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."

[hurtfew]

Doesn't need to be more bloodshed! Norrell's lips thin at that, and he draws himself up to the full extent of what height he has.

"There does not," he agrees. "Neither do you need to accept this territory when you know it will cause a fuss. May I remind you, Miss Widdowson, that this is your choice. That it was your choice to attack us before. Not ours."

[acrookedchild]

"There will be a fuss either way," Abigail responds. "Do you think the fae are going to make it easy for you to take it? We're involved because they want to hand over the borough. Put it back into mortal hands."

[hurtfew]

"No. They will not make it easy. Yet if you think it is because they want it back in Mortal hands, Miss Widdowson, you are naive. They give it to you deliberately. They know it will anger us, to put you right on our border."

Norrell shakes his head, upper lip twitching a moment in disgust.

"You play into their hands. The fae cannot be trusted."

[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?"

[hurtfew]

Norrell winces, tilts his head again and squirms slightly.

"There was an adequate amount of positive discourse," he hazards, which is to say not enough -- not enough and not much more than discourse at that. Not concrete results.

[knowstheworld]

Childermass keeps his gaze focused on the other man, he keeps his eyebrows raised, and he keeps his face blank. Waiting again for more that he is certain Norrell will not give him. Not with the way he is toeing around the edge of the truth. Childermass resists the urge to sigh at him.

He needs more information if he is to be of any use to you here. You know that he cannot help you if you do not give him something to work with. His expression says that, and so much more as he stares him down, his gaze dark and piercing, and waits.

[hurtfew]

He hesitates, drops his eyes away and shuffles his papers unhappily.

"Coward will still support us. Vrinak will. There is... some scattered support among the rest of Daybreak. People want the fae gone, they want Croydon back. They do not want the cost of it. They will not commit."

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."

[damnyank]

"The vampires?," Jackson takes a urgent step forward, temper alight, anger searing through his words. "I'm not working with--"

Self control, Jackson.

He pauses, lets out a breath, before backing up to give Norrell his space.

"Vampires don't owe anyone, anything. I mean, would you expect an animal to owe you a favor? They can't be trusted. " Jackson grabs a chair from the side of the room, pulling it over with a harsh squeak. He takes a seat, perhaps, much to Norrell's dismay. "You're judgin' the outcome of this on conjecture. On mays and mights, and who the hell even knows."

Jackson runs a hand through his hair.

"We're witches, not gangsters. Don't we got more self-respect than fightin' over territory like ain't even the 21st century?"

[hurtfew]

Norrell lofts an eyebrow at the display, settles back into his chair a little more and darts his eyes away to stare into his fireplace. A second later his eyes flick round and stare down the servant still nervously hovering, now because of the potential gossip so much as anything, and they startle and pull the door closed -- probably hovering the other side regardless.

"I do not like it myself," he says finally. "I do not. I am in agreement with you about the vampires, they are not --" well. Not something he likes to deal with. He winces, shuffles in his chair as if uncomfortable before speaking up again. "Lord Coward was a Daybreak witch before he was turned. It seems he still holds some of their values. He is a man of some standing, and I have rendered him past help which I believe he will reciprocate at least the once to make us even. The heart of the matter is that too many in Daybreak have grown complacent. They will not move on their own. We are numbered but many in that number are soft hearted. I have self-respect, sir, and it is self-respect that means I cannot sit idly be and watch fae take our territories and trade them away. What other choice do I have? When they have attacked our numbers and murdered witches in the streets. When they plot alliances with Midnight to bring about our downfall? No. Someone must stand to make sure the interests of Daybreak are protected. I wish it was someone other than myself, sir, but it falls to me."

[damnyank]

"They are not what? Don't soften your blows with me, Norrell. I'm the uncouth American, remember? No need for double talk." He explains, cracking a toothy grin that swiftly fades, as he returns to the thread of the conversation. Vampires. He shakes his head. "A witch turned vampire? If there was anything that'd make me trust a vampire even less. I mean, there's a reason he's not one of us anymore."

Except arguing about the integrity of vampires will get them nowhere. Jackson could talk about how he's never been much for workin' together with other witches. Or how joining Daybreak was simply a matter of advantage, and how upon finding oneself a stranger in a strange land, commonalities once brushed aside, suddenly become important. Important enough to join a coven.

"I don't know how much I can be of assistance, Norrell. I got obligations. I'm workin' forensics for the police down in Whitechapel." He hesitates. Jackson, you're trying to make an ally out of this stuffed shirt. Not scare him off more. "But I'll do what I can."

A beat.

"How can I help?"

[hurtfew]

His lips thin again as Jackson explains his obligations and how he doesn't know if he can be of assistance.

Yet then he still asks how he can help. That has merit, at least. Norrell blinks his small, hard eyes at the man -- toys with a pen between his hands.

"We could very much use more support, Captain. If you believe you will not have the time yourself perhaps you could help turn others to our cause? You are a member of Daybreak too. You must have friends in the community. You could, perhaps, encourage them to help us reclaim Croydon."