Who: “Mr. Merrick” & Bedelia “Biddie” Linden What: The Interview When: mid-February 1889 [backdated like woah] Where: MPC London HQ Rating: None
Biddie would've liked to view returning to London as a triumphant sign of recovery. But being a mostly honest soul - although only in private and at no personal cost - she called the return what it was: self-preservation. It hadn't taken long for her medical leave at Wit's End to turn into a long stretch of sheer -- unremitting -- corrosive -- agonizing -- boredom. In another week she would've been stealing sheep or pickling the neighbors. Coming back home was practically an act of civic duty!
Admittedly dodging Archie was a strategic act of cowardice. Biddie was comfortable acknowledging it as such - and enforcing that the rest of HQ’s office staff kept their lips buttoned. By her calculations there’d be at least two hours of freedom before her godson cottoned on to her escape--er, her relocation and came yelling. Loudly. And at length. Possibly armed with some kind of medical diagrams.
Fortunately, two hours was more than enough time to interview Adrien's mysterious "friend": Mr. Merrick.
The djinn was slowing settling into their flat and a ‘normal’ life. It was something they wanted. So was a form of employment that was purely voluntary. With their master, Adrian’s guidance, Merrick moved about the streets with the information of a possible employer. Dressed modestly without the peacock flair of color or overly exuberant jewelry, they wanted to promote a semblance of straight-laced and trustworthiness.
They stepped inside the reception area and spoke to the person at the desk before waiting to be shown to their possible employer.
The clerk on duty gave a politely neutral smile. "I'm sorry Mister - Merrick? - I don't seem to see--"
"Quite alright, Warren," butted in a very cheery, very French voice. "Mr. Merrick is one of mine. Or at least so they've promised us."
The clerk's smile turned decidedly less neutral and his cheeks significantly pinker. "Very good, Miss Moritz. Apologies, Mr. Merrick. Please proceed."
Miss Moritz - petite, pretty, and almost aggressively soignée - claimed Merrick's arm with a minimum of fuss, smiling at the man as they were the dearest old friends. It was a very sharp smile, however, and her hold was a strong one. She steered them both away from the main reception doors.
"I'm Justine Moritz. Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Merrick. Do forgive me for not meeting you at the door, I just landed and had to rush to get here as I did. You currently reside in London, do you not? Did you have any difficulty finding the building? How exactly do you know dear Mr. Green?"
Each sentence arrived without pause or, apparently, much need for breathing. Admittedly, the latter wasn't of much concern to the vampire.
The djinn had lifted their chin slightly to reply to Warren when the young woman came in. Nodding at the man, Merrick turned their attention towards Justine.
“It’s quite all right,” they spoke. Merrick almost flinched at Justine’s claiming their arm, holding back the almost involuntary action. If Adrien trusted the leader of this company, the djinn would extend the trust to the staff as Justine let them away.
“That is quite all right. I tend to arrive early. Yes,” they blinked, “I live in London. No, no trouble at all.” Then Merrick breathed to bring a sense of pause to Justine’s barrage. “Mr. Green is a friend. We were studying similar subjects of history.”
The djinn looked over at the vampire, wondering just how much she knew of Adrien.
Because it was her job to note what was available, Justine noted the not-quite-stiff politeness. Because it was her nature to be sincere (even when lying), Justine smiled when she said, "I didn't think our Mr. Green lingered on any particular subject, history or otherwise, long enough to find a match. He seemed quite the omnivore." The smile sharpened. "But then I'm not a scholar."
"Where in history exactly do your and our dear genie's interests intersect, Mr. Merrick?" she asked.
“Hmm. I haven’t a witness to his wide-ranging interests,” Merrick shrugged. “There is no worry there.” They smiled. Being in a place like MPC made the djinn’s paranoid rise in intensity.
Then they blinked at the question before parting their lips to speak. ‘Genie’...that was a familiar name. “Not too far. Uhm, London has fascinating history that Mr. Green and I share an interest in.”
“And here I thought you were going to be my source of gossip, Monsieur Merrick,” Justine said with theatrical disappointment. “Je suis très déçu.”
