Who: Mona Kemp + Kit Turner What: Chance conversations about pie and pocket watches turns deep and soul-baring. Where: Main staircase, plantation house. When: April 26th, dawn. Warnings: Unintentional (possibly triggering?) flirtation leading to discomfort, talk of murder and gore, Kit's ego.
Mona knew it was supposed to be unhealthy to eat right before bed, but she didn't know if that still counted if you went slept during the day instead. She was sure that must have changed things. Maybe. Possibly.
Either way, she would be in bed in an hour and was about to eat a truly massive piece of cherry pie from the kitchens, 'sleep health' be damned!
Mona had gotten up to the landing in the mansion before realising that she'd picked up two plates instead of one under her pie. She paused, considering whether she wanted to just take it back tomorrow… No, she should take it back now. What if it was needed before she returned it? If there suddenly wasn't enough plates tomorrow she'd feel bad about it.
She turned back down to go downstairs and at the bottom she ran into Kit. (Thankfully, not physically.) She gave him a bright smile - much brighter than she'd been able to provide the last time they'd seen each other - and said, "I told you your pocket watch would show up soon."
Unlike Mona, Kit hadn't thought twice about eating before bed. Perhaps because it didn't really matter to him, given that his digestive system hadn't been an issue for a while and he didn't technically need to sleep.
Feeling sated after a light, non-murderous snack just before the cirque had closed shop for the night, he followed the well-worn path towards the house before the rays had chance to peek over the horizon. Bypassing the communal dining room, where several of his fellow employees were getting settled for breakfast, Kit had barely made it three steps up the staircase before an all too familiar scent of vanilla caused him to glance up from his cellphone, his brows raised slightly at the sight of the tiny redhead.
The first thing he noticed was her smile. It was rather impossible to miss. The last time they had spoken, Mona had been far from happy. Now it seemed that the scales had tipped the opposite way.
"That you did," he confirmed, his free hand slipping into the pocket which held the watch in question. The skin of his fingertips brushing over the engraving on the cover and along the chain was oddly comforting. "Did you ask the 8-ball for that prediction or did it come to you naturally?"
"All on my own," Mona confirmed with a single decisive nod. She was above him on the stairs, making her taller. (The last time she'd met she'd been taller as well, standing on the top floor of her shop calling him out.)
"But maybe it jumped started my natural powers," she added. And wouldn't that be hilarious - if it was just that she was a very late bloomer and a joke present was what brought it out of her.
"It's a very pretty watch," she said, looking at it in his hand. "I can see why you were missing it."
With an almost wolfish grin, Kit let out a chuckle as he returned his phone to his pocket. Given the infectiously happy mood that Mona seemed to be in, he wasn't about to split his attention.
Glancing down at the watch as Mona called attention to it, Kit ran his thumb across the intricately carved detailing before holding it out. It was undoubtedly his most prized possession, one of the only things he had ever kept a hold of during both his mortal and immortal lives, and so handing it over was something of an exercise in trust. He wasn't entirely sure why he was doing such a thing, given that he hardly knew the human girl standing above him, yet he had never been one to question his own instincts when they dictated he do anything.
"This old thing?" he teased, gaze flickering from the timepiece to Mona's face as his expression softened a fraction. "I guess it's pretty special. Not as pretty as this though."
Reaching out, it seemed that he was about to brush Mona's face…before his fingers gripped the plate in her hands that was holding the pie. With very little effort, he took it from her with a playful wink, turning casually in order to plop himself down on the bottom stair.
Kit handed her the watch and Mona looked at it carefully, pressing the button on top that would open it and reveal the face. On the inside of the metal there was writing that was easy to read if she slightly shifted it against the light above. Frodsham & Co. 1860. "Old," she simply stated. Mona certainly didn't own anything that old.
When he spoke again she looked up just in time as… he was calling her pretty and… oh jesus… oh fuck… what was he-
But instead of touching her face in some horrifying romantic gesture, Kit stole her pie and Mona tried to very quietly let out the panicked breath she'd been holding. She'd gone as red as the cherries in her pie.
Kit was awful.
Not awful, no, he seemed nice. She still thought he seemed nice.
But he was still awful!
