Andrej turns to Carl and Rasheed. "Gentlemen?"
"My associate is correct. Your fictional fancies seem to be far closer to realities of people we know than seems entirely coincidental. Should that be the case, be assured there will be no repercussions of an unsavory nature. We simply wish to ascertain the truth." Tristan again tries a winsome smile, hoping to ease the man and convince him the Rippers do truly have his best interests at heart.
Swinburne seems unconvinced at Tristan's words.
They are just dreams. Fancies. Nothing more than the bored meanderings of an old man's mind. Swinburne says, getting annoyed at this line of vaguery.
Victoria watches the butler for a moment before approaching, her knife still slid up against her palm to avoid startling him. "What'cha writin' there?" she asks, straightening up to her full height as she comes closer. "You wouldn't happen t'be writing anything... unsavory, would you?" She slides up beside him as best she can and tries to get a look at whatever he's writing. "You disappeared awful fast, is all I'm saying. What was so important, exactly?"
Tristan looks at Swinburne for a long moment, studying the man's face, his demeanor. Finally, he sighs and smiles.
"I'm truly sorry to have put you through all this, my fellow, but it was a necessary part of things, I suppose. Now, in the end your dreams are your business, and while I'm certainly quite intrigued as to their details, I won't press you further. I believe it's come time to make good on my earlier implications, and offer you a deal." A twinkle comes into the old man's eye, and he takes a seat--not directly next to Swinburne, but near him.
"My associates and I are here representing an organization which is very good for people like ourselves, and people such as yourself, as well. We've all taken a good deal of interest in your stories of late, and while we find them quite wonderful, we also have our concerns about the general public accessing their finer points. In this modern day and age, you know, it can be dangerous business sharing such flights of fancy about on the streets, who knows whether someone will react poorly to such a statement. We certainly wouldn't want anyone deciding their neighbor is some hideous monster that needs putting down, and have the blame course back to you, now, would we?"
He shakes his head as if in sorrow, and clacks his cane on the floor. "So, my offer is this. You come and work with our society, doing what you do now--dreaming and writing to your heart's content. You'll be paid for your services, I assure you, and when it comes to artistic prevalence, your work will be distributed within our organization, and we have far-reaching ties. You only need look to my companions to see that!" He chuckles. "In addition, we can offer protection and security. Any debtors you were afraid may come knocking shan't bother you there, I'm sure, and you'll have comfortable lodgings and the opportunity to discuss matters with worldly and interesting individuals. Stories abound within our society, and you'll be privy to exploits that could fill a library.
"And, should you wish to share your stories with a wider audience, I'm certain we could offer that opportunity as well, albeit with some editing of finer points along the way. Rest assured your artistic integrity will remain intact." He finishes up and positively beams at the man. "What do you say? I truly do hope you find this offer agreeable."
Swinburne seems convinced. Although hes still uneasy about these strange people in his parlor, he at a minimum trusts Tristan. Tristan's money helps...
Swinburne will take the following deal.
1) He will continue writing for the Strand, but will include such editing as Tristan (or some other unnamed ripper) deems fit.
2) The Lodge, or Tristan, will pay Swinburne 1 pounds per month (Fact: 1 British Pound in the 1890s was about 90 dollars in the USA. Average skilled laborer in the US made about 10 dollars a week. 1 pound a month is about double that.)
3) Swinburne isn't a Ripper, but he has contacts in the Art Societies throughout Europe. He can get you introductions to various things. Also, he can publish "hidden messages" in his stories in the Strand if the Rippers need to get a message out.
The Butler whirls on Victoria and she notices that he was penning a letter to Mr. Watts.
Madame! I dare ask you to step away!
Victoria steps away and raises one hand--not the one holding the knife--and nods her head. "Not tryin' to snoop, just wanted to know what you were doin'. Figured me bein' in there wasn't helping things; I took a walk and happened on you, no need to be so startled." When she notices the butler was penning a letter to Mr. Watts she grimaces and lets out an almost inaudible groan, knowing this will probably be a pain for the Rippers to deal with, but pressing the issue will probably only make it worse. At least it's not going to the authorities or any other unsavory characters. "Just keep writing your letter, I'm not gonna bother you." She backs up and turns away, sliding her knife back into the sheath on the inside of her coat.
