Gilbert Norrell (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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undergrounds2015-10-27 12:03 pm
hurtfew) wrote in undergrounds2015-10-27 12:03 pm
Entry tags:
[SEMI-OPEN] Written by the Victors
Date: 30th of October, pre-Samhain celebration!
Plot: Smug Victory Dinner, with political manoeuvring
Areas: Westminster
It may have been a struggle, but Lambeth has finally been won over. A week of hard work to drive out all the unspeakable sorts, and another week of trying to keep control and tidy up, and it's looking like things are slowly beginning to settle. Gilbert Norrell is very pleased by this. Now he has proven he can be a leader, can lead them to victory -- and over a difficult area too! Of course, there were difficulties. Were small problems and losses along the way, but that does not matter now.
A dinner is not normally his style, he refused to hold one himself, but Childermass persuaded someone else to hold this on his behalf and -- well, it would be rude to decline. So he attends, if reluctantly (he does not like parties) and smiles as people applaud him. It is a rush of success, of ego, and as people come to congratulate him and find ways to carefully bring up their own causes and beliefs Gilbert Norrell feels that finally he is beginning to be recognised.
The table is carefully laid with glittering crystal glasses, candles and flowers. Not too ostentatious but still elegant and respectable, suited to the style of Norrell himself. Waiters and waitresses silently move back and forth serving people and taking requests or preferences, and the food is plentiful. If people can suffer the small-talk and ego coming from the head of the table, it will at least be a good meal.
[ ooc; log for the Daybreak victory meal! You can give me a ping if you want to be involved and replied already! It's set on Friday night so people can get drunk and slouch home without having to worry about the following morning, and can still attend Samhain things later. Entry is free, food and drink is free! The meal is being held by a lackey of Norrell's who wants to suck up to him since he's on the way up, and Norrell is therefore the ~guest of honour~. Dress code is black tie, thread with each other and mingle! ]
Plot: Smug Victory Dinner, with political manoeuvring
Areas: Westminster
It may have been a struggle, but Lambeth has finally been won over. A week of hard work to drive out all the unspeakable sorts, and another week of trying to keep control and tidy up, and it's looking like things are slowly beginning to settle. Gilbert Norrell is very pleased by this. Now he has proven he can be a leader, can lead them to victory -- and over a difficult area too! Of course, there were difficulties. Were small problems and losses along the way, but that does not matter now.
A dinner is not normally his style, he refused to hold one himself, but Childermass persuaded someone else to hold this on his behalf and -- well, it would be rude to decline. So he attends, if reluctantly (he does not like parties) and smiles as people applaud him. It is a rush of success, of ego, and as people come to congratulate him and find ways to carefully bring up their own causes and beliefs Gilbert Norrell feels that finally he is beginning to be recognised.
The table is carefully laid with glittering crystal glasses, candles and flowers. Not too ostentatious but still elegant and respectable, suited to the style of Norrell himself. Waiters and waitresses silently move back and forth serving people and taking requests or preferences, and the food is plentiful. If people can suffer the small-talk and ego coming from the head of the table, it will at least be a good meal.
[ ooc; log for the Daybreak victory meal! You can give me a ping if you want to be involved and replied already! It's set on Friday night so people can get drunk and slouch home without having to worry about the following morning, and can still attend Samhain things later. Entry is free, food and drink is free! The meal is being held by a lackey of Norrell's who wants to suck up to him since he's on the way up, and Norrell is therefore the ~guest of honour~. Dress code is black tie, thread with each other and mingle! ]
[ OPEN ]
Gilbert Norrell does not particularly enjoy parties.
However, a meal in his honour is something else altogether. He tries his best to hang back a little, but people keep coming up to him to talk to him. At the beginning of the night he is his normal somewhat grumpy and sour self, letting his displeasure be known whenever a person bumps into him or brings up something he does not like. However, as the night wears on he eases a little, beginning to enjoy the attention somewhat, and as he sips the wine his mood buoys somewhat.
Norrell is not used to having friends, and all of a sudden it feels like he has rather a lot. It is an alien sort of feeling, but a rather pleasing one -- to have people who wish to listen to his opinions and perhaps even agree with him. His face is a little flushed with pleasure, and rather than instantly snap he seems to hesitate when bumped into and offer a thin smile instead.
Meal:
By the time the meal begins Norrell has fallen into a tolerable mood, somewhat animated as the food begins to come out. So very many people, all of whom wish to listen to what he has to say.
