The Croydon Debacle

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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

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Eames shakes his head, he can't imagine what they're thinking right now. He can only hope their need to expand outweighs any desire to avoid trouble.

"They must have expected resistance," Eames' jaw tightens, this whole situation is pissing him off the more he thinks about it, "it'd be foolish to assume Daybreak would just let this happen uncontested."

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Arthur watches him cautiously, wondering just how much anger Eames is holding back right now. It's interesting, to watch this man who so despises the game to be playing it right now, to be angry but still calculating.

"You'll need to settle this thing before you try again," he says. He's stating the obvious, but he's not trying to be insulting. "And by the looks of it, you'll need more manpower to do it."

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He makes a noise that indicates he agrees, even if right now the main thought weighing on his mind is that he wants to get blissfully drunk and ignore what's happening for a few hours.

"This alliance of theirs with Islington is a problem," Eames says, and the amount of disgust in his tone is almost comical. It just boggles the mind, that they'd rather ally themselves with vampires than let the fae walk freely.

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Arthur looks back down at his bullets, stowing them away carefully. "Maybe there's some way to force it to fall apart," he says, sounding a little distracted or detached. His focus is split between the ammo, Eames, and listening for signs of movement around them, and it may show despite the fact that he's fully capable of paying attention to all three at once.

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"Perhaps." Eames glances up and down the street; a little paranoid still. It's impossible to be sure of safety in these situations, it's... Exhausting. "We shouldn't talk about it here at any rate. Hearing like bats, I've been told."

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Another five bullets, and then two extra and he's finished counting with a sigh. "We could go back to mine," he suggests. "No Islington vampires in that borough, I can guarantee."

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He nods, finally actually looking at Arthur. Leaving this miserable area sounds good, lest Eames find himself with an insatiable need for bargain tracksuits and off-brand electricals. God, the idea almost makes him shudder.

"Whenever you're ready, in that case."

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Arthur tucks his gun back in its holster and quickly looks around to make sure he has everything, then he nods. "Yeah, I'm good."

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Well, off they pop then. In relative quiet because small talk is boring and stupid and Eames is in a bad mood anyway, and once they get back to Arthur's place, he very politely stands back and waits for Arthur to let them in instead of just waving his magic about and going in. Look at what good manners he has; everybody marvel.

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Arthur's a little surprised, wondering if this bodes ill for the entirety of Eames' stay at his apartment. However long it is, it could go very badly if Eames is in a bad mood. And Arthur was just starting to warm up to this new side of him. He goes to the kitchen immediately and grabs them each a beer, handing one to Eames on his way over to the cabinet where he keeps his gun cleaning kit.

"You get in very many fights tonight?"

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Eames takes the beer with a quiet thanks, watching Arthur as he gets his case in silence. It takes him a moment to even realise he's been asked a question, mind mostly occupied with trying to figure out the best path forward.

"Nah," he finally answers after a moment, smirking a little, "much as I would've loved it, I was more useful at a distance."

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Arthur nods as he opens the case, getting to work quickly and taking apart his gun with practiced ease. It's a slightly quicker process than it was after Lewisham, since Arthur was too frazzled that night to really let muscle memory take over once the live ammo was removed from the situation, and while he's still a little tightly wound tonight it's a much more familiar feeling.

"Maybe next time," he says, glancing up at Eames with something that's almost a smirk. He knows Eames likes to fight and it must have been hard not to get directly involved this time, but he's right that he was more useful elsewhere.

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Eames huffs a small laugh. "Maybe," he says lightly, but he knows it's not the case. When dealing with witches, he's found it's almost always best to keep out of sight.

"What about you?" His eyes track the movement of Arthur's hands as he speaks. He's always found weapon maintenance to be calming - watching or doing it himself - something about the methodical nature of it. "Get in many fights?"

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"A few," he says, feeling himself unwind as he goes. His hands move quickly but precisely over the gun parts, and he pauses as he reflects on the night.

"I was mostly making sure the Midnight witches and the fae were able to get out alright. I don't like fighting witches that much, even if they are Daybreak. Took a couple vampires out, though."

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"Good." Dead vampires is always a positive in Eames' opinion. The rest, however, gets a considering noise from Eames before he answers speaks again, "I think we want to avoid as much death as possible on this one."

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Arthur nods. It's the honorable way to do it, at least, and he can respect that. He's always preferred to limit casualties to only the absolutely necessary, even if thinning out their numbers would put Daybreak at a significant disadvantage.

"How soon do you think you'll be ready to try and take it back?"

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"Early January, I hope." Sadly it now depends on a lot of variables that are out of his control - tensions in the area could lose him a lot of valuable people. And he doubts he can rely on Midnight's support, Daybreak's presence makes it a dangerous line to skirt.

Eames frowns and scratches his chin as he thinks this over, 'try' indeed. "Depends on a lot of things."

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"Well, just keep me in the loop," Arthur says, sounding distracted as he continues methodically cleaning out the gun. It's completely disassembled now, and he's almost done except for the magazine. "You know I'll help where I can."

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"Yeah." Eames exhales heavily as he continues watching, because he's about to say something that definitely bears saying but he doesn't really want to say it and he's just going to throw it out there and they can both just move on like it never happened at all.

"Thanks, by the way."

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That earns a look in Eames' direction, his hands slowing briefly as he pauses to make sure he's heard right. Once the mental doubletake is over with, he looks back down at what he's doing and frowns, because he doesn't quite know how to respond to it. He doesn't really do this for Eames, after all, and it's nothing to do with any fondness for the fae. It just so happens that the fae's goals happen to align with his own for the moment, and he has the anonymity and skill set to help them.

"You don't have to thank me," he says, a little awkwardly.

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That isn't moving on like it never happened.

Eames frowns down at his drink - he knows Arthur has his distaste for the way Daybreak and the Night Council operate, his help is just a matter of aligned interest, but regardless Arthur's help has been of great use and freely given. Part of him feels obligated to acknowledge that.

And now it's happened. He clears his throat uncomfortably, implying that they should just move on to a different topic.

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Arthur acquiesces with a sigh, wondering how a man so old could still be so awkward about thank yous. Perhaps immortality doesn't really grant perspective, and maybe Eames' pride has just become more solid over the centuries he's been alive.

"Well, it seems to suit you, all of this," he says, gesturing vaguely after he puts the last gun part in its place in the kit. "I know you hate the politics but you come by it very naturally." There's only a hint of irony in his voice, almost like condescension, but there's no ill intent behind the statement.

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Eames laughs, only a little bitter. He doesn't know that he'd say it suits him, not with the way things have been going as of late, but he'll not argue a compliment.

"It's what I already do," Eames gestures broadly, not intending to be dismissive, even if he is. "Just on a larger scale."

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Arthur sits back with his drink, nodding thoughtfully as he takes a sip. "It's harder to find things to use as bargaining chips when it's on a larger scale, though," he says, his tone a hint pessimistic. "If only there was something Gilbert Norrell wanted badly enough that you could bargain with him to just leave."

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"I still think you should've let me kill him." It'd make everything so much easier. The man is a weasly little waste of space with no understanding of the finer points of how all this works. Eames has ample hatred for Sylvia, but he can respect how she does her business.