[ SEMI-OPEN ] MEDIUM, LIVE!

[knightscode]

Date: 17th to 31st of October, inclusive!
Plot: Medium, Live!
Areas: Manchester for the pre-London show, then Greenwich




Worldwide phenomenon Sarah Silverton is coming to London. The British Born psychic, medium and all round lady of the supernatural is doing a special tour ending with a Halloween show in the enormous setting of the O2 arena.

She's booked out the placed, too, tickets are sold out. They weren't exactly cheap, either.

Silverton has plenty of critics, but nobody can deny that she does put on a good show. Some put it down to publicity stunts, but every time she takes over a stage there always seem to be mysterious problems. Lights flickering, sound problems, all sorts of spooky goings on while stage hands swear blind they didn't touch anything. There have even been some who quit because they couldn't take it any more, claiming members of Sarah's team must have been deliberating interfering to draw crowds.

It's no surprise, then, that the Night Council has taken any interest. With the reports of strange goings on escalating (including a falling piece of set in one show that caused injury to one unsuspecting audience member) they've launched a full investigation. While most believe Silverton to be a fraud simply putting together elaborate stunts to sell tickets, any chance that she's a real member of the community flagrantly breaking the Statute of Secrecy must be addressed. Lancelot is charged with putting together a team and investigating carefully. Sarah Silverton is a celebrity, and they can't risk drawing attention to themselves in the process or causing any kind of public scandal. They have just over two weeks until her live show in London, and a lot of work to get done....

[ ooc; Post for the medium, live! plot. Still time to sign up if you want! Spooky content likely, in the spirit of Halloween. ]

Comments

RECRUITMENT;

[knightscode]

Lancelot knows as soon as the files are dumped on his desk that this is going to be a problem.

If even the slightest hint of this investigation being in process reaches the papers they'll have a media frenzy, and if Silverton's security and PR team step up they'll never get within a foot of her.

Lancelot knows he'll need a range of skills, then. They'll need to pull all the records on her first, see what they can dig up in her past, then see what they can find out about the set up of her shows. If she's ordering a hundred stage hands with instructions to levitate things and radios for people to feed her answers then they might have an answer there.

It's probably worth seeing if someone can get close enough to try and sense something off her, too. Lancelot doesn't trust his bluff skills enough to do it himself, but there are a few people he can ask.

[ ooc; For everyone who signed up -- you can either have Lancelot approach your character someone he'd know they'd hang out, or have them already aware what the issue is and being pointed to him. He can meet them in the Night Council offices, or somewhere of their choosing if they'd rather not go there! ]

[dirtyredneck]

Daryl wiped his hands on the red rag that was near constantly in his back pocket, getting the grease off his fingers as he made his way from the back of the garage and through the lobby of the shop to the waiting room. He paused for a moment in the doorway before clearing his throat, surprised to see Lance sitting there. When he'd been told he had a guest, he'd thought it likely to be someone from Hillingdon. Maybe someone one of his regular clients sent over.

"You wanted to see me?" He asked, curious and genuinely confused as to why Lance of all people were. Far as he knew, the man didn't have a bike.

[knightscode]

Lance is sitting in the waiting room with his dog, who is currently far too white to be this close to all the grease and oil that comes with a garage. She's sat pressed against his legs, eyes flicking around curiously, and they lift as Daryl steps out -- tail swishing along the floor of the waiting room. Hello, Daryl! Hello! Are you a friend? Because you smell like cat!

"If you have two minutes?" Lancelot answers, and gestures vaguely to the door. Since it isn't exactly garage related business he's here on.

[dirtyredneck]

He knew that dog. Dog probably didn't recognize him, though. Not with all the grease and garage smells on his jumpsuit. He'd seen her in Lance's place when Faolan brought him by to investigate the man's kidnapping. She'd been awfully friendly, then, too.

Daryl stepped through and shut the door behind him. Moved so he could take a seat opposite Lance. Far enough away that it would be difficult for the dog to get too close and get that lovely white fur all dirty.

