Search Posts
"Right, my mistake, I be a little untrusting of new people," Jack says over his shoulder. "Now, out of the alley and the fog." The big Scot whispers. The big man was trying to herd the other two out of the alleyway. Seiing as one of them was his charge, and the other an open wallet, Jack didn't want to see them slain. 'Or meself, for that matter he thinks.' The big Scot continued walking backwards out of the alley, keeping his eyes on the unnatural fog.
"And whichever one of ye be singing like a child, stop that. It be silly," Jack whispers at the Lord and the Scholar. With a glance at the two, he realizes that neither of them had been singing the twisted little ditty. "Perhaps we should be getting out of the alley. Like, right now," the big Scot looks back at the fog, taking a step backwards towards the street.
"For starters, I be making my plans on what little information that ye two have shared, which has been about nonexistant. Ye still never told me what ya be finding in the journal, nor have either of ye told me what a golem be," Jack whispers. "So, I be making plans for us to find this doctor. The only thing I be knowing about this doctor is that he cuts up dead people and has something "Desmondy" for a helper." "Since ye just be wanting him found, then there be no point in us lurking in the alley. To the front door then," the big Scot says with a faint grin as he begins walking out od the alleyway and to the front gate.
Tearing his gaze from the sharped spikes on the top of the wall, Jack looks at the fog rolling in. Barely even at knee level to a toddler, the sight of it still set the big man on edge. Perhaps he was still on edge from the realization about Desmond, but he could have sworn that the alley itself was watching them. Sniffing at the air slightly, attempting to get a better guess to the storms arrival, Jack looks over at the other two and nods. "Alright mates, here's the skinny," Jack leans in and whispers to the Lord and Scholar. "I gonna check the servants door. If it be unlocked then "hurrah," we slip in that way. If it be locked, then there's the jumping over the wall option," he points at the ladder leaning against the neighboring building. "Those spikes on the top look to be having spikes coming out of the whole bloody thing, so just climbing over them is not a good idea. Unless ye like to be bleeding," he adds with a grin and a shrug of his big shoulders. "So, if the door do be locked, only one of us needs to jump over and unlock it." The big Scot looks at the Brother and then the young Lord with a critical eye. "And I be having the feeling that the someone jumping over is gonna be me," a half grin slides across his face. It was an excellent night for breaking and entering, the very night seemed to eat up his whispering. He pauses for a second, glancing at the one story building that is nearby the manor's wall. "If this be Whitechapel, I'd worry about my weight sending me though the poor sod's roof." Jack was intentionally keeping this light for the other two. He had the feeling that they were strangers to criminal activities that he had grown up on. 'Probably a good thing,' Jack thinks, glancing around the ally once more. He didn't need them thinking about what might happen to them if they were caught. 'Well, perhaps not his lordship, I be certain his family would throw enough money to make that problem disappear.' The big Scot thinks to himself with a small smile. He turns his attention back to Synxol and Assisi. "Any questions? This should be fairly straight forward, since we just be looking for something that be leading us to this doctor. 'Course, there be that big bloke that might be in the manor," Jack whispers. Thinking for a few seconds he continues. "How be the two of ye armed? Anything that doesn't be making a lot o' noise be ideal. I be thinking firearms be drawing the attention of the bobbies, this not be Whitechapel after all," a roguish grin dances across his whiskered face.
Scanning his surroundings, Jack looks for a nearby alley way. He plans to loop around the manor, give it a proper look before attempting to force his entry. "This way gents," the lord had seemed to have the same plan. (Hopefully) Spotting a likely alley way, he leads the two down the dark path. "Alright," Jack whispers to the other men. "We gonna scout out the house first. Then we'll try for a servents entrance to the house. Just be keeping quite, and we be good."
"Well, shite. So much for the hope that we all be having the same type of madness," Jack rubs his face with a hand. "Well, he be keeping to his deals, so I have no desire to cross him." He pauses, thinking for a few moments, before a shudder runs up his spine. "Damn, I think I be more comfortable thinking that he just be a crazy sewer dweller, rather than a bloody monster. Only in bloody Whitechapal do the monsters be real." Jack was doing his very best to not think about the daymare he had being have with increasing frequency. He had enough going on, besides, rarely had he "seen" anything particularly odd. And certainly nothing like the boggle, Desmond. If that even be it's actual name. Looking back at the others, Jack glances at the young Lord. "Oie, don't be getting yurself to far gone. We still have a manor that be one o' that loony doctor's hiding spot to break into," the big Scot reminds the lord. An almost sinister grin slides across Jack's face. "If we be finishing up with the manor in a timely fashion, we be celebrating then. Maggie's be a great place, I be betting she be having something just right for the occasion." Jack says with a rumbling chuckle.
