Rooms

[Mina hungered.

She'd lost track of time since he'd gone. Him, Master, keeper of secrets, her past, her present. She'd lost track of time since he'd gone, and she was newly awoken and newly awake, and she'd no idea how to hunt in this place. Her memories of feeding were something from before her eyes were opened, and she recalled them through fog and confusion. She'd given her word. Not here, and she would not hunt here, and she'd promised. But she'd lost track of time since he'd come, since he'd gone, and the house had been closed, and the basement quiet. No one home, and she hungered.

There was no before, and there was no after. She was a thing of a moment, of the present, and she was no longer two parts, schism, but she was lost, adrift, and perhaps she should not have offered to go to the church. But Victor was there, and Mina was so terribly alone, and he was a kind voice in her mind. He was words writ, spines cracked and pages that crackled when turned by her cold fingers.

She'd lost track of time since he'd gone, the Master, but she'd found his books and read them like things nearly recalled. Warm, like blankets, and her fingers upon pages with words indented deep, and she thought she could read the letters with her eyes closed. It was memory, and she understood it not, but it kept her warm. But she'd lost track of time, and he was gone.

She cared naught for Vanessa's predicament. The night of the seance was a thing couched in mourning, and loss came after on quiet feet. Tonight, she entered the old church where God stood silent, and she was a thing dressed in rumpled silk. Mauve, and her hair loose and tangled blonde along her spine. No gloves, and her boots worn through at the soles. Pale, pale, pale as the dead in the graveyard.

And Mina, she hungered.]

Who: Clementine M, Declan M, Irene A
What: A ball. ~Distraction.
When: Post-tiny plot, post-Daniel-seeking
Warnings: TBD: nothing expected

( The party had no cause, or purpose beyond a celebration. It was not precisely fashionable, because fashionable was boring, but it was exciting and so everyone in town beyond the boring had turned up )

Who: Mina and "Lily"
What: A run-in & seeking Vanessa
Where: Banning Clinic, London
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: Unlikely, unless they kill someone

( Diversion complete, she returned to her progress, nearing that brick and stone bastion of mental health. For, surely, hysteria was true concern when it came to the health of women. )

[During this, in Irene's sitting room. Grumpily.]

I am in search of a man and any assistance would be much appreciated.

He is an unimpressive man, neither especially ugly or especially handsome. Some average height, perhaps somewhat less, 5 ft 7 or thereabouts. He comes from moderate wealth, though not the peerage. He has traveled abroad a distance, and he has had an opium habit for some time. There is some evidence to suggest he is not British. Possessed of certain imagination, he has a wife or sister that is blonde and well-favoured.

[To Irene: "There. Are you happy?"]

Who: Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler
What: Teaming up (and a lot of annoyances)
When: Recently (fuzzy because of plot)
Warning: None

( Mr. Sherlock Holmes did not feel fatigue, and he had taken enough care with his appearance to make it seem that no one suspected the previous night's work may have worn on his nerves. )

Who: Victor & Vanessa
What: The great search for Vanessa continues!
Where: St. Etherelda's Church.
When: Morning time, after Mina's contact.
Warnings: None yet.

( Victor was not a religious man. )

[A letter finds its way to Caliban, though it is clearly addressed to one Mr. John Clare. The penmanship is strained, that of a woman who does not write often.]

Dear Mr. Clare,

I pray this missive finds you in good health. Please forgive any lack of communication that you may have experienced on my part. The accident has left my mind with gaps that I seem unable to fill. I was informed by my dear cousin that you were my intended. Try as I may, the memories of our time together fail to return.

Can you tell me any more of our acquaintance? How did we meet? How long have we known one another? What interests do we share?

I hope we can continue our friendship.

~Lily Frankenstein

[As Lily F. The handwriting is very shaky and comes slow, as if she is still trying to learn how the letters are formed.]

Hello?

Victor, is this book your doing?

Who: Jezebelle
What: Making plans
Where: Penny Dreadful(s) -> Hotel
When: Current
Warnings/Rating: Nada.

( Rule number three. )

Who: Sherlock and Vanessa
What: Investigating a corpse, possibly tbc.
Where: London, Penny Dreadful
When: Recently
Warnings/Rating: Mentions of corpses? Nothing explicit.

