CROYDON 2: CROYDON HARDER

[falsify]

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 By the evening they'll have withdrawn, and Norrell can have fun explaining to the families of the deceased that they died for a shithole like Croydon.

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THE GREATEST WITCH OF THE AGE (Norrell) | OTA!

[hurtfew]

7~14th:

Norrell is not a man who likes to duel with magic. He is too slow in his reactions, and few of his favoured spells are quick to cast or deal in damaging another witch. No, Norrell much prefers to use remote spells -- to cast from a distance and to watch in mirrors. To plan, carefully, to write and manipulate and work at a thing like a puzzle until it all comes together. He would never put himself in harms way, never shed his own blood, but the blood of others? Well, that is a sacrifice he is willing to make.

This time, the plan is working. This time, with the backing of the Night Council, the purge of dark magic means that Croydon can be slowly whittled away at before Daybreak moves in to claim it.

It's working, and once more it's working well. It is a joy to see it come together, something that fires pride in Norrell. For now they will see! Now, surely, his place on the Night Council will be safe. His position as High Priest will be proven. Norrell will cleanse London of dark magic, and he will be lauded for it!

Norrell is, variously, splitting his time between Westminster and the Norrellite coven. He can be found at either during the early stages, carefully adjusting his plans and keeping an eye on the proceedings.


Post Claim:

Croydon is largely free of both dark magic and the fae.

Norrell finally graces it with his presence at this point, patrolling through and taking notes -- approaching Daybreak members who live their to assure them they will be safe now. That the territory has been reclaimed and there will be no more disturbance to their homes. Listening to any qualms people might have. Largely, though, he is here to help perform the sealing ritual. It requires a coven of witches, and is what will keep fae from opening new doors in their territory. Such a thing is important, so of course he would make a personal appearance at this point to contribute.

He does his best not to walk anywhere alone, of course, travelling with Childermass at the very least by his side and often a guardian or two.

That does not mean, of course, they he cannot be challenged -- or at least questioned in his movements.

The Ritual:

By the time Norrell makes it to the site of the ritual he is... dishevelled to say the least. He looks as if he's had quite the fright, in fact --

In fact, surprisingly for Gilbert Norrell, he looks as if he has been in a fight.

His demeanour is changed to match: entirely snappish and irate while equally jumpy and paranoid. He'd been tempted to leave entirely, but his pride will not allow it. No; Gilbert Norrell will not evacuate and abandon his duties for one fae -- however rude it might be. He has his books with him, straightens himself as much as he can and waits for the other witches to arrive. This was begun by him, and he will be there to end it too. To make sure Croydon stays the territory of Daybreak this time, and that no further trouble occurs to stop the proceedings.

Post Claim

[knowstheworld]

Childermass knows as soon as the territory dispute is over. Not because he is in the field, although he has spent some of the time there, as he always does, being Norrell's eyes and ears (and hands) where he cannot (or will not) go. But because he is watching the other man work, guarding perhaps yes, and he sees it the moment the other man realizes it himself. That at last, it is done.

Childermass sits up from where he's been slumped in his chair by the door, pushing himself to stand and cross the room towards him. "Mr Norrell?" he asks, for he wants to be certain that he is interpreting this situation correctly, and that Norrell hasn't simply begun to lose his mind instead.

[hurtfew]

For a moment Norrell does not answer. He continues searching -- quartering his bowl of water and checking each area. Nothing, nothing in each corner he checks.

The silence draws out a minute longer before Norrell sits back, staring down the bowl of water then flicking his eyes up to Childermass.

"It is done," he confirms. "We have won."

And despite it all, Norrell sounds faintly surprised himself.

[knowstheworld]

Childermass moves forward, his last few steps faster as he moves beside the other man, glancing down into the bowl of water before him, then sideways at Norrell himself. It is not so much that he did not expect such an outcome, but simply that after the effort they had put forth last time only to come out at a draw, he half expected equal as much trouble now. But... Norrell says it is so, and from what he can spy in the bowl itself, it's true.

"Congratulations, sir," he says, inclining his head towards the other man slightly. "It would seem that we have."

[hurtfew]

The strange thing of it is that Norrell now feels at a loss. He had planned so carefully the first time and not succeeded. Planned further the next time, taken his place on the Night Council and now --

Now his lips twitch into a bewildered, pleased sort of smile and yet Norrell does not quite know what to do with himself. His goals are being achieved, and so used is he to resistance that the completing of them is an alien sort of feeling.

"We should begin arranging things," he says after a moment, seeming to collect himself. "The territory must be sealed as quickly as possible. It will require a coven present."

