Fantasy The Other Collection: The Case of the Whitechapel Ripper

[Coyote]

London, England
August 7th, 1888
1:59 AM
Whitechapel's Theme​

"What lovely day. Just as the falcon catches the snake slithering about the ground, with devilish fangs ready to sink into the flesh of man, so too does the raven dig about the scraps, searching for the trash of man to gather about its burning palace. See when I look about London, I see both the finest hearts and the darkest souls gather and mingle. It is not easy to shepherd these people but it was the place I was always meant to be. When the Romans founded Londinium, the first thing I saw was the face of a child, poking the skull of a dead ram. It seemed the ram was dead a long time. The child was frail and looking for food. My lord took that simple skull, that simple prayer for sustenance, and from it, I was brought down from heaven and given my place on Earth. For a thousand years I watched this city as its Steward and I will watch for a thousand more. You might find such a story silly. It is. London would always reach the pinnacle of power in the world, whether I was there or not. That child was always going to fall before me and expire before the empty skull of a ram, joining it in death. But he was a good soul. And London had lost its way in the world. For power corrupts, but absolute power corrupts absolutely. I watch over a place where the wealthy paint their hearts golden to appear good and the good hearts are sullied and cast to the shadows with the rest of the trash discarded by the elite. It was no holy place. But it was good enough and it was my duty not to abandoned the souls that cried out to me in my waking dreams. Even as I look at the clock strikes 2 AM, I hear them. I remember their names. I will always remember them. And I weep. 9:62 PM was the time I saw when Jack the Ripper came to be. You may not think it possible, but an angel's clock does not stutter. Very little makes the beating heart of God stand still for even a moment. Yet it did. And now, the time for the sheep to come home. No more dead rams or children. Hearts golden or foul, I call upon thee. End the horror of the Ripper before too long, lest you join him in eternal agony."

​

 

[Coyote]

Chapter One: The George Yard Murder

August 7th, 1888
Approximately 4:45 AM
Police arrive at the scene of a murder.


​

Click clack click clack click clack.

"T-this way officer," the man said, his ghastly countenance reflected in a sickly manner to the light of Thomas Bennet's hooded lantern.

On a nightly patrol down Lombard Street, a gentleman by the name of John Reeves approached Officer Thomas Bennet crying murder down the alleyway of George Yard. His leather shoes click clacked their way up the stairs after a frightened Mr. Reeves who claimed to have found the body of a dead woman on the first floor of his building. The night held a grim curtain of fog that loomed over the streets like a suffocating thicket. Only the dreary lantern lights that hung from their posts gave any semblance of light.

"This is the first you saw her then?" Officer Bennett asked.

"Y-yes, I was just leaving for work in the morning and, oh, good God," Mr. Reeves covered his mouth and recoiled.

For his part, Officer Bennett stopped as well. A slow trickling trail of blood slithered down the steps to the base floor. The light of his lantern illuminated the glistening crimson fluid, as well as the body that rested at the top. "Stay here, Mr. Reeves."

Thomas gripped his baton and made those fateful few steps to the top and laid his eyes for the first time at the woman. He swallowed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief to protect his nose from the scent. Such hideous disfigurement. The work of a crude madman abusing a woman beyond the point of reason and even death. He couldn't begin to count her wounds but she was stabbed a great deal.

"Martin ( Paperface )! Get up here!" Officer Bennet summoned the young man to the first floor. "We must find a doctor at once!"

"Y-you will find it, right?" Mr. Reeves asked.

Thomas turned to him, "I'm sorry?"

"The thing that did this to her," he said.

"Of course, we will."

John looked at him for a long while, his hands gripping at the ends of his coat. Then he nodded.

Officer Bennett found it quite... odd for such a wordless response to come from the man. Something about it... felt wrong. He narrowed his eyes on the man. "Officer Martin. When you've cased the building for the culprit, start gathering witnesses and suspects. Start with this one," he pointed to John Reeves before walking back down to the street to call for other officers and a doctor. It seemed the game was now afoot.