( Glad to see you back, Mr. Holmes. )

[Upon return to his lab, Victor Frankenstein will find that someone's made a visit in his absence. Whomever it is has left the place quite wrecked, glassware shattered, wood broken, things overturned. Whether it's just a random act of vandalism or the work of an abandoned son isn't quite clear as there are no notes left behind and nothing of importance taken.]

Who: Daniel Webster and Mina Harker
What: Noms.
Where: London, Penny Dreadful.
When: Now.
Warnings/Rating: Mild.

( She disliked him greatly, this man who preferred the spine of a book to her weight upon his lap. )

Who: Victor Frankenstein
What: Narrative of many things.
Where: The lab, a house of ill repute.
When: Tonight.
Warnings: Child death to start, vague drug use, later mentions of nudity.

( The boy died on Sunday. )

Who: Sherlock Holmes and Mrs. Irene Norton.
What: Tea. Verbal badinage.
When: Recently.
Where: A quality tea-room.

( Expression and knowledge of self was what Mr. Holmes was missing. He was missing it in droves. )

[Locked to Victor F]
"I had a dream, which was not at all a dream."

[A publication]
( With regard to A.I.'s letter -- dated Monday. )

[Published Monday, in the correspondence section]

Dear Sir, I write to express my regret at the flimsy substance of the particulars at Thursday's entertainment. Is London truly London if the ladies at such dances merely stand at the sides of the walls and lower their eyes in meek appreciation of the music rather than the vehicle of the event itself? We are at the brink of a new century, an enlightenment, one in which a maid is not the parcelled belonging of her father but might express regard for her own interests and her own passage through the world. Dances are but small pleasures but expressions of what has become usual rather than spectacle. We should be taking strides to embrace the novel and the spectacular rather than holding candles in corners and pretending the light reaches to the corners of the room. What man, what woman might celebrate companionship if it comes white-gloved, with eyes cast down, with nary a word on her lips but those echoed belonging to others? Signed, A. I.

Who: Dr. Victor Frankenstein and Irene Adler
What: A meeting!
Where: Penny Dreadfuls, Mariner's Inn.
When: Late night.
Warnings/Rating: Unlikely.


The Mariner's Inn, under cover of nightfall. Pearl-pricked obsidian, the sky, and gossamer moonlight on swarthy water. The air was thick with brine, salt of the sea and vinegar of poorly kept wine rolling in from barrels on the ships. Men of bad repute and worse health stumbled from plank to shore, then through the Inn's doors to vanquish their sea legs at barstool or bed. Victor, in his navigation of vanity's stars, with chin tipped up and bleary eyes outlining Cassiopeia's beauty, he barely avoided trample by an alarming fellow with one eye and a demon's scowl.

"Pardon me," and in retreating lack of grace, Victor bumped into a doorjamb and then a table cluttered with musty glasses and stained playing cards. He palmed the front of his dark coat, reassurance found in the familiar scrape of black twill under his fingers. There was a vacant table near the edge of the bar, and Victor sat there in a poor attempt at belonging among rogues and gamblers.

He aimed for hard, glacial, and petrous… but his eyes remained a touch too wide, crude curiosity in the milky stare of an addict. He was nervous, despite his hands. His hands were still and without betrayal, suspended in the air near his face, fingers laced and unlaced again. Even the way that he extracted a small watch from his pocket bespoke surgical delicacy, fine-tuned precision in small details. The watch was old silver, and he checked it three times in the span of ten minutes, every tick of an intricate hand bringing him closer to anxiety. The man was running late, Victor hated that.

Who: Eddie and Irene
Where: Gotham -> Penny Dreadful(s)
When: Recently with some stuff about the past week or so for Eddie after this
What: rogue meetings!
Warning: tba

( He returned to Gotham only long enough to erase his presence in the Batcave and then wandered the Passages halls, looking for a door where he could find trinkets, books and maybe a new rosary. )

[After this. Hastily scribbled.]

I have need of the upstairs room. May I?

[The next brazen theft occurs at a jeweler's shop on Bond Street in the early afternoon. A frightened woman of means entered the establishment to divulge that she was being followed by a man of shady disposition. The disreputable cur entered after her and after managing to chase him off, and with many thanks from the lady, the proprietor realised that nearly three trays of jewelry had gone missing. The man's description is, of course, given to the police and he remains the only suspect.]