Realistic or Modern Victorian London

[GreyZone]

@Syrrus


Margaret Doyle tucked a dark red curl back behind her ear, as she filled another mug to the brim with beer for yet another man looking to escape their wives and screaming children. Her fair cheeks were flushed from the heat of so many bodies pressed so close together, the thick and heady scent of sweat and pipe smoke hanging in the air.


Her family had immigrated from Ireland earlier in the year, looking to hopefully pave a better way in London, England. As a result of it, sixteen-year-old Margaret spent every day and every evening working in the bar her parents relied on to make a living.


She didn't mind the work, and the compliments and catcalls--flattering and crude alike--reminded her that despite her red-stained knuckles from scrubbing dishes in steaming water, she was still pretty. Even if she served as nothing but a distraction to the never ending cycle of men that came and left every evening.


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[Syrrus]

Entering the pub, the young man; Mister Edwards, took a quick and sheepish look around. He came there rather often, when the pen betrayed him and the violin hurt him. He didn't look as if he quite belonged however, standing with his back straight and tall. His face were a handsome one, a strong chin, sharp and high sitting cheekbones and a hawk nose, sharp and pointed. His hair was slicked back over his skull, shining black and with a few rude curls circling his neck. He was also dressed in a fashion which suited the turn of the century; a long black unbuttoned coat with a rich purple decorating the inside, a vest which covered the majority of his white - a tad too big - shirt, and trousers to match. He carried his top hat in his hand, together with his rounded sunglasses which he removed swiftly from its perch on top of his nose, when realizing he had forgotten them on.


"A lager--" He bumped into the counter rather heavily due to a rather offensive gentleman behind him. Victor cleared his throat and tried again: "A lager, please." He looked around, placing his hat upon the counter and seated himself upon a chair, deciding not to find a table in the business of the crowd and instead plant himself near the tap, for great comfort more than anything. His green eyes fell upon the hat before he looked the barmaid in the eyes, giving him a rather dashing smile with two rows of perfectly white teeth, something which was rather rare in Britain.


The light in the room failed him, as it portrayed his skin as yellow instead of the crispy white. He was dangerously pale, something that suited the gothic era more than the one he was supposed to come from. Though he still managed to look anything but sickly, luckily; for he assumed he'd be thrown out before he could pardon himself would that be the case.

 

[GreyZone]

Margaret nodded swiftly and moved to get him his drink, her raw hands hurrying to smooth her apron back over her chemise. "It is my pleasure, sir." She was always trying to iron any lilt of an Irish accent out of her voice, but often failed. Her hair the color of autumn leaves and her surname didn't help her case at all.


Margaret knew that her mother despised her fraternizing too much with the men, hated the fact that she even worked like this. It wasn't an acceptable business for a young lady to be in, let alone one of an immigrant descent. The well-to-do Irishwoman still required her in a corset and full skirts no matter her work.


Her hands trembled slightly as she passed the striking young man his getaway, her eyes quickly darting. "May I get you anything else?"


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[Syrrus]

"How about the whole tap?" The man chuckled heartily, leaning forward to place his arm upon the countertop. "No, thank you, ma'am, I am quite alright." Victor curled his fingers around the pint and kissed the glass with his lips as he took a couple of heavy sips. He was always thirsty, the young Edwards; something that worried him a great deal. His thirst could never be sated by the likes of water, it was a completely different type of thirst. He placed the heavy glass back down and gave the young barmaid another smile.


Picking out a pocket-watch from his coat pocket, he placed it neatly upon the counter, the locked open so he could see the time. He did this only for one purpose and one purpose only, tugging nervously at the chain connecting the watch to his vest. This way he could measure how fast the drank, and how many glasses he managed to consume in what time. A little trick his father had taught him as a young lad.


"Beautiful evening, tonight." He said, attempting small talk. Something he wasn't all too good at. He peered back up at the young woman, who he admittedly hadn't seen before. It shocked him, due to how well adjusted and red her knuckles was that she might have been the same young lady serving him the night before, and the one before that. He simply couldn't remember. Beautiful evening for London at any rate, thick clouds but with no sign of rain. Surprisingly.


Scratching the back of his head he peered down upon the drink, standing like a tall tower before him. The head pouring down the side, foamy and wet against the hard glass. The air in the pub was toxic to the lunges, heavy and much like the collective smog from outside.

