[ What could go wrong? It was hard to sneak away from the gathering when it came. After all, how Disraeli pawed at her, wanting her. His new little bauble. Praised her soft white skin. Her eyes, everything but that fact that she could beat him in a game of chess, checkers and cards.
Erg.
It was boring, having to praise him so insipidly. Heaping the words onto him. It was pathetically easy to lure him where she wanted him past a point. He was so sure he would have her this time, so sure that just as she thought she could get away ( excuses that she just wanted some quiet to go and be alone for a moment, with that weak little cough that was only half faked for the thick haze of cigars, no one thought much of it, she, after all, was so slight, so fragile ) to start digging through his room for the plans for his factories. Then, he had appeared after her.
Shit, is the first thought. Go away, is the second. But what comes out of her face is a smile, a little laugh unbeknownst to someone else be in the room but him and her. ]
You found me, at long last.
[ How sweet she sounds, how forlorn, a painters idea of a lover waiting on the desk as Disraeli moves in closer, too involved to think about the fact she was in his study for any other reason. She sags against the edge of the desk, her skirts blue this evening, flickered with gold thread, her hair piled up in braids on her head.
Waits for him to come close, how he boxes her in. Tilting her head back so he could kiss her - Good, concentrate on that you great dolt.
Just as he seems so sure of himself, smugly involved in kissing her, she jabs him in the neck. Not with her fist, God knew there was no strength in that, and not even harshly. But with the concealed needle hidden in her cuff of lacey sleeves. It takes a few seconds, enough time for him to roughly slide his hands everywhere.
Then all at once, he slides down onto the floor in a pile. Snoring loudly almost immediately. Angel's face scrunches up, wretched. ]
You dolt, why couldn't you stay downstairs like you were supposed to you? Now what am I going to do with you, you useless fucking -
[ The angle of the desk to the door doesn't give her a great view of the door, and that's the truth. She's also got a little more on her mind than keeping an eye out for even more intruders. But Jacob hears the commotion, the noise of voices from his sweep of the corridor, and his senses flash- through the next door, a man and a woman. Not just any man either, but his target.
The young lady glimmers a strange gold too, and he can't resist. He won't strike now, not if it might cause her distress, but he might step in as her distress seems evident even from several yards away. When he arrives on the threshold of the study, it's evident she's got the situation under control, an unconscious form crumpling at her feet. Jacob doesn't think he would have left it so long if he was the one being groped, nor does he think he'd settle for knocking the man out, but each to their own. He steps forward, and over, the prone figure, a grin spreading over his features.]
Am I interrupting?
[ He does glance over her, hopefully not in a way that makes Angel suppose he'd like to take the bastard's place, because nothing is further from his thoughts at this moment. Thankfully, she looks unhurt, albeit unhappy, and he can't blame her for that. He reaches into the interior of his coat, for the hipflask that he carries when there's too long a distance between pubs, or he's stuck watching a target, and offers it out to her.]
Brandy, and nothing more than that, I assure you. What were you looking for?
[ He hopes they aren't after the same thing. He can't let her take the plans, or the prototype that sits in the grounds. Bugger, he should have destroyed that first.]
[ She really wasn't expecting anyone, that was for certain, that she can't help but yelp when he speaks out of the darkness. her hand lifting up to cover her mouth before she says something worse. Terrified for a moment who it might be.
But it's... Jacob.
Jacob?
Her shoulders sink back physically. Her body relaxing under his gaze, and at least - he isn't here to cause her problems, she doesn't think. But that does beg the question what he is doing here anyway.
But she doesn't say it for the moment, rather she reaches for that brandy flask and... in true ladylike fashion, tips her head back and down half the bottle. Jack wasn't here, Jack didn't have to know what his little Angel got up to.
When she's done, she drops the back of her hand to cover her mouth, smothering the little hiccup that comes with a harsh drink too quickly, flushing in her cheeks. Which is the odd realisation that she trusts him, this assassin, and maybe that trust is based in spite, but it is trust all the same. ]
They... [ Templars. Looming like shadows in the corner, ventures it after a moment, hovering on the right words the right way. ] ... want to blackmail him. They want to be sure if I can't make him fall in love with me...
[ They didn't believe it could work, of course, but then, when did a bunch of men ever believe women were capable of anything? She takes another mouthful for good measure and at least screws the flask shut. Rage hot with the burning of liquor leaves her pink and bright and sorely tempted to kick the unconscious man. ] Like he'll be different to the last one, or the one before that, or the one before that.
