[ 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. ]
[ She's quite probably smarter than Evie, Jacob muses, but keeps to himself. Evie can math, and she can math well, but really isn't puzzles that Evie excels in. Reading something and decoding it, understanding the meaning behind symbols or the symbolism in a story. Jacob can do it too, although he doesn't seem to get the rush from doing it that Evie does.]
You know... that sounds like a real talent.
[ He can't help but be a little impressed, and although part of him say to be cautious about this woman, she has given him the mask to cover his mouth, she has given clear instructions as to why he shouldn't do something. She certainly seems to know what she's talking about. ]
There's a man in London you should meet. Alec. He'd love to have someone to listen to his theories and help him out a bit with experiments.
[ And that might get her away from her father. Safe, out of this place. Handsome Jack can think Jacob has kidnapped her, that will make his life difficult for a while, until he can deal with the man himself but he can't leave her here. That's too dangerous. ]
You... aren't going to stay here, are you? You can't. Not now.
[ She looks at him over her mask, and it's - not angry, or sad, or even hurt. Because it sounds good, it sounds fun. Someone who might listen to her? Talk to her, care about anything she has to say other than how they could use it for their own gains? It sounds wonderful, dreamlike, and it flickers in her gaze as she looks over him.
Just longing, how it strips back that veneer of excitement over doing her work. That ultimate sting of someone, who, in so many ways, has already given up.
Because she doesn't think he means staying here in the burning building. She doesn't think he means back to the party, either. ]
Where else am I going to go? With you? To the hideout of a bunch of Assassins? You know they wouldn't let me in. I've done awful things to your people.
[ And isn't that the right of what Jack has made her do. More damning than even the murder itself. Where was she going to go? Who was ever going to take her in?
[ He's a little surprised by her assumption that there's a "bunch of assassins". There's not all that many, not really. There were only three in the whole of London, before Evie and Greenie left. Now it's him and the Rooks, until he can find some more to teach. But dealing with Handsome Jack is the priority.
Hadn't the Templar's realised just how rare a beast the British Brotherhood now was? George back in Crawley is the only one south of London now, and there's very, very few elsewhere.]
You'll be safe, I promise you that. If you want to get away from this, from him, we'll protect you. I'll protect you.
[ Her mouth falls open, paused, trying to say something, holding the cloth soaked in volatile fuel. Mind rapidly grasping over it, how freely he offered it. Everything she was, everything she wasn't. Everything she could do to him.
And he just offered that. Just like that. It leaves her for the first time, almost speechless. ]
And if you can't? Jacob, do you really think you can trust me? You don't understand -
[ She grapples with it, trying to spell it out. ]
What if he follows me? What if I lead him back to you? He kills everyone, everyone that crosses him.
[ He laughs, although the cloth around his face makes it difficult, makes it feel strange. ]
Angel, he's going to know this was me. He's going to think I've kidnapped you. I can deal with that. I'm not scared of your father.
[He isn't. There isn't very much Jacob is actually scared of. He's worried for her sakes, fearful of what her father might do to her if she returns to him unsuccessful, and that is why she needs to come to London.]
You need to trust me. I'll look after you.
[ And she'll realise that when he says the assassins will accept her, that he's the only one keeping London safe. If that got back to Jack, there would be trouble. ]
[ She watches him, harsh and flat, over her mask. Her jaw set so hard, deciding, deciding. Heavy with it, as the oil drip, drip, drips onto the floor. ]
Nothing is that easy, Jacob.
[ But she makes up her mind. The bottle the linseed oil splashes all over the floor when she tips it over. By itself, it doesn't do anything as it spills, mingling over the sulfur and turpentine.
Then she drops the cloth.
She shoves him, quick, pushing him out of the way and it's the second that they have. It's just a cloth, maybe, something that anyone could have done. Any worker not paying attention, especially, in something as busy as a munitions factory. With so many chemicals, so many people bustling about could knock it over.
