Subject: In from the rain. Who: Vivian Thorpe. Where: Slater's lair. Warnings: TBA. Open to: Slater.
Vivian was soaked to the skin.
She could feel it in her boots, in the sodden weight of her hair as it was pulled from the clasp. The chill was penetrating right to her bones, and she couldn't stop the shivers. And she was still on the wrong side of the river. Shit. There was no way she was making it back to the Theatre without catching some awful chill.
She stopped under an awning for a moment, taking advantage of the half-hearted shelter it gave, as she thought for a moment. What or who was nearby that might help?
Slater. Slater was just around the corner. It was after midnight, so she might get a hiding for waking him up, but she'd rather a hiding and warmth than a walk to Harry's and death by awful sickness. She wasn't feeling her best as it was.
So she made off for Slater's, running through the torrential downpour as best she could, despite the cold making her weak and the weight of her soaking wet skirts slowing her down. She held her shawl above her head as she did so, but it was little use, and she all but fell against the door by the time she reached Slater's. She knocked, several times, and let out an exhausted sigh, hoping someone would be awake to let her in. She probably looked like she'd drowned. And she felt like she just might, if she was left out there any longer.