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 By the evening they'll have withdrawn, and Norrell can have fun explaining to the families of the deceased that they died for a shithole like Croydon.

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7th-14th;

For whatever reason, Eames has found himself in charge of defending a borough he never supported taking in the first place. 'Annoyed' is a gentle way to describe his mood. Between this and the attention he's been getting from the courts for dealing with this shit, he is not best pleased.

But he's here dealing with it now, and this week is for co-ordination. Eames makes sure to be as available as possible, occasionally flanked by 'security' of sorts if he's dealing with something a little more sensitive, but he does his best to be easy to find. He flits about, managing concerns as best he can. By the Saturday, he seems to always have a coffee to hand too. It's exhausting work, and by Monday he's decided to stop hiding the way his eyes glaze over when someone new comes to him with some other problem. Why are mortals always so difficult?

15th;

This is what Eames has been waiting for honestly, and he leaps into the fray with little concern or hesitation. Barely even thinks to use his magic - why bother, when guns, knives, and fists kill and wound so quickly and efficiently?

Sometimes he withdraws back into the Other Realm, to take a breather or dragging the significantly wounded with him, but for the most part he's there. Punching the shit out of everything. He's among the last to leave too. Clothes ruined, mood not at all lifted by the day's events, and in dire need of a shower.

Edited 2016-01-14 20:58 (UTC)

PRIOR

In the days leading up to the fae's last stand so to speak, Finnick spends a lot of time in Croydon. He specifically reaches out to any fae that need help getting out, staying under Daybreak's radar for the most part and only helping Midnight witches if they seek him out. He's putting on a charming face for the witches, trying to convince them he's on their side. He is, technically, but he'll never trust them properly. They have their own people to help them get out, make sure they're safe, and Eames seems to helping with the effort too. In any case, he's visible enough, unless you're Daybreak, in which case he's doing his best to keep his distance.

THE FIGHT

Finnick's intent is along the same lines as Eames'. He wants to make sure that Daybreak feels this loss, that they pay in blood for what they've been doing the past couple weeks, the past couple months - this whole crusade against the fae. Any witch who casts a spell in his direction sees the sharp end of his trident. Some escape, more are wounded, fatally or not. Finnick is an honorable fae of the Seelie court, so he doesn't need to play tricks, and he takes no pleasure from this, but it's only right that they feel some of the pain they've already caused.

By the end of the night there is blood on his jacket, almost invisible but splattered across the black leather. He's tired and has a paranoid look on his eyes as he stalks back alleys, waiting for some signal that the fight is officially over but still looking for Daybreak witches out on their own just the same. It's sickening, being around all this misused magic, all these foolish mortals not knowing how to use it. He sees groups of witches pass by, finishing their purge of Croydon with this one last stand against the fae, hating them every minute of it.

Edited 2016-01-14 22:06 (UTC)

"Ex-excuse me? Sir?" Annie raises a hand in a half-formed sort of wave, waiting for a sign before approaching him. "I'm- I'm Annie. I wanted to go over evacuation plans with you?" She held a small folder in one arm, cradled against her chest. She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, and tried to stand up straight, wanting to make a good first impression.

"I have a few routes drawn up... I thought maybe we could alternate? To avoid patterns, maybe?" She gestures to the folder again. "That is- I mean, if you're free?" She was awful at this sort of thing, presenting plans. Before, while timid, she'd still be able to properly speak. Now it was more difficult to present such things to people she didn't know. Once she got more at ease around someone, then it was different.

"Sir?" Eames echoes, almost too surprised by being addressed as such to respond straight away. God he hopes it's just this woman and people aren't going to start calling him sir now. That would literally be a nightmare.

But he registers her nerves and offers a gentle smile. Evacuation plans are useful, and Eames would rather not put her off before he gets the chance to see if any of her ideas might pan out. "Of course," he nods, "Annie. What do you have in mind?"

Nope, just Annie, with her perpetual politeness.