[ Jacob may well be surprised by the way she knows back the drink: he might be used to ladies who stab rather than play harpsichord but all of the high class ladies tend to sip their drinks. The flush on Angel's face when she passes the considerably lighter flask back might betray the fact she doesn't always drink like a fish.
Or isn't used to doing it with an audience. ]
I'm afraid I can't give you the chance.
[ He's well aware that might cause her trouble, it might give her cause to explain herself to her father, and he doesn't want to put her through anything horrible. Or worst than they would already. But he has a job to do and a duty to the innocent people of England and for that matter, everywhere else. He moves to the man's desk, beginning to go through draws in the search for his notes. ]
You can tell them that I had already killed the bastard by the time you got up here. And trashed the place.
[ She looks downright alarmed, but not necessarily because the man is going to be killed, or that they're talking of murder. ]
You can't!
[ She jumps forward, taking a step over his body and - it takes her a moment to gather up all her skirts in her hands, so she doesn't trip on him. That would be the last thing she needs right now, as she goes to follow after him around the desk. ]
[ Jacob doesn't much like being told what to do, or what he can't do. It's all too reminiscent of Ethan and his iron-grip on his children. His face hardens as he looks up at her, straightening from the open desk drawer. ]
Do you know what that man is working on? Do you know what he's building?
[ He doesn't mean to sound so angry, this isn't hurt fault. She's been sent here, and she has no choice. He tries to remember that, but the very fact is that he's here to do what is right, not because some Templars told him so. Not because Ethan told him so. Or Evie or Greenie. He's here because he knows this is right, that he can't allow this man to finish the gun he is building, a gun that will fire like a machine, and mow men down like grass in the wind. ]
That man is going to kill more people than you and I could ever do, if we worked dawn to dusk every day for the rest of our lives. Until we drowned in blood.
[ He looks over at the prone figure, a man who might be considered by some to be an inventor, a great scientist and engineer, a tinkerer who furthers the goals of empire. Jacob sees a terrible threat to the freedom and happiness of every man, woman and child on the planet.
With a graceful movement, Jacob pulls the revolver from where it's tucked into one of the many belts, cocks it, and fires.
[ It's jumped back, and she's scrambling, scrambling to stop him. Trying to catch his arm as she sees that gun, sharp, quick, merciless metal and chemicals.
The sound of it shatters the air, so loud she feels deaf afterwards. A sudden sharp horrible realisation she's never been around a bullet before. Seen the aftermath, the carnage, the blood. But heard it? Felt how it split the air? She shudders, breathless and dizzy from that sound more than the man that was so suddenly dead. That, at least, was almost routine.
Half-deafened, she lurches, back to him. ]
Run! You have to run!
[ It's tripped, but she pushes him, shoving against his chest towards the window. If they find him in here, they'll - do something awful. Jack will do something awful. ]
[ Jacob doesn't understand her panic, the wide-eyed look of horror that twists her delicate features. Surely she's shot a man before, or seen one shot? It's just the same as slicing a throat, aside from the acrid smell in the air, the hole it leaves not unlike a tear in flesh. As she pushes at him, he stands his ground, the gun slipped away as he catches her arm.
Gently. She might be a killer, but he's never seen that evidenced first hand, and her reaction now makes her seem even more unlikely to be one, in his mind. She seems so naive, so innocent to his world.]
Not yet.
[ He offers her a smile, charming, reassuring as he can, and turns back to the desk, still searching through it, looking for papers, plans. There's a little raised knot of wood under the lip of the desk and as his fingers run over it, a little hidden drawer slides out, revealing blueprints. He opens them, briefly, to check they are what he's looking for, and then he gathers them up and tosses them into the fire burning in the grate. ]
Now we run. Come on.
[ He nods towards the window, opens it up wide, and holds his hand out to her. ]
[ Her head is still reeling, the body lifeless, pooling blood like a similar verse to an old song, heard from far off. Her head snapping from watching him - to the sounds from outside. Voices calling to try and work out where the sound of the shot.
The only thing that makes sense is to lock the door, slamming it shut quickly. Pressing her back into it as she tries and works out... what to do. Jack would - Jack would be furious, and she knew who he'd take it out on.
Her eyes shut, shaking her head briefly as he fiddles with the desk. Burns the paper, only opening when he's speaking again. Blinking wide, confused - ]
Jacob, I can't - He'll -
[ But, as he stands there, arm outstretched, she wants to go, more than she thinks she's ever wanted anything in her life. That thought is so clear, so sharp, so desperate, she feels like she'll choke on it. ]
[ And with that he moves back to her, taking her hand in his and knotting their fingers together, before moving back to the window. There's voices in the corridor outside, muffled by the door, and they have little to no time.]
You can climb, can't you?