 

[GreyZone]

Margret laughed a little at his comment, but quickly buried her reddened hands in the folds of her skirt out of embarrassment. His expensive pocket watch had only further cemented in her mind that she and her little barmaid hands needed to keep far away from him. "Yes, it is. And yet, you are in here." She turned away from him to quickly refill another gentleman's--the term is used rather loosely in regards to this man--drink.


It had been over a year since they had moved to England, and she still would do anything to just stand in the rain. Especially when her days were spent crammed in with the pungent odors of sweat and smoke. It was debatable if she could even read the drink list--no "proper" young English woman did, so she hadn't seen much of a scrap of any writing in almost a decade, thanks to her mother. She couldn't tell if it gave her relief; she never had to try to worry about schooling and politics like her older brothers. And yet, any woman who said they enjoyed sitting at the dinner table, completely dumbfounded by the topic and were only thinking wistfully about the joys of cooking and sewing to come where filthy liars.


"What does bring you here? You're not our usual type of customer." The words were out of her mouth before she knew it, her dark green eyes flashing in the low lighting. Maybe this young man would indulge her for a bit, or maybe she would get her knuckles rapped after for fraternizing instead of working.

 

[Syrrus]

The man continued to attempt to finish his drink slowly, though his appetite for the lulling feeling seemed stronger than his own will. Or perhaps it was both. Alcoholism wasn't frowned upon, not if a nobleman did it - however, it was of great scandal would a man such as himself not be able to handle his drink. Being loud and rude would set his family name back to the sixteen-hundreds. Unfortunately it seemed as if, with the birth of Victor, the family had already doomed themselves. It was rather obvious too, that Victor didn't pay much attention to the people around him, either.


He looked upon the barmaid, while finishing the last of his drink in one go, accidently slamming the glass against the counter a bit louder than he intended - leaving the glass intact, however. "I--" He cleared his throat. "I tend to find peace here, a clear of mind as it were. Less polite conversation and... even though one would said nosier and less proper, a more comfortable environment." He removed his coat and hanged it over the back of his chair, feeling a tad more courageous once the drink was warming his insides and calming his minds. He folded up his shirt sleeves towards the elbows and continued to smile at the young lady. His skin was prickled, small and circular wounds which comes from nothing but syringes, covered his wrists and lower arm.


"People here don't tend to talk about money. I much prefer a conversation about the weather, or emotions than one of privilege expenses. Also..." He tapped the empty glass with his fingertips. "There's less of a judgmental look about this place. One more, if I may be so bold?"

 

[GreyZone]

She startled slightly when he slammed that glass down, taking shallow breaths so she wouldn't faint. Margaret would never have him thinking she had a tendency to faint out of a feminine whim to appear delicate.


However, her eyes swiftly flitted to all of the marks over his wrists and forearms as he spoke of why he was in a dingy bar on one of the nicest evenings they had had in a while.


"That is true, it's rare to find a nobleman speaking of money and politics here," she replied quietly, dipping a rag in the bucket underneath the counter and wiping it down. "So you're an artist trapped in a nobleman's body. How romantic. Please, enlighten me of the last reason." Her voice was placid, showing little fluctuation of emotion. Truth be told, it was all to stifle that damn Irish accent that still clung to her like a whining toddler.

 

[Syrrus]

Victor waited patiently for his drink, while his eyes now darted around the room in a less timid manner. Once he had had a drink, everything seemed to come a lot smoother. "I am not a artist in the form of brush and canvas. The pen is my muse." The young Edwards chuckled once more and leaned back in his seat, hand leaning against the counter top. "And the Violin, my mistress, I suppose; though she is a cruel one." He frowned by the thought of it. The countless times he had been hit by angry strings breaking from the top, bottom or middle. "I suppose I am a poet at heart." His eyes lingered at the young woman's, almost as if he was trying to figure out exactly why she wanted to know.


"Have you ever had the privilege to read the work of Edgar Allan Poe? I cannot say I've had the privilege to find his work here in Britain, my father brought the book back from a trip to America when I was a boy. Beautiful work."


As Victor spoke, his fingers had started to shiver and shake, only lightly but enough to catch his attention. It was a small tremble which came to him after certain amount of time away from work. He was what one would come to describe as addicted to his job, a job that didn't help to pay the bills.

