Thread: Dresses and Derangement (Shikokudarkstar & Charlie_Death)

To any of the people that Thorben had passed he was just an ordinary gentleman one of wealth and respect. However, beneath the surface it was different. On the outside he may return the smiles and nods as he passed but on the inside he was cold. He was particular about his dress, about how he composed himself and he didn't allow anything to ever break that. He knew that what people could see was what mattered. If you dressed like a vagrant, you would be viewed and treated as such and he did not allow his image to drop any lower than the perfectly composed gentleman of increasing wealth. A week ago that image was damaged by a man who couldn't watch where his elbows were. Etiquette dictated that one should be careful not to bump into others and it was an important rule that Thorben adhered to religiously. He had been invited to a ball and had been mingling with a few other gentlemen in the smoke room when a man of higher standing than him had taken a step back into him. Startled the man had spun around and singed part of Thorben's coat, dropping ashes onto him. At the time he had apologized and being separated from the ladies, a few others enjoyed a laugh at his inebriated faux pas the others that also included Thorben. If anyone truly knew him - and no one did - they would have known that his laugh and dismissal was a front and beneath it he was loathing of the man. He had spent two days contemplating what to do and where the man had lived and his servants. Then having waited for him to leave to go to a high end club that catered to the upper class, Thorben had sneaked into his house and hidden. He had no problem with the servants that resided in their quarters and kept himself quiet enough for them to not notice but if anyone had come across him in the house, he wouldn't have hesitated to end their life. As the man returned and headed into his parlor alone, Thorben struck. He had taken a statuette that was on a side table and beaten the man to death, took whatever money he had on him at the time and made off with a few other baubles that could have fit into his pockets. The man wasn't the first that Thorben had killed, in fact he wouldn't have been as wealthy as he was if it wasn't for his disgust of having his facade broken in any way. He had killed many people within robberies as the papers put it. How little they knew that it was simply an act excessive vengeance or that it was after perfectly forged signatures had given him the deceased's wealth or business. It wasn't the murders that he committed against those that rubbed him the wrong way, that splashed water onto his trousers with their carriage that made him dangerous, it was the acts he had began committing that really caught attention not that anyone had suspected that it was him. He was always careful not to leave any evidence that it was him and his meticulous neatness always ensured that he was clean, well dressed and uninteresting. It was the purpose for his calm stroll that was the only thing off or sinister. Unlike those around him that were heading to shops before they closed, heading to corner clubs for tea or drink, or in the case of those who were on the same path he was on, he was not going to have an ordinary uneventful evening. He touched the brim of his top hat as a gentleman he recognized then pat his inner pocket as he brought his hand down, assuring himself that his blade was still in place. He turned a corner and headed into the neighborhood where loose women walked, taking men's money as they brought them to their diseased beds. The idea of prostitutes sickened Thorben, not that he ever tried to think as to why it disgusted him so. He walked awhile watching from the corners of his eyes until he spotted a woman alone not too far from an alleyway that lead to an abandoned building. He knew that the building was vacant because he had passed it several times as he prepared for what he was going to do. He lured her alone as he done to the others, a warm smile, charismatic proposition and the promise of being well paid for her services. Once they were alone had had spun her away from him, pulled up a sleeve and slashed her throat with the concealed blade. He had cut deep enough that she couldn't scream and instead gurgled on her own blood. As she stumbled, Thorben pulled out an apron he had hidden on one of his scouting trips and pulled it on as he pulled her back into the shadows. He made quick work on her, tearing her loose clothes from her body and slicing open her abdomen. As much as Thorben had come to respect and assisted women, it was the prostitutes that always set him off. Whenever he bumped into one and had her call in his direction he felt shivers coarse through him and a desire to just end her life. Before he would simply strangle and beat them to death but he felt that it wasn't fitting for their wretchedness. So now he had invested in blades befitting a surgeon to torture them in their last moments. He paid little attention to the prostitute's head rolling as she lost consciousness from pain and bloodloss. By the time that Thorben had cut out what he had assumed to be her uterus she was already dead. He tossed it into an opening into the sewers and in a last fit of controlled rage pulled out her intestines and left the mangled remains. He discarded the apron sure that he could come and pick it up later when the blood had dried and headed back onto the streets. He had checked to make sure he didn't have any blood on his sleeves which he had shamelessly pushed up to his elbows, he changed his dirtied gloves to an identical clean pair and headed home. After he passed two similar alleyways he spotted a woman without an escort who seemed almost out of place. They were still close to the less desirable neighborhoods where prostitutes became common, certainly a neighborhood where a well dressed lady was not expected to wander alone. Thorben knew these streets to not be safe, mostly because he was the one that made them unsafe, and felt compelled to accompany the woman the rest of her walk. He knew she was out of place because she was wearing clothing fitting the middle class rather than those of the lower rungs of society were accustomed wearing. He knew that it was best for him to leave the area without notice to continue his activities but his morals as a gentleman dictated that he be there to protect a woman. He didn't know the woman but seeing her delicately avoid a puddle and stumble, he acted. He removed his top hat and offered a supporting arm to steady her steps. My apologies, my lady. He kept his hat pressed to his chest as he offered her a comforting smile. If you need someone to accompany you, I would gladly help. If not, might I suggest walking closer to the buildings, there are fewer puddles to sully your dress and less likely a careless hackney to splash you. Although he felt compelled to accompany her and prepared to steer her away from his victim, he held in hope that she wave him on his way so that he could relax and bask in the pleasure of ending the life of a diseased harlot.