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

[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."

[hurtfew]

Miss Redbright. The momentary curl of Norrell's lip is noticeable at her name, as if he has some amount of distaste for her too. Perhaps, in truth, it is more than Norrell has a certain amount of distaste for most people who are not himself.

"Sylvia Redbright has grown complacent. It will not not last, I promise you."

[acrookedchild]

"I will see my sisters acknowledged." Were there men in Midnight? Yes. However, witchcraft has long since been seen as a sisterhood. So, she calls it such. Perhaps especially to a man. To make it clear she sees him as an outsider. "And I will see them protected."

[hurtfew]

Acknowledged? Protected? He draws up a little further, as if he can gain confidence from physically appearing as such.

"Your sisters would do well to cast away the ideas you put into your head. Fae magic is dangerous and unreliable. Dark magic the same! Insisting on the use of such things will bring only destruction and ruin, and sully the reputation of witches and English magic! If they wish to be recognised, respected or protected they should leave your circle and join Daybreak or give up the title of witch for good."

[acrookedchild]

"That I put into their heads? Do you suppose I created Circle Midnight? I'm flattered that you think so highly of me."

She can, at least, pretend to twist his words to suit her purpose. She's lived with a fae for long enough to have learned.

"I am a very new addition to Midnight, actually. Six months ago, I quite wanted to join Daybreak."

[hurtfew]

"You are its High Priestess, are you not? Then they will follow your lead, Miss Widdowson, however poor an idea that is and however new you are."

He narrows his eyes at her, as if suspicious of her and her very words. Six months ago indeed. He cannot imagine a woman like this ever being a part of Circle Daybreak! She, to him, appears to be as disreputable as they come.

[acrookedchild]

"I am High Priestess because they chose me. They approve of what I have done so far, even if the results have been less than ideal."

Barnet. That blood was on her hands, and it would never come off.

Enfield had been relatively easy. There was no dominate group there. But the people of Barnet hadn't rallied against Redbright like she'd hoped, and a lot of good people were dead on both sides.

She would have to live with that for the rest of her life.

"I do only what I feel I must. For them."

[hurtfew]

Less than an ideal. Such atrocious understatement Norrell has never heard. He twitches, clearly torn between leaving in disgust and standing his ground, before finally deciding he will not be seen to do anything that might be backing down.

"No Widdowson has ever known what is good for anyone, not even themselves."

[acrookedchild]

"I imagine you've met quite a few generations of my family, sir."

She says it in a manner that sounds completely sincere. She isn't being sarcastic, isn't rolling her eyes. No. Instead, she's settled with just making the insinuation that he's very, very old.

Petty? Yes. But enjoyable.

[hurtfew]

Gilbert Norrell has heard of jokes, perhaps, but never had the pleasure of meeting one himself. So it is that he misses Abigail's insinuation entirely, and being a literal sort of man supposes she means exactly what she says.

"Oh!" he cries, "their reputation proceeds them. I would not associate with a Widdowson if I could help it, madam. I have not met them nor do I intend to! I I do not associate with those who champion fae magic!"