[ 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

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."

[reticence]

Faolan glances up at the familiar voice addressing him and finds his hackles lowering slightly. It's good to see someone he knows, here among the crowds. He didn't think he would, considering the nature of the event. He wasn't sure how much of a waste of time this whole trip would be, truth be told.

He raises his glass at her in greeting as she approaches. "It has," he replies, a bit more gruffly than he intended to, but he means well. "I take it that you saw the show as well?" Did Lancelot get her the tickets and send her along to investigate as well, he wonders? He hadn't known that they knew each other. For such a large city, the underground community seems a small world after all.

[defy_the_stars]

She smiles, not offended by the gruff tone. Though she does not know Faolan well, she has already seen enough to know what a busy man he can be. And she has known enough busy men - and women - to know how tiring that can be.

"I did," she confirms, "though I cannot say that I enjoyed it much."

[reticence]

Faolan shakes his head himself. "You and me both," he confirms, trying not to admit as much quite so loud lest they be overheard but at the same time relieved that she wasn't a true believer like the rest of them either.

He steps closer to her, so that they don't have to speak too loud to hear each other over the murmur of the crowd. But he has to ask, he has to know whether they are here for the same reason. "Forgive me, but. Do you know Lancelot du Lac?"

[defy_the_stars]

Liadan is a little surprised when he steps closer, or she is until she hears Faolan's question. She nods. "I do, indeed, though I have only met him once. I expect you can guess what the subject of that meeting was."

[reticence]

Faolan raises his eyebrows, surprised slightly by the idea that she would have been recruited after only knowing him for so brief a time, but he supposes that they had needed supernatural expertise for the case. He supposes he'll have to ask Lancelot about it later, if he really wants to know. He nods slightly in response to her last statement, though.

"It would seem that we are here on the same orders, you and I," Faolan replies. Though Liadan's are perhaps less official in nature. Lancelot isn't her superior, after all.

[defy_the_stars]

Liadan nodded. "And what is your opinion so far?" She was quite curious what a hunter's perspective on this would be and how exactly Faolan intended to determine if Ms Silverton was a fraud or not.

[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?”

[reticence]

Faolan glances up at the other woman as she approaches and holds out a hand to greet him. (Literally up, at only 5'6", she towers over him, especially in those heels of hers.) Glancing warily at the hand held out to him, Faolan accepts it in turn. A member of the Redbright Institute, their groups have something of an alliance at the moment, and he should really play nice, even if he's feeling a bit on edge, firstly because of the thought of having to confront this medium and now thanks to this new woman reminding him of his own less than impressive stature.

"It's nice to meet you," he replies, which is as polite as he can be, in the circumstances, shaking her hand before retracting his own. "I can't say that I am, though, no. I suppose you could say that I've been assigned here." His position as a Guardian in the Night Council is no secret at this point, even though it makes him wary to admit to it at certain times.

[goodgraces]

Gwen starts to slouch, unconsciously closing the gap between her and Faolan. Had she come on her own, the difference between them would have been slightly less. (She’s the sort who generally prefers to wear low heels or even flats.) Unfortunately, attending as Agnes’ guest also meant abiding by her sartorial rules, and the older woman is of the firm opinion that a proper lady should always wear heels of exactly two inches. Disagreeing with that hadn’t seemed worth the hassle before now.

Thankfully, his reason for being here tonight is interesting enough to temporarily distract Guinevere from the awkward height differential (and the growing pain in her feet from the unaccustomed heels).

“Assigned? Oh!”

She has been thinking of Faolan only in terms of Hillingdon. Being assigned here seems more in line with his role as a Night Council guardian, a position that had been exposed during the election. That realization makes Gwen immediately smarten (and straighten) up. A lifetime spent as part of a police family has left her with a deep sense of respect for anyone filling a similar role (at least until said person proves to be unworthy of it).

“Am I intruding? I don’t want to get in your way.”

Guinevere’s father would read her the riot act if she compromised an operation by being chatty.

[reticence]

Faolan raises his eyebrows slightly, before shaking his head. "No, no, it's. It's fine," he reassures her, awkwardly. "I'm not. I'm waiting to be able to get a feel for Silverton, there's not..." He trails off, shrugging. "There's nothing really to be intruding on at the moment."

He glances up at her, flashing an awkward smile. "You'd be saving me conversation with another in the crowd here, so please. Don't let me scare you off." He knows that he has that effect on people, but he tries to be better, when he can. God, he really needs to get better at this whole business of talking to people, he thinks to himself, sighing inwardly.

[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?"

[reticence]

Faolan raises his eyebrows at her slightly, both at her words and at the cat if he's being honest. He's used to Lancelot toting Lily around with him like a child at his heels at this point but a cat carried around at a champagne after party is another thing entirely.

"It was... Enlightening," Faolan replies. As is the fact that she knows his name. He doesn't feel any flaring of magic upon that reveal -- she must have looked up the guest list ahead of time. How she could have put his (fake) name to his face is another mystery entirely. He'd registered under Dubhan's name, after all. It had been something of a test, he supposes, although it had also been to make certain that she didn't know that Faolan O'Neill of the Guardians had attended her show either.

He glances at the cat in her arms, then back at Silverton herself. "I'm sorry, 'shadows'?" he has to ask.