Silence had fallen within the carriage, the three men wandering around, lost within their own thoughts. Until the young lord had produced a flask and started emptying the contents that the silence was interrupted. Jack was about to ask for a shot of fortification himself when Synxol begins speaking (more to his flask then the others). "That's what you saw?! Bloody hell," Jack shakes his head staring at the lordling. "I thought I was just experiencing another daymare. But if you saw it as well..." The big man shakes his head. "Unless we happen to be sharing madness and be seeing the exact same thing. "Alright Brother, confession time, what did you see? Either two of us are mad, or there really be a monster in the sewers," Jack shakes his head. "and I not be particularly comforted by the thought that we not be mad and that there is actually the boogyman, er thing, living in the muck."
After telling the driver to head towards the manor house, and to alert him when they were a few houses away, Jack gets into the carriage. Pulling the vial of green liquid out of his vest pocket, Jack stares at it for several long moments as the carriage begins to move. The big Scot was thinking very hard about the waking dreams he continued to experience. Now that he really thought about it, they seemed to be occurring more frequently. The daymere of the monster creature that Desmond had appeared as at first, looked real. Very, very real. The sight of muck dripped off of it's scaled and clawed form was, rather unfortunately, well detailed in his Mind's Eye. Prime candidate for nightmare fuel. 'As if I dinna have enough trouble sleeping,' the big Scot thinks, rubbing his temples with the thumb and middle finger of his right hand while he the other slips the vial back in his vest pocket. Brother Assisi speaking pulls Jack out of the well of his own thoughts. When the Brother finishes speaking Jack let's out a short bark of laughter. "I'll be making sure ya get back to Maggie's so ye can get a bit of food in ya. It's much better when eaten hot," Jack says with a chuckle, remembering the Brother's face when he took a bite of the cold noodles. The big Scot falls silent for a few minutes, his mind churning as he flips through previous events. "So, odd question for ye gents. That be the first time I be seeing our local sewer dweller in the flesh. Seemed a bit small, given his presence. What be you lads thinking?" Jack looks at the brother and lord setting across from him. His long fingers tapping the black ball at the end of his metal walking stick.
"Well, there be another year off me life," Jack mutters to himself with a slight shake of his head. With a snort, he hacks out a gob of bloody phlegm and sends out in the darkness of a nearby alley. "Welcome to the real Whitechapel gents." Jack flashes a grin at the Lord and the Brother. The grin lights up the big Scot's face, at least until it reaches his eyes. Which have about as much mirth in them as icy chips of flint. The big Scot moves over to the wagon, standing near the door, acting as a valet, waiting for the other two to get in. "I figured out the one touched by God, perhaps on our trip to the manor at Oxford and Bond, someone could explain to me what in the hell "touched by an other worldly being" means," Jack looks at the young lord. "What, did the devil himself reach up and pinch your rump?"
Headache throbbing behind both eyes from the daymare he had just experienced, Jack slaps a roguish grin across his face as he looks at "Desmond." In his waking dream, for just a moment, the muck covered man was a giant crocodile-man thing with claws as long as his forearm. 'Bloody wonderful, I'm loosing me mind,' the big Scot thinks to himself. With a mental shake, Jack gets back to the matter at hand. "Ah, ye be a bloody pirate! I've seen buckets smaller then what you use for a fist," Jack laughs. "Don't be getting your knickers twisted, I be keeping my deals, I be having your shinies for ye in four days time." He thinks for a few moments. "Perhaps, sooner, but no later than four days." "Alright ye two read the doctor notebook, be telling Desmond what he needs to be looking for," Jack had taken a few slow steps back before turning around. He really wanted make sure he had room to maneuver, before offering up his back. He was reasonably certain that the sewer dweller wouldn't attack, which was another reason he had backed up first. He didn't want to offer up the temptation. 'Bloody cannibals, only in bloody Whitechapel,' Jack thinks as he gets the crate. He had taken it off the carriage when they had first arrived. With a slight grunt of effort, Jack picks up the crate filled with it cargo of dead pig, and assortment of organs. Keeping his eyes on Desmond, Jack sets down the crate just outside of arms reach.
Unable to fully suppress the shudder that danced down his spine, Jack was suddenly distracted from the sight of the monster by the flaring of his headache. Wincing, he wipes the spot of blood from his nose. "Ye never did mention what type of shines ye be preferring," Jack tries to keep the conversation light. He really did not want to be around when the big Beastie deciced it was dinner time.