At his bidding, Annie opens up the folder and lays it down on the table in front of them, pulling out a few maps, unfolding them. Each one is a thin sheet of tracing paper, made so they can be layered on top of one another except for one: a map of the area of Croydon.

"Each sheet is, ah, a different method of evacuation. Color-coded, so all taxis are yellow, tube is red, walking is blue, you'll uhm, see. So that way they're useless if they're separated. The maps, I mean. They won't know what they mean without the key and don't have any solid plans. Just parts of them." She glanced up briefly at Eames as she started to explain the way she'd set it all up. "Sorry if this is too much- I just, ah, I want to get this right." There's such earnest in her voice. She wants to get this right. For innocent people, for the Seelie courts, but mostly to prove to Finnick something that he would never ask her to prove. To prove that she was still capable, just like anyone else.

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.

JANUARY 15

Like all fights, Arthur's keeping his distance. He's not properly equipped or trained to deal with witches or fae up close, so he tries to keep a healthy distance and hopes that his Witches' Amulet doesn't ping on anyone's radar. The bullets in his gun are just the regular kind tonight, and he goes for non-fatal shots and only if they're actively engaged in a fight. He gets into a few scraps himself, but nothing he can't get out of. He mostly wants to try and help the fae put up a good fight, if only to cripple Daybreak's forces for future conflicts.

When the fighting starts to die down, he continues trying to stay out of sight, traveling through the borough and assessing the damage more out of mild curiousity than anything else. However, the gun in his holster is ready just in case he needs it for self-defense or a tactical opportunity presents itself.

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?

This time, this time it had worked. Norrell felt the thrill of success and he loved it. The sweet victory of knowing he had driven out his enemy, that Abigail had (in his opinion) bowed out of the area thanks to his counsel and his greater power.

He is not one to be there, front line at a battle. Norrell is a meticulous planner. A strategist. A man who likes to write, to think, to research -- but when it comes to duelling he is weak. He has no intention of shedding his own blood, but other people's? That is absolutely fine.

So it is that Norrell does not even appear in Croydon until victory is assured, until the majority of the fae and straggler witches have been driven out. He has to be here, of course, for Norrell intends to take part in the ritual to seal the territory so that no doors can be opened. Childermass has paused to discuss something with the driver, and Norrell is impatient -- he does not want to be late!

So it is that, just for a moment, Norrell walks away from his guardians with the irritated air of someone who has is very close to giving someone a piece of his mind.

By the time he realises he can feel magic nearby it's too late.

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.

Oh, Norrell. If only you'd waited a few hours.

Eames is doing final checks before he leaves the area - making sure everyone of note is accounted for and such like when he spots Norrell coming to assess his winnings the arrogant little weasel he is. Flanked by guardians, it's too dangerous to get close to the man right now, and Eames settles his mind to leave--

That is until Norrell makes the mistake of walking away from his guardians, and Eames sees his chance. He keeps a healthy distance for a little while, but the second he knows they're away from prying eyes and ears, Eames closes in with little care for being noticed now. His intent is simply to corner Norrell, maybe they can have a nice chat first.

"Mr. Norrell," Eames says, and maybe it's the magic or maybe it's just his current mood, but he looks bigger somehow. More imposing. And the cold smile on his face - a mockery of a friendly expression - probably doesn't help matters any. "What a pleasure to finally meet you."

Clever. Eames nods and smiles at her, seeming as though he might actually be a tolerable person. (He's not, but he knows how to pretend.)

He makes a soft noise indicating that he's impressed by her forethought and points toward one of the sheets. "And what about the routes themselves?" He asks, because it doesn't really matter if the maps would be useless to anyone else if the routes don't work.

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.

While Norrell spends most of the territory claim behind closed doors, Childermass is his eyes and ears where he cannot (or will not) go. He spends time watching over the other man while he conducts his business, and he makes certain that he is there to accompany him any time he should require to move from one place to another. For if there were ever a time when a person might want to take a shot at Norrell, this would be it.

