undergrounds | The Exiled

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It's the night of the traditional Harvest Festival, when witches from all over the city celebrate the summer harvest and the coming of autumn. But tonight, as the sun sets and the full moon rises, a darker ceremony is underway.

Five witches step out from a wagon cage – a sort of portable prison. Their wrists are bound and each one is wearing a silver choker around their necks. Escorted by two armed Guardians, they emerge from the shadows into the light of the waiting bonfire. In another time, they might have been burned at the stake, but not tonight.

Tonight Sylvia Redbright is waiting by the fire, wand in hand, to banish these witches from the city of London. A silent crowd stands before her. It is this crowd that Sylvia addresses first, her voice strong and clear.

"May the harvest moon be our witness tonight. These five witches have been found guilty of treason. They have made their bed with monsters and murderers, endangered innocent people, and betrayed their own kind. They represent a group of witches who neither share our values nor respect our laws. For that reason, we cast them out."

One by one, the prisoners step forward and hold out their bound wrists. With her wand, Sylvia burns a mark into the back of each prisoner's hand, a stylised 'x'. She declares each prisoner outcast by name, followed by the crowd repeating her words. Abigail is the last to step up.

The mark burns into her skin as Sylvia delivers the damning verdict. "Abigail Widdowson, we cast you out."

The crowd echoes her: "We cast you out."

The brand on each outcast's skin is a magical signature; it will scar but it will not fade. It tells everyone who sees it that this witch has been exiled. As the five prisoners are escorted back into the wagon cage, as they disappear behind the fire and into the shadows, Sylvia thanks the crowd before her for staying to witness justice being done. Finally, she wishes everyone a good night.

The ceremony is done and Circle Midnight will not be seen practising openly in London again.

Notes
The Harvest Festival takes place in Elthorne Park, Hanwell on the evening of 16th September. There is an anti-vampire barrier around the entire park which will last until the full moon sets. It means that no vampire can enter the park unless explicitly invited in by Sylvia herself, which in practice means that Natasha is the only one who will gain entry. There is heavy security around the area, with Guardians monitoring the prisoners and the park exits, and combat-ready witches who will put a stop to any trouble. They know that after the ceremony is the most likely time for an escape attempt, which is why the prisoners are wearing Magic Collars that prevent them from using magic, and why they will each be taken away in different vehicles that will escort them out of the city. Anyone hanging around near the park exits will be swiftly moved on before the prisoners leave the park.

See this month's plotting post for OOC planning/discussion!

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"I sincerely hope no one is stupid enough to try," Natasha says. Who knows if she'll get her wish on that, though. "If I had my way, we could all let this blow over now."

Not to say she expects everyone to be happy with how things were panning out. There were legitimate reasons to be unhappy. But if she was allowed her dreams, people might put aside their ego for the greater peace and security.

The more she thinks about it, the less she feels optimistic about that.

"I doubt Midnight feel the same way."

Like letting things blow over, that is. They've had their leader captured and her house burnt down. That's hardly a little incident, and he expects it to hurt for a good while.

"It's not so much about what they feel as what they think." She pauses, meeting his eyes. Nodding slightly, she adds, "They're entitled to their feelings. It's an ugly loss, and it's not about them. That doesn't change that cooler heads would see it's not the time for a fight."

She glances off then. "Give everyone a chance to lick their wounds."

Not about them? Lancelot hesitates, guarded, and shoves his hands into his pockets to keep them still -- darts his eyes away from her and scans the proceedings. He lowers his voice to something softer, more cautious.

"How much do you know about Sylvia's history with Circle Midnight?"

Natasha doesn't answer immediately, angling a look at Lancelot that searches his face for the answer to his own question. She knows that kind of question—whether or not he realizes it, that's not the kind of question someone asks because they want the answer. Not to Natasha's ears, anyway.

