undergrounds | Once more unto the breach, dear friend, once more (Lewisham territory claim)

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Once more unto the breach, dear friend, once more (Lewisham territory claim)

Or close the wall up with our English dead
November 20th, afternoon

Lewisham was a beautiful district. On a day like this, it was almost impossible to tell that the fae controlled most of the area. Still, one who could feel and smell magic could sense it. It wasn't something that could be allowed to stand. The fae had their own realm to call theirs; they had no need of territory in this land.

Besides, it would help him establish his homecoming.

He not only needed to make himself known among the Islington Nest, but it would do well to be noticed in the rest of the supernatural community. Besides, there were plenty of others who disliked the fae presence. It made it an easy rallying point.

He had reached out to the witches -- particularly Daybreak -- and the werewolves. The latter had a few of wary onlookers, but he couldn't afford to have them as active enemies right now.

For the day, he was seeing the sights and looking at things from a strategic point of view. There were good places to make a bottleneck, to force the fae out into the open. Or into retreat. The difficult thing would be keeping the fae from coming back through their doors to not present a second front. As he looks around, he also keeps an eye out for any of his allies... or enemies.

In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
November 23rd, morning

No territory dispute could happen and be maintained without the proper political groundwork. So, that was what Lord Coward put the finishing polish to the day before he intended to move. The local members of each supernatural sect were warned to either join the fight or stay out of it. If they sided with the fae, he'd warned, they would be considered outside of the protection of their groups and, therefore, subject to the full extent of the battle.

He continued to make his rounds at the supernatural haunts of the borough, making himself known in each location. Where there was someone of particular note, he sought them out. Otherwise, he found a fairly public place and did his best to look as approachable as possible.

As modest stillness and humility,
November 23rd, evening

The night was coming, and Lord Coward let himself begin a hunt. It wasn't the night for the fight, but such an attack was never just one night. For days, little things had been done. Small scuffles that had ranging consequences. So, tonight he let his hunger come out.

It was a good way to clear the streets or bring out the enemies.

He'd found a fae sympathiser some days ago and been tracking them for awhile. They were a human, loosely connected with the protection of a minor fae. Nothing particularly important, no, but enough to have caught his ear.

As he finished his meal and licked the wound to close it, he raised his head, setting the body down carefully. To humans, it would be a mysterious death. To the supernatural community, it was a marking of territory. At a sound, he looked in that direction, fangs still out, though they were shrinking back to normal size.

But when the blast of war blows in our ears
November 24th, midday

Now, the fight had begun.

To human eyes, there was just a bit more random conflict in the streets. Nothing to be worried about, but strange things happened. It was the result of magic at play.

There was only so much to be done in human circles, of course. In the supernatural, there were far more obvious clashes. It was to be expected, though, and Lord Coward kept his back straight. After all, he intended to be known here. Especially if he wanted to eventually control all of Tower Hamlets.

He noticed it out of the corner of his eye. Someone looking at him. Curiosity, ill intent, or positive thought all seemed the same in a split second. So, he merely offered a thin smile.

"May I help you?"

Then imitate the action of the tiger
November 24th, night

In the dark of the night, Islington made their strike. They and their allies had one more day, Coward had made clear, to make this definitive. They needed to drive the fae out, period, and it needed to be done before they thought this was just a token show.

So, that night, Coward's fangs were out, and those who were not with him were considered against him. The blood would flow freely where it needed to. Or, at least, where he felt it needed to.

(And, of course, feel free to make your own top levels for others during the claim.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Finnick's not a particularly strong fae. In a physical sense, he may as well be human, which is why he's been playing evasive throughout the entire conflict. He steps in and out of the shadows, brandishing his trident and makeshift stakes whenever he can find them. He's not foolish; he can see that they're losing, but he's not the type to give up. Especially not in the face of these wretched creatures. His fellow fae are still fighting, so he'll fight too.

But he still needs to be smart. After every struggle he retreats, back into shadows, occasionally through doors that he closes right behind him so he can recuperate in his own realm. This time he presses his back up against a wall in a dark alley, breathing hard as he wipes blood away from a cut on his cheek. He's becoming magically exhausted as the night wears on, which means he has to take more time to recover every time he uses it, but he still uses just a little to hide himself. His magical aura becomes quieter and he fades into the shadow a little more, but doesn't disappear completely.

There isn't much magic left in Reynard, not since he'd been cast out. Even before then he'd not resorted to it all that often, preferring other methods in his arsenal. That had the upside that, cast out or not, he hadn't really lost any of the fight that was in him. He didn't see himself as a fighter, but that didn't mean he couldn't fight.

Reynard wasn't stronger than a human of his build would be, but his speed and reflexes were more animalistic in nature, which gave him a bit of an advantage. He had witnessed many battles and so he can already tell that this was a losing one, but at the very least he would do some damage, now that he had decided to join in. Maybe even do some good.

