If there's one thing to still a room - to still this room, in particular, it's those words. The snap of tension that goes from the irritation of interrupted grief to something tight strung. The barkeep that looks up to a woman at the far back of the room. Another woman that moves from another corner who looks as pleasant as the gun strapped to her back, and another man that does the same.
All of them are red decked - the red that marked rebellions. Here at least, no one pretended who was whose side. There was only one sure-fire way to make sure you weren't going to get shot this far into barricaded streets of Whitechapel.
It started with not being friends to the crown and especially not to the United India Company.
The second was not getting in the rebellion's way.
Which he seemed bent on doing, at present. Marching into this brothel, in particular, and making demands. Though it was not in a serious matter, looking for a dead woman - or as sneered by the people's business it was supposed to be to protect these women and men - one more dead whore? Good for nothing that got what she deserved. It's something she will hear in the back rooms she sneaks about in on her better nights out. Gutted like a fish, that was the real crime, no gentleman could be capable of such. They are insulted that it might ever be insinuated as one of them.
Little did they know.
But she knew - and she knew no one asked about what happened to whores. No one that didn't have something else going on. But as to what, she couldn't work out from here, from just his brusque, demanding words. He didn't look like the newspapers or one of Commissioner Doyle's Dragnet doing a mockery of an investigation. No, - an American is whispered into her ear, the one that's been asking questions. Came over a few weeks ago, him and his brother. It had been noticed, and none of her business until he apparently marched in here, since he didn't seem to be chasing his good for nothing brother.
No, no, there was something else going on with him at least.
Devi and Finley move towards him and she lifts a hand from the table she is sat at, curls it in as a gesture. No, no, bring him here. The gold that glints like animal's watching eyes in the candle-lit dark of the room as her head turns to speak to the man at her side again. Waves her finger for him to clear the somewhat sensitive information off of the table and from his gaze.
It's then, she stands, hands planted on the low table in front of her. An exaggerated tired gesture as she leans forward, sure of her movements, and of what she is - not a queen in a brothel, but the worst thing in the room. Voice rises and falls in a clear cut sound that makes everyone else in the room fall silent. "She was found in two pieces this morning with her gut strung up as decoration for the first person to find her."
Devi makes herself apparent more directly. The threat she always was and never needed to exaggerate. The gun in its holster but a hand that grips it. This is their territory. The way that this far into the underworld, gangs divided up territory, this was clearly theirs. "You asked for me? But then, you've been asking a great deal of questions of late."
no subject
All of them are red decked - the red that marked rebellions. Here at least, no one pretended who was whose side. There was only one sure-fire way to make sure you weren't going to get shot this far into barricaded streets of Whitechapel.
It started with not being friends to the crown and especially not to the United India Company.
The second was not getting in the rebellion's way.
Which he seemed bent on doing, at present. Marching into this brothel, in particular, and making demands. Though it was not in a serious matter, looking for a dead woman - or as sneered by the people's business it was supposed to be to protect these women and men - one more dead whore? Good for nothing that got what she deserved. It's something she will hear in the back rooms she sneaks about in on her better nights out. Gutted like a fish, that was the real crime, no gentleman could be capable of such. They are insulted that it might ever be insinuated as one of them.
Little did they know.
But she knew - and she knew no one asked about what happened to whores. No one that didn't have something else going on. But as to what, she couldn't work out from here, from just his brusque, demanding words. He didn't look like the newspapers or one of Commissioner Doyle's Dragnet doing a mockery of an investigation. No, - an American is whispered into her ear, the one that's been asking questions. Came over a few weeks ago, him and his brother. It had been noticed, and none of her business until he apparently marched in here, since he didn't seem to be chasing his good for nothing brother.
No, no, there was something else going on with him at least.
Devi and Finley move towards him and she lifts a hand from the table she is sat at, curls it in as a gesture. No, no, bring him here. The gold that glints like animal's watching eyes in the candle-lit dark of the room as her head turns to speak to the man at her side again. Waves her finger for him to clear the somewhat sensitive information off of the table and from his gaze.
It's then, she stands, hands planted on the low table in front of her. An exaggerated tired gesture as she leans forward, sure of her movements, and of what she is - not a queen in a brothel, but the worst thing in the room. Voice rises and falls in a clear cut sound that makes everyone else in the room fall silent. "She was found in two pieces this morning with her gut strung up as decoration for the first person to find her."
Devi makes herself apparent more directly. The threat she always was and never needed to exaggerate. The gun in its holster but a hand that grips it. This is their territory. The way that this far into the underworld, gangs divided up territory, this was clearly theirs. "You asked for me? But then, you've been asking a great deal of questions of late."