"Old codger," she mutters under her breath, once she's far enough away the butler won't hear her.
Tristan grins widely and eagerly shakes the writer's hand. "I think we have quite the understanding here, my good fellow. I expect only the best to come from this." With that he stands and smiles to the others. "I think it's time we left Master Swinburne to himself once more. I'm sure it's been a very trying day."
Outside, he pauses and looks over the group again. "Er... Where has Miss Lawson gotten to? Oh dear."
The man seems guarded around Victoria, but she can tell that her explanation smoothed a few ruffled feathers.
Upper Classes get bonuses to Intimidate lower classes
Lower Classes get bonuses to Taunt upper classes
Persuasion/Streetwise penalty -1 per class difference. (EX: Swinburne was "Middle Class" and so Tristan had a -1 every single time he rolled persuasion. The Butler however was "Working Class" as was Victoria so there was no penalty. I keep track of that for you guys.
Favor is simply another form of "treasure". Money kinda loses its appeal once you realize you can only buy so much stuff. So, Favor is a way to reward you for an accomplished mission. Favor can be spent to gain Extras for one Plot Point or to give you bonuses for Dramatic Tasks, you can call in Favors to negate scandals (see above). More info on Favors can be found in the Status and Favor Rules link at the top of the page.
Now the Rippers have returned to their Lodge for the evening. There's a newcomer at the Lodge, recently arrived....
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There's a short man with equally short curly brown hair lounging comfortably with one of the other rippers who resided at the lodge. He looked the perfect image of an English gentlemen in his snappy pinstripe suit, nice brown leather shoes, and while wearing golden cufflinks.
He was conversing casually with the man beside him, accompanying his distinctive American accent with short hand gestures. It seemed he was trying to demonstrate something to his apparently unimpressed fellow ripper, but whatever it was one couldn't say. Whatever it may be, it seemed to involve the use of playing cards as a deck of them could be seen in his right hand.
He found himself interrupted once he finally noticed the group come in, causing him to jump up to his feet with a smile on his face. "Ah, I believe that's them now. Thanks for helping me pass the time, we'll have to continue this again later. I'm going to need that jack of hearts in your left coat pocket back after all."
The man addressed became dumbfounded as he pulled out that very card, missing the triumphet of the speaker who got up to approach. They looked to the elder of the group initially, but his gaze drifted over the others as he spoke.
"Lord Tristan, am I right? Apologies if I can't remember your ful title, I'm still fresh off the docks. Mr. Van Helsing told me all about you when he was assigning me, and it's a great honor to meet you all in person. My name's Ehrich Weiss, but I'd prefer you can call me by my stage name if you will. Harry Houdini, at your service."
He held out his hand to Tristan by way of greeting with a wide smile, as if he were a child meeting his hero for the first time.
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"Pleased to, uh... make your acquaintance? Don't see too many people from across the pond here. You said Harry's your stage name? What are you, an actor or somethin'?"
Tristan takes the newcomer and his strange greeting in stride, gladly shaking his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Master Houdini. I've no trouble at all calling you as you wish. Am I to understand, then, you'll be joining our little entourage here?"
With the situation with Mr. Swineburne defused, Carl is more than happy to be back at the Lodge where they can take a break. "Indeed. It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Weiss. Or Mr. Houdini if you'd prefer. I am Dr. Carl Jung, but all of my friends just call me Carl." He offers a hand to their new ally.
"Andrej Bulavin, at your service." The Russian bows slightly, then extends his hand.
The weeks following the Strand case keep the Rippers busy with the mundane. However, while following their own prerogatives adventure sometimes ensues.
