undergrounds | Pieces on a chessboard

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Pieces on a chessboard

1) For Kyle Sutton – Redbright Institute, 17th March
It's St. Patrick's Day and some enterprising student has given Sylvia a shamrock brooch to pin to her blouse. They're also handing out party invitation flyers in the dining hall, though thankfully the party is taking place off-site. She can't condone a night of drinking at the school, after all.

Sylvia takes a look at the flyer on her way out and lifts an amused eyebrow. "Of course, you're still planning to come to school tomorrow."

The student grins back. "Oh, absolutely. One hundred percent."

She's about to reply when another student interrupts them. "Ms Redbright? There's someone here who wants to talk to you..."

Sylvia hands back the flyer with an apologetic smile. "Excuse me." Her smile becomes a frown as she turns around to see who wants to speak to her. She doesn't recognize him, but he might be a new student. "Do we have an appointment?"

2) For Abigail Widdowson – Redbright Institute, 18th March
Abigail Widdowson has been a thorn in Sylvia's side ever since the girl emerged from that derelict mansion of hers and declared herself the leader of a new Midnight coven, but she never thought it would come to this. A Midnight witch, the Maiden representing all witches. Oh, they've tried to discredit her. To search for a loophole, some excuse to deny Abigail's claim and begin the search for a new Maiden all over again. Thus far, they haven't succeeded, and Sylvia knows when to give up. If she can't oust the girl, she'll have to bring her into the fold instead.

So she invites her to afternoon tea. It takes place on the outdoor pavilion in the school grounds, with an unobtrusive spell surrounding them to keep out the wind and maintain the temperature. A couple of young witches serve them tea, finger sandwiches, cakes and scones. Sylvia dismisses them with a brief thank you, leaving the two of them alone.

She rearranges the cushions on her wicker chair before giving Abigail a warm smile. "So how are you feeling about it all? You must be rather overwhelmed."

She's being friendly, for now. As the Mother of Witches, Abigail is in some sense her protégé.

3) For Eames, Finnick and Illya – Redbright Institute, 23rd March
It isn't often that one is asked to meet with a lord of both the Seelie and Unseelie Court, even for the President of the Night Council. Sylvia has to wonder, after their failure in Lambeth and the vampire attack in Bromley, whether the fae are ready to wave a metaphorical white flag and withdraw from the human world altogether.

Of course, that's probably too much to hope for.

They must want something. The fae always do, even if they pretend to offer a gift or favour. She will hear them out today, even if she dislikes striking bargains with fae, because if there's a chance to ensure that they don't disrupt the upcoming election, she ought to take it. The evidence so far is that crushing the fae has proven near impossible. Making some sort of peace could be the next best option.

She meets them in her office at the Redbright Institute rather than the Night Council headquarters, because fae are barred from entering Night Council territory. The school on the other hand welcomes all supernatural types and so should appear more welcoming. It isn't really, of course, because this is still Sylvia's domain and she makes sure that her visitors know it.

There's a salt circle around her desk. It has been spelled to keep out anything originating from the Other Realm, so her visitors will not be able to cross it. They can enter the office, but they can't reach her. As a further deterrent, Sylvia is wearing a silver locket around her neck. And finally, standing quietly in one corner, out of the circle, is Illya Kuryakin, werewolf, Guardian and today Sylvia's personal bodyguard. Tonight is a full moon, which means he's at his peak strength. She has no doubt that he'll use it if necessary.

Sylvia stands up behind her desk when her visitors are shown in. She offers a smile. "You must be the fae. Please, come in."

Trust nothing when it comes to the fae, she knows that. Something Sylvia will bear in mind for the entirety of this meeting.

4) For Faolan – Night Council HQ, 24th March
It would be fair to say that Sylvia isn't happy when she learns of Faolan's involvement in the Bromley dispute. Not only did he choose to ally with the fae, he also encouraged other members of Hillingdon to do the same. Why, she can't fathom. Perhaps the hunters among them hate vampires so much that they see fae as the lesser of two evils, but Sylvia can't agree with that. More importantly, his actions raise questions about his loyalty to the Night Council, and to her. There's an election coming up. The last thing Sylvia wants is to have anyone questioning her or the loyalty of her Guardians.