 

[GreyZone]

She watched him curiously as he spoke, trying to appear as if she was just making small talk with a customer while she worked. So she continued to wipe down the counter long after it was free of all crumbs and sweat from dripping glasses.


"No, I have not," she told him honestly. "I do not know if I could even read it if it was right in front of me. My brothers could, I am sure, but not me."


For some reason, she was mortified to admit her lack of education to this young man, as if it wasn't the normal attribute of women at the time. "But I'm sure you're always around women who can't be bothered with books." Yes, it was a jab. No, she did not feel bad.


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[Syrrus]

"I-- I see." The man scratched the back of his head, not realizing what he had said until the harm was already done. Of course she couldn't read, how could a man be so stupid? His three sisters could read, they were both Governesses, teaching young lords and sirs how to behave, play the piano and the alphabet, but they were noble women. This girl did not have that privilege, many did not. "Pardon my enthusiasm." He fumbled around in his coat pocket, finding a small note of which he pulled out.


"By a route--" He cleared his throat, his hand causing the paper to vibrate slightly. "Obscure and lonely, haunted by ill angels only--" His voice was one of a narrator, it was clear that Victor did little else but read poetry and verse in his spare time. "Where and Eidolon, named night, on a black throne reigns upright--" His eyes darted over the paper in rapid speed, he took little effort - if any at all - to read the words out to her. "I have reached these lands but newly, from an ultimate dim Thule, from a wild weird climate that lieth, sublime, out of space." He folded the paper carefully and placed it in the breast pocket of his vest. "Out of time."


He took a moment, almost as if considering his words before adding while looking upon his watch. "Another drink, please, ma'am."

 

[GreyZone]

Margaret"s hands moved slower and slower with the rag as he spoke. "That was beautiful," she whispered, afraid to shatter the fragile dalliance that the poem and strung up into the air.


She quickly jogged back to work, refilling his glass to the brim. "On the house. And did you say that that was by this Poe fellow?" She had no idea how she would reach any of the author's work, but it was worth a try. "I've never heard anything like it. What I've heard of literature is just...dull. Droning. Or at least what's available to us is."


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[Syrrus]

He watched the glass of beer that stood hauntingly before him, longingly. "Yes... Yes, Edgar A Poe, the man was a genius to his own right, much like Beethoven; though that being of the musical sort." He lift the glass and took a few quick sips before continuing. "If you won't count poems as music, some do though I fail the see the resembles. True, music if of poetic nature although poems needs no sound but one voice to speak its message." Victor frowned slightly and then gave the young woman another kind smile. "Perhaps, if you may allow it; I could bring the book here with me, next time I am to visit - or you may come to my apartment, near Waterloo, to pick up the book. You can barrow it, I have already studied it countless of times and--" He pulled his hands down the pocket of his coat and brought forth countless amount of small paper notes. "I have what I need written down, as memory for a rainy day."


The young man continued to stare at his drink, silently, for what felt like minutes. Drinking it as slowly as he could muster. The affect alcohol had on him was the one of a lulling nature, it made him feel more focused on one single task and managed to drown out the haunting feeling of paranoia and depression.

 

[GreyZone]

Margaret was more than slightly shocked when he offered her admittance to his apartment, but nodded out of sheer enthrallment. Was she that far below him that he didn't see an exchange such as that inappropriate at all for the chance of something coming out of it was so laughable? Again, she didn't know if that let some pressure off of her or if it only made her more focused on proving that assumption wrong. "I--that would be lovely."


This young man made it sound as if he frequented bars quite often, and if so, she should keep him coming around for his business. Yes, his business alone. That is why she wished he would return.


Without being asked, she quickly refilled his mug and passed it back across the counter. "It is different to have someone here who talks of...other matters." how else should she phrase it? That the most frequent topic of conversation she was graced with was middle aged men filled with angst and bitter toward their wives who had gone soft with childbirth. A never-ending cycle, and she got to be witness to all of it.