He doesn't say anything as he sits down, just lifts his head and looks attentive.

Re: RECRUITMENT;

[defy_the_stars]

Liadan had expected to find herself in a few unusual situations when she moved to London, but she hadn't expected it to happen quite so soon. But when she'd heard about this woman who may be putting the entire community at risk, she knew she had to do what she could to help. And so she headed to the Night Council offices, leaving Johnny in the care of her new neighbour, who seemed kind and trustworthy.

She mentioned the name Lancelot when she arrived and was told where she could wait to speak with him. As she sat, she closed her eyes. She could feel the power of this place, of the people in it. Hopefully, she might also be able to sense - or not sense - the power in this supposed psychic.

[knightscode]

Lancelot is busy, and on top of that he's exactly the sort of person who is poor at delegating. Currently he's trying to juggle the influx of investigation results, several other cases, answering the phone to a dog sitter and flicking through his emails trying to work out how he can get out of his normal Met Police job for a day or two without drawing suspicion. He opens the door, phone balanced awkwardly one one hand as he holds out a folder to a very prim woman sat at a desk neatly typing. She jumps up and scampers over to take it from him, then his eyes land on Liadan and widen slightly.

"If you could," he's saying into the phone, "that would really be a great help. Even if it's just the one night. Text me when you can confirm? I actually just have another appointment right now --"

He mouths just two seconds and waves at her vaguely, stepping back and holding open his office door for her. The desk is littered with files, the book shelves behind sparse but for a few reference books, and a photo of a very fluffy white dog sits in a frame.

[defy_the_stars]

Liadan looks around the office as she waits for the phone call to end. She doesn't know much about this man but she has a feeling he keeps his schedule very full. It reminds her a bit of her mother, who had always been doing ten things at once - and each of those ten things had been a task for someone else, never anything for herself. Liadan had always admired that.

Her eyes are drawn to the photo of the dog, which seems out of place with the rest of this. She wonders what the animal's name is.

[outstandingbalance]

"Hey," Natasha says, smiling when Lancelot approaches her. Between his expression and the fact he's approaching her on campus, she feels confident that she's right when she continues coyly, "I get the feeling you didn't come here to take me out to dinner."

She tilts her head, considering him, wondering if she can guess what's concerning him.

"Want to tell me about it?"

[knightscode]

"If you'll indulge me. It's work, but it's more of a request than an order. You can say no."

He stops what he judges as a safe distance off, close enough to not be applying pressure, and stands with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Shrugs a little.

"You can listen then say no too. You can even make me pay for your listening time in coffee. This is your ground, not mine."

So it's her rules, and he doesn't want to throw his weight around about it. Guinevere had told him he didn't seem frightening even though he's a guardian, but he'd like to keep it that way. Head of guardian division could easily be a title that makes you head of the hired thugs, used the wrong way. He's sensitive to that.

[outstandingbalance]

Natasha smiles slightly at his gameness to be fair with her. It's not really necessary, but she appreciates the effort none the less. It's a level of freedom to decline that's still new for her.

Even in Redbright, it's not something she gets much of.

"How about if I listen over coffee. Then I can give you my answer."

[reticence]

He doesn't need to look all that far for help in Faolan himself.

Glancing up at the other man from across the office he raises something of an eyebrow at Lancelot as he watches the other man frowning at the folder before him. Seeing as Lancelot is effectively his senior there at the Night Council, it comes as no surprise that Lancelot should receive the bigger cases to them delegate assignments out from there. He wonders if it's anything of the sort, as he picks up his Mr Grumpy mug and shuffles over to perch on the edge of the other man's desk.

"Anything good?" he asks, nodding to the paperwork spread across the desk in front of him and doing his best not to read any of it over without permission to do so.

[knightscode]

'Good' isn't exactly the word he'd have used, himself. Lancelot lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in his chair, picks up the Samoyed property laws travel mug that Faolan had given him in may and sips lukewarm coffee from it.

