Rooms

[locked to mina m.]

"Awake, arise, or be forever fall'n."

Who: Irene A and Sherlock H
What: Chess
When: Recently
Where: Penny Dreadful

( More than this visible resurrection, Sherlock Holmes did not often enter society in years previous. He was welcome, welcome in the way performers and entertainments were welcome, but Society bored him, and he made that clear on multiple occasions )

Who: Saint R.
What: Making back-up plans.
When: Recently. Post-attack, but not too far post-attack.

( Nothing was black and white. Or was it? )

[When the news comes, it is an inch of closely-crammed print reporting an Incident that took place the prior day. A gentleman (of Estimable Fortune) was strolling the back-streets of Seven Dials [EN: neither the editor of the publication nor the reporter question why so eminent a gentleman was frequenting the backstreets of an area notable for its proliferation of gaming hells, opium dens and prostitutes, a sad state of English journalism in the view of one woman] when he was set upon.

The ruffians, they were many, and they made away with his wallet and his watch - notable for the tooled silver back, and the initials engraved on the inside of the back-catch. A pretty piece, mother-of-pearl. That the gentleman was untouched save a minor headwound but indignant goes unquestioned also. A brief mention is made of his dalliance at an Establishment, but much to the ambivalence of the proprietor, no mention is made of where exactly he was. (All publicity, and that) That the watch turns up in a little shop off Covent Garden, notable for its casual approach to the provenance of the objects it sells, shortly thereafter, goes unreported.]

[Early evening, several merchants of the Soho Bazaar report items missing including lace, gloves, and a few pairs of silk stockings. No names, nor matching descriptions are given, with one person laying the blame solely on the shoulders of some dodgy menfolk they saw but could not recall entering the bazaar and others remembering ladies of all shapes, sizes, and some with very fine hats. A few young ladies, of course, but all with the required matron to superintend them. No arrests are made.]

Who: Vanessa Ives, Mina Murray, Dracula
What: Discovering a body.
Where: The house next door to the Murray's.
When: Immediately following the discovery of the body.
Warnings/Rating: None.

( Vanessa did not fear the dead.  )

[Mina is abed, though she isn't asleep when the cries are raised. It is early evening yet, and the opulent home that abuts Sir Malcolm's great house is the location of a anticipated soiree for the evening, but the women of the Murray house lack the reputation for cards to have been sent.

Outside the adjacent home, the lights are lit, carriages file bright and shined, and dresses twinkle with jewels that would not withstand the inspection of daylight.

An orchestra plays, and a scream rends the air.

A woman, dark hair and pale, dressed in vibrant burgundy, is dead, you see. She's found in the courtyard, beyond the carriages and the din, but no one knows her name, and she has no driver that claims her. There is a dance card upon her wrist, but no names etched for the waltzes. She is nearing thirty, no great beauty, but striking. She carries tarot cards in a velvet pouch.

Women avert their eyes, and yet they peer through their fingers. Men sweep forward with cloaks, and they look too long upon the body before draping it in silken black. Someone faints, someone cries, and women cling to men in a fashion too lengthy for daylight propriety. Slowly, the officers arrive and begin questioning the gawking guests.

All and all, this ball is a grand success.]

[Locked to Evelyn T]

I once did you a favor, and I wondered if you might do me one in turn.

Who: Dracula
What: Narrative.
Where: Transylvania, Romania.
When: Recently.
Warnings/Rating: Hints of violence.

( They could not take what was his. )

Who: Jack the Ripper Aron & Mina.
What: A meeting as planned for the relic he left behind.
Where: Penny dreadful door - Vauxhall Gardens.
When: At the agreed upon time. With much more to talk about, now.
Warnings/Rating: Mentions of gore.

i haunt the naked walls of this sad ( place )

[Locked to Victor F]
Could I prevail upon you to meet with me?

[Sherlock Holmes didn't wait for the news. He was not long in town, but he hardly needed to wait for the morning delivery for such things. He had a network, after all, and it certainly hadn't fallen apart in his absence.

For an excuse, Mr. Holmes granted his not inconsiderable services to the Coroner local to the neighbourhood, a man of advanced age, overfond of drink, and unfortunately ill that morning when he accidentally ingested a bit of bad fish (or so he thought). Said Coroner was not precisely aware that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was doing him such a great service as to appear ex officio, when sending for him was something of a formality to begin with.

Mr. Holmes, in this capacity, named himself as that great man's nearest subordinate, wearing only a bare nod to disguise in the form of a dull black hat, shoe polish on his hair, and one of his better coats, padded at the shoulders and around the belt so as to hang and hide the detective's considerable height and over-thin body. Some mouth cotton to alter the length of his jaw and set of his head, and it was enough to be going on with.

