Thread: Dresses and Derangement (Shikokudarkstar & Charlie_Death)

Thorben couldn't comprehend his transgressions. He stood in his entryway, dripping in water silently going over all that had transpired. He was certain he followed the right person, but his anger may have bested him this time as he didn't properly research the house. He never screws up! He mentally went over every rule of etiquette that he knew of to see if there was anything to do to repair the damage he has done. But there was nothing, not in any rule book written or implied that could save him. He had trouble sleeping that night, as any other night when the voices wouldn't leave him alone. They wanted him to go back and to kill the woman as well, yet only a single one, perhaps it really was his own thought, that repeated itself. Who is she? When it clicked that she was the woman that had been nearby when he had murdered that street walker, he sat up in his bed, hands gripping his sheets ready to fling them off in pursuit. There was no way she could know who he was, what he was or what he does, but it was unmistakable that it was her. He rarely forgets a face. Trying to find a connection between the mysterious woman and the drunkard, he tried to fight through the haze of his mind and recall his face. They were similar, almost identical. Were they twins? Surely not husband and wife as he had thought. But if that was the case, why was the wardrobe mixed with both sets of male and female clothing? None of it made sense. Instead, he was going to find out who she was and if she deserved to be slain with whomever that man was to her. He didn't sleep at all, remaining in bed until the night sky began to brighten with the incoming dawn. He washed up with the cold water set out on the stand before beginning his morning routine make his bed, lay out each article clothing in order of application, dress, check hair and for any imperfections of image, and a brief breakfast. Rather than taking his time with eating, he rushed himself to be sure that he was at the woman's house before she left. Before leaving he donned his hat, gloves, morning coat and substituted his cane for an umbrella, as the weather was still threatening of rain. He kept to himself and remained in any shadow he could find, watching the house for when she left. Then he would follow her at a distance, ducking into an alley or shop when he felt she was growing suspicious of his presence. This he kept up for a few days, after all, he had to be sure of what he knew. What he did gather was that although the house was often visited by prostitutes both current and former, the woman did not behave as if she was one of them. Instead she acted with refinement whenever she was in public. She was often walking with other women of better or modest means, keeping them company throughout the day. She solicited no man, was proper in her etiquette and dress, polite and the more he watched, quite handsome. The voices seemed to die down as he watched her stroll by leisurely through a park, parasol shading her well maintained hair. He found himself almost anticipating her routines, trying to catch more than just her back or side glances. What was more important, was that despite her age, she did not appear to behave as if she was married. She was not in a rush to return home, and when she did, she was often accompanied or greeted by the women that congregate at her home. It should be his luck that he was permitted to be well dressed in a cool but sunny day, following the woman, who's name he has devised to be Ms. Arabella Haly. The man he had originally been in pursuit of was still unnamed and whose affiliation with the lady was still uncertain. He had remained out of the shadows for the most part, feeling a compulsion to set something in motion that was not murderous. He wasn't even upset when she finally took notice and addressed him. Following etiquette, he removed his hat and greeted her with a bow. I much apologize, I have been quite rude to have followed you, but you see... He looked up at her face, trying to determine what her reaction was to his presence. I couldn't help myself. Keeping his hat pressed to his chest and cane under his arm, he fumbled in his inner pocket of his over coat to pull out a card. It was rather plain with a pressed pattern about the border with calligraphy in the center. He twirled it in his gloved hand before handing it over. The calligraphy simply read, Thorben Strand. My name is Thorben Strand, and although we have become briefly acquainted, I have thoroughly forgotten to introduce myself. For this I am most deeply sorry. I was hoping that I could call on you to apologize for my transgression a few days prior. If you would have me, of course. I would not want to enter a lady's residence without first receiving permission. He cleared his throat and spoke more quietly, Our previous encounter was entirely a mistake on my part.