"Coming up? Of course luv," Jacks voice might be calm, but his eyes certainly weren't. The grey orbs darted around, taking in his surroundings , not to mention where the others were standing in case they had to run for there lives. "Let's step back a little to be given our friend a bit of space," he mentions, taking a few steps back from the hole. He wanted to be out side of arm/claw reach when it hit the ground level. "Something I be pretty sure that not be human," Jack whispers back to Assisi as he moves back.
"A fine hello to you to luv," Jack's rich baritone echoes down the ladder. The big Scot had force his fear down. He really didn't want to be anywhere near here. "Only one tormentor of the innocent? Ya must be ill, I took care of two last week." Jack grins down into the inky blackness. "I did bring ya a wee snack in exchange for a small favor, if ye be up for it," Jack taps the crate with the pig with his metal walking stick. "I be needing to know if any weird people be looking for an old hiding spot in the underneath. It be under Whitechapel, a big bloke, almost a giant, and a skinny fellow. I think they not be people, so have a care, luv." "Be yee up for our usual deal?" The big Scot asks, trying to not break out in a cold sweat. Keeping his fear in check a monsterous task in it's own right, let alone trying to have a conversation with... It.
"That be a bit unsettling to hear," the big Scot mutters. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised, Whitechapel never has been a nice place." "Alright, that tells me what I where I need to have eyes," Jack nods to the other two. "A quick stop at the butcher's and then we be on our way."
"Ahh, now that be making much more sense. Where in the sewers be I need to have eyes?" Jack asks. "I hope ye have a clue, London be a big girl, and her underbelly be just as big." The big Scot opens the carriage door and slips out. Glancing over Seanie's direction, Jack whistles three times. Moving away from the carriage, he waits for the three Red Caps to close in. "Alright lads, just a quick errand," Jack says. Reaching into his vest, Jack pulls a few more folded up notes and slips them to Seanie. "Get to the Butcher's, buy a full pig, and whatever leftover guts and brains that be available, and have it wrapped up. I be having to speak with the Sewer Beastie, so no dallying. Oh, and the leftover change be for you three lads." Jack spoke to them quietly, grinning to cover his thoughts on speaking to the local sewer denizen. "Alright, I be there shortly, so get moving." After giving the directions to the carriage driver so that he can get to the butcher's shop (the scenic route, to give the Red Caps a few more minutes), Jack hops back in. "Alright, a quick stop at the butchers, then we have a little journey closer to the Tower than I be liking, but it's the safest spot for us to met our local sewer haunter."
"Send the lads into the sewers? Why? They already found out where the bloke be hiding out. Great big bloody house on the corner of Oxford and Bond," Jack thinks for a few seconds. "I do be having a contact of sorts that be living in the sewer. It be knowing the goings on of the the under side of Whitchapel." The big Scot frowns slightly. "It won't be dealing with any of the lads, since it thinks they be edible. So that means I be having to talk to it." Jack's frown deepens. "I be having to stop by a butcher's shop and buy a bunch of meat. I'll add that to the expenses list." "So, the big bloke be a golem? And that is what exactly? Someone brought back to life, somehow. How be that pulled off? Gears? Be it like a big meat puppet that has gears? Or is it more of that magic stuff?" the big Scot asks, obviously not really believing the dead being brought back to life. Jack looks over at the Lord. "What be in Cambridge?" Jack drops his voice so that it doesn't carry. "I figured we would go and be taking a peek inside this locked up house. Do a little "forceful entry and investigation," when we get there. From what Seanie be saying, it be left alone. So, it be an easy thing to be breaking into the side of the house that not be under watch from the random pedestrian.
"Yeah, Oxford and Bond Street," Jack says, still leaning back in his chair. "Employer? Nah, I be the leader of the Red Caps," the big Scot chuckles. "I hate to say it Brother, but you've fallen in with the criminal element of Whitechapel." Jack's grey eyes move around, casually watching the other patrons. "Considering neither of ye be telling what you discovered in the diary of a madman, na, I dinna believe a word of it," the big man shrugs. "But, with what Walker be paying me, and the payment from our mutual friend," he looks at the young lord, than back to the Brother, "I dinna care about the truth as long as the money be good. After all, I be hired to keep your hide intact, and find the missing madman. Anything else, be costing extra." The big man stands up and finishes the last of his first dark beer. Picking the small vial filled with a disturbing green liquid that Maggie had given him, Jack looks at the concoction with a degree of distrust. He had slipped out of the jacket pocket where Maggie had placed while he ate, glancing at it occasionally. Sighing, he puts it in his upper vest pocket.
