some kind of resolution (january catch-all for nancy and annie)

[stauncherhearted]

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Catch-All for January for this lovely Midnight witch, and another lovely Irish hunter. Specific starters can be found in the comments! Please feel free to write your own, or PM me if you'd like something specific!

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Comments

a conversation i just can't have tonight (lance)

[stauncherhearted]

cw: violence against women
Another long night, another few pints of blood lost and regained. For each client, Nancy took a portion of blood replenisher. It wasn't the healthiest, but it kept her from danger of fainting or dying from blood-loss. Usually, when she made her way home, she was already pale and exhausted, content to crawl into bed with Juliet and a glass of wine. Or maybe a bottle of gin, it depended on the mood. Either way, passing out in the early hours of the morning having finally chucked her heels was probably what she looked forward to the most. With that in mind, Nancy walked through the familiar streets towards her flat.

The streets were quiet enough now, especially when you got into the residential areas at this hour. Just the streetlights, a few ambient noises and- nothing. that should have been a clue. Another clue should have been the hair on the back of her neck standing up but really what got her was the faint feel of magic in the air. Pausing, she glanced behind her. Nothing but the street-lights. Exhaling a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, Nancy turned back to the front. Immediately, she gasped. There, in front of her, was a man. He was taller than Nancy, though that was easy enough, and perhaps twice as wide. His face was twisted into a grimace, his lower teeth sticking out over his lips in a ferocious under-bite.

"Excuse me, sir, can I help you?" Nancy asked, taking a step back. In response, he placed both hands on her upper-arms and squeezed, pulling her close to him.

"You can," he nearly purred- a voice that didn't sound right for this particular face. "Got word you're talking to Norrell."

"If you'd let go maybe we could-" Norrell. Shit shit shit. That had been what felt like months ago. She stood her ground, planting her feet firmly, her jaw set. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me, little girl, I can smell it on you." He leaned in close to her neck, inhaling deeply. "I can smell the vampires, too. Yeah, I know about your operation. All about it."

"Please, let me go, and we can have this conversation like civilized people." Down the street, a trash-can turned over. For a second, the man turned to look at it, his grip on Nancy's arms tightening.

"Ain't got time for that. 'Sides, you know as well as I do I'm not people." He was right. He was fae. As she felt his unusually sharp nails digging in past the leather of her jacket and into her flesh, the world around her shimmered and the next thing she knew, she was in a dead-end alleyway, still being held by the fae. "Let's talk, little girl." He let go of her, shoving her, her face meeting the cold hard brick. He held on to one of her arms, when he shoved her, effectively twisting one behind her back. The other hand released it's hold on her only enough to catch the fabric of her jacket with his nails and tear it asunder. Satisfied with that movement, he leaned in, breath sour on her neck and ear.

"Now like I said: you were talking to Norrell. Me an' my friends, we've got some problems with that." His nails from the hand that wasn't holding her crept up and began to wind themselves into her hair. Pinned, she stood still as hot tears began to pour down her cheeks. There was something on his nails that caused her skin to hurt more than it should have, where he'd punctured it. If she'd been able to look, something slimy and green was visible in the wound- poison.

"It wasn't about the fae-" Nancy tried, but the fae pulled sharply on her hair, getting a small shriek from her. "It wasn't! I swear it!"

"Ain't what I heard," he said, letting go of her hair in order to put his hand around her neck. His nails tapped on the bite marks on her neck, no longer healing. She winced. "Now I got half a mind to tear your throat out, for talkin', little girl." Shaking, a few pieces of trash around them began to practically vibrate, rising up from the ground, but the fae paid no mind. "But the thing is, I think I like how you sound." A rock had started to levitate towards them, Nancy's eyes shut in concentration. But as the rock got closer, the fae turned sharply, snatching it out of mid-air and threw it right next to her head. The rock broke as it hit the brick, a few pieces exploding out. Nancy screamed, and the fae turned her, back against the wall so she was facing him. His hand was still on her neck, pressing harder, choking her. The other hand kept her shoulder pinned.