"Possible secrecy law breach," he says, and flips around the file he had open so it faces him. "Too public to dig into openly."

[reticence]

Faolan reaches for the file to look at it closer as it's offered to him. Flipping through as he carefully reads through the situation. Raising an eyebrow slightly as he realizes just who it is that they'd be investigating. He's pretty sure he's seen more than a few advertisements for her upcoming show here and there, though honestly he hadn't paid the thought of it much mind. Not as far as the rules of the underground were concerned.

"She's been around long enough, you would have thought the Council would have taken an interest in her sooner then..." He glances up at Lancelot again, as if in question although from flipping through the file he's all but certain that's the direction that this is headed. "Before she became the 'Worldwide Phenomenon' that this claims her to be." He gestures to a flyer from a previous show that someone seems to have wrangled up for the purposes of the file.

MANCHESTER;

[knightscode]

The sold out Manchester performance is in a theatre more traditional than the O2 arena, and it's buzzing with excitement. The crowd is a mixture of fervent believers and people who are already two drinks in and hoping to amuse themselves. The believers are quite sure she has special powers, some specify from god but others more generally. None of the doubters have a clear answer how she does thinks. Plants people in the audience? Special effects? Light tricks? They're certain its a hoax, but can't tell you how.

By the time everyone is ushered in the atmosphere is thick with anticipation, and there's an eruption of of applause as she finally comes on stage. Sarah Silverton is a woman in her 50s with wild dark hair and neatly lined eyes. Her dress glimmers in the stage lights and she moves with confidence, practised at being the focus of attention.

"My name is Sarah Silverton, and you -- all of you are my guests tonight. Some of you believe, some of you doubt. By the end of tonight you will all know the truth. You cannot deny what you see with your own eyes. My gift came to me at a young age. It made me different, it made me weird. I didn't understand it at first, understand why I had to be different. Standing here tonight, I know why. This gift was given to me so I could help all of you. I can feel your pain. I know that you have suffered. But you're here now. Let's start."

The show has the elements of any good psychic show -- sick people, people worried about dead relatives, emotional vamping by getting the audience to cheer and believe. Silverton is a good performer, she has a clear voice and certainly seems to believe in what she does.

Reading the show is a little harder. At least one or two people she calls up are plants, but not all of them are. There might be something else to it, they might have been feeding Silverton information in some way, but their emotions are real -- and there's something else.

The show is far from short of drama, but not all of it is just Silverton's preaching. The lights all flicker, dim brighten with her emotional displays. A few blow out at dramatic moments. It could be stage theatrics, but the air is thick with magic. The whole theatre feels alive with it. The lighting bars tremble and creak, the emergency exit lights flicker on and off, and they definitely shouldn't unless someone is flagrantly breaking the law for cheap drama. A few people look genuinely frightened and bolt from the theatre.

For those who stay, though, there's a VIP champagne meet and greet afterwards. Silverton turns up about five minutes in, and she's happy to chat. Some subtle security makes sure it stays just chatting.

OPEN;

[reticence]

Faolan has hardly been one for crowds, especially ones such as this. It's been quite the trip up to Manchester, and there's no way he can make it all the way back to London without breathing fire or tearing someone's throat out for simple things like talking on the train or meandering three abreast with their friends on the sidewalk -- so he's had to grab a hotel room and spend more money than he'd care for. And though it's largely on the Council's budget, since this is their investigation, needless to say he's not starting the night in the best of moods.

He knows there are other people that Lancelot had sent to investigate from London somewhere in the audience but at this stage in the game the tickets for their seats were purchased individually, and he hasn't much of an idea who all they might be. Perhaps it's for the best. He will know if he runs into them at the after party, after all -- the tickets all do at least include a given invitation to that. With separate seats however, he sits in the midst of a sea of what seem to him to be a broad collection some of the most gullible, excitable people in the whole of England as the applause erupts and Silverton herself waltzes onto the stage.