"Na, I haven't heard from any of me lads yet. You two find anything interesting in madman's notebook?" he asks, gesturing towards the book with his chopsticks. He had just put the finishing touches on his second round of noodles when the two had finished up with the book. Jack was glad that there were other patrons for him to watch. Watching and listening to the two properly educated men translate the book was boring, to say the least. Not to mention the few times he had glanced over and seen some of the sketches of cut open dead people, he was rather glad that he wasn't involved with the translation. At the sight of the in door almost been knocked in, and then carefully closed, Jack can't help but grin. Maggie's glare had that effect on everybody. Still, Seanie looked so excited that he might burst, which had to mean good news, not even Maggie's stern gaze could stop him from running over to Jack. The big Scot nods after hearing the news, patting Seanie on the shoulder. The lad's face was hard to see under the his red cap, the bill being a bit longer than most other caps. His clothes helped him blend in with others, seeing as nothing (aside from the cap), really stands out on the youth. "Good man, and good work, I knew you lads would succeed," Jack grins, dropping his deep voice so that one would be hard pressed to hear him speaking further than the table. Reaching into his burgundy vest, he pulls out some of the notes he had separated. He had them folded up so that it was impossible to tell what he exactly what he handed to the Red Cap. "Head back to the Hole, and give that to Abby," Jack tells Seanie. "And tell her to restock the larder with food this time, no poisons, or I'm gonna be.., upset." Tipping his chair back on two legs, Jack thinks for a moment. "After you run finish up at the Hole, you five be having the rest of the night off, unless you have work in progress," the big Scot informs Seanie. "I be working, so I might not make it back. You lot don't hear from me in three days, tell Haversin where I be at last, and tell 'em "Payback for the big favor, assume the worst," that should get him motivated." Jack turns back to the other two and grins at the sound of Seanie's running out of the tavern, closing the door carefully behind him. "Hope your carriage driver didn't be wandering off after a piece o' tail, because I be knowing where we need to go," the big Scot says in a normal volume. "Shall we be off?"
Realizing that he had been gone a bit longer than he had planned, his runners's had been apparently been busy. He had given them each some pounds to help them to see if they could find the Doctor, or the big bloke that he followed the grave robber around. Rounding the corner to the tavern, Jack noticed a carriage, with the driver smoking a pipe. The sight was enough to give him some pause. 'I be thinking the lordling has arrived,' he thinks with a amused grin. Walking back into Maggie's, he was just in time to pick his noodles and chicken up as he walked past the bar. Assisi had found himself a table and someone he didn't immediately recognize. He blinked in surprise when he realizes that it was the young lord. Either the Lord was good at dressing down, or his butler was excellent at finding a disguise for the lord to wear. He was betting that it had the elf, but wasn't counting the lord out yet. Well, at least as long as he had notes to send Jack's way. "Ahh, Mr. Syn, so good of ya to be joining us," Jack says as he flops down in a chair that creaks under the big man's weight. He tucks in and devours his bowl of noodles and chicken, chopsticks clicking together occasionally. The Scot listens to the two learned men talk for a while. His eyes never stop moving for long as he keeps tabs on the coming and goings of the rest in the room.
Finishing the rest of his beer, Jack glances around the Oriental styled tavern common room. "Oh, the brother here was looking for some good food, and I told him this be the best place around," Jack says tipping the brim of a non existent hat to Maggie. "Oh, and there will be another meeting us here, he'll be waiting for us if we are out. Secondary employer," Jack says with a shrug of his shoulders, speaking in Mandarin. The Scot gives her the young Baelstrad's description, including the black eye. He doesn't mention that he was a Lord, that didn't really need to be known. "Go ahead and order Brother, Maggie knows that I be looking forward to some noodles and spicy fried chicken," Jack looks at Assisi and chuckles, switching back to his accented English. "I've got to get a message out, be right back." Jack heads out the door, closing it behind him with a deep belch. Looking around for one of his lads, easily spotted by the red bit of cloth tied around their head, or hat. Some of the lads took who had earned their Red Caps, would be useful, but he had them working a few different night time jobs. He just needed a few Runners, they happened by Maggie's frequently, so it should be a long wait. The big Scot sighs, silently cursing the fact that he had not brought his pipe with him.
