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?"
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.
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.
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."
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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moritat2015-08-17 04:59 pm
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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?"
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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.
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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.
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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."
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c:
you...............
C8
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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.
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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.
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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.
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into her goat.
Cheating on Jekyll with his best friend's goat sorry.
Slut
Learn to satisfy like a goat
Satyrfucker
What's it feel like to be cuckolded by one eh
Pretty shitty...
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He knocks on the door and hopes it's the right one.
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wink wonk
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Nobody treats her like this, she's too rich
Re: Nobody treats her like this, she's too rich
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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.
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