"Oh!" he says at one point, "but I very much think that the laws on fae should be tightened. It is all very well sealing Daybreak territory, but what about other territories? Even then, sealing it so doors cannot be opened does not stop them brazenly walking in -- as we have already seen in Croydon. No, they should be forbidden from entering entirely!"
Of course, at least a few people agree, even if others do not.
After:
As the night wears in, people retire from the table variously to gather in groups to talk, to go outside and smoke or simply to leave. Norrell himself joins a small group in a corner quietly discussing politics, tones hushed and very serious, but his attention can be caught -- either to call him away for private discussion or to join in. The topic of the moment is the Night Council, and how they should have more power.
Other:
[ Else, if nothing fits invent your own prompt! ]
AFTER
He's always been the outsider, even back home. Here? He's a red sore thumb.
Following a trip back to America recently, Jackson's been reminded of how important it is to work on his-- not friendships, but alliances with his own kind.
That's why Jackson's here, picking idly at the collar of his finest tuxedo. He's been awkward and quiet throughout the party, which is unusual for Jackson, but goddammit, he has to try. So when he hears conversation that piques his interest in this circle of Witches: something about American-British Coven relations, he speaks up.
"I think we oughtta not rock the boat. Isolationism is the best way to maintain power-- why should Daybreak cultivate relations with an American coven, when we can barely handle our own shit?"
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after;
"Mr Norrell," he says, inclining his head politely towards the man in question. "A magnificent party to celebrate a solid victory. I must congratulate you on it." Compliments. Every egotistic loves compliments, do they not?
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"Something had to be done," he says in answer. "The fae have already been allowed to take Croydon from us. I had hoped others might act, but if it must fall to me..."
Norrell tilts his head sadly, as if contemplating on the great burden of this all. The terrible fate of being forced to handle this all, since no others would step up.
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drinks
It's all very appropriate for Halloween, though.
"Mr. Norrell," he says politely, extending a hand. "This is quite an event. Thank you for the invitation." He grins slightly. "I hadn't thought I rated one."
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He looks at the offered hand with mild disgust, as if the offering it is particularly offensive, and then up at Simon warily again.
"You did help," he allows, "if not as well as some. You still kept your word, there is merit in that."
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[ OPEN ]
Lancelot has dressed up for the occasion. He does not particularly know Gilbert Norrell, but he is a member of Daybreak and he would not wish to snub the celebration of a victory for his own faction -- especially when they have had a loss too. He's neatly turned out in a three piece suit, even if the bow tie feels a little silly on him, hair timed as best it can.
Lancelot, however, is not drinking. This feels like the perfect target for someone upset with Daybreak, and with Night Council members invited too he feels a little as if he might be on call. So he sips at ginger beer, smiles at people who approach him and leans in to make quiet observations about everyone around them or a light joke. Anyone in danger of being a nervous wallflower he'll approach to talk to, gently coax out if he can.
Meal:
Political conversation is not something Lancelot enjoys. It's all a little heavy for him, and especially with Gilbert Norrell's man -- very righteous and affronted. It's tiring, and he can't help jerking an eyebrow on occasion and shooting sideways glances at the people either side of him.
"The food's good," he says brightly, for something else to talk about, setting down his cutlery to take a sip of water for a moment. He's still not drinking. "How's yours?"
After:
A few people, Lancelot notices, have drunk more than a little too much. He's suppressing a smile as he watches them, still on the water himself -- moving to help one member carefully out of the building to their taxi and into it so they don't trip and land face first on the pavement.
At least they enjoyed themselves, he supposes.
Padding back inside he pauses to chat to a few people, bow-tie finally undone and left draped around his collar (much more comfortable) -- debating if he should join one of the card games. He's bound to lose money, he's sure of it.
Other:
[ Else, if nothing fits invent your own prompt! ]
drinks
London is far smaller than Simon would care to admit.
He's surprised at the number of people he recognizes at the party--people he's run into during his day-to-day life that he thought had nothing to do with the supernatural world. Case in point: there is Lancelot, the man whose white dog had been just a little too interested in Simon a few days ago. He's in on this too?
Is everyone in London part of their supposedly secret world?
Typical.
Simon adopts an easy smile. "Lancelot, right? We met a few days ago." He sticks out a hand. "Simon O'Neill."
