Victorian Nocturne

The Dragon's Arms
Earlier in the Evening...

( The Bet )

Simon's Residence
The Present

( Ouch! That Smarts! )

5 October 1891
The Royal Oak

The Royal Oak was a public assembly hall, often used for dances and gatherings. On this occasion, a private room had been reserved for the Inquisition's special use. Situated in the rear of the building, the stately room boasted a separate entrance, a fully stocked sideboard, and an oval table with chairs. The walls were wooden and hung with oil paintings. The air smelled of tobacco. Such meetings traditionally took place aboard the Whitechapel, unless Apprentices or informants were in attendance. Tonight, a small group of Inquisitors would gather, speak amongst themselves of recent occult developments, and then invite two recruits to enter. It was hoped that they could determine how the gentlemen might fit within the organisation. They also hoped to give Mr. Jack Doyle and Mr. Alistair Musgrave a better idea of the colleagues they would join, should they allign themselves with this arm of the Crown.

[Thread: Open immediately to Michael West, Sir Henry Armitage, Elspeth Fry, and Fr Verdoux. Open later to Jack Doyle and Alistair Musgrave]

( Let Them Eat Cake )

( Another Billet doux )

( Orientalism )

( The Challenge )

Phèdre having run its course, it was refreshing to Marguerite to have the silly humor of that satire, The Mikado. Gifted with a fine voice as well as acting abilities, she had been cast as Yum-Yum, the female lead. Every evening she would don the uncomfortable black wig and the rice powder. She wondered if Japanese women actually dressed like this, if they wore this much paint, if their kimonos were so burdensome as this. When she viewed herself in the mirror, she was much changed. Beneath the paint and wig she barely knew herself. She wondered if her audience would recognize her.

But recognize her they inevitably did. She was fast becoming a favorite in the theatres, heading toward the title of prima donna. And yet she had still not chosen a patron. Tonight this perturbed her as she sang her silly lines, becoming a comedienne when last she was a tragic figure. She had been receiving offers, gifts, and she accepted them, but she never gave a definite answer. She found herself relieved when she returned to the solitude of her dressing room, shutting out the sickening multitudes.

She sat down at her great vanity, leaving her maid to take care of her admirers. She liked to look at herself, though not, as one might think, for vanity's sake. She liked to see how the makeup changed her, how the costuming made her someone else. She stared at her reflection, wondering what it would be like were she one of those famed geishas, serving tea and sake in small glasses and entertaining dignitaries. She flipped open the fan prop she had. It was screened with a dragon. She peered out over it, fluttering her eyelashes in a coy, silly way. Like a girl, she made faces at herself for an unspeakable amount of time.

The performance was marvelous, or so John thought. The costuming, the song and dance, the music... All of it was bright and exotic, invoking images of the Orient, though the satire poked fun at the British Empire. On the first occasion, he purchased a ticket on a lark, wanting to see Marguerite on stage. He, unlike so many admirers, had been unfamiliar with her reputation prior to meeting the courtesan, so he was curious as to her talents outside the bed chamber.

( Privacy? Not Any Concept He Knows )

( The Scribblings of Mad People )

The courier had stood outside the servant's entrance of Mrs. Daugney's house for about two and a half hours, refusing to speak to anyone aside from a Mr. Israel Alderdice. Unfortunately, Mr. Alderdice happened to be working at the moment, and would not be for another couple of hours, would you like to come in and have some tea, mister? The courier had answered no and had seemed somewhat arrogant about the whole process so that the kitchen staff hadn't felt too bad about leaving him out in the rain. He had an umbrella, anyway.

It would have been foolish to say that Izzy hadn't been expecting anything for the past week, but he still had no idea what the courier was about, no matter how many times he was asked, even by Mrs. Daugney herself. Mostly, he wondered what all the fuss was about. It was only when he took the letter that he got really, really excited but refused to show anyone.

His head had been buzzing all week. A contract. He might not have been getting paid much for it, but he was getting paid and more than that it meant that they knew his name. He was officially getting jobs as a hunter now, and from The Crown no less. He'd hardly been able to focus all week, much less all day, and had been quite surprised he'd slept at all last night. Even though he didn't know how it was going to go, he'd written home even though he had no idea how it was going to go.

