[ 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.
[ She says it not like a question, but like a dawning realisation. Oh. Oh... no. She blinks at him a bit wide-eyed. Confused a second. How is she going to get out of this - how is she going to explain how to get out of this-? ] Jacob, I don't...
Uh - [ She looks at the pants, then back at him, then back at the pants. ] But that's for - [ Men. Is the confused words at the end, but doesn't quite get there. He's trying, she can appreciate that. Maybe it would be better if he did find someone else, he was probably going to find it a nightmare. But then - they'd see. They'd see and they'd talk. Maybe that was inevitable, but it might compromise him if he found out last.
That he'd taken on a freak. ] It might be better. If... you do. It will just take a minute.
[ Evie dresses herself. The only thing she ever asks for help with is her hair, and even then it's simply because it's easier to have a second pair of hands when pinning them at the back. None of her clothes is the fancy sort Angel is used to. In fact, Evie has bemoaned every dress and every corset she has ever had to wear.
But Angel seems distressed, although Jacob can't think why. He's seen enough women naked to know there are differences, important ones, but he can't see exactly what the problem is. Best not to think too long on it. ]
...Let me fetch someone.
[ And so he does. Of course, it's not until he's showing Ruthie back into the carriage that he wonders if Angel just wanted a few minutes alone in the carriage to nose around, but anything of any real importance Evie took with her. But Angel seems to be where Jacob left her, nothing moved, and so he makes his excuses to leave the ladies alone, and slips back into his own carriage for a quick, stiff drink. ]
[ There isn't another word for it: uncomfortable. When he brings someone else.
Jack's servants, they always looked down. Maybe because they knew there was something wrong with her. No respectable lady looked as she did. No respectable lady would have to be covered up in this kind of shame.
She held her coat tightly to her throat. Rising when Jacob and his... Friend? Came in. Despite his warnings, she bobs in greeting to them both.
Then he's gone, and at least the woman - Ruthie, she said her name was. Gets to business without much talking, and more than anything doesn't tell her anything like Jacob had. About this just being pants or about why it might be hard.
No, Ruthie does the best thing in the world, when she gets a look at Angel after helping her with the pins, the laces, the ties. The endless amount of hair pieces, flowers, ribbons. She looks at Angel once the last of the buttons and undone and she's just down to her smalls and a delta worth of blue markings that cover her entire left side with a whistle. Didn't know fine ladies had it in em. That's some nice work.
And Angel is so much brighter for it, a little bit more with every second. Taking eagerly to the pants, the waist coat - well Evie was shaped a little different, tighter on the hips looser on the chest. That wound be fine, she wasn't here to look good. Even if she was ready to part with the corset just yet.
So that when she finally sticks her head out, and Ruthie has finished her making look like a proper dodger, to use her term. Angel is much diminished in shape, no longer needing a meter in distance either side, hair no longer a hangman's worth of intricate braids on top of her head, instead black and loose, it falls down her shoulders. She's just a young woman, a little too thin, too pale, covered still from neck to wrist to ankle.
But at least one that was sensibly dressed. ]
So, uhm, do I look the part?
[ she grins at him a little, but for once it's sincere if shy. ]
[ Jacob doesn't understand and he won't gain any understanding from Ruthie either, at any point now or in the future. They don't break a confidence, his Rooks. He's proud of them for that. Thieves and brutes but they have honour.
He isn't waiting long for them both to reappear but he's nor expecting Angel to look so happy, so confident in unfamiliar and unladylike clothing. He stands when she puts her head around the door, pleased that she hasn't withdrawn into herself.
Maybe in a way, casting off those layers is casting off some of the fear of Jack, a little with every ribbon and every fold of petticoat.]
You look like you'd come raid a warehouse with me. But maybe not tonight, all things considered.
Thanks, Ruthie.
[ He adds as the girl passes them, her hand going to the brim of the bowler, tipping first to him and to Angel. ]
[ With that all done, she waves good-bye to Ruthie, waving her hand briefly and the brief promise of if she needed anything in exchange in the future.
It certainly was easier to walk around, she had to give that. When she drops back into a seat. Stretching out both her legs, looking down at them both. The boots not polished to a shine, but more serviceable then her dancing shoes. ]
I don't think I'd be much good for raiding warehouses. [ It's laughed, she doesn't mind it particularly. ] Climbing out of one window is enough for the night.
I wouldn't worry too much if I were you. By the time we get back to London, it'll be too light to do anything.
[He says, getting up off the chaise-lounge and moving towards the map of London that he'd taken from Evie's room when she left, hanging it up on the wall that used to be adorned with the faces of their targets. All gone, all dead.
But perhaps not all of them. There's Jack, and while the man doesn't frighten him, he needs to be dealt with. Angel will never be free otherwise.
