Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

Scarlet Letters -DEAD RP-

Status
Not open for further replies.
Joined
Dec 29, 2012
Location
My most vivid nightmares





I'm just a whisper in the void
No one's there, you're paranoid
I'm just a trick of your own mind
Blink your eyes once and you'll find
I'm just a ghost inside your head
Don't fear your fate that soon arrives
It's a deadly lullaby
You'll be with us very soon
Another spirit in the room
Take your place among the lost


Warning!!!
The following story contains dark themes (including but not limited to)- blood,gore, death, and detailed description of human mutilation-

~If you still feel inclined to read, please enjoy~
Readers discretion is advised.

NOTE: This rp has been discontinued as of 8/14. No further updates will be added! Sorry for the inconvience​
 
RE: Scarlet Letters -QuixoticXCandy-

How much longer could she continue to pretend to be asleep? Five minutes, ten maybe if she was lucky? The truth of the matter was that she had woken the moment the body beside her own had stirred to life; she had remained as still as a corpse as she listened to him wake, heard him sit up and clear his throat and then clamber out of the room. It had been the procession of receding footsteps that drew her lithe form erect, her large hazel eyes, fanned by long ebony lashes, fixated upon the closed oaken door. In that fleeting moment, Olivia didn't know what was worse; the pounding headache that caused her to wince with each steady thump of her heart, the sickening tempest that raged in her belly or the lingering taste of her lover's mouth. True he was handsome and could have been easily considered the epitome of male beauty but the fact remained that he had little to no work ethic. So why did she stay, what possible future could there be with a man who was more interested in spending money than the growth of his company.

"You stay for the sex Olivia." Was it so wrong for a lady to admit to herself that she was a creature of carnal pleasure or that she too possessed needs that needed to be sated? That she too enjoyed the throngs of fiery passion that she too hungered for? As she lay there silently, she could recall the heated touch of a phantom lover; the way their fingers ignited feverish trails down her body or how those same fingers spread her creamy thighs. 'Breathe girl, just breathe,' the brunette thought, forcing the thought from her mind; she needed to calm down. For those actions alone she could have been called a strumpet, a whore but did that make her any worse than her betters? The same men who pointed her out were those who sought the same pleasures in the arms of a common whore. Unlike the men who hid behind their fancy titles, who degraded women for being sexual beings, she could at least admit to herself that she enjoyed her earthly pleasures.

' Though now's not the time to dwell on things you can't change,' she thought as she loosed a sigh as she fell back into the goose-feather mattress with a soft thump. If there was one thing she truly loved about him, it was how the scent of his skin was like a natural paralytic for her. It was like her own personal brand of opium that soothed worry and dissolved stress into vividly colored daydreams. Slender, pale arms extended towards the head of the bed and long fingered hands collected one of the many pillows he slept with. Olivia drew it tightly to her supple breasts and drew in a deep, shuttering breath, locking the scent within her expanded lungs until she once more sighed in contentment.

Minutes passed by like seconds and while the urge to lay in bed all day seemed all too appealing, she knew that wasn't plausible. 'He'll be expecting you soon anyway' she thought begrudgingly as she kicked back the heavy duvet from her legs. Instantly she regretted having been so rash as the cooler air assaulted her exposed calves, causing a shiver to tear through her body like a knife; every fine hair stood at peak attention, her body instantly alive with the sudden shock. Setting her feet firmly on the polished wooden floor, Olivia stood slowly, reaching those same slender arms high above her head in a generous stretch. Muscles ached sweetly and bone popped deliciously as the stiffness of sleep left her as she stretched.

When next Olivia emerged from the room,she wore a simple button down that drown most of her figure except her breasts,and a pair of gray slacks that hung loosely around her hips. While she could admit to herself and strangers that she enjoyed the more carnal delights, Olivia Ackerman had a reputation to uphold, a false front to continue to keep intact: her true self would cause chaos for more than just her.

As the young woman rounded the corner from the long L-shaped hallway, her eyes locked on a figure within the informal dining room, his back towards her: Darcy. "Morning," she greeted, having intentionally left out the 'Good' portion as the throbbing in her head felt as if she had fallen down several flights of stairs, "I trust you slept well?" She didn't wait for a response and instead reached across the table for the morning paper, hopeful that there was more news about him. Hazel eyes flicked across the front page, the bold text instantly making her heart leap into her throat with excited curiosity, 'Ghastly Murder in the East-End. Dreadful Mutilation of a Woman. Capture: Leather Apron.'. A look momentarily crossed her face, a look of disgust at the nickname the media had chosen for the brilliant mastermind killing in the East-End.

