undergrounds | [closed] It's a bad case, you're on the rampage

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[closed] It's a bad case, you're on the rampage

Finnick; May 18th

All things considered, Eames thinks it's probably best he meets Finnick at his home in the Other Realm. He doesn't like it as much as his place in London — he has a gorgeous flat in Canary Wharf — but given the brief and panicked phonecall, he gets the feeling that the other man would prefer the relative security of Faery to navigating Islington territory.

Besides all that, it's a nice house. A little more Victorian that Eames' current tastes lean towards, but nice regardless.

He expects Finnick won't be long, and sets about putting some tea on in the meantime. Tea that is quickly taken over by a pair of luminescent pixies who encourage him to sit down and let them take care of it.

Having servants is weird.

Nancy; May 30th

He hasn't actually spoken to Nancy since that whole Havering thing. Not that he's intentionally ignored her for the past couple of weeks, these things just kind of happen with him. Apparently thinking nothing of it, Eames drops Nancy a quick text, inviting her round for lunch so they can discuss something, and starts making said lunch once he has a confirmation.

He's feeling Mediterranean today. Lots of roasted vegetables and couscous. Maybe some feta? That'll be a good meal. Good job Eames, you're so great at food.

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No, Eames has totally intentionally been ignoring her and probably plotting her death. She should have told him, but at the same time... She didn't support the Havering claim, and Abby knew that. Abby knew about her situation when it came to the fae, and didn't make it sound like all of Midnight was in on it. Because Nancy wasn't, to the point of cautioning Abby against such a move. But here they were.

So naturally, when Nancy got the text from Eames, she assumed he was going to be furious. All the same, she knew she had to meet with him for lunch, just in case he didn't want to brutally murder her. So at the appointed time, she's at Eames' flat, knocking on the door. Maybe she should start sending out goodbye texts. Maybe.

Only Nancy would willingly walk right into her death.

Honestly, he's completely forgotten about that. Eames isn't a man who often holds on to these things, and his anger at Nancy was peripheral at best. She didn't tell him, and that's annoying, but she also wasn't involved to begin with.

So he's perfectly chipper when he opens the door and greets Nancy with a broad smile, "the food should be ready soon. Come on in." He can see the apprehension in her, but decides not to engage with it, just holds the door open for her and fetches them both some tea to have while the food finishes of in the oven.

Way to make her worry more. Nancy shoots him a careful look as she walks in to the delicious smells.

"it smells amazing." Because yum, especially the part about the feta. But in the meanwhile, she's happy with tea. As happy as she can be perched on the edge of his couch. She keeps an eye on him. Just in case.

"what's the occasion?"

"Business, I'm afraid." The look he gives her is almost apologetic, but only almost, as he sits himself in the armchair by the sofa and takes a sip of tea. He'd make a joke about whether there needs to be an occasion, but in this particular case he's quite eager to get on with things.

"I think it's high time we dealt with Norrell."

"So I don't have to worry about anything having been done to the food. Good to know." She'll make the joke, if he won't. In a show of good will, she takes a sip of tea.

"Norrell. Right. " Which meant she was going to play an important part. "What do you need me to do?"

Eames totally glosses over the joke, totally not in the mood to humour any comments about tampered food. (After 600 years, it gets a little tedious.) He fixes Nancy with a level look, serious, because there's work to discuss.

"That invite of his-- for refuge, or safety was it? Does that still stand?"

Maybe, but he's not the one constantly at risk of being tampered with. She's maybe just a little bit paranoid, too.

"As far as I'm aware, yes." She could guess where this was going.

"Good." That makes this all so much easier, "if, for instance, he were to go missing. There'd likely be an investigation. And obviously it would be for the best if that investigation lead to a neat and tidy conclusion away from me."

"Of course." It made sense he'd want anything lead away from him. No one wanted to lead trails back to their source, in this sort of work, and Nancy was accustomed to it.

"Fagin?" That was to say, dare they try to pin it on him, or at least lead an investigation that way. It could come back to her, perhaps. But either way, she was a pawn to both of these men, in this situation. "If a trail has to be left."

It couldn't come back to Midnight, either.

Eames shakes his head-- it's too close. His relationship with Fagin hasn't been amicable in quite some time, and even if it was, the old bastard would sell Eames down the river the second a whiff of danger came knocking at his door.

Hell, it wouldn't even be the first time.

"I was thinking, for a miserable little man like Norrell, losing the election must come as a significant blow. It couldn't be too surprising for someone to turn to dark magic in a desperate need to get some of that power back." He gestures broadly, as if discussing the plot of some TV show rather than suggesting planting evidence in a man's home, "some books, a couple of items in his study. It makes the whole case very simple to solve. Obviously his attempts to get stronger backfired."

Nancy lets out a long exhale, a weight from her shoulders lifted.