[ He hopes that's a yes, even in that dress. Either way, he's stirring her towards the window. There are thankfully lots of handholds in the brickwork, enough windows and ledges to make it down easy.
He has, at least, something of a plan. The house is going to be a mass of panic and confusion for at least three or four minutes, hopefully, before anyone has the sense to really search the gardens and grounds. That should give him time to get to the workshop and prime it. And then he can get out, and Angel can tell her father that she chased him down, or, if she feels like really brave, she can come with him back to town.
[ He was touching her. Of his own free will. Not because money, or prestige, or because she was some beautiful glass object to be placed on a mantle. He was touching her because - he just wanted to her to come with him? Even if -
Jack will kill him.
For a moment, he gets her to go along, hurrying little steps as he brings her across the room. Dizzying heights from the window and she can climb, climbed trees and rocks and bed posts as a little girl, even if now she has this tight corset and bustle to consider.
Angel nods, swallows, tries to come to grips with it. ]
I can.
[ And with more nervousness perhaps she shouldn't have, she tugs up the bell of her skirt, bring it up to her knees. Delicate white stockings underneath and shoes that could be - worse, certainly, little booted heels good for dancing and not much else, but at least she wouldn't fall out of them as she begins to descend, terrifying, this thing for herself, this escaping. Out into the dead of night in a ballgown like lovers running off to Gretna Green.
But far less romantic for the dead body that caused them to bolt than a badly planned engagement. Gloved fingers hanging onto the windowsill then disappearing as she takes hold of another jutting brick and a piece of weaving trellis vine, gently beginning her journey down. ]
[ Jacob is far more used to escaping unpleasant situations and only one body is unusual for one of his adventures. Climbing out of a window with a young woman? Not as unusual as you might think.
He climbs out after her, and then let's himself drop onto the soft ground below, to help her down if she needs it. There's lovely thick planting here and hopefully that will give them a bit of cover.]
I'm going to destroy the workshop. You can come with me, if you want, or stay back here.
[ The way he delivers that second option makes it clear he doesn't like the idea of it. He'd much rather she stayed with him. He's not sure she should be left alone, and he doesn't think he wants her to go back to her father.]
There's a train track about a mile south of the house. I was going to head back to London that way. You should come with me. We'll think of what to do then.
[ She lands with an undignified thumb. But he's right at least - between the thicks plants, and the many layers of petticoats and rolls, she is cushioned when she falls, pulling herself up hastily, still dizzy. ]
I'll come with you - you'll ... you'll make a mess of burning it down.
[ She's seen his work before, if distantly. The keen eyes she has that Jack often used too readily, and a near encyclopedic knowledge of chemicals, their taste, touch, sight and smell. ]
[ Jacob steadies her, gently taking her arm again, waiting until she seems sure of her feet before leading her towards the sheds. He won't tell her that burning things down is meant to be messy. He's probably shocked her enough for the time being.
There is still shouting from the house but it grows softer as they near the workshops. In fact the commotion can hardly be heard at all as they duck down behind a low wall, the last cover before the workshop itself. Unlike the house, this seems to be guarded, a couple of heavy-set men hanging around outside. ]
Well if you really want to help out, I'm happy to have you come along. Do you have a weapon on you? At least one?
[ Those, those she knows what to do with. She looks over the guards, and something straightens, after the shock of the gunfire, the man dead like that so suddenly. Not that pulling herself up to her full height means very much. Even at her tallest, she only comes to his nose.
So maybe the heels on these boots helped for another reason. ]
I've got more poison if that's what you mean.
[ Her eyes slide over the guards, faintly - meticulously calculating. ]
I can distract them, and get one if you can get the other?
[ Jacob sees the change in her, sees the change from prey to predator and wonders if she gets like this before a kill.
He shakes his head at the mention of poison and reaches into his jacket. There's always a couple of knives tucked away. He passes her one, one that he hopes she can stow safely.]
[ She tucks it away, sliding into the opposite wrist to where the poison needle in the other wrist.
Angel nods, and then changes again, tugging at her clothes to pull her shift up, tearing it a little, tugging hairs free for her upswept style, until she looks frazzled, blinking quickly, adding a tremble to hitched breaths. When she looks up at him, her eyes are wide, wet, ready with tears.
If not for that sharpness to it. But gone under how she gathers up her skirts, giving him one little nod. ] I'll send the other this way. Be ready.