He knew Vauxhall well, and successfully avoided the crowd to investigate the body and surrounding while a few policemen herded away the gawkers. Sherlock was avoiding his old comrades in the police force handily, choosing his timing well and enjoying relative silence while he worked the ground on one knee.]

[She reads of it in the morning paper, the headline bold and the ink still wet. MAN FOUND DEAD IN PARK. The article is truly dreadful. It tells of a man drained of all his blood, and the police believe it to be the work of some madman. She reads a little more carefully than she ought, as she drinks her tea, and even the morning maid has to look away from the gruesome words. There are no pictures, as it would be considered in poor taste, but there is mention of the crime scene in lurid detail. The man, heavy and aged 30, was found near Vauxhall Gardens, dragged away from the path leading to the conservatory, and the marks his body left still there, upon the walk.

The Garden closes for the day, and police have no theories as to the manner of the man's death, save that he seems to be quite exsanguinated without visible wounds to be found. In a bored London, this murder is all the rage that day, where whispers skitter from the cheapside docks to the fashionable homes. The police advise caution and seclusion in the evenings, but tickets to a new play at the Grand Guignol sell out early that day, once fliers announce the new performance to be in honor of the recently deceased man.]

[The day after the gathering at the Murray Estate, London has little else to whisper about. For a people dull and bored, the happenings inside that house are enough to carry them through summer.

Though, there is general disappointment that Vanessa Ives climbed on no tables in a display of fits, and tales of her theatrics months earlier resurface like the orchid from its soil; of the man she spent the evening bent close to, there is not much known. Whispers about the daughter of the house involve a pallid man of poor constitution; flame sparks quickly, and those whispers turn tawdry, filth in those crystalline voices that carry the tales.

To that, most of the men present are new faces, which increases the ferocity of the whispers in drawing and sitting room alike. There is one man, however, that draws quite a bit of attention, scarred, deformed, and certainty he is no fit match for gently-reared ladies, however fall they have fallen. Drawings of the man (Caliban, though they know not his name) circulate, roughly sketched things oft-folded and hid between layers of petticoat, and he is the new terrible delicacy in London - or so it would seem.]

Who: Whoever wishes to attend!
What: Party at the Murray House
Where: Penny Dreadful(s)
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: Please place locations and warnings in subject headers. Feel free to "dibs" threads. Simultaneous threads per character are allowed.

The Murray House was situated at the end of the street in the affluent part of London. Imposing, it was a structure built by a man determined to leave his mark on the world in every possible way.

The door was answered by two footmen, and carriages were directed around the back. Men and women awaited announcement, all agog to see the disreputable women who inhabited the home. One fair and disgraced. The other dark and possessed. Or so the rumors said.

The lights were dim for the evening, as was the fashion for parties with darker themes. On silver platters, champagne and sweets were served, and there was a bar in the sitting room with stronger drinks and cigars for the gentlemen.

Beyond the grand entrance hall, the parlor was a room for the telling of fortunes. The woman at the table was not Miss Ives, but a hired woman from town, her fortunes daring and decadent. Low lights, and chairs around the table, the woman prophesied the strangest things for all to hear.

Theatricals were held in in the study, on a platform before Sir Malcom's impressive map. The performances were Grand Guignol in nature, with faux vampires feasting on innocent girls, pretend werewolves eating young lads, and much fake blood to go around in a room deliberately darkened and filled with the delighted screams of London's elite.

The grand staircase led to the upstairs halls, and the finely appointed rooms beyond, where none of the doors were barred for the evening. And surely the basement, with its darkness and random shackles, should have been locked for the evening, but it was not.

Who: Alexander
What: Moving
Where: Great Gatsby -> Hotel -> Penny Dreadful(s)
When: Currentish
Warnings/Rating: Nope

( They were both possibilities of the unknowable future. )

Who: Mina and Dr. Jekyll
What: A visit to a physician
Where: Jekyll's London office
When: Recently
Warnings/Rating: None

( And it was thus that she learned about a very strange evening at a séance. )

[The invitations, which invite holders to a gathering for theatricals and other entertainments at the Murray house in London, are dispatched Thursday. Gilt-edged cards of the finest stock, and the date for the event is the following week. Invitations find their ways into the hands of all acquaintances of Vanessa Ives, casual or otherwise.

The hotel, however, does not disappoint, and invitations find their way to any with interest, be they within the Penny Dreadful(s) door or no. However, period appropriate attire will be required for the doors to open for guests on the day of the festivities, and any invitations that should stray will have this information noted upon the bottom.]

[The book has been filling in with words for days now, too long for it to be a vision or a trick, too varied and strange to be anything less than important. The hand is spidery and long, with hardly a drop of ink out of place.]

Automatic writing in reverse. How charming. I've never had letters from spirits before.