Luckily nothing has come of it so far, and it looks as though this territory dispute might in fact go their way. Though Childermass cannot be sure until he gets more of an idea of that for himself. So there he is, making his way around the fringes of the opposite's base camp. He needs an accurate idea of their numbers, if they've got any concrete idea of a plan, or whether Norrell really should have the confidence on this claim that he's been boasting from the start.

Edited 2016-01-18 14:07 (UTC)

With so many fae and various other types around, who could say if Childermass can accurately pick up on the feel of magic close by. It's not until he's certain there's no one else around that Eames drops the glamour keeping him hidden, and then there he is in all his needlessly dramatic glory. Stood casually with his coffee in one hand and gun in the other - the safety's on, if Childermass' eye is keen enough to notice, but he's kept enough distance that he's certain that can be changed quickly enough. It may be loaded with wooden ammo (because fuck vampires,) but they'll still hurt a witch like a motherfucker.

Eames clicks his tongue, tutting softly and shaking his head as though disappointed in this relative stranger. He heaves a sigh too for added effect, like a particularly patronising headmaster. "Snooping is extremely rude, you know."

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?"

Woah. That smile- Annie blushes, despite herself, ducking behind a curtain of untameable red hair.

"I've run them myself, a few times." She says it with pride, though she can't help but think he'll just shoot them down. "They all bring us to Fae territory." So that way they were nearly guaranteed safety.

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.

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.

The trouble, of course, with bloodshed before the sun has risen... is that the vampires are still awake. Coward has, honestly, been trying to keep the casualties low. After all, he'll have to answer for everything that happens here to the Night Council if he wants to stay in good favour across the board. But when the killing starts...

Well.

Even if he'd wanted to keep the others under control, it would have been difficult. But he has no desire to do that. Someone has decided to start killing his allies, so Coward responds with the full force of the vampires who follow him.

Even he joins in on the chaos. The fae want deaths? He will oblige. There's nothing quite like fae blood, and the sensation of it runs through him as he drops the lifeless body of the girl who crossed him, two drops of blood sliding down his chin.

Norrell startles like a wild animal, backs away from Eames instantly. No matter how friendly his demeanour may appear Norrell knows his own crimes well enough, knows that if this man is a fae than he will hardly be here peacefully.

"Stay back," he warns, yet the tone of his voice is not as intimidating as he would like -- expression doing little to hide the alarm he feels at suddenly finding alone with a fae who no doubt wishes him harm.

He smiles a little broader, obviously amused by Norrell's warning and Eames' response is to close in on him with a punch aimed right at his face. Super rude, right?

"Sorry," he doesn't seem all that sorry though, "could you repeat that?"

He's listening carefully, and takes one of the sheets to lay it over the map and check the routes. She's run them herself, so that's confirmation they at least work and go where they need to, but that's only half of assessing how feasible they are.

Okay, Eames takes a pencil and starts going over the routes in earnest. He doesn't say much as he does, crossing off routes that don't work or are too risky with terse explanations. "Too close to Daybreak," "unreliable traffic," etcetera, etcetera. He doesn't actually cross many off, but he spends a long time looking over every sheet.

And this is what Elizabeth was dragged here for, honestly.

People are getting hurt in droves, she can barely keep up with the demand and she's finding herself begging injured people to wait for another medic so she can find the more direly injured and use her reserves on them. Just a few hours into the day she's already got blood all down her front.

Finally a dire patient comes around the corner, running from something clearly. He looks like he's been severely beaten, Elizabeth doesn't even have to insist he sit down because he collapses right against the wall before she can even touch him. He grabs her wrists, clearly trying to keep her from attacking him.

"It's alright! It's alright, I'm here to help--"

Or he's trying to warn her that the one who did this to him is still nearby and she should run.

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Page 1 of 8

CROYDON 2: CROYDON HARDER

Eames | OTA

Finnick / OTA

January 12th

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The Fight

Arthur / OTA

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POST-CLAIM

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

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Post Claim

~13th?

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The Ritual

January 15th

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15th