Entering the odd tavern, Jack inhales the sweet, exotic scent rising up from the incense burners. It was a comfortable place, structured walls, ceiling and floor of English design. The rest, filled with the Oriental atmosphere (aside from the tables). At Maggie's heckling, Jack grins broadly, and shakes his head. How she knew that he had another headache was beyond him. She mentioned his Chi being out of sorts. He could never figure the "Chi" thing out. He had learned how to fight more effectively because of the Chinese, the inner balance part had always slipped through his fingers. He had heard stories about monk who could harness there "Chi" and leap higher, fight faster and stronger. 'Guess that means I'm not a monk,' he thinks, still grinning. "And have a city full of fair maidens cry themselves to sleep? That would just be cruel." Jack replies to the old woman, speaking in Mandarin Chinese. Quick as a flash, he leans across the bar and gives Maggie a peck on the cheek. Just as quickly he leans back, dodging the expected smack, or at least attempting, she was a sneaky old bat. Taking a pull off of a glass of an almost black beer, Jack sets the glass down and looks at the contents for a few moments. "I saw a man wearing strange clothes and a tophat. He welded a long razor, and had slain..., a number of people I'm protecting. They were still calling out to be saved. He greets me by name, and I have the oddest feeling that I know him from somewhere, but I just can't place him," Jack retells what he had seen, slipping back into his accented English. His eyes are dull and tired. Shaking his head, Jack takes another pull from his frosty beer. "One of the more vivid daymare I be having, left me with a bit of a bleeder." The Scot taps his hawklike nose. "Maggie, this be my newest friend, Brother Assisi," Jack suddenly changes the subject, turning to the dark skinned Brother. "He come all the way from Rome to say hello to a few people," Jack introduces the two. "Assisi, this be Maggie. She be a good friend to me and those I protect."
"I bloody well hope so," Jack chuckles. "Outside of London, I'm pretty much good for hitting stuff. I don't really have any contacts outside of the old girl." "That, and I have responsibilities that make a wee bit difficult to leave," he adds with a slight grin.
*Later, back in the carriage* "Sorry, I meant from walking from the port to the outskirts of Whitechapel where I met ya," the big man clarifies his question. "I thought I overheard you and the bobbie mentioning walking from the docks." Jack rubs his temples with the thumb and first two fingers of his left hand, eyes half closed. A few moments later he speaks once more, looking a bit tired. "Once we get into Whitechapel, we'll be losing the carriage. We be able to move faster through the alleyways. Plus, this beast stands out like a sore thumb where we be going, looks too nice and be drawing the wrong kinda attention." Jack glances out the window of the rather nice carriage. "Me lads will be doing the initial searching to gather leads for us, they'll be needing the doctor's description, so it be good for us that ye be here," Jack grins at the Brother. "I dinna think I looked at the sketch nearly as long as you or the lord did." Having given the carriage driver the directions to get them a few blocks into Whitechapel. "I be having a quick stop to make on the way to getting us some good food. I need to grab a tonic from an old witch I know," the big Scot chuckles. "Alright, she's not really a witch. More of a Chinese fortune teller or star reader. Not to mention a healer to the common folk. She has a shop on the outer edges of Whitechapel. Shouldn't take but a handful of minutes." "Oh, and I be needing the address of the apartment you where given so I can set up some guards to watch it."
Before they had left, Jack had let Jensen know where to have the young Baelstrad met them if no one was at the provided apartment. He gave the directions and the description of Maggie's tavern. The tavern wasn't hidden per se, but it was certainly a spot that only locals to Whitechapel would know about. And many of them would be hard pressed to tell you exactly where it is. He did leave the butler with something close to a warning. If the young Lord was going himself, he should be sure to tell Maggie that he was waiting for "the Scot." Otherwise, Jack mentioned that the lord would be on his own in the very wrong part of town. *Meanwhile, in the carriage* "Oh, it be about a month or so ago that I saw him and his big friend in Whitechapel. His big friend be carrying a crate that looked to weigh half a ton, if not more," the big Scot says. "As to his personality, he digs up the dead for mysterious reasons. He either be a crook, or a madman, and I be leaning towards madman," Jack muses out loud while looking out the carriage window. "I be much more curious as to the sudden interest in this so called doctor, and the parties that be looking for 'em. A lord from one of the more powerful families and the man from far away sent to translate." The big Scot turns to head to look at Assisi. He seems to be taking stock of the Brother. "Something reeks about this whole affair, and for once it not be London herself." Jack sighs and shakes his head. "Never should have taken this bloody job, I loath working for nobles." The big Scot watches the scenery for a few minutes in silence. "So, you dinna answer me questions, Assisi. You hungry after walking all the way from the port? If you are staying a while, ya might want to think about getting some grub in ya. Tea ain't gonna keep the chill off yer bones lad." He glances in the Brother's direction. "And ya might be thinking about some warmer clothes, unless ya be liking the cold and wet."