Sure now that he wasn't going to try and stroke her cheek or kiss her or something equally unexpected and terrifying, Mona sat down beside him on the step. "Does this mean we're trading?" Mona asked, holding up the pocket watch to him before slipping it into her pocket.
Mona's keen observation caused Kit to laugh openly, his eyes rolling almost fondly. Old was one word for it. As old as him, in fact, for the watch had been crafted during the same year that he had been born. He kept that snippet of information to himself for now, merely letting out a hum of agreement as he settled on the step.
It spoke of the newness of their acquaintanceship that Mona felt confident enough to relax. If she had known Kit better, she might have noticed the barely-there glance he gave the watch as it slipped out of sight. That, or she would have expected what came next, for he didn't hesitate to lean in a little closer so that their shoulders brushed, his eyes flickering from her eyes to her lips as his own pulled into a faint smile.
"We can trade," he whispered, setting the plate on his knee before bringing one hand up and doing exactly what Mona had been sure he wouldn't do. Fingertips brushing overheated skin, he chuckled softly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as his other hand deftly took advantage of the distraction and retrieved the watch from the pocket in which it had been so recently placed. Once the chain was coiled around his fingers, he offered Mona another wink and dropped the act, one hand holding up the watch he had just picked from her as the other plucked up the fork that had been set alongside the pie. "Or you could just play nice and share with a new friend."
Mona felt embarrassed and on display and a little sick deep down in the very bottom of her stomach, like the floor was lurching away. She couldn't quite hide the expression that moved across her face, the slight upset and discomfort as she attempted to look like she wasn't twisting away from him. Her cheeks were burning.
She wanted to be cool and casual and pretend flirt back, but it seemed too intimate even if he was fucking with her. (Maybe especially if he was fucking with her.) Mona felt like her hands were about to start shaking.
But she didn't know how to tell him to stop doing it, because it would be rude and he was just being silly anyway. They didn't really know each other that well. It was just how he seemed to be. So if Mona didn't like it, that was her problem and not his.
"I wouldn't have taken the watch really," she muttered, picking up the fork and focusing all her attention on the pie instead.
In that moment, Kit realised that he had made a colossal mistake. While it was true that nobody enjoyed being robbed—he had seen the fallout too many times over the years from behind doors and through windows and amongst crowds—Mona's reaction was something else. Something raw that spoke not only of her blatant unease but of her vulnerability in a situation that was clearly too big for her. Fleetingly, he wondered if it was about more than the fact he'd stolen the watch back, that maybe it was due to the way he had done it rather than the act itself.
The right thing wasn't something that Kit was well-versed in. Had it been anyone else, he suspected he would have brushed the teasing off with a laugh and gotten on with things. Yet she was new, young, and out of her depth, and Kit felt bad. Guilt was not a familiar emotion to him.
"I apologise," he said sincerely, pointedly moving the plate from his thighs and sliding across the stair away from her before placing it between them. Personal space would hopefully make Mona feel a little better. "I know you wouldn't have really taken it. I was just…showing off. It's what I do. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."
Pointing out that he'd seen how awkward Mona was made it almost worse, and she wanted to sink right through the stairs.
So instead, cutting a piece of pie with the fork, she shrugged, "'s fine. I'm not uncomfortable," she said, uncomfortable.
It wasn't fine, not really. Kit knew he had already messed up though and he didn't want to make it worse. So for now, if Mona said it was fine, then that was that.
With a nod, he shifted in place and glanced down at the watch in his hands for several long seconds before finally breaking the silence. "You're not the first person I've taken this from," he said, the typically bragging lilt of his voice all but gone. "I didn't know the first man whose pocket I picked but it was the first thing I ever took. I was fifteen years old."
Lord knew why Kit had felt the need to fill the void with honesty but, now that he had started, he didn't feel any kind of inclination to pause. Not unless Mona asked him to.
Mona had turned her attention to Kit completely when he'd started speaking and it was clear they were no longer focused on her. She moved her gaze from his face and to the watch.
"Fifteen," she repeated. "Pretty impressive. I already told you about my greatest accomplishment in thievery." She smiled, picking up the cut off piece of pie with her fingers and popping it into her mouth. There was only one fork and it seemed rude to get it all slobbery if Kit also wanted some pie.