[ And then she picks up her skirts, and takes off. But oh, she is so little, such a flash of white skin and frilly petticoats as goes off at an unbalanced, terrified run. Towards the two guardsmen, panicked, scared, a little be overdrawn for anyone that might know her - but much like a heroine in a penny-dreadful. ]
Help me, please - there has been an accident! [ She flings at the nearest of the men, into his arms. How forlorn, how slight she looks like that. Weakly sobbing, so overwhelmed, as the man catches her. Tears that make her blue eyes bright, that little bit of dishevelment that gives glimpses of skin, the delicate little beat of her quickened pulse in her throat. ] Please, my friend - over there - !
[ Evie would never pull the damsel in distress trick. If she did, it probably wouldn't have been believable. She'd never been distressed in her life.
But Angel? A woman with probably just as many kills to her name makes even Jacob's heart bleed a little, despite the fact he knows that the only accident that happened here tonight was his own doing. He shifts, listening to the heavier booted footsteps of a man, and then as soon as the mark is literally on top of him, pulls him onto the length of the hidden blade, all the while listening out for Angel.
She doesn't need his help, that's for sure, and he steps out of his hiding place to come to pick up the second body and hide it, just in case. ]
Does that always work that well? The crying and the... helplessness?
[ Her target is dead the second his friend steps just out of earshot and into the bushes. Gone into a thump with the blade Jacob gave her in his neck. A spurt of blood she keeps out of the way of, as he falls away.
When Jacob reappears, she's pulling the blade out, wiping the blood away on his jacket, went at the waist corsets so unfortunately require. Getting it clean, she retucks it away and lets Jacob takes the body away, following after him as she resecures the blade. ]
Usually. If there - if they're as bad as either of us, then it doesn't work. Because they don't feel very much, so the... crying doesn't work.
[ She sighs a little, ]
Sometimes... it's not about that. Men have only ever looked at me, seen what I am... they think that means that there is nothing I can ever do to hurt them.
[ Jacob is ready to argue that he doesn't think that women that look like she does are incapable of hurting him but... then he thinks. He didn't think Pearl was capable of double-crossing him, and if a girl like Angel walked up to him sobbing in the street, he wouldn't see past the tears and the flush in her cheeks.
So, in short, he'd probably fall for it hook, line and sinker.] I... I really shouldn't be so surprised.
[But now they have proper work ahead of them, and while he'd normally like to get up on the roof and sink it that way, they've got an unguarded door right in front of them. Why make life harder than it already is?
He pushes the door open, and gestures her in behind him, pushing the door closed again so any light escaping can't be seen from the house, although they have enough problems to deal with. There doesn't seem to be anyone else here this time of night, and he rubs his hands together.]
[ She says it with a small smile, following after him. Eyes up as they step through, into the darkened warehouse, laid out before them. The smell of metal parts, leftover burning air, and an array of chemicals.
She wets her lips, then catches her teeth on her bottom lip, gnawing on it in thought as she looks around. Taking stock in a way that is purely clinical, her head tilting a second as she assesses, then looks back to him. ]
Sulfur. I can smell it. They're bound to have more.
[ Jacob normally leaves the silence stuff to someone else, someone who understands how it works, but he does at least know what sulfur is, and what it smells like. He also knows why she might be looking for it, and he grins brightly.
He's not so sure about leaving her alone as he goes to explore the rest of the workshop. It's not small, and there might well be more guards elsewhere. But he meets none of them on his hunt for chemicals, returning only a few minutes after with the container. The stench of it is incredible, even though the barrel is sealed.]
I think I've found the prototype. We focus the explosion there, blow the thing to pieces so no one can put it back together.
[ She does not mind it so much, being left alone. Easier when she doesn't have to explain what she is looking for while he looks for that. Instead, she goes for the rest of what they're going to need. Accelerant. A good one, to help speed up the sulfur to make it look like a proper accident. Eventually, maybe, depending who did the digging, they might work it out, but it would take a little while to pick it apart if she set it up the right way.
Ah-ha! Turpentine, and was that linseed oil? Probably, for polishing the parts. Strong as the sulfur as she comes back. The bottles in hand, and a few rags. The first, she lifts up and begins tying around the lower part of her face. Nodding to him as he approached. Offering him the other rag if he needed to tie it over his face. ]
Sounds good. [ She looks over it, considering a plan. ] Start dusting it around, over everything, we're going to make this as hard as possible for anyone to come in here afterwards.
[ He sets the barrel down, taking the offered rag and tying it around his mouth and nose. He normally doesn't bother with anything so cautionary, preferring to race death and see if he can get out before whatever fumes or toxins get the better of him.
But in front of this lady that sort of stupid bravado probably isn't going to work. She's clearly got a far better understanding of these chemicals than he does. His normal method is to do whatever he's been instructed to do, or just ensure there's a lot of flammable oil over everything, or the place is made of old, dry wood, and throw a match in there.
