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.

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[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."

[damnyank]

Well, at least he's being honest... to a degree. He easily admits to his lack of dedication and passion toward Daybreak, but his offer to help has unspoken contingencies.

"Friends, I have." Jackson's lip tightens, as he thinks on said friends. Scoundrels and gamblers, humans and fae, and even Midnight witches. He lacks proper witches in his life, hence why he's making an effort to ally himself with Norrell in the first place. But the older witch doesn't need to know that. "I'll ask around. Got some fellow yanks that might be able to throw in a few spells."

He gives a smile, disingenuous and a touch slimy.

"As for myself, I ain't one for fighting--" More lies. "But I'll do what I can."

[hurtfew]

The look Norrell regards Jackson with says he does not hold out much hope for that.

"Well, any contribution is one we will be grateful for."

Even if it may be barely anything at all. Norrell isn't entirely sure he wants 'fellow yanks' running about, but as it stands he cannot afford to spit in the face of any support. Norrell is starving for it, and although he may continue his air of distaste and vague condescension internally he knows he should be glad of it.

"Do you have any further questions, Captain?"