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Be absolute for death (Jan catch-all)

Either death or life shall thereby be the sweeter
Waltham Forest, January 2nd -- James Memon only

"Pardon me for disturbing you, Mister Memon."

And yet, he really didn't sound sorry for it. After all, he was the commissioner of the police. If he wanted to see someone, he would see them. Arranging an actual office appointment at the man's law firm? Was one of the more polite ways he could go about it.

"I'm here to convey my sincere apology regarding the fae intrusion into Havering." Surprisingly enough, he actually sounded sincere. Havering wasn't werewolf territory, no, but it might as well have been, in his eyes. Greenwich was fiercely disputed, and the wolves didn't have the power to go elsewhere right now. But a pack was like a nest: it always needed room to grow. Havering had belonged to no one, so he'd regarded it as belonging to those to whom it was closest to-- the wolves. "I underestimated them."

A cunning strategy. Play Daybreak and Midnight against one another only to move in another direction at the same time. Keep everyone's attention on Croydon. After all, the conflict with the witches affected them all.

"It seems they are not content to stay south of the Thames."

Reason thus with life:
Islington, early January

Lord Coward had given himself a very human time limit. Now was not the time for machinations spanning centuries or even decades. For now, his plans concerned only the next five years. Four and a half, now. He might have another half decade if he played his cards right, but his time to be the Commissioner of the Metropolis was limited. And, well, it was extremely welcome. Rather like being back home.

A role similar to it in the nest was, admittedly, his ultimate goal.

An hour ago, he'd finished a press conference. Nothing too important, just reasuring the public that there was no viable link between the sniper at the courthouse and any known terrorist groups. That, so far as police investigation had shown, it was an individual behind the assassination with a purely personal motive. A bit of a lie, but, well, that was why he went into politics in the first place. Lying didn't bother him.

"Damn it," he muttered as the rain started again. He ducked under an awning to fiddle with his umbrella. A temperamental thing that, he decided, was going to be replaced after today. "Open, you damn thing."

If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
Croydon, early January

The situation wasn't ideal. Fractured as the witches were, it was only a matter of time before he had to make a real decision there. Daybreak had the political power, but Midnight was an old, old loyalty. Still, he reminded himself, he was a vampire. Witch politics were no longer his concern. Not that he could change what he had been and the call he still felt toward those he would, at one point, have called peers.

Still, the focus had shifted in Croydon.

Midnight was an afterthought. The fae maintained a presence, but there was a strong supernatural moral one as well. Things that could, ultimately, be handled. And far more easily than if the conflict had become between Midnight and Daybreak. How he'd excuse his absence from that fight, he didn't even want to imagine.

Yet, he thought he knew the High Priest by now. A man, really, who reminded him of Sir Thomas. Perhaps a little bit more brash, but still as stubborn and focused. A fine example of an ox, really. The old symbols still held true, even if they'd been abandoned a long time ago. An ox, an eagle, a lion. And man.

Even as he walked (as the sun sank past the horizon), the hunger began to nip at his throat. To call on someone to provide for him was safe, yes, but it didn't truly satisfy. He wanted to hunt, and he smiled to himself when he spotted someone else out. He approached with a smile.

"I'm sorry to bother you," he said, giving a slightly self-deprecating chuckle, "but I've gotten myself a bit turned around. I'm looking for the Green Dragon."

That none but fools would keep
Bromley, mid January

Fae.

At every turn, he could smell them. It made his mouth water, but he remembered the warnings of the vampires far older than him. It might make for a delicious meal, but it had little to set it apart from opium. One taste was all it might take to crave it. To kill for it. And it caused unpredictable behaviour. Not worth it, according to the mentor he and his sire had taken after.

The scent fuelled him, though. The streets of London were certainly not safe while the fae remained so actively entrenched in the mortal realm. They had their own world; this one was not for them to own.

It was a large borough, Bromley. And very well situated. A coup, certainly, if he could manage it. There would be assistance, too, if he played his cards right. If he continued the back and forth trading. Who could argue with his work in Greenwich if he could deliver this to the Nest? Especially wresting it from fae hands.

