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undergrounds2016-01-23 05:28 pm
undergroundmods) wrote in undergrounds2016-01-23 05:28 pm
We're on a Boat
The River Thames is a defining part of the London cityscape. Tonight the leaders of the Night Council are making their annual introduction to the supernatural community – aboard a cruise ship on the river. They will invite a select group of VIPs from various factions to join them on board the ship (level 3 and above characters only).
Each faction is invited to send their own boat and join the fleet. Except the Seelie/Unseelie Court, because you guys suck.
The journey begins at 21:00 near Wandsworth Bridge in the borough of Hammersmith and Fulham, continues on to Tower Bridge and then turns back on itself to head towards Westminster. The total journey time is somewhere around two and a half hours. The fleet will moor at Westminster Pier near Big Ben for another hour or so as celebrations continue into the night. Will you join?
Prompts
1) EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD. But only a few do. They're right there, on the river, but out of reach. Unless of course you were lucky enough to be invited to mingle with the elite on the Night Council ship. If so, enjoy your champagne and truffles.
2) WOULD YOU LIKE A TRUFFLE? Ah, so you did get on the cruise ship. But as staff only, which means you're practically invisible to the VIPs on board. Keep your head down and the champagne flowing, and you'll get through the night. Man, they really should pay more than minimum wage for this...
3) WE'RE ON A BOAT. Enjoy the view as you travel along the river. Of course, the fact that you're stuck for several hours in close quarters with others in your faction has no chance of causing any tensions to boil over, right? Have a great time!
4) NOT THOSE GUYS. Your sworn enemies are in the boat next to you. You could do the mature thing and let them go by. Or...
5) LIGHT SHOW. At the stroke of midnight, magical lights flare up around every ship like a flurry of fireworks. It's awesome. Watch.
6) STRANDED. But you said you knew how to drive the boat! That's why we didn't hire a professional!
7) CRASHING THE PARTY. What, so you weren't invited? How rude! Tear up the rule book and join anyway, but do it quietly or the Guardians will throw you in the river.
8) POWER TO THE PEOPLE. Boo to the Night Council! The Night Council sucks! Set up your picket line along the edge of the river, and stage a protest.
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[Sylvia is there, of course, accompanied by at least one Guardian wherever she goes. With her she has a small flock of young Daybreak witches, each of them a candidate to become the new Maiden. They're being introduced to the other VIPs, asked to pose for photographs, and generally attracting a lot of attention. She's sure they're eager to make a good impression, but sadly good impressions do not a Maiden make. The current Maiden will make the final decision based on the signs in her visions, and all Sylvia can do is try and make sure that one of these young women fulfils them.
She turns away from the show, sipping her champagne as she looks across the river. The city lights are reflected in the water like a faery version of the real world: beautiful but distorted. She works so hard to keep the peace in this city, but too often she forgets to appreciate it. Maybe now she can take a moment to do just that.]
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It's an insult that, for her, is impossible to ignore. Whatever the Night Council thinks of her, she is still the High Priestess of Circle Midnight. It shows Redbright's true colours in a simple, obvious way. She is the Mother of Witches, but one group of her 'daughters' is completely ignored.
The bribes required were hefty, but they were made. Lancelot had mentioned Norrell doing it, so, well. Buying an advantage was on the table. Which is how she's present.
She does feel a bit bad that the crew will be down one waitress, and she makes sure it looks like they have plenty before she ducks out. The girl who was supposed to be here instead, well. She's probably planning the trip to Italy she wanted now that the funds are in her account for it.
After changing into an appropriate outfit smuggled on board in a backpack, she integrates into the main party. She doesn't announce her presence, no, but she begins to mingle. It won't take long before she's recognised, she knows, but that's why she's not looking to make a scene. Merely prove that she won't be kept out of this. And to remind the Night Council she won't be ignored.]
Elizabeth DeWitt
Elizabeth feels like she's about to heave over the side. She's never, in her entire life, been to a party where so many people seemed interested in talking to her. Or taking pictures with her-- which she still didn't know how to politely decline. So there were dozens of photos of her at a party in London going who knew where. This is something straight out of her nightmares. Full exposure with no confidence she could hide from the Fitzroy Clan after all this was said and done with. But she still smiled politely, made small talk, balked at questions about politics and kept on emphasizing how strongly she felt about 'balance' and other vague and non-committal things.
Eventually she pries herself away and goes below deck with the caterers and waiters and the rest of the staff. She fits better there, anyway. Not with all of those people talking about territory and law and whatever else.
...there's no way in hell she can be Maiden. No way at all, she thinks as she covers her face and hides behind boxes of champagne flutes. Just for a few minutes.
[B]
At midnight, Elizabeth finds herself at the railing of the ship, watching the lights dancing over the water in a spectacular display. It's so beautiful, she can't help but grin and appreciate that, at least, she had the opportunity to see this.
[C]
"No, really, I saw the lights and they were very pretty-- weren't they pretty?"
This witch is literally backing Elizabeth into a corner. Older, gentlemanly type, trim beard, graying at his temples, paisley brocade jacket-- and really wants to 'help' her see the lights on the bank better.