 

[tityanya]

𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓪 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓼𝓸𝓷​

I am here: The Streets of Whitechapel
With: Clara (NPC)
Mood: Restless

Oh, My Beautiful Liar

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Morella couldn't sleep. For an hour now, she had been tossing and turning and feeling like she was on the verge of sleep, before shooting once again to full awareness. She had been so restless ever since she had that strange dream a week or so ago. Even now, as she lay in her bed staring at the ceiling, she could feel a tugging. Somewhere out there in the greater area of London. Find her the birds had told her. Pah! It was just a dream! At least, that's what Morella desperately told herself. She had been actively choosing to ignore the sudden rushes of emotion that were unrelated to her situation. The brushes of half-thoughts fighting their way into her mind. She was just under a lot of stress, that was all. The theater was set to open soon! She had a lot riding on the success of it. If it did well, the girls could keep more money in their pockets, the costs of housing and feeding them being subsidized by ticket sales. They could afford to be more choosy with their Johns. But that only worked if the theater succeeded.

Morella threw the blanket off of herself, glancing at the clock on her bedside. It was nearly 4am...An hour after she had finished closing up the brothel and laid in bed. With a sigh, she sat up, rubbing at her tired eyes. Why couldn't she sleep? What was stopping her? Maybe it was the restless energy...She needed to walk it off. But a glance at the clock made her grimace. Only people who were up to no good were out at 4am. They closed the brothel at 2am for that specific reason. After that, all kinds of ruffians tried to filter in. Morella sighed again, pushing herself off the bed. She needed a walk. She reached into her closet and pulled out a simple pinstripe top and skirt, and a black shawl to go over it. She donned the clothes, pinning her hair up in a simple bun.

Once she was dressed, she carefully padded her way towards the girls' quarters. She didn't want the clicking of her heels to alert her mother, who would certainly stop her from taking a walk. "It's dangerous!" she would say. And that's why Morella was going to take Clara. That woman was dangerous. Morella had watched once, enraptured with admiration, as Clara took a giant man down to the floor all by herself. He hadn't even started drinking yet! Clara usually stayed up later in the morning as well, unlike Morella who went to bed as soon as the brothel closed. She should still be awake.

Morella knocked on the door, and after a pause a confused "Come in?" rung from inside. Morella opened the door, taking stock of the room. The clothes that Clara had been wearing earlier were thrown on the floor, and the girl herself sat at her vanity in a nightgown, brushing at her hair. "Oh, Miss Ellie! You're not usually awake at this hour. What's wrong? Clara asked, her voice full of genuine concern and not just going through the motions. Morella loved Clara so much. "I can't sleep. I was wondering if you would go for a walk with me?" Morella asked, giving Clara the puppy dog eyes. Clara gave a fake pout, her arms crossed as her lips pursed, before breaking into laughter. "Of course! Let me just get dressed."

Morella wasn't sure how long they had been walking for. She didn't really have a goal in mind--she was just wandering the streets, sometimes going with that strange pull, sometimes against it. Clara was a good walking companion, too--she knew when to talk, and when to leave it to silence. As such, Morella was surprised when Clara grabbed her by the shoulder and dragged her back. "It's the police, Miss. We should avoid them." Clara said, pointing to an alleyway that an officer was heading down. Morella started a little, finally fully realizing her surroundings. They were in Whitechapel! Probably the worst place to be early in the morning in the East End. "Yes, you're right. Let's head back home now," Morella said, looking at the streets to try and gain her bearing.