"So here's the deal, little witch bitch- you listening?" She nodded, her eyes on his. "we've got eyes on you. Anywhere you go, anything you say- we know you, little girl. Exactly who you are. Your daddy means shit to me and my friends, so don't think we're scared of him, got it?" Nancy nods, pressing her lips together as she tries to breath. "He's a piece of shit, and what do the humans say? Like daddy like daughter?" He laughs, spitting on her chest. "He's fucked us over before, and I got it on good authority you're trying to do the same." The fae loosens his grip, just enough to toss her to the ground. On the way down he sends his knee into her stomach, hard. Laying on the ground, she gasps for breath, hands clutching at the hard, dirty cobblestones.

"Aww- I didn't hear that scream," he said in mock pity, his back to the front of the alley-way. "Let's try again. If you're gonna sing, you're gonna do it for me. Not for Norrell, y'hear?" He reaches down and with incredible strength, picks her up by the lapels of her sliced jacket, slamming her against the wall.

[knightscode]

Lancelot is having a bit of a peculiar January as is. He keeps getting headaches that no amount of painkillers can touch (which WebMD helpfully has informed him means he has a brain tumour and is dying. He doesn't think it's that, but he isn't sure what it is) and on top of that, Gilbert Norrell has made his way onto the Night Council and begun making laws that will make his life incredibly awkward.

A purge of dark magic. Well, on the one hand Lancelot does agree that it's dangerous yet...

When he'd spoken to Sylvia about Midnight and its troubles he's failure sure he'd advised near enough the opposite of this.

He's trying to walk off another headache, hoping the fresh air (or near enough London equivalent of) will help when he hears the shriek. Instinct makes him stop and listen, and he isn't sure he likes the sound of the laugh that follows.

Lancelot pads his way closer quietly, close enough to begin to make out the voice of the fae and the figure of a girl on the ground. His headache worsens, throbs heavily as if a strange pressure in the world around him is thicker here. Digging into his skull and making it hard to focus.

The fae reaches down and picks up the girl -- Nancy, it's Nancy, he recognises her face -- and slams her into the wall.

He barely thinks about what he does. He steps forward and gestures with his hand and his magic surges out, shoves at the fae enough to make him stumble and get his attention.

Lancelot himself hardly cuts an imposing figure. Thin dark jacket, pale blue shirt half unbuttoned and slightly ruffled, worn jeans. He isn't dressed for work, his hair is a rumpled mess of curls and there are shadows under his eyes. He smiles, thin and a little pained, and shrugs -- shoves his hands into his pockets.

"Felt a little left out," he says quietly, and begins to pace closer. "Am I interrupting?"

[stauncherhearted]

The fae stumbles, letting go of Nancy. Nancy manages to catch herself, but barely, keeping upright as the fae turns his attention from her to Lancelot. Oh, she knows it's Lance, and she says his name with a quick breath out in relief.

Lance, who had done magic. Later, it will occur to her that she has no idea what he is, exactly. But for now, she's just glad there's someone in her corner. She braces herself against the wall with one hand, almost cowering as the fae approached Lance, nearly oinking as he breathed.

"Yeah- you is. This is 'tween me and the little girl." Said little girl used this time to search the alley for another weapon, finding the same rock from before (which was really just a hunk of asphalt) and charging at the fae with a yell. But he was faster than her, and managed to grab her by the arm before she could attack and disarm her of the rock, before dropping her back to the ground. "So stay the fuck out 'less you want trouble."

[knightscode]

The distraction is more than enough for Lancelot.

His magic may not be weak enough to do much actively, but that's because it's soaked into his skin. It keeps him stronger, faster, reactions supernaturally sharp.

Stay the fuck out 'less you want trouble, the fae says, and is it turns back Lancelot is already in it's face -- grabbing it and slamming it around into a wall. Its arm twists up sharply behind its back, pressure applying slowly enough to warn that he means business.

Lancelot's headache throbs again and he winces, willing it back.

"Now," he says, still keeping an outward calm. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that's no way to treat a lady?"