But as it hits the floor, it rubs against itself, and her warning becomes obvious as to way - the material out of nothing, catches on fire. A spark flying off, sudden and hot. Twice the height than is probably needed. The sickly strange tint, when the sulfur melts and burns, releasing a foul smell, and turns red as it goes, like blood leaking out all over the floor.
Then it catches the turpentine and the sound that is all of the air being sucked out of the room as the fire springs up white-hot into life.
And Angel snatches Jacob's hand, and runs, not bothering to look at something she'd done a half dozen times (if not at this scale). They've only got a few seconds before the whole building is going to go up. ]
[ But nothing has to be that complicated. Things can be easy, if you let them be easy. Jacob honestly believes that, but there's no time to argue before that cloth drops. He sees it fall, the fabric weighed down with oil folding in on itself, almost in slow motion.
And then they're moving, her body pushing into his to move him away as the pool of red begins to spread across the floor. It's a beautiful thing to watch, but deadly, and he doesn't give in to the urge to stay and watch. It's pretty, but not worth dying for.
There's a window, glazed with dirty glass and that's closer than the heavy wooden doors to the workshop. He sees it, highlighted in gold, and tugs on her hand, pulling her close to him as his shoulder hits the glass and it shatters with the force of the blow. They tumble out, heat and flame and gas following, and then he's up on his feet again, grabbing her again and running as fast as they can away from the shed, away from the house, away.
It's not until the warehouse, the fire, the shouts are all distant, muffled, that Jacob slows, panting for breath a little, tearing the handkerchief from his face. Behind it, he's grinning from ear to ear.]
[ Running, in a corset, was never the best idea. Running in a corset, that your father had insisted was tight-laced to ensure the most shapely figure? Seemed like a miserable notion.
Running in a corset, that was tight-laced, in a ball gown? Had to be one of the worst ideas she'd ever heard of.
But yet, here she was, doing just that - and paying the price for it when they can finally stop. Finding the nearest surface - a forgiving brick wall - to lean her hand on and desperately try and catch her breath, the other bracing against her stomach. ]
I've never... jumping through a window before. [ Oof, she took a deep breath. Finally starting to able to do that. But that lead to another problem.
Jacob wasn't too bad, but he was wearing leather, and boots, sensible clothes. Her? On the other hand?
This silk was soaked in the smell of it, and her hems were stained, not just by the sulfur and the turpentine but undoubtedly, some of that linseed oil. Oh, no. ] Oh, shi- sugar!
[ Quick as she could, she snatched for the knife in her sleeve that he'd given her, and hastily began to cut herself out of her dress. Slicing down the front of her bodice in one big swipe. Peeling it off her as quickly as possible. ] Get me out of this, quickly. [ Because she needs to get these outer layers off, propriety be damned that they're doing this in a side street, right now, unless she wanted to find out what Nero was going on about with his famous candles, but her as the test subject. ]
[ He can't help laughing, perhaps it's because of surprise and shock, perhaps because he's slightly winded by the pace of the escape, perhaps because escaping fires always puts him in mind of Roth. Laughing is a wonderful distraction.
He doesn't realise, at first, her sudden fear, his nose and throat still coated with the smell of the burning makes it impossible to smell the scent that has come with them on the hems of her skirts. He thinks it's more to do with how out of breath she is, but her panic makes him take it seriously.
He has, at least, a little experience in getting ladies out of clothing, and thankfully this part of town seems remarkably quiet. He's not going to complain, tearing the fabric from her frame and getting her free of it seems far more important, dropping it away from them.]
We haven't even been properly introduced, you know.
[ Her eyes roll, as she finishes shucking the rest of the bodice of her dress. He at least makes it faster, with how he can rip it off, especially when she'd all been but sewn into it for the evening, as the best dresses were.
It is dropped onto the floor, then after it, the skirt goes next, yanking at the ties as quickly as she can to let it fall away at her feet.
It's not like she's lacking in clothes particularly. Corsets, petticoats over petticoats that give the desired shape, her small clothes under that. But - still. It's decided not her clothes. ]
Well, now we have - [ She goes to say more, as she kicks the skirt, and the rest of the torn up clothes out of the way. Which apparently, not a moment too soon.