A breath thou art
Lewisham, mid January -- first responder only

"Don't act stupid!"

"I'm not the one threatening a public official," Coward replied.

"You're fucking working with them! We don't need your kind!"

"My kind? Do you mean 'reasonable adults who actually understand how politics works'?"

It wasn't surprising, Coward knew, that there were others in the Nest who didn't approve of his alliances. After all, most vampires wouldn't ever even consider working with a werewolf. No matter the circumstances. His constant help of witches, too, had drawn some negative attention. None of his actions were officially sanctioned by Millicent either. She knew of his plans and made no indication of stopping him, so, passively, she allowed it. However, she'd shown no active support.

Nor did he expect any. Not yet. He was still proving he could be relied about to get things done.

But the other vampire was older. Faster. By the time Coward knew he was coming, the man had him against a building. Coward twisted, sacrificing his arm to go over his chest, so the pointed cedar drove into a limb instead of a more vulnerable, more permanent spot. It had been a long, long time since he'd felt so much pain.

Servile to all the skyey influences
PSR&T, Tower Hamlets, mid January

It was an adorable little new age shop. It had its requisite tarot and oracle cards, the crystals for sale, and enough incense to make a person's head ache with the smell. It played its part well.

But he'd known its original owners, years and years ago. The man who'd opened it had been a good friend of his mother's, actually, and another disciple of the coven he was party to. His son, in fact, had joined Lord Blackwood at his own urging.

With the purging of dark magic, he'd thought it only right to come here first. There were some books he wanted, after all. They might be useless to him now, but they were sentimental pieces. Old hexes and dark rituals laid out. The necessary sacrifices, the incantations, the coven arrangement necessary.

Lord Coward had meant to be in and out of the shop within five minutes. He knew precisely what he was looking for. Yet, it was a world he sorely missed, even if he'd chosen to walk away from it. The choice, after all, hadn't been made without duress. Due, yes, but present all the same. As it was, he'd spent the better part of an hour sitting in a chair in the upstairs "reading room," an area reserved to those known to have actual ties to the supernatural community.

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"Come now, old friend, is that any sort of way to treat one of your betters?"

Joscelin, too, had a stake. If he were more sentimental he might have even named it, because it had been his dear companion in the 1880s, back when he'd first gained control of the Islington Nest. He'd dispatched many of those who opposed him with it.

He knew the vampire who was attacking Coward. He'd known the man's sure, once upon a time, and had watched him bring in his new progeny, weak as a newborn babe. Since then he'd risen through the ranks and apparently considered himself quite an authority within the Nest, given the fact that he was now trying to kill its leader.

"I would let him go, if I were you."

Edited 2016-01-05 18:23 (UTC)

Pain wasn't a new sensation, but it had been a very long time since he'd been on this end of a stake. He could feel the blood flowing out of him, and the wound ached as the man drove the wood further in out of frustration at being interrupted.

"One of my betters?" the vampire snarled. "A whelp who thinks he can run this Nest?"

Coward managed not to laugh. Only among vampires and fae could he be considered a whelp. But he was young for a vampire. The Victorian age wasn't that long ago. But he didn't keep himself quiet. He wouldn't give this man that satisfaction.

"Millicent hasn't had a problem with me."

"I'll bet she doesn't know you're selling us out! Giving a borough to the dogs!"

Joscelin nodded sagely, tightening his grip on the stake in his hand. "Oh, he is quite young. No one is disputing that, my friend. But Millicent in her infinite wisdom has seen fit to make him our lord and master, you see, and it would be ever so rude to go against her wishes. Also, he's quite a bit cleverer than you are, so there's that."

He circled the two, noting with no small degree of satisfaction the pain on Coward's face. At one point he too would have been angry that the still-younger progeny of a jumped-up child had so much power in Islington, but he needed Coward's help far too much. He needed the support and authority being allied with Coward would give him.