After putting the notes away with a grin, Jack nods to the young Baelstrad. "I think I might be knowing just the palms that need some of that grease," Jack says with a roguish grin. Of course, most of those palms were part of his gang, but the lord didn't need to know that. The Baelstrad's certainly didn't seem to be hurting in the bank area. "Alright Brother, let's get you to your lodgings," the Scot says as the two leave the Lord's home. He looks up and down the street, spying a few carriages. "OIE!!!" Jack's deep baritone voice cuts through the street noise as he yells once to get the carriage drivers attention. He looks back at Brother Assisi and winks. "Bloody Welsh, have to hit 'em over the head to get there bloody attention." The big Scot chuckles. "So, ya been in a big hurry to see your lodgings, or would ya rather eat a damn fine meal while my boyo's earn there keep and due some searching in Whitechapel?" Jack asks Assisi. "They be fine bloodhounds, have nary a fear."
Jack let's out a low whistle. "Five hundred pounds? That will do nicely," the big Scot says with a grin. "Very nice indeed." Jack's mind whirled as he quickly went over debts in his head. That amount, plus the rest of the money from Walker should be of immense help. "I remember seeing that doctor you mentioned. He was being followed by a bloke who made me look like a scrawny wastrel," Jack picks up his tea cup and looks at warm liquid. "Shouldn't be any worries for me to find him once I get back to Whitechapel." "I be ready to go as soon as I be paid the up front portion," Jack takes a sip of the tea. He salutes the elven butler with the cup. "A fine blend," the big man says speaking Gaelic, nodding to the elf.
Looking at the provided sketch, Jack leafs through his memory, seeing if anyone pops out as his grey eyes moves over the sketch. Roll:
"Hmm, looks a wee bit familiar, let me think," Jacks gaze narrows a bit. "I be positive that I seen him before. Be fairly recent at that." the big Scot says confidently. as he hands back the sketch. "Now, what in the bloody hell did he call himself," Jack taps his chin as he sorts through names and faces in his mind's eyes.
Jack chuckles when he hears Assisi mention secrecy and his childhood chums. The big Scot was leaning against the wall of the study, still holding his saucer and cup of tea in one had. Jack had hardly moved once he had taken up residence against the wall. His grey eyes keep moving, keeping taps on the room. He had caught the faint scent of gunpowder a bit earlier, keeping him a bit on edge. There was no denying that the red headed man looked a little out of place in the Lord's study. Even leaning against the wall the heavily muscled Jack stands at six feet and almost half of another foot (6'5"), and easily weighs over two hundred pounds (230lbs). His solidly built frame is wrapped in well made, not to mention well worn, attire. Jack kept his long bright red hair in a pony tail, running down the middle of his back. He wore a black longcoat, that hung to mid thigh, the inner lining looked to be a crushed red velvet. The coat looked like it might have been rather expensive, once upon a time. A pale shirt white was visible underneath the longcoat and burgundy vest. The silver glint of a pocket watch is visible when Jack moves and sets down his tea cup. He had left it untouched, a bit of a shame since it smelled very nice, but the scent of gunfire had him expecting the worst. Faded black pants kept the cold from attacking the big Scots long legs, and well worn, hob nailed black boots did the same against the wet. A lop sided smile finds it way across Jack's slightly whiskered face. "Because what ya be moving Brother is either illegal, or somebody wants as few to know about as possible," Jack chuckles, his deep baritone voice rumbling around the study, his Scottish accent very noticeable. An amused expression danced across the strong features of the big Scot. He taps a finger against the side of his nose as he thinks for a few moments. The tapping did draw some attention to the feature that lent him most of his hawkish features. "Of course, if me and mine be hired to keep ya and yer work in one piece, I be leaning more towards illegal, Brother," Jack says with an amused laugh. "Sorry yer worship," the big Scot grin at the sitting Lord. "I dinna properly introduce myself. Jack the Scot, at yer service," says the criminal. He doubted that his "exploits" had reached the protected walls of the Lord's home. Jack didn't think that the Lord was one to go slumming in Whitechapel, at least until he mentioned having an apartment in his home turf. Perhaps the young Lord had a few vices that he could blackmailed with, something worth looking into at a later date.
"Hmmm?" Jack looks over at Assisi. "Oh, aye, I be Scottish," letting the thick Scottish accent dance over his words, rendering them much more difficult to understand. He points at his thick red hair, kept a ponytail, that goes halfway down his back. "Aye, most of us gingers have the blood of the Scots roaring in our veins." Jack looks out a window for a few seconds, his face neutral. "I never been to the homeland myself, I be a streetrat of Whitechapal. Truth be told, I've never really given an thought to going to the "homeland." Some Scots be consumed by the beating that they got by the English," Jack shakes his head, snorting in amusement. "Sounds bloody ridiculous, but I've talked with those who still curse the Roman's for finding the Green Isle in the first place." Although a self confessed street urchin, and the look of a somewhat well dressed thug, Jack seemed decently educated. Nothing even remotely close to the Brother's level of education, but he certain wasn't a drooling cretin. "Now, the elf, he be a surprise, that's for certain," the big Scot rubs his whiskered chin as he looks at the door that manservant had closed behind them. "I never thought I be seeing one of the Fey folk. Let alone in the belly of the Empire." Jack chuckles, looking around the room once more. He pauses for a moment. "I guess a good be why is the elf working for a lord? Unless his Lord be an elf." Jack muses out loud. "Perhaps I shouldn't have taken Walker up on this job." The big Scot grins suddenly at Assisi. "Still, could be worse. I've waited in much worse places." "What kind of work did ya do in Rome? Teacher? Translator? Personal bedwarmer to the Matron of the house?" Jack grins roguishly at the Brother.
