And yes, she means fae too, Norrell. They are people too.

Is this really the sort of direction he wants Circle Daybreak to take? Making shady deals to support violence and bullying?

[hurtfew]

He blinks at her, momentarily thrown once more by the protest. She is young, he supposes, such things are to be expected, yet still...

"Only if they choose to fight," he corrects. "If they simply left there would not be a problem. The fae have an entire realm of their own, greater than the size of London. They do not need to own territory here. They take it from us to spite us! London is not the realm of fae, it is the realm of humanity."

Westminster

[acrookedchild]

Norrell isn't the only one with hopes of eventually being recognised by the Night Council. Of course, for Abigail Widdowson, it's far more difficult. She is patient, though, and there are plenty of small opportunities, which she is keen on exploiting. The representatives won't speak with her, not really, but their assistants and other minor officials were willing to accept a free lunch with no strings attached. Not that there was ever such a thing. But the strings weren't obvious. Just gestures of good will.

When someone nearly runs into her after she sees a young aide out of a cab and into the building, she does her best to just smile, ready to wave it off. Then, she sees him.

"Ah." The apology she'd offer for politeness's sake dies on her lips. Instead, she just says, "Sir."

[hurtfew]

Abigail Widdowson. Of all the people Norrell could have run into, it had to be her!

He draws himself up to the full extent of his 5ft 8 height (not the greatest height for a gentleman, alas) and inflates himself like an animal attempting to appear intimidating.

"Miss Widdowson," he says, channelling as much distaste and irritation into her name as he can. Norrell twitches uncomfortably, not wanting to speak to her but not wanting her to be there either. There, and near the Night Council! What if she plots against him with them? What if she is here to undo things? "You are here on business?" he prompts, although it is a foolish question perhaps. Who would visit the Night Council simply for pleasure?

(Other than, perhaps, Norrell -- who takes pleasure in his business.)

[acrookedchild]

"Miss Richards and I had a lunch engagement," she replies evenly. Her voice is cool, careful. After all, this man is not easily forgotten, especially if what she's heard is correct. The high priest of Daybreak and the high priestess of Midnight.

To say she could almost feel the opposing magic crackling between them... was sadly not a great exaggeration.

That he would see what she was doing for what it is doesn't concern her. If anything, she wants him to know. She wants Sylvia to know. When she only had the Shadow Coven, it was pressing enough that Midnight be able to represent themselves in the Council -- how could a Daybreak witch be expected to act in their interests? -- but, now, with all of Midnight looking to her, it is necessary.

[hurtfew]

Miss Richards. Norrell's expression curls in disgust, and he looks at her as if she has said the most offensive thing imaginable.

"What you are trying to do will never be allowed. Circle Midnight should not even exist, let alone be allowed a voice among the Night Council. Your kind will be the downfall of us all!"

[acrookedchild]

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," Abigail murmurs with a smile. It's not a gentle smile or a playful one. There is nothing girlish about it. Instead, it's the smile of a Widdowson, something old and cold. Something dark.

"I merely had lunch with another young woman, one who happens to work for the Night Council."

[hurtfew]

Doesn't know what he's talking about indeed. His nose wrinkles in disgust as if he has caught the scent of something foul, as if he is about to snarl like an angry animal, and he stiffens a little -- back straight as if somehow he is forcing himself to be above this situation.

"You will not win," he assures her. "I will not allow it."

[acrookedchild]

Abigail tilts her head, her lips still curled up a bit. Her pale blue eyes spark, and her shoulders raise and fall, wiping the expression from her face. Mostly. A glint of it might still be seen in those eyes.

"Missus Redbright hasn't managed that yet. I look forward to seeing you try."

C)

[smugfox]

There were very few reasons for Reynard to walk into a book store. Of course he could read, but he only rarely saw any need to. However, he had needed to duck into a shop to avoid someone who might be looking for a thing or two of theirs that could have wounded up in Reynard's possession, so this store worked as well as any.

He hadn't expected the powerful presence of magic and of course he immediately followed the pull. There was something alluring about any kind of power, be it magical, physical or influential. It just filled Reynard with this urge to poke. That was nothing new, but that didn't mean it couldn't still pass the time very amiable.

He watched the man fidget for a while. Clearly he was impatient, waiting for something. So he finally moved up to stay next to him, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and moving just close enough to count as too close, without actually brushing against him. "Waiting for Fifty Shades of Grey?"

[hurtfew]

Norrell senses the magic on Reynard as he approaches and looks sideways at him sharply, eyes widening. It isn't strong magic, but it's definitely there. He leans away a little, about to protest how close he is when the question makes him pause.

"... What?" he prompts, at a loss. "Why would I be waiting for such a thing? I have never heard of it!"

[smugfox]

Some people didn't recognize an opportunity until they thought about a situation afterwards, only then realizing how much fun they could have had. Reynard had never had that problem, he jumped on the opportunity right away. His expression shifted to be a lot more serious, although it was a gradual enough change to not seem suspicious.

"You haven't? I thought it was very well known, not that most people recognize the true potential."

[hurtfew]

Potential? Norrell laces his hands together and lofts an eyebrow at Reynard, curious and irritated both by his manner.