He picks her up at her waist and Elizabeth has to dig her nails into her palms in an effort not to hit him. If she punched someone at this function, she would be out of Daybreak for sure, not to mention everyone now knew her name and would know exactly who had caused the ruckus.
The man ignores her protests and lifts her onto the railing. Is it better? She really can't say, her skin is crawling as his hand slides along the silk of her dress--
Natural instinct to lean back does succeed in getting her away from the creep, but it also causes her to lose her balance and topple over the side. Her heel catches the witch's jaw as she goes down with a gasp and a scream.
She's never had to swim before.
A
She'd come a long way from stumbling around a train station, after all.
"How're you doing?" Like all of this is totally normal.
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But she recovers and frowns a little. "Feeling like if I smile one more time, my face will get stuck that way."
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Of course, she's... Well. She knows enough about the goings on of it to know that there is no choosing. Not as it seems, at least. Prophecy, fate, all of that. But that doesn't mean she'll leave it all to that. No. Far better to just... keep up.
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Staying in hiding aside, Elizabeth believes herself to, indeed, be the least qualified person to mentor anybody outside of maybe personal library upkeep, mechanical and chemical engineering, and healing magic.
"But I can't exactly say that to anyone upstairs, can I?"
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She chuckles ever so slightly.
"It won't matter. She doesn't get the final say."
C
Simon has not been the best waiter tonight. Honestly, the fact that he's managed to stay upright at all, much less serve drinks, is something of a miracle. He's been sneaking a lot of the champagne for himself, figuring that the Night Council can afford better vintages than he can and that he's entitled to some modicum of reimbursement for being strong-armed into serving people he either doesn't know or doesn't care to know.
He's standing not far from the pretty American girl, sneaking another drink, when he watches her go over the side of the rail almost in slow motion.
"Shit."
He clumsily removes his jacket and his shoes (with enough forethought to ensure his iPhone ends up inside one of them, rather than in the Thames) and then jumps in after her.
It's around that time he remembers he doesn't swim that well.
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Or she makes her own help. Elizabeth pulls her legs to her chest and extends her hands down, chanting quietly with the last of her air. The water under her palms starts to freeze and create a sheet of ice-- her own flotation device. She hears something hit the surface of the water near her and she looks up. Someone's jumped in after her?
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Dogs have a swimming instinct in water, though, and surprisingly Simon manages to stay afloat. He tries to make it over to the girl, but the current and the wakes from their little magical flotilla make that difficult.
"Are you all right?" he calls, getting another mouthful of the disgusting water.
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Norrell is not wildly keen on boats, but he has overcome that to be here tonight since the honour of being part of such a thing far outweighs the fear. Still, the motion of it makes him uneasy and every so often he shoots a nervous glance out toward the water.
All the same, Norrell is drinking as much for enjoyment as to try and ease his nerves. They bubble away early on, but as the night progresses and his ego is fed Norrell seems to relax into the position and even embrace it. For Norrell is on his way up! He has reclaimed a territory for Daybreak, brought peace to another, is High Priest as well as a man of the Night Council! Certainly, not everyone agrees with his strong opinions but no matter. Those who are of importance do. He can often be spotted in a corner with Vrinak, deep in intense conversation and nodding along to what is said. The two are clearly the closest of friends, which is not good at all.
Light Show.
Fireworks are something Norrell does not enjoy (he doesn't enjoy much, of course) because he finds them tacky, like showy spells or Chinese powders thrown into a fire. Unnecessary flare. They are also ever so loud, and he winces slightly as the explosions begin and takes a sip of his drink.
"I do not see why this is necessary," he mutters quietly. "Fireworks! Whatever do we need fireworks for! It will draw so much attention, and the noise --"
Fae Protester
Norrell knows exactly what is going on before it fully even comes into view. He can hear the chanting, and as soon as the light reaches the riverbank he can see the people. See what they are wearing, or -- more to the point -- not.
Fae! He knows they are fae instantly, the slogans painted on their skin are offensive and crude in ways only fae could be. He inhales sharply, averts his eyes and turns his back to them as he takes a large sip of his drink. Since he is turned away, it is only pure luck that the stone they throw sails past him due to bad aim and bounces off a piece of wood nearby.
Fae! The nerve of them!
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And failing rather miserably, it would seem. He sighs and finally accepts the wine glass that's been waved in his face by the staff for the last half hour. Should he be drinking on the job? Probably not as a Guardian. But then he's also there as a guest, and it's all reaching that level of annoyance where a drink sounds pretty good right about now...
B) They're like fireworks, but they really aren't fireworks at all. Not with the way they're dancing about the ships, rather than being fired up into the air like he's used to. It sets him on edge, a little. Is it safe, to have something like that around a boat? Could something go wrong? He supposes that they're only on a river, and not all that far from land, if they were to catch fire then it wouldn't be that much of a catastrophe.
Faolan forces himself to take a deep breath and calm the tense set of his shoulders. He's supposed to be enjoying himself. He's supposed to be enjoying the lights and the food and the company and the lot of it. Is it really that hard to step back and take a break?
C) Of course, he is on the job. Which means that when a commotion breaks out, he's one of the muscle to be sent into the fray to calm a situation down. And being forced to participate in this political partying all night, you can bet that his mood is a thing to be reckoned with indeed.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"