Fwoomfh. The whole thing goes up in flames, albeit less intensely than the warehouse. Angel yelps, jumping back out of the way before the rest of her goes up in flames too. ] - you can at least give me your jacket.
[ There's a stubborn little jut of her chin, staring up at him, arms crossing over her. The pair of them bathed in the half light of nicely burning dress. ]
[ The sudden whoosh of flame is enough to make Jacob curse- colourfully- probably using words that Jack would hate his precious Angel hearing. Jacob can't help it and doesn't care, but does throw an arm out to try and push her back from the heat and flame.
He's actually taking off his long, heavy coat already, even as she speaks so snobbishly. He's not about to let her freeze, or be stared at. He hands it over wordlessly, and keeps his eyes averted while she slides it on. ]
It's not my fault you set it on fire. But it wasn't a very nice dress. You looked like a meringue. No offence.
[ She might take offence anyway, but he realises that she must have known it was a possibility and she's lucky it hadn't happened sooner. He's got to be grateful that she was quick enough to have saved herself. ]
I... I'm glad you're not hurt. We should get back to London.
[ She sorely wants to poke her tongue out at him. But alas, now wasn't the time. Instead, she just uncrosses her arms, gratefully, to take the jacket off of him, and fold it around her.
At least he isn't a giant, even if it is bigger on her, enough that it covers her from being completely indecent. ] I didn't pick it, Jack did. [ Is her self defensive little mutter, her hands dropping, ]
Thanks... I am not sure what's the best way back. There won't be trains until the morning, or... a carriage, maybe? If we find one.
[ All the intel she has, they never could tell her just how it was the Assassin's got around, anymore she could get numbers on how many Assassin's there truly were in London as a whole.
Guess she would find out and - she worries again. ] Are you sure about this? It's dangerous, Jack could... [ And she's off again, anxious, waiting for him to come to his senses and leave her here. She can't even pretend it wouldn't be for the better. ]
Maybe he should have tried it? Never make someone wear something you wouldn't wear yourself.
[ Yes yes, he knows that such a suggestion is scandalous. But in London, there's far stranger, far more dangerous things than gentlemen who like to slip on petticoats of an evening. Or women who run around in trousers. Then again, as his sister was one of those, and she was extremely dangerous, it's best not to mention.
Instead he gestures her forwards. They aren't too far away from where they need to be, the train tracks, and from there it's a short walk to the sidings.]
No trains till morning? What time table did you look at? There's one due any minute.
[If she doesn't know about the train, he'll keep it that way. Maybe he should blindfold her, although frankly that might not do any good. It's hardly his style either. He guesses she'll just have to know, and if that becomes a problem... then he'll deal with it then.]
I told you before, I'm not scared of him, and you shouldn't be either. Don't let him bully you. Now come on, I don't know about you but I don't much want to hang around here.
[ her mouth opens to argue, after all, they aren't that far from the train station. That yes, she did know, she had every train memorised except for the ones that weren't publicly expressed, like government transports and, yes, she was absolutely sure -
There is a whistle in the distance and Angel frowns, looking towards it. Her teeth clicking shut. What the -
She was wrong? How could she be wrong? She was never wrong about this sort of thing. ]
If you say so. [ But she's so clearly uneasy, watching him. But he was ... just so convincing. He walked like nothing less than God would cut him down. ]
[ He looks up at the whistle, pleased. ] That'll be our train.
[ He offers her his hand, as they continue towards the railway line. Not the station itself, where the authorities might well be, but the industrial sidings where the train will have been waiting since it dropped him off several hours ago. They'd have turned her around now, and no doubt they're getting worried. Not about how long he's been away, but by that explosion and fire. No doubt they could hear that from here.
It doesn't take long to reach the train, beautiful and stately, the paintwork shining in the darkness as they pick their way across the tracks towards it, and a couple of solid looking men smoking outside.]
Come on lads, let's get home.
[ He doesn't mention her, despite their questioning looks. It's not often that Jacob brings a girl back to the train, and he's never brought one back wrapped up in his own coat. He helps her up onto the second carriage from the front, and lets her take it in. It looks like some cross between a study and a gentleman's club, but it's home to Jacob more than anything else is.]