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"I remember. I'm afraid my lady friend isn't with me tonight, it seems even if she wore black tie she would not be appropriate."
One eyebrow jerk playfully, because Lancelot does not think some of the people here would react well to a dog threading about them at their fancy dinner -- even one as sweetly mannered as Lily. Gilbert Norrell's face would be a picture, to be sure.
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After
"Hi," he said, approaching the man. "I love the bow tie. Even untied it makes you look... dashing."
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OPEN!
Faolan isn't quite certain why he accepted the invitation to this party. No, that's a lie. He knows why. He knows that, with the invitation extended to the members of Hillingdon as well as the members of the Night Council, it's his duty as Sylvia Redbright's personal hound to spy in on the conversation and the dinner. No, that's not fair either. He signed himself up for this, knowing full well what he was getting himself into. Better him than someone who would use the position to his advantage, he had said, and he'd meant it. Ah, well. He'd agreed to be a spy, and so a spy he shall be.
And so Faolan attends the dinner party, dressed up for a change -- he wouldn't want to offend the host nor the honored guest, now would he? He wears the suit well but it feels stifling, and it's still nowhere near as formal an attire as some of the others have chosen. It suits him, though, and it suits the gathering, and so it will do.
He takes a drink when it's offered him, and even appears to be enjoying the mingling. Making quiet conversation with those around him while assessing the key players in the room. To the casual eye, he seems like any other guest. To anyone who knows Faolan, he will not seem himself at all, as he turns to any person who may approach him in the room with a smile.
Meal:
As the night progresses into the food and the conversation opens up into more blatantly political discussion, Faolan keeps an ear open to who's expressing what opinions where. And who, for that matter, is keeping their mouths shut, in what manner. Those who are uncomfortable with the topics, those who are upset with it, those impassioned who are looking to stir up trouble in Norrell's favor, and those who might actually take a move against him.
The food is good. Fancy. Despite Faolan's somewhat scruffy and casual appearance, he knows what cutlery goes with what course, and his table manners would rival those of even Gilbert Norrell himself. He's passed on his first drink, returned to the kitchens untouched, and moved on to another glass of wine, which he nurses throughout dinner but does not take more than a few sips of here and there. He has to keep a keen mind about him, on the job like this. And of course, the same mask stays on.
"And what contribution did you make to this latest victory, then?" he asks, smiling at his dinner neighbor over the rim of his wine glass as he tastes the drink yet again before setting it down before him.
After:
It's only towards the end of the night that Faolan finally lets his guard slip a little. It's been a while since he's had to play polite and fancy for so long, and he finds himself so irritated with the general atmosphere of the place (as well as the persona he's adopted with them) that he has to excuse himself lest he blow his cover. Standing out in the front of the house, breathing in the cool night air, he feels a little better now he's gone. He'll have to make his report to Sylvia in the next few days, however, and just thinking of it sours his mood. He takes in a deep breath, letting it out in a heavy sigh, before reaching up and angrily tugging the knot out of his necktie, dragging it off and balling it up in his fist.
Other:
[ choose your own adventure! c: ]
After
Kathryn looks to her side at him and tilts her head, debating whether or not to talk to him. We all know the post-party tie rage and it's always tough to know which way a stranger's gonna go on someone talking to them.
But why not, eh. She smiles at him, "had enough?"
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OPEN!
Childermass is not one to be idle. And thus, as soon as Norrell and Daybreak have secured their victory in the latest battle for territory, he knows that the other man must not waste this opportunity. And waste it Norrell very well might have done, considering his tendency towards keeping himself to himself. What he could truly do with would be a party. A victory gathering. But Norrell himself would never throw such an event, being generally opposed to such things. And thus does Childermass persuade another to do it for him, with just the right words in the man's ear -- how very well they have done, do not you think? Would not it be nice to celebrate with a dinner, all of them together? Oh yes, he's certain that Mr Norrell will make an appearance himself, if they are to give him a place of honor at such an event. In fact, he'll make sure of it. Of course he will help with the setup himself, he would not want to leave the man to do it all alone.
And so it comes to pass that the whole dinner gets put in place, and not a soul in the room knows that the man to thank for it is the one hanging back to the shadows, dressed up in a dark suit and tie, casually overseeing that the drinks are out in time and that the dinner is chosen to everyone's liking (read: Norrell's). Keeping an eye on the attendees and which ones it would be best to keep clear of Norrell, if possible. All in all, it's a rather busy evening, but Childermass is nothing if up for a challenge.
