Abigail Widdowson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
acrookedchild) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-12-08 06:14 pm
acrookedchild) wrote in undergrounds2015-12-08 06:14 pm
Entry tags:
On a Snowy Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
Enfield, early December
The weather has been more than decent, and Abigail is in no way anxious for snowfall. If London wants to stay above freezing all winter, that's perfectly fine with her.
With the Shadow Coven and its members exposed, the Seven Sisters has stopped pretending to be a psychic shop. Instead, it is openly a spot for Midnight witches to meet and gather. Which isn't to say the protections aren't still carved into the walls and floorboards. However, it isn't a secret any longer.
Which cuts down on one area of her work. She still has the coven, school, social events, and the Circle to balance. Which is why she's considering taking a term -- or year, even -- off. There isn't enough time in the day for everything she needs done.
In Enfield, she can usually be found in the front room of the Seven Sisters, ready to receive any who enter. Or, for those not to be turned away at the door, there is always Geap Manor.
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
Ealing, near Redbright Institute, early December
Sylvia Redbright began this war. The moment she had her people take Barnet, the moment the first person died... That was when this had begun, and Abigail had promised herself she'd see it ended. Perhaps it's out of sheer defiance that she's only two blocks away from Redbright Institute. Where she'd wanted to study six months ago.
She'd just finished a completely innocent chat with two young Redbright witches. They knew all too well who she was. Few in either Circle didn't, at this point. Maybe it was because there was a thrill of the forbidden to it. Or maybe it was because she might have future members of her coven. Whatever the reason, they'd spoken for a few moments and parted, it seemed, on amiable terms.
Which was when she heard her order called. Or, at least, what sounded like her order. She reached for the cup, only to see someone else reaching for it, too.
"I think this one's mine."
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Croydon, mid December
Eames had claimed he would give the territory of Croydon to Midnight. Well. A lot of good that did them. The fae had not quit the territory, and Daybreak had responded with force.
Why hadn't that been dealt with first? How had they found out?
It should have been quiet. A simple political negotiation between the fae and her Circle. Someone among the fae or on her side had told someone in Daybreak. The likelihood of it being a witch was higher than she liked to think. So, Abigail took to the streets.
On the one hand, it was to show Daybreak (and Sylvia) that she had done no harm. To her knowledge, she could say with certainty, her Circle had hurt no one. Were there likely Midnight witches who had? Yes. But she knew of none of them specifically. Which was good enough for her to feel like she hadn't broken her truce with Sylvia.
Besides, Daybreak had come into the territory. Had interferred.
"Thank you very much, Mister Gilroy," she said, shaking hands with the man and offering him a smile. "If you hear from John, do let me know."
Simple rounds through the borough, looking for anyone who hasn't checked in or who seems to be acting suspicious, especially around her.
Standing on the corner of a street, Abigail glanced around, eyes sharp for anyone else who, like her, looked like they didn't quite belong.
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
Waltham Forest, mid December
Her hopes with Croydon have been dashed, and the nominal truce with Sylvia means that she is almost completely boxed in by hostile forces. Which is why she's in werewolf territory, paying her respects to the local communities. If there's one thing that will utterly doom her... it's the werewolves deciding to be either hostile toward her or completely neutral.
She has all of the out Circle Midnight witches behind her. She is the head of them. Not so different from an alpha, she thinks, reminded of her converation with the one who had abandoned his pack. It feels like a lifetime ago, but she knows, realistically, it's only been a few months.
She's caught up in her own thoughts -- no doubt too much. It's almost entirely her fault when she clips shoulders with someone. Her hot coffee? Splashes against them.
"Oh, shit! I'm sorry! Here, let me--" What? She has nothing to wipe it off with. "I'm so sorry."
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
Barnet, mid December
Abigail still feels like she can see the blood on the pavement of Barnet. When she walks the streets, she can tell the members of the supernatural community by the way they look at her. Their alignment, too, is always obvious. If they try not to get caught staring or openly smile, then they have sympathy for Midnight. If they glare at her (which is most common), they are Redbright's.
There's a lot she wishes she could change. Letting the first violence begin in Barnet is hihg on that list. If she'd have known to act then, so many more people might still be alive.