So the whole place gets a dusting with sulfur, and he tries not to spend the chances he gets watching her. He shouldn't be suspicious still, but she is the daughter of a Templar, and she was ten minutes ago telling him he couldn't kill the bastard back in the house. He just doesn't want her spending too much time with that prototype, just in case she decides to go back to her daddy and tell him everything.
He doesn't think she will, but he's been stabbed in the back too often not to be at least a little cautious.]
[He's more than a little right, she's dying to read the blueprint and the prototype. To see it for itself, how he'd worked out the issues with rounds and the firing mechanism.
But not for Jack, and not for the Templar. She wants to desperately understand it and rip it apart and build it again but better.
She just has some sliver of understanding, punctured by that very dead man in the room upstairs, that that sort of thing wouldn't be tolerates. She guessed she'd had a point, too.
So Angel gets to working herself. First with the terpentine, following after him, splashing it after him like spilt water. It smells just as bad as the sulfur if a different clearer, dizzying sort of smell. ]
When I was little, my... Handsome Jack, he took me to the World Fair. A man was presenting his findings for a new kind of train and how it could go faster than ever before. I read it, and I realised, the person was wrong, they had done their calculation incorrectly. I don't know how I knew, I just knew.
I showed it to Jack and... [she shrugs, a little. ] I haven't stopped since. I like studying numbers best. But chemicals, learning what does this and that... It's just as fun. I like learning new things, about the world...
[Angel, no one has ever described math as fun. Or at least that is what Jack would say, so she cuts herself off in a practised way. Focusing on emptying the last of the bottle out.
That done, she goes to the next stage. Linseed oil. That should make it look accidental at least to common eyes. Carefully, so carefully, Angel takes the last of rags, and carefully, so carefully, she begins to dip them in. ] Don't drop these? We'll be incinerated immediately, understood?
[ gingerly, once it's thoroughly soaked, she holds it by one end, dripping oil onto the floor, she holds it by the corner up to him. ]
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no subject
Erg.
It was boring, having to praise him so insipidly. Heaping the words onto him. It was pathetically easy to lure him where she wanted him past a point. He was so sure he would have her this time, so sure that just as she thought she could get away ( excuses that she just wanted some quiet to go and be alone for a moment, with that weak little cough that was only half faked for the thick haze of cigars, no one thought much of it, she, after all, was so slight, so fragile ) to start digging through his room for the plans for his factories. Then, he had appeared after her.
Shit, is the first thought. Go away, is the second. But what comes out of her face is a smile, a little laugh unbeknownst to someone else be in the room but him and her. ]
You found me, at long last.
[ How sweet she sounds, how forlorn, a painters idea of a lover waiting on the desk as Disraeli moves in closer, too involved to think about the fact she was in his study for any other reason. She sags against the edge of the desk, her skirts blue this evening, flickered with gold thread, her hair piled up in braids on her head.
Waits for him to come close, how he boxes her in. Tilting her head back so he could kiss her - Good, concentrate on that you great dolt.
Just as he seems so sure of himself, smugly involved in kissing her, she jabs him in the neck. Not with her fist, God knew there was no strength in that, and not even harshly. But with the concealed needle hidden in her cuff of lacey sleeves. It takes a few seconds, enough time for him to roughly slide his hands everywhere.
Then all at once, he slides down onto the floor in a pile. Snoring loudly almost immediately. Angel's face scrunches up, wretched. ]
You dolt, why couldn't you stay downstairs like you were supposed to you? Now what am I going to do with you, you useless fucking -
[ Language, Angel. ]
no subject
The young lady glimmers a strange gold too, and he can't resist. He won't strike now, not if it might cause her distress, but he might step in as her distress seems evident even from several yards away. When he arrives on the threshold of the study, it's evident she's got the situation under control, an unconscious form crumpling at her feet. Jacob doesn't think he would have left it so long if he was the one being groped, nor does he think he'd settle for knocking the man out, but each to their own. He steps forward, and over, the prone figure, a grin spreading over his features.]
Am I interrupting?
[ He does glance over her, hopefully not in a way that makes Angel suppose he'd like to take the bastard's place, because nothing is further from his thoughts at this moment. Thankfully, she looks unhurt, albeit unhappy, and he can't blame her for that. He reaches into the interior of his coat, for the hipflask that he carries when there's too long a distance between pubs, or he's stuck watching a target, and offers it out to her.]
Brandy, and nothing more than that, I assure you. What were you looking for?
[ He hopes they aren't after the same thing. He can't let her take the plans, or the prototype that sits in the grounds. Bugger, he should have destroyed that first.]
no subject
But it's... Jacob.