Olivia could still recall the first time she had read in the papers about a killer who had taken it upon himself to 'thin the herd' as it were over in Whitechapel. The papers had reported that his first victim had been a woman by the name of Mary Ann Nichols, a common whore that no one really would miss nor cared about. According to the papers she had been found Friday morning early with her throat slit wide open and her belly torn open. 'Which came first I wonder,' Olivia wondered as she read quietly to herself, quickly reasoning that he had probably slit her throat first and then started to gut her like a pig. Another thought popped into her mind as she wondered if this madman was depraved enough to keep the harlot alive long enough to see the life drain from her eyes as he tore into her belly. What was it like to watch the life fade out from someone's eyes, to know that their last breath had been at her hands, to watch the fire flicker and then be snuffed out?

"He's killed again," Olivia cooed, folding the paper and setting it back down to press her finger against the bold-faced text, "He's really quite something, isn't he? To have alluded the police twice now" if she had been alone with her thoughts, joy would have instantly brightened her features but in her lover's presence she remained emotionless. "Do you think he'll ever be caught?"
 
RE: Scarlet Letters -QuixoticXCandy-

His head thumped, his throat was parched, and Darcy Oxenham's memory of the previous night was filled with gaps, all of which he'd become accustomed to waking up with at least twice a week since his thirtieth birthday. Darcy was the eldest, and sole surviving, child of wealthy Landowner, Peter, and wife Laura, and if his father had had his way, would never have relocated to London. However, after almost a decade of exasperation, the Patriarch had eventually conceded that, as well as a hatred of getting his hands, literally, dirty, Darcy lacked the work-ethic to run the land as his forebears had. Consequently, he'd reluctantly sent the boy off to the big city, placing him under the supervision of his friend, the Honourable Reginald Bailey, Solicitor at Law, to be trained as an articled clerk. The kid, despite his other flaws, did possess a brain, and the hope of Peter was that, with expert tutelage, he'd at least be able to carry on the good family name in another discipline.

The change had suited Darcy just fine, the further from the eyes of his parents the better, and for the first couple of years he'd behaved as required, attending the office each day, pretending interest in the Law, and even easily passing every bi-annual exam. That was until on the Fifteenth of September, in the year Ninety Hundred and Eighty Eight, the trust fund his Father had bequested him, and often threatened to rescind, finally came into effect. Once he'd gained access to the proceeds, and there was naught that could be done to remove his right to spend as he wished; fuck the larger inheritance, the old bastard probably wouldn't die for another century anyway; any semblance of ambition that had existed in the young man swiftly departed. He continued to attend the office on most days, however that was purely for the purpose of garnering contacts and social invitations, and done so regularly with bleary eyes and the smell of alcohol on his breath.

Fortunately, this particular hangover occurred on a Sunday, which meant much of the morning had already passed when the man stretched, yawned, stumbled out of bed, and peered down at the woman who remained wrapped up in the sheets that adorned the four-poster bed, attempting to recall if they'd fornicated on their return home. Most likely, thought Darcy, and the man smiled at his good luck. One of the advantages of possessing wealth was that it granted you access to the best pussy, and Olivia was close to, if not the best, he'd ever had, although that didn't mean he intended to ever request her hand in marriage, or for them to spend the remainder of their lives together. Regardless of the affection he held for Olivia, the man was aware that he'd eventually become bored, as he had with previous lovers - What was the point in settling with one, when there was a smorgasbord available for the sampling? , - however, until that day arrived, he'd remain faithful and continue to savour her charming company, both in and out of the sack.

With those haphazard musings occupying his brain, Darcy, attired in a pair of trousers, accompanied by a woolen undergarment that covered his athletic physique, eased his sore throat with a glass of water from the kitchen tap, then entered the living room to draw the curtains. The sudden bright sunlight elicited a blinking fit, and he didn't notice Olivia's presence until he pirouetted and unexpectedly laid eyes on her. Oblivious to the fact that she'd even greeted him, let alone that the 'morning' had not been preceded by a 'good', Darcy took a second to appreciate the visage. The woman looked so damn adorable in the morning, and he felt the stirrings of lust in his loins. That quickly receded when the subject matter she spoke of reigned in his wandering thoughts, and he approached to slip the folded newspaper out from under her finger.

After scanning the article, he tossed it back on the table, and focused on his lover. "The man is a pervert and a coward, murdering and dismembering the weak and defenceless. He'll be caught, believe me, men like that are stupid and careless, so they'll have him within the week. A good thing it will be too." A pause, and his brow furrowed as he briefly contemplated whether to reveal the gossip overheard in the office, before, unable to contain boasting of his access to information, it spilled out. The man never could keep his lip buttoned. "Jack the Ripper he calls himself, and the press haven't disclosed the half of it, you wouldn't credit the acts the authorities claim he perpetrated. When they found the first one, her eyeballs and tongue had been plucked out whilst she still breathed, her insides, what was left of 'em, were scattered all over the room, and he'd sawed her head clean off. It was like a slaughter-house, the coppers never seen anything like it, most of them dead fainted on sight."

