Victorian Nocturne

It was...nice. He would have liked to believe he was in heaven, to fall down on his knees every day and give thanks to whatever miserable entity had been assigned to guard over his fate, but for whatever reason, he hadn't done that since the first day. No, now he was simply enjoying himself, an strange concept but he didn't question it.

( Now, apparently. )

Whenever Berdette needed a mood pick-me-up, she discreetly searched her immense circle of friends for who was hosting a seance. To the average spiritualist they were quite serious affairs, she was sure, shrouded in mystery and the Great Beyond. For someone who has seen the shadows crawl and heard them insidiously whisper, it was like watching children pretending to be grown-ups. Oh no, the candle has flickered! That must mean a spirit is here. Even before she arrived, Berdette was having a ball imagining all the mocking she would be doing that night. Ooo, but what if she made something really happen? Wouldn't that give her weeks of glee? Oh yes, at so and so's seance Unmemorable Git had a seizure! Like he was possessed by a spirit!

Maybe it was time for a little fun. At someone else's expense, of course!

Berdette couldn't let anyone else in though, so she put on her most demure dress and bound her hair in a simple psyche knot. White lace gloves were her only decoration for the evening, though in general gloves were a staple in her wardrobe. She considered the hands to be the most fragile structure of the body, as it took minimal effort to cause them extreme pain. Better to hide them out of plain view.

( Lovely to Meet You )

( Conversation )

( The Restless Dead )

The inside of the auction house smelled like dust and water damage, as if it had stood for a long time without occupation. That of course was not the case, as Mr. Olvak had said with assurance that this was a reputable business with a long-standing reputation in London for doing good trade. Still, the confines of the building did smell as if they could use a good scrubbing with strong cleansers.

Irina was lingering near the auctioneer's podium, her tally book open in her left hand. The purchase of a small country estate had gone smoothly, and she hoped today to find some decent horseflesh to stable outside of the city. She had sought private sales at first, but after being distinctly unimpressed with the quality of the animals she'd opted for attending auctions instead. The tally book would be turned over to Mr. Olvak once her purchases were complete. Her interest in her finances was limited to what to spend the funds on, not how to handle the details of it.

The Russian moved towards the chairs gathered near the lectern, rested a hand on one of the tall backs. There were to be refreshments served during the sale. This looked as if it would be an afternoon well spent.

John, who lingered by the door, wasn't certain whether to buy a horse or not.

( Independence and the English Language )

Muted conversation. The quiet rattle of forks on plates. Music from the string quartet that played in a discreet corner. Men and women in their best evening clothes. Irina's gloved hands lifted the cup of tea to her lips for a sip of the dark liquid within the delicate china. She'd been sifting through her invitations, the ones that had been gathering in her hallway since her arrival in London, and picked this one at random. The host was the Earl of Something-or-Other, she'd forgotten the location already, but she'd remember later when she bid the man goodnight. If she'd been in any mood to husband-hunt, this was where sh would have done it.

And even if the evening was a bit dull so far, she was at least getting the opportunity to practice her English, which was improving in fits and starts. And she was more or less in her element regardless, amid the high society of the city. She was currently discussing the latest novel by a famous writer with the Earl's wife, perched on a small couch as she and the other woman conversed. Interesting talk was something she had missed since Pyotr's death. As old as Husband had been, he'd been of the belief that women could be perfectly intelligent creatures given the chance, and although she loved Anna and Sergei neither of them read much or were interested in affairs of the world.

( A New Acquiantance )

He never made it a secret that he hated this neighborhood. Or, rather, that he hated going through it at any hour of the day, especially during daylight hours. And, to be fair, he'd never actually told Mr. Prosser this, but he'd told the rest of the lads back at the boarding house and therefore it wasn't a secret at all, was it? Not if Jack knew, anyway, the bastard. Izzy was very happy they didn't even work out of the same place, mainly because Jack actually made quite a bit more than he did, so why he lived at the boarding house was a mystery, aside from the fact that he apparently used his room for little more than a glorified storage closet.

It was much easier to think about that than to consider his surroundings. The decadently carved stone buildings and fancy shops and people in their expensive outfits really only served to make him nervous. Izzy might have been well-dressed for someone of his standing and means, but he knew full well he was an outsider and that meant the coppers knew too. It didn't help that, right now, he felt like a starving wolf on a farm of very oblivious sheep and was trying very hard not to act on it. Why Mr. Prosser insisted on bringing him to his house was beyond Izzy, but aside from the walk there and back, he couldn't complain much. After all, it meant some damn good food if he didn't mind the servants looking at him funny.

Perhaps he should have been paying attention. Then, he might have noticed that he was walking faster than most people run, and in the cacophony of human scents upon the air he might have noticed that when he passed by the smell of a fine perfume, he was actually walking into it. Immediately, he turned on his heel and managed to keep from falling down. He'd walked into a lady who from the looks of her clothing was probably pretty high up on the ladder or at least wealthy. If it had been possible for Izzy to turn even more pale, he would well have done it. Hastily, he took off his hat and bowed a little, offering her his hand. "Oh my - dreadful sorry, madam! I - I - sorry, can I help you?"

( Right into a coincidence. )