So she calls him into her office, early in the morning when there are fewer people around to notice that he's there. When he enters, she taps her pen against her fingers, regarding him for a second or two before speaking.

"Good morning, Faolan. I appreciate you coming here at short notice. There's something important that I'd like to discuss." There's a pause, then she launches right into what she wants to say: "What were you doing in Bromley?"

She makes it sound like she's merely curious, but the intensity of her gaze says otherwise.

5) For Lancelot – Night Council HQ, 29th March
By the end of March, the fae will be free to pass through Night Council territories. Sylvia is staring at a document that will authorize this. It's one page, printed on their best paper, and carries a faint scent of magic. She sighs and puts down the paper for a moment, rubbing her eyes.

There's a knock on the door and she calls her visitor in. "Lancelot, thank you for coming. I trust the fae will no longer be bothering us in Lambeth?"

Perching on her desk, she offers Lancelot a smile. At least here is a Guardian she can trust.

[ooc: Would you like a thread with Sylvia? Plot with me here!]

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Faolan doesn't miss the time of day that she's calling him in or the possible reasons why that might be the case. He isn't oblivious to the reasons why she might want to talk to him either. The fact of the matter is that he had been approached about helping the fae defend themselves against attack. Attack that he felt was unfairly directed at them, perhaps not directly by Gilbert Norrell, but Norrell definitely had something to do with it. And Gilbert Norrell is on the Night Council, ergo opposing him...

He can imagine how it looks. And he doesn't particularly care. Because he'd do it again if he were made to go back and repeat the past. And he has a distinct feeling he's about to have to do his best to defend exactly that, as he steps into her office and closes the door behind him.

-- ah, there it is. He takes in a breath and decides that perhaps it's better to let her do some more talking herself before he launches into any of it himself. "Ma'am?" he asks.

"No vampire this time?"

It is, perhaps, rude. Pointed. But Abigail feels she deserves it. After all, she won't soon forget being held down and forcibly fed truth potion to make her give up the names of those who relied on her for protection. With Norrell's purge of dark magic, she's very sure that the names she provided against her will gave him his primary suspects. Even her house had been searched, but, well...

Geap Manor protected its secrets.

Abigail discreetly sniffed the tea. Sylvia wasn't foolish enough to use cyanide, probably, but the suspicion was firmly within her mind.

"My apologies. We parted poorly last time."

It doesn't feel welcoming at all, nowhere under her control would ever be, and Eames keeps his eyes open the whole while for anything that could be a threat to the safety of himself and Finnick. He wouldn't put it past her to just try and get rid of them here and now. Or to bind them-- that would be a frustrating turn of events.

Eames is all smiles when they get to her office though, about to offer a hand but he sees the salt circle and his hand immediately goes back into his pocket. Seems the total lack of trust is mutual, what a surprise.

"Ms Redbright," he greets her with a genial smile and a respectful nod, paying no mind whatsoever to the werewolf in the corner, "thank you for seeing us."

He doesn't look apologetic, which he ought to do very soon if he wants her to keep her temper. Instead he's playing dumb, which is one of Sylvia's least favourite tactics, and not one she'll allow him to get away with even for a second.

"You heard me. Explain yourself."

Sylvia has spent many years telling off misbehaving students. She's using the same tone now: the headteacher scolding the child.

Yes, it's rude. Sylvia raises an eyebrow but chooses to ignore Abigail's poor behaviour. Of course she hasn't poisoned the tea, or any of the food. Much as she would love that famous Widdowson curse to take effect and get rid of Abigail for good, it would not be a wise move to kill the girl herself. There's too much at stake.

"When you invited yourself on to my ship?" Not that Abigail had dared approach her directly at the time, but she had seen the girl before she was escorted back to land. She sips her tea. "We could chat about the past all day, but I doubt it would do any good. Circumstances have changed. I'd like to talk about the future. How old are you, twenty one, twenty two?"

Finnick's guard is up as much as it can be, which in turn means that his demeanor is casual and polite. He looks every bit the fae lord, dressed well but with a but of that flair that the Other Realm is known so well for. He doesn't like it; he doesn't like any part of this, but he's here and there's nothing to be gained from being confrontational, at least not right off the bat.