According to Darcy Oxenham, it was an incontrovertible fact of life that women's sensibilities were too frail to handle this level of grisly detail, and a cheeky grin formed on his features as he teased, and comfortingly patted her arm. "Hope that's not too much, I believe you're starting to look a touch pale yourself, so maybe we should return to bed, I've just the tonic to help you feel better. Pity, cause I was contemplating heading over to take a gander at the scene."
 
RE: Scarlet Letters -QuixoticXCandy-

Somewhere deep down in the very soles of her feet, Olivia knew what Darcy would say about Leather Apron. She knew that this particular subject would cause a heated debate about whether this killer was nothing more than common street filth attempting to sate some vicious boredom or if he was truly a mastermind that not even the police could catch. It was inherently clear which side Darcy chose, but Olivia was not as easily swayed by the mad rambling of cynical journalists like the whole of London was. She believed there was something methodical about the killing, but why he did it, was even beyond her.

There were so many things the Ackerman girl wished to say in rebuttal to her lover's unreasonable assumption of the headlining killer but realized that one misunderstanding or one dirty secret that she admitted freely to Darcy would only tarnish her and her families good name. After all, it was improper for young ladies to be so entirely obsessed with the macabre as she was.

"He seems smarter than your average criminal Mr. Oxenham; perhaps we should wait and watch before we assume our killer is a novice as you believe him to be." She knew she was walking a dangerous line but having to subject herself willingly to the ramblings of a spoiled, pretentious child was enough to make her teeth ache. As she stood across the table from him, she witnessed something cross Darcy's face that instantly quieted any previous agitation. It was a look that Olivia had learned meant he was rolling an idea around in his head, it was a look that said he knew something that she didn't, likely something he was supposed to keep buttoned up. With bated breath, she waited until he opened his mouth and divulged truths none in London, aside from those working on the case, knew, inwardly she grinned impishly."Jack the Ripper?" She questioned incredulously, her tone finally holding a spark of only a fraction of her true enthusiasm. Comparively, 'The Ripper' sounded far superior to what the media had dubbed him, as well as far more terrifying: she loved it!
"Hmm, has a nice ring to it," she murmured softly, knowing full well she was 'poking the bear' with her quiet omission.

Lifting her eyes from the bold-faced print on the morning paper, Olivia was more than a little surprised that her comment had left him unphased and instead he began to recount the gruesome (albeit fascinating) details concerning the first victim that the police had found. Hazel eyes went wide in surprise to hear the particulars of the killing that the newspapers had failed to divulge. Jack had taken his time it seemed. He had plucked out her eyes, her tongue, and what body parts he hadn't wanted were left as a grisly reminder for any whore brave enough to traverse the streets at night in White Chapel. Genuine giddiness almost overwhelmed her at the knowledge that the Ripper did in fact, seem to enjoy toying with his victims a little; after all, she had wondered only moments ago herself if he had left the first one alive long enough to see true suffering reflected in her eyes as she died. Olivia could not imagine what it was like to watch him work, to see the intense concentration on his face as he sawed through limbs, or cut through skin to rip and tear out organs but all of her wonderings refocused on one simple question, why? It seemed rather odd that the Ripper had decided to take bits and pieces back from his victims instead of leaving them intact or at best, in pieces around the crime scene. Was he collecting trophies from each victim? Or perhaps he had stalked these strumpets first from the shadows, watching them for a few days before he acted on some basic instinct, taking only the parts that he enjoyed most, leaving the rest as a personal calling card for his particular brand of brutality.

In the span it had taken her to draw in a shuddering breath, Olivia knew she had to see it first hand. She needed to see just a glimpse of Jack's handiwork! There was something different about Jack that instantly ignited an unyielding desire to see inside the mind of this particular killer. He was unlike the typical murderer who only killed for three reasons: money, revenge, or because they had grown bored. What had possessed him to kill and collect spare parts?

"I'm sure it was quite the gruesome sight," she remarked numbly, though it was a sight that Olivia desperately wished she could have witnessed; what stories could the scene of the crime depict of Jack's madness? There were so many unanswered questions that the young woman desperately wanted answers to but knew that any semblance of a reply rested at the epicenter of Jack's second masterpiece, a place that an honest girl like herself had no business witnessing. Already her mind was abuzz with plots to see the disembodied whore and how she would justify her being there. As she thought, lost within her wondering, the soft touch of her lover's hand cause a surprised gasp to issue from her lips. She knew it was dangerous to lose herself in thought, but the Ripper had captured her full attention, and it left Olivia raw from curiosity.