Make yourself at home. Someone will fetch some tea and something stronger, in a minute. Once we're moving.
[ This isn't an ordinary train. That much is for sure. Trains didn't look this nice for these sort of runs, late at night. Which was the first hint. The second was the fact that neither of them had bought a ticket.
The third, was when they got on board, the men who all looked at Jacob in clear expectation, and her in utter confusion for her presence, when surely, even if dressed a little oddly, she would be just be another traveller.
The fourth was that they were all certainly criminals. Oh great. That was just fantastic. What a splendid thing, Angel, out of the frying into a fire.
But she shuts her mouth, avoids their eyes because for one thing - that part of the act tended to help in these circumstances. Delicately holding onto her bell skirts as she steps onto the train, following after him and making sure to bop in a little curtsey of greeting to anyone that came close. Making sure to keep out of their way as Jacob gives his direction, her eyes staying fixed at about everyone's knees.
At least that way she'd see their stance shift if anyone lunged for her as she trotted after him. Until they're alone, and she looks around the carriage. ] Jacob... this isn't a... normal train, is it?
[ He watches her with amusement, an eyebrow raised at each little bob. In this train it makes her even more outlandish, but news that Mr Jacob's got a girl onboard will have already travelled from the driver up front to the merchant in the last carriage by now.]
You don't need to do that, Angel. Unless the Queen shows up, or the Prime Minister. But we're a bit far out of London for that.
[ And with that he flops down onto the familiar chaise-lounge, a little grunt of relief going through him. He takes a second, just a second, to unwind a little, removing his cap and setting it on the safe by his side, and then smiles, in answer to her question.]
No, this isn't a normal train. This is my train. And trust me, you're safer here than anywhere else in the country. Even the Tower. [He pats the seat next to him, shifting so there's space for her as there's a hiss from the front of the train and then they begin to slowly move forwards] Don't be scared. No one will hurt you.
[ He pauses, and then he decided he might as well tell her, now she's here ] Ever heard of the Rooks?
The gang? The worst criminal gang to come out of the streets? Everyone's heard of them. [ Is her disbelief, sharply watching him. To say nothing of the rest of it. She knew her place, and maybe, maybe things were different with Assassins, but she knew her life was always going to be easier if they had no reason to look at her too hard.
Just like he had apparently worked out, and she snaps to him, as things happen, turning back to him with her eyes bright. ]
You've been using the Rooks - [ She's catching up, quickly. Faster and faster and - ] You've been using the Rooks as a cover, and that's why I haven't - and the train. Of course, the train, that explains the reports! [ And she beams at him, laughing. ] That's genius! No wonder no one can figure out your location!
[ She trips a step when the train lurches into motion. Stumbling over to where he was sitting, and that's proper too. Her legs neatly crossed at the ankle, turning slightly to face him, hands that are placed in her lap, fingers hooked together. ]
[ The look on his face is proud, smug. The Rooks are his, through and through, born out of his imagination and hard work, and now here they are, on a train full of them. A fearsome gang that terrifies the upper crust and yet champions the poor and the oppressed. That's always what he wanted. ]
Not using. We're a team. The Rooks have their part to play in looking after London.
[ And a larger part to play in explaining why two twenty-one-year-olds were able to break the Templar stranglehold that had existed in London for almost a hundred years. But that's another story, one she already knows. Although probably a very biased account of it.]
I'm not just a pretty face. We'll be in London in a couple of hours, if the lines are clear.
[ That, she clearly approves of. She's used people like the Rooks. But that's what it was. Used. She moved them like chess pieces on a board, and there was no better way to put it. Something that flickers, as she watches him, her head tilting. He could be worse, with him, is what comes with it. Something viciously efficient if he disregarded everyone else below him.
But he didn't.
Jack really was lying about that too. ]
Uhm. If it's not too much of a problem - I might... need something to wear.
[ He looks over her, as if only just realising she's still huddled in his coat, and then he gets to his feet, moving to the front of the safe and opening the door.
