undergrounds | Bríd Bríd, come in; thy bed is ready

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Bríd Bríd, come in; thy bed is ready

Thig an nathair as an toll

Seven Sisters, Imbolc

The shop itself has been closed for the day. Still, invitations have gone out to everyone in the supernatural community but especially to the covens of both Circle Midnight and Circle Daybreak. Imbolc is a time for new beginnings, and Abigail Widdowson intends to make it one worth remembering.

(Headers for Imbolc here.)

Là donn Brìde,

Geap Manor, all February

Abigail Widdowson is now the Maiden of Witches.

It is a role, she is well aware, many would not see go to a Circle Midnight witch, especially not a Widdowson. But just as Sylvia is supposed to represent both Circles as the Mother, so is she as the Maiden.

So, letters have been sent.

Letters of welcome to every witch she knows of and every coven she's aware of. They demand nothing; there is no expectation of tribute or the like. Though she's sure that's happened in the past. Instead, it is a letter of invitation to call upon her at Geap Manor.

To meet her.

Ged robh trì troighean dhen t-sneachd

Westminster, mid February

"I placed my order ten minutes ago!"

It's a small inconvenience, really, and Abigail knows it, but it's just one of the many, many things that have been going wrong lately. Especially since she just got blown off for a meeting because 'an urget matter' had 'come up.'

But it's to be expected. Even with her new title, of course the Night Council really doesn't want to see her. They probably know what she's planning. What little idea has seized in the back of her mind. The less attention they pay to her, the harder it'll be, they know. But, well. She knows that the only way to get attention when someone is trying to ignore you is to get louder.

Right now, though, she's trying very, very hard not to take it out on the barista.

"Okay. Again. All I want is a hot chocolate. Shot of espresso. Shot of vanilla. Whipped cream. Please."

She even hands over her card again. Because if she has to pay twice? That's just fine.

Air leac an làir.

Enfield, late February

"Who's there?"

She can't avoid going outside, even after dark. As much as Abigail would like to just shut herself up in Geap Manor forever given everything happening, it's just not plausible. But her recent status of Maiden has made her a little more paranoid when out of the house.

Before, it was just the universe out to get her.

Now? She has actual enemies. Even if she's determined not to let them make her change her life. She hasn't forgotten that vampire Sylvia set on her. Sure, it had been in a controlled environment and just meant to scare her, but... It had done its job. And she didn't know how many more there were.

She needs to get silver, no matter what Unthank thinks about that. A small witch's amulet isn't much to really protect her, and she knows it.

All she has for protection is the phone in her pocket, and there's not much 999 can do about the supernatural.

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With the Seven Sisters closed for business, the lower level of the shop has been converted (for the day) into neutral territory for all to enjoy the celebration of Imbolc. There are several activities offered, and people are welcome to come and go as they please.

[There are tables set up with rushes, straw, and strips of cloth. There are also helpful picture guides on how to create a Brigid's Cross or Brideog -- a small doll to be adorned with shells, stones, and flowers.

On the front desk of the shop, there is a large Cross with several kinds of cloth and greenery to be woven in. Everyone who attends is encouraged to add at least one piece to it to symbolise a communal effort to a new beginning.]

[When she isn't mingling with those invited, Abigail is at a table in the corner, one that has a tarot deck. The day is said to be good for looking to the future, so all are welcome to either have a reading done for them at no cost or do their own.]

[The food isn't as lavish as Abigail's usual parties, but it's set up like a buffet. There's plenty of variety and many non-alcoholic drinks offered.]

Kyle is oblivious to the woman's new promotion, as he is to most of the supernatural community even still. His time in England has taught him a great deal about the Night Council, the rules of the supernatural, and so forth, but he's still trying to learn. Unlike most arrogant Americans, however, he's willing to admit his ignorance and is seeking out avenues to learn. Assuming they won't slam the door in his face.

The soldier double-checks the scrawl on the paper he returns to his pocket, confirming the address, as he walks up to the door. The place is enormous for living in London and he can't help but admire whichever witch it is who lives here. All he knows is that there is one. Which occurs to him as probably insufficient information as he gives a strong series of knocks on the door and then waits patiently for it to open.

Besides the large yard and impressive size of the manor -- something that always has and always will speak to the sheer amount of money at the disposal of the Widdowson line -- one further striking feature (noticeable only when the time comes to knock at the door) might be the knocker. Rather than a more traditional lion or simple adornment, it is made of black metal and appears to be a face contorted in pain.

After a few moments, a young woman answers the door. Rather than being dressed in her usual black, Abigail has taken to wearing white. At least when she's kind of expecting people to call on her as the Maiden. Usually they make appointments, but it never hurts to present herself in the fashion she wants to be seen.