"What was it like?" she asked him after she'd swallowed. "Living in London back then?" Not that she knew what London now was even like.
With a soft chuckle, Kit recalled the conversation that he and Mona had exchanged on the topic of stolen candy bars. It was good, that she seemed to be engaging with the discussion now that he had steered it away from the previous awkwardness that had arisen.
The answer to her first question could be given in parallel to the second, and Kit didn't hesitate. "Terrible," he said, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, a wry smile curling his lip. "Not for everyone, I guess, but for people like me? There wasn't much hope to spare, let alone money to live."
Mona didn't doubt that it would have been terrible. Even for the wealthy, it was still living in a time without proper medicine or showers (they didn't have showers yet, did they?) or women being even allowed to vote. If Mona had lived back then she would probably already be married with three kids by now. (She assumed. The whole idea of the Victorian era was just a thing she saw in Dickens movies and long serious TV shows.)
"But despite having no money," Mona said, looking at the watch and nodding towards it, "you never sold that."
While he hadn't meant for the conversation to grow bleak, it was difficult to talk about his human life without a foray into darkness. They were difficult times, almost unimaginable by today's standards, and he didn't think Mona would appreciate a version that had been tailored to be happy. She didn't seem the type to want anything but the truth, no matter the cost.
Arching a brow at Mona's observation, Kit felt a sliver of his usual playfulness return. "I did," he said, once again extending the watch for Mona to take. This time, he hoped she knew he wouldn't use unsavoury means to retrieve it. "Twice, actually. I pawned it, then stole it from its second owner, pawned it again, then stole it back from the shop. By the time I had it the third time, I'd moved onto bigger and grander things, so I thought I'd keep it."
Mona took the offered watch, and found herself delighted as he told the story of its grand adventures. Her smile was amused and warm as she turned to look at him again. "So sneaky," she told him with great admiration. "You must have been the bane of every London pawnbroker."
It was clear to see that Mona was enthralled by tales of his escapades. It was in sharp contrast to their previous conversation, the air between them easing steadily back into something more comfortable. So much so that Kit felt confident enough to reach over, using the fork as Mona had to break off a piece of the pie—a small sliver, for it wasn't like he would find sustenance from it—and pop it into his mouth.
"Not just pawnbrokers," he said with a chuckle, recalling long ago memories as if they had happened recently. It was one of the perks of immortality, to be able to reach for those moments with ease. "Lawmakers. Landlords. Gentlemen and ladies. Anyone who didn't nail down their possessions was fair game to me. It was a life. Not an honest one but sometimes you do what you have to."
Perhaps he shouldn't have looked back on his human life with pride but Kit couldn't help himself. Through unsavoury means, a poor boy from Spitalfields had made something of himself. He had become notorious.
"I'm picturing you sweeping across the rooftops between smoking chimneys and jumping down onto the tops of stagecoaches," Mona admitted, grinning widely. "I think I'm just editing you into my memories of Assassin's Creed really, but it's set in stone now."
Mona could not even imagine talking about herself like Kit did, like he was the most free and glorious human being in the world. (Or not human being, in this case.) Mona was jealous, but he also had a lot of years on her. Maybe one day she'd be that confident too. Not that she would have any stories like his to tell.
Maybe it was a desire to see Mona smile but Kit was unable to stop himself from slipping back into the age-old habit of bragging. "Sounds about right," he said, reclining on the stair behind languidly. "I made the paper several times, mostly due to escaping from 'inescapable' prisons after slipping up and being caught."
Then, as an afterthought that cast a momentary shadow across his preening features, Kit shrugged. "Probably would've been famous now if not for another criminal stealing the headlines."
"Your criminal rival?" Mona asked, eyebrow raised. She feigned shock. "Don't tell me you let someone do more better crimes than you?"
With a mirthless scoff, Kit shook his head. "I was bad," he began quietly. "Still am. But nothing compared to him."
It wasn't Kit's intention to be vague. Had he started the conversation by giving Mona the dates of his human life, she might well have pieced it together herself. She seemed smart enough. Since he hadn't, it was up to him to fill in the gaps.
