undergrounds | Botching it in Bromley (Territory Claim)

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Botching it in Bromley (Territory Claim)

They've done their research. They know where the fae in Bromley are hiding out, their movements, their numbers. As far as intelligence gathering goes, it's not a bad effort. They have a plan too. This at least is an improvement over some past witches that Mogget could mention, though in his opinion the plan is rather crude. Samantha could get a lot more resistance than she bargained for.

Which, it turns out, is exactly the case. Of course, Mogget is the one on the ground with the other witches, trying to control a situation that swiftly spirals out of control. Samantha is nowhere to be seen; she gets others to do her dirty work.

He's not looking forward to telling her what went wrong.

[ooc: Planning post here, individual threads for each day below! Feel free to make your own subthreads and let me know if you have any questions!]

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On Thursday night, Mogget guides a few witches into the borough, where they create the first salt circles around key buildings that are known to house fae. It's quiet to start, as the Daybreak forces move into position.

The traps have been set. As the sun rises, more witches enter the borough, stationed in various circles around key areas. A signal is given and they simultaneously join hands to cast a spell, one that will prevent the fae from crossing into the Other Realm. Mogget feels the ripple of magic over his fur, the collar on his neck tightening for a moment that has him digging his claws into the ground.

Then it's done, the ripples settle down, and Mogget pads forward to the edge of the circle. "Send in the wolves."

By this point it's clear that the spell to prevent fae from crossing into the Other Realm has failed. Mogget is guessing that Seelie or Unseelie interference ruined it; all it would take is one powerful fae who knows the name of a witch involved in casting the spell, and that tiny snag could disrupt the whole thing. But it doesn't matter. The witches are attempting to hold back the tide of escaping fae, freezing or trapping as many of them as they can while their allies (wolves and others) bring brute force to the table: running down escaping fae, bringing out the iron cages and capturing as many fae as possible.

The number they've actually captured is pitifully small. Mogget can't stand to be around the iron cages, however, and so he slips off to help with some of the individual targets. Like the shop Kunstkammer, with its Seelie proprietor.

It's over. The resident fae have either fled back to the Other Realm only to return later, or they have successfully broken out of their traps and driven the witches away. Mogget makes it his task to gather them up, flying between locations, sneaking past the most dangerous fae, and generally doing whatever he can to get Circle Daybreak out of there.

Samantha will want to know why they have failed. As the last witch runs into the Tube station to leave the area, Mogget sits on the wall outside and licks his paws, contemplating the story he's going to tell her. This setback won't stop her, he's certain of that. But perhaps he can convince her to be more cautious.

If Natasha wasn't happy when they took out Midnight, at least she had seen the benefit in it. She... let's say she respected the action, and the political stance which made it expedient. Natasha didn't have to like or agree with a plan of action to follow through on it.

This move against the fae, though, was different. It spoke to a much less measured stance. Even if she ignored the aggression and the grab for power, it was also just a mess. And a bald faced grab, particularly in retrospect, knowing what she did.

It's not lightly that Natasha, tired and frustrated, appears at Sylvia's office hoping to sneak in a meeting.

Things aren't really going in their side's favor, but it's fine. Standing guard and chasing fae around a little is okay, whatever. It's only until after the cages come out that Ghoul realizes this isn't a normal attempt to overrun a territory, and boy, is he pissed.

He's storming through alleyways, keeping out of sight to prevent any witches from calling him over for help. As fucking if. His plan is to, perhaps, find a few wolves and nag them to leave with him until he remembers Lan's shop is here. Maybe they're planning on putting her in a cage too. With that in mind, he darts off towards her place.

On the way, he spots a salt circle around a tiny building- being full of spite, he slows long enough to kick through the salt as he passes by. He doesn't know whether it'll do anything and since he can hear voices around the corner he doesn't stick around to find out, but a few blocks later he comes across another. This one is quieter, maybe unguarded. He stops, looks around, and then crouches down by the circle. After a few seconds of squinting at it, he reaches out and swipes his palm across the ground a few times, creating a wide gap in the line. Fuck the police.

Unfortunately, Mogget has also arrived on the scene and he sees Ghoul crouch down to disrupt the circle. Deliberate sabotage. There's no doubt about it. The cat stalks over to fix the werewolf with a look that is the feline equivalent of 'Gotcha'.

"I saw that. Breaking the circle when you thought no one was looking... Who are you working for?"

Clearly, it's not Samantha. Perhaps Katherine decided to hedge her bets and choose the fae after all. That would explain a lot.