She visits the shrines set up. Wards have been set up to keep people not of the supernatural community away and to prevent vandalism. At the Daybreak shrine, she leaves blue hyacinths and white carnations. For the Midnight shrine, she leaves lilies and orchids.
At the sound of someone behind her, she shoots a glare, trained to be on edge in a place like this.
"What do you want?"
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
Tower Hamlets, December 19th; first responder only
The streets aren't safe at night. Everyone knows that. Abigail knows that. But when a bus doesn't seem to be coming to its stop, and she has little other choice... Of course she starts to walk home. Or, at least, to another spot to get back on the line she wants to be on.
Of course, that leaves her out at night. Alone. In the heart of vampire territory.
Which hasn't escaped the notice of one such creature who is following her and beginning to advance from behind.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Westminster, late December
From her youth, Abigail had been raised to be in society and in politics. With the changing atmosphere of London, she felt there was no other option but to push herself even further into that world. Which was why she made herself a more regular presence where the Night Council could see her.
She approached none of them. Their aides, however, could often be seen receiving invitations for lunches or coffee. Their conversations were always brief and light, never about politics. But Abigail made sure to be seen doing it, to be known to be interacting. After all, she had her eye on lofty goals now.
Goals that she saw as the only way to keep herself and her Circle safe.
"Good morning," she said to someone who made eye contact, voice as sweet as if she had every reason to be leaving the front desk of the Night Council administration.
His house is in the village, though;
Enfield, early December
The weather has been more than decent, and Abigail is in no way anxious for snowfall. If London wants to stay above freezing all winter, that's perfectly fine with her.
With the Shadow Coven and its members exposed, the Seven Sisters has stopped pretending to be a psychic shop. Instead, it is openly a spot for Midnight witches to meet and gather. Which isn't to say the protections aren't still carved into the walls and floorboards. However, it isn't a secret any longer.
Which cuts down on one area of her work. She still has the coven, school, social events, and the Circle to balance. Which is why she's considering taking a term -- or year, even -- off. There isn't enough time in the day for everything she needs done.
In Enfield, she can usually be found in the front room of the Seven Sisters, ready to receive any who enter. Or, for those not to be turned away at the door, there is always Geap Manor.
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
Ealing, near Redbright Institute, early December
Sylvia Redbright began this war. The moment she had her people take Barnet, the moment the first person died... That was when this had begun, and Abigail had promised herself she'd see it ended. Perhaps it's out of sheer defiance that she's only two blocks away from Redbright Institute. Where she'd wanted to study six months ago.
She'd just finished a completely innocent chat with two young Redbright witches. They knew all too well who she was. Few in either Circle didn't, at this point. Maybe it was because there was a thrill of the forbidden to it. Or maybe it was because she might have future members of her coven. Whatever the reason, they'd spoken for a few moments and parted, it seemed, on amiable terms.
Which was when she heard her order called. Or, at least, what sounded like her order. She reached for the cup, only to see someone else reaching for it, too.
"I think this one's mine."
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Croydon, mid December
Eames had claimed he would give the territory of Croydon to Midnight. Well. A lot of good that did them. The fae had not quit the territory, and Daybreak had responded with force.
Why hadn't that been dealt with first? How had they found out?
It should have been quiet. A simple political negotiation between the fae and her Circle. Someone among the fae or on her side had told someone in Daybreak. The likelihood of it being a witch was higher than she liked to think. So, Abigail took to the streets.
On the one hand, it was to show Daybreak (and Sylvia) that she had done no harm. To her knowledge, she could say with certainty, her Circle had hurt no one. Were there likely Midnight witches who had? Yes. But she knew of none of them specifically. Which was good enough for her to feel like she hadn't broken her truce with Sylvia.
Besides, Daybreak had come into the territory. Had interferred.
"Thank you very much, Mister Gilroy," she said, shaking hands with the man and offering him a smile. "If you hear from John, do let me know."
Simple rounds through the borough, looking for anyone who hasn't checked in or who seems to be acting suspicious, especially around her.
Standing on the corner of a street, Abigail glanced around, eyes sharp for anyone else who, like her, looked like they didn't quite belong.