"Aye, Brother, there nothing serious like the Falling Sickness. Just a ache and a bit o' fatigue," the big Scot says a few moments before the door swings open. Jack looks at the elf whom answered the door, eye brows moving towards his hairline. He certainly hadn't expect to really see any elves in London. He'd heard about the Fey folk, almost everyone had. But they were about as rare as teeth from a hen. Realizing that he was being spoken to in Gaelic, Jack's brain shakes it's surprise of the elf. With mental curse at himself for being almost completely stunned by the sight of an elf, Jack notes to the man. "Have to keep the English on their toes somehow," Jack responds to the elf in Gaelic, a cheeky smirk lighting his face. "I'm sure the Brother here wouldn't complain about a spot of tea. He looks like he could use something to warm to drink," the big Scot says with chuckle, glancing at the scholarly Assisi. While they are waiting for the lord to make his appearance, Jack looks around the parlor. He was doing his best to speculate on how much money must be tied up in the house. He quickly gave up, knowing it was a great deal more money than he was going to see in his lifetime. Not that he was particularly bothered by that. He just needed enough to take the others. 'Which requires working with the lords,' Jack thinks a bit sourly to himself.
Still as a statue, Jack stood right where he had been after paying the cabbie. Paler than normal, the big Scot looks around, grey eyes boring into pedestrians, earning a few wary glances not to mention a few curses. Anger had filled the big man, dancing upon on the coattails of the daymare. A sense of fear touches at the back of mind, trailing the anger that had enveloped the big man. Jack touches two fingertips to his nostrils, not surprised to see the little spots of blood. The spots almost glared back at the Scot, as if offended to be kicked out of his body. Wiping the bit of blood off on his slacks, Jack growls and shakes his head. A distantly familiar pain flares into life. The headache began it's throbbing from what like felt was the exact center of his skull. It wasn't the first time he had headaches, but it was the first time he saw anything more than a flash of an unfamiliar face, or distant. Jack was not pleased, not in the least. "Back to the old crone for some medicine," the big Scot mutters, mostly to himself. He looks back at Brother Assisi, a grin finding it's way across his pale face. "Headaches," Jack says with a shrug. "Had 'em since I was a wee one." The Scot looks around once more. "Doesn't look like I was out of more than a few seconds." The big Scot's accent had thickened, and he sounds tired. With a snort, the big Scot hacks a ball of bloody phlegm into the street. "Well, here we be, address looks spot on, so no cursing the carriage driver, Brother." the big Scot sounds and sounds dead serious, until a crooked smile lights his face. Walking up to the door, he uses the ornate door knocker to give three mighty raps. Boom, Boom, Boom The mighty sound travels inward alerting anyone who might be asleep, or dead, that there was someone at the door.
"Oh, aye," Jack says with a grin. "Usually one or the other. It gets pretty miserable when both fall at the same time." He falls silent for a bit. "It's not bad right now, a little windy." "Makes sense, what ya said about knowledge hidden in a book. Probably some ancestor of this lord slept around with the servants and wrote about in his journal, and he wants to keep the information quiet. Or some old blackmail that could be used in some plot." the big Scot grins as he glances out the window. "One never knows with the Lords," he adds with a chuckle. "I'd rather deal with a pit vipers than the nobles, but life doesn't give us a choice."
"Pirates? That be sounding like it was an exciting day," Jack chuckles. He occasionally glances out the window, keeping track of their carriages journey to the address that the Brother was given. "Bit odd sending ya to translate whatever it is," Jack muses scratching at the slight beard growth upon his face. As bright as his hair, the short whiskers were about the only color on his pale skinned face. "Seems like it would make more sense sending the whatever to you, or another scholar to be translated. Still, no complaints from me, I'm getting paid after all." Silence fills the carriage for a short time while the big Scot looks out a window, mulling something over. "I still be powerfully curious to know why a scholar needs to be guarded, just for translating something," Jack's fingers tap a beat upon the head of his cane while he ponders. "Seems a bit irregular, even for my line of work." The big Scot looks over to Brother Assisi. "I don't suppose ya happen to know anything about this lord you are being sent to?" Jack ask as the carriages pulls them ever closer to the lords dwelling.