He ended up in the alley next to Finnick for a very simple reason. He'd felt his magic and how he was cloaking himself and while he couldn't copy the trick, he could certainly mooch of the benefit by staying close. Crouching on the ground he licked his arm where he'd been scratched bloody, a convenient wound to reach, the others are more difficult. Sure, licking might not be a very human gesture, but he wasn't exactly trying to blend in as anything at the moment. He glanced up at Finnick, an eyebrow raised.

"Busy night, eh?"

He may be low on magic, but Finnick can still tell what Reynard is, which is why he doesn't point his trident at his neck as soon as he joins him in the alley. He spares a glance at him, lingering a little when Reynard starts to lick his own wounds, but then he looks out at the street for trouble.

"Have you killed many of them?"

That's his primary concern right now. He'll deal with this strange fae when he knows they have a safe moment.

Where they comparing scores? Reynard halted with his hand halfway to his mouth and ended up brushing it through his hair instead, fingers curled in. Paw-like gestures came through sometimes. "Certainly. I'll add the notches to my bedpost later."

Obviously he didn't actually keep count, much less on his bedpost. For one thing, he didn't have a bed.

Finnick looks down at him, considering a snipe but holding it back. There's no use in starting an argument with someone who's on his side, but this is no time for jokes. He's too angry for jokes.

"It's no use anyway. There are too many of them. It'll be theirs by morning."

He takes a deep breath, resting his head against the wall. He'll need a couple more minutes before he's read to fight again, and he can feel himself fading. He'll have to retreat for good soon, unless he wants to be taken unaware by a vampire and drained of everything he has. It's almost happened on more than one occasion - he knows it wouldn't be a pleasant death.

"Certainly will be. It's just a show of not going down without a fight at this point. And the more victims, the easier to justify a bloody revenge." That much was for sure. Reynard was going to take off soon, he had no desire to be drained either. He also had no real desire to be recognized and remembered by any of the surviving vampires, not when he still wasn't quite sure of the political climate in the city.

All he knew was that he liked to have ties to the fae, however flimsy. Even this bit of bonding was more than might be possible under normal circumstances, so the risk was already worth it. Besides, it wasn't as if he was about to regret teaching some vampires how to properly be dead.

Reynard got up and pulled one of his knife back out of its sheath, weighing it in his hand. "Take it easy. This fight is nothing but a gesture at this point. You don't want end up a justification."

"I have enough left in me to kill a few more," he says, contemplative rather than defensive. He pitches the end of his trident in the concrete in front of him and considers the points, carefully wiping away some blood with his thumb.

"Besides, we may not get the chance at bloody revenge. There are witches out there, which means Daybreak is with them. The more we can thin out their numbers now, the better."

"Oh, it's just a matter of time. The fae are always very good at revenge. Mostly due to holding grudges tightly and taking it completely out of proportion." Something that he'd not really fault anyone for. That's what put the fun in vengeance after all.

"It won't really matter how many more you kill now." He watched Finick's face, curious to read it as much as he could. "Do you like revenge?"

Finnick narrows his eyes at the man on the ground in front of him. It's a suspicious question, but Finnick refuses to let it faze him, so he continues running his thumb along the flat planes of his trident.

"I don't like revenge if it's only for the sake of revenge," he says after a moment's pause. It's diplomatic, vague enough that it could be how he truly feels. "But I do like freedom, and that's what they're taking away from us."

"Freedom. That's a tricky word. It's one of those things that's so often held up as a noble ideal, but it all depends on how it's meant. Freedom to do what, I wonder?" Reynard looked around idly, making sure he'd have a way out if he needed. His eyes were back on Finnick before long. "There was a time this realm was nothing much to the fae. A place for games and a prison of sorts. But here they are taking the freedom to spread and now someone retaliates. Whose freedom is worth fighting for more, who has more right to do whatever they want?" He licked his arm again and finally got back up. "Historically speaking, it's usually the victor. Retroactively at least."

"It's not the freedom to spread," Finnick corrects him impatiently. He doesn't like to talk, doesn't like to overthink. He knows the difference between freedom and the lack thereof; he doesn't need to be told.

"It's the freedom to walk in this realm unafraid. It appears we can only do that if we take control of the land, now that the witches sit on their councils hating us and letting the vampires do whatever they please."

"Freedom for the fae. I understand." Not the type of man to have philosophical discussions with, but Reynard hardly minded. It opened up other possibilities for a later date. For now they had a battle to finish losing. "Don't let them drain you, my friend. It wouldn't do for your untimely death to strengthen the parasites." One of the many issues with vampires, wasn't it?

"We'll meet again under better circumstances, I should hope." He would have to get out of here and soon, given he didn't have the option to retreat to the Other Realm.