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((ooc: Morella up for interaction! ))
((wearing))
((Reptile))​

 

[Arai]

Nora Harrington

Interactions: tityanya

Mood: Curious

Personality

To say that the journey to the city had been dull would be, in Nora's opinion, a close minded view. She'd enjoyed the bulk of the journey comparing regional maps of London and the surrounding area to the actual landscapes, making notes of inaccuracies and mistakes. It was a task that most others would likely find not only monotonous but downright bizarre to complete, but Nora had found it brought her peace of mind in times of stress. Times of stress certainly being these. It had been tough to explain to her assistant her aims for coming to London, especially when questioned about the length and purpose of her visit, questions to which Nora had no answer. But her dreams had been plagued more than once since her first encounter with the raven, though she hadn't seen them since. The strange supernatural nature of the dream hung over her like the soot filled fog in the city her train had entered.

It had only taken about 3 hours to remember why she hated London, and had since spent her last 4 days in a hotel on Gracechurch street, not far from one of her previous places of occupation. Perhaps they were still there. But as to ascertaining the nature of her purpose here, she had come up short. Truthfully the most exciting part of her journey had been the ungnorable excitement of her new talent, if one could call such a strange power a talent. Three radiant orbs of light hovered around an otherwise unlit hotel room, emitting a gentle yet otherwordly radiance. Nora had often compared them to shimmering glass or soap bubbles, their surface smooth and translucent. Shades of pale blue, warm gold, and delicate pink intermingle, shifting and blending like an ever-changing symphony of light. She closed her fist, and two of the orbs sharnk before blinking out into nothingness, and directed the third to a lantern, the candle long since removed to accomdate her new ability.

Sleep had elluded her tonight, though she knew not why, and no amount of tired hypothesis was going to solve the dilema. There was a pulling at the corners of her mind, directing her slowly but gently, not as strong as an order, more of a teacher's guiding hand. Open the door. Go this way. And after ruminating the possiblities of being murdered and deciding she wasn't some child incapable of walking alone, picked up her gun and headed out into the night. She hadn't been out this late in years, and was on some level excited to see the 4am night life, long after the pubs had their last calls, the only people still out would be those too drunk to remember where they lived, and those trying to be drunk enough to forget. She chuckled in the night air, lantern in hand.

Before long, she found the pull increasing in strength for a reason she could not fathom, heading down and right into another street, Lombard. She continued to follow the strange sensation, pausing for a moment as she approached an alleyway and the feeling seemed to "stammer", for want of a better word. Looking for the source of such a jump, all she could find was 2 women in front of her. The first was burly and looked like she could've broken Nora like a twig if they desired, but the second was a tiny, pale, waifish thing. There was something about the second woman that drew Nora in. Not a physical aspect, though there was no denying the girl would be turning heads by the dozen. There was something subtler about her, and as she locked eyes with the girl, Nora felt that supernatural pull almost pulse with satisfaction.

"Apologies my dear, but have we met before? I feel like I recognise you from somewhere,"

 

[Paperface]

David A. Martin
Odd shadow's danced around David's feet. They shifted across the cobblestone pavement with every lantern post the nightly patrol passed. He noticed them more often than a week prior - and felt unease because of it. His pale blue eyes instinctively glanced at their movement even as he spoke with the officer at his side. David pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked a few times. They were nothing more than the by-effect of the lanternlight illuminating an otherwise dark and foggy Lombard Street. Or so he reassured himself. He sighed. Things felt different now. David glanced around the empty street and recalled how quickly he had grown accustomed to these patrols, how the dark had never scared him. But now, his vivid memories of a dream intended to change that. Ever since that restless night, every street in London had become eerily similar to the one he saw in his dream. Continuously moving along, his hidden insecurities morphed the walkways into a liminal maze. And part of him expected that injured man from his dream around every corner they had turned.

