Thread: Scarlet Letters -DEAD RP-

RE Scarlet Letters -QuixoticXCandy- An aroused groan escaped Darcy's lips as the sensation of Olivia's body pressed into his, and her wandering hand, caused his member to harden evermore, interrupting his light-hearted jesting. Although his alcohol-riddled brain remained hazy, his body was willing and able, and the man grinned lasciviously as his eyes locked on her beautiful face, then drifted down to Olivia's even more alluring cleavage. A brow raised when she spoke again, following another kiss. Because you're an open book to me, my dear, intent clearly writ across your adorable face. The fleeting thought that he'd sensed another emotion masked beneath her expression and teasing words, had evaporated with the shiver of pleasure elicited by seductive breath floating over his neck. Much longer, and Darcy might have forgone his new-found ambitions, and it required an effort to release her from his clutches. An action not taken until he'd slid both hands down over the curve of Olivia's delectable butt, issued a squeeze to each cheek, and pressed his fully-erect phallus against her, to remind the woman of what to expect once they returned from their sojourn. There was no doubt, gauging from the glint of anticipation in his lover's gaze, and mischievous behaviour, that Olivia was looking forward to an afternoon romp as much as he. Punishment can wait. Darcy grinned, and the harsh sound of his palm cracking against her ass echoed around the living-room before he allowed their respective touches to fully part. Moments later, with the business card in his hand, Darcy had pushed the sensation of his throbbing erection aside, and grinned like a cat who'd gotten the cream. And Poppycock nothing, my Dear, he laughed, instructing her to change, then reading the card aloud, in his best Upper-class accent. I wager you didn't imagine I could gain us intimate access to the scene. I just hope you don't witness anything to spoil your mood because, Darling, when we arrive back home. Darcy pirouetted to depart the room, and spoke the last of his words over his shoulder. I intend to ravish you well into tomorrow. After washing and cleaning his teeth, and looking resplendent, if the man didn't say so himself, in a double-breasted gray suit, under which lay a white winged collar shirt, hair neatly combed, and five o'clock shadow shaved from his features, Darcy stopped in his tracks when he re-entered the living-room and laid eyes on Olivia. A low whistle of appreciation escaped Oxenham's pursed lips as admired the form under her dress, and once again praised his good fortune in being able to claim such a beautiful and elegant woman as his. So different from the pitiful dead whore they were about to visit, whose death at the hands of a depraved madman seemed, in Darcy's view, appropriate. Every human being seeks out his or her own kind, and he and Olivia were the perfect match. It'd be a while yet before she began to bore him. Whoa. Oxenham laughed when she swiftly grabbed his arm, and almost forcefully dragged him out onto the street. She's deceased, so I don't think she'll be going anywhere soon. What's up with you this morning? Her rush caused the man to stumble on the pavement, and a look of confusion and intrigue crossed his face when he straightened. However, Darcy's curiosity swiftly abated when a passing neighbour dipped his hat, bade them good day, and engaged Darcy and Olivia in conversation. He'd completely forgotten the event by the time they boarded the carriage. Darcy slipped his arms around Olivia's shoulder, and spoke protectively to her when the cabbie let them off a short distance from their destination, in one of the poorest areas of the city. Stay close. Acting the protector, he captured Olivia's gaze, and nodded at a beggar slumped against a stone wall, most of his teeth-missing, and the one non-diseased eye, ogling his lover. Whatever the tramp cackled was undecipherable, though obviously not well-intentioned, gauging from its tone. Come on. Through ever narrowing lanes they walked, with Darcy keeping his focus straight ahead in an attempt to ignore the sad pleas for money from the unfortunate, and the whispered enticements of elderly, malnourished prostitutes, desperate enough for food and sustenance to be offering their bodies for sale at this morning hour. It felt an eternity before they rounded a corner, and ran smack-bang into the mass of humanity, previously heard but unseen. A large crowd filled the streets in front of a row of cottage town-houses, whispering, gossiping, screaming out questions, and exchanging rumours, held back from the crime-scene by a cordon of Bobbies. Taking Olivia's hand, and pushing their way slowly through the throng, Darcy reached one of Policemen, shot him a charming smile, and dangled the business card in front of his eyes, fairly certain that the man wouldn't even be able to read. I'm here on behalf of the Queen's counsel. Oxenham stepped through, with Olivia in tow, as if both had every right to be there. Worked like a charm. Darcy winked at his companion, then approached a group of pasty-faced uniformed officers. stood with their backs to what appeared to be a bundle of bloodied clothing, stashed on the rear entrance steps of Twenty-nine Porter street. Annie Chapman, her name was, as the press would soon reveal, but how the mangled corpse could be positively identified would forever stay a mystery to Darcy, for it barely resembled a human being. Rivers of blood stained the steps crimson, and the woman was splayed on the stairs, naked with legs spread. Criss-cross slashes, inflicted by a razor-sharp blade, adorned her skin from feet to scalp, and she was missing half of her face, whilst red, raw flesh seeped from deep incisions, and the victim's remaining features were screwed up in an expression of unadulterated agony. One breast lay next to her on the stair. And that was only the start, for Darcy next noted her stomach had been ripped open, exposing the gleaming white bone of her ribs in the cloud-filtered sunlight, contrasting against the hollow black cavity beneath. A cavity that should have contained the organs of life. Adjacent to her breast sat what at first could be assumed a slab of meat left out for the family dog, but which quickly coalesced into the shape of a human heart, and coiled across her ravaged torso were the slimy trails of the woman's intestines. It was that last image which caused Darcy to splutter and drop to one knee, simultaneously tugging on Olivia's hand and attempting to pull her away, not realising it was already too late, and having missed the grin rising on her face. Don't look. Then his grip slipped from hers, Darcy keeled over, and began to dry-wretch. Groans and heaves alternated from the depths of his throat, as he attempted to throw up, but nothing came out. The uncontrollable paroxysms of his body brought tears to his eyes, and obscured his vision, so even if Oxenham had possessed the desire to lift his gaze, he'd have been unable to clearly make out the lone figure who'd separated himself from the crowd of onlookers. The man, dressed all in black, whose benign expression transformed into one of humour as he watched Darcy Oxenham blindly clasp for his lover amidst his struggle to cope with the sight of Annie Chapman's defilement, before he focused his piercing green orbs, newly ablaze with curiosity and interest, on the man's companion. This was no place for such a finely dressed woman.