Jacob?
Her shoulders sink back physically. Her body relaxing under his gaze, and at least - he isn't here to cause her problems, she doesn't think. But that does beg the question what he is doing here anyway.
But she doesn't say it for the moment, rather she reaches for that brandy flask and... in true ladylike fashion, tips her head back and down half the bottle. Jack wasn't here, Jack didn't have to know what his little Angel got up to.
When she's done, she drops the back of her hand to cover her mouth, smothering the little hiccup that comes with a harsh drink too quickly, flushing in her cheeks. Which is the odd realisation that she trusts him, this assassin, and maybe that trust is based in spite, but it is trust all the same. ]
They... [ Templars. Looming like shadows in the corner, ventures it after a moment, hovering on the right words the right way. ] ... want to blackmail him. They want to be sure if I can't make him fall in love with me...
[ They didn't believe it could work, of course, but then, when did a bunch of men ever believe women were capable of anything? She takes another mouthful for good measure and at least screws the flask shut. Rage hot with the burning of liquor leaves her pink and bright and sorely tempted to kick the unconscious man. ] Like he'll be different to the last one, or the one before that, or the one before that.
no subject
Or isn't used to doing it with an audience. ]
I'm afraid I can't give you the chance.
[ He's well aware that might cause her trouble, it might give her cause to explain herself to her father, and he doesn't want to put her through anything horrible. Or worst than they would already. But he has a job to do and a duty to the innocent people of England and for that matter, everywhere else. He moves to the man's desk, beginning to go through draws in the search for his notes. ]
You can tell them that I had already killed the bastard by the time you got up here. And trashed the place.
no subject
You can't!
[ She jumps forward, taking a step over his body and - it takes her a moment to gather up all her skirts in her hands, so she doesn't trip on him. That would be the last thing she needs right now, as she goes to follow after him around the desk. ]
You can, later, but I need him. I need him alive.
no subject
Do you know what that man is working on? Do you know what he's building?
[ He doesn't mean to sound so angry, this isn't hurt fault. She's been sent here, and she has no choice. He tries to remember that, but the very fact is that he's here to do what is right, not because some Templars told him so. Not because Ethan told him so. Or Evie or Greenie. He's here because he knows this is right, that he can't allow this man to finish the gun he is building, a gun that will fire like a machine, and mow men down like grass in the wind. ]
That man is going to kill more people than you and I could ever do, if we worked dawn to dusk every day for the rest of our lives. Until we drowned in blood.
[ He looks over at the prone figure, a man who might be considered by some to be an inventor, a great scientist and engineer, a tinkerer who furthers the goals of empire. Jacob sees a terrible threat to the freedom and happiness of every man, woman and child on the planet.
With a graceful movement, Jacob pulls the revolver from where it's tucked into one of the many belts, cocks it, and fires.
The man's snoring stops.]
This world doesn't need people like that.
no subject
[ It's jumped back, and she's scrambling, scrambling to stop him. Trying to catch his arm as she sees that gun, sharp, quick, merciless metal and chemicals.
The sound of it shatters the air, so loud she feels deaf afterwards. A sudden sharp horrible realisation she's never been around a bullet before. Seen the aftermath, the carnage, the blood. But heard it? Felt how it split the air? She shudders, breathless and dizzy from that sound more than the man that was so suddenly dead. That, at least, was almost routine.
Half-deafened, she lurches, back to him. ]
Run! You have to run!
[ It's tripped, but she pushes him, shoving against his chest towards the window. If they find him in here, they'll - do something awful. Jack will do something awful. ]
no subject
Gently. She might be a killer, but he's never seen that evidenced first hand, and her reaction now makes her seem even more unlikely to be one, in his mind. She seems so naive, so innocent to his world.]
Not yet.
[ He offers her a smile, charming, reassuring as he can, and turns back to the desk, still searching through it, looking for papers, plans. There's a little raised knot of wood under the lip of the desk and as his fingers run over it, a little hidden drawer slides out, revealing blueprints. He opens them, briefly, to check they are what he's looking for, and then he gathers them up and tosses them into the fire burning in the grate. ]
Now we run. Come on.
[ He nods towards the window, opens it up wide, and holds his hand out to her. ]
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The only thing that makes sense is to lock the door, slamming it shut quickly. Pressing her back into it as she tries and works out... what to do. Jack would - Jack would be furious, and she knew who he'd take it out on.
