Victorian weenie au

[cagedinflesh]

 Melodica playing in the distance

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[cagedinflesh]

At this point in his life, parties are a regular occurrence in Jekyll's home. It's what you do in his circles, a part of his social standing. To not at least attend affairs regularly would be right strange and invite plenty of gossip, and he certainly wouldn't want anyone thinking there was something queer about him (in any sense of the word). But of course he has to go the extra mile to be the ideal he aspires to. It would be especially strange for a young and successful bachelor not to be social, and there's a certain expectation that wealth should be spent, after all.

Usually it's a more private affair over dinner, but once in a while, something more grand with quite an open invitation. And during those times he's a particularly gracious host, sure to greet and chat with every guest at some point - sooner rather than later, at that. Only it's odd to find someone he doesn't recognise without anyone around to introduce them. It's rude to assume they haven't met, he can't just introduce himself - on the other hand, this being his home might be similar to a mutual acquaintance? And with her apparent foreign nationality, surely he would better remember, had they ever met. Finally after worrying over the point for some time, Jekyll weaves his way through the room to Paloma.

He ducks his head into a bow, offering his hand, palm up. Through gloves, of course. "Good evening, miss, I don't believe we've made one another's acquaintance?"

[gehennawind]

Prove to me, her sire had said, Paloma's wrist held tightly in the iron vice of his grip. Do not force me to think of you in shame. And he'd let her go, smiling as the carriage opened and manmade lights spilled out over their feet.

Old protests-- I did not mean to, I did not mean to hurt them-- died then on her tongue. Discomfort was, and is, a boiling knot of lava behind Paloma's ribs. It's a test when Carlos abandons her near a painting to survive and thrive alone, but she knows where his eyes will be.

She slides the shawl a little further up, pretending to be transfixed by the painted landscape. Admiring art never offended a soul.

From experience (experiences arranged exclusively by Carlos) she knows to expect a gracious host's appearance at some point during the night. Jekyll's approach leaves her ample time to tongue the blunted sheath where fangs used to be, and turn with a smile as pretty as a pinned butterfly.

"Good evening to you as well. I've never had the pleasure." He'll find it a thickly accented rasp, something accustomed to sharper vowels. Her own black gloves fit lightly over his palm. "You are the Dr. Henry Jekyll? I am here with my husband, Carlos-- Vasquez."

[cagedinflesh]

One wrong already, Mrs, not Miss. He could almost cringe for his mistake. This is why you don't do introductions this way, there are bound to be mistakes made.

But he smiles through it, raising her hand to his lips, a simple thing when he finds her accent so charming. The Doctor Henry Jekyll - it isn't improper usage necessarily, but he hardly deserves that sort of emphasis!

"I am." Jekyll smiles, dipping his head again. "How lovely to meet you, Mrs Vasquez. You must make my introduction to your husband later. As we are only meeting now, and you appeared so terribly lost, I take it you have only arrived in London recently?" Besides other aural and visual clues, but that certainly wouldn't be a polite comment to make.

[cagedinflesh]

A tavern inn in London's East End off Bethnal Green, run down to the point that even locals might be embarrassed to show their faces in it. Dingy and dirty, it's the exact opposite of the soiree's location earlier that night, and that is the reason its host comes to it. He keeps his coat collar up to hide his face, going without a hat so he won't look so conspicuously like an out of place gentleman. There are places that might be safer, more commonly attended by the upperclass looking to remain anonymous, but his shame is so great that Jekyll can't allow himself ever to be seen by his fellows, even those doing the same. It isn't enough to have a pact of false ignorance, even if they can't say it to another, they would still know.

He sits at a table, hunched over a drink that's fowl and much stronger than that served earlier, and watches the rest of the room. Eventually one woman draws his attention. Small but full figured, a dark skin tone and darker, curled hair - she looks a bit like Mrs. Vasquez, from behind. Wouldn't that be a good way to stop himself from lusting after her before it sets in too heavily? Just sleep with someone who resembles her and all is well.

Finally he rises from his table to approach the woman, standing behind her until given any permission to join her properly. "Good evening, Miss. I find it hard to believe no one has offered you a drink yet, the crowd here must be blind, what will you have?" Too committed to venturing to the other side of things to feel disgusted with himself, though he always does later. For now what matters is everything and everyone is for sale down here.

[gehennawind]

It is good that she's trusted enough to hunt alone, and she gets a feeling it has everything to do with surviving the soiree without causing her sire to regret letting her out of the house. Paloma feared his disappointment too much to dare.