There's a key in there, amongst the other treasures, but the door is shut far too quickly to identify some of those goodies, or how much cash is in there. He gestures her up, to follow him. ]
This way. I don't think Evie will mind too much.
[ And if she does, they'll just have to fight about it when, and if, she ever comes back from India. Apparently she's having a wonderful time exploring the Indus Valley, whatever that is.
So he unlocks the carriage door, and lights one of the gas lamps not used since Evie left England. He doesn't know why he locked it, but he did, and now it's pretty much the way it always was. Neat, tidy, full of books. And the little wardrobe just here.]
[ Stop hiding the interesting looking things from her, Jacob!
Because curiosity is definitely going to kill this cat eventually. But thankfully, not today, she manages to keep it to herself as she follows after Jacob, trotting after him.
The wardrobe is... well. It's something, she guesses. ... A lot less. A lot, lot less. Don't pout Angel, what do you expect? ]
Uhm, thank you.
[ Carefully, she takes off his jacket. Dropping it away off her arms, and gently placing it aside. Then takes a step forward to begin shifting between clothes, one after another, black, black, black and grey? Black and red? White - pants, pants, long coat, pants - oh dear. ]
I'll need to call a maid... ?
[ Angel, you're on a train, with the Assassins, and everyone who isn't an assassin is clearly a street thug. What are you asking for? ]
[ Jacob smiles, a strange, one-sided, amused grin that is a little bit... arrogant. Maids clean houses, or did, when he was younger. Maids helps the cook. You don't need a maid to help you get dressed.]
Look-
[ He reaches past her, takes down on of the pairs of dark trousers Evie preferred, and holds them out to her. ] You just put your legs in the top bits.
But... [ He glances at her, what she's actually wearing. Who knows what fancy ladies wear under petticoats? ] There's girls in the Rooks. I'll see if any are aboard and can help you. With... smalls.
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no subject
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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
You know... that sounds like a real talent.
[ He can't help but be a little impressed, and although part of him say to be cautious about this woman, she has given him the mask to cover his mouth, she has given clear instructions as to why he shouldn't do something. She certainly seems to know what she's talking about. ]
There's a man in London you should meet. Alec. He'd love to have someone to listen to his theories and help him out a bit with experiments.
[ And that might get her away from her father. Safe, out of this place. Handsome Jack can think Jacob has kidnapped her, that will make his life difficult for a while, until he can deal with the man himself but he can't leave her here. That's too dangerous. ]
You... aren't going to stay here, are you? You can't. Not now.
no subject
Just longing, how it strips back that veneer of excitement over doing her work. That ultimate sting of someone, who, in so many ways, has already given up.
Because she doesn't think he means staying here in the burning building. She doesn't think he means back to the party, either. ]
Where else am I going to go? With you? To the hideout of a bunch of Assassins? You know they wouldn't let me in. I've done awful things to your people.
[ And isn't that the right of what Jack has made her do. More damning than even the murder itself. Where was she going to go? Who was ever going to take her in?
She had nowhere else to go. ]
no subject
[ He's a little surprised by her assumption that there's a "bunch of assassins". There's not all that many, not really. There were only three in the whole of London, before Evie and Greenie left. Now it's him and the Rooks, until he can find some more to teach. But dealing with Handsome Jack is the priority.
Hadn't the Templar's realised just how rare a beast the British Brotherhood now was? George back in Crawley is the only one south of London now, and there's very, very few elsewhere.]
You'll be safe, I promise you that. If you want to get away from this, from him, we'll protect you. I'll protect you.
no subject
And he just offered that. Just like that. It leaves her for the first time, almost speechless. ]
And if you can't? Jacob, do you really think you can trust me? You don't understand -
[ She grapples with it, trying to spell it out. ]
What if he follows me? What if I lead him back to you? He kills everyone, everyone that crosses him.
no subject
Angel, he's going to know this was me. He's going to think I've kidnapped you. I can deal with that. I'm not scared of your father.
