Thread: Scarlet Letters -DEAD RP-

RE Scarlet Letters -QuixoticXCandy- Knee's scrabbling in the dirt, and chest heaving, Oxenham tasted the bitter taste of alcohol from the previous night's soiree mingled with the bile rising in his throat as he reacted to the sight of the mangled woman, and cursed himself for initiating this morning excursion. Why had he agreed to come here, what had he expected? In the back of his remained the reasons he'd explained to his lover, but right at this moment, they appeared ridiculous and insignificant his ego talking. Yes, let's go view a corpse, it'll be fun. What the man hadn't counted on was the vast difference between between reading about vile acts, such as a woman having her intestines ripped out, and the reality of witnessing it first-hand. Although his back was turned, and vision obscured by the tears welled in his eyes, Darcy Oxenham could still see her. It was a sight he'd never forget, and one he instinctively regretted bringing Olivia to. How would she cope? Although she was a fling not intended to last long-term, the man did care for his lover, and remorse wracked his brain, simultaneously as spasms wracked his body. He blindly reached for her, to pull her gaze away, so that she wouldn't be forever struck down with nightmares of the hellish vision. However, he couldn't locate Olivia, and as the paroxysms relented, Darcy instead raised the arm to wipe his mouth, and clear his vision with his coat sleeve. All he could see was her feet, and then hear the sound of her voice, which sent goose bumps trailing down his spine. The man expected, well, he didn't know what he'd expected, maybe a scream of horror?, but definitely not the lightness, almost joy, he sensed in her tone. And who was she speaking to, one of the coppers? No, it couldn't be. All of them had been too ashen-faced and in shock to initiate conversation. Curiosity provided Oxenham the strength to struggle to his feet. When he raised erect, he was met with a pair of glowing green eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul. No sound emanated from the stranger's mouth, and his expression was implacable, however, Darcy Oxenham gained the impression that he was being mocked, before the man swiveled his attention back to his Olivia. Entranced, and unsure of what was occurring, he could only swivel his own head in unison. Did she look, happy? The man in black, who'd remained unflinchingly still and expressionless as she'd spoken, casually appraised the finely dressed woman with intense green orbs. For five seconds, ten, fifteen, he stared, before, as if in slow motion, his mouth opened, and he finally spoke his tone low and melodic. Madman, psychotic, tortured soul, scorned lover, or possessed by the very Devil himself, who knows why the man perpetrates such heinous crimes. However, no sentient being ever acts without a purpose, no matter how insane that purpose may appear to the uninitiated. And, in any event, who is the arbiter of sanity? Am I sane? Are you? Or is it all a matter of degree? He paused to allow his cryptic reply to linger momentarily in the air, then shrugged. The villain undoubtedly has his reasons, and as to whether he'll continue to elude authorities, that remains to be seen. Though, for your companion's sake, we should hope not, he is looking rather unwell. The stranger threw a taunting glance, tinged with amusement, at Darcy, then dipped his hat to the woman, Until we meet again, before he pirouetted lightly on his feet, and swiftly melded into the crowd. A second later, it was if he'd never existed at all. What the Hell do you think you are playing at. The spell breaking the instant the other man disappeared, Darcy gripped Olivia's elbow and hissed furiously in her ear. This isn't some performance, where she's going to raise once the curtain comes down, and bow to the adoring crowd. The woman is dead, Olivia, butchered like an animal. I don't think you appreciate that. His narrowed eyes found hers, and Oxenham jerked harshly on her arm, before he realised, evident from the murmur that passed through the throng of onlookers, he was creating a scene, and took a deep breath to force the anger away. I'm sorry, I must have imbibed too much last night, and the stench made me nauseous and short-tempered. I concede defeat, your stomach is stronger than mine. Ensuring his back remained to the mess on the doorstep assisted the man in regaining composure, and with the effects of his hangover worsened by the recent retching, the last thing his throbbing head needed was a screaming match, so it was easy enough to put Olivia's strange behaviour down to simply to a continuation of their earlier competitive jesting. He even managed a smile to accompany the conciliatory tone. Now, let's get on our way, a hair of the dog will do the trick. I know just the place. If the East End was good for anything, it was for the ability to indulge your vices, at any hour of the day, and the equality it offered. God Forbid, some of the illegal drinking establishments even accepted women. Who was that man, anyway, he gave me the creeps. Fucking voyeurs. The irony escaped Darcy Oxenham.