So he smiles pleasantly at Sylvia as he walks in, though the salt circle is a bit of a slap in the face. He even smiles at the werewolf, perfectly aware that he and the enchanted salt are there for the same reason. As if she is not the one in power here. It makes his stomach turn but his smile is just that much wider without looking stretched.

"Yes," he says, "it was so accommodating of you to agree."

Illya stands in the corner, silent and almost still. When Finnick smiles at him, he offers a polite nod of his head. An acknowledgement of the expression.

He has not only his watch, which has a silver backing as a witch's amulet, but also silver cufflinks. A bit more protection for himself never hurts, and he is here for the sake of protection, even if the salt circle should be more than enough.

Sylvia walks around to greet them as they approach, clasping her hands in front of her. The hair on the back of her neck prickles. The Night Council building is steeped in old magic, but these fae have brought their own magic with them; she can sense it like a haze around them. They might be smiling, but their eyes are sharp. So she won't reach out to shake their hands, even though she's close enough to. That would mean breaking the salt circle and she doesn't intend to do that.

"I'm glad you think so," she replies. She doesn't need to look around at Illya; she knows he'll have her back. "So who do I have the pleasure of speaking with today?"

Names, ranks, whatever silly faery airs and graces they like to give themselves. Names would be a good start.

Silly faery airs and graces come in the form of a name and his court. Eames doesn't truck with all the pomp and facade that some of the more old-fashioned fae like to throw around.

"Eames," he says, "I'll be representing the Unseelie, I suppose."

"And I'm Finnick, representing the Seelie," he continues. "We're lords of our respective courts."

Although he says it because he feels like he has to justify his presence here, his tone is still genial and calm. Sylvia's a force to be reckoned with, Finnick can feel it in the air, but that just makes him more resolute about the fact that he has to keep his composure.

Finnick. Eames. Names and faces he'll remember. Even if there isn't trouble, he likes to know those he deals with. Especially since he has to be involved in this. Now and later. Knowing the players is important.

For his part, he offers no introduction. He is, after all, part of the furniture. A piece of the scenery. Just another security precaution.

"Circumstances have changed," she agrees. There are tensions, but she stands for all witches now, like Sylvia. Things have changed ever so slightly, the introduction of a Midnight witch as the Maiden. It's progress. A chance to inch toward legitimacy for her coven.

"I'm twenty since last October."

Finnick and Eames, Seelie and Unseelie. So whatever it is they want, they're asking on behalf of both Courts. Interesting. It isn't often that she gets an insight into the politics of the Courts. The fact that they're working together probably doesn't bode too well for London in general; it would be better if they were occupied with petty squabbles in the Other Realm.

"Eames and Finnick." She acknowledges each of them in turn. "I'm sure you know that it's not often we meet with any of your people. We haven't had much reason to until recently." Meaning the fae taking over parts of London. "What is it you would like to discuss?"

Twenty. Lord, she's a child. It's amazing that her recklessness hasn't gotten her killed, but Sylvia hopes she'll settle down now and take the time to mature into her new role. That might yet save her.

"Then you have ten years as Maiden ahead of you." If she lives that long. "Have you given any thought as to what you might like to achieve in that time?"

"I'll be honest with you," a novel concept, right. Eames gestures broadly, "this... War of attrition bores me. I've never had any interest in claiming land in this realm."

He looks to his side at Finnick, waiting patiently for his penny's worth on this issue.

Finnick watches Eames, waiting for him to take the lead. When he's done and he looks at Finnick, Finnick shrugs one shoulder, almost noncommittal.

"My primary interest in claiming land has been to ensure safe areas for fae in the mortal realm," he says reasonably. "I have no interest in ruling any territory in London and the Seelie Court doesn't either. Only it seems to be a necessity lately, for those of us that spend most of our time in this realm, if we want to continue doing so."

She raises her eyebrows. Well, this is a surprise. And very different to the aggressive moves the fae have been making over the past few months.

"If you have no interest in claiming land, then why bother doing so? There is a safe place for fae in the mortal realm. Right here."

The Redbright territories are a safe space for all, including fae, as long as they play by the rules.