He can't get much of a read on her as the show progresses. There's too much interference, too many people around him and between the two of them. He feels at least several 'others' in the crowd, but he's not so good as to be able to pinpoint their locations as that. He supposes, as he watches her preach to a woman whose deceased parents apparently need to reassure her of her parenting skills from the beyond, that he's going to have to actually secure a conversation with her at this VIP meet and greet. And that, more than the theatrical flickering of the lights and the following terrified running audience members, fills him with a quiet sense of dread.

Showing his VIP ticket to the man checking them, Faolan shuffles around on the edge of the meet and greet until he finds himself a glass of the promised champagne. He's pretty sure he's going to need it, if he's going to make it through any sort of conversation with the woman at all...

Re: OPEN;

[defy_the_stars]

Once Liadan had learned that she would need to go out of town, she had managed to convince her brother to come visit with his family. Her sister-in-law, Aisling, had come a few days early and was quite happy to look after Johnny. Her son was also thrilled with the arrangement, since he'd missed his aunt, as well as his favourite playmate, his cousin Muirrin. With her son taken care of, Liadan had headed out for Manchester. It was very uneventful trip and she was able to make her way out to the theatre.

The show itself is far too flashy for Liadan's tastes, though the people sitting nearby are enthralled. At one point when the lights begin to flash and she sighs, they even glare at her. It doesn't bother her though and she continues to do her best to focus on the substance of the show, rather than the style. If it is true powers, than this woman has far more control over the Sight than Liadan, for whom it has always been a tad unpredictable. This means, unfortunately, that Liadan isn't quite able to get a read on whether it is true or not. However, there are a few readings that feel different to her, though she is not sure why yet. She makes a mental note to try and speak with the audience members in question later, assuming they will be at the meet-and-greet.

She heads to the party afterwards and as she heads for the champagne, she notices Faolan. She hadn't realized he would be here but it is nice to see a familiar face. She picks up her glass and heads over to him.

"This has been quite the night."

[goodgraces]

While waiting for Sarah Silverton to make her grand entrance, Guinevere slowly wanders through the crowd. In these heels, she can easily see over the heads of almost everyone in attendance. She’s confident that when the medium arrives, she’ll spot her right away.

The drink in Gwen’s hand is her second of the night. The first she’d downed right away. This one she intends to nurse for a while. Not being much of a drinker, these bubbles could easily go to her head if she isn’t careful.

While scanning the crowd, Gwen recognizes one of the attendees: Faolan O’Neill, the newly crowned Head of Hillingdon. She doesn’t know him personally, but thanks to his election bid and the scandal that accompanied it, his face is a familiar one. Though, it is a bit odd to see him here. This doesn’t seem like it would be his sort of scene. Then again, what does she know? Perhaps it is.

Since Ms. Silverton is currently a no-show, Gwen decides to occupy her time by chatting with O’Neill, who is clearly an ambitious man and yet at the same time remains a bit of a reclusive enigma within the community despite his position.

“Mr. O’Neill. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” She offers him her free hand. “I’m Guinevere Leodegrance, a member of the Redbright Institute,” she says by way of introduction. “I’m surprised to see you here tonight. Are you a fan of Ms. Silverton?”

[knightscode]

Sarah Silverton's arrival is clear from the smattering of polite applause and a few gasps. She's changed into a glittery black dress as old fashioned as she is, and walks in holding a cat that incidental conversation with an attendant reveals is named Lunar. Of course a few eager people surge forward to greet her, and she's polite. Anyone who has done the same thing will recognise her style of speaking to people, the calculated non-answers and non-questions which let people believe what they will and decide what they will.

She knows who is on her guest list, of course, and has made sure she knows what they look like too.

When she can.

Some people don't come up, or when they do they come up suspiciously. It's for that reason that she approaches Faolan, who is signed up as Dubhan. Dubhan O'Neill is dead, and that means this person might be a private investigator here to get a story to sell. So either she needs to scare him enough he might write a good story or unveil his fraud and thus make a good story for herself.