"You want to destroy his reputation, too." He didn't need to confirm any of it, she knew exactly what he was planning on doing. Pinning any disappearance on Norrell himself, make him look like the worst sort of hypocrite. And Nancy was going to be the one to plant the evidence.

"I can get inside, alright." And sneaking around would be even easier. Eames knew exactly whom he was speaking to, after all.

Eames winks over his mug as confirmation. No need to get into the details there, though it's insanely simple as far as plans to plant evidence go, and he raises a finger while he takes a sip of his tea to indicate he still has more to say.

"Amongst those items, I'd also need there to be an anchor. Something so I can find my way there from Faery."

"Going in the backdoor, eh?" Her apprehension is gone, a tight ball of energy replacing it in her chest, bright and clear. She shouldn't be so excited- but this would rid them all of Norrell. The anxiety would return in the hours before she did the deed. But not tonight.

"Just ensure I have the items, and tell me when." She'll go in one night, after work. Best if she looks awful. Smelling of sex and blood would send out a more pitiable message than if she just strolled up one afternoon in her trainers.

Edited 2016-06-07 21:54 (UTC)

As many colourful names as Eames has for Fagin, he sure does know how to raise a competent criminal. He exhales a relieved sigh — he was fairly certain Nancy would be willing to help out with this, but there's no such thing as being 100% sure until he's asked. And now it means he has a way to finally get rid of that blight if all goes to plan.

"I'll have everything to you inside of a week." And then it's just a matter of picking the right time.

"Wonderful." Inside of a week. She could do this.

"Do you care what I tell him?" To get her inside. "Your name will never be uttered." His name, or anything close to it.

He shakes his head, "not unless you're planning to confess the second he opens the door."

It's a joke, of course. He doesn't think Nancy would do that.

"Oh, that's my plan alright." She's as sarcastic as they come. "Didn't you know? Fagin raised criminals, but we're at least honest criminals."

Eames laughs at that and shakes his head, "and here I was thinking you were all consummate liars."

"No- you're incredibly wrong. I've never told a lie in my life, and I don't intend to start now." Which, in and of itself was a lie, and she knew it.

He huffs an amused snort and stands to go check on the food, "careful. You keep saying stuff like that and I might believe you."

Nancy turns her head to follow his movements back to the kitchen, raising her eyebrows over the top of her tea.

"I'd like to think you know me better than that. That smells delicious- what is it?"

"Just some roast veg," he pops his head out to look over at her, "cous cous, et cetera-- you're not allergic to anything, are you?"

"Not that I know of- it sounds amazing. I always adore your cooking." He'd had a lot of time to practice and learn, she always reasoned.

"As you should." He's no chef, but Eames is a damn good cook. Centuries of travelling and a natural curiosity are pretty cool that way "Should be about ten minutes"

Finnick has washed his hands, but he still feels conspicuous like everyone who's seen him can see what he's done. Some fae would commend him on it, but Finnick has worked so hard to get away from a state of fighting for his life all the time, and putting his trident in a witch's chest under those circumstances feels too close, too desperate. He's still flustered and almost manic when he find's Eames' home, feeling out of place immediately when the pixies offer to take his jacket and serve him tea.

When he comes into the room Eames is in, he realizes that he doesn't know where to start. He wants to know about the vote rigging, needs to tell him about Childermass, and just wants to sit all at the same time. He settles on the middle one.

"I've done something."

Well that's... Okay. Not what he was expecting, but he gestures to a seat across from him at the table and stands himself to close the door, just in case there's any little folk in the house who fancy trying to eavesdrop.

"What happened?" He asks as he comes back to sit down, expression lightly concerned as he takes the state of the other man in.

Finnick glances over his shoulder warily as he sits down, trying to sort out his thoughts as they threaten to tumble out of his mouth.

"There was a witch," he starts, "he was hanging around where some of the Seelie like to drink. I was there watching them, I was just there to keep them out of trouble."

He wonders why he had to be there at that moment in time, but there's no use questioning it. He's asked himself why me enough times in his life.

"I asked him why he was there, and he started asking questions, about the election. He thought the vote was rigged and that it was fae who did it."

"Right," Eames nods, giving nothing away on whether that's true or not. He has more questions that need asking before they get to whether or not the vote was rigged — Finnick is a sensitive man, he's noticed. Eames likes him well enough, but it's a definite flaw that he'd rather not trip over until he really has to.

"And then...?" He prompts, trying to get at whatever it is that's brought Finnick here in such a state.

"I told him to leave, but he wouldn't. I could tell he was strong, I didn't want to..." he trails off, trying to keep himself from going down that road. "If I never had to meet another witch again..."

He takes a deep breath and clenches his jaw, trying to quell the terror he felt when Childermass was pushing him, threatening him, trying to get answers that weren't there. "He just kept asking and pressing and I had to make him go away, so I stabbed him."

That's quite the jump, and Eames' surprise shows briefly on his face. As soon as there'd been mention of a witch, it's hardly as if it took any great deductive reasoning to work out what happened. He just thought there'd be a bit more of a lead-in, is all.