"Not as much as you think I should," she says two beats late, her own voice low. Her gaze is level, flat as she meets his eyes. "I'm not naive. I know a little. And I can guess more. But at the end of the day... What's happening with Islington is a lot bigger than them."

She's right, on both counts. That he thinks she should know more, and that it's a leading question. He studies her a moment once more, thinking.

"It is bigger than them," he admits, "but Sylvia had a lot of chances to stop it coming to this."

In his opinion. Everyone's always too proud, though. Pride gets in the way of so many things.

"I don't doubt it." Like she said, she's not naive. She knows Sylvia is using this the opportunity to remove a rival to her advantage, and she doesn't doubt she could have done more to prevent it coming to this point. Still... Natasha is nothing if not pragmatic.

She doesn't imagine a woman got to Sylvia's position, with all the influence she has, without playing the game.

None of that means she doesn't value Lancelot's opinion, though. "This may be something we should talk about later."

"Probably," Lancelot answers, but he doesn't sound particularly worried about it. Just resigned. He takes a slow breath in and lets it out in a sigh. "Forgive me if I'm dire company, I didn't sleep very well. Thunder woke me up."

Which is only about half the truth, but Natasha can probably fill in the rest anyway.

Edited 2016-10-01 21:56 (UTC)

"Seems like there's been a lot of storms lately," Natasha say softly, noncommittal. "Can't blame you if it keeps you awake."

She wonders, as she says that, how close she is to losing another friend because the circumstances revealed that she was hard—cold when it came to politics. Her history was what it was. Her skills were what they were.

Can't blame him if he judges.

But she hopes it won't come to that.

"Maybe we can chat about it a little more over dinner. After this blows over, and we've both had the chance to get some sleep."

The offer takes him a little by surprise and he looks up, studies her curiously before flicking a faint smile.

"Better not let me pick the place, I might take you to a froyo shop again."

Which is not exactly dinner, just a sugary dessert or snake. It isn't a no, though, and he does appreciate that she's trying -- even if he isn't entirely sure how to approach that. Natasha is on the outreach team, but the way Sylvia has used the outreach team is this is not... exactly in line with what he imagined their job was.

"Good as that was, I was thinking of something a little less dog friendly." Not because she has a problem with Lily, but it's a lot harder to find a nice restaurant that allows enthusiastic dogs to wait under the table.

"I'll see what I can find—maybe something French?"

But dog friendly places are the best places, Natasha! Doggy enthusiasm is only natural around good friends!

"I'm sure Lily can forgive you just the once," he allows, "French is good. I'm easy on food, honestly."

Not allergic to anything, nor particularly against any type. He isn't picky, anything works.

And it is a breath of fresh air, it's true. Especially by comparison to other, more somber social interactions lately. But sometimes adults want their steak frites.

"I'll send a doggy bag home for her." She gives him a half-hearted smile as she says it.

For the time being though. "Do you need a hand?"

Back to business then, he supposes. He takes a deep breath and glances around the place.

"Well, we'll need to be searching everyone who comes to watch. If you're up for a little frisking I can send you the handsome ones."

... Which. He then inwardly hopes she realises is a joke. Hopefully the Night Council HR department won't be writing him a letter tomorrow.

It gets a smile out of her, so it's a fair chance she gets the joke. Either way, it's clear he's not going to have to sit through any sexual harassment videos next week.

She figures the joking is a good sign.

They're both trying to deal with a situation they don't like.

"Thanks for looking out for me."

"Of course. I became a Guardian to protect and serve the community. That includes you."

He lofts an eyebrow playfully, gestures finally around to another entrance.

"I have Faolan down by the south entrance. Help the others check anyone coming through the north gate, if you don't mind? I'd say let us know if there's any trouble, but I don't doubt we'd hear if before you had a chance."

"I can do that," Natasha says, chin rising slight, lips pursing in something still a bit like a smile. "I'll let you know if anything comes up that I can't handle on my own."

The Exiled

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