Jack glances at the gift from Haversin before putting the folded notes in a pocket. The big Scot nods his thanks to the bobbie. The man's aid would not go unrewarded, and Jack knew just how to pay the favor back. "When ya get back to working your normal graveyard hours, go see Maggie about some hot stew and cold beer," Jack says over his shoulder to Haversin. Maggie ran a good pub, you just had to know where it was located. The food was always just what a body needed, and beer almost a godsend. Looking at the scholar, Jack chuckles at his comment of safety. "Aye Brother, it does look safe. And depending on where your feet carry you, that safety can vanish in a heartbeat," Jack wears a good natured smile. Looking at the address, he tells the driver of the cab their destination. Holding the door open for Assisi, the big Scot glances around once more. The cab shifts and groans a bit once Jack gets in and settles in his seat. "Truth be told, you where most likely in a degree of trouble before I was hired," the Scot says with a shrug, his accent surprisingly understandable. "And if your dealing with Lords, then ya certainly be in trouble." Jack chuckles at the joke. "No fears, just do what we all do. Blame the English." The big Scot laughes heartly at that. After a few blokes go by, Jack looks at the dark skinned Brother Assisi. "We got a bit of travel time," the Scot informs the scholar. "What brings ya up to London?" Jack asks curiously.
"Banished to the world of daylight, 'tis a cruel fate," Jack shakes his head sadly, then grinning broadly at the bobbie. The big Scot flicks the match head with his thumb, bringing the fire that it carried to life. Offering Haversin a light, Jack nods, looking from Haversin and the scholar. "Aye, that he is. Someone wants to make sure our mate here stays nice and safe," Jack says, as his grey eyes casually take in the surrounding view. With a flick, Jack tosses the remains of the match into the street, to be crushed underfoot. The big Scot holds out his big hand to the scholarly man. "Jack Halfmen at your service. Me and mine have been hired to make sure your hide stays in one piece," the big Scot says in way of an explanation, as he waits for the other to introduce himself. Not that Jack thought he had the wrong person, it seemed extremely unlikely that would be the case. Not too many others could fit the description.
Jack's gaze floats down the street to the sight of the bobbie speaking with the dark skinned, scholarly looking man. The sight was odd enough to distract the Scot from realizing that the African was the man he had been hired to protect. 'That's a bit darker than dusky skinned, Walker old mate,' Jack thinks to himself as he puts the bit of hard biscuit in a pocket. Reaching down, the big Scot retrieves his walking "stick." His cane looked to be a deep dark wood walking stick at first glance. A closer look shows that it is little more than a metal bar that has a black ball on the end. Leaving the alley, Jack saunters towards the two conversing men, his cane accenting his footfalls with a heavy "thunk." The big Scot can feel the eyes of the daytime folk upon him as he goes about. Something he was rather used to, seeing as the big man does stand out in a crowd. His long legs made quick work of the distance that separated Jack from the two talking men. He returns the nods that he gets from a few that recgonize who the Scot is. Closing in on the officer, Jack smiles slightly as he sees who the bobbie is. He knew Haversin, he was a good bloke, not greedy, down right friendly compared to some of the corrupt police he had dealt with in his time. Getting closer, Jack spots the end of a cigarette behind his ear. The Scot reaches into his pocket, selecting a match. "Oie, bobbie, looks like ya be needing a light," Jack says, his deep baritone voice easily cutting through the morning din. "Haversin, me old mate, who the bloody 'ell you piss off to get stuck with the daylight crowd?" the big Scot asks with a deep chuckle. His grey eyes move to the African scholar that the bobbie had been speaking with. Jack nods to the man. Seeing as how he was being paid a large sum to keep the man safe, there was no reason to start off on the wrong foot.
Watching a passing bobbie, Jack took a bite from the hard biscuit he had grabbed for his breakfast. The big Scot's grey eyes slithered back to the building he was watching. The address matched the one he was given by the man "Walker." A small part of his mind had wanted to pass on the offer, money seeming a bit too good to be true. Not to mention the timing of the offer just seemed too perfect. 'Not that I can really pass on the money,' Jack thinks with a quite chuckle. 'We're going to need better food.' He thinks, glancing at the offensive biscuit. The big Scot leaned against the cold stone of the building across the street from the apartment. He was just a bit in the alleyway, far enough to not really be noticed, especially if he kept still. Jack's grey eyes look about once more, looking for the one that fits the description of his charge. Not that he was going to be hard to miss from the sounds of it. |