David's minor onset of paranoia was forcefully pushed to the back of his mind by the sound of a man crying murder down George Yard's alleyway. A word so powerful it immediately changed his state to high alert. He scanned the surrounding streets with an intense focus while his senior officer, Thomas Bennett, took control of the situation. With no time to lose, the patrol followed the distressed man, who hastily introduced himself as Mr. Reeves amidst the chaos, into the lobby of an apartment building. David did not know if he expected an immediate bloodbath, but the space appeared strangely calm. And nothing out of the ordinary. It was a modest lobby with wooden and earthy tones under dim light. However, those colors made the crimson red trickling down the stairs all the more noticeable once caught in the light of Bennett's hooded lantern.


Officer Bennett immediately ascended the stairs, and David extended his arm to the side in response. Preventing Mr. Reeves from advancing further. “Please keep your distance, Mr. Reeves.” David insisted and was about to offer some words of reassurance when Bennetts summoned him to his side. “Stay here, Mr. Reeves.” He instructed the man once more before ascending the stairs. Upon reaching the top of the steps, he recoiled. David placed his hand over his mouth and used his thumb to pinch his nose shut. He tried, but there were no words that could describe the sight. A gruesome display of unhinged savagery lay at the foot of the stairs. He gagged and pressed his hand tighter against his mouth. My hand... A thought crossed his mind. To which he shook his head to force it out. No. There is no way.

Once more, Mr. Reeves pulled him from his thoughts. This time to inquire about the apprehension of the culprit. Find it? Thing? David reluctantly glanced back at the body. It was a gruesome deed, but nothing to assume a person would be incapable of doing such a thing. Monsters were nothing but fairytales. Though, whoever did this came frighteningly close. He glanced down at his hand and balled it into a fist when Bennett addressed him. Locking in the musings for another time to better focus on the current task. “Understood!” He acknowledged the request and watched Bennett leave the building before turning his eyes onto Mr. Reeves. David inspected him for a moment and then addressed the issue at hand. “Mr. Reeves, are there any other exits apart from the front door that I should be aware of? I need to know which floors to prioritize if the culprit has not left the crime scene. Quickly, please.”

---

Location: George Yard Alleyway, Apartment Building
Interaction: Thomas Bennett & John Reeves ( Coyote )
Mentions: N/A

 

[tityanya]

𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓪 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓼𝓸𝓷​

I am here: Streets of Whitechapel
With: Clara (NPC), Nora
Mood: Restless

Oh, My Beautiful Liar

╔═════════════════════════════╗

As Morella looked at the streets to gain her bearing, she jumped a little as she made eye contact with another person out on the streets. Where had they come from? Morella examined them for a moment, sizing them up. Short hair and trousers, very expensive and nice quality--strange for Whitechapel. But wait, that face! She was a woman! Morella's head tilted, her curiosity piqued. She saw all kinds in the brothel--but women with short hair and wearing trousers was an incredibly rare sight. As Morella's eyes locked with the woman's, she felt an electric thrill go through her--who was this woman? She wasn't the pull Morella had been feeling, but there was...something else there.

A small smirk came to her face as the woman said she recognized her from somewhere. Ah, she had heard that one a million times before. Morella's head tilted to the side, trying to determine if she recognized the lady at all. Hmm, it wasn't ringing any bells. Morella couldn't even use the excuse of seeing a lot of new faces every day--she would have remembered a woman like this. "I'm afraid I don't recognize you, Miss. But I do work at a bar, perhaps you've seen me there?" Morella offered. "Bar" wasn't exactly correct, but it was close enough. If the woman had been to the brothel, she was certain to figure out what it meant. But Morella wasn't one to offer up the information freely--fancy people like this woman tended to look at her like she was filth on the road when they found out where she actually worked.

"Clara and I were just out for a walk this early morning. Whitechapel can be very dangerous, maybe we can escort you back to where you belong?" Morella offered mildly, although she wasn't certain the woman needed the escort. That appeared to be a pistol by her side. Her own protection, just like how Clara was Morella's. But there was that feeling again, every time Morella glanced at her--pure electricity. It didn't satisfy the tugging sensation, but it scratched at yet another itch. She needed to know why she was so inexplicably drawn to this woman. "Something is happening up ahead, I think. I saw a man leading a police officer down an alleyway over yonder," Morella said, waving her hand in the direction of the disturbance. She had no personal interest in what could be happening--it was Whitechapel. Bad things were always happening in Whitechapel.