( Trimming the Verge )

( In the Rectory )

( The Hunt Begins )

( Death and a New Acquaintance )

( In which Izzy proves that he is, if nothing else, a teenage boy. )

( Flash-bangs and Elpeth's knickers: )

The street was empty and silent. Silent but for the leathery thud of neatly polished boots. Night fell in a blinding blanket, the fog of the earliest morning hours obscuring the gaslights that had been lit many hours before. It was amazing that the figure--just one shade blacker than the black of the night and several shades less pale than the fog--could even maintain its footing. But oh the silence! It was unreal, unholy, almost. Even at this hour there were generally signs of life in this part of London. Squalor bred the most unpleasant nocturnal activities, and usually the brawl of those who had had too much to drink or the sound of coupling paid for in pence might near the ear. But this was not the case. It was not possible even to hear the early morning hunger screams of the wage earner's infant.

The steps approached a small apartment building squashed hastily between two others of a similar design--if design one could call it. For there was nothing for the eye to gaze at with pleasure even in the bright noon sun. The brick walls were caked in soot and the contents of chamber pot--likely worse things than these, if one really thought about it. The doors consisted of little more than hastily constructed boards of wood, nailed together and hinged by some miracle of God. And the windows peered at one like dark, thoughtless eyes, void of all expression. Some of the panes were broken, some cracked, most caked with dirt, soot and general grime. What could be seen was often concealed with whatever bit of fabric or newspaper the tenant could procure. This was meant to give a pretense of privacy to those who lived in penury with ten or more other occupants, or to obscure and hide the misdeeds of the less productive of the tenement's inhabitants.

A gloved hand turned the knob of the entrance, letting the door shut behind with a creak and a resounding thud. Up two flights of stairs. Third door to the right, if memory served--and it inevitably did. Three knocks, short, quick raps. This was all that was needed. The sallow face of a careworn woman peered out as the door squealed on its hinges. She was clutching something in her hand. as she opened the door to the stranger, her heretofore tense face relaxing in visible relief. Few things adorned the room but a few sparse pieces of furniture and a cheap print of the Blessed Mother. In another room five other people were standing by a mattress. On the mattress lay in a tight ball a young woman no older than eighteen. Her dark hair hung in stringy locks over her sleeping face, greased by sweat and exertion. The covers had been tossed aside and she wore nothing else but a dirty shift, her feet bare, the blue veins in them visible like indigo cobwebs.

( I Will Fear No Evil )

Over the course of merely two weeks, he'd killed one person and almost killed another. This shouldn't have been happening, and yet, here it was, undeniable evidence that, no matter what circumstances he found himself in, he was still a monster and behaved accordingly.

He hadn't mentioned this in his letters to Professor Armitage, of course not. Come to think of it, he hadn't given an explicit reason for this meeting. So far as the professor knew, Izzy (or I. Alderdice, as he signed his letters) only wanted to discuss some unspecified matter related to the supernatural. He'd tried not to make it seem like a personal matter. Of course, Izzy wasn't about to discuss the events of last Wednesday either. He knew what had happened perfectly well.( Visiting Prof. Armitage )

Although it was his custom to rise early, Joachim found himself comfortable enough in his father's apartment to at least try lounging about in the mornings. He'd brought a fair portion of his books with him, and he would usually eat breakfast and then read if he didn't have anything pressing to tend to before afternoon. Besides, his leg made it difficult to get around, so if he should be indolent enough to stay in until noon, so be it.

The officer was in shirtsleeves, having just finished shaving, and he wiped the last of the foam from behind his left ear before putting the razor and strop away. Breakfast had been fruit and sausage, and he buttoned the third button of his white shirt while looking himself over in the mirror. His was not an unpleasant face, the dark circles under his eyes notwithstanding. If he had time later, he would step out to a bookshop. Convalescence meant time for reading, and his mind was hungry for stimulation.

The cane made noises on the hardwood floor as he made his way into the living room, then eased himself down on the couch. The damned leg was a bother, but he could tell it was healing. Not fast enough for his taste, though. He wanted to be whole again.

( Alike and Yet Different )

NPC Duncan was written by Kate

[Takes place a few days after A Boy and a Girl]

There was no escape in this city, of that he was entirely sure. At least back home, there was a small forest, someplace far away from other humans. Here, if you didn't know the nooks and crannies and places that had been brushed out of the way, and even there you'd find some stung out opium fiend or destitute drunk or any kind of human, usually the kinds that had been kicked off the main streets because London had to hide her diseased masses somewhere.