She approaches casually, the cat cradled in her arms like a baby. Everything about her is old fashioned elegance, pearls around her neck and twinkling diamond earrings -- perfectly manicured long, red nails and neat lipstick.

"I've been curious about you," she opens with, "so many shadows surround you, Mr O'Neill, you have an air of mystery. I wonder at the truth of you. Did you enjoy the show?"

The Performance & Intermission (open)

[goodgraces]

It had not been Guinevere’s idea to attend this show. An elderly neighbour by the name of Agnes Crutcher had purchased tickets for both of them before inviting her, making refusal an awkward proposition. After reading up on Silverton, Gwen willingly accepted the invitation because what she learned while researching the show left her afraid that it might be a bit too much for the sometimes fragile Agnes.

Now, here they both sit in the front row, almost close enough to touch Sarah Silverton. Normally, Agnes would have reserved a box, but that would keep her too far away from the medium, whom she wants to look straight in the eyes. On several occasions in the past, Agnes has tried to get a personal reading from Sarah, only to be rudely rebuffed by her staff. Because of that, the old woman intends to make damn sure she gets a public one tonight.

At first things go swimmingly. Agnes remains on the edge of her seat, enraptured by Sarah’s every move, hanging on her every word. When the medium looks in her direction and claims to feel the presence of a fallen hero whose loved one is in attendance, Agnes knows (just knows!) that it’s her beloved Wallace, who passed away nearly ten years ago. You see, Wallace had served in the RAF. Mind you, he’d never seen active duty and been discharged long before he died, but that was neither here nor there. He had served his country, and that made him a hero, full stop.

In response to Sarah’s proclamation, Agnes claps her hands together and whispers words of comfort to her dear Wallace, so grateful to know that he is looking out for her still. Meanwhile Gwen squirms in her seat, avoiding Silverton’s gaze and thinking of her late husband, Leontes, who had died in the line of duty back in January.

Unfortunately, as Guinevere had feared, the show does indeed take a turn for the terrifying. What is at first a fun albeit spooky spectacular, eventually becomes traumatic. Flickering lights give way to falling bits of scaffolding. Tales of the protective deceased give way to talk of dark spirits who foretell doom. During one particularly harrowing stretch of the show, Gwen feels compelled to use her power to sedate those within range. As a wave of fear sweeps through the crowd, those closest to her remain suspiciously sedate, serenely riding out the panic.

When intermission mercifully arrives, Guinevere breathes a sigh of relief and checks her watch, calculating how much time remains before the finale.

VIP After-Party (open)

[goodgraces]

Guinevere weaves her way through the crowd with ease. She’s in her element here amongst the wealthy, having attended many similar events with her mother, starting when she was a young woman. Though there are, of course, plenty of the not-so-rich also in attendance: people who had decided to splurge on tickets or obtained them through other means, such as a contest and the like.

She smiles and nods while passing by, stopping infrequently to make conversation. Dressed as she is in expensive boho chic with a crystal handing around her neck, she finds herself approached several times by strangers who assume her to be a member of Silverton’s entourage or a model paid to be here as a hostess of sorts. After the fifth time she’s accosted, her patient smile begins to falter.

Agnes--who had pressured Gwen to come and dictated her attire (including the necklace, which is supposed to help keep her Chakras balanced or some such)--should be at her side now, acting as a buffer to the attention. But the show had been too much for the poor, old dear. Emotionally taxed by the eerie goings-on, she had bowed out early. Naturally, before leaving she had insisted that Gwen go on without her.

As much as Guinevere would love to go home, she feels compelled to stay given how much money had been spent on her ticket. Besides, she must admit to a small bit of curiosity about Sarah Silverton. Hopefully, a face-to-face would prove interesting and thus worth her time. So, she waits with the rest of the milling crowd for the guest of honour to arrive.

Re: VIP After-Party (open)

[defy_the_stars]

Liadan is very ill at ease in the crowd, though she is able to maintain a calm exteriour. And as her dress is dark blue and fairly simple, she is able to fade into the background without too much trouble.