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((ooc: ))
((Outfit))
((Reptile))​

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[Arai]

Nora Harrington

Interactions: tityanya

Mood: Curious

At her query, the younger girl seemed to smile, the kind of smile someone with a secret feels smug about holding close to their chest. She noted her being looked up and down, no doubt at her attire, but it was nothing Nora hadn't heard or put up with before. If she was bothered by such glances, she didn't show it in the moment.

"I'm afraid I don't recognize you, Miss. But I do work at a bar, perhaps you've seen me there?"

Nora politley shook her head. "Likely not, I'm not one for excessive drinking," she admitted, telling a half-truth to the two figures in front of her. Not that she was opposed to alcohol, but the people within such establishments tended to be less welcoming to her. Still, that didn't prevent her from having one or two, just maybe not in the centre of London. "Clara and I were just out for a walk this early morning. Whitechapel can be very dangerous, maybe we can escort you back to where you belong?" A funny turn of phrase, but the meaning felt clear. She was out of place in whitechapel, finery and bravery and unladylike, even in this area the expectations of her outfit choice were apparent. In her early 20s, she would've been offended at the implication. But time had dulled that blade and now the comment barely felt factual.

"Unless you're offerring a ticket back to Southhampton, I'll be quite comfortable belonging here, thank you," She responded in geunine kind. It was good to know the big woman's name. Clara. But the waif hadn't identified herself yet, she noted. Nora wasn't sure why, but the woman also seemed to figet each time they looked eyes, like she could feel something else, in a similar manner to her own pulling, which hadn't subsided much in the moments in the street, and it was the woman's next words that flared up that same curiosity.

An incident. Was this what she was drawn to? Were these 2 women somehow involved? Attempting to somewhat casually, Nora absently shuffled past the alleyway, taking a long look down it. There was an officer currently stood outside a doorway in the alleyway, and Nora faintly could make out something red and liquid on the bottom of one of his shoes. "I suppose that would be one of the policeman in question, Miss?" She inquired, trailing off for the girl to fill in her name.

 

[tityanya]

𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓪 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓼𝓸𝓷​

I am here:
With:
Mood:

Oh, My Beautiful Liar

╔═════════════════════════════╗

The woman didn't make note of Morella's peering--no doubt she was used to it. To be dressed like that, one had to be steeled against such curious glances. Morella felt like she had been rather polite about it, too--all she had done was gave her a curious once-over. Bettina would have been horrified, asking her why she had decided to dress like that in public. But really, it was the woman's choice--why should Morella care?

At the query about the bar, the woman shook her head no, saying she wasn't one for excessive drinking. Well, you would be the one to chose to drink excessively, Morella thought, her face twisting a little. There was plenty of people who came up to her bar and only ordered a drink or two. But she quickly smoothed her face out, trying her best not to appear disgruntled by the statement. Proper ladies didn't show their agitation, after all. They were serene and calm, and that was how she needed to stay.

Morella offered to escort the woman back home, and the woman threw Morella for a doozy. Southampton? That was...quite a far way away from London. And she wanted to stay in Whitechapel? Morella's face twisted with confusion, but she decided not to press the matter further. "I'll be quite comfortable belonging here, thank you," was quite pointed. Morella's attempt at kindness had stepped on some toes. She wasn't inclined to make an enemy out of this woman--she wanted to know why she felt so drawn to her. It wasn't like anything she had ever felt towards another person, before. It felt electric, like fate, but not in some romantic way. Like she had been destined to meet this woman out on the streets of Whitechapel this night.