Finnick's not far enough away from any of this to have a philosophical discussion. He's seen more than one fae with bite marks scattered over their bodies tonight, and he remembers the feeling of teeth sinking into his skin. It makes him want to retreat, but he uses it to fuel his anger instead.

He frowns when Reynard starts to sound like he's going to leave and Finnick realizes he doesn't know anything about the man. "Wait - what's your name?"

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Behind one of those doors is Eames, evidently taking a similar approach to the whole affair. He seems entirely unsurprised when someone steps through and closes the door behind them, busy assessing the damage to his knuckles while he gears himself up to get back out there. His anger shows more clearly here in the Other Realm than it does back on the other side, the way everything in his immediate vicinity seems to look more intense, a little more vicious and threatening.

It's completely at odds with the nonchalance of his manner, the way he addresses Finnick without actually looking up from his hand. "Tiring work, no?"

"Leeches," Finnick says, like a curse. He leans is trident against a wall carefully and then lowers himself down to the ground to sit, wrapping his arms loosely around his knees. His aura seems dark, desaturated in comparison to Eames'. It's a bit gloomy.

"And they only seem to get stronger when they eat us."

Eames pulls a face, flexing his hands, "Lewisham will be theirs come morning." There's an edge to his voice, the same one that could be expected of any fae right now, and he inhales. A sharp pause as he checks his weapons, "I don't intend to make this easy for them however."

"I wish I could kill them all," Finnick says coldly, but he's obviously lost the sharpest points of his anger. He looks up at Eames and his expression is almost apologetic.

"But I don't intend to die trying."

Eames makes a sympathetic noise, very much in agreement with Finnick on this. He's met the odd vampire he'd consider alright, but for the most part they're vermin that need eradicating. He has no intention of dying here either, but they need to understand that even their victories will be hard-won.

"It's amazing," he says thoughtfully, "that Daybreak would rather side with things that will eat them than have us in the city."

"Witches are scum too," Finnick says, the edge returning to his voice.

He looks straight ahead, a piercing stare at the point where he came through the door. "Self-important mortals with more power than they know what to do with."

Eames laughs, but it's harsh. Cutting in a way that indicates he agrees, though perhaps not quite so hatefully as Finnick. "They are arrogant," he sighs, frowning at nothing in particular, "stupid too, evidently."

"Whatever they are, they're tipping the scales in favour of the leeches."

He gets up, and it's slow going because he's been fighting all night, but he makes it upright again and puts a hand on his trident. "If only they cared about keeping us around more than them."

"A shame, but it's to be expected." He raises an eyebrow as he watches the way Finnick stands, the man looks like he may collapse the next time a stiff wind blows, but he's hardly about to tell him to rest. More useful raising hell against the vampires than anything else right now. "They benefit from their proximity to us but it's... An uncomfortable truth. If they can seal us away, then they never have to confront it."

Finnick's eyebrows knit together thoughtfully as he looks at Eames. His itch to bury his trident into the hearts of their attackers is returning, slowly, but he needs another moment or two in the Other Realm before he ventures out.

Besides, this is an important conversation. Every fae needs to hear it, needs to understand. "They've created this," he says, and he's so earnest about it that it almost lacks conviction. "They've made it so that the only way we can walk freely in this land is to rule it. We wouldn't have to take or defend these boroughs or any part of this realm if it didn't mean we'd be cut off or threatened out of this city that we watched grow, that we had a hand in creating."

Perhaps Finnick hadn't personally been there throughout the process, but it's undeniable that magic, and fae magic especially, had its part in London's history. That's what he learned. Maybe it's Seelie egotism, but Finnick knows they were there.

That's a statement that catches him so off-guard that Eames almost laughs. He knows nothing about this guy except he's Seelie, fights with a trident, and might be the first person Eames has ever met who hates vampires more than he does, but that's a bold statement from anyone. Let alone this stranger.

"We don't need to rule them. And we couldn't, for that matter. The courts are far too old-fashioned." He feels like he's had to teach someone how to use a mobile phone every week since 2002, there's no way they could have enough fae with enough maintained familiarity with mortal world to keep a hold on it. It's hard enough to get the courts to pay attention to this as it is, as if somehow it wouldn't spread if they did manage to successfully lock London away from Faery.

Eames shakes his head, frowning, "what we need to do is remind them what exactly the folk tales were warning them about. We may historically be dangerous bedfellows, but we're far more dangerous as enemies."

Finnick turns his frown on the ground, idly digging in with the end of his trident. He's caught - in some ways he feels as if he's always on the defensive, always avoiding the next snare, but he knows that has to change and he can't act like someone who's been hurt or else he'll be taken advantage of.

Without looking up, he asks, "do you think fear works? Do you think we can make them scared of us like that?"

November 24th - OTA

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