Ghoul's head jerks up, surprise written all over his face from being caught red-handed. Or salt-handed. Semantics.

Why is it always the fucking cat.

He sneers once the initial panic wears off, lifting his hand away from the ruined circle and shooing Mogget with it. "I guess for my fuckin' self, since this ain't what I signed up for." He really ought to shut his mouth, probably.

The cat backs off one step, but otherwise doesn't retreat. "You signed up for battle. What did you expect?"

That they'd ask the fae nicely to leave? The fight hasn't even been that bloody for the most part, since they've made a concerted effort to contain and trap the fae before banishing them, rather than killing them. Having the witches' work ruined like this is only going to make that harder.

Sylvia is also tired and frustrated, so they have that in common. "Come in," she calls, after dismissing a gaggle of witches who have been fretting for hours about the events in Bromley. She should call Samantha, she knows, but that had better wait until morning when everyone has had a chance to cool off.

She's sitting in the little meeting area at the side of her office with her third cup of coffee in hand when Natasha enters. Sylvia takes a sip and then offers Natasha a tired smile. "So, how did it go?"

She suspects Natasha's report isn't going to be too positive, if the preliminary news they've been hearing is anything to go by.

"Uh, yeah." Ghoul brushes away the salt still sticking to his hands then turns to face Mogget more directly, settling his weight on his knees. He can't run after him as easily if he needs to like this, but trying to talk to a cat while towering over it is just. Weird.

"I'm here to either run 'em off or fight 'em, not put 'em in fuckin' cages. That's a bunch of bullshit. It's dirty." He sounds angry and like he lacks the patience to explain what's wrong with the situation. It's so obvious, geez. "The fuck are you gonna do with the ones you penned up?"

By the 11th, Finnick is actively working to dismantle the witches' movements into Bromley. He's not quite strong enough to fight too many of them head on, so instead he moves around the borough quietly with trident in hand, seeking out fae before they can be captured and telling them to flee. He's ready to fight if need be but he sticks to alleys instead and avoids Daybreak and their iron cages; he's no good to anyone in shackles he tells himself over the pounding fear and anger he feels when he sees them.

He dims his magic as much as he can when he's focused enough, but he can't hide from a magic-sensitive witch completely, so it's easier to keep his distance. He's not the most experienced prowler but he's paranoid enough to be half-decent.

"Not good. For anyone, really." The fae were winning, yes, but they'd also suffered an attack, and now they had to be aware the general shape of Samantha's plans for them—Daybreak in general's current direction. And Daybreak suffered an embarrassment just as much as a defeat. "The attack fell apart, but I don't think things are going to settle back down for a while."

"Keep them," he replies, as if he's stating the obvious. Which he is. "Not me personally, of course. But more pertinent is the fact that we're already struggling and you're committing sabotage. If cages offend you, then do something else to help, but don't get in our way."

The smell of iron reaches his nostrils and Mogget backs off another step, wrinkling his nose as two witches emerge from the shop. They've handcuffed a Seelie fae – the shop's proprietor if he remembers correctly. She's weak thanks to the iron cutting into her wrists, but still conscious enough to swear at her captors.

Well, this is interesting. Will Ghoul do anything about it? Mogget is watching him, almost as if daring him to act.

Mogget can recognise any fae on sight unless they're very well-cloaked, so when he spots the man with a trident in an alleyway he knows exactly what he is. And he's seen this one before, if he recalls correctly, at Imbolc. One of the Seelie, who wasn't so foolish as to give away his name.

"Seelie, northeast," he hisses from his vantage point on a nearby roof. "Your first left! He has a trident."

That's not for Finnick's benefit, but rather to alert a group of werewolves who are on the prowl hunting down escaping fae. They're carrying crowbars made of iron which is one reason why Mogget is staying well away from them. As one or two of the wolves peel off from the group to head around the corner in search of the trident-bearing fae, Mogget follows them from above, keeping pace with the hunt.

She thought as much. Sylvia nods, gesturing for Natasha to come over.

"Would you like to sit down? I don't need a blow-by-blow account, but – well. How exactly did it fall apart?"

"It ain't just the fucking cages!" It's more about the fact that he feels like the wolves have been duped in to what amounts to little more than a plot for Mogget, or Samantha, to collect a bunch of fae like prizes. But he doesn't get to explain. The noise of witches hauling Lan out draws Ghoul's attention, and he hops up without a second thought. He even takes a few determined steps towards the group before he has the good sense to stop himself, glancing back over at Mogget. Right. That little shit is watching.