The supposed disappointment didn’t do much to dim the vampire’s cheerful tone nor leaden her step. She returned Merrick’s polite smile with sparkling enthuthiasm.
“Nonetheless, I’m sure you’ll prove to be marvelously useful,” she said, bringing them both to halt in front a rather nondescript door. A glossy bronze plaque above it said simply: MAPS - IV.
Justine cocked her head for a moment, listening, before nodding slightly to herself. She paused open the door and stepped aside, ushering Merrick inside - alone.
“Be bold, be bold,” she whispered lightly as he passed and the door shut very firmly behind him.
Despite the room’s promise, there were few maps in sight inside. Instead, the walls of the room were lined with rolling shelves. There was a pair of very tall, very clean windows and a long display table in the center of the room; a blue enamel chocolate pot sat at the corner of the table. There was also a woman, blond and unsmiling.
She wore ribbed wool and pleated silk satin, all of it resolutely brown, from the velvet hem to the high braided gilt collar. It gave her the toothsome mien of a cocoa truffle.
“Mr. Merrick,” said Biddie. “How very good to meet you at last.”
Merrick lightly smirked at the vampire and nodded.
The djinn took the comment lightly though instinctually and internally flinching at the word ‘useful’. Dismissing the thought, they smiled as they waited at the door.
Moving inside, he looked around the room quickly and then back at Justine. Merrick heard her words and steeled himself as she closed the door behind him. There was no sound of a lock clicking or bolt falling into place. Good.
Slowly, Merrick turned around took take in the room properly and saw the woman standing in the room. She was beautiful, but the lack of a smile troubled them. They slowly stepped closer and smiled.
“Likewise. I hope I haven’t been keeping you waiting.” Charm always.
“Not at all,” Biddie said pleasantly. “You’re quite punctual. A strong point in any candidate’s favor.” She moved forward, hand out in forthright greeting. She was wearing the thin, undyed gloves of an archivist. “Bedelia Linden - though, please call me Biddie. I’d hate to stand on formality with any friend of Adrien’s.”
The words were friendly and the tone pleasant, but Biddie’s expression remained slightly cool. It was not so much a look of reserve, as it was of expectation.
In all the time they’ve known each other, Adrien had asked her no favors. Certainly there’d never been much of expectation of anything outside of their mutually beneficial and stalwartly academic correspondence.
And yet Adrien had asked for - this. This ‘Merrick’.
“May I offer you some chocolate?” she said, nodding slightly at the waiting pot.
Walking forward a little more, Merrick nodded and gently took Biddie’s hand for a formal moment before letting go. “Formality is respectable.” The djinn’s posture was straight and that of a gentleman of the time. But they were cautious not to offend.
Biddie’s cool expression troubled Merrick a little, but they understood a point of view where the expression would make sense.
With their hands clasped gently in front of them, they shook his head. “No, thank you. I would worry that it would linger where old materials may come to rest.”
"Very good, Mr. Merrick." Biddie smiled. It wasn't quite as sharp on her face as it was on Justine's. She released his hand without ceremony.
"So, then. Our mutual friend claims that you are something of a wonder," she said. "A true linguist apparently. Although he was rather sparse on the details regarding your range. For starters, which languages are you a wonder with exactly?”
A wolfish grin tugged at the corner of their lips at the praise and smile. Merrick had taken a risk with their answer, possibly offending.
The djinn straightened their posture a little more and nodded, “Ancient Greek, Latin, Aramaic, Tamil, Egyptian both hieroglyph and Cyrillic, Sanskrit, Ancient Persian, Gaelic, French, and German.”
A scholastic treasure trove, Biddie reflected. Unfortunately, it didn't easily translate towards capitalism. What in the world was Adrien expecting her to do with Sanskrit?
On the other hand...a gifted translator on MPC's payroll wasn't much different than having one of her own. There were certainly benefits to having the means to compete with the mutts at the Institute.