"Darcy, sweetheart- " she began, coming to stand before him, her long fingers brushing against the sides of his face lovingly. "We both know we drank far too much last night and is likely the cause of any 'paleness' you believe you see. I do hate to be 'that woman', but your phallus does not count as a cure-all for a hangover," Olivia assumed the only reason why he mentioned returning to the bedroom was another quick romp. "However if you do possess something to alleviate this throbbing headache and my churning stomach, don't hold out on us."

In all the time she and Darcy had been together, Darcy had proven to her on numerous occasions that while yes, he did possess some brilliance, that even surprised her at times, his gray matter was centric around a good lay instead of logic. Now was one of those moments that made her question if he was brilliant. Olivia was floored when Darcy mentioned he desperately wanted to see the crime scene; it was as if he had read her mind and knew she had been trying to piece together a way to see the whore's tattered body. "Why don't we go?" She questioned, attempting to contain her excitement. If she was going to convince Darcy, the best way was to appeal to his second head.
"What sort of woman would I be," she punctuated her statement by pressing her body firmly against his, her large supple breasts pressed teasingly against the smooth plains of his chest. Olivia allowed his mind to silent any disquiet he might have had felt and instead let him visualize in his mind's eye the concealed curves that lay beneath her borrowed clothing "-if I kept you away from the scene of Jack the Ripper's second victim." Was it considered 'playing dirty' if she knew how to use what she had to get what she wanted? There were some who would agree that it was, but she considered it as being creative. "I'm sure a big, strong man like you," she cooed seductively, brushing her pillowy lips against the sensitive skin of his lobe, her breath hot and raspy as she finished her thought, "can protect me again anything."
 
RE: Scarlet Letters -QuixoticXCandy-

To Darcy, the killer was nothing more than another depraved human being. Certainly, from what he'd heard, capable of acts more unusual than the standard rape and throttlings which were an occupational hazard for those who worked in the World's oldest profession, but there was nothing special about him. The rumours and gossip floating around Police Stations, Law Offices and the Old Bailey were just that, and, regardless of what Darcy had expressed to Olivia, in his opinion, contained only a grain of truth. Plucking out a woman's eyes, cutting out her tongue, gutting her like a fish and leaving a slimy trail of her intestines coiled up like a sleeping snake over her right shoulder. God Forbid, one man had even claimed that the self-proclaimed, in a yet unpublished letter written to a local newspaper, 'Ripper' had departed with the whore's still beating heart concealed beneath his overcoat. What sane person would truly believe a human being capable of such atrocities?

Possibly Olivia, Darcy contemplated when she stepped closer. "Has a nice ring to it? And what would you know about the criminal class, Darling?" His tone was amused as he briefly tilted his head to press his lips to the hand that touched his face, then arched a brow. "Unless there's a dark history that you haven't revealed, the only crime I'm aware of that you've ever committed is breaking your curfew when a teenager?" As she moved closer, and the swell of her breasts met the plains of his chest, he placed his hands on her waist, and held her gaze. Having expected her to react to his revelations of the full extent of Jack's purported acts with at least a drop of the jaw, if not a gasp of shock, her response surprised him, and he realised his grave mistake.

Darcy Oxenham had not intended to waste his precious Sunday by spending the day traipsing around the East End hovel of Whitechapel, but it appeared his beloved had issued him a challenge that would be impossible to resist. Was she simply jesting with him, as he was with her? Whatever, with her sultry expression, the seductive breath that floated against his earlobe, and those perfect tits squeezed against his chest, eliciting a sigh of contentment, it was difficult to think with the right head. "My phallus is capable of many miracles, Sweetheart," he responded, gliding one hand down Olivia's back to clutch her delectable ass, and cupping her face with the other, bringing her lips to his for a soft kiss. "However, if you insist, that can wait until later."

Having recovered a little clarity of mind, it had struck Darcy that a visit to the scene might not be a bad idea after all. Although lacking in professional ambition, Darcy possessed that quality in abundance in a personal sense, and Reginald Bailey had spoken of being the one to represent the accused if (when, according to Darcy), he was brought to Justice. Pro-Bono of course, as the one matter on which both Oxenham and his superior agreed was that any publicity was good publicity, and if he displayed a little initiative on this occasion, Reginald might allow Darcy to sit as second chair on the trial. Where he'd be photographed by Fleet Street journalists, and have his sketched image appear alongside his name on the front page of the papers.