The man at her door is a stranger, but Abigail smiles faintly as she bows her head politely. "Hello there. Can I help you?"

Between the money and the seeming innocence of the woman before him, Kyle feels immediately out of place. He's almost never let that bother him though, adopting a charming albeit sheepish grin as he thinks about how to present his case. Or, more accurately, doesn't really think about it at all as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Uh, hi. I want to learn more about witches?" It's definitely a question. If he has the wrong house, he's likely to get laughed out of the sprawling yard. If she is a witch and it's supposed to be some secret he shouldn't know about, maybe he'll get a hex or plain murdered for his trouble. Kyle's mostly just hoping witches are 'just like us!' only with magic, rather than crazy cultists.

Abigail can't help but laugh a little. After all, it's a strange statement to be greeted with, but... Well. He's either from inside the supernatural community or some reporter looking to do a special or something about her home, family, and history. Both are possible.

"Well, I'll help you as much as I can. Please, come in."

Kyle flashes a smiles at her invitation, nodding. "Thanks."

Either he's going to get what he came for or he's going to be eaten, one of the two, but it seems premature to turn back now. The soldier instead gives a nod as he crosses the threshold inside, eyes immediately drawn up to admire the grandeur of the room. His attention returns to the woman not a moment later, pausing a few feet inside for her.

"I'm human," he offers, trying to be upfront. "I don't know if that's a problem. I learned a lot about vampires, years ago, in another country, but now I'm here. And some shapeshifter's telling me there are witches and werewolves and all this other stuff I'd never heard about before.. Figured I should learn more from the source if I could."

A beat. "I heard there's a witch here. Is that- I don't know if that's you, or?"

The immediately explanation tells her... well. Enough. Aware of the supernatural. Nothing to worry about in regards to the secrecy required of them. But uninformed. So, she closes the door behind him and leads the way through the foyer to a sitting room.

"Have a seat," she offers. Then, she holds out her hand. "Abigail Widdowson. Head of Circle Midnight, one of the two factions of witches in London."

Kyle follows, eyes darting around to note all possible exits and hiding places, a force of habit. He accepts the shake as she offers it, returning it in kind before hesitating a fraction at her words. When he drops her hands, he slides his own into his pockets.

"Kyle Sutton. Shit. I didn't mean to- I didn't realize you were the head honcho. I get if you don't have time to chat." Kyle casually pulls his pocket away from his body as a vague way of pointing back to the front door, an offer to leave if she wants.

"I've already invited you into my home," she replies calmly, and she actually chuckles a bit. "So, please. Have a seat. Would you like a cup of tea?"

It seems like the right place to start. After all, she has no idea how this conversation might go. The least she can do is play the proper hostess at first.

"No thanks," he replies lightly, taking her easily at her word. Kyle moves to sit on the edge of a chair, back away from visible entrances. Old habits and all. Realizing that the offer for tea may be a way to bond, like finding common ground in a hostage negotiation, he speaks up again. "Water would be great."

He pulls his hands from his pockets, making an effort to relax. The former jock slides back into the chair, letting his legs fall comfortably open and dropping his hands into his lap. Again his eyes roam to take in the opulence and ornamentation of the room, wondering what kind of life she must have had growing up here, if she did. Private school, no boys, no candy, no TV, parents barely home. His mind wanders to guess at the cliches.

A few moments later, Abigail reappears with a glass of ice water, which she sets on a table near his chair before she takes her own seat. One ankle slides behind the other, and her hands fold together in her lap.

"Now, Mister Sutton. You mentioned you wanted to know about witches. What can I help you with specifically?"

"Thanks," he offers as she sets the water down, waiting until she's seated and admiring her posture. She's not unattractive either.

"I don't know exactly. I know there are two groups, you and the other, but I don't know what separates you two. Circle Midnight. Does that mean you only come out at night? Or do you use dark magic?" He's grasping at straws to some extent. He should have done more research, but book learning's never really been his strong suit. "And how do you become a witch?"

"Circle Daybreak and Circle Midnight. Daybreak doesn't tolerate anything it considers to be dark magic. There is... currently some debate as to what that entails."

In other words, she has ever intention of rewriting that classification. But that isn't something to be dealt with at the moment. Not with someone so unfamiliar with their world. It's far more political than she needs to go into.

As for the second point... Well.

"One is born with the capability to be a witch. It is, unfortunately, not something that can be learned."

"Debate meaning you guys disagree?" Kyle has learned to be fairly political, or at least to understand the politics that drive others. This kind of current information is why he sought out an actual witch instead of asking around at the Hillingdon house or among his limited selection of newly made supernatural acquaintances.

"That makes sense." He lifts the glass to take a sip, but pauses halfway. "How do witches feel about the other supernatural races? Or how do you feel about it, versus Daylight?"