He glances back, about to ask if she would prefer to be in a hotel than on the train, but there's no need to ask. She's asleep, stretched out, and it's all he can do to gently cover her with a blanket, and let her sleep off the excitement.]
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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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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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[ She says it not like a question, but like a dawning realisation. Oh. Oh... no. She blinks at him a bit wide-eyed. Confused a second. How is she going to get out of this - how is she going to explain how to get out of this-? ] Jacob, I don't...
Uh - [ She looks at the pants, then back at him, then back at the pants. ] But that's for - [ Men. Is the confused words at the end, but doesn't quite get there. He's trying, she can appreciate that. Maybe it would be better if he did find someone else, he was probably going to find it a nightmare. But then - they'd see. They'd see and they'd talk. Maybe that was inevitable, but it might compromise him if he found out last.
That he'd taken on a freak. ] It might be better. If... you do. It will just take a minute.
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[ Evie dresses herself. The only thing she ever asks for help with is her hair, and even then it's simply because it's easier to have a second pair of hands when pinning them at the back. None of her clothes is the fancy sort Angel is used to. In fact, Evie has bemoaned every dress and every corset she has ever had to wear.
But Angel seems distressed, although Jacob can't think why. He's seen enough women naked to know there are differences, important ones, but he can't see exactly what the problem is. Best not to think too long on it. ]
...Let me fetch someone.
[ And so he does. Of course, it's not until he's showing Ruthie back into the carriage that he wonders if Angel just wanted a few minutes alone in the carriage to nose around, but anything of any real importance Evie took with her. But Angel seems to be where Jacob left her, nothing moved, and so he makes his excuses to leave the ladies alone, and slips back into his own carriage for a quick, stiff drink. ]
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Jack's servants, they always looked down. Maybe because they knew there was something wrong with her. No respectable lady looked as she did. No respectable lady would have to be covered up in this kind of shame.
She held her coat tightly to her throat. Rising when Jacob and his... Friend? Came in. Despite his warnings, she bobs in greeting to them both.
Then he's gone, and at least the woman - Ruthie, she said her name was. Gets to business without much talking, and more than anything doesn't tell her anything like Jacob had. About this just being pants or about why it might be hard.
No, Ruthie does the best thing in the world, when she gets a look at Angel after helping her with the pins, the laces, the ties. The endless amount of hair pieces, flowers, ribbons. She looks at Angel once the last of the buttons and undone and she's just down to her smalls and a delta worth of blue markings that cover her entire left side with a whistle. Didn't know fine ladies had it in em. That's some nice work.
And Angel is so much brighter for it, a little bit more with every second. Taking eagerly to the pants, the waist coat - well Evie was shaped a little different, tighter on the hips looser on the chest. That wound be fine, she wasn't here to look good. Even if she was ready to part with the corset just yet.
So that when she finally sticks her head out, and Ruthie has finished her making look like a proper dodger, to use her term. Angel is much diminished in shape, no longer needing a meter in distance either side, hair no longer a hangman's worth of intricate braids on top of her head, instead black and loose, it falls down her shoulders. She's just a young woman, a little too thin, too pale, covered still from neck to wrist to ankle.
But at least one that was sensibly dressed. ]
So, uhm, do I look the part?
[ she grins at him a little, but for once it's sincere if shy. ]
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He isn't waiting long for them both to reappear but he's nor expecting Angel to look so happy, so confident in unfamiliar and unladylike clothing. He stands when she puts her head around the door, pleased that she hasn't withdrawn into herself.
Maybe in a way, casting off those layers is casting off some of the fear of Jack, a little with every ribbon and every fold of petticoat.]
You look like you'd come raid a warehouse with me. But maybe not tonight, all things considered.
Thanks, Ruthie.
[ He adds as the girl passes them, her hand going to the brim of the bowler, tipping first to him and to Angel. ]
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It certainly was easier to walk around, she had to give that. When she drops back into a seat. Stretching out both her legs, looking down at them both. The boots not polished to a shine, but more serviceable then her dancing shoes. ]
I don't think I'd be much good for raiding warehouses. [ It's laughed, she doesn't mind it particularly. ] Climbing out of one window is enough for the night.
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[He says, getting up off the chaise-lounge and moving towards the map of London that he'd taken from Evie's room when she left, hanging it up on the wall that used to be adorned with the faces of their targets. All gone, all dead.
But perhaps not all of them. There's Jack, and while the man doesn't frighten him, he needs to be dealt with. Angel will never be free otherwise.
He glances back, about to ask if she would prefer to be in a hotel than on the train, but there's no need to ask. She's asleep, stretched out, and it's all he can do to gently cover her with a blanket, and let her sleep off the excitement.]