[He isn't. There isn't very much Jacob is actually scared of. He's worried for her sakes, fearful of what her father might do to her if she returns to him unsuccessful, and that is why she needs to come to London.]
You need to trust me. I'll look after you.
[ And she'll realise that when he says the assassins will accept her, that he's the only one keeping London safe. If that got back to Jack, there would be trouble. ]
no subject
Nothing is that easy, Jacob.
[ But she makes up her mind. The bottle the linseed oil splashes all over the floor when she tips it over. By itself, it doesn't do anything as it spills, mingling over the sulfur and turpentine.
Then she drops the cloth.
She shoves him, quick, pushing him out of the way and it's the second that they have. It's just a cloth, maybe, something that anyone could have done. Any worker not paying attention, especially, in something as busy as a munitions factory. With so many chemicals, so many people bustling about could knock it over.
But as it hits the floor, it rubs against itself, and her warning becomes obvious as to way - the material out of nothing, catches on fire. A spark flying off, sudden and hot. Twice the height than is probably needed. The sickly strange tint, when the sulfur melts and burns, releasing a foul smell, and turns red as it goes, like blood leaking out all over the floor.
Then it catches the turpentine and the sound that is all of the air being sucked out of the room as the fire springs up white-hot into life.
And Angel snatches Jacob's hand, and runs, not bothering to look at something she'd done a half dozen times (if not at this scale). They've only got a few seconds before the whole building is going to go up. ]
no subject
And then they're moving, her body pushing into his to move him away as the pool of red begins to spread across the floor. It's a beautiful thing to watch, but deadly, and he doesn't give in to the urge to stay and watch. It's pretty, but not worth dying for.
There's a window, glazed with dirty glass and that's closer than the heavy wooden doors to the workshop. He sees it, highlighted in gold, and tugs on her hand, pulling her close to him as his shoulder hits the glass and it shatters with the force of the blow. They tumble out, heat and flame and gas following, and then he's up on his feet again, grabbing her again and running as fast as they can away from the shed, away from the house, away.
It's not until the warehouse, the fire, the shouts are all distant, muffled, that Jacob slows, panting for breath a little, tearing the handkerchief from his face. Behind it, he's grinning from ear to ear.]
That was wonderful.
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Running in a corset, that was tight-laced, in a ball gown? Had to be one of the worst ideas she'd ever heard of.
But yet, here she was, doing just that - and paying the price for it when they can finally stop. Finding the nearest surface - a forgiving brick wall - to lean her hand on and desperately try and catch her breath, the other bracing against her stomach. ]
I've never... jumping through a window before. [ Oof, she took a deep breath. Finally starting to able to do that. But that lead to another problem.
Jacob wasn't too bad, but he was wearing leather, and boots, sensible clothes. Her? On the other hand?
This silk was soaked in the smell of it, and her hems were stained, not just by the sulfur and the turpentine but undoubtedly, some of that linseed oil. Oh, no. ] Oh, shi- sugar!
[ Quick as she could, she snatched for the knife in her sleeve that he'd given her, and hastily began to cut herself out of her dress. Slicing down the front of her bodice in one big swipe. Peeling it off her as quickly as possible. ] Get me out of this, quickly. [ Because she needs to get these outer layers off, propriety be damned that they're doing this in a side street, right now, unless she wanted to find out what Nero was going on about with his famous candles, but her as the test subject. ]
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He doesn't realise, at first, her sudden fear, his nose and throat still coated with the smell of the burning makes it impossible to smell the scent that has come with them on the hems of her skirts. He thinks it's more to do with how out of breath she is, but her panic makes him take it seriously.
He has, at least, a little experience in getting ladies out of clothing, and thankfully this part of town seems remarkably quiet. He's not going to complain, tearing the fabric from her frame and getting her free of it seems far more important, dropping it away from them.]
We haven't even been properly introduced, you know.
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It is dropped onto the floor, then after it, the skirt goes next, yanking at the ties as quickly as she can to let it fall away at her feet.
It's not like she's lacking in clothes particularly. Corsets, petticoats over petticoats that give the desired shape, her small clothes under that. But - still. It's decided not her clothes. ]
Well, now we have - [ She goes to say more, as she kicks the skirt, and the rest of the torn up clothes out of the way. Which apparently, not a moment too soon.
