The Croydon Debacle

[falsify]

Croydon is a dismal place at the best of times, but at this time of year it's damp and cold and miserable. Amazing it's a place in such high demand. December 7th will see preparations taken. Some of the fae in the area take serious issue with handing the area over to witches of any kind and vacate the area as soon as word gets to them. Others prepare for the inevitable fight coming to their doorsteps. The hope is to avoid as much bloodshed as possible, avoid alerting more mortals than necessary as to what's happening on their doorsteps, but it's foolish to assume Daybreak would catch a whiff of this and not step in. December 8th. The day of the handoff. Several fae, Eames included, watch the witches coming in with a harsh gaze. It's kind of frustrating, how it's impossible to tell the allegiance of the witches by sight alone. It may seem threatening or intimidating, but it's important to be ready at moment's notice. One thing they'll not allow is to be bested again so soon. December 9th is a strange day; likely on all sides. With so many involved, it's probably a surprise that all it lead to is a stalemate. Anyone sensitive enough to magic will feel an electric tension in the air; tempers are high, frustrations are high, crime... is surprisingly low actually. A place held in contention between fae and witches is bound to be a magical minefield, but the fae at least seem more concerned with fortifying their position than starting any fights in the immediate future.

Comments

SEMI-OPEN

[hurtfew]

Abigail, before hand-off attempt:

Norrell doesn't know why he's agreed to see her, but he has. He finds her distasteful at best. Intolerably rude at worst. Yet she's a High Priestess herself, and as much as he wants to say no he is gently persuaded that it would be a bad move to not give her the time of day at all. After all, he doesn't know what it's about. It could be something worthwhile.

So he agrees to meet her at the Norrellite coven. It's exactly the sort of place one might imagine followers of Norrell congregating in, respectable and clean with witches who are clearly there to hold on to the coattails of his success and flatter their way to the top. Norrell himself has an office there, one Childermass can show her through to, and he ignores her at first in favour of finishing his letter -- looks up finally and lofts an eyebrow. Well?

Daybreak and supporters:

To say Norrell was furious would be an understatement. Norrell was in a rage. His small, hard eyes were upset with everything he looked upon. His words cut sharper than ever, and his shoulders stayed tensed and uneasy. He could not be consoled.

"I am foiled at every turn!" he would say, "they are so jealous of my success that they turn to the fae to try and match it! What greater damage could be done to English magic? Than witches relying on fae for their betterment! Investing their magic in such frivolous things when study and careful practice would get them as far!"

This deal cannot be allowed to go through. This passing of territory cannot be allowed to happen.

So it is that Norrell begins to write letters. To Coward, of course, informing him of the ugly deal and calling in his favour. To Sylvia Redbright, informing her and asking her support. To Hillingdon, advertising a monetary reward again. To every Daybreak witch he imagines might make a move to regain their once home. To past allies from other factions.

Then he waits. If he's lucky, they will come to him -- either at the Norrelite Coven or his Mayfair home. If he's lucky, he will have the makings of a defence and they can move before the fae begin their handover. He wrings his white-yellow hands, paces, looks through books for inspiration. Yet Norrell is one man. He cannot do this alone.

If he succeeds, though, if he succeeds...

Well, then surely that will be the beginning of something great. Sylvia wants Croydon badly, he knows. Perhaps... perhaps it might be used as leverage, if he can only win it.

Aftermath:

It hadn't gone quite as planned. The fae had lost their grip on the territory, it's true, yet Daybreak had not won it. They had stopped a handover, at least, there's that. Yet what now? Was this still a bargaining chip? Something he could use as leverage?

Of course, Norrell shifts all blame from himself. Claims loudly and defiantly that he prevented the taking of territory by Midnight, that if Daybreak had stronger support he could have done more! That they are too soft hearted, that the Night Council sits by too easily while letting the fae take territory and trade it! Interfering with the peace of London! That this is a sign war is brewing, that the fae are trying to ally with Midnight and this has been allowed for too long!

Now, Norrell needs to plan his next move carefully. This is an opportunity that may nor arise again. It hasn't gone perfectly, of course, yet if he waits he may lose it altogether...

[acrookedchild]

Abigail waits patiently for him to finish. After all, there's no polite way to hurry him. Which doesn't mean she ignores the treatment. But it's not worth starting a fight over. Not when their own position is so delicate.