Even if he had to swallow his distaste at the thought of vampires giving anything to the wolves. Honestly, what was the city coming to?

"It's a new world, you see, and sacrifices must be made. Even if it means having the dogs on our side temproarily. You really must take a longer view of the thing."

But he might not have gotten a chance to do so, because he'd exposed his back to Joscelin and that was all the boy needed. With strength that was far greater than his size suggested, he drove the stake into the other vampire.

Coward knew predators. After all, he had served one in life and after his death. So, watching Joscelin circle them, he knew what to expect. Which one of them would get that stake through them, though. That was debatable. After all, he was assumed to have far more power than he actually did. Millicent had given him some leeway, yes, but he had a feeling she was also intending to see if it was enough rope to hang himself with.

He'd secured his rank with equal parts flattery and solid position among the human society. Someone to make sure, other than just the Night Council, that their interests were protected. It was also much easier for someone on the police force to... handle... deaths that might otherwise lead to trouble. But he had a lot to prove if he wanted to be considered worthy of having all of Tower Hamlets under his command.

The words, though. Listening to that told him precisely who was favoured here. And the other vampire realised it a fraction of a second later. But that was enough time for Coward to seize his collar and hold him, preventing any attempt at escape. Once the man stopped moving, he let go and let the body fall. Then, he gave a slight, Victorian bow.

"I appreciate the assistance."

With a deep breath, he took hold of the stake still in his arm and pulled it free.

"Don't mention it," Joss replied, looking down at the body. "It's been one hundred and twenty years since I've done that. I was worried I might be out of practice but apparently it's just like riding a bike."

Which was one skill he hadn't actually yet mastered, but Coward didn't need to know that.

He inclined his head towards Coward's arm. "Hurts, does it?"

Coward briefly closed his eyes, putting his now free hand over the wound. Even as he did it, he felt the skin knitting back together. In less than a minute, the pain was gone, and he sighed.

"It's been some time since anything's hurt quite that much."

Joss shrugged. "Being staked is never fun, as I'm sure our friend can attest." He kicked the corpse contemptuously. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention my role in this. It wouldn't look good if I'm found to be killing other vampires again. Even if it is in service to our fearless leader."

He leaned over and, with some effort, pulled the stake free. "You can always say that you killed him. Staking a vampire some three or four centuries your senior will certainly make you look stronger than you are."

Coward shook his head at the offer to claim the kill. As justified as it would be to kill an attacker, it was yet another thing other detractors could use against him.

"I think he will simply have gone missing. I've some practice in that area."

Both as Home Secretary, a member of a Midnight cult, and a vampire... He knew how to turn a death into a disappearance. To leave enough questions that no specific answers could be found.

"Elegant."

Joscelin had never been one for subtlety, though he grudgingly admired those who were. He was far too impatient for that. Better just to let the bodies lie where they may and damn the consequences.

"Well then, Coward." He finished wiping the stake on the dead man's trouser leg and stood. "A friendly word of advice: you probably ought to be more careful going out alone from now on. Not even Millicent's influence can save you if you're seen to be dealing with the wolves."

"In two months, the loss of Greenwich will hardly be remembered. For as old as they are, they don't look to the future much."

A little loss for a greater gain. Banding with the wolves now to spread their influence. Besides, once the fae were driven out, then he could turn his attention back to the old rivalry.

Joscelin smirked. "Well I know it. Immortality tends to do that to a person, I've noticed. It's of little matter. Just keep your head down until they do forget your role in the thing and go back to their own petty little intrigues."

Very little of vampire society had changed in the last several centuries, after all.

"Shall I accompany you back to wherever it was you were headed?"

"I think I'll manage quite well."

Besides, he was, technically, on a social call, and those were things he still preferred to keep to himself. The social and political climate may have changed over the course of a couple centuries, but he had been raised as a Victorian gentleman.

"Thank you for your concern, though."

Joscelin, too, had been raised as a person of quality, and even after being turned his sire had taken great pains to ensure that her young progeny display good manners.