[stauncherhearted]

The fae snarled something out in return as Nancy winced on the ground. It was cold, even through the fabric of her jacket, and the puncture wounds were stinging something fierce. She curled her knees up into her chest, backing herself up against the wall again as she watched Lance twist the fae's arm behind his back. Her breath was still coming in ragged snatches, made worse by the way he'd thrown her to the ground. She had landed on her back, and now any small movement sent her into a small fit of pain.

"She ain't no lady," the fae spat. "Girl's a thieving, lying, gutless traitor of a whore." Strong words from a man who looked more like a pig than a man. He spat in her general direction, though it landed in the dark a few feet from the girl in question. "And so's her pop."

"Message- received-" she coughed out at the fae. "Tell whomever sent you." Christ, the world was going dark, maybe she could shut her eyes for a minute. That would help keep the burning, oozing sensation at bay. The poison in question wasn't lethal, just damaging enough to send the message. She'd be sick for the next day or so, but after that, it would pass as it worked it's way out of her system. Starting with the pain, then moving on into a cold sweat and the shakes.

"Yeah, and don't you forget it!" He said, snarling before turning to Lance. "Leggo my arm, or i'll put you through the wall."

[knightscode]

"Confident for a pig in an armlock. You sure I'm not going to put you through a wall first?" Lancelot growls, slowly upping the pressure on the fae's arm. "I know exactly how much effort it would take to break your arm, and it isn't a lot. Now, when I let go, I want you to start running. And I don't want to see you bothering this young lady again. Understood?"

He doesn't even wait for the answer, he can feel the way the creature is beginning to tense up and squirm against the pain. The fae isn't the entirety of the problem, though, he can see that Nancy is injured. What he can't tell from a distance is exactly how bad it is. Loosening his grip on the fae finally he steps away, closer to Nancy, and watches it warily -- groping through his pockets as he glances sideways at her -- worrying clouding his eyes.

[stauncherhearted]

"Yeah- yeah, right," the fae said as the pressure and pain built in his arm. When Lance let go, he pushes off and starts to scamper down the alley. He'd made sure his message was recieved. And hey, he was just the messenger, there was no need to stick around and get his ass handed to him. He wasn't getting paid enough for that.

This left Nancy and Lance alone in the alleyway.

"Lance?" She looks up at him and starts to pull herself up into a standing position, using the wall. "Shit- thank you. You didn't have to do that." Yes he did. He was a cop, he was a Guardian. He had to do just what he did. She was actually half-surprised Lily wasn't there at his heels.

Nancy's voice is rough from the lack of air and the way he'd held her by her neck, choking her. she rubs her throat, then wipes the back of her hand over her eyes, removing traces of tears and smearing her makeup further. She tries to laugh. "We've got to stop meeting like this."

early january, croydon

[thelittlemerman]

The purge has begun.

Finnick's not loathe to see the practice of "dark magic" go. Dark magic, after all, is the greatest danger to him; it's what put him in magical captivity for half a century and he would love to see the power ripped away from humans all together. He doesn't necessarily believe that any magic is inherently light or dark, that's far too simple, but if there's a smaller chance he and his kind will be bound then he can get on board.

No, it's not the pushing out that bothers him. It's what's coming to replace it. He knows Daybreak is here in Croydon, purging this borough first, to clear the way for a takeover very soon. Eames may have designs on the territory but Norrell is clearly trying to mark it first, and Finnick fears that it will work. The fae aren't as strong as he would like them to be in the mortal realm yet, and Daybreak has the backing of nearly half the city. If it ends well, it won't be without casualties, and Finnick does want to see any more of his kind die for this.

He mulls all this over as he watches some lowly Daybreak witches carry boxes out of an antiques store. The store really did sell antiques, but there were a few questionable objects in the mix that made it a frequent stop for local dark magic users. Said questionable objects are being carried out in cardboard boxes one by one, magically sealed of course, and the store's windows are curtained off with some muffling charm to prevent humans from seeing and hearing the looting going on inside. Finnick watches this from across the street, only imagining what sorts of objects are inside the boxes and what has happened to the owner of the store inside. The Norrellites are not known for their kindness and compassion, after all.