Her eyes shut, shaking her head briefly as he fiddles with the desk. Burns the paper, only opening when he's speaking again. Blinking wide, confused - ]
Jacob, I can't - He'll -
[ But, as he stands there, arm outstretched, she wants to go, more than she thinks she's ever wanted anything in her life. That thought is so clear, so sharp, so desperate, she feels like she'll choke on it. ]
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[ And with that he moves back to her, taking her hand in his and knotting their fingers together, before moving back to the window. There's voices in the corridor outside, muffled by the door, and they have little to no time.]
You can climb, can't you?
[ He hopes that's a yes, even in that dress. Either way, he's stirring her towards the window. There are thankfully lots of handholds in the brickwork, enough windows and ledges to make it down easy.
He has, at least, something of a plan. The house is going to be a mass of panic and confusion for at least three or four minutes, hopefully, before anyone has the sense to really search the gardens and grounds. That should give him time to get to the workshop and prime it. And then he can get out, and Angel can tell her father that she chased him down, or, if she feels like really brave, she can come with him back to town.
But first, getting out of sight.]
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Jack will kill him.
For a moment, he gets her to go along, hurrying little steps as he brings her across the room. Dizzying heights from the window and she can climb, climbed trees and rocks and bed posts as a little girl, even if now she has this tight corset and bustle to consider.
Angel nods, swallows, tries to come to grips with it. ]
I can.
[ And with more nervousness perhaps she shouldn't have, she tugs up the bell of her skirt, bring it up to her knees. Delicate white stockings underneath and shoes that could be - worse, certainly, little booted heels good for dancing and not much else, but at least she wouldn't fall out of them as she begins to descend, terrifying, this thing for herself, this escaping. Out into the dead of night in a ballgown like lovers running off to Gretna Green.
But far less romantic for the dead body that caused them to bolt than a badly planned engagement. Gloved fingers hanging onto the windowsill then disappearing as she takes hold of another jutting brick and a piece of weaving trellis vine, gently beginning her journey down. ]
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He climbs out after her, and then let's himself drop onto the soft ground below, to help her down if she needs it. There's lovely thick planting here and hopefully that will give them a bit of cover.]
I'm going to destroy the workshop. You can come with me, if you want, or stay back here.
[ The way he delivers that second option makes it clear he doesn't like the idea of it. He'd much rather she stayed with him. He's not sure she should be left alone, and he doesn't think he wants her to go back to her father.]
There's a train track about a mile south of the house. I was going to head back to London that way. You should come with me. We'll think of what to do then.
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I'll come with you - you'll ... you'll make a mess of burning it down.
[ She's seen his work before, if distantly. The keen eyes she has that Jack often used too readily, and a near encyclopedic knowledge of chemicals, their taste, touch, sight and smell. ]
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There is still shouting from the house but it grows softer as they near the workshops. In fact the commotion can hardly be heard at all as they duck down behind a low wall, the last cover before the workshop itself. Unlike the house, this seems to be guarded, a couple of heavy-set men hanging around outside. ]
Well if you really want to help out, I'm happy to have you come along. Do you have a weapon on you? At least one?
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So maybe the heels on these boots helped for another reason. ]
I've got more poison if that's what you mean.
[ Her eyes slide over the guards, faintly - meticulously calculating. ]
I can distract them, and get one if you can get the other?
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He shakes his head at the mention of poison and reaches into his jacket. There's always a couple of knives tucked away. He passes her one, one that he hopes she can stow safely.]
Just in case. I'll be just behind you.
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Angel nods, and then changes again, tugging at her clothes to pull her shift up, tearing it a little, tugging hairs free for her upswept style, until she looks frazzled, blinking quickly, adding a tremble to hitched breaths. When she looks up at him, her eyes are wide, wet, ready with tears.
If not for that sharpness to it. But gone under how she gathers up her skirts, giving him one little nod. ] I'll send the other this way. Be ready.
[ And then she picks up her skirts, and takes off. But oh, she is so little, such a flash of white skin and frilly petticoats as goes off at an unbalanced, terrified run. Towards the two guardsmen, panicked, scared, a little be overdrawn for anyone that might know her - but much like a heroine in a penny-dreadful. ]
Help me, please - there has been an accident! [ She flings at the nearest of the men, into his arms. How forlorn, how slight she looks like that. Weakly sobbing, so overwhelmed, as the man catches her. Tears that make her blue eyes bright, that little bit of dishevelment that gives glimpses of skin, the delicate little beat of her quickened pulse in her throat. ] Please, my friend - over there - !
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But Angel? A woman with probably just as many kills to her name makes even Jacob's heart bleed a little, despite the fact he knows that the only accident that happened here tonight was his own doing. He shifts, listening to the heavier booted footsteps of a man, and then as soon as the mark is literally on top of him, pulls him onto the length of the hidden blade, all the while listening out for Angel.