But this had been entirely unexpected. Mrs. Daugney almost never gave him anything to get rid of, and when she did, it was never a full body. Tonight, she had, with a little look of disgusted disappointment on her face. The body was hardly recognizable as human, but he'd still cut it up to get it to fit in the sack better. As he'd looked at the mangled form, he'd thought for a moment that it could have been him. If whatever she'd done to him hadn't gone as well as it had, would someone be cutting up his corpse and throwing him in the river, a few bricks tossed in the bag to keep his dismembered form at the bottom?

He was incredibly lucky to be here; to have all he had, he hardly deserved it.

( Not someone you'd want to meet in a dark alley. )

Today was the day that Mrs. Templeby had pulled him aside when he hadn't been and whispered something in his ear that was more explicit than anything he'd ever been told by any john. He'd blushed horribly, sent all the ladies tittering, and tried to turn her politely down. He wasn't sure if it had worked or not, but she'd left soon after that. It seemed that he was getting more chances to move up in the world, but he thought he would pass this one by.

However, today was also the day that he was unduly excited for. He'd met up with Fox a few days ago, and it seemed that they were finally going to meet in a way that didn't involve bumping into each other. There were a few minutes left in his shift and they seemed to be taking a lot longer than usual. Miss Lascelles noticed him goofing off and hit him with a medium-sized novel to get his attention.

Now he was standing outside the shop, taking a drag from his cigarette, glancing around and wondering if he was here too early.

( Something to Talk About )

[A few days before "Werewolves in London"]

Shifting for himself when it came to meals wasn't difficult for Joachim. His father employed a single cook/housekeeper who came in twice a week, and her found her fare passable if plain. He'd spent the afternoon that day at the Fry stables feeding and grooming his new horse, debating internally on what to name the animal. There would never be another Stormdancer, but the colt he'd found was spirited and lively. He was even considering a new saddle, something less worn than the one he'd used before. One step at a time, his life was evening out again.

He was moving with a bit more care today. His physician had provided a brace for his leg, and he was still getting used to the confinement at the joint of his knee. When he decided to take a late lunch at a pub, he stumped to a table near the front where he could watch the traffic outside. London was the most bustling place he'd been to outside of Delhi, and he was still a bit awed that so many people lived so close together.

The major ordered a meat pie and some sausages, as well as a mug of beer. Tea was for lunch, and while he didn't often imbibe, the heaviness of the meal would offset the alcohol. He could come to enjoy this city quite a bit, really.

( Though quite unexpected by a shop-boy. )

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been three months since my last confession."

The seat beneath Fox's backside was newly padded, and she shifted on the cushion as she looked at the mesh between herself and the robed figure on the other side of the confessional. She'd waited until almost everyone had spoken to the priest before coming into the small space, and now she sat with her hands folded in her lap as she tried to sit still. She'd sat up almost all night thinking about this, made her decision as the sun came up. With her foster mother so far away, there was no one she could talk her about her predicament. Who else should she turn to but a man of God?

"I've taken the Lord's name in vain while at work, had disrespectful thoughts towards my elders, accepted an apple from a street vendor without paying for it." Minor sins, things she'd done in moments of thoughtlessness. A springboard, perhaps, to the thing that had begun to wear on her. Fox looked down at her shoes. "Entertained impure thoughts." In the dimness of the little booth, her face was turning red.

"I seek absolution, Reverend."

( A Woman's Worth )

Reverend Edward Cooper was written by Tim

Simon slammed open the door of the Aviary and made a direct route for Berdette, brandishing the days paper. Perfectly content to completely ignore the assorted staff and customers, he positioned himself directly in front of the woman and began to read aloud from the days headline:

"Mad Dogs Ravage London - Last night in the evening, around the hour of ten pm..." Oh this was taking too long, Simon thrust out the paper towards her and began to paraphrase, "It says there were six for certain, maybe more, wild animals unleashed into the city killing and wounding a number as of yet unknown! Berdette, were you out last night? Did you see the things? I swear upon my soul if I have ever seen such a creature--"

He cut himself off, taking a breath as if trying to steady himself still from the sheer thrill of such an unknown. Simon gave a strange breathless laugh, turning the paper over before continuing, "They were not dogs, Berdette. I don't know what they were, but they absolutely were not dogs. Not like any kind of animal I'd ever seen before! When it killed this girl, in front of us, it laid her body down and brushed the hair from her face! I swear to you I saw it with my own eyes, Madame! My colleague and I were lucky to have escaped with our lives the beast was so wild!"