But under the inn's filth, the smell of these persons' work and disease, something familiar preoccupies her, keeps her rooted to this creaky chair. She adjusted to the dimness of the tavern long ago, but she stares toward nothing at all, lost in trying to place it.

Nearing footsteps remind Paloma that reverie is a luxury, and returning home without indulging her appetite is another kind of failure. Henry Jekyll's beautiful voice, being so uncommon and new in her life, is not promptly identified. But by the time he asks her what she'll be having, she knows. An odd swelling mix of disappointment and gladness grabs at her heart.

Not turning toward him, she pats the table edge closest to an unoccupied chair.

[cagedinflesh]

No answer - well, that's alright, although he doesn't want to drive straight to the point without at least offering some chivalry first. Doing this is one thing, withholding all kindness is another. Although as he'll come to realise someday, it may be more for his own peace of mind than anything. He's exploited someone less fortunate, but at least he's been kind to them, right?

Jekyll sits to her right, and offers again. "Are you certain there is nothing I can get for you?" He leans forward, offering a smile.

[cagedinflesh]

It's been weeks since anyone last saw Dr. Jekyll, and longer still since he started to drift away from society to his self-jailing in his study. But for his butler delivering meals, checking in on him if at all possible. Often he doesn't bother even to leave his lab to sleep, but there have been a few times he made his way back to the house to sleep in bed, rather than on the table or lounge.

He has to find something to fix himself, that meeting with 'Mrs. Vasquez' in the tavern proved it to him once and for all. This can't continue, whatever is wrong with him, surely he can do something about it with science, if he committs himself fully.

Well, he's found something at least.

[gehennawind]

Carlos wastes time enough on his hunts and social engagements, leaves their home empty so often that there's rarely any way for him to tell how long she has been gone. She finds that these nights when he doesn't require a pretty wife at his side leave increasing freedom to maneuver.

And Paloma used to nurse a hope the friend she'd made would call one day. Send a letter, a card, flowers if she was honest with herself; trying very hard not to be, as their knowing one another Biblically has the misty sense of a distant reverie.

No. That's not true. Her recollection is vivid, colorful, and dear. But it must've sorely distressed him, because he has drawn away from everyone. Over the weeks of withdrawal she worries first over her actions, fretted at wording an apology, and finally become worried for his health. This is how a short woman in full mourning comes to persuade entry from his butler, even her skin hidden from passersby. This is why she tracks Jekyll across the courtyard and into the laboratory, stepping softly.

"Harry?" Her voice, at least, isn't disguised.

[cagedinflesh]

There's the sound of glass falling upon the floor and shattering, and the man who stands before the instruments lining the tables, who curses under his breath, must look to be Jekyll from behind. When he turns at the sound of Paloma's voice, however, well he must still look quite similar, but disheveled, and disturbing. Unsettling red eyes light on her, and the smooth innocence of his face is something almost grotesque against the expression he wears.

"The doctor is away." Now shoo.

[gehennawind]

Carlos will kill her. He said he would if this happened again, and she knows better than to doubt him on the promise of murder. He made it so perfectly clear what was to become of her if Paloma failed him as a fledgling, ruined the little castle of wealth and influence he'd set up again.

It's two hours past midnight when a girl in an oddly-stained dress pries Henry Jekyll's front gate bars apart. Seemingly the feat should've been impossible for anyone human, but she puts her whole weight into leaning and they bend like bows. Shiny red flakes stick to the metal when she falls away, helping a limp figure much larger than herself get an arm over her shoulders. They lurch into his courtyard.

The butler will be greeting this wild-eyed girl, a smear of red traveling across her mouth, chin, jaw and throat. Her burden's thick, finely woven coat is pulled over his drooping head. Dark and glistening splotches dot what's visible of his equally expensive vest.

By contrast, Paloma's hands are bright. Cracked. "Please say nothing of us to no one. Take me to the doctor."

[cagedinflesh]

He is, for once, asleep at this hour. A rare thing these days especially, when most nights are spent as Hyde. But everyone needs a proper rest eventually. But the butler escorts their vampire guest to the master bedroom without question, knocks on the door, and lets her in. Jekyll may have made it to his room, but apparently he passed out on top of the bed without even taking his shoes off, and is understandably surprised to be woken. He rolls over, still groggy, looking to the door. "What is it, Poole--"

The sight behind him is the last he'd ever expect to see standing there. At first he thinks it must be Mr. Vasquez, fallen ill suddenly, but then he sees the blood covering Paloma, particularly about her mouth and down her front, and is all the more confused and shocked. Something is very wrong.