He does his best to be polite to the guests themselves. If he's approached personally, he will peer down his nose and give an assessing look, before drawling casually, in his rough, Yorkshire sort of way, "May I help you, sir/ma'am?" (He really is doing his best...)
Dinner:
Childermass does not get a place at the table. For better or for worse, he is the 'help', and that is always how Norrell will see him. So when the meal is begun and the guests are called to take their seats at the table, Childermass makes his way into the kitchen with the rest of the 'help'. The caterers and the likes. The men and women hired on that day for that particular job. And he takes his own meal around that little island in the kitchen with the rest of them, keeping an ear on the door should he be called for, or should tempers begin to raise and it become necessary for him to step through and bodyguard, as it is yet another hat he wears for Mr Norrell.
Here, amongst people more obviously of his own rank, he feels a great deal more at home. And so, if one were to poke their head in the kitchen at such a time, in search of anything, you might even catch a smile out of him. Maybe even a laugh. Maybe.
After:
Dinner cleared, coffees served and taken away, Childermass is doing his best to help clear the guests out of the house. And help clear Norrell home to his own, for that matter. The other man seems pretty content to be left alone to his conversation, and Childermass does his best to stay out of the way until the time that he is needed.
Other:
[ choose your own adventure! u3u ]
dinner.
That's why he's wandered into the kitchen, hoping to find some good 'ol beer, or maybe to nibble on desserts while the others are dining on their meats.
Upon walking in, Jackson immediately feels more at ease. It's far nicer than the cloistering, oppressive feeling of being among proper witches. It calls home too many bad memories. But that's beside the point--
The point is that he encounters Childermass on his survey of the kitchen. Jackson tosses him an easy smile, before making his request.
"You got any beer here? Or is it all wine and apéritifs," he says, mocking a french accent on the ending word.
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[open]
Simon cleans up well. Despite all his protestations of the kind of poverty only known to university students, Simon comes from money. Quite a bit of it, in fact. Thanks to his parents' artistic connections, he went to all the right schools as a child, knows all the right people. Years of film premieres and opening nights at the theatre have taught him to be as comfortable in a tuxedo--modern cut, with slim trousers and a narrow lapel--as in his usual uniform of jeans and a sweatshirt. He accepts a drink with a practiced grace and seems perfectly at ease.
He isn't, of course, but that's an act he's long since perfected. Small talk? Small talk he can do. Even if it means he's surrounded by witches and hunters and God knows what else.
Dinner:
He's relaxed somewhat by dinner (the alcohol has certainly helped). He takes a seat in the middle of the table, far away from anyone he thinks is important. He'd really rather not have anyone paying attention to him right now.
The wine is excellent and the food is even better. He ignores the talk of politics--this is still a very new world to him, after all--and would rather discuss other things. The weather is a topic that is long since exhausted, but he's happy to discuss his research, or his parents' films, or any other topic as long as it has nothing to do with his own abilities as a shapeshifter.
After:
Simon hasn't had a smoke in months, but he feels like he needs one after tonight. He bums a cigarette off a party goer and is about to light it when his sensitive hearing picks up a person approaching from behind. He whips around, startled.
"Yes?"
Other:
[Go for it.]
After
"I think I was going to lose my mind in there," he said, taking the lighter as well before taking a quick drag.
"I'm so bored. You have to save me."
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[Open]
Being new in town, Matt didn't really know anyone at the party. However, he managed to sneak an invite by being Simon's new flatmate and Matt was always up for a celebration. He raided Simon's closet and was stunned to find an entire array of suits for all occasions. It didn't take him long to find one that fit him and he had to admit, he looked damn good!
The moment he arrived he separated from Simon and set about mingling, hoping to meet a few new people. He picked up a glass of something fizzy and alcoholic, starting the mixer off right.
Dinner
Matt is a bit tipsy when dinner is served. He sits down at the first empty seat he can find and does his best to keep from making an ass of himself. He assumes he's doing fairly well as no one has kicked him out of the party yet. Still, the gathering is a touch to dull for Matt's enjoyment. He squashes the desire to make things more entertaining until after dinner at least.
After
Matt has had enough uppercrust posh discussion for one day. He'd like the music to be a bit faster, for the dancing to be more wild and the drinking... well, there wasn't enough drinking. Matt loosens his tie and sees if anyone is up to take this party to the next level - preferably one with a bit more bass.