[knowstheworld]

Childermass nods, standing back to regard the other man for a moment before stepping forward to stand at his side. "This whole enterprise has been your creation. Your accomplishment, sir. It would only be apt that you should be the one to seal it as well, would it not?"

He inclines his head towards the other man. "Tell me what you need, sir, and I will see that it is done."

[hurtfew]

The prompt seems to focus him and Norrell nods, reaches for a pen and paper and begins to write.

"We need need to summon the coven to a meeting point, make sure the Guardians are there to ensure our safety -- perhaps some other escorts too. We will need supplies, too, and quickly. To pick a place that is easy to guard and already clear...."

[knowstheworld]

Childermass nods, glancing down at the paper Norrell is writing on and wondering how much of this will be done by Norrell himself versus how much will be delegated out to him. He's got a feeling the balance will hardly be even, although it wouldn't be the first time.

"I know of a place that I think would do very well," Childermass says. "How quickly?"

[hurtfew]

"It must be done as soon as possible!" Norrell declares, seeming a touch incensed that Childermass did not intuit this for himself. "The longer we wait the more chance we give the fae to muster and begin anew! No no, we cannot wait!"

To Norrell, it is already a great stroke of luck that this plan has gone so well! He may publicly say it was his own careful planning and tactics that of course ensured such a thing, but privately he is ever paranoid about his own ability and sure failure and disaster looms always nearby.

The Ritual

[protagonized]

Simon is human again.

He stands behind Norrell looking thoroughly miserable. He's supposed to be keeping a weather eye out for possible attackers, but he hasn't gone this long without drinking in days, and sobriety hurts. One of the very few good things about being a dog is that he doesn't feel the need for alcoholic oblivion nearly as much as he does now. He's pale and unshaven, with dark circles under his eyes.

But he has a job to do, and do it he will.

He lights a cigarette to help with the tremors and looks over at the old man. "They should be here shortly," he says in what he hopes is a reassuring way even though he doesn't know that any better than Norrell does. He feels a weird sort of fellowship with the witch right now, because the normally so composed Norrell looks almost as bad as he feels.

[hurtfew]

Norrell has every right to look and feel bad. He's been punched by a fae, and his face hurts. However, he's hiding that -- both literally and figuratively. He's hiding the physical damage and refraining from telling anyone the truth -- he wandered off on his own impatiently and was cornered and punched by a fae.

Instead, he's simply telling people he was attacked due to incompetence and complaining bitterly about everything while trying to hide how dishevelled he truly is.

Simon's reassurance does little to help -- partly due to how hollow it is.

"They should be here now," he snaps back, pacing a little in nerves and impatience. "Why do they insist on keeping me waiting? I have other things to be doing. I cannot simply wait forever."

[protagonized]

"There's a lot of cleanup still going on," Simon points out, taking a drag on his cigarette. He'd almost quit the habit at one time, but lately he finds himself smoking a whole lot more.

It's all about stress.

"And there are a lot of injured. I didn't see many healers around; they could be lending a hand."

[hurtfew]

"There are enough!" Norrell protests. "They could continue healing later. How am I to get anything done when I am at all times kept waiting in this manner! It is most inconvenient! This territory will not be safe until it is properly sealed, and yet they delay to tend to people's cuts and bruises. At any moment the fae may open a new door and send through a fresh surge to us! Then, oh, then it is certain I will be blamed for the loss!"

[protagonized]

Simon tries and fails to avoid rolling his eyes. What little empathy he felt for Norrell is rapidly fading.

"Mr. Norrell," he says, sounding exasperated. "You aren't the only witch in Croydon. The others are on their way. Unless you know a spell that will make them come any faster, we'll have to wait."

[hurtfew]

"I know very well I am not! But I am the one who has lead this! That is why I will be blamed! I am the High Priest of Daybreak! Something you would do well to remember."

The sharp glance he shoots Simon suggests that lack of respect is something he should be checking, for Simon has ever had an irreverent manner that in moments like this grates.

[protagonized]

How could I forget it, with you reminding everyone all the time?

It's on the tip of Simon's tongue, but ultimately he keeps his peace. No need to further antagonize someone who's got something of a say in whether or not he becomes a Guardian.

Should he actually decide go that route.

"Right, then," he says instead, "Is there anything we could be doing to prepare for them, so when they do get here we can just get on with it? Is there--"

He cuts off, hearing signs of movement.

"Mr. Norrell," he says, more quietly, "How many people are we expecting?"

[hurtfew]

His expression softens from irritation to something more wary as Simon cuts off, then twitches into a frown.