Harry: Ten of Clubs
Carl: Two of Spades
Andrej: Seven of Diamonds
Rasheed: Two of Clubs
Victoria: King of Spades
Tristan: Black Joker
something personal—like a lost loved one. Narrate how and where you found this treasure and any hazards that had to be negotiated to obtain it. Work in a role for all the player characters in your tale. The gift should be something of significant worth, but not a game breaker
The young man winks in Victoria's direction, "Something of that nature. I play the plot of a master of wonder and the fantastic, showcasing the fluidity of human perception with grand performances sure to excite and galore..." He breaks off to cough into a closed fist.
"Well, at least that's what I hope. I'm a stage magician, though my first few performances have been a little... lacking. Maybe one day. But for now, yes! I am here to offer aid wherever I can in the coming months."
Harry happily shakes hands with Carl and Andrej as well, responding politely to their greetings in turn. "I can't wait to begin.
'And now I present... the great Houdini!'
Harry sighed wistfully, leaning back into a lounge-chair as he listened to the gentle patter of rainfall against his bedroom window. He'd never anticipated just how much rainfall this country experienced on a weekly basis. In his head he had always imagined grand stone fortresses, long rolling hills covered in ancient dark forests, and countless mysteries untold.
While this country surely had a plethora of those available somewhere unseen by his eyes, he still doubted that they could ever quite match what he saw that night.
It was supposed to be a relatively simple trick, trick his audience into think he'd vanished from within that little wooden box. Hide inside the trap door, then slip out under a cover of smoke and emerge from within the cloud itself. Something that was likely far too advanced for a man fresh to the stage, but he was ambitious and confident if nothing else.
He never did manage to reappear in time.
'Amazing! But where could he have vanished to lady's and gentlemen? Could he perhaps be among us right now?'
Those words had slowly faded from perception as he struggled against the door of his contraption, having found it jammed from poor craftsmanship. There was very little time for him to break loose and abscond from the stage, as the smoke wouldn't last long. Panic had quickly started to well up within his chest as he was even starting to fear for his own life.
He didn't notice how the sound outside his prison had changed entirely against his hope when a crack ripped across the door against his fist. But as he continued his assault, bloodying his hand as the wood splintered and chipped, even his adrenaline fueled escape was halted by the odd glow that shone through.
That delay was only ever brief, providing just enough time to rear his hand back for one final blow. The door had completely shattered, it's innumerable chips and chunks being sucked away and a mesmerizing spiral.
Cra-KOOOOmmm....
The flash of light outside his window brought him back to reality, where only now he could feel the wetness snaking down his cheeks. With a shuddering breath he wiped his tears away on his sleeve, trying his best to forget that secret world he was never meant to see. A world that could be described as.... magic itself. His mind wholly was incapable of providing any other reasonable descriptor.
He never knew just how he came back to the real world, but the crowd was long gone by that time, and his act was no doubt considered a failure on all accounts. But this didn't distress him anywhere near as much as it should've. Because when he left that world beyond the veil, he brought back a piece of it within himself.
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Carl was just putting the finishing touches on his new office when a messenger arrived at his door carrying a letter for the good doctor. Inside, he found a plea from a wealth, if a bit reclusive, noble by the name of Lord George Smyth out in the country south of London proper. His poor wife had been growing more morose and melancholic over the past months and had finally reached the point where the mental stress was beginning to affect her health. Having heard about Carl from a friend by the name of Jonathan, he offered a generous pay out if the doctor could help his wife free from her illness of the mind. Given their recent troubles with the Cabal, Carl elected not to travel alone. Rasheed had been a good man and they’d seemed to get along well when they were investigating the countess’s case. As such, he invited the Sikh along to act as his bodyguard and to have some decent conversation on the several hours long carriage ride.
During the ride the sikh seemed a tad too silent despite his talkative nature, as if his mind was on a travel of his own. It didn't take him long to finally open to the Doctor, but not before Rasheed was sure the tale he was about to tell would remain confidential. The sikh started with his youth, remembering for the first time in years his early years as a bandit in Kangra Valley. But memory is a whimsical mistress and Rasheed rambled for hours about the thrill of living as an outlaw, about the landscapes, about his former friends. When the sikh was about to tell Mister Jung the true nature of what troubled his mind, the driver informed them of their imminent arrival...