Fwoomfh. The whole thing goes up in flames, albeit less intensely than the warehouse. Angel yelps, jumping back out of the way before the rest of her goes up in flames too. ] - you can at least give me your jacket.
[ There's a stubborn little jut of her chin, staring up at him, arms crossing over her. The pair of them bathed in the half light of nicely burning dress. ]
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He's actually taking off his long, heavy coat already, even as she speaks so snobbishly. He's not about to let her freeze, or be stared at. He hands it over wordlessly, and keeps his eyes averted while she slides it on. ]
It's not my fault you set it on fire. But it wasn't a very nice dress. You looked like a meringue. No offence.
[ She might take offence anyway, but he realises that she must have known it was a possibility and she's lucky it hadn't happened sooner. He's got to be grateful that she was quick enough to have saved herself. ]
I... I'm glad you're not hurt. We should get back to London.
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At least he isn't a giant, even if it is bigger on her, enough that it covers her from being completely indecent. ] I didn't pick it, Jack did. [ Is her self defensive little mutter, her hands dropping, ]
Thanks... I am not sure what's the best way back. There won't be trains until the morning, or... a carriage, maybe? If we find one.
[ All the intel she has, they never could tell her just how it was the Assassin's got around, anymore she could get numbers on how many Assassin's there truly were in London as a whole.
Guess she would find out and - she worries again. ] Are you sure about this? It's dangerous, Jack could... [ And she's off again, anxious, waiting for him to come to his senses and leave her here. She can't even pretend it wouldn't be for the better. ]
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[ Yes yes, he knows that such a suggestion is scandalous. But in London, there's far stranger, far more dangerous things than gentlemen who like to slip on petticoats of an evening. Or women who run around in trousers. Then again, as his sister was one of those, and she was extremely dangerous, it's best not to mention.
Instead he gestures her forwards. They aren't too far away from where they need to be, the train tracks, and from there it's a short walk to the sidings.]
No trains till morning? What time table did you look at? There's one due any minute.
[If she doesn't know about the train, he'll keep it that way. Maybe he should blindfold her, although frankly that might not do any good. It's hardly his style either. He guesses she'll just have to know, and if that becomes a problem... then he'll deal with it then.]
I told you before, I'm not scared of him, and you shouldn't be either. Don't let him bully you. Now come on, I don't know about you but I don't much want to hang around here.
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There is a whistle in the distance and Angel frowns, looking towards it. Her teeth clicking shut. What the -
She was wrong? How could she be wrong? She was never wrong about this sort of thing. ]
If you say so. [ But she's so clearly uneasy, watching him. But he was ... just so convincing. He walked like nothing less than God would cut him down. ]
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[ He offers her his hand, as they continue towards the railway line. Not the station itself, where the authorities might well be, but the industrial sidings where the train will have been waiting since it dropped him off several hours ago. They'd have turned her around now, and no doubt they're getting worried. Not about how long he's been away, but by that explosion and fire. No doubt they could hear that from here.
It doesn't take long to reach the train, beautiful and stately, the paintwork shining in the darkness as they pick their way across the tracks towards it, and a couple of solid looking men smoking outside.]
Come on lads, let's get home.
[ He doesn't mention her, despite their questioning looks. It's not often that Jacob brings a girl back to the train, and he's never brought one back wrapped up in his own coat. He helps her up onto the second carriage from the front, and lets her take it in. It looks like some cross between a study and a gentleman's club, but it's home to Jacob more than anything else is.]
Make yourself at home. Someone will fetch some tea and something stronger, in a minute. Once we're moving.
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The third, was when they got on board, the men who all looked at Jacob in clear expectation, and her in utter confusion for her presence, when surely, even if dressed a little oddly, she would be just be another traveller.
The fourth was that they were all certainly criminals. Oh great. That was just fantastic. What a splendid thing, Angel, out of the frying into a fire.