While she keeps an eye out for Ms Silverton, she is also listening to the conversation. From what she can tell, most of the audience is very enamoured of the medium and believes every word she said.

Liadan shakes her head sadly. She is still not sure if they are right to believe but she suspects that they would be taken in by anyone who had enough special effects.

She spots a woman who appears to be part of the show and walks over to her. "Do you know when we should be expecting the guest of honour?" she asks.

[knightscode]

Sarah Silverton arrives fashionably late, and holding a cat.

There's a smattering of applause as she walks in, having changed into a black dress that glitters in a way that suits her. She looks like an old fashioned model who has aged gracefully, right down to the slightly wild hair and carefully manicured nails. The black cat she carries seems as much a prop as a companion, and unconcerned by the crowd. Presumably it has suffered this indignity many a time before.

"Thank you," she says in answer to the applause. "You're all too kind. Some water for lunar, please?"

Presumably the cat. One of the attendants circling with a tray of champagne nods and vanishes away, while Sarah begins to mingle in with crowds -- chatting to people politely. She seems to have a tendency to touch people by the hand, something that -- with how long her red nails are -- almost feels like being secured in place by her claws if you're unwilling.

Part of being a professional psychic, of course, is being able to read people. Guinevere's discomfort is readable a mile off as he begins to tire. Sarah approaches after a moment, lunar cradled in her arm like a tired child, and offers her a thoughtful frown of concern. She knows the names of everyone on her guest list, obviously, as much to add to the magic of her knowing as so she can make sure they're not investigative reporters out to cause her trouble.

"Guinevere, you seem tired. I hope tonight was not too draining for you?"

Shows can be a little emotionally taxing, after all. She knows, because they're meant to be.

LONDON; INVESTIGATIONS

[knightscode]

Sarah Silverton is apparently planning an autobiography, but unfortunately for everyone concerned she hasn't written it yet. A little piecing together of old stories reveals she did spend her childhood in the southeast, moved to the midlands at some point. That she claims she has been gifted for as long as she remembers. There are stories of varying credulity from her childhood of the time she saw the ghost of someone's dead grandmother, of experiences she's had -- and more than a few news reports of strange goings on during her live performances. They seem to be more frequent over the years, and there are even one or two reports of injuries from falling equipment.

As a celebrity Sarah Silverton of course has a twitter account, facebook, a website -- all kept well up to date. It makes her a little easier to track, although not as specifically as might be preferred. Needless to say it doesn't take long to figure out she'll be checking in to the Radisson Blu Edwardian just across the river from the O2 arena, and taking the penthouse suite. At over £600 a night, she must be doing well for herself.

[dirtyredneck]

Daryl had experience breaking and entering sneaking into people's houses as a vital part of his investigations. He never did it to steal anything important. Usually to get an idea of what kind of interests or responsibilities they had and maybe something covered in their scent for him to find. Sneaking into a hotel room, on the other hand, was a very different kind of operation. He first had to go to the Hotel and not look like he stood out. He then had to find a way into the hotel room. And when he was done, he had to find a way out.

A rented suit and freshly washed and brushed hair made the first part go as easily as it could. None of the maids seemed to question his presence as he walked through the halls like he knew what he was doing. His hearing and attentive listening was what he was currently relying on to figure out what maid and cart would be heading into the Penthouse. Someone had to be jealous or excited about who got that service assignment for the day.

[outstandingbalance]

Natasha has to admit, Daryl cleans up pretty well. Which isn't to say he looked good—though he didn't look bad—but that he passes for someone else, someone who looks like he belonged here. That isn't something everyone can learn. It takes talent and experience.

Natasha has both of those as well. A wig and makeup helps change her appearance, and a skirt suit set in professional grey effects a similar illusion for Natasha. She makes a pretty good blonde. And she pays attention to their surroundings in detail while seeming to have her attention fixed on a clipboard.

"Got anything?" she asks under her breath.