Carl found his faith well founded as Rasheed regaled him with fascinating tales from his homeland and his own dramatic history as an outlaw. He occasionally interjected his own stories of his youth, describing the rolling hills of Switzerland and the distant peaks of the Alps in the sunrise. He fell silent as his friend's mood turns darker, only to find their conversation interrupted by their arrival that the manor.
Nothing seemed amiss when they arrived. The estate was stately, though not overly large, and they were greeted at the door by a manservant. He informed them that the lady of the house had taken ill again and was currently bedridden while Lord Smyth was attending her. They were provided with a comfortable sitting room while they waited for the lord of be free, as well as offered lodging for as long as Carl was needed to improve the lady’s health. Night was falling by the time the lord finally emerged from the bedroom to greet the two gentlemen. He greeted them warmly, welcoming them with a bit of a clammy handshake and a small smile, and told Carl a brief overview of his wife’s depression and failing health. Carl insisted on meeting her before turning in for the night while Rasheed remained to speak with the lord.
The sikh- much like he always did- tried to alleviate the man's grief with good memories, trying to get the Lord to speak about his estate and youth... but Lord Smyth seemed off, nervous to say the least, impatient to put things clear.
To void any potential impropriety, the lord offered his manservant as an escort while Carl spoke with his wife, which the doctor heartily agreed to. In the bedroom, Dr. Jung was shocked to discover the lady cold as death and sprawled across the bed like she’d just been taken quite passionately. Before he could understand what was happening, the manservant attempted to club him from behind! He narrowly avoided having his head smashed in to find that out of the light of day, the manservant showed his true colors as one of the Cabal’s brutish Henchmen. And just to make matters worse, the lady rose slowly, revealing fangs and blood red-eyes of a Concubine, eager for a taste of blood. Carl did the smart thing and blasted the room with the biggest mental shock wave he could, sending them reeling and leaving both monsters staggered and helpless. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, the doctor fled downstairs to warn his friend.
His warning came a bit late, as he found Rasheed already entangled in a brutal melee with the lord, revealed to be a Young Vampire. He had been using his position to lure in servants to feed himself and his recently turned wife, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to lure in a few Rippers and earn respect in the Cabal for taking out a few of their enemies. However, the lord hadn’t counted on Rasheed’s holy powers, and the priest’s blessed weapons carved into his immortal flesh like butter, leaving him wounded and staggering. The lady and their henchman arrived just in time to see Rasheed take the lord’s head clean off his shoulders. Enraged at the loss of their master, the two attempted to reap bloody vengeance on the pair, leading to another bloody scuffle. Carl’s mental abilities were able to crush the henchman’s mind, leaving him barely able to fight, while Rasheed’s holy blades held the Concubine at bay. The tables finally turned when Carl managed to use the leg of a chair broken in the struggle to pierce the woman’s heart, freeing her from her curse and allowing Rasheed to focus his significant marshal prowess on ending the henchman’s life.
The Ripper duo had won, but the aftermath of the battle saw them tired. There was work to do, Carl reminded the sikh, but Rasheed felt the weight of the years on his shoulders. The sikh sat there and with tears coming to his eyes he begged the Doctor to sit with him and let him finish his story.
Rasheed dropped the embellishing and happy details. He spoke of the friends he had to bury, of bloody vengeance and mindless fighting. He finally spoke the whole truth to another man, the truth he had been hiding for almost thirty years: how he was crippled, desperate and dying and a Djinni came to his aid... how he sold his soul because he was too afraid to die.
The sikh explained how he later betrayed his part of the deal and almost paid with his life, only to be saved by the holy warriors of Kangra Valley that took him in and made him the warrior priest that now he was. Rasheed stopped the story there, having regained some of his self control, with the promise to finish the story once the Doctor and him were safe at the Lodge.
