wanderinghamsa (wanderinghamsa) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2017-12-01 22:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | sterling darcy, zipporah bakst |
Who: Zipporah Bakst, Sterling Darcy
What: It's been a while
Where: The streets of London
When: 20 November, 1888 [backdated]
Rating: PG
He’d missed London.
The time he’d spent out of the busy city had done him some good though this had always been his home. Part of him had stayed, the essence of the place had remained though he had been off on an adventure that wasn’t quite as thrilling as someone would imagine it being. It’d been nice to get back, dust away the cobwebs and open the Funeral Home again.
Sterling was nothing if not an expert in human anatomy; his profession was something he was passionate about and because of that commitment he took with every grieving family that walked through the Parlor doors he’d been summoned to another part of the Queen’s territory to assist with a medical based procedure. He was no Doctor; Sterling did not have a license or medical degree of any kind but he did have knowledge that was invaluable.
Once everything was up and running again, Anita agreed to watch the place and almost insisted that Sterling get out of the Funeral Home. She worried about him, as young as he was and as reclusive as he could be. A man of his age and stature should be married and starting a family, not hiding, tucked away a back room with corpses and married to their work.
Declining a ride in favor of walking, a chance to stretch his long legs, Sterling meandered down the street with no real destination in mind. A newspaper was tucked beneath an arm as it usually was. He was wrapped in a black coat and scarf to match, his hat sat perfectly upon his head and beyond the sound of his shoes against the cobblestone was that soft tap from his walking stick. Morticians had a bad habit of sticking out in a crowd, no matter what they did to conceal the profession it was as obvious as if they wore signs on their back announcing it. Not that he cared what anyone in town was saying, if they talked about him at all.
Zipporah wasn’t paying much attention to her surroundings -- she was deep in thought about recent goings-on in Whitechapel, and trying to make sense of it.
She very nearly ran into a woman -- Ach’s hand on her arm surprised her out of her thoughts quick enough to side step and avoid a collision, and when she looked up, she saw a familiar, thin form behind the woman she’d nearly plowed into.
“Mr Darcy?” She stammered, a little surprised to see him.
He had noticed Ach before Zipporah came into view, how could he miss such a figure on the street? A breath of relief escaped the tall man and he paused, offering Zipporah a smile. “Miss Bakst.” The greeting was warm, as if they’d picked up exactly where they’d left off. Sterling tilted his gaze up and greeted the man following the witch, “Ach. I hope both of you are well.”
She looked as if she had something on her mind, but who didn’t these days?
“Eh,” Zipporah replied, with a bit of a shrug, her smile reflecting Mr Darcy’s in a bloom of warmth, surprised into a moment of honesty at the fact that he seemed so pleased to see her. “There is some good, some not so good, so I suppose it is fine on the balance. And you? How have you been? It has been a few months since I have seen you last. Your house, it is well? No hauntings?”
The mortician had shown her a remarkable kindness when her grandmother had died -- at a time when the leaders of her own community had turned away. It was the sort of kindness one did not easily forget.
The response was amusing.
The corner of Sterling’s lip curled upward. “At least you’ve found some good. The rest I can’t help though I am sorry you’ve been through it.” His shoulders slumped some. “No hauntings,” He assured her though he hadn’t been home long enough to witness any paranormal activity and he was sure that if Anita had seen anything she would’ve sent an urgent message.
“I’ve been away,” Sterling admitted, clearing his throat. It wasn’t something he wanted to discuss on the street.
He looked dejected, just then, and a little out of sorts, and Zipporah frowned, and reached for his arm to pat it. “I am sorry for to pry,” she said. “Please forgive me? I hope I have not caused offence.” She bit her lip. “I am glad to see you are back, regardless,” she said, looking up at him.
“You haven’t,” he assured her. “It’s not proper discussion, not for the corner we are standing upon during this age.” With the Ripper killings speaking of such things as assisting with other crimes seemed offensive. Especially out in public.
“Thank you. I’ve missed this city,” Sterling confessed.
“Ah, I see?” Zipporah replied, although she didn’t, not entirely. The English (Englishmen in particular) often had a way of talking indirectly that she couldn’t follow -- an implied, unspoken conclusion one had to guess. But she’d spent the night at Mr Darcy’s home -- that, at least, afforded her a touch of leeway. “Should you want for to discuss it elsewhere?” She asked, a little uncertainly, “or for to not discuss it at all?”
Sterling considered her offer to listen. For having only known each other for a very short amount of time they’d experienced a good many things together. He knew he could trust her, she already knew a lot about him that most others didn’t.
“Elsewhere. I don’t want to mention it out on the street. There is a tea shop nearby. Would you and Ach care to join me?”
She paused, and then nodded, slipping her arm through his. “Lead the way,” she said, looking up at him.
The tea shop was not far at all as promised and once Zipporah’s arm had curled around his own he lead her down the street and to the shop. He cast a glance at her through his bifocals as they moved, unable to help offering her a small, genuine smile. She’d been very good to him.
When they were settled, Sterling having pulled the chair out politely for Zipporah before seating himself, he went through the motions of removing his hat and coat, setting them aside appropriately. The newspaper went into his lap.
After they’d gotten settled, she looked over at him. “Well, Mr Darcy?” She asked, far too curious to be polite.