"I reckon you might've heard of him," he said, the playfulness in his voice having faded into something more serious. Lamenting, almost, as if recalling the events struck a personal chord. "He was the Whitechapel Murderer in the papers at the time but you'd know him as Jack the Ripper."
"Shit," Mona said, surprised at the sudden very dark turn the conversation had taken. "I can't believe you were running around London at the same time as Jack the Ripper." God, what a terrifying and horrible time that whole era had been. She'd thought about the lack of showers and voting, but she'd completely forgot about the crazy murderers that had walked the streets and that the Ripper had only been notable for being so extra in an already brutal world.
"I know some stuff about the Ripper," she found herself saying with a slight amount of pride, ready to rattle of a related memorised list before realising in time that this was not the place for one of her Mona Is Cool Too Even If She's Not Magic Party Tricks. So instead she added: "I mean, not really, not much."
Mona's curse caused Kit's lip to twitch momentarily, though the smile was brief. He watched as a host of emotions crossed her features, disbelief being the most prevalent. It must have been jarring, to learn that the person she was speaking to had lived through such a time. She knew he was a vampire and that he had been alive for a long time, yes, but it was clear that the idea of him having lived through what parts of history that had now become so imbued in legend and hearsay was surprising.
Far be it for him to doubt her, Kit inclined his head. "You do, hmm?" he asked, brows arching slightly. The reality of the period had been different from the tales that had been spun in the years following it, yet Mona's claim intrigued him. There was no judgement in his voice as he went on to ask, "What do you know?"
If nothing else, Mona knowing some facts already meant that Kit wouldn't need to relay them if it turned out she wanted to know more.
Mona watched him for a moment, considering whether it was bad taste. "I memorize lists. Don't judge me?" Then she sighed and recited: "The canonical five victims were Mary Ann Nichols, aged forty-three; Annie Chapman, forty-seven; Elizabeth Stride, forty-four; Catherine Eddowes, forty-six; and Mary Jane Kelly, twenty-five. The unconfirmed victims were Rose Mylett, twenty-nine; Alice McKenzie, forty; the Pinchin Street torso, between thirty and forty; and Frances Coles, twenty-five."
When she was done she looked over at him to see what he was thinking.
With another slight shake of his head, Kit reached out to take another small piece of the pie. "I'm not judging," he said, falling silent as he listened. The names that rolled out of Mona's mouth were known to him, as they were to many, yet he was unsure that anyone alive today could claim to have had any kind of personal connection to them, no matter how slight, except for him.
"Right," he said, the expression on his face remaining serious, unwavering, his jaw clenched. "And I'm guessing you know details about what happened to them? I think that shows what kind of place London was. Not just the murders but the feeling of unease, the deprivation, the racism, the crime. It wasn't safe for anyone. My mother…After my father died, she did what she had to do to survive, just like Mary Ann Nichols, and Annie Chapman, and Mary Jane…"
Stopping himself with a sigh, Kit shook his head. Then, after a momentary pause, he continued. "I don't usually talk about this stuff," he admitted, looking at Mona steadily. "It's pretty bleak. But that? The poverty? That was my first motivation to get into that life."
Ick. The cherries in the pie looked a little too much like gore after all this talk. Maybe that was the trick to not eating before bed: just talk about deep and horrible stuff before you manage to finish your pie.
"Understandable," Mona finally said after a long pause to let his words sink in. The other night she'd said something similar to Kit, she was sure. I don't usually talk about this stuff. Of course her stuff - feeling left out and useless in her world - wasn't like his stuff.
"I'd probably do anything to get out of that as well. I've always been really fortunate, I know that. My family is well off and I've never wanted for anything. I've never really had to know hunger or desperation."
While he hadn't anticipated such a draining, soul-baring conversation happening when he'd first bumped into Mona, it appeared that opening up had at least shown her that he trusted her to some extent. Not that he really knew why.
"I'm glad," he said, no hint of envy in his voice. He was genuinely pleased that Mona's life, while not perfect—he remembered their previous conversation too—had been better than his own had. It was undoubtedly a sign of the times, and for that he was thankful. "I hope you never do."
Then, in an attempt to reroute the conversation once again, Kit glanced down at the remnants of the pie with a slight smirk. "It doesn't look as appealing as it once did, does it?"