When the battle ended, Carl found himself left slumped in a rickety chair, blood staining his good suit and three freshly dead bodies around him that looked all too human. He felt bile in his throat before the sihk's broken voice snapped him out of his stupor and he forced his composure to return for the sake of his friend. By the time the sihk's tale came to a close, Carl found himself with far too many questions and no time to ask them. They still had the bodies to deal with after all.
Thankfully, the lord had not been nearly as discreet as he thought he had been, and his attempt to kill ‘the kind doctor and the traveling priest’ quickly swung in the pair’s favor when several fresh graves were discovered in the back garden and several locals found the courage to reveal that their relatives had gone missing after accepting a job offer from the lord.
The Rippers, now recovered from their personal exploits, are staying in the London Lodge and things are quiet. On this particular day, a letter arrives from one Charles Algernon Swinburne.
Most esteemed acquaintances,
There are troubling photos that will be published in the Strand Magazine this coming week. No doubt they are fake, but perhaps they would be of interest to you. Enclosed is my copy of the early printing of the Magazine.
Sincerely,
AR
Inside the magazine are several photos showing strange things These photos show two girls playing with some sort of invisible being, supposedly evidenced by levitating flowers, rocks, and similar objects. There are also photographs of stunted, ugly, gnome-like people living in an underground village as well as photographic "evidence" of Fairies and Fairy circles.
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Victoria led Tristan through the streets of downtown London, her hands folded across her chest. She frowned at Tristan's awe at how the poorer people live, and quite purposefully avoided the area of the city where she had grown up herself. When pressed she said nothing other than that he was likely to be robbed--and more importantly, starting a fight would draw attention they didn't want--but the bite in her voice was an easy clue that something was left unsaid. She instead led him toward the Thames through a shopping district, leading him into places like butcher shops or cobblers or other such trades he'd likely never seen done personally. She watched with a smirk as the old gentleman spoke with the butcher about a cut of meat, and let him have some fun conversing with the locals and finding himself a bit of a lunch from one of the many stands and shops. Once he was done, she led him to the docks.
Tristan was by now enjoying himself immensely. He'd seen butchers' and other tradesmen's stores in the past, but hadn't often had opportunity to linger long inside or speak with the men. Now, he could have long conversation, and while he had no doubts as to the countless faux pas he was making, it was a good time nonetheless. Down at the docks he fed some meats to Ajax while speaking with some of the local workers, asking them about their jobs and lives. They were obviously hesitant at first, then more amused than anything, but slowly he began to win them over--particularly when some of their children, coming to bring them food, laughed and started petting Ajax, who took it in stride.
While Tristan spoke with the dock workers, she instead sat back and took a bite of an apple she'd swiped from a stand earlier in the day. She watched idly as a group of workers unloaded crates into a warehouse of sorts, barely paying attention until she noticed something peculiar; the men inside the warehouse were quite careful not to let the sunlight touch them, and when one did the crate he was holding crashed to the ground as he recoiled in pain. Narrowing her eyes, she slipped away from Tristan to investigate, finding another way into the warehouse through a cracked window. She cursed as she watched from behind a stack of boxes as all manner of monsters worked in the privacy of the warehouse, unloading supplies for some diabolical plan. She felt her heart racing as she reached to unsheathe her Ripper claw, but stopped when she looked to the back of the building. Trapped were a group of who could only be Rippers, their weapons lined against the back wall as they were tortured by a demon. Victoria scowled and kept herself behind the boxes, looking for a way to get to them.
As Victoria was looking in at the warehouse, Tristan finished up a particularly long and raunchy joke, which set the men to roaring laughter and the children to confused looks and scattered chuckling. The old gentleman laughed along with them, and leaned forward as another man started a joke of his own--something simpler and shorter, but equally entertaining. Just as he finished the punchline, however, Ajax stood up and turned his head, ears peaked up and hackles raised. Tristan followed the hound's gaze to a warehouse; the wind had shifted, and a curious, stale smell was now blowing from it. Tristan thanked the dockhands for their time and quickly made his way over toward the building, keeping Ajax to heel for the time being. The Ripper-trained hound was displaying quite clearly his reaction to scenting a supernatural threat, and Tristan was glad he'd brought his mixed-metal sword cane, prepared to deal with different types of foes. Discretion being the better part of valor, he made his way to find a side entrance, and soon clambered through the same broken window Victoria had found, coming up behind the woman to view the situation and hatch a plan.