[gehennawind]

Very, very wrong.

Her irises have disappeared. Maybe if he steps closer he'll see the near-invisible ring of brown around the fat black olives her pupils blew out to. Parts of her hair are also matted from blood.

And she's shaking. Nothing slight, but a violent head-to-toe quiver that gives her curls the illusion of vibrating. She loses grip on the man's arm; as he tumbles into an awkward heap of finery, his coat slips. His head rolls too far to be natural, and from where Henry stands he can see the open mess of his throat. Someone's botched a decapitation, but not before teeth tore into him.

Paloma's mouth opens, swollen and dark, and he can see her fangs, too. "I am going to die. I will be killed."

[gehennawind]

She was very, very foolish not to hide.

Simply put, Paloma had forgotten the dangers of passing time and encroaching dawn. Lying there-- holding and held-- so safe, so fantastical, in clinging to that fantasy it became too late to get out. After she felt the heaviness of her bones and mind, she remembered.

In a last-ditch effort to save him from further alarm the panicking vampire had managed a single, glorious leap from the bed. She landed and collapsed near the door, well away from any sunlight but not at all hidden from Jekyll.

The robe still preserves her modesty, at least, barring that unseemly flash of calves. Her stiff corpse seems somehow unharmed in any way, but such a stillness only comes from death.

[cagedinflesh]

There's a twinge of disappointment when Jekyll wakes late in the day to find his bed empty. But he shouldn't be disappointed when she shouldn't have been there in the first place.

After lying there some time, he finally sits up. He may act very mature, but he is young, it's just his youth that makes him lie there, nothing to do with hoping to notice some remainder of her, he will not sniff that pillow.

He stops at the end of the bed, and reaches out to grab the footboard. Oh no. Once he remembers to breathe again, Jekyll rushes to the corpse, dropping to his knees beside it. Modesty doesn't matter now, this is strictly professional, and so he doesn't hesitate at all when he turns her over, or lays a hand between her breasts. For too long he tries everything he can to start her heart again, to make her breathe, but nothing seems to have even the slightest effect. Worse still he's no idea what could have caused it and is left only with sudden heart failure. Once he's left sitting on the floor with nothing left to do, and a corpse in his arms, the reality of it truly hits him, and he weeps into her hair as he holds her close. It's alright to cry if there's no one around to see it, right?

[gehennawind]

There will be a thousand apologies when the sun goes down. She really ought to have warned the good doctor.

Without the age or power to have some awareness of what's happening to her body during torpor, Paloma remains oblivious in the death sleep of torpor. Was her skin always so cool? Yes, but they shared touches so often it gave her some shreds of warmth that might mislead the unwary.

She does not and cannot resist or coil around him in turn. Her eyes are shut, dispelling any illusion of a stare, but her body seems a small and fragile thing. Whatever is he to do?

[gehennawind]

Poor, wretched Mrs. Vasquez.

The allegations of murder against her husband must be true, they whisper, else why run off? Abandoning his wife alone to the dogs of London. It's only her and the maid in that house. How frightfully cruel.

Paloma enjoyed the ability to make sure nobody doubted her innocence (the policemen who knocked most of all) but nothing was to stop tongues from wagging. Officially she had initiated the proceedings of a divorce, virtually disowning any relationship with Carlos for his crime. That divorce would take a little time. Unofficially, as they'd never legally wed, she rejoiced in quiet triumph within the privacy of her home.

Hers. All, all hers.

Somehow in the middle of anticipating Carlos' displeasure and navigating around it, she'd made at least one friend in the city. Samantha. A girl who called on her shortly after murder made the papers, who raged on Paloma's behalf and embraced her. Invites her to leave home and attend her birthday party at a sprawling estate.

She comes in a white, cheerful, flowery dress as if to defy the notion of mourning a wanted murderer. But after Paloma exits the cab, she gets stuck at the gates. Nerves battling. She wants to see other people; she wants to look at the ground.

[cagedinflesh]

Henry Jekyll, meanwhile, arrives just behind her, and so of course he would call out to her as he steps down. It's only the polite thing to do!

"Mrs. Vasquez, how good to see you!" He smiles, removing his hat as he bows to her, and sweeps it back atop his head as he rises. "May I escort you inside?" It's also only the right thing to do! That's all!

Although it is a little sheepishly that he offers up his arm.

[gehennawind]

The Right Thing(tm).