"If you're up to it, as I don't desire to have to carry you all the way back on my shoulders, we'll go," Darcy continued, as he pressed his hips to Olivia's, revealing that her actions were indeed having an effect down below, and lowered his eyes to the curve of her ample breasts. "And finish the remainder of this conversation later. Don't you go thinking I can't see right through your sexy little play act, though why you're interested in this Ripper fellow, I'm not sure. Unless, you honestly believe I'll be the one to faint, and that will make your day?" Teasing, Darcy completed the sentence with a sharp spank to Olivia's butt, "Not a chance," then released her and moved to a side-table that lay in one corner of the room.

"Now where is it." The man mumbled as he searched the scattered items on top, then rifled the various compartments, becoming increasingly agitated until, with an an exclamation of glee, he turned to Olivia, displaying a gold-embossed Business card in his hand. "Here it is."

Darcy Oxenham
Emissary To
The Honourabe Reginald Bailey
Queen's Consul

The top left corner contained a Royal seal, or at least a more than passable likeness of one, above a pencil portrait of Darcy, and it had once led to him bedding a visiting member of the Dutch Royal Family. Albeit, she'd been only fifty-seventh in line to throne, but still, the name-dropping and show of his importance had worked a treat, and the man hoped for similar fortune today in it allowing he and Olivia to pass, unquestioned, through the line of underpaid, overworked, and sleep-deprived Policemen, who were certain to have secured the scene. "Go change, whilst I wash and locate my Sunday finest, we need to look the part. " The gleam in Darcy's eyes spoke of his growing anticipation over their mischievous adventure, although, unknown to him, his self-aggrandising motivations, and interest in Jack-The-Ripper, were of a completely different nature to Olivia's.
 
RE: Scarlet Letters -QuixoticXCandy-

Watching Darcy from beneath her long ebony lashes, Olivia wondered what he could have been contemplating at that very moment with her alluring body pressed firmly against his own; hopefully, it was how quickly he could strip the clothes she had borrowed from his personal wardrobe and how swiftly they could move to his bed. However, she doubted this highly as the look of concentration masked his expression, signifying perhaps he was rolling her issued challenge around in his head. Perhaps he even contemplated the possible positive implication it would have in his particular line of work. The question remained: did he have the resolve to accept or would he fall prey to her enticing offer of heated, passionate fucking.

Her wondering was quieted as she enjoyed watching him squirm beneath her skilled advances. Had her meager physical stimulus caused him so much angst that she could easily feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her own as he inhaled and exhaled slowly, perchance to clear the haze of lust that fogged his mind. She was enjoying their little game as she felt the soft thump of his heart against her lips as she brushed them gently over the crook of his neck, offering him yet another physical ploy to get him to relent to her. 'He's so weak,' she thought darkly as she sank back down to her original height, looking up at him with a Cheshire Cat grin that curled up the corners of her provocative mouth. She said nothing as words would sully their moment, instead her eyes glittered with her inward desire for him to submit to her will, 'Fall for the inevitable lover, listen with that cock of yours and not your brain.' It was only a matter of time before he couldn't resist tasting her flesh or feeling her silky skin beneath the tips of his fingers or tongue. How long, she thought, would it take him to buckle under the pressure? True, it could have been construed as opportunistic of her to use his mania for carnal pleasure to get what she desired but Darcy was the only man in London that she was directly connected to who could get her close enough to the crime scene without scrutinizing looks.

Her own query was answered in the form a question when he teasingly inquired what she knew of criminal activity and that in her youth she dared to skip curfew. It was a little amusing to know that while yes she had skipped curfew on a number of occasions, there were considerably more sinister things she had committed but those secrets she would sooner take to the grave than divulge to London's most eligible bachelor. She responded in kind as once more she rose up onto the balls of her feet so she could flick her little-wicked tongue against his lips, allowing him but a brief taste of her mouth "I'll never tell," she whispered against his lips seductively, pausing only long enough to draw his bottom lip between her teeth and give it a firm pinch "that is unless you punish me first." As his hands came to snake around her waist and drew her against him possessively, the Ackerman girl grinned impishly as she returned his unwavering gaze. She searched his tempest eyes for the answers she sought after still with her own hypnotic orbs: were her feminine wiles working on him or was he contemplating the nature of her odd request still?

Then came a sigh that signified she had won this bout, 'Oh Darcy-'' she thought triumphantly, keeping her pleasure concealed beneath her devilish grin '-you handsome, gullible fool.' With a tantalizing moan from her parted lips, Olivia indulged in the strength his fingers demonstrated as his hands glided down to her backside to cup her perky bottom. When his lips came down to claim another kiss, she fought the urge to withdraw, instead, she leaned into the kiss momentarily before shrinking down again.

All her previous disgust and revulsion melted away as he finally announced that if she so had the inclination to observe the crime scene, they would in fact go. It took nearly ever reserve of strength she had not to simply jump for joy. From the very moment the first 'Fleet Street' editorial had been written about the brutal killing, she had desired to observe Jack's insanity!

