Thread: Scarlet Letters -DEAD RP-

RE Scarlet Letters -QuixoticXCandy- Was her desire to leave the flat miscommunicated? Did Darcy believe that the cause for her frantic pulling on his arm was caused by some other reason? Or was he so wrapped up in his own little world that she was just an annoyance to be dismissed with a wave of his hand? Apparently, she was! Why was it that every distraction known to man or beast, was set on detouring them? Since her youth, Olivia had never understood the purpose of 'small talk' and could honestly say that she detested it. The asinine conversations never seemed to stimulate her mind or her emotions, yet everyone else around her was quite content with such an annoying pleasantry. Countless times she had considered asking those around her why they engaged in small talk to try and better understand but instead had opted for silence. After all, it was far safer to leave such things unsaid. If she had possessed a watch, Olivia would have been anxiously checking the time with the impatient tapping of her booted foot. Constantly watching in disgust as Darcy wasted second after precious second of her valuable time on mindless chatter to only Heaven knew! Didn't he understand how much she detested small talk from subtle hints she had dropped at their introduction? Clearly, he hadn't. The whore was certainly dead, but that didn't mean the police weren't getting close to removing her scattered remains or worse, they had already done so while Darcy and the nitwits droned on and on. If there was such a thing as God, he had a sick sense of humor and penchant for seeing Olivia squirm. However, all prior annoyance melted away the instant their slender figures weaved expertly through the crowd of onlookers towards their journey's end. Mentally the young woman had prepared herself for the sickening effigy but as her body broke through the thick crowd, her breath was instantly snatched away from her lips. Time stood still as she tried to remember how to draw breath in the presence of something so exquisite. Nothing she had ever witnessed could compare to the disgusting loveliness of the Champman strumpet lying torn and prone on the gray cobblestone street. How shocking to witness the stark contrast between the pale dead skin comparatively to the crimson rivers of blood that painted the earth vermillion. If there was such a thing as God, this had been his doing he had inspired Jack to continue his murderous rampage. However, her admiration of the dead woman was interrupted by a hand that tugged against her own and the sound of the weak-willed sap beside her sputtering and hacking as he wasn't able to stomach the sight of Jack's second masterpiece. 'You pathetic little worm,' she thought darkly, beautiful caramel eyes narrowing with burning hatred. At least Darcy had offered her a good, although bitter, chuckle with his sad comment to 'look away'. 'Look away' , she thought furiously, her shimmering orbs never leaving his quivering form. If the young woman hadn't been so horrified by her lover's lack of a spine she might have laughed aloud at his misery. Why in the name of God would she ever desire to 'look away' from the whore's disfigured body? Hadn't the purpose of this particular excursion been exactly the opposite of what Mr. Oxenham had pleaded? To look into the face of horror? If Darcy hadn't fallen to his knees to dry heave, Olivia herself would have left him by the wayside to enjoy the gory scene. Perhaps when the moment passed and her nerves weren't raw with agitation, she could look back on this moment and cherish his sniveling whimpers, even recall the image to her mind long after she and Darcy were no longer an item. Honestly, could he not even pretend to be stronger than he was and be a man? If only his superiors could see him now, curled into a shivering mass of useless flesh. Ha, and to think he had said he would have to carry her when she fainted. An impish smirk curled up the corners of her mouth as she wished she had been a gambling woman to think she could have made a quick pound off the spineless whelp. 'I wonder if he even has a spine,' she contemplated, lifting her fingers to her lips to gently tap against her pouty mouth. If he didn't, there was a corpse but a few feet from them that could easily offer her's up as she no longer had need of such trivial things like bone. It was still entirely unsurprising that a man who claimed he wouldn't be carrying her if she fainted, couldn't stomach the gore but what had shocked her further was the strange tingling sensations of a presence at her back.The same hate-filled eyes that had been locked on Darcy turned towards the darkly dressed figure with enchanting green orbs and that immediately softened with curiosity. Who was this stranger? Olivia watched him with a quirked brow as he watched Darcy, his face a perfect slab of pristine marble, completely unchanging. The moment those same jade eyes flicked up towards her, Olivia could see curiosity glittering within the stunning pools of liquid emerald. Forthwith her mouth went dry with apprehension and her heart thundered within her petite ears. No man, even the most divine of creatures, could not elicit the feelings that squirmed within her belly, yet the man in front of her had conjured them without even a word. Good morrow sir, she cooed, hoping that the wavering within her sultry voice was not inherently obvious. Looking at him, really drinking in his visage, Olivia couldn't put her finger on why this stranger's presence was entirely consuming. Again, she had forgotten how to breathe, and when she did draw air into her lungs, she gasped loudly and her cheeks turned a lovely carmine. With another wavering inhale, she extended a lovely smile as she swallowed the hard lump of apprehension that had formed in her throat. Frightening isn't, she said, turning her gaze back towards the corpse with a distant glimmer in her amber eyes. Regrettably, Olivia couldn't say the actual words that had come to mind whilst staring at the remains of Annie Champman, instead, could only hope that the stranger could sense her actual meaning. Just think, she began, finally turning her gaze the stranger again with that same impish smile curling up the corners of her suggestive mouth, that Jack has struck again and eluded police for the second time, without leaving even a hint of his identity behind. A longing smile ease past parted lips, Surely if that is not brilliance than I do not know what else in this world is. Likely Darcy had heard at least a portion of their conversation and he had probably wondered why his lover spouted madness. You know, she started again after a considerable pause, her slender finger folding delicately behind her back, Some consider his work beyond him time, saying he is some evil spirit sent front hell to punish the wicked. Other call him deranged, and psychotic for the slaughtering of 'innocent' women. The duration of her psychotic rambling, she had worn the same crazed smirk, She hissed dangerously before turned her gaze towards this stranger again with a hint of a smile turning up the corners of her pouty lips, There are even some who think that this Ripper fellow is a woman scorned because of her adulterous husband. Which do you think sir? Psycho, genius, deranged or a bitter woman?