His thoughtful, slightly disgusted expression changes to suspicion when one of the Daybreak witches crosses the street, making a beeline for him. He hasn't been dulling his own magic aura, so she must have sensed him, and that's confirmed when she walks right up to him and tells him he's not welcome here either, like he's another one of the objects they've sealed so tightly in those deceptive cardboard boxes. She's an indignant little thing, clearly having been bothered by his presence long enough to risk approaching him.

His entire posture changes then, subtly becoming more open and appealing as he bats his eyelashes at her. "I'd like to stay here a little longer," he tells her sweetly, "if you'll let me."

The glamour works, and she trips over her words apologizing to him and then promptly turns to go back to her looting. Good at sensing magic, shit at resisting it, Finnick thinks to himself. He settles back against the building he was leaning against, crossing his arms and regarding it all with the same troubled look he had before the witch approached.

[stauncherhearted]

It was awful. Absolutely awful. She knew she was on Norrell's list, a purge coming her way. But Nancy had already tried to stash what she could, prepared for the inevitable break-down of her door, once they came to her flat.

It was also awful, that they'd gotten their hands on Croydon. It had been rightfully Midnight- but Norrell and the rest of Daybreak had come through, waving their flags and taking it from right under their noses. At least Nancy wasn't exactly the most well-known, which made her perfect for reconnaissance.

She wasn't the only one, either, it appeared. She could sense Finnick, easily enough, even amidst all of the magic vibrating around Croydon. It was actually the movement of the witch leaving him that brought Nancy's attention to him, otherwise, she wouldn't have looked at him twice. But now that she had...

She moved towards him, trying not to smirk as she did. He wasn't a witch- fae, easily. Which meant he was on her side. Technically, at least, when it came to Croydon. Casually, Nancy leaned up next to him, all casual. "They're done already, down the way. Just saw 'em close out a boutique. What'a bout you?" Come, share the intelligence, she'd offered hers up as peace.

[thelittlemerman]

Finnick sense the witch approach him, and his hackles don't raise only because he's trained himself not to react. He used to have to tell himself every time - they don't know your name, you can protect yourself, they can't hurt you - but now that happens instantaneously and subconsciously, so his only reaction is to glance over his shoulder at her and then look back at the store front.

"I've only been here about fifteen minutes," he says, "but they've left their trail throughout the borough. They certainly aren't in the interest of making friends." His tone is light and inscrutable, with that signature fae attitude as if watching the human race go about its business is lie watching a rerun of a TV show that was already boring the first time.

[stauncherhearted]

Nancy sighs, leaning against the wall. "Bloody- great." She rolls her eyes. "That seems pretty par for the course, doesn't it?" Daybreak was supposed to be the 'good' ones. And yet, here they were, looting, shutting down good businesses, without a single care in the world. Midnight never did that.

That was the problem with Midnight and Daybreak, and, really, even Seelie and Unseelie. The world wasn't just black and white as their factions seemed to like to paint them as.

"I'll have to come through again tonight, see if there's any lasting damage." To their ego, to the relationship between Midnight and Daybreak, and Daybreak and the Fae.

[thelittlemerman]

Finnick huffs a cold laugh, his eyes still trained on the boxes in front of the store. How many items inside of them have to do with fae magic? How many don't rightfully belong to either faction of witches? And this girl, this Midnight witch he assumes, she either genuinely cares about the freedom of her own kind or she assumes her circle will still be receiving the borough in due time. Maybe a combination of both, but Finnick doesn't voice any of this. Eames wants to make deals with Midnight witches, and Finnick's not going to jeopardize that out of pettiness.

"They just want to make sure the area is squeaky clean before they move in," he says, his tone affecting some bitterness.

[stauncherhearted]

she knew by now that the borough would not be Midnight's. But to think, a perfectly good deal wasted because somehow Daybreak heard. Daybreak heard and mobilized and they'd lost Croyden before it was even fully theirs.

"good luck with that," she said darkly, crossing her arms over her chest. "the way they're doing this is only going to breed more dissent." Daybreak witches would have their civil liberties impeded on just the same as Midnight. those that collected dark magic items... she smirked to herself. "I wonder how many books on dark magic Norrell has in his library. I'd like to give him a taste of his own medicine."

her issue with Norrell had become personal.

the 10th~ish

[falsify]

It's been a while since the two of them have been able to talk, and it's not something Eames would typically worry about, but with everything that's happened... Everything happening. It'd be nice to catch up.