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
Waltham Forest, mid December
Her hopes with Croydon have been dashed, and the nominal truce with Sylvia means that she is almost completely boxed in by hostile forces. Which is why she's in werewolf territory, paying her respects to the local communities. If there's one thing that will utterly doom her... it's the werewolves deciding to be either hostile toward her or completely neutral.
She has all of the out Circle Midnight witches behind her. She is the head of them. Not so different from an alpha, she thinks, reminded of her converation with the one who had abandoned his pack. It feels like a lifetime ago, but she knows, realistically, it's only been a few months.
She's caught up in her own thoughts -- no doubt too much. It's almost entirely her fault when she clips shoulders with someone. Her hot coffee? Splashes against them.
"Oh, shit! I'm sorry! Here, let me--" What? She has nothing to wipe it off with. "I'm so sorry."
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
Barnet, mid December
Abigail still feels like she can see the blood on the pavement of Barnet. When she walks the streets, she can tell the members of the supernatural community by the way they look at her. Their alignment, too, is always obvious. If they try not to get caught staring or openly smile, then they have sympathy for Midnight. If they glare at her (which is most common), they are Redbright's.
There's a lot she wishes she could change. Letting the first violence begin in Barnet is hihg on that list. If she'd have known to act then, so many more people might still be alive.
She visits the shrines set up. Wards have been set up to keep people not of the supernatural community away and to prevent vandalism. At the Daybreak shrine, she leaves blue hyacinths and white carnations. For the Midnight shrine, she leaves lilies and orchids.
At the sound of someone behind her, she shoots a glare, trained to be on edge in a place like this.
"What do you want?"
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
Tower Hamlets, December 19th; first responder only
The streets aren't safe at night. Everyone knows that. Abigail knows that. But when a bus doesn't seem to be coming to its stop, and she has little other choice... Of course she starts to walk home. Or, at least, to another spot to get back on the line she wants to be on.
Of course, that leaves her out at night. Alone. In the heart of vampire territory.
Which hasn't escaped the notice of one such creature who is following her and beginning to advance from behind.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Westminster, late December
From her youth, Abigail had been raised to be in society and in politics. With the changing atmosphere of London, she felt there was no other option but to push herself even further into that world. Which was why she made herself a more regular presence where the Night Council could see her.
She approached none of them. Their aides, however, could often be seen receiving invitations for lunches or coffee. Their conversations were always brief and light, never about politics. But Abigail made sure to be seen doing it, to be known to be interacting. After all, she had her eye on lofty goals now.
Goals that she saw as the only way to keep herself and her Circle safe.
"Good morning," she said to someone who made eye contact, voice as sweet as if she had every reason to be leaving the front desk of the Night Council administration.
Waltham Forest
It's easy to get lost in one's thoughts with that mindset, and he doesn't notice until his shoulder is clipped and it's suddenly a bit warmer than it was.
"Ack! No, it's fine...I wasn't paying attention."
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After all, she hasn't forgotten getting him that information about the bike. Even if it took a minute or two to remember who he was.
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"What about you? You seem to have something on your mind?"
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It's all the answer she has, really. Because it's all-encompassing. Everything comes into this. Everything factors in. She sighs and shakes her head.
"Everything's a mess."
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"But as I recall, that seems to be the norm when it comes to politics, isn't it?"
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He'd been to a Geap Manor party, so he knew who she was. She felt pretty sure, at this point, that everyone knew who she was.
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"You look like you could use a break of some sort."
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University, coven, Circle. All while hearing the 'tick, tick, tick' of the Widdowson line. Feeling death creeping ever nearer. Seeing the shadows circling. Sylvia, Norrell, Eames. Allies and enemies, all the lines blurring.
Trust no one.
An old piece of Widdowson advice.
"That'd be nice."
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It's worked for him in the past, sometimes. But usually at the insistence of others than of his own volition.
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"Unfortunately, my walk tonight is business. I've a few more houses to visit."
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barnet, mid-december
He decides to stop.
"What a waste." Jackson comments, frowning, as he steps beside her. "Considering how many witches there are, compared to normal folk, it's a wonder why we spend so much time killing each other-- you'd think we'd do more stickin' together."