"Well, the ritual requires an entire coven or as close as one can get. So we should expect the rest of the Norrellite coven. Can you hear them coming?"

At least, he hopes it is them. Norrell is not a man given to magical duelling if he can help it.

9th

[occultdisciple]

There are so many different games at play, and that gives Coward no small thrill of pleasure. There's just something about the complexity of politics that will never fail to delight him. Which is why he's perfectly content to visit Norrell at his coven's headquarters.

"Some rather fine tea came into my possession," he said by way of greeting. "I thought you might like some."

While they talked business, of course.

[hurtfew]

Norrell is sat quietly at his desk reading when Lord Coward is invited in, making careful notes on a spell he is researching the history of. So many variations of it involve distasteful practice and Norrell is doing his best to see if he can work a cleaner, more modern iteration for the modern witch.

The offer of tea comes as something of a surprise (a surprise, in truth, based largely on Norrell's silent internal bias -- he hadn't particularly thought about a vampire having a taste for tea, but he supposes Coward was once a witch) and gives him an odd sort of feeling. The idea of Coward giving him a gift throws him somewhat, because it strikes him as a kinder sort of gesture than he'd expected. Almost friendly. He has little idea how to respond to it.

"Oh," he says simply at first, than ah as he seems to come to his senses and ring for attention. Someone slips their head around the door and Norrell gives them an awkward sort of smile as he asks for hot water for some tea, at as he settles seems rather ridiculously pleased by even such a simple gift.

"It was very kind of you to think of me," Norrell says finally, "I must confess I do enjoy a good cup of tea, although a great deal of it lately is so cheap and poor tasting. I suppose you must find the same."

[occultdisciple]

"It used to take nearly a year to bring this tea to England," Coward said conversationally as he set the bag of tea on one of the tables and used a scoop inside to fill two ceramic straining pods. "Of course, the precise ingredients have been changed over the course of the years, but it's nearly the same as it was in my day."

He approaches Norrell's desk with the pods and takes a seat to wait.

"An associate of mine brought home a wife from India-- a native and powerful witch. This was the only kind of tea she'd drink."

[hurtfew]

The assistant fusses in and out to make sure they have everything for their tea, leaving a small plate of plain biscuits and hovering a moment until Norrell flaps at them to leave impatiently.

"From India?" he prompts curiously. "I have heard a great deal about India, but I must confess I do not think it would suit me to visit. It is so very hot and dusty, and the facilities..."

He winces, shakes his head a little.

[occultdisciple]

"I never had much desire to go. I heard stories, of course. There was one hunter -- tigers, you know -- who used to tell stories at a club I attended. But it was for the adventurers, not the politicians."

He had always been quite happy to stay in London, in the centre of everything that was happening, rather than in a more wild place. By the time he'd gone to the Caribbean, after all, it was far more than it had been when he'd been Home Secretary.

[hurtfew]

He nods along approvingly -- in this sense, at least, Lord Coward is entirely his sort of person. A strategist, but one who is a politician and not an adventurer. It is almost easy to forget he is a vampire, to simply remember him as the man who was once a Daybreak witch himself.

"Oh! I very much understand. London, in fact, is something I have had to grow used to. It is so expensive, the houses so small --! When I bought my house in Mayfair I was astounded by the prices! It is all so very noisy, and there is hardly space enough for a good library! My own place in Yorkshire has so much more space! Ah, but London is where greatest minds are. And it is so good to be among them now!"

[occultdisciple]

"I was born and raised in London. When, of course, it was the season to be in the city." Like others, his family had a country home and owned extensive other properties, most of which were rented out. Had he so chosen, he wouldn't have had to work a day in his life. If his father had had his way, he might not have. But his mother had raised him for something else. Had raised him to understand magic and how it could impact the world. "So I never had cause to be surprised by the prices."

He passed a cup of tea to Norrell once it was brewed to what he considered sufficient. Then, for himself, he applied a cube of sugar and a small splash of milk. He stirred it carefully then sipped.

"Still very much like it used to taste."

[hurtfew]

Norrell draws the cup toward himself and stirs carefully, a small smile upon his face as he does so.

"You and I are quite different, sir. Quite different. I have a scholars love of solitude, the bustle and volume of London does not suit me. Yet, making way in London requires... certain connections that leave me often at a disadvantage. I have a great to share, and the greatest wish to further the cause of modern magic -- there are many ways I believe I may be of service here. I heartily wish this duty had fallen to another witch, but it seems I am the one to shoulder. You, sir. I envy you -- you are so very at home here!"