What had almost caused her to erupt into a fit of laughter was her lover's comment about having to carry her back if she fainted, instead she simply snorted, "You, carry me? Ha! Poppycock!" Gore did not affect her as Darcy implied it should, instead, she found the crimson blood and dismembered bodies compelling. In fact, he had no idea that as a youth she had been naturally curious about death and anatomy after she had overheard the grisly details concerning her Aunt Margaret's untimely demise. Still an innocent child, Olivia had questioned her parents about the topic and received no suitable answer that quenched her naive mind. Instead took it upon herself on numerous occasions to 'learn' what she could from the abundance of dead creatures (mostly rats), that littered the streets. There was still so much more she wanted to understand, but such things were improper for young ladies.

Memories of her dismembering dead creatures evaporated as the tell-tale signs of her lover's arousal pressed against the flat plains of her belly; such a simple fellow. "Mr. Oxenham, I will expect you to uphold your end of the bargain upon our return," the brunette cooed softly as one of her long-fingered hands trailed down her lover's torso to softly grip onto his throbbing length through his trouser,"You can not promise a lady a good time and then cancel such an invitation" already she was devising a way to escape from her unspoken promise of coitus. However, what spilled from his mouth next instantly chilled her blood, as he announced he knew she was tempting him; had she really been so transparent?! Previously she had questioned his brilliance, now she wondered if he could see through the remainder of her acts or how much he actually understood about her strange nature.

For longer than she desired, Olivia was left speechless, unable to find anything remotely intelligent to throw her lover off the scent of her obsession with the Ripper and the macabre, that was until Darcy offered her an out she had to take advantage of. "You caught me red-handed," she admitted sheepishly, sighing inwardly with relief as she eluded detection, "How is it," she began, arranging her words carefully to seem believable,"you see straight through me darling? I must be an open book to you." She teased, her cheeks flushing pink with forced embarrassment as she attempted to feign innocence still. It was horrifying to think that the nitwit in front of her had easily seen through the act and noticed that something was amiss. If Darcy had seen through her, others would as well; she needed to be more careful. "To see you faint in front of the majority of Scottland Yard would indeed make my day dear-" she had more to comment on the matter but the words were lost to her as his hand came down across her ass, leaving her skin pleasantly stinging with feverish delight.

As Darcy removed himself from her and their conversation died, she watched him cross the room and begin to rummaging through stacks of seemingly important papers. What exactly was he searching for with such fervent determination? "Might I inquire as to what you search for? Maybe I could offer my assistance?" When he said nothing in response to her and instead continued to search, Olivia's manicured brows knitted in frustration. After several more moments of frantic hunting did he return with a card that was like the equivalent to the keys of Heaven's gates. She didn't need to scrutinize the card to understand its purpose, she knew exactly how much power that single piece of pressed paper possessed. That was their ticket.

At his command to dress in her Sunday finest, Olivia beamed excitedly, "Of course!" She squeaked,"I would hate to disappoint any of your superiors if they were present." She didn't speak another word as she rushed past him quickly, eagerly collecting her coin purse which she had brilliantly placed atop the warm cherry wood entryway table by the front door the previous evening, and saw herself out. If he wished her to look the part she would have to do better than simply donning a pair of his trousers and one of his fitted collared shirts or the evening gown the maids at her families estate had struggled to squeeze her into. No, she needed something that spoke volumes of who she was and who she was with.

Nothing could compare to the crisp, cool air that licked her skin the moment she stepped out of the stuffy flat Darcy resided in and out into the pleasant morning. Olivia greedily sucked in a deep breath and sighed contently as she made her way carefully down the stairs to the cobblestone street that was already filled with the hustle and bustle of London's finest scurrying off to social engagements that had to be kept. As she became a part of the crowd, she delighted in the skin puckering feeling as her bare feet padded softly against the path, eyes of passersby judging why she had decided on a lack of footwear. She blamed it partly on having no desire to wear the shoes she had worn to the soiree that previous evening but mostly because the idea of seeing the handiwork of dear ol' Jackie had simply caused her to forget. She was beyond excited, elated even, to know that within the perceivable future, she would actually be standing before the disembodied whore Jack had so painstakingly ripped to pieces.

What would it be like, she wondered, to see the dried blood or the whore's frozen expression of terror? Would she be able to look at the body and admire the craftsmanship and detail of each cut left in her flesh? Or would she be revolted and look away from the thing she stared at, that was once a living breathing creature?