At her words about there being an incident up ahead, the woman wasn't deterred. Instead she strode confidently forward, peering down the alleyway. "What are you doing, Miss?" Morella softly hissed, grabbing at her wrist to gently try and pull her back. "The police of Whitechapel are keen to arrest women for just existing early in the morning on the streets," she warned. It was probably an exaggeration, but it was what Morella genuinely believed. How were you supposed to prove you weren't prostituting to a cop with a power complex? Best to just avoid them all, when you could.

The woman asked if that was the policeman Morella had seen, her voice trailing on the word Miss, undoubtedly hoping that Morella would fill in her own name. "Morella. And this is Clara," Morella told the woman, properly introducing the other woman. She waved a hand in greeting, her eyes darting about as though waiting for the police officer to come barreling down the alleyway any second. "She's right about the police, Miss. Best to avoid them when you can," Clara said, looking like she was ready to bolt any moment. "But yes, that is the incident I was referring to. Whitechapel is a dangerous place, unfortunately. Misfortune breeds in the miasma in the air, Miss..." she trailed off her sentence in the same way, fishing for the woman's name. If she was from Southampton, maybe she wasn't even aware of how dangerous this area of London was? But Morella didn't want to step on her toes any further--the grabbing to pull her away from the alleyway had already been bad enough. At some point, you had to look out for yourself, and not strangers.

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((ooc: If a police officer wanted to notice them, I would be okay with that ))
((Outfit))
((Reptile))​

talky talky talk thinky thinky think

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[Coyote]

Scene of the Crime, Approximately ~5 AM, August 7th, 1888
Present: Mr. John Reeves, Officer Thomas Bennett (Nearby), and Officer David A. Martin ( Paperface )

John Reeves looked at the young man, taking a moment to gather his composure. "No. But... there is a courtyard that is accessible on the bottom floor that goes behind the apartment. It connects to other buildings on this block. M-many frequent the place to go for a smoke," he said, his voice shaking. A bit of blood pooled close to his feet and he shuffled away just a bit. He glanced up the stairs for a moment before looking back at Officer Martin. Disquieting silence followed. John made it a point not to look at the corpse and shut his eyes. "The knocking..." he whispered, shuddering. "Someone was knocking on my door sometime last night but I did not get up. I only thought it some woman looking to solicit a place to sleep in exchange for... well, pleasantries." He thought some more. "But it was persistent. Irregular and strange. A drunkard, perhaps."

Down Lombard Street, Whitechapel
Present: Morella Thompson ( tityanya ), Clara Ellie, and Nora Harrington ( Arai )

Not many were walking about at 5 AM that morning. The occasional foreman, miner, or factory collar looking to trek across town for work was seen walking briskly along, casting the odd askance glance as they passed before continuing along. It was the first or the last lady of the night they saw in Whitechapel. One pair of eyes were consistent, however. The thin column of pipe smoke drifted up into the breeze as a uniformed man stood idly in the corner of Lombard Street and George Yard, across from the women conversing by the alley. He appeared to be eyeing Nora strangely, likely taken aback by her attire. The soldier let out a puff of smoke and allowed his gaze to drift past her, looking instead at Morella and Clara briefly. It was a knowing gaze but he did not linger. His business was his own and he was tapping his foot impatiently. It seemed other matters weighed on his mind.

 

[Arai]

Nora Harrington

Interactions: tityanya

Mood: Curious

Despite Morella's panic and insistance, Nora couldn't help but give in to her curiosity in the alleyway. While she wasn't close enough to deduce the liquid as blood, especially in this light and this tired, she struggled to think of another substance it could be. Oil perhaps, but that was unlikely. She felt the girl tuf her wrist back away from the alleyway, and felt herself forcibly pulled from the copper's sight. Lord, this girl was stronger than she looked.