"I will assume that you already know of the plans the fae have for this borough, and I have no doubt you're here to prevent that."

[hurtfew]

Norrell's face twitches in distaste a moment, unhappy, but he just barely manages to control it. To school himself to some semblance of calm despite the quiet anger and frustration underneath.

"Croydon," he manages finally, "rightfully belongs to Daybreak. It was stolen from us. I have had every intention of rectifying that, and I still do. The fae will not be allowed to run riot over London."

[acrookedchild]

"And Bromley and Bexley rightfully belong to mortals." It's a harder stance than she usually takes against the fae. After all, she'd wanted to consider them allies. But after being insulted by them? Well, wounded pride runs deep for a Widdowson.

"I don't approve of the fae carving out land in this world when they already have their own."

Especially when one was obviously foolish enough not to consider Croydon the front lines, flanked as it was by Daybreak. If he'd offered her Bromley, as he'd deemed the front lines to be, there would still be an allied buffer between Midnight and Daybreak. This? This put them in direct opposition. Which she refused to believe wasn't intentional.

"My Circle allows them to come and go, yes, and we always will. But isn't it better than allowing them to say the land belongs to them?"

[hurtfew]

She does not approve? After working so closely with them? After having fae aiding her own family so far...! It is a difficult thing to believe, and Norrell is already flustered -- barely containing an outburst. (Although even his own outbursts are muted, anaemic, lacking in anything but barely controlled frustration).

"Croydon belongs to Daybreak," he grinds out, "and we will take it back. We will. It is not a territory to be passed about like little more than pack of cigars!"

For just as the Widdowson pride has been wounded by them, so has that of Daybreak. Wounded pride must need be repaired.

[acrookedchild]

"Croydon belongs to the people who live there! It's not a territory. It's a neighbourhood. People live there!"

The moment it's out, Abigail sighs. It's too emotional. There's no negotiating to be done when she's this upset, let alone if she gets someone else upset. But Eames was the last straw. Using the fae to survive -- to avoid a curse she had nothing to do with getting laid -- is one thing.

But to be treated as a pawn. As a stupid pawn at that.

No. Not now. She remembers what Lancelot had said. What she said. It matters. It needs to be said.

"There doesn't need to be more bloodshed."

[knowstheworld]

On the scale of how that could have worked out, Childermass supposes that things could have gone worse. After all, Norrell could have lost. As hard as it is for the other man to believe that they have come to such an impasse, Childermass can only imagine how insufferable Norrell might become if and when he should fail. He will just have to do his best to see that he does not, he supposes.

Childermass sits back and waits until the other man is done with his ranting. He waits until he has done his pacing, his railing, his ringing of his hands. It is only then that Childermass raises his eyebrows at the other man in question as he watches him collapse into his chair at last, as if to ask, 'Are you done now? Do you feel better? Am I free to speak at last?'

[hurtfew]

Norrell takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh, staring down Childermass a moment. His irritation is still palpable, but it is easing a little.

"What should I do?" he prompts finally. "I set out to win this territory back, to prove myself further. Now what do I have to show for it? They will be disappointed. They will say I was good enough, that I am weak. Someone else may step forward."

And that, above all, is something Norrell greatly fears. Someone better than him taking his place. There are so many witches in London, and what if one of them were to challenge him?

[knowstheworld]

Childermass understands what it is that the other man fears. He understands Norrell perhaps better than the other man thinks. His fears, his desires. His understanding of his own weaknesses and the limitations he creates for himself because, for all the blustering, he does not truly believe in his own abilities all that much at all. If he did, after all, he would not be asking him for such advice on the matter.

"You are not weak," he says. "You simply did not win. You must find other means of gaining their attentions." Means that do not rely on the dubious support of the other Daybreak members, since he's obviously not doing much to appeal to the lot of them. "Have you heard nothing back from your letters?" He has written enough of them, after all, to enough people. On matters concerning things beyond simply the territory dispute that had just come to pass. Perhaps there were answers in those.

[hurtfew]

He tilts his head at that, a sort of yes-but-no gesture as he squirms under Childermass' keen gaze.