He shakes his head in some level of awe, at which point he realises that just about every other soul in the place is staring at him. For a moment he considers changing his approach, before dismissing the thought and looking back to Berdette, waiting for her to take the paper from him.

There was perhaps no worse time than this: a Saturday on the third night of the full moon, with the weather unseasonably cool and clear, and the moon partially obscured by clouds. Gas and lunar light illuminated Whitechapel. An hour before midnight, music jangled from taverns. Everywhere on the cobbled streets, people journeyed by carriage, horseback, or foot, or lingered on the doorsteps of inns, shouting as neighbors went past. Between the curtains of some windows, faces peered and watched the hubbub in the warmth of home.

From the southwest, near the river docks, came an other-worldly howl. Only those with sensitive ears heard the primal noise. Fewer still recognized it. Whether by accident or plan, someone loosed a pack of beasts from the bowels of a ship. Neither man nor wolf, they were something in between. They gobbled up the distance to Whitechapel on all fours and then stood on muscular hind legs to take the air's scent. Pronounced snouts dripped saliva.. Dark, matted fur concealed them when they crouched in the shadows, stalking and growling and pawing the cobblestone, pouncing if a meal came near.

Later, people would speak of the beasts that attacked the Effingham Saloon on Whitechapel Road, ravaged the patrons at the Pavilion Theatre on Whites Row, lurked near the old church and ragged school on Colchester Street, and surprised the injured that fled to the London Hospital at Turner Street. But just past eleven o'clock, all was well in Whitechapel, and none could predict the coming chaos.


[Thread: Open to all characters. Please establish their placement and activity before narrating the chaos of an approaching beast. You may use the ideas above or create your own! Feel free to join an existing mini-thread below!]


[Submitted by Moderator]

( There is an unexpected sight! )

On occasions when she could afford it, Fox would make her way out to Kempton Park to see the horse races. Although she couldn't abide the animals in close proximity, she didn't mind watching them run from a distance, and the racecourse catered to all social types from what she'd seen. A fine way to spend one of the final days of summer, all in all.

She was in shirtsleeves that afternoon, having left her coat behind because of the warm day. The brim of a workman's cap shielded her eyes from the early afternoon sun, and she looked down at the tout form in her hand before making a mark on it with the stub of a pencil. A few pounds might be all she could afford to spend, but as long as she was careful with her bets she wouldn't lose track of how much she might lose. Moderation was the key to everything.

The apprentice made her way through the crowd, the racing form slightly crumpled in her grasp. The first race was to start in twenty minutes. 

The Journal of John Abbott
August 31, 1891

( Morning Rain )

[Two days after " The Odd Fairytale That Is Your Life "]

There was a book lying on the night-stand next to him, he was only just coming to grips with its existence and realizing that...probably the doctor...had put it there for his edification if he should so need it. The title was one he thought he'd seen before, perhaps in the cafe. And here it was, right next to him, so close that he could grab it. That wasn't as nice a thought as it had been a few minutes ago. And, come to think of it, he was beginning to be able to feel his insides, particularly the ones that hurt. The laudanum must have been wearing off.

He hadn't been fainting as much as he had been, but in return he'd been unable to sleep without the assistance of drugs, whether by sickness, pain, or his own mind. His own mind seemed to be the main cause, as he had a great deal to think about, and it tended to intrude on his nightmares. Above all else, though, he felt weaker than he'd ever been in his entire life. When it wasn't hindering him, it just felt incredibly alien.
 
With a few moments to spare before she left for the concert at the park, Berdette decided it would be good to go ahead and check up on Izzy. She still hadn't decided if she was going to tell him that the effects had been much more severe than she intended. Only a day of sickness! Instead, he had to suffer several weeks of... well, what did the doctor say? Internal pain, nightmares, feverish skin... completely dreadful.