Victorian Nocturne

The Jerusalem was exactly the kind of place he'd imagined it. Lots of working-class types, a little rough around the edges, decent beer - the kind of place he shouldn't have felt out-of-place in. This was the kind of place he would have lied about going to with his mates from the factory every Friday after work, if alternate Izzy had wanted to get his mother to come down to London and knock some sense into him. There were very few times when he'd actually gotten to sit down and have a drink while not with a customer, which seemed a little strange for someone who hung around a hotel bar most nights.

But, unlike the hotel bar, this place didn't depress him. This was partly because he'd gone here of his own volition and a few shillings to spend on drinks, and partly because he'd had enough alcohol in his system so that everything was starting to become enjoyable. This place had been a good recommendation on Cullen(?)'s part.

Izzy knew that he was celebrating something, though all in all it seemed like a mixed blessing. He was celebrating managing to both get and lose his first client as a vampire hunter over the course of about an hour - not that he really wanted to see the bastard again. In retrospect, it was a good thing he'd blatantly overcharged. He'd probably never see that much money again until things got better. He was celebrating making a small, but not insignificant dent in his late father's mountainous debts.

( False Pretenses )

Though being caught on the streets so late at night would ruin Berdette's reputation, it was the last thing on her mind. She moved both under the cloak of darkness and a literal cloak, the latter being made of dark brown cotton. It was voluminous enough both to hide the plain dress she was wearing beneath and her face. Tonight she was to check up on a recent buyer of love elixir, a certain aging woman who feared her husband's roving eye.

She couldn't help but relish the thought of what exactly the effects would be. Love would definitely be born in the man's heart but so would a little seed of jealousy. It would grow into niggling feelings of doubt on his wife's faithfulness, blossom as controlling rage, and finally culminate with her death and, probably his own. If he couldn't have her, nobody could.

Clack clack clack went her boots as they struck the cobbled streets hard. So when she turned down a back-alley and there was a definite squish, Berdette had to pause. The overhang of her hood did nothing to improve her vision, so she flipped it back and cautiously leaned over for a better look.
( Whoever this man was, he was most certainly dead. She didn't feel it was too unfortunate. )