"I had... some response," he hazards, a half sort of answer that is not quite enthusiastic enough to suggest it was all good. Nor, perhaps, that it was as promising as he would like -- that it gave as much support or direction as Norrell might hope for.

[knowstheworld]

Childermass raises his eyebrows at the other man, expecting more explanation that never comes. He cannot judge it, from what Norrell has given him. Which is to say, not much to go on at all. It does not seem all good, no, nor all that promising. If they were to have done something to offend him then no doubt Childermass would have heard of it already, along with the rest of the other man's ranting.

After a long moment he finally prompts the other man to continue. "Well? What of it then?"

backdated; daybreakers and supporters

[damnyank]

Jackson doesn't wait to be announced. He lets the door of Norrell's study herald his arrival, with a loud bang of the door hitting the wall. Thing is, Jackson's not even upset-- or in a hurry -- he's just inconsiderate and thoughtless, as evidenced by his after-the-fact apology.

"Apologies." He enters the room, and pulls the door shut. "I've been rushin' 'round all day. Murder down in Whitechapel. Some fella got dismembered and piled into a newspaper box. The Daily Mail. Poor bastard."

Jackson ceases his rambling, removing his hat and holding it in front of him. He walks up to where Norrell's composing his missives.

"... which is why I can't be of more service to Daybreak's cause of the day. I'm busy." He slips out the letter from his pocket, addressed from Norrell. "Though if we're bein' honest here, it's more like your cause, ain't it?"

[hurtfew]

Norrell startles as Jackson slams his way in, visibly alarmed and quite possibly frightened of what Jackson may plan to do. He flinches back, a piece of writing still in hard, and listens to Jackson nervously.

Jackson's apology does little to calm, but he does lower his piece of paper -- regarding the man with a frown.

A harried servant peers around the corner of the now open door to watch, uncertain if they should be preparing to remove the Captain at a moment's notice.

"It is very much my cause," Norrell begins, "but it is a cause shared by Daybreak. Croydon used to be a home for many, and to have it simply traded away to Midnight witches is an affront. It is Midnight finding a way around their agreement with us, and not an act of good faith."

[damnyank]

From the corner of his eye, Jackson catches sight of the peering servant. He looks at them, waving the servant off. "All's well. Just got a little excited."

He turns back to Norrell.

"So midnight's makin' deals with the Fae. Vampires already hate us, and werewolves never been too keen about us either." Jackson lets out a half-sigh, half-chuckle, before shaking his head. "Christ. We should take a note from Midnight, and not make enemies out of everyone. Fae, included."

Or maybe Jackson should put his chips elsewhere. Daybreak seemed like the safe bet when he first came to London. The white bread of witch covens. It'd been all copacetic when he was sitting pretty on the periphery of things, but now that he's been called upon, personally, he'll have to re-evaluate his choices.

For now, he's weighing the benefits of assisting Norrell.

[hurtfew]

Norrell studies Jackson a moment silently, trying to weigh up what he might be doing. If he is indeed here to talk or if he is here simply to cause a scene. After a moment he laces his hands together, rests them on his desk.

"You are wrong, sir," he says. "Daybreak is one of the largest factions in London, and we have the support of the Redbright institute -- which is also one of the largest. The Islington Nest owe us a favour, so will support us. They have told me themselves they are unhappy with the current fae movements. Hillingdon members have worked for us in the past, and may do so again. I wonder perhaps if it is Midnight who are making the wrong friends, when so very many people are ill at ease with the current fae presence."

DECEMBER 8TH / OTA

[specifiercity]

Arthur starts off his morning with coffee, next to the window in a small independent coffee shop in Croydon, watching his phone carefully for word if anything goes bad. He carries on with his day as normal, a few meetings outside the borough and then back at lunch time, settling in for the afternoon and waiting. Just waiting. A delicate time like this is the perfect moment for another faction to strike, and Daybreak's the next borough over suffering from the massive thorn in their side named Croydon.

At the first news of trouble, Arthur goes from watching and waiting to slipping through the streets mostly unnoticed, finding fae and Midnight witches to help to safety. He tries to avoid Daybreak witches where he can, keeping out of sight unless he has to step in to stop a conflict. As the night goes on the tension only rises, and Arthur gets more and more anxious to see where everyone lies when the dust finally settles.