Still, that's not important. Finnick stabbed a witch and is apparently failing to deal with it very well, that's the important thing right now. Eames takes a moment to think on this before he asks, "is he dead?"

He'd assume no, otherwise why all the fuss? But he's assumed wrong before.

"No," Finnick says, his voice bordering on frantic. He brings his hands to his face, like he's trying to block everything out, trying to calm himself down. "He must be one of Norrell's men, and I thought as I was doing it that it might be worse if I killed him, but I had already..."

He looks up at Eames like he's hoping the other fae will show him a way out of this. "I made him tell me he wouldn't talk, I made a deal for his life, but he's a witch! I can't be sure. He'll go back to Norrell, and... I don't know what to do..."

What a mess. Eames raises a hand in a silent gesture for Finnick to calm down, or at least be quiet while he thinks about what to do.

Get this man and his ridiculous emotions under control, for a start.

"Did you get his name?" It's not a tough guess, but again, certainty is always helpful.

Finnick pushes both hands through his hair, clearly trying to calm himself down. It takes a moment for him to sort out the muddy thoughts and remember the name; that was at least one thing he did right. Finnick knows the power in a name.

"Childermass," he says, looking up to see if Eames recognizes it.

He does recognise it indeed, and Eames' expression immediately takes a turn downward. He'd known the man was clever, but obviously he underestimated just how much.

"Norrell's manservant," Eames confirms, and he sighs heavily, "suppose I'll be dealing with Norrell sooner than later then."

Finnick's posture slumps even more than it already was and he looks around the room desperately looking for something to focus on. "What am I supposed to do?" he asks. "Why would he think it was us? Why would he--"

He puts his face in his hands again and shakes his head.

Jesus Christ. Eames tries not to look as done with this as he feels and takes a sip of his tea, frowning in thought.

"Because it was." Eames answers finally and leans back in his chair, looking Finnick over to see how he's taking that fact, "go home and forget about this, I'll deal with it."

Finnick feels a swell of resentment towards Eames, as if he orchestrated the whole thing. If Eames had known this was going on, he could have warned Finnick, or he could have prevented it all together.

But that's politics, and Finnick doesn't feel much up for that right now. He only shakes his head. "I can't just walk away from this," he says, and there's still a tremble in his voice. "What are you going to do?"

"Get rid of Norrell. Childermass too, if I must." Though he suspects that won't be necessary. "I'd been planning on it anyway, I'll just have to push things forward a little."

Finnick feels helpless to stop him, and it shows in his voice. He feels clueless and hollowed out and scared all at the same time. "They'll banish us from London if you do that."

"That depends entirely on them knowing the truth." And Eames isn't about to involve nearly as many people in removing that particular wart as he had in the election.

But, he gives Finnick a level look. It's a bit of a test, voice... Not exactly friendly, that would be too much of a change, but he sighs and drops his voice to something soft, "I won't ask you to help if you don't want to, and I won't make you promise to keep it between us, but it's happening."

Finnick's frown is tinged by confusion now. Eames makes it sound like he would have asked Finnick for help, or could ask him now that he's involved, but he's being kind in letting him bow out without a deal. He wonders for a moment if he should do just that, but he's curious.

"What would you have me do?" he asks, hesitant.

It's not so much kindness that if Finnick doesn't want to be involved, then he's a liability. And in truth, he likely would've gone ahead without speaking to him about it at all, but might as well show the other Lord a little respect, right? Keep him semi-informed.

"It's old magic," Eames frowns lightly, he's still figuring it out in truth — the spell is quite a bit older than him, but he can probably manage it alone. Still, "a little extra power when it comes to casting wouldn't go amiss."

Finnick looks away again, at some point on the floor as he takes in this new information. He still feels so broken and small and it's awful and he can't do this right now.

"I need to think on it," he says, finally pushing away from the table and standing up carefully. "I want him gone, but I..."

He avoids Eames' gaze, feeling ashamed that he isn't up to talking this through or being ready to do this immediately. He starts to walk away, feeling like he needs to get out before he pauses again, realizing that it's probably rude to just leave, so he stops and waits for Eames' response.

"That's fine." He's not being dismissive, and he curls his fingers around his mug, thinking. Obviously this is too much for Finnick; this isn't work for someone like him. It's not just whatever baggage he's carrying either. Finnick doesn't really have the necessary ruthlessness for it.

What a shame.

Eames' eyes track Finnick as he moves the leave the room, and he sighs. "I just thought you should be aware of what's coming. All things considered."

"Thank you," Finnick says, trying to sound like he really means it. He's glad for the information, and he appreciates the gesture of being invited to take part, but right now things feels so raw and close. He needs to go home, lie down, talk to Annie... he just needs some quiet for a while. And so he leaves at last without another word, leaving Eames' house and starting his journey home.

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[closed] It's a bad case, you're on the rampage

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