"And the rest of London?" What a bullshit statement, as if she isn't a driving force behind barring them from Daybreak and Council territories. It takes a considerable effort on Eames' part not to scoff and roll his eyes, but he manages to keep it down to a raised eyebrow instead. Expression and tone little more than conversational otherwise. "We can dance around it, but our hostilities only began because you took away our freedom of movement."

Finnick's just as annoyed as Eames, even at the insinuation that they're welcome in territories that she controls. She who draws a salt circle around her desk when they come to meet her. Still, he remains calm and cool, his smile fading a little as Eames speaks.

"I'm sure you might see how we would feel backed into a corner, so to speak, even if we are technically free to come and go here," he says, gesturing as if to indicate the building around them, and the territory it's on.

One to lead, he thought, and one to back up those words with a prettier version. Not a bad strategy, but they played it rather obviously. Which might be part of a larger strategy. Not knowing those with the pieces made the game much more interesting to follow.

Still, these were opening moves. Stroke by stroke to see what the opponent would do.

And he? Didn't matter. Which was what made it so very interesting and so easy to observe.

"I hope to serve them all."

She won't pretend for a moment that the curse doesn't exist. That she doesn't sometimes hear the grandfather clock in her foyer chime and wonder why the Reaper hasn't shown himself. But she won't argue. If she's alive, then she will do what she can.

But--

What she'd like to achieve.

"Ultimately? I hope to give those of Circle Midnight a voice. And I would like to reform it. I don't approve of all of the magic some of those who call themselves my Circle perform."

Perhaps that's because he isn't sorry for what he's done. Not that she can't make him sorry for it, he knows. But he stood up for what he believed in. And he didn't outright break the rules. He's technically done nothing wrong. Not that he really thinks that's going to win him any favors.

Faolan hears that tone in her voice and it's a struggle to keep face in front of her. Yes, she is his boss. Yes, she could turn him into a statue if he makes a false move. But he's the head of a faction too. And that's how he was acting -- for the benefit of the greater good. 'What were you doing in Bromley?' she'd asked.

"I was approached by members of the Hillingdon clan who suggested that the constant attacks on the fae populations within the city were an act of discrimination," Faolan responds. "Based on the response within the faction, the majority consensus agreed with that assessment. So Hillingdon offered its aid."

They're talking about the wards put up by witches to prevent doors being opened to the Other Realm in Daybreak and Night Council territories. It's this by their account that seems to have provoked them, a response that took her by surprise when she first heard of it. But then of course fae get touchy when they can't do whatever they want.

"You are free to come and go here," she says, because it's important to emphasize that. "As for elsewhere in London, when we put up barriers to the Other Realm we didn't do that to keep you out. We did it to prevent other witches from summoning and enslaving your people. That single measure dramatically reduced the amount of dark magic being performed in the city, saving hundreds of fae who would otherwise have had their freedom taken away. The barrier keeps you safe."

Security vs liberty. It's an age-old argument. Maybe she can at least get them to understand her point of view, even if they don't agree with it.

She picks up a scone and adds jam and cream. Well, well. This is the first time she's heard Abigail do anything other than staunchly defend her Circle.

"Really? Like what?"

"No. It keeps you safe." He can appreciate the pragmatism, but he can't appreciate her words. Eames has been summoned before, and past his bewilderment at anyone finding his True name was the anger, how insulting it is to have some witch try to call on him in such a way. If his request hadn't been so laughably pathetic, things likely would've gone a lot worse for him.

And if he'd tried to bind him? Or if he'd managed and he'd escaped, Eames shakes his head. He can't believe Sylvia has the safety of fae in mind so much as she cares for her lofty position and totalitarian idea of what's 'safe' for witches.

"A witch with a fae under their control is far too powerful to be easily dealt with, and one who fails to keep a fae under control has unleashed a terrible fury." Eames is quiet for a moment, eyebrows raised questioningly as if to ask her if he's wrong, before he continues. "And even if you did have the safety of our sort in mind, did you or the rest of your Council try to consult with us? Or did you simply take matters into your own hands as though you alone are the arbiter of what's best for all and sundry?"

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Pieces on a chessboard

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