“I was called away on a favor to a surgeon in Essex,” Sterling began softly, folding his hands upon the tabletop. His blue eyes held Zipporah’s, “They were in need of some medical advice and while I am no Doctor or Surgeon, they felt that this particular case warranted someone without an eye like they had. Naturally I was curious to see what they had such a dire need for that required me and not someone much closer.”
Zipporah leaned forward, intrigued. “Indeed?” She asked, as she reached for the teapot on the table and poured it. “You have my curiosity as well,” she added, tipping her head. “So it was for to do with the…” she looked around and lowered her voice. “The recently dead? Someone who had been… prepared for the burials?”
She reached absently for a spoon and began to stir in some jam to her tea.
When she was done with the teapot Sterling added some tea to his own cup. “No, they were studying the body for medical reasons. Cadavers, those that had donated themselves or loved ones for a copper. It was almost like an opera...there was a creative flow to it.” It was admirable, the operational part. He’d seen nothing like it before.
And the clink of her spoon against the porcelain teacup had his attention from the wandering. He noticed the action but said nothing of the jam in the tea.
Zipporah looked at him, fascinated. “I had heard of the practice,” she said, “and it makes some sense, I suppose, if one does not believe one’s parts must be whole for to be at rest. My people would not do such a thing. But seeing the inner workings of a body, the miracle of it, I can see how that would be a precious gift for to be given.”
Sterling nodded. He appreciated her opinion, taking a sip from his teacup. The liquid was warm, inviting. “I did the best that I could, offered what I knew. I’m not sure if that was enough but it seemed to be more than they’d expected.”
“It is good for to hear you were of help,” Zipporah replied. “You are far too humble, Mr Darcy. It sounds like a great honor.” She tipped her chin. “And now you are back. We have had a difficult Fall here, perhaps it is best you were not here for it.”
Her words didn’t warm him. It wasn’t as if he had any influence over the occurrences here but they only served to trouble him regarding not being there for the families that had lost and who needed him. “I’m glad to see you are alright.” The air here was heavier and the weight could crush someone if they weren’t careful.
Zipporah shrugged. “The murders, they happened not far from where I live,” she said, quietly, “and for a while, the police, they were… they were rather cruel towards one of my people who was a suspect. It has not been pleasant. But I have not been harmed.” She looked up at him, carefully, her voice low. “Whoever it is is truly a powerful witch. I do not know if he will ever be caught. Or if I shall ever discover why he does what he does.”
She knew Sterling would believe her -- he’d seen evidence of her own powers first-hand, after all.
“That’s the golden question isn’t it, Miss Bakst?” Sterling replied, keeping his own voice low. “Why? There isn’t a clear motive that I could see for such brutal slayings, but if you say he’s a powerful witch I’m inclined to believe you considering.” Why shouldn’t he believe her? She had demonstrated that she had power unlike any he’d ever seen. “If I can assist in any way I do hope you will let me know.”
Before he left he was familiar with those that called themselves the Night Watch but only from what he’d heard. For a person that hardly slept that would’ve been a perfect assignment.
“I’m torn between wanting to take part in something regarding the deceased and being alright with having nothing to do with it at all.” How fascinating would it have been to acquire one of the women? It was gruesome, yes, but he was utterly taken with the fact of the studying potential. Of course that brought attention he wasn’t sure he wanted.
“For to gain more power,” Zipporah replied, quietly. “For what end, I do not know.” She shrugged with one shoulder, and looked over at him. “Should you hear from your colleagues, or choose to take part in it yourself, I should want to know what you learn,” she said, before reaching across the table and squeezing his hand in thanks.
“I am glad to have seen you today,” she continued. “Very glad.” Her warm welcome after not having seen him for such a long while was a pleasant enough surprise, as was his confiding in her. “My grandmother, she finally had her name read aloud in synagogue,” she added, “and a mikveh sang at her grave. Ten men,” she added. “It took some doing,” she added, with a small grin, “but her soul would not be at rest had you not first helped her on her way.”
Sterling flushed as she took his hand but he nodded in spite of himself, “Of course. If I learn anything regarding the situation I’ll let you know first.” It was a promise he would keep if he ever got hold of anything in reference to the killings. If not, he wouldn’t bother her with the details. He was no Doctor, no surgeon, no butcher, but he did know the human anatomy and what things to cause someone to pass.
Her next words were easier to comprehend. “I’m glad to have seen you, too.” He didn’t have many he called friends but Zipporah was definitely in that category. “I’m glad I was able to help your grandmother. Everyone deserves peace being at rest. I haven’t had anything else happen after your initial help, as well. How long does that last?” Would she need to come back to strengthen what she’d done before?
“I am glad to hear it,” she replied with a brisk nod. “I shall check the protections every year, for to make certain they are still at work,” Zipporah replied. “Given it is a place that receives the dead, where people mourn, it is at higher… higher riskiness for the hauntings, as a matter of course. It draws energies, like a magnet.”
She grinned. “But we shall make sure it does not re-gain a foothold. Not on my watch.”
Sterling was grateful for her words and her willingness to continue to protect him. He’d done little to deserve such a gift of a good friend and yet he wouldn’t squander the opportunity with objection. He already got more sleep now without the spectre than he had before (the calls in the wee hours of the eve would come as normal) but at lesser when he could sleep he did.
“Thank you. I really appreciate it. Any sleep that I can get is welcome.”
She nodded, her smile warm. “Of course, Mr Darcy,” she said, patting his arm. “Anything for a friend.”