And he has a new flat! It's in vampire territory - Eames has obviously ceased to care about these things - but Canary Wharf is gorgeous, and the flat is spacious and freshly decorated for Eames to move in. Buying a 3-bed out here may be a little like flaunting his wealth, but there are practical reasons. Of course.

Eames comes out with a bowl of salad in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, and he sets them down with a cordial smile at Nancy. "How hungry are you?"

[stauncherhearted]

She likes the flat, Nancy decides pretty quickly. The fact that it's in vampire territory doesn't even bother her for a second. Though, it's curious that a fae would so willingly move here, when their blood has a drug-like effect on vampires. Still, she won't question Eames' decisions.

Though why a 3-bed, she will never know.

"Starved," she confesses over at him. "I haven't eaten since breakfast." She looks at the salad. "May I trust that you have not poisoned, magicked, or otherwise tampered with any of the food that would put me and my independence at stake?" She had to ask. "I don't mean to offend." But she probably already had. Way to go Nancy.

[falsify]

It's fine, he expected it. Eames raises his eyebrows in mock-offence anyway, taking a chiding tone as he pours two glasses of wine and slides one across the table toward Nancy. "Worried I'd betray your trust and try to spirit you away under my thumb? I should be offended."

Should be, perhaps, but there's a lightness to his movements all the same as he takes his glass with him back to the kitchen. With all that's going on, Eames is very much looking forward to a quiet night with company he can stand for more than two minutes.

"You needn't worry," he calls from the kitchen, in between the clatter of him finishing up with the cooking, "it's all completely mundane, non-magical food."

[stauncherhearted]

She accepts the glass, and looks up at him with a roll of her eyes. "I am more use to you here, that's for sure." She'd be super useless in Faery. Here, she was his in with Shadow Coven, and Midnight in general. And anything he'd want her for in Faery could be accomplished here with greater ease. But you never knew with Fae, they played long games.

"Thank you- it's a habit, nothing personal at all. I'm glad you understand." She moves to place a hand on one of the chairs, leaning over slightly towards the kitchen. "D'you need any help in there?"

[falsify]

It's true that Nancy's more use to him here, but more than that, Nancy's far too savvy to the likes of the fae for him to try something as overdone as tricking her with fae food. Plus? The work:payoff ratio would be terrible. It's just all-around a bad idea right now.

Not that he's thinking about that, at the moment he's more concerned with plating the food and considering the best way to bring it out. "I'm fine," he answers while he stares at everything for a moment, coming out a moment later to set both their plates down. It's a good meal in his estimation - steak and a healthy array of roast vegetables with a red wine gravy, a liberal portion for Nancy too. He's quite looking forward to it. "Just enjoy your food," he says as he retreats back to the kitchen to get his glass.

[stauncherhearted]

Nancy tries not to look too eager as he sets the plate down in front of her, but it's pretty useless as she practically drools over the food. "Wow," she breathes, taking in the multitude of vegetables, "I had no idea you could cook."

Of course he could. He was however old. It'd be a waste of time if he hadn't learned to cook yet.

Setting her napkin in her lap, because she was actually raised to be quite polite, she waited to start to eat until Eames would return, instead content to sip on her wine. "Seriously, this looks amazing." Once he's sitting, she'll start to eat.

January 18th, Finnick, cw: references to self-injury

[anniesgonemad]

Annie's already at Finnick's apartment, by the time he comes home. She's been here for a while by herself, standing, sitting, thinking. She's managed to stay as focused as she can, because if she doesn't, then she won't ever ask him what she's been meaning to. She'll go away and forget all about it, and it will linger under the surface, festering.

She'd waited long enough, truthfully. Since her conversation with Eames, not wanting to distract Finnick from Croydon, and once they'd lost the territory, she'd let it sit a few days, too. Let him cool down. But now, she needs to ask.

When the door opens, she's sitting on the windowsill, looking out over the busy city.

