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.)

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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?"

It's probably nothing, right? An Islington Earl arriving in London, wandering around Fae territory. Just a coincidence.

A dead body though. Killed by a vampire, no less. That's no coincidence. That's a statement of intent. One that has Eames making several phonecalls, telling people to be ready, offering payment to people who are less invested in the situation, but have no love to lose on vampires.

Once the tack starts, it doesn't take long to realise this is a losing battle, which is a bitter pill to swallow. Having territory taken from them by anyone is less than ideal, but by this vermin? He won't let them take it without a fight, determined to make sure they suffer some real losses before they take it.

Strategic use of glamours makes it easy enough to take out the less observant invaders, and for those who get too close there are stakes and wooden bullets. But soon enough Eames is really starting to feel the exhaustion, physically and magically, and he can see it in those around him too. Time to make a tactical retreat. He brings a couple of fae with him to open a door at the end of an alley, a glamour at the opening keeping it hidden from those less perceptive, and he sends messages to those who came to help. If you can't open doors on your own, here's an escape route out of the area.

Of course it was a losing battle. Reynard had known that from the start. One didn't get to be his age without recognizing such things. Not without a talent for self-preservation either. Yet he had been here, outcast as he was, fighting nonetheless. Why would be hard to say for anyone but himself, but he had his reasons. As usual, they were manifold.

It certainly didn't hurt his plans to be seen by a couple of people, at least on the fae side of things. What was even better of course was to be recognized. He had been keeping an eye out for familiar faces, so when the time that he'd decide to retreat drew close, he wasn't surprised to notice Eames. He had no intention of fleeing through the doors, in all likelihood that would be a situation of out of the frying pan into the flames for him, but he could step up to Eames with a relaxed smile, as if this wasn't the end of a battle and his clothes and weapons weren't bloody. At least most of it wasn't his own blood.

"What do you make of the weather these days?"

Eames is in a similar state of dishevelment, bloodied and beaten up. Thankfully most of the blood is, similarly, not his, but enough of it is to sour his mood even more. But that doesn't stop him feigning pleasure at seeing a familiar, if unexpected face and he gives Reynard an easy smile.

"About what's expected for this time of year," he says with a sigh, barely acknowledging the man in favour of keeping a watchful eye on the entrance to the alley. Though he does half wonder what he's up to; it'll take more than this if Reynard's looking to get back into the good graces of either court, but he can't help but suspect it's something else. "Shame it seems to have drawn the vermin out of hiding."

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?"

Reynard lifted his arm to lazily lick one of the wounds, not even thinking about it. He wasn't exactly trying to blend in as human right now, given they were on the outskirts of a battle between creatures that weren't human at all. He let out a soft chuckle at Eames's comment, not feeling very insulted. "That's what you say now. You'd be more grateful if I'd kept you from getting stabbed in the back during the fight. I haven't, but I would have if I had had the chance and I feel even hypothetical gratitude should reflect itself in better manners."

With a quick lick of his lips and a barely noticeable shrug he moved on from his mock offended argument. There were things of actual interest here. "I've not been in the city long. Care to tell me why the fae are fighting parasites in this realm?"

Eames laughs, raising an eyebrow at Reynard's assertion that he would've saved Eames' back given the chance. But of course he would, he knows the value of a fae's gratitude. The value, unfortunately, is not redeemable for better manners from Eames - hypothetical or not. And that's even less so at the topic of discussion so rudely introduced next, and Eames' expression falls back into a tense anger.

"It's a long story," and one he's not especially keen to recount, "but the short of it is that we claimed this borough some time ago. Evidently the vampires feel a change of ownership is needed."

"So you're not very fond of vampires." Not that this was much of a conclusion to draw given the current situation, but there seemed to be more to it. The way he'd tensed and from how he knew Eames, he was fairly sure there was more of a story. But there was more about this that intrigued him and since so far Eames was providing information without demanding a deal of any kind, Reynard saw no reason to stop his questioning. Although a quick cursory glance around also served to assure him that he didn't have to make a run for it quite yet.

"Since when do the fae take interest in claiming anything this large and populated in this realm? Also, London of all places? Prime real estate?"

"Since the witches started trying to bar us from the city." His voice is clipped and harsh, but it's easy enough information to get from anyone remotely in the know. Daybreak is a menace, one that's aligned itself with the vampires, something abundantly clear right now with witch blood on his shirt just as much as vampire.

What a messy situation.

"Interesting." What he thinks is more interesting is the way Eames presents the information. It was always nice to know exactly where a man stood. At least in others, Reynard didn't think as much of people having a true idea where he stood at any given time. "We do have to catch up properly, my friend." His smile is sincere enough, but the fact that he had blood on his face was just as fitting. "Where can I meet you or will I have to wait until the next time you're killing witches and vampires? It's fun, mind, I can see the appeal, but it does lack ambiance."

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."

For all his bluster, all his grudge against the fae, all his boasting Norrell is a particularly hard man to get moving directly. He prefers to spend an excess of time talking and planning, if he can, and he most certainly will avoid any sort of front line if possible.

His books might get harmed, might get dirty! He is not a fighter, no Norrell is a researcher! He is a gentleman witch, not some common street sorcerer!

So it is that in the end Norrell agrees to meet Coward at the Norrellite coven, out of hours with only Childermass there on guard. He is carefully organising his plans, shuffling papers and taking notes still when Coward arrives. Norrell is nothing if not thorough, partly through his own paranoia. He is easily capable of imagining the worst case scenario, and that allows him to plan for it.

"Is Islington ready?"

Norrell doesn't even look up at first, finishes his note before lifting his eyes to regard Coward coolly yet still with faint curiosity. He expects Coward to be prepared, in truth, the man had seemed competent.

"Oh, but I am rather dashing in these situations." He flashes Reynard a smile, as if trying to use the power of a winning smile to convince him they should meet up again during another bloodbath. But Eames is definitely curious about what's brought Reynard back, it'd be nice to 'catch up' in a less hostile environment. He reaches in his inside pocket and pulls out a business card to toss his way. (It literally only has a phone number on it.) "But if you'd rather just get a drink, I'm sure I'll have some time once this situation has passed."

"I won't deny it, but if you're going for a drink with me, I'm sure you'll find amble opportunity to be dashing some more, one way or the other." Reynard only glanced at the card for a moment after catching it, then tucked it away in an inside pocket of his jacket, where it stood slightly less of a chance to get bloody. "Not that I've ever found you to be anything but dashing, mind." Nothing like casual compliments on a battlefield.

Oh no, compliments. His one weakness. Eames raises an eyebrow, smirking a little as he glances at the man. "Why, Mr. Reynard. Are you trying to flatter me?" It's working, insofar as that Eames is always willing to receive a compliment here and there. "A more suspicious man might suspect that you wanted something."

"Of course I want something." Stated ever so matter of fact, but then as he kept talking his smile widened and there was that glint to his eyes. "I want a lot of things. What of it?" Reynard tilted his head to the side, taking it in stride that they were having this discussion at a times like this. Frankly, he had had even more casual conversations even while actually in the middle of a fight, so this was leisure compared to that. "Think about it, my friend, and tell me if there's anything less satisfying than being flattered by someone who doesn't want anything."

Fair point, and Eames tips his head in a half-shrug to indicate he agrees. There's no game in a freely given compliment, no fun. Which raises an important question. "So what is it the Fantastic Mr Fox wants from me at this juncture?" And he gestures broadly at the street around them, "I feel it's safe to assume you're after more than the pleasure of my company."

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

November 24th - OTA

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24th - OTA

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23rd (For Coward!)

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