"The police of Whitechapel are keen to arrest women for just existing early in the morning on the streets,"

Nora smiled. "Good thing I don't look like a woman then," she said with a smile, like Morella had stepped into a trap she hadn't realised was there. Nora had been hoping that in the Jewel of the British Empire, London would be slightly more acceptable of a woman with purpose and pride. Though it seems that her disguise would still be jst as useful here as it was anywhere else, both fortunate and unfortunate at the same time. Nora gestured to her outfit, which if one squinted, could be mistaken for a young gentleman at a glance. Nora had found with such conversations that getting your foot in the door was the hard part, but afterwards it was yours to open.

Her own words played against her! Fun little thing. Nora felt a friendship beginning to take root. "A pleasure to you both," Nora nodded at the duo, before Clara interjected once more at the police. "She's right about the police, Miss. Best to avoid them when you can," The older woman yielded, she would be foolish not to rely on their experience in the region. Local knowledge was just as relevant in whitechapel as it was in Hong Kong. "Misfortune breeds in the miasma in the air, Miss..."

"Nora, Nora Harrington," She replied, extended a hand. "I'll trust your judgement then, though I'm surprised that a duo such as yourself would be out at this time as well? And seemingly without a purpose since neither of you are carrying much in the way of belongings, and it's a little early for the pubs to be opening," She caught out of the corner of her eye a gentleman staring in their direction, a man in a uniform she vaguely knew was military, though rank and branch and position all eluded her. She turned to continue the conversation with the 2 women, facing away from the gentleman at an angle, so he couldn't see her lips. "I daresay you have an admirer," she said, subtly gesturing down to the corner of Lombard Street. "Or perhaps your are meeting an impatient friend?"

 

[tityanya]

𝓜𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓵𝓵𝓪 𝓣𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓼𝓸𝓷​

I am here: Streets of Whitechapel
With: Clara, Nora
Mood: Restless

Oh, My Beautiful Liar

╔═════════════════════════════╗

Morella looked the woman in the eyes, earnestly willing her to understand the weight of her words. Cops were dangerous for women in Whitechapel. But the woman sprung a carefully laid trap, one that Morella hadn't even thought of: from far away, she didn't look like a woman. Morella couldn't help but give a little laugh, letting go of her wrist. "I suppose you don't, that's right," she said, although her wariness didn't disappear. While at a distant glance she probably wouldn't garner any attention, that didn't mean anything up close. Luckily, Clara's and her own pleading seemed to sink in to the woman.

She introduced herself as Nora Harrington, extending a hand to Morella. She took it gently, a waifish shake that belied the strength she had used to yank the woman back before. But then, Nora asked what it was that they were doing on the streets of Whitechapel. Morella thought of the pull, ever longing, that she had followed here. But that would sound insane--she didn't want Nora to think that she was a madwoman. "It was an accident. I was feeling restless and needed a walk, and my head was too lost in the clouds to realize where my feet were going." That was mostly the truth.

Clara had realized they were being stared at before Morella or Nora did. She was already beginning to nudge Morella in the arm as Nora turned so her back was to the man. "I daresay you have an admirer," Nora said, as a nod of Clara's head directed Morella's attention to the man. Morella was well trained in quick glances to size up strangers. She glanced quickly over at him, her face impassive, before she turned her attention back to Nora. A soldier, puffing on a pipe. He was tapping his foot, as though impatient and waiting. Unfortunately, Morella recognized him. She herself had served him a drink at the bar. Had he...followed them here? No, Clara would have noticed. She would have told Morella that it was time to head home.

Nora suggested she was meeting an impatient friend, and Morella shook her head no. "I don't know the man, beyond the fact that he was in the bar earlier. Which is a cause of concern for me," Morella said, eyeing the man suspiciously. Maybe it was nearing time to head back home? Morella wracked her brain for more information on the man--he had come in with a friend, who had gone upstairs with one of the other girls close to closing. But he had only had a few drinks at the bar. Was there anything else she could remember? What was he waiting for?

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((ooc: ))
((Outfit))
((Reptile))​

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