Victoria suppressed a yelp of surprise when Tristan nearly appeared beside her, cane at the ready. She spoke in hushed whispers of the Rippers beind held and hatched a plan to release them. When Tristan caused a ruckus as a distraction she snuck to the captured Rippers and undid their bonds, before unsheathing her claws and scattering back behind the crates. When the other Rippers launched their surprise attack Victoria joined them, hacking into the monsters with an animalistic fervor. When the demon cornered one of the Rippers and threatened a killing blow, she leapt onto the monster's back and thrust one long claw through the membrane of its wings, before jamming the other into its back and rearing away to give the Ripper time to escape. She was flung from its back near Tristan, who just having put down a monster himself, turned to face it alongside her.
Side by side, Tristan and Victoria faced the horrific creature, and Tristan stepped forward to draw its attention while Victoria rose to her feet. His sword cane lashed out, the cold iron blade drawing hellish blood from the demon, but it roared and came on at speed. Tristan fell back, scrambling on the floor, and at that moment Ajax burst through another window, all snarls and snapping jaws. A quick shot from Tristan's revolver did no real damage to the demon, but distracted it long enough for Ajax and Victoria to strike and fall back, keeping the creature wheeling and roaring, unsure of who to attack first. It chose in the end to go for the weakest link, the old man, and Tristan was knocked to the floor, his head colliding with a crate. Dazed, he looked up as the creature drove on him, but then another hand picked up his sword and rammed it forward, driving the blade through the demon's throat. Looking to the side, Tristan blinked and saw one of the dock workers with whom he'd joked, whose young daughter had been the first to shyly pet Ajax.
When the dust settled, Victoria and Tristan helped the Rippers gather what supplies had been found and salvage what they could from the dead Cabal members in terms of Rippertech and other such goods. For the favor of saving their lives, one member of their team offered to implant some of the Rippertech they'd scavenged or help attune any of the magical artifacts found in their shipment to either of them, and Victoria accepted the monstrous grafts.
Tristan, meanwhile, spoke with the dockhand who'd saved him, thanking him for his assistance. The man, who introduced himself as Will Thatcher, was one of the more experienced dock workers, and had served in the navy for several years as a younger man. He mentioned he'd heard of strange things happening on the docks, and had been curious as to the strange warehouse and its odd, secretive workers, but he'd never guessed it might hold supernatural secrets. Thatcher didn't volunteer to join the Rippers, nor would Tristan ask him to do so--he had a family and needed to care for them first--but the man offered his assistance should Tristan need it in the future.
On the 26th, Tristan opens the letter and examines the photographs. "Well, I say, these are rather... intriguing." He looks them over and passes them to the others. "Shall we pay Master Swinburne or the Strand a visit and investigate the origins of these images?"
So... Victoria not only doesn't lose any Reason, but also REGAINS her last missing point from our encounter with the Countess. Also, I don't know if you'd want to mess with this at all, but technically speaking both of those implants have enough material left over for someone else to receive an implant as well, although given the circumstances I understand if you want to ignore that part of the result.
Also, do we gain any extra XP for our interlude as well, or just our "treasures"?
"Those are right strange, that's for sure." Victoria takes a look at them herself, flicking through them with a raised eyebrow. "I'd rather head to the Strand, but if you want to speak with Swineburne I think I'll simply excuse myself from that; somehow I doubt he's forgotten about our last encounter."
Harry frowns as he looks through the magazine, searching for more details on the photos. "Are we certain they are genuine? There's a diverse array of fantastic phenomena to be sure, but never doubt the attention grabbing nature of humanity."