"I have not heard of it. Who is the author? What is their topic?"

He hopes it is not a fiction book, or one that extols the virtues of fae magic! Little could be worse to him, he has no patience for such things.

[smugfox]

"A good question. I think it depends entirely on your perception of the matter. For the masses it is just a book. Fairly frivolous at that." Reynard offered a shrug and turned his hands, palms facing upward. A universal gesture of showing innocence. "But for anyone able to read between the lines, well. There's a reason I thought you might be waiting for it, good sir."

[hurtfew]

His lips thin further in irritation, brow furrowing. Reynard's answer is still not, in fact, an answer. It as if he simply circles the answer in a vague manner, and that irritates Norrell who is a man of plain facts. He dislikes vagueness and mysticism.

"But who is the author," he prompts, "and what manner of book is it! You have told me nothing at all about it!"

A

[knowstheworld]

Perhaps the only man to be guaranteed an unterrupted audience with Gilbert Norrell is Childermass. For Childermass has been the other man's shadow since long before he had guards to speak of, and no doubt he will be there long after their need has passed. He has been busy himself, of late, working on getting ears and eyes where previously he had none. Out in the streets of the city beyond. The areas in particular that Mr Norrell might not have approved of setting foot. And while nothing has yet come to fruition, it will in time. Childermass knows what he is doing. Childermass is not a man to fail a job.

He does not need to announce himself to enter the room. He does not need to follow the usual protocol of being escorted in by the guards. Childermass more often than not escorts Norrell himself into the chamber. The guards understand that once Childermass returns from an errand, they are to be awarded privacy for their conversation. And so they are.

Childermass crosses the room and sinks into a chair positioned across the desk, resisting the urge to sit back and put his feet up although it would be nice to relax for a moment. Norrell, no doubt, would not be as pleased by it. Settling for turning the chair sideways so that he may lean sideways against the front of the desk instead.

"Have you finished your letters?" he asks. The latest flurry of them, at least.

[hurtfew]

Norrell glances up at Childermass with detached interest, momentarily annoyed by the impertinence of the way he is slouching and, in truth, his general impropriety but letting it slide.

With Childermass it is a pointless battle, after all, and some things he has grown used to enough to simply ignore.

His eyes drop down to his writing once more and he continues in silence -- an obvious sign he is building to something. Trying to arrange his irritation into the correct formation to express himself. Norrell does not have a way with words, and such things take him longer than some others. Especially so when he is multi-tasking, as it were.

"You are asking me," he begins, "if I have finished my letters. My letters! And what concern have you of my letters?" he sets his pen down finally and stares down Childermass, as if the question may be legitimate -- when of course, it is not. He is allowed only long enough to contemplate this (and the inherent accusation in it, that he clearly has none) when Norrell is wagging his pen at him. "What concern have you of my letters, when you neglect your own job so carelessly! When the fae are threatening me, causing trouble in my own territory! When I am accosted in book stores! It is vengeance, I tell you! Vengeance! And where were you? It was your advice that had me working with a blood sucker and now I am sure to pay for it! I have little guarantee he will even help us come Croydon, or what worth that help will be!"

[knowstheworld]

Childermass sits strong through the other man's tirade, letting it run its course, knowing better than to interrupt him once he's worked himself into a rant like this. He merely raises his eyebrow, stays where he is, leaning against the other man's desk, and attempts to pay attention to Norrell's train of thought.

"Mr Norrell, calm yourself," he says. Too many different facts have been thrown at him at once and he needs a moment to parse the nonsense from the ideas that might warrant actual thought. He's not going to bother answering why he should concern himself with his letters -- why, when he will be the one delivering them in the end, after all, when Norrell does not trust the post with such things. The other part, however. "Who has accosted you? When?"

[hurtfew]

He scowls at the question, settles back into his chair more comfortably and looks away from Childermass -- hands clasped together.

"I do not know his name. When I went to retrieve my book from Chaucer's he approached me to ask if I was there for something else. I could sense magic on him, Childermass, I am quite sure he was there to spy on me -- or worse! It is a blessing I was not alone with him for longer before the shop keeper returned, when there are other witches out to ruin me! Out to destroy me! You have seen them yourself, coming in here and questioning me! Challenging me!"

[knowstheworld]

"Aye, sir, I do," Childermass agrees, because it is easier to agree with the man than argue against him, even if he has less of a reason to worry than he thinks he does. Still, he has risen in the ranks, and he does need to keep an eye out. He's hardly making an attempt to gain friends, as it is.

"He had magic, you say? Fae magic?" Vengeance, he had said. "What did he do?" Norrell seems fine now. Other than angry, of course, which is rather par for the course. "What did he say to you?" A more likely story, all things considered.

[hurtfew]

"Fae magic, I am sure of it, but it was not strong. He must have been sent by another. A strong fae. The minion of a lord or lady, maybe, out to bring me down to impress the king and queen. They know I am a threat. They have seen it. They are sizing me up, judging me."

The questions, it seems, are less important for now than Norrell's own theorising. After all, in truth what Reynard did was little -- but what it represents in Norrell's mind is proof of everything he fears. Reprisal for his actions.