"You're vastly overqualified for office staff, Mr. Merrick, if you don't mind my saying so. May I ask why you're here and not, say, one of London's scholastic havens?" Biddie asked. The question, surprisingly, was warmer than her greeting. "Of course, if you're willing to slum intellectually, then MPC certainly won't hesitate to take advantage. But, indulge me. Please.”
Merrick blinked slowly at Biddie’s words. Breathing, they nodded, “I don’t mind at all, Ms. Linden. I prefer to work for an organization that is thinking of the future through learning from the past, but not at the expense of the supernatural community. And the larger organizations are a bit medieval in their sensibilities. And any organization Mr. Green recommends must have notable qualities.” The djinn’s posture straightened a little further. They hoped this place did not have an inhumane department where someone like them were being held as slave and test specimen.
"'Mrs'," Biddie corrected idly. “If you’re being formal.”
Internally, she was turning over the supernatural comment. Adrien had written of his friend being "aware", but specified nothing. It was an odd reticence from a man who typically held a reverence for footnotes and sources. Biddie had been expecting either a vampire or a witch. The young man in front of her smelled like neither.
How did that book go again: curiouser and curiouser…
"Any problems with heights or enclosed spaces?" she asked briskly. "Are you especially susceptible to cold, heat, or rudeness? Any ailing family or dependant pets that'd prohibit you leaving London? Are you now or have you ever been officially affiliated with any coven or pack within 200 hundred miles of London or New York? Any allergies?"
“Mrs. Linden, my apologies,” Merrick bowed their head out of respect.
But then her questions made the djinn still. Enclosed spaces. Merrick started to question if they were ready for this venture. “No problems with heights, cold, heat, or rudeness. No pets. No, I have not been affiliated with either. No allergies. I do have one relative I would need to consult, but I do not think it would be a problem.”
Biddie nodded agreeably. “Please do so within the next two days if possible. We tend to have the new employee hit the ground running.” She paused, considering that this was perhaps not the best word choice for an airship company. “...so to speak, that is. After accepting, you’ll be on two weeks or seventy hours probation depending on whichever you log in first. How do you know Adrien?”
The last question was fired off as neatly and unapologetically as the question regarding allergies, but there was an ever so slight gleam in woman’s eye upon asking. Curiosity, that irrepressible cat, was rearing its head.
“Yes, Mrs. Linden,” Merrick nodded and then stilled once more. Thinking quickly on their feet and quietly apologizing in advance to Adrien (who would be told promptly afterward). “He and I are friends. He helped me out of an unpleasant situation and I’ve occasionally assisted him in his research.”
Was that too quick of a response? But it was truthful without being detailed.
Something in Biddie’s expression, not quite softed but did give a little.
“That last one wasn’t a test, Mr. Merrick,” she said. “You’re one of the few living names he’s spoken about with genuine admiration, so - here we are. I would like for our friend’s faith in both of us to prove worthwhile.”
An unexpected glimmer of humor touched her expression. “We may even discover to like each other. Eventually.” She turned away, glancing at the thin wristwatch with a distinct lack of subtlety before taking out a slim folder out of table’s under-shelves and holding it out. “Your contract. Wages and expected hours are included, as are certain conditions should you choose to accept. I advise you read them carefully; we’re particularly keen on the part regarding non-disclosures. Do you have any questions?”
Merrick blinked and steeled their expression. It was important to the djinn to make a good impression and not squander Adrien’s good word. “I am very grateful for his admiration. Likewise,” the djinn nodded.
Keeping where they stood, Merrick watched and listened - liking Biddie’s precision and bit of humor. When she presented the folder, they stepped closer and gently took it from her. “Do these items need to be read by a certain date and time? If reading them over is something you require immediately, I can take a seat do so.”
"Nobody's going to lock you up before you're on the clock, Mr. Merrick," Biddie said offhandedly. "You can return the contract in two days after checking in with your relative. The bulk of our Sanskrit correspondence will keep fresh till then."
There was the barest pause and then she extended her gloved hand in offer. “Whatever you decide, it was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Merrick.” She smiled, quick and curt. “I hope you won’t mind if I don’t see you out personally. Mademoiselle Moritz will be glad to arrange for your transportation home. And if I may be so optimistic…”