 

[Syrrus]

He smiled as he watched her refill his glass without question, he hated to ask for the guilt weigh down on him far too heavy. "Thank you, ma'am." He nodded and once more curled his fingers around the glass to lift it towards his lips. Victor listened to the young girl's comment about conversation topics and gave her a nod, far too busy with his drink to respond instantly. It wasn't until he placed the glass back down - half empty - and that the door opened to reveal another guest that he spoke. "I tend to keep my topics light, though my passion fails me." The young Edwards blinked in confusion as all the noise in the pub had quiet down by the door opening. As if they were all too occupied with whoever entered.


Who appeared in the doorway was a tall and pale woman. She was dressed in a expensive dress, with waves of heavy, dark purple cloth and crispy white lace flowing over her gloved hands, and covering her neckline. The corset was sitting tightly around her waist and the decorations over her dressed seemed to be dark leaves and wilted roses. She was also wearing a pair of round sunglasses, with red tinted glass. She walked with a straight back and great confidence. Her very presence was what made the men quiet down, for she looked dangerous, powerful and slightly menacing. "I knew I could find you here, my beloved." She spoke with calm tones and stopped just behind the young Victor, who frowned at the drink in front of him.


"I thought you where out of town. Why are you visiting London so early?" He asked, refusing to look at the lady behind him. "Brighton is rather dull this time of year. I am looking forward to the summer but until them I thought I'd visit my favorite man." She spoke and curled her lips up into a devious smile. "Drinking away your sorrows again I see." She looked towards the young barmaid, for what seemed to be minutes before removing her sunglasses and revealing a pair of stone gray eyes.

 

[GreyZone]

Margaret immediately stiffened at the woman's presence. Females didn't normally inhabit the bar--it wasn't rare to get a few stares from the men upon entering--but nothing even close to that kind of attention. And she had some sort of relation to the young man who was drinking away his sorrows? While they spoke, she refilled his drink yet again.


Oh, but when those woman's cold gray eyes rested on her... "May I get you anything, ma'am?" She asked, her accent so thick she could have been mistaken for a Leprechaun. What kind of person was this, who waltzed into a bar and acted as if she owned it? Did she have any idea that the young man sitting in front of her had previously asked her to his apartment? It very well might have been nothing, an attempt at being cordial. But on the other hand, maybe the slightly drunken gentleman had expected she did a little on the side besides tending her family's bar.

 

[Syrrus]

"No, I am not here for pleasantries." The young woman took a quick look around and wrinkled her nose, before looking back down at Victor, who once again gave the barmaid a light smile and started to drink from his newly filled glass. He seemed to pretend that the formal lady didn't seem to excist, until she placed a hand over his glass - hindering his drinking.


"Lucille, please." His voice was frustrated, and he glared her way. A angry stare which was intently ripped from him by the ladies own glance. Causing him to look more like a domesticated puppy than a man. "That is not how you speak to your sister. What would mother said?"


"Please don't bring up mother in a place such as this, it is hardly appropriate." He responded, quickly. "But being here is?" Her words stung and the young man could do little but get out of his seat and take the pocket watch with him as he rose, putting it back in his pocket. "No, of course not." He responded, humbly. Bowing his head towards the lady who didn't seem at all impressed. "Thank you for keeping an eye on my brother." She said (without sounding grateful, one might add), her attention now laying upon the young barmaid, instead of his brother who was trying to put his jacket back on, fumbling rather heavily while doing so.

 

[GreyZone]

Margaret just nodded, hiding her reddened hands from the wealthy woman yet again. She wasn't sure if she could force an answer out, so she just nodded tightly. There was a strong desire to thank him once again for the poem, but she did not think that it would be wise to mention such a tender thing in front of this woman. His sister.


One of Margaret's brothers dashed in, whipping behind the counter quickly enough. "Don't just stand there like a mute," he grumbled, digging beneath a pile of old glasses in some stacks of yellowed papers. "Look busy. Don't gawk, especially at customers like that. You look like a dunce."

 

[Syrrus]

Lucille placed one hand over the other and waited, patiently (though not at all) for her brother to finish what-ever he was attempting to do with that arm to his coat. As soon as he had managed to pull his jacket on he leaned forward over the counter. "How much do I owe you, ma'am?" He asked, quickly and with a hushed tone, almost as if he didn't want his sister to know that he was trying to pay, as if it was some sort of crime.


The man who now stood behind the counter caused Victor to feel slightly more uncomfortable. It was like standing between a tiger and a bear, without knowing who to throw himself against. The young man managed to find a pen in his pocket, amongst all the notes and used it to scribble something down, one the very paper he had read the poem from, earlier that evening.

 

[GreyZone]

Margaret's older brother straightened, stepping in front of her. "She doesn't handle money. How much does he owe, Maggie?"


"He is only being too kind," Margaret said after a pregnant pause. "He already took care of his bill. He owes nothing."


Her brother raised an eyebrow, but didn't question it. "Fine. I'll handle the night shift. Go upstairs."


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[Syrrus]

The young man blinked in confusion, though he quickly grabbed his top hat and with surprising flexibility, and without caring for his sisters objection, managed to catch the young lady before she vanished out of sight. Bowing he handed her the note. "The poem, from earlier." he gave her a weak smile and planted the top hat on his head. "I-- I'd attempt to read it over, if I were you." He gestured towards the back of the note, where he had scribbled down his address, before turning around and letting his sister grab his arm for support.


"Are we leaving now, dearie?"


"Yes, I believe so. Perhaps Mrs. Mitchell can boil you a nice cup of tea, to treat the long journey."


"And to sober you up."

 

[GreyZone]

Margaret startled when he passed her that slip of paper, but smoothly tucked it into the folds of her skirt before her brother could notice it. "Thank you. For this. I hope the free drinks are payment enough. We might need to strike up a deal here. Audible words for alcoholism." She smiled faintly, meeting his eyes for the first time.


Her brother--Jonathon--slowly looked over the young man's sister. "Do you usually inhabit places such as these? We don't normally see upper-class ladies fraternizing with the drunks of London."


"You had better leave," Margaret whispered, her eyes trained on her older brother. "I don't want him to be suspicious of anything."

 

[Syrrus]

"Victor. It is time to leave. Now." Lucille pushed her sunglasses back over the bridge of her nose, seemingly unimpressed by the question directed towards her. "I will let you guess the answer to that one, darling." Her voice was cold like ice and her face was left without any form of emotion, she had turned her head to look at the young man by the counter, staring at him through thick red glass - making her eyes completely unrecognizable.


"Victor, care to open the door for me?" She turned once again, squeezing her brother's arm, tightly; as he opened the door and bowed his head before her. "Of course, mi'lady." The young man took a quick look around the pub before quickly, and not so smoothly, joining his sister outside.

 

[GreyZone]

Jonathon turned to glare at his younger sister as soon as the well-to-do guests left. "What were you discussing with that young man over there and before I got here?' He began to dig through the cash register, making sure all of the proper money was there. "You've hardly made anything."


Margaret froze, stopping to turn around slowly. She was so close to making her escape before he noticed. "Perhaps the men think they can swindle me more easily," he offered lamely.


"Or you could just make sure they didn't," he snapped in return. "Just because some man pretends to take a fancy when you bat your eyelashes doesn't meant that they should waltz away and tell their friends that the barmaid here is soft and weak."

 

[Syrrus]

"Was that really necessary, Victor?" Lucille said, as her brother held the carriage door open so she could step inside, the cap driver seemed not too interested in what the two nobles were conversing about and instead spent his time patting the horses.


"I do not know, why won't you tell me? I am certain you were planning on doing so, my beloved sister." The young man sat down opposite the young woman, who decided to slap him across the face once the door had been shut, causing his top hat to fly out the window. Without him having a chance in saving his headwear, as the carriage began to roll down the streets of London.


"Do not have that tone with me. Ever. Do you understand?" Her voice was sharp and it didn't take long to get a whimpering 'I apologize' from the young man. The Edwards was a strange family indeed, for what woman could strike a man without greater harm being put towards them? Supposedly the gender rolls had turned for this single household.

 

[GreyZone]

Margaret waited until Jonathon slipped upstairs, most likely to complete his studies for the day. Even though she didn't care much at all for the family's bar, she locked up the cash register and pulled her younger brother out to watch the drinks and make himself look important. "Where are you going?" He asked as he sleepily rubbed his eyes, not fully recovered from napping on top of his textbook.


"Out," was her simple reply before slipping through the men, hoping to get a breath of fresh air. What she was not expecting to find was the young man's top hat, discarded on the street like a dead mouse.


You must return it to him. It's what any decent person would do, she told herself, trying to quiet her mind with a logical excuse, where in all reality she simply wanted to hear more about the poetry.