Then he sips the water.

"We disagree about quite a bit. It's only been within the recent months that Circle Midnight has any official covens."

She sighs a little at the thought, taking her time in answering.

"Witches and other supernatural creatures tend to be on kind of an... individual nature. Vampires and werewolves, for instance, tend to have strong feelings on each other based solely on species. Witches are, usually, a bit more mutable."

"They were trying to keep you in the dark?" His brow furrows with the thought, his idea of ancient covens being rewritten for something entirely different than what he'd imagined. He assumes they're more powerful than teenage girls going through a goth phase, but it does beg the question what exactly a witch does. More specifically, what it is they're actually capable of.

"'Mutable?'" He doesn't understand the sentiment and asks for clarification. "Vampires and werewolves don't get along then?"

Childermass has been watching. It's what Childermass does, after all, but it's hard not to be watching, as the young woman slowly reaches her boiling point. He recognizes who she is, oh yes. He would be a fool not to, what with her recent position within the witches.

Of course the Night Council does not want to recognize her. She represents to Sylvia, and to Norrell, that which they do not understand, nor do they want to for that matter. They look down on her, and she snubs her nose at them, and no one is happy, and everything just keeps getting worse and worse until. Well, the poor, incompetent barista winds up getting the brunt of it.

And so he sweeps his way forward, to loom behind the girl. Understanding the picture he makes, with his long dark hair, his long dark coat, and well, his face. Adding to it the rough way he speaks as he opens his mouth... "What seems to be the trouble here, then?"

"My order got lost," Abigail says. It's as calm as she can sound, but the frustration sharpens the edges. Because, at this point, she can either have a bit of bite to her words or break down into tears. And she is not going to cry in public. Even if she is tired and frustrated.

She's twenty, she's moaned to Unthank some nights. Twenty-year-olds don't try to get positions in government, especially not at so high a level. She should barely be old enough to be considered a coven leader. But, of course, she finds no real sympathy from him. Fifteen, to him, is old enough to be the head of a house. Twenty is a considerable adult. So her complaints there fall on deaf ears, and it isn't right to turn to those who follow her and burden them.

Which leads to a lost drink order being enough to make her want to scream or cry or both. But it isn't the barista's fault that everything else is almost overwhelming. So, she tries, especially with the intercession of a stranger, to be calm and mature.

The barista looks ready to argue with Abigail's assessment of the situation but thinks better of it, swiping the card again, handing it back, and starting to make the drink there and then.

She gives a bit of a nod at his first question. It's the one that can be passed over for now. Mostly because it is sort of a personal matter and what she views as the more delicate situation. Discussion on it can be saved for later.

"Usually, they hate each other. The politics of it are... weird now..." What with an apparent alliance between the two factions, but Abigail didn't pretend to understand that. "But, as a rule, they don't like each other. Witches don't really tend to have a hard and fast like or dislike for any group. Except that the two Circles tend to be opposed. But some of us are trying to reconcile that."

Kyle takes a moment to consider the strategy of it. It makes sense for the younger and smaller, which presumably means weaker, group to try to ally themselves with the existing powerhouse. Unfortunately, those types of things rarely worked, usually leading to one absorbing the other or forcing them out. It was only a matter of time until a turf war broke out, assuming one wasn't already in progress.

"How do witches feel about humans?" He asks after the pause, watching Abigail as he listens intently. "What's the difference between a witch and a medda human?"

Childermass assess the situation and the fact that he's pretty sure he had seen her pay for a drink a while earlier, though he will admit he had not been paying the interaction much attention at that point. He steps forward towards the counter, looming forward as the barista returns with her drink.

"You owe the lady an apology," he says. "And a free drink, I think." He inclines his head, and he really does look imposing. Especially when he's in the right. It had been the barista's error, and he had now charged her double for a drink she had only received once. It was only good customer service.

There was something to be said about your friend having office hours: you could take advantage of them to guarantee that she was there. It was late enough that Nancy doubted anyone would take Abigail up on her offer to come in, and so she headed over to the iconic location, dark green coat pulled tight around her and a bottle of whiskey under one arm.

Whiskey, because wine was too light for this.

The other arm, well, the other arm is holding a large box of pizza.

Abigail had been through hell and back lately, and she needed to be there for her. They were supposed to be in this together, but Nancy had always taken a back seat. Now that Kenzi was... now that Kenzi was a vampire she needed to push forward, become closer with Abigail, for the sake of the coven, Midnight, and for both of their sanity.

Nancy knocks at the door- rather, uses her foot to knock, as a cold wind blows at the edges of her coat.

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Bríd Bríd, come in; thy bed is ready

Imbolc

Activities

Divinations

Refreshments

Geap Manor

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Westminster

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Geap