'She was just a trollop after all,' Olivia reasoned, having momentarily felt a pang of guilt for thinking another 'human' was no more than an animal destined for the slaughter house. It was tragic that the woman had lost her life but the whore should have considered herself lucky, fortunate even. 'If Jack had not found you and used your body as a painter would a canvas, you would have been forgotten to the ravages of time. You will forever be remembered, famous for your sacrifice.' As the young woman continued to envision just what possibilities she might uncover at the murder scene, she began to hum mostly to herself a gentle little tune. Silently she came to a stop at the edge of the cobblestone sidewalk, her doe-like hazel orbs flicking to and fro in search of a cabby.

~Half an Hour Later ~


Darcy had instructed his lover to dress in her Sunday finest and comply with his wishes she had. When next the Ackerman girl reentered through the same doorway she had departed from over half an hour ago, Olivia was dressed to kill. In exchange for the loose slacks and button down shirt, she returned wearing a black dress with sapphire blue silk inlay she had had specially tailored for her body. Atop her head was fastened a hat of the same black material; within the blue and black band were set a handful of the same colored feathers all attached with a pale white cameo and black ribbon. Beneath the hat, the young woman had arranged her long brunette locks into a messy updo in order to keep her long chocolate tresses out of her face. Olivia had even pulled out her stash of fine jewelry as this sort of occasion called for beautiful finery. Around her slender, pale neck was a pearl choker she had acquired from her mother as a birthday gift. Lady Ackerman had instructed her only child that the necklace was only to be worn on her wedding day, having stated that it had been passed down from mother to daughter, as a symbol of their purity. She had long since been sullied and presumed that with her dirtied innocence, the choker would hold a different symbolism for her specifically.

"Darling, while there is no important appointment to keep, we continue to dally and the Bobbie will have the crime scene cleaned before we arrive. That thought alone was enough to cause her stomach to twist into sickening knots and the familiar taste of bile to fill her mouth. If they missed this window of opportunity, Olivia could only guess when next Jack would strike or if he would strike again. For Darcy, this was just an outing to possibly raise through the ranks or even impress his superiors with his extensive knowledge pertaining to this particular killing but to her, it was so much more. This was a chance to understand the gears and working parts of a psycho's mind, to dip into waters that few had the courage to traverse. Olivia needed this, just as she needed air. If she was denied this chance, her body would wither away and a piece of her would die. Words would never be able to aptly describe how fascinated she was by this Ripper fellow, and no one could possibly understand her fascination, perhaps besides Jack himself. What nightmares plagued Jack's mind to cause him to break down and find pleasure in the bloody, sadistic murders he committed?

When Darcy appeared from around the corner, he too dressed in his finest, did the young woman cross the room and take his arm even before he had offered it, practically dragging him out the front door excitedly. 'Remain calm Olivia!' She silently scolded, slowing her pace to appear less eager,' You appear too excited and you out yourself to your lover! Think of the negative implications!' This was easier said than done! Upon entering the carriage, sitting opposite of Darcy, her hands folded neatly in her lap, Olivia smiled a watered down smile to try and appear anxious, perhaps even give her lover the idea that she was reconsidering her desire to see the gore that awaited them.

As the carriage pulled away from the curb with a jolt and the sound of hooves clomping down the dirty London street filled her ears, the Ackerman girl reclined back against the plush velvet seats and let her mind wander. Thoughts buzzed around her head like a hive of angered hornets; so many thoughts that the sounds of the outside world had faded into white noise within her head. She couldn't think straight, couldn't focus on anything Darcy said, hell she couldn't even still her quivering hands.There were so many emotions filling her form that even her own feelings were beginning to blur into one giant blob of undecipherable sensations.

The ride hadn't taken long at all and when the sights of beautiful London devolved into the dingy grays and browns of Whitechapel did Olivia begin to fidget in her seat. Outwardly her excitement could have been perceived as anxiety and even fear but the young woman was overwhelmed with a slew of emotions. Excitement to understand the Ripper, fear of being found guilty of her sickening obsession, even joy at finally being able to say 'I saw Jack the Ripper's victim with my own two eyes!" It was when the carriage came to a jolting halt and she was stepping out into the brisk morning air did reality begin to set back in. She was actually there, about to look on a sight not many within the world could stomach, 'I'd give my soul to the Devil to meet him.' The white noise that had filled her mind cleared as that single thought rang out in her brain as clear as thunder.

She had scarcely realized that Mr. Oxenham had grabbed a hold of her tightly and the two of them were fighting their way through an enormous crowd of onlookers much like them. Perhaps all those in attendance were like her: hoping to understand why Jack did what he had. Sadly, she knew that those around them had come in order to sate their morbid curiosity. 'They will never be able to understand, never'Olivia thought bitterly as she finally lifted her gaze. Within that moment of clarity did an unyielding desire to meet the one and only Jack the Ripper begin to encompass her every waking thought. 'I have to meet him, have to speak with him, have to...to' and that was when hazel eyes fell upon a sight that instantly drained all color from her face.