But she shuts her mouth, avoids their eyes because for one thing - that part of the act tended to help in these circumstances. Delicately holding onto her bell skirts as she steps onto the train, following after him and making sure to bop in a little curtsey of greeting to anyone that came close. Making sure to keep out of their way as Jacob gives his direction, her eyes staying fixed at about everyone's knees.
At least that way she'd see their stance shift if anyone lunged for her as she trotted after him. Until they're alone, and she looks around the carriage. ] Jacob... this isn't a... normal train, is it?
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You don't need to do that, Angel. Unless the Queen shows up, or the Prime Minister. But we're a bit far out of London for that.
[ And with that he flops down onto the familiar chaise-lounge, a little grunt of relief going through him. He takes a second, just a second, to unwind a little, removing his cap and setting it on the safe by his side, and then smiles, in answer to her question.]
No, this isn't a normal train. This is my train. And trust me, you're safer here than anywhere else in the country. Even the Tower. [He pats the seat next to him, shifting so there's space for her as there's a hiss from the front of the train and then they begin to slowly move forwards] Don't be scared. No one will hurt you.
[ He pauses, and then he decided he might as well tell her, now she's here ] Ever heard of the Rooks?
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Just like he had apparently worked out, and she snaps to him, as things happen, turning back to him with her eyes bright. ]
You've been using the Rooks - [ She's catching up, quickly. Faster and faster and - ] You've been using the Rooks as a cover, and that's why I haven't - and the train. Of course, the train, that explains the reports! [ And she beams at him, laughing. ] That's genius! No wonder no one can figure out your location!
[ She trips a step when the train lurches into motion. Stumbling over to where he was sitting, and that's proper too. Her legs neatly crossed at the ankle, turning slightly to face him, hands that are placed in her lap, fingers hooked together. ]
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Not using. We're a team. The Rooks have their part to play in looking after London.
[ And a larger part to play in explaining why two twenty-one-year-olds were able to break the Templar stranglehold that had existed in London for almost a hundred years. But that's another story, one she already knows. Although probably a very biased account of it.]
I'm not just a pretty face. We'll be in London in a couple of hours, if the lines are clear.
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But he didn't.
Jack really was lying about that too. ]
Uhm. If it's not too much of a problem - I might... need something to wear.
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There's a key in there, amongst the other treasures, but the door is shut far too quickly to identify some of those goodies, or how much cash is in there. He gestures her up, to follow him. ]
This way. I don't think Evie will mind too much.
[ And if she does, they'll just have to fight about it when, and if, she ever comes back from India. Apparently she's having a wonderful time exploring the Indus Valley, whatever that is.
So he unlocks the carriage door, and lights one of the gas lamps not used since Evie left England. He doesn't know why he locked it, but he did, and now it's pretty much the way it always was. Neat, tidy, full of books. And the little wardrobe just here.]
You look about the same size. Help yourself.
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Because curiosity is definitely going to kill this cat eventually. But thankfully, not today, she manages to keep it to herself as she follows after Jacob, trotting after him.
The wardrobe is... well. It's something, she guesses. ... A lot less. A lot, lot less. Don't pout Angel, what do you expect? ]
Uhm, thank you.
[ Carefully, she takes off his jacket. Dropping it away off her arms, and gently placing it aside. Then takes a step forward to begin shifting between clothes, one after another, black, black, black and grey? Black and red? White - pants, pants, long coat, pants - oh dear. ]
I'll need to call a maid... ?
[ Angel, you're on a train, with the Assassins, and everyone who isn't an assassin is clearly a street thug. What are you asking for? ]
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[ Jacob smiles, a strange, one-sided, amused grin that is a little bit... arrogant. Maids clean houses, or did, when he was younger. Maids helps the cook. You don't need a maid to help you get dressed.]
Look-
[ He reaches past her, takes down on of the pairs of dark trousers Evie preferred, and holds them out to her. ] You just put your legs in the top bits.
But... [ He glances at her, what she's actually wearing. Who knows what fancy ladies wear under petticoats? ] There's girls in the Rooks. I'll see if any are aboard and can help you. With... smalls.
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