Jackson has no flowers, but he does have a flask of whiskey, which he pours out, split evenly, on the pavement in front of both memorials. A tribute of libations.
"But that's human nature ain't it? Magic or not. Feast, fight, and fuck."
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Because she has to use that word. She needs to call it what it is. Daybreak and Midnights are at war. Ceasefire though there might be, it won't last. It can't last. Not with her and Sylvia at the heads of the Circles.
Still, she tries to smile just a little.
"How have you been?"
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Jackson removes his hat, holding it in front of him, between two hands.
"Nobody's left any flowers for me, so I figure I'm doin' pretty well," he replies, there's a plaintive undercurrent beneath his words, despite the requisite sarcasm. "You?"
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But she can hear the clock. Ever ticking. Down and down the count goes, but she doesn't know where it is or when it will stop. And there's still so much to do. So much she could die doing.
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A business man is walking down the street. He cuts between the two of them. Disgruntled. Jackson shuts his trap, as he lets the oblivious human pass.
Once he's out of earshot--
"I can help you, as much as I can." How much that is... it's best not to expect much from a man like Homer Jackson. "Provided that you be discreet."
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"I'm afraid discretion is rather difficult now."
Everyone knew her face, and the Night Council had taken notice of her.
Westminster
It was just a bunch of interviews of varying degrees of boredom. The same questions all phased differently, he'd met almost every guardian at this point and frankly was getting sick of answering their questions to the point of giving them single word answers hoping to at least get a rise out of someone.
Skip was rubbing off on him again.
He was on his way out when he heard Abigail speaking. She was easily recognizable these days. A very busy little witch she was. one he should try to keep on polite terms with.
"Miss. Widdowson."
He offered a smile by way of greeting.
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Politics were, at best, dicey now. And so this man... Well. They weren't so different. Except he hadn't gone to war with anyone. Still, she was known in this city. Her reputation as High Priestess now preceded her. Which was strange.
"I'm sorry about your client."
Because everyone knew. It was all over the news, both mortal and supernatural.
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Don't bother was more of the tone he was using for the platitude. Everyone knew about it at this point, it was just something he had to live with.
Even if it was getting old very quickly.
"How are you?"
He wouldn't dare ask how she'd been. Like his own problems, hers were widely known in their community.
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There isn't much she can say other than that. After all, everyone knows about what she does and what has happened in response. And things are only getting worse. Which is why she has to make herself a presence at the Night Council. Because a seat on it? Might well be the only thing that can save her.
"How's the pack doing? Is there anything I can do to help them? Or you?"
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"Ah, bureaucracy." He sighs, a familiar sort of permanent exhaustion settling in the fake fondness.
"As it seems to be the pattern, stuck between a rock and a hard place I'm afraid."
Something he hopes to change soon, even if that means making a serious power play without anything to really back it. At least he had one ally outside of the pack that had power behind him.
Abigail had her hands tied, and he knew it. So he wouldn't ask for any assistance from her, but if she wanted to give it he wouldn't turn his nose up at it.
"Could I interest you in some coffee?"
Anything to keep your energy up after all.
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"As long as this coffee doesn't come with a lecture, I'd love that."
Because she'd had enough of that from a Guardian so far this month. Still, she doubts he's interested in that. He knows the hardships of being on the outskirts of politics. Just because he hasn't had to react to it like she has... Or has chosen not to. But she nods.
"Coffee sounds great."
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James holds open the door for her, shrugging on his coat as he does.
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"Actually had a Guardian lecture me," she says. She can't tell her coven about it. She doesn't want them worrying, knowing someone like that was talking to her. "And then there's Daybreak's High Priest." So many people eager to tell her she was doing something wrong, that she should be behaving in a different way. But they didn't have this to deal with. "And Redbright herself."
The only thing that can really save her is politics.
"And I have to play their game."
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"I was at the receiving end of a few of those myself from a Guardian." It was ridiculous too, especially since they kept reiterating the need to keep themselves secret from the human world. He knew, everyone knew, it was a rule now.
"Though that sounds like torture."
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