Perhaps only a foot away was the remnants of what was once a human woman, now, as Olivia gazed on with glassy transfixed eyes, did she truly begin to appreciate Jack's work. The woman was hardly recognizable! What lay before her was not a woman but instead the carcass of an animal that had been picked clean by a predator far more brilliant than anyone within London fair could dare to outwit. The body lay prone, its belly slit from sternum to pelvis in a single clean cut, internal organs lay beside the sickly pale skin like some sort of disgusting funeral wreath and what skin wasn't the deathly white was a deep crimson red that black magic roses paled to in comparison. "Oh my-" Olivia whispered wide-eyed, mouth agape in astonished horror, her hands raising up to obscure a fascinated grin that was slowly beginning to crack her shocked expression.
 
RE: Scarlet Letters -QuixoticXCandy-

An aroused groan escaped Darcy's lips as the sensation of Olivia's body pressed into his, and her wandering hand, caused his member to harden evermore, interrupting his light-hearted jesting. Although his alcohol-riddled brain remained hazy, his body was willing and able, and the man grinned lasciviously as his eyes locked on her beautiful face, then drifted down to Olivia's even more alluring cleavage. A brow raised when she spoke again, following another kiss. "Because you're an open book to me, my dear, intent clearly writ across your adorable face." The fleeting thought that he'd sensed another emotion masked beneath her expression and teasing words, had evaporated with the shiver of pleasure elicited by seductive breath floating over his neck.

Much longer, and Darcy might have forgone his new-found ambitions, and it required an effort to release her from his clutches. An action not taken until he'd slid both hands down over the curve of Olivia's delectable butt, issued a squeeze to each cheek, and pressed his fully-erect phallus against her, to remind the woman of what to expect once they returned from their sojourn. There was no doubt, gauging from the glint of anticipation in his lover's gaze, and mischievous behaviour, that Olivia was looking forward to an afternoon romp as much as he. "Punishment can wait." Darcy grinned, and the harsh sound of his palm cracking against her ass echoed around the living-room before he allowed their respective touches to fully part.

Moments later, with the business card in his hand, Darcy had pushed the sensation of his throbbing erection aside, and grinned like a cat who'd gotten the cream. "And Poppycock nothing, my Dear," he laughed, instructing her to change, then reading the card aloud, in his best Upper-class accent. "I wager you didn't imagine I could gain us intimate access to the scene. I just hope you don't witness anything to spoil your mood because, Darling, when we arrive back home." Darcy pirouetted to depart the room, and spoke the last of his words over his shoulder. "I intend to ravish you well into tomorrow."

After washing and cleaning his teeth, and looking resplendent, if the man didn't say so himself, in a double-breasted gray suit, under which lay a white winged collar shirt, hair neatly combed, and five o'clock shadow shaved from his features, Darcy stopped in his tracks when he re-entered the living-room and laid eyes on Olivia. A low whistle of appreciation escaped Oxenham's pursed lips as admired the form under her dress, and once again praised his good fortune in being able to claim such a beautiful and elegant woman as his. So different from the pitiful dead whore they were about to visit, whose death at the hands of a depraved madman seemed, in Darcy's view, appropriate. Every human being seeks out his or her own kind, and he and Olivia were the perfect match. It'd be a while yet before she began to bore him.

"Whoa." Oxenham laughed when she swiftly grabbed his arm, and almost forcefully dragged him out onto the street. "She's deceased, so I don't think she'll be going anywhere soon. What's up with you this morning?" Her rush caused the man to stumble on the pavement, and a look of confusion and intrigue crossed his face when he straightened. However, Darcy's curiosity swiftly abated when a passing neighbour dipped his hat, bade them good day, and engaged Darcy and Olivia in conversation. He'd completely forgotten the event by the time they boarded the carriage.

Darcy slipped his arms around Olivia's shoulder, and spoke protectively to her when the cabbie let them off a short distance from their destination, in one of the poorest areas of the city. "Stay close." Acting the protector, he captured Olivia's gaze, and nodded at a beggar slumped against a stone wall, most of his teeth-missing, and the one non-diseased eye, ogling his lover. Whatever the tramp cackled was undecipherable, though obviously not well-intentioned, gauging from its tone. "Come on." Through ever narrowing lanes they walked, with Darcy keeping his focus straight ahead in an attempt to ignore the sad pleas for money from the unfortunate, and the whispered enticements of elderly, malnourished prostitutes, desperate enough for food and sustenance to be offering their bodies for sale at this morning hour.

It felt an eternity before they rounded a corner, and ran smack-bang into the mