The Spark of Life(Closed RP)

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Ringmaster, Dec 13, 2015.

Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.
  1. Morning in London was a tedious affair. Outside the sound of hawkers, carriages and people to and fro would echo loudly, the small apartment rented by you for your needs taking in the noises and somehow, amplifying them. If anything, it served as a better alarm clock than anything devised now and in future. Around that point, the door would be opened as a figure stood over in your kitchenette area. Sitting on one of your stools and nibbling on a roll, before noticing you're up. A grimy little urchin, his grin flashes white beneath the soot as he touches the brim of his oversized derby hat.

    "G'morning miss! Brought yer nums 'ere for ya, 'elped meself to one. I knows you wouldn't mind."

    Janky Jeff, so named for his lanky figure despite his age of ten as he kicked out his legs idly from his seat.

    "Got yer information on that chap you is after too. Sighted in Whitechapel, just last night so me mate says!"


  2. Janky Jeff, always helping bring in breakfast, so he could always help himself to some of it. She didn't mind, she knew the state of the London's less fortunate peoples. Had reported on some of them from occasion to occasion. Then there was the story that would break her out into the big times, The Vigilante, running about at night causing a ruckus. She had her suspicions that he may be just some syndicate enforcer. A Thug in the night with gun and knife. But all of his victims seemed to be of the more unlawfully inclined nature.

    She wondered if his showing up in the Whitechapel district had anything to do with the recent string of murders...

    "Good morning to you too Jeff, and thanks for the tip." she grinned at the boy as she got her gear ready for the day. Before opening a drawer and retrieving a shilling to toss at the boy. "And here's your tip." she said as she took up a roll for herself to munch on. "Anything else?" she inquired.
  3. He snatched the shilling and made it vanish in hand, grinning broadly as he lowered his voice, despite it being just them in the room.

    "Yeah. Inspector Rodrick Turpin has just been assigned to the Whitechapel murders. I 'eard from my brother, who 'eard it from 'is dolly mop, what works the station as a cleaner...That ol' Turpin 'ad a forced leave of absence. So this is 'is first case back, see? One eye, wooden arm- Cor, but 'e gives me the shivers, wot?"

    He shuddered for effect and more seriously added.

    "Real awld school too. Might not be as willin' ter talk to a lady reporter like Lestrade did."

    Who didn't know of the Whitechapel murders at this point? Of the killer known to the public as Jack the Ripper, hunting down whores and other ladies of the night in the most brutal fashion? The police were overworked and heavily out of their depth, which one suspected was the reason that Lestrade was replaced by the more solid Turpin.

  4. Were she alone, she would have sworn. Roderick Turpin, a man of the old way of thinking, the mangled old bastard probably wouldn't give her the time of day if Jeff were right. But still, she would work this case with or without the help of the police. It just made it more dangerous for her to be out about at night. Not that she cared, she had one of her fathers service revolvers inside her vest, and in a tight pinch a knife strapped to her ankle.

    "I guess it was bound ta happen, what with Mister Holmes dead in Switzerland." she shook her head at that, he was one of her favorite people to report on too.

    "But now, I've got places ta be." she smiled and put on her hat and swung the large camera case onto her back to head out. "Don't ya be knicking anything ya shouldn't now Jeff." she winked and joked at the boy as she left, knowing he would see himself out.
  5. Jeff smiled and helped himself to another bun, the last sight that Amber saw as she headed outside.

    The air was cool, but warming up with the presence of so many people as well as the sun as it pierced the mist and evaporated it away. In the crowd, she was merely just another person and not an oddity as most regarded her as. The more friendly inclined figures anyway. Worst names were tossed about, but to them all she had still continued on.

    It was going to a beautiful day, from the looks of it- An almost disquieting odd counter, to the violent murders of late. A cab would step up and the driver turn and smile.

    "Where to, miss?"

    Her workplace would be something to check out, if only to grab her notes. Other places were the local opera for the more societal paper articles, the park for the socialites, the university for the scientific minds and of course, the police station. Whitechapel was another possibility.

    Follow your nose to the news....

  6. She had no mind to get tangled up in a story of the trivialities of which play or show was debuting at the opera, nor the drama of socialites. And while the university did provide some interesting headlines from time to time, she had more pressing business to attend to. Her prime goal was Whitechapel, the murders, and the vigilante were afoot there, and she had mind to hook a juicy story there. Something that would make her name something more then a passing joke.

    But first, she needed her notes at the office "To the London Gazette please." she told the coachman.

    Just a quick in and out for her notes. She just hoped she wouldn't get pulled aside for chit-chat, or to be posted on another job. She wanted this one.
  7. [​IMG]

    The hansom cab lurched forward and as it did so, the expanse of the London Streets would flicker before Ambers eyes like history unfolding. London Town! Capital of the British Empire, the heart of the world. Its presence was felt as far as darkest Africa to the towns of Suffolk. The world was shifting all around and yet, there was trouble as well. The Rippers murders were just the tip of the iceberg. The Anarchists were threatening to bomb British workhouses, the Empire faced war on their foreign fronts from natives, one of the great minds of the century, Sherlock Holmes had died in his last case in Switzerland and overall, things seemed darker despite the light of the crowns radiance.

    And then there was still the matter of people like herself. In such a waking world, why was it that a woman could not do certain things? Everything was left to her husband to be, even the act of wearing trousers invoked scandal and subsequently, Amber was refused certain stories because her presence would cause more harm than good.

    At any rate, the cab would stop before the building and within clicked the typing of much stories, being cut and whittled into something for the people as on her way to her place, she came upon the following on her desk.

    Someone had left a smooth, polished toy of wood that was of a shape difficult to mistake for anything but a mans genitalia, erect and standing proudly on her desk.

    Less amusing was the straps connected to it, obviously intended for her to wear.

    A little bit of hazing from her fellow reporters, though thankfully after the first few incidents and some stern words from her employer, they eventually vanished to a few jokes like this.

    Around this point, her employer appeared- The head of the Gazette as he frowned.


    In a broad, Northern accent he spoke.

    "Ere now, wots this all about?!"

  8. She rolled her eyes at the carved phallus, and would have just thrown it in the garbage without a second thought or glance. Were it not for her boss swooping down on her right then and there to see the item in all it's majesty upon her desk. Still though, there were reasons she could make it this far in the business, she cleared her throat.

    "It looks like a cock... Not mine, so I think some of your other employees have some... rather Perverse thoughts on how it should be used."

    Now that was a thought, bending those assholes over a desk and dishing out some of what they serve daily...

    She shook the thought out of her head, and pushed the wooden penis into the waste bin next to her desk before collecting her notes on the vigilante. All the while hoping her boss wouldn't be too harsh on her today...
  9. He snorted.

    "Nay lass, give it 'ere. I'll use it after I remove my boot from whoever's arse stuck this 'ere. An' after I talked to everyone! Bah!"

    He grabbed it from the wastebasket and more quietly spoke.

    "Dunnae give up lass. You've brains an' a gift fer seeking truth. If these penny dreadful freaks can' see it, too blo- Bad."

    He amended his speech and quietly, pulled up a chair as he sat down with a huff. His wooden leg clacking as he sat. He was an old salt, a former army member with Amber's father back in the day, before he was crippled and retired. He chose to enter a new sort of front then, eventually becoming head of the London Gazette...And while it was shocking to see the Brigadier Generals little princess dressed as she was, in this line of work? He loved her enough to overlook it and threaten to brain anyone with his cane if they so much as tried to touch her. It gave her some form of leeway.

    Though not enough to overcome all the prejudice.

    He reached out a hand, to look at an artist rendition of the vigilante Amber was seeking, one eyebrow cocked at the almost satanic look and the batlike wings.

    "Still chasing spring-heeled Jack? Lass, I know yer looking for a good story, but surely ye can start with something....More realistic?"

Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.