Those manners had changed somewhat over the centuries (it was no longer considered polite to throw bones to the rushes or share a goblet of wine with one's seatmate), but the basics had remained much the same. Joscelin bowed like the little gentleman he was and smiled.

"You're most welcome. Always a pleasure, Lord Coward."

Truth be told, Edith had rarely paid any mind to witchcraft.

It was a silly notion, baseless, the stuff of fairytales and legends (but really, really, with her visions of ghosts and what she knew now, did she have room to talk? Room for doubt?), something to be dismissed without a second thought.

Things change.

And change they did. Changed so quickly that Edith found herself walking to the metaphysical shop with purpose, pushing open the door and stepping into the shop with intent, breathing in the smoke from the incense and letting the essences of sage and lavender burn her eyes. Warm. Gentle. Almost holy, and not at all what Edith had expected. For starters, there wasn't broomstick in sight. Wisely, she chose against bringing this up, instead wandering directly to the staircase and up, up, up into the reading room.

Here, she was at home.

"Hexes," she breathed, scanning the shelves, reading the titles on the spines aloud to herself. "Coventry Magic, The Meaning of Tarot..."

Her hand hesitated, fingertips a fraction away from a book, when he caught her eye. Unflustered, Edith tilted her head to the side, asking, "Is this restricted?"

Coward smiled faintly. The smell of her was human. Or, at least, it wasn't noticeably non human.

"To those who know of the supernatural, yes," he murmured, though it was almost a joke. He closed the book he'd gotten lost in and stood. As he ought to have done when she'd come into the room. But times had changed. A small lapse in manners such as that wouldn't be too frowned upon in this day and age. "But you're certainly welcome."

"Nobody stopped me," she pointed out. Human, yes. Very, very human. Visions and spirits didn't make her any less of flesh and blood. As for the gentleman, Edith couldn't quite get a read on him.

Then again, she had more important things to take care of. Even if she hadn't come here on a mission, or with an intent, she quickly developed one as she took in the sizable library the room had to offer. She added, "I didn't mean to interrupt you," and turned back to the shelves.

Which, honestly. Didn't last long. Typical, when she was unable to find any sort of organization the the books, and the haphazard titles piquing her interest all the same.

"Can I ask you for a recommendation?"

Coward smiled faintly as he nodded in consideration. The question was worthy of thought. After all...

"Well. That depends on what you're looking for," he finally said.

There were books of all sorts. Potions, divination, suggestive magic, active magic. He knew them all well. Even if most of these books would end up confiscated. Hopefully not destroyed, though. Judging by the library of Norrell, he doubted it.

Edith took a breath, exhaled it slowly, fingers drumming gently on the shelf.

It was something she wasn't quite used to yet, explaining her situation to those around her. Keeping it quiet for so long, having it dismissed as a folly, as the imaginings of a child, made her focus on something else. Anything else.

Day in and day out, she was willing to talk with others about their - happenings. Abilities. But hers?

"Truth be told, I was looking for something that had to do with spirits."

"Spirits." He smiled as he said it and moved to look over a few shelves. While the arrangement might seem like chaos to some, he, at least, appeared to know exactly where things were.

"Are you looking to contact them? Banish them? Bind them?"

"Not banish," Edith said, brows drawing together, stomach dropping at the thought. Not bind, either; trapping them in one place wouldn't be efficient, even if she did want to be closer to them. Some of them. One of them.

"I want to communicate with them."

"The skills of a medium," Coward murmured as he trailed his fingers over the spines of a few books. It wasn't an area he particularly liked. He'd never wanted to communicate with the dead. But he'd known others who had.

And...

He pulled one out from a shelf.

"This one was written in the Tudor era. It's a bit long-winded in places, but when it gets to the point, it's exceptionally helpful. Later chapters go into necromancy, so you'll want to be careful who you tell if you buy it."

"Necromancy?" Edith gaped at the man, tugging lightly at the lace neckline of her dress. She plucked a pair of glasses from her breast pocket, gently taking the book from him, flipping delicately through the pages.