"Finnick?" She asks, even though she knows it's him. She can feel the way the air changes, when he was near. Or maybe it was just her imagination. Now that she's here, though, and he's near, she can't find the words that she'd practiced saying out loud over and over again. Wrists scratched raw, she keeps her eyes on the lights of the city. She could will herself to go away, to forget all about this. But it would only be worse.

But her mouth is dry, and the words are bound to get caught in her throat.

One hand untangles itself from her hair, and she rests her palm against the cool glass, the heels of her palm covered the frayed edges of her cardigan. She needs to ask. But more than that, she needs to know. She needed to know if he was ashamed of her.

[thelittlemerman]

Finnick is exhausted. From fighting, from wanting this war to be over so badly but knowing that they're only getting started. He's been out a lot, picking up the pieces of Croydon and visiting Havering from time to time to make sure the fae there were still safe.

"It's me," he replies tiredly when she says his name, just to reassure her. He wanders in and senses something is wrong right away, but he knows it's no use to start fretting about it. It just means that he wanders in to see her rather than asking her to join him in bed. He leans on the wall next to the window, tilting his head at her. "Is there something wrong?" he asks gently, but not delicately, encouraging her to speak candidly if she wants.

[anniesgonemad]

There is always something wrong with Annie, and she knows it. Because she's crazy, mad, insane. At least she knows that this is real. That Finnick and this strange strange underground world of vampires and fae is real. Which, honestly, provides her some form of comfort, because at least when it comes to that, she's sane.

The public undoubtedly would not agree, but that's why they didn't know about these sorts of things. And why doctors at the hospitals had always been quick to label her as delusional.

She did make things up, though. Her head twisted truths and created things that weren't there, and what was reality and fiction wasn't so easily sorted. Right now- right now she was hoping, for once in her life, that she was making all of this up. That a simple comment had gotten into her head and snowballed until it was something she had no way of hiding.

She doesn't realize Finnick is next to her until he speaks. She keeps staring out over the city. She didn't want to bother him with her own insecurities, especially not when he sounded so tired. She knew Croydon had taken so much out of him, and out of her, too. But she'd let this fester as long as it could. So finally she just had to come out and say it.

"You're ashamed of me."

[thelittlemerman]

Finnick just frowns, but inside his heart breaks. He can't stand the idea that she would think that, that he feels anything but love and devotion for her, and he's almost angry that anything could make her think something like that - that maybe he made her feel that way. He quickly wracks his brain for anything he may have done in the past few days that would have made her feel like that, but comes up short.

He shifts his weight, holding himself back from embracing her just yet. That would seem like he's dismissing the problem, and he doesn't want to do that. He wants her not to feel that way, but the only way to do that is to find out why she feels that way and work from there.

"Of course I'm not," he says earnestly. "What makes you say that?"

[anniesgonemad]

She wants to reach out and hold him, but she can't right now. She can't dismiss her own thoughts as readily as that. But she was so used to ignoring herself, in favor of focusing on others. Her hands twitch to meet his, but she stands her ground.

"It's- it's just in the last week I, uhm. I met Eames, with the plans?" She isn't even sure of her own voice. "I mentioned you. He, uhm- didn't- you didn't- and then Ringer earlier. She didn't- I just- Finnick." She focuses on his name, clinging to it, trying to steady her readily rushing mind. Deep breaths, Annie. Stay here. Stay here, don't leave, you had to have this conversation. She couldn't let her mind win right now.

She focuses on breathing for a few seconds, in and out, in and out, pulling barely perceptibly on her hair. When her grasp on reality is firmer, she speaks again, quietly: "you never mentioned me."

[thelittlemerman]

Finnick crouches down next to the window sill so he's looking up at her. It's not that he's trying to catch her gaze, but he doesn't want to feel like he's literally talking down to her. He always took for granted that she would understand why he wouldn't tell everyone he met about her, why he'd avoid talking about it.

"I don't tell fae about you, Annie," he says gently. "I don't tell them because some fae see humans as playthings. Some of them might try to take you from me, if only because I looked at them wrong once a hundred years ago. It's not that I don't want to, I just don't know that Eames wouldn't... take it out on you, somehow, if I took a wrong step."