She doesn't need his help, that's for sure, and he steps out of his hiding place to come to pick up the second body and hide it, just in case. ]
Does that always work that well? The crying and the... helplessness?
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When Jacob reappears, she's pulling the blade out, wiping the blood away on his jacket, went at the waist corsets so unfortunately require. Getting it clean, she retucks it away and lets Jacob takes the body away, following after him as she resecures the blade. ]
Usually. If there - if they're as bad as either of us, then it doesn't work. Because they don't feel very much, so the... crying doesn't work.
[ She sighs a little, ]
Sometimes... it's not about that. Men have only ever looked at me, seen what I am... they think that means that there is nothing I can ever do to hurt them.
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So, in short, he'd probably fall for it hook, line and sinker.] I... I really shouldn't be so surprised.
[But now they have proper work ahead of them, and while he'd normally like to get up on the roof and sink it that way, they've got an unguarded door right in front of them. Why make life harder than it already is?
He pushes the door open, and gestures her in behind him, pushing the door closed again so any light escaping can't be seen from the house, although they have enough problems to deal with. There doesn't seem to be anyone else here this time of night, and he rubs his hands together.]
Let's blow some stuff up, shall we?
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[ She says it with a small smile, following after him. Eyes up as they step through, into the darkened warehouse, laid out before them. The smell of metal parts, leftover burning air, and an array of chemicals.
She wets her lips, then catches her teeth on her bottom lip, gnawing on it in thought as she looks around. Taking stock in a way that is purely clinical, her head tilting a second as she assesses, then looks back to him. ]
Sulfur. I can smell it. They're bound to have more.
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He's not so sure about leaving her alone as he goes to explore the rest of the workshop. It's not small, and there might well be more guards elsewhere. But he meets none of them on his hunt for chemicals, returning only a few minutes after with the container. The stench of it is incredible, even though the barrel is sealed.]
I think I've found the prototype. We focus the explosion there, blow the thing to pieces so no one can put it back together.
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Ah-ha! Turpentine, and was that linseed oil? Probably, for polishing the parts. Strong as the sulfur as she comes back. The bottles in hand, and a few rags. The first, she lifts up and begins tying around the lower part of her face. Nodding to him as he approached. Offering him the other rag if he needed to tie it over his face. ]
Sounds good. [ She looks over it, considering a plan. ] Start dusting it around, over everything, we're going to make this as hard as possible for anyone to come in here afterwards.
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But in front of this lady that sort of stupid bravado probably isn't going to work. She's clearly got a far better understanding of these chemicals than he does. His normal method is to do whatever he's been instructed to do, or just ensure there's a lot of flammable oil over everything, or the place is made of old, dry wood, and throw a match in there.
So the whole place gets a dusting with sulfur, and he tries not to spend the chances he gets watching her. He shouldn't be suspicious still, but she is the daughter of a Templar, and she was ten minutes ago telling him he couldn't kill the bastard back in the house. He just doesn't want her spending too much time with that prototype, just in case she decides to go back to her daddy and tell him everything.
He doesn't think she will, but he's been stabbed in the back too often not to be at least a little cautious.]
When did you learn all this then?
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But not for Jack, and not for the Templar. She wants to desperately understand it and rip it apart and build it again but better.
She just has some sliver of understanding, punctured by that very dead man in the room upstairs, that that sort of thing wouldn't be tolerates. She guessed she'd had a point, too.
So Angel gets to working herself. First with the terpentine, following after him, splashing it after him like spilt water. It smells just as bad as the sulfur if a different clearer, dizzying sort of smell. ]
When I was little, my... Handsome Jack, he took me to the World Fair. A man was presenting his findings for a new kind of train and how it could go faster than ever before. I read it, and I realised, the person was wrong, they had done their calculation incorrectly. I don't know how I knew, I just knew.
I showed it to Jack and... [she shrugs, a little. ] I haven't stopped since. I like studying numbers best. But chemicals, learning what does this and that... It's just as fun. I like learning new things, about the world...
[Angel, no one has ever described math as fun. Or at least that is what Jack would say, so she cuts herself off in a practised way. Focusing on emptying the last of the bottle out.
That done, she goes to the next stage. Linseed oil. That should make it look accidental at least to common eyes. Carefully, so carefully, Angel takes the last of rags, and carefully, so carefully, she begins to dip them in. ] Don't drop these? We'll be incinerated immediately, understood?
[ gingerly, once it's thoroughly soaked, she holds it by one end, dripping oil onto the floor, she holds it by the corner up to him. ]
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