Mona made a short little laugh. "Yeah," she admitted. "I don't think I'm wanna finish it, but then I'd feel bad." She poked at it with the fork, moving some of the berries (not guts!) around the plate. "Do you think Khalida would yell at me if she found out I threw it out?"
At the confession and subsequent question, Kit chuckled and shook his head. "I don't think so," he said, watching as she poked the pie around the plate. "But if you'd like, I can finish it off. Just to be on the safe side."
"You really are a gentleman," she told him, pushing the plate a little towards him and putting the fork down on it as she yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "I think it's bed time anyway."
Retrieving the plate, Kit tilted his head in acknowledgement of Mona's words. "Anything to help a lady," he said brightly, his expression softening a fraction at her evident exhaustion. Then, after a moment of consideration in which he recalled their previous conversation and its aftermath, he continued. "Would it be too bold an offer to escort you to your door? Since we're headed the same way."
"I think that would be okay," Mona told him, her smile sleepy but genuine. She pushed herself up from the step, palm flattened against the beautiful old wood. The whole house was so beautiful, and Mona knew she was lucky to be allowed to live in it.
She started up the stairs with Kit beside her and it was nice despite the conversation and the part before that where she'd wanted to cringe out of the world. Surely that meant only good things about her belonging here. That this felt some sort of normal and okay, chatting with a vampire and eating pie made by some sort of witch.
"I've decided I'm definitely staying, by the way," she told him they walked upstairs together.
Following suit, Kit pushed himself to his feet. It took him all of ten seconds to polish off the remainder of the pie before the plate in his hand was empty, and he reached out to collect the clean one that had been under it on the stairs. "Hold on one sec," he said, walking backwards for half a dozen steps before vanishing for all of two seconds. He returned before Mona could reply, sans plates, and flashed her a grin before beginning to ascend the stairs at her side.
Keeping a respectable distance between them, Kit turned to look at Mona at her confession. "Really?" he asked, though he couldn't confess to being surprised. A part of him was certain that Mona wouldn't leave, despite not knowing her well at all. "What made you change your mind?"
Mona was pleased when Kit solved her dirty plates dilemma for her before they headed up. Khalida definitely couldn't yell at her now. (She didn't really know the older woman or if she was the sort to yell, but she seemed to be in charge of the kitchen and Mona was trying to stay on everyone's good side still.)
When Kit asked, Mona considered giving the absolute truthful answer of: I think that I'm needed here. It sounded arrogant and foolish and the sort of thing any other dumb teenager would think about themselves. But after talking with Nadine especially, Mona truly felt that way. She was needed to be part of this place. It was scary and different but she was pretty sure she was supposed to be here, that this was what she needed as well.
But it still sounded pretentious, and Mona was most certainly too tired to pull off such a comment in any way that it wouldn't. So instead she said, "I asked a Magic 8-Ball about it."
The answer he was given startled a laugh from Kit, an unadulterated sound of pure amusement that caused his eyes to crinkle and his dimples to show. It was perhaps the happiest that Mona would have seen him which, given their previous discussions, could have seemed oddly out of place. Then again, nothing about that morning had been typical.
"Then it must be true," he said, ducking his head as he casually slipped his hands into his pockets. "But really, I'm glad you're sticking around. Like I said, the place is a little better with you here."
"Obviously," Mona told him, deadpan but unable to hide the slight smile. "You didn't even have a tea shop before."
They'd reached her door now, her name engraved on the silver name plate in fine script. Mona smiled at him. "Thank you for walking me home," she told him, opening the door and leaning against it a little. "I'll probably see you tomorrow."
"Any time," Kit said, continuing to keep the distance between them respectable. Had he not overstepped earlier, he would have likely reached out and kissed the back of Mona's hand in a smooth display of flirtatious politeness, yet he kept to himself now in fear of upsetting the redhead again. That was the last thing he wanted to do.
Rather than step forward, Kit edged back once Mona was inside her room. With a parting nod, he turned as the door clicked closed and made for his own suite, feeling a little bit lighter without stopping to process why exactly that was.
Clearly, spending time with Mona was doing good things for him.