She absolutely could not make her excuses without ever setting foot in Samantha's party. His smiling face makes the task of rejoining society that much less daunting, horrible. Paloma half-covers her mouth in a sad attempt at hiding a glowing smile in return.

"Harry!" Doesn't he make a handsome picture? Has anyone painted his portrait before? Maybe the absence of contact between them since the night she bled him has made him stand out against the foggy night. "You would do this for me?"

Or maybe she desperately does not want to seem as alone as she's felt.

[cagedinflesh]

Jekyll isn't sure he can show his face in public ever again, after making a fool of himself by kissing Paloma out in the open. How shameful that he was so unable to control himself, his reputation is devastated! Worse still, is Hyde's growing presence that he can't control. At first it took the potion to change, but more and more, it could happen any time. Last night he took a walk to enjoy the cool, fresh air...and by the time he returned home in the early hours of the morning, his coat was stained with blood - and maybe other bodily fluids - and a man lay dead in the street, beaten to a pulp. He should keep to himself for a while.

He'd been reading by the fire in a sitting room, and almost ignored the summons of a guest until Paloma's name was mentioned. Then he, perhaps too immediately, bade the butler to show her inside.

How can he refuse any chance to see her. At least he isn't a danger to her. Although he may also be too plainly excited to be receiving her, getting up from his chair to wait beside it, facing the door. After being sure his clothes are just so, of course. Can't look disheveled and crazy.

[gehennawind]

Hardly fair to poke fun at his preening when Paloma needed to enlist her most trusted adviser in matters of how low a collar is too low.

'There is no seducing,' she'd protested, squirming as fingers pluck and tug at her dress. 'Do you make a mistake of my intention?' And Samantha had laughed in a way that squeezed her heart. It chained her feet to the ground and hands to her lap until the deed was done.

Paloma still thinks that, for an innocent visit and the local fashion, maybe less of her throat should be on display.

She's a step behind his butler and clinging for dear life to the upper portion of her long coat, forcing it higher. With his back turned she can't help the eerie focus of her eyes on the door to the sitting room. If she's quiet, very quiet and listens, she can tell where Jekyll must be on the other side ...

Ah. There's a fire. That may be a problem unless she can look always elsewhere. Maybe not a problem, as when she's shown through, Paloma forgets to thank his butler and smiles broadly like the foolish thing she is.

"Harry, you are a painting of health." Painting is more emphatic than picture, yes? A good substitute, yes??

[cagedinflesh]

It's okay, he can put it out for her...!

She might notice him walking over to a wall, then back again. And when she enters, that that wall has a mirror on it. Is he a painting of health, though? That comes as a surprise, he'd expected the opposite, having been such a recluse. And the wording tickles him all the more, so he can't help but laugh. "Why thank you, I would say the same for you, Paloma. It gladens me."

He sweeps a hand out to offer her a chair. "Thank you, Poole, that will be all for the night." He almost says he'll show her out himself, but actually, he hopes she might stay.

[cagedinflesh]

It's some days later that Jekyll finally arrives on Paloma's doorstep. But he tries to make up for the time by bringing a huge bouquet of expensive, foreign flowers, not normally grown in England. And he too stands there in finery, as if ready for a ball, top hat and many layers of coats. As you do.

He knocks on the door and hopes it's the right one.

[gehennawind]

Once it was just Paloma, the man who pretended to be her husband, and the maid. With the man's propensity for luxury, decadence and social standing, a small wonder he had employed a team of seasoned servants before his flight. A three-story mansion is too much for even a ghoul to handle without extra help.

A depressed male in uniform opens the door to Jekyll after no sooner than a half-minute. Someone's recently had a cigar in the rich, ornamented parlor. Smoke curls up from a corner behind a stool. He sighs with deep resignation at the suitor on Miss Vasquez's doorstep.

"Sir, beg your pardon, her divorce has not yet been officiated."

[cagedinflesh]

Jekyll dreads knocking on Paloma's door again, after the other day and the shame he got from the butler.

But there isn't much choice. At least he has a proper reason this time, right? But when he finishes with the knocker he's clearly much more subdued than before. Pay no attention to him, he is small and insignificant.

[gehennawind]

He'd begged Madam the question of who he should wait by the door in anticipation of, noting her dress and trembling excitement. Doctor Jekyll, she said, whispering and clutching the petals of that bouquet of sin the scoundrel brought yesternight. The butler kept silent.

Then and now. He opens for the man at first knock, but hesitates to do anything but sullenly meet this blackguard dead in the eyes. "My lord."