undergrounds | CROYDON 2: CROYDON HARDER

January 7th-14th: Once the purge really gets going, it's pretty obvious that Croydon's being targeted disproportionately. It's less of a surprise than some might like; the area's a source of numerous bruised egos - Eames' included - but more than that, every side involved clearly wants to put this to bed. Daybreak, unfortunately, has a lot more backing and more official channels to go through to get the upper hand. Numerous people are taken in by the Night Council on whatever charges of using dark magic can be used against them, and it leaves a not insignificant dent in their power. Clever, one might suppose, reduce the numbers before Daybreak - Norrell, let's all be honest here - send the bodies in to take the area. Eames has the fae on his side and the people in his employ do what they can to undermine this though. Moving people out of the area quickly and under the noses of the Council guardians sweeping the area, goods hidden, the odd person stored away safely in Faery. More than anything, it's a move of solidarity with those living here. A gentle suggestion that those witches, fae, metas, etc. in the area can trust him and his to look after them.

January 15th: This is a losing fight, and Eames makes it clear no one is obligated to join in before things start. There's too many extenuating circumstances to have a hope of keeping their hands on Croydon. Still. Eames is too frustrated with the current state of affairs to let it go easily, and he amasses a small militia of the like-minded. They may not be able to keep Croydon, but they can make it difficult as hell to take. The plan is simple: In the early hours of the morning, before the sun has risen, they'll attack. The intent was to avoid bloodshed last time, but this time the intent is clearly to kill as many as possible. By the evening they'll have withdrawn, and Norrell can have fun explaining to the families of the deceased that they died for a shithole like Croydon.

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This is...more difficult than last time. There's a desperation to the fae and their allies that wasn't there before. Now, after a particularly vicious volley of spells scattered the group he is supposed to be protecting, Simon finds himself quite alone.

He ducks into an alley, padding along silently and trying to avoid magic where he can. There are fae everywhere; they confuse his nose and he can't tell who is human and who isn't. Or even, in the confusion, who is friend and who is foe.

So when he stumbles upon a man at the end of the alleyway, smelling of blood and magic, he isn't sure whether he needs to attack or defend. He merely backs away, ears down and hackles raised, growling a challenge.

Finnick's feelings toward shapeshifters can generally be summed up as that face people make when a wet dog unexpectedly walks into the room. Most fae aren't particularly fond of them, and Finnick's never met one that he liked. That, however, isn't why he tightens his grip on his trident and looks over his shoulder at Simon. It's an automatic response to the growling, and after all he doesn't know what side this shifter is fighting for. It's highly unlikely he's helping the fae, but Finnick doesn't just kill indiscriminately.

"It wouldn't be wise to attack me, dog," he say, quiet but firm.

Fae? Fae.

Simon backs off slightly. His ears are still flat against his head, back fur still raised, but his tail goes between his legs. It's a sign of wary submission, of mutual recognition. I won't attack if you don't

Not for the first time, he wonders what has happened to the others he was supposed to be protecting before they were scattered. Have they also run into fae? Did they also think it was a bit odd that this particular fairy was wielding a trident like someone in a Disney film?

Finnick notes the submission. He keeps his hand tight on the trident but doesn't move, watching the dog move carefully.

"So, you some fae's pet?"

Simon bristles at the implication, letting out another warning growl. He is no one's pet, thank you very much.

He's a man-killing monster. Lately, he hasn't done very well being on any one else's team.

Go fuck yourself, fae, he thinks.

God, he wishes he were closer to his clothes. Losing the ability to speak is the worst part about being a shapeshifter.

Finnick actually has the gall to laugh. It's humourless and quiet, but he shakes his head like he's dealing with a child. This dog is a toddler relative to himself, anyway.

"Ah, so some Daybreak sympathizer," he says. "Run along, then. My reach with this" - he gestures with the trident, though not in Simon's direction - "is longer than yours with your claws and fangs and I'm sure you'd like to live another day."

Simon bristles; he hates being laughed at. He barks furiously at the fae, but still keeps his distance. That really is a long trident.

But he doesn't turn tail and run--not yet.

"Hush," he tells the dog calmly. "There are other fae around here still fighting, and they're not the type to ask questions first."

There are witches too, but if they're enough of a threat they'll sense Finnick's magic anyway.

The fae has a point, as much as Simon hates to admit it. Teeth and claws aren't much match for the kind of magic he's seen thrown around tonight.

With one more growl, just so he can feel like he got in the last word, Simon slinks away.

Maybe he'll have better luck finding the others in an alley far from here.

CROYDON 2: CROYDON HARDER

The Fight

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