"No, could easily be faked. Who knows? Still, it's not like we can ignore it on that chance. We've got to look into this in some fashion."
"Heiliger strohsack," Carl says, examining the photos. "That's certainly a sight. Yes, I think that we should at least look into this. If they are fakes, then it shouldn't be hard to figure out. If they're not, then this is just the sort of thing that we need to look into."
So, which way do my Rippers go?
Tristan taps his cane on the floor, and Ajax leaps to his feet, tongue lolling. "To the Strand, then!"
He nods, setting the magazine aside. "Yes sir, Mr. Tristan."
"Indeed. Let's find out where this came from."
The Rippers travel en masse to the office of the Strand Magazine on Burleigh Street near the Thames. The editor, Herbert Smith, sighs once more as he has to deal with "these same ruffians".
Did some author pique your interest again Lord Colburne?
"Actually, this time I've become intrigued by some pictures. My friend the author informed me of their presence, believing--rightfully so, I might add--that I would be interested in learning more." He presents the copy of the magazine and opens it to the page with the strange photographs. "Might I inquire as to the origins of these images? They are quite fascinating. I should love to know what craftsman has the skill to put together these fancies."
Mr. Smith sighs once again, heavily Of course you did. Elizabeth and Emily Cottingley of Bradford in West Yorkshire. That's the one's who took the photographs. you get the sense that he's become resigned to Tristan's barging into his offices with strange questions.
"The Rippers don't usually deal with fey," Carl says thoughtfully as they're heading over to the Strand. "It certainly seems to match what most stories say about the fair folk, but I can't really say how much of that is accurate until we get there to take a look." He absently checks his bag to make sure he has some coin on hand. "Well, shall we get a train then? I believe sooner rather than later is usually better in our line of work."
"Sounds good to me, let's catch us a train."
The Rippers board the first train heading for Yorkshire. The entire day Saturday Aug 27 is taken on the train. Hotel lodgings are procured (total cost £.25/day for lodgings and meals) and the current day is now Sunday Aug 28 1892.
"Shall we find somewhere to stay and then pay the photographers a visit?" She looks over at Tristan, hauling her own luggage off the train car at the station. "Or rather, shall you find us a place to stay and we'll tag along? You're the one with the money, after all. Either way, I need somewhere to put this down. All this gear is heavy."
"Visiting the photographers first sounds like a good idea once we've arranged hotel rooms. We'll need somewhere to set up for a few days while we're here."
Tristan leads the way to the hotel first, to secure room and board for the group during the investigation. He pays his way as simply as he can, wanting to get into the thick of their trip as soon as possible.
"I should think the photographers are our first priority now, yes," he comments, once the rooms are paid for. "The quicker we find out what's going on... well, if we learn it's all a sham, we're back to London with no delay. If not, we'll have all the more time to look more deeply into things, what."
He follows along a short few steps as Tristan leads them to their hotel, "I'm actually interested in taking a look around later if we have time, It's been awhile since I've been away from a city. First New York, then London... But you're right sir, our duties come first."
Alright, your things safely ensconced at a remarkably clean and well kept hotel in Bradford, what's next?
Are you guys waiting on me?
"Let's see if we can't find some trace of these photographers, shall we?" Heading out around town, Victoria does what she can to figure out the addresses of whomever took the photos.
Victoria heads to a few local places and asks around. It seems the girls are something of local celebrities. Victoria quickly gets an address in the outskirts of Bradford.
Victoria approaches the others after looking out around the town to try and locate the address. "Looks like our photographers live on the outskirts of town, I've got an address for them. They're pretty popular around here, we might want to tread carefully, especially until we figure out what's going on."
"Quite right. We should certainly work with care, and avoid causing any sort of scene if we can help it." The others may glance at Victoria, remembering the affair with Swinburne, but Tristan doesn't so much as blink--he just bends down to scratch Ajax's ears. "Particularly if they are indeed local celebrities, let alone young women."