Other
[ooc: go for it!]
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That's not to say that Sylvia doesn't recognize political ambition when she sees it. Far from it: there are people here who will report back to her. Everything that goes on in Circle Daybreak is her business, after all.
As for the other members of the Night Council... two of them do decide to attend. The first is Peter Vrinak, a Daybreak witch and coven leader who is less strident than Norrell in his views, but privately finds himself agreeing with them. Any victory for Circle Daybreak is a good thing in his opinion, and he doesn't mind congratulating Norrell on that.
The second is Yasmine Merad, a shapeshifter who moves with all the feline grace of her panther form. She's here because she knows that Sylvia doesn't like Norrell, and isn't it interesting when it looks like cracks may be forming in the previously impenetrable Daybreak community? She doesn't say much, but she listens and observes. She agrees with the strong opinions around the table that call for kicking out the fae, but finds Norrell's attitude so off-putting that she thinks she prefers Sylvia. Lord. Why are these witches so stuck-up?
[ooc: This is a summary of NPC involvement at the party! If you would like to meet either Peter or Yasmine for plot-related developments, feel free to tag. Small talk can be hand-waved.]
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He smells a cat.
Seated two seats away is a beautiful, graceful woman that Simon is sure he has met before, though he can't remember where.
She is also, without a doubt, a shapeshifter.
Simon doesn't realize he's staring until several minutes have passed.
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[Open]
A party for the Daybreak victory at Lambeth... Elizabeth is fairly certain she doesn't want to go, but her absence would no doubt be noted. Almost everything about Lambeth doesn't sit well with her, she's still trying to reconcile her allegiance to Daybreak with the things Norrell is suggesting about the fae, about sealing their realm, all of it. This would be another uphill trudge. At least she doesn't own a dress that could be considered 'black tie'.
But her roommate does, and her roommate finds the invitation and insists she go to this 'fancy party'. She even tries to swing an invite to come along, but Elizabeth manages to bore her with promises that it would be dozens of engineers involved in her research group talking shop. That at least gets her roommate off her back, but it doesn't stop her from lending Elizabeth a dress.
And so, with no other out, there she is with a glass of white wine, staring into it and trying to will herself to drink. It's hard to want to when she feels so out of place. She looks around the room, making eye contact with a few people who look away, disinterested in the young, low-ranking witch who only ran around healing people during the battle. If something doesn't change, it's going to be a long night.
[Dinner]
...she has never seen so much cutlery in all her life. She is so screwed.
Nevermind the talk of politics, which of these strangely-shaped forks is she supposed to use? She's starving and everyone is turned to Mr. Norrell, hanging on his every word and nodding, and nobody is picking up a utensil so she can't mimic them. She listens to Norrell almost every day, and now he's preventing her from eating what looks like an amazingly delicious salad because someone thinks one fork is just not fancy enough.
[After]
Just another bit of dessert to go, to thank her roommate for the dress, and then she can leave. Discussing politics, especially after the tone of the evening, isn't something she's interested in and class in the morning means she should have been in bed a while ago. But the house is gigantic and she's just wandering around trying to find the kitchen. How many closets can one place have?
Dinner
Because of course it worked out this way.
He looks quite a bit better than he did the last time she saw him--his hair is slicked back and he is well dressed in a burgundy silk dinner jacket and slim trousers, but he doubts that it'll get the image of him in his underwear, blindly looking around for his glasses, out of her head.
When the salad course comes around, she looks confused by the cutlery. "It's the little fork on the outside. You start on the outside and work in."
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dinner
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open!!
meal;
after;
meal;
English weather in October is not, in truth, particularly something that supports thin white dresses. One taxi driving through a big puddle and she'll be done.
That aside, however, Lancelot finds himself oddly curious about her. He doesn't recall seeing her before, for one thing. Most of the people here he has seen in one degree or another before, and she seems completely at home, but in truth Lancelot has absolutely no idea who she is. Is she Daybreak? Is she Redbright? He's half wondering if it would be rude to admit he doesn't know when she seems to catch him frowning in thought. He smiles self-consciously, eyes dropping to his food as cuts another piece for himself before leaning toward her -- lowering his voice to something softer and private.
"You're kind to ask," he says, "it's only that I'm realising I know less people here than I thought. It makes me feel a little out of place."
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