"Surely nobody's attempted that."

Reanimated dead bodies just walking around, mindless apart from their master? Right. Who would ever want a thing like that?

"If you can imagine it, ma'am, someone has tried it. Likely succeeded, too, in at least one or two instances."

It had never been his sort of magic. It seemed so unnecessary. Still, it was interesting to watch people exposed to new information, so he kept his eyes on her as she looked through the book.

"Don't worry about it," he smiled graciously - back to his usual ~~sleezy~~charming self. The Incident seemed a bad dream now, and James was more than content to think of it that way. He wouldn't forget it.

But that was not what he should be focusing on at present. James' face sours at Cowards mention of Havering - he was quite bitter about the Fae taking territory at their back. It would be easy for them to crush them now, something he wasn't about to let happen.

"I think we all underestimated them," he would be that gracious. After all, Coward had been more thank generous with him.

"I do not imagine their victory will be long-lived," Coward murmured. It was a delicate situation, but they all had a common foe. "I know that a member of Circle Daybreak will not rest until they are pushed out of Croydon, at least."

Which was all well and good. He respected the witches, even if his true sympathies lay more with Midnight than Daybreak. Old loyalties died hard. Still, in the grand scheme of things, they were no longer his to worry about. Islington was.

"Which leaves them with the boroughs of Bromley, Bexley, and now Havering."

He smiled a little. "Our jobs have us talk a lot. Usually around the point we wish to make, so I will do us both a professional courtesy and not waste words: I intend to see the Islington Nest expand its power into Bromley." A large borough, one that would win him a good deal of influence within the vampire community. The wolves, he assumed, would want Havering. It was, after all, right there.

"Of course, I would expect your help with Bromley and would offer ours for Havering. But the size of Bromley and your prior assistance in Lewisham means I would be greatly in your doubt. So, I have an offer to even the slate."

He paused, considering it. After all, it was a risky endeavour, but he had Millicent's approval to make it. On the condition that he alone would bear the consquences.

"Greenwich."

"Does Millicent know?"

It's his first question. And really his only one. While he didn't trust Coward with his life, or to not keep tabs on him - he trusted him to do what was advantageous to him. Letting this long disputed territory go was a gamble, yes. But in the exchange of Bromley, Greenwich was little to lose.

All in all. Coward was quite clever.

But he had to make sure this wasn't going to get him killed.

Edited 2016-01-11 22:19 (UTC)

Coward paused a moment, deciding on the best way to reply to that question. Because it was a complicated one.

"She has given me permission to make the offer but not sanction for the withdrawal."

He's allowed to make the deal, but enforcing it falls to them. She won't interfere or help.

"So you're on your own."

It's brilliant, tactically. Take credit for it if it goes over well, if not - she can disavow Coward entirely and have him killed. Either way, it's good publicity for her and what goes over better with a vampire than good press?

Coward can almost see the train of thought James goes through, and he nods. His voice is calm, almost amused as he says, "Completely."

James sighs at the confirmation. These inter-species politics were giving him a headache.

"Well, I'd offer my help but somehow I think I'd just make things more complicated."

Which meant he'd just have to wait and see if Coward could pull this off. A Comissioner could pull strings yes, but how far did they go? And were they attached to anything?

Coward has to chuckle a bit as he shakes his head.

"The offer is appreciated, but I've been in such a position before. I managed well enough then; I think, especially with you handling the wolves, I can manage this."

A difficult position. Dangerous, even. Because their species weren't known for getting along. But they both wanted the same thing -- power. They could help each other gain it. Then, they could worry about old rivalries.

Even if it would be somewhat unfortunate to have to kill this man.

"Fair enough."

If Coward could handle the vampires, certainly he could handle his own pack. He knew their influence stretched only as far as the boundaries of their groups. Any wayward vampires or wolves would not listen to them. But they could be persuaded, certainly.

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Be absolute for death (Jan catch-all)

A breath thou art

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( tower hamlets )

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