[falsify]

With this much magic flying through the air, Eames is oddly at ease with everything happening. He'd rather it not be happening at all, but it could be worse. Could be vampires.

Still, he's seen enough disputes to see which way the wind is blowing, and come the night he's more concerned with doing the rounds and seeing who's still alive than pushing Daybreak back. They're going to be here longer than tonight, at this point there's little point in pushing back harder. He steps out of a door not far from Arthur and wanders over to him, tense with frustration over this whole mess.

"Seems things are at a stalemate."

[specifiercity]

Arthur's counting his bullets when Eames approaches him. He hasn't shot very many of them, but it's a bit of a nervous habit when he has nothing better to do and before he can get home to clean the gun.

"Well, at least Daybreak didn't win."

[falsify]

"Silver linings, eh?" Eames' tone suggests he doesn't much care for silver linings right now. He sighs, looking around, "I think it's past time to pull back- prepare to push them out at a later date."

[specifiercity]

"I think you're right," Arthur says without looking up from his bullets. When he does look up, it's only a glance, and then he looks out at the street. It's quiet here, but Arthur's waiting on edge like he should be in the middle of these kinds of disputes.

"You think Midnight will want it after this?"

All three days, OTA

[falsify]

Eames is ready and available over the few days, preferring to take a coordinating role rather than getting into the fray. He knows there's whispers about what's happening, and he'd be foolish not to assume Daybreak's taken issue with it. And if they take yet another borough from him, he'll lose his damn mind.

On the day he weaves large illusions from a distance, trapping witches and redirecting them as best he can. He's on hand to talk to, but no way is he getting in line of sight with one of these damn witches if he can help it.

The 9th is... A frustrating day. Eames spends most of it checking in with people, figuring out how best to move forward from such a disappointing outcome. They can't sit idly by on this, they need to regroup and figure out how best to oust Daybreak ASAP.

while eames casts illusions

[damnyank]

Aligning himself with Daybreak has always been a matter of convenience. To give the illusion of being a part of something bigger, versus the vulnerability of standing alone.

At least that's how Jackson imagined it. Now that turf wars are ramping up, his policy of detached involvement may prove untenable. It's already saying a lot that Jackson's here, making his presence known, even if he's only here to rubberneck--

Jackson saunters next to Eames, back-slouched, hands tucked in his pockets, a stupid grin on that scruffy face. "Now, here's an idea," he raises an arm in front of him, like a conductor, "Trick 'em with a fake Tyrannosaurus Rex. It'll scare away humans and magical-folk alike."

Is Jackson joking? Who the hell knows with that cheeky grin.

He reaches into his pocket and snatches up a cigarette. "So what's the score now? Got money riding on this thing."

[falsify]

Eames laughs, though he doesn't add any dinosaurs to his illusions. Anyone who'd be tricked by that is probably stupid enough to get themselves taken out of the fight on their own sooner or later.

"Relatively even across the board, it would seem," Eames raises an inquisitive eyebrow at Jackson - he's never been able to discern much about the man's loyalties beyond a mutual hatred of vampires, but in the present situation that's not exactly a useful fact. "Which way did you bet?"

[damnyank]

It may seem insulting-- to crack jokes and bring up dinosaurs in the midst of a battle that will bring pain and bloodshed, regardless of the victor. It's disrespectful, and even a little cruel, but then that's Captain Homer Jackson for you. A beacon of humor and crudeness in any dark situation.

"Daybreak," he reveals. "Gotta root for my own team, I suppose."

Before Eames gets a chance to react to his newly-revealed allegiance, Jackson quickly cuts in--

"But I ain't your enemy, not really." Jackson shrugs. "Truth be told, I've got no appetite for any of this. Been to war once, and seen enough for this lifetime and more."

He looks up at Eames, tensing, ready to react should the Fae consider him a target to take out.

[falsify]

He may have an intense dislike for Daybreak, but Eames has always been able to separate the individual from the whole - the individual witches of the circle are largely immaterial, it's their leaders who started this.

Which is to say, he doesn't really give a shit what colours Jackson flies so long as he's not here for a fight.

"Shame your bosses don't see it the same way," Eames says. Manner light, but he's watching intently for any sign that he's being lied to, "you think they'd be happy to see the area leaving fae hands voluntarily."