Like he even had a plan to begin with. What could he possibly do, kill the witches? That's a good way to make a bigger mess... Ghoul shifts his weight anxiously, but he stays in place. "Where are they gonna take her?"

Mogget is everywhere, and Ghoul needs to do his best to save his own ass. At this point, he's shut completely up and set himself on auto-pilot, quietly going wherever he's needed. As he rounds the corner with another wolf, his first thought is what the fuck is a trident?

His second thought, upon seeing their target, is fuck. He knows this one.

Mogget has eyes on them, though- aside from a dismayed knit of his brow, he keeps his face blank-enough and his mouth closed, grip tightening on the bar in his hands. Fuck, fuck, fuck forever.

Natasha nods murmuring a thank you, but standing stiffly for just a moment before she sits, a remnant of her training in intelligence. Only when she's seated and taken a few seconds to consider her words does she answer.

"Daybreak was under-prepared and overambitious," she says it like a diagnosis. "They came in with iron cages and traps, but weren't actually prepared to hold the fae, which means it was a mess when most of the captives started getting loose."

Party follows directions from Mogget and finds himself slipping into Finnick's current alley. If he gets here first, at least it's less likely that whoever it is won't wind up dead or in a cage. He's not expecting it to be anyone familiar, though. He really only knows a handful of Fae in town.

His shoulders slump a little on recognition and he lowers his iron crowbar. "Gotta get your ass outta here, man. Ain't gonna like what anyone else is gonna wanna do to you when they catch up."

Party is everywhere in the fray, not because he really wants to win, but because he's using far less lethal methods and he's aiming to chase out more than capture. He doesn't like any of this and he's going to follow his orders, but if he can save a life or preserve someone's freedom, he's doing it.

Everything is so fast and chaotic that he figures no one will notice that he's purposefully chasing Fae out and that more than once, he pulls his strikes and slows his pace just enough to make sure that they're getting away from him instead of captured or killed.

He does his best to keep his head down and do what he can, but towards the end of the fighting, things settle around him and he starts to really notice all the filled cages. Something snaps in him.

"This ain't what I signed up for. We're gettin' you land, not pets. Can't just put people in kennels." He gestures at the nearest cage, trying to get the attention of anyone around. "This ain't right. It's just gonna keep us all divided!"

The words are out of his mouth before he can consider if it's a smart thing to voice, but he can't help it. There's a panicked, queasy feeling in his chest that he just has to do something about. He can't sit by and see all these things that are just so viscerally wrong to him. His emotions are all over the place, but mostly he's just mad that people can't get over all of this shit.

Finnick senses the wolf before he hears him, but not early enough to slip away, so he turns to stand his ground before Party sees him. It really burns seeing people he knows, even if they're just low-ranking werewolves that he only met in passing, and his mouth twists in disgust like he's smelling Party's vomit all over again.

"I'm just trying to get my people out before they end up in cages," he says.

Werewolves are generally indistinguishable from each other as far as what Finnick can sense, but he's met Ghoul a couple times now and knows him at a glace as soon as he turns around. He sighs and and rolls his eyes.

"It would be smarter to leave," he says, arrogant, gesturing casually with his trident.

Yes, he's watching. And he notes that instinct to rush forward, even though Ghoul checks himself. Why does he care what happens to some random fae?

As for where... Mogget considers the question, but something else distracts him before he can answer. The Seelie has spotted the break in the circle. As one witch steps over the barrier, leaving the other within its border, the cat darts forward.

"She's bluffing–"

Too late. The Seelie bites – actually bites – the witch holding her, sinking unnaturally sharp fangs into the witch's arm, though she doesn't drink like a vampire would. Instead she takes off, jumping over the broken circle with her hands still cuffed. There's nothing Mogget can do; he runs forward to the injured witch, calling for her companion to help her.

It's Ghoul who is in the perfect position to stop the escaping fae. As he should.

Meanwhile, Mogget is watching from the roof of the building above them, listening to every word. It looks like there's going to be a confrontation rather than a hunt (pity, those are more fun), so all he has to do is stick around to see how it goes. Then he'll move on.

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Botching it in Bromley (Territory Claim)

Thursday, 9th March: Evening

Friday, 10th March

Saturday, 11th March

Sunday, 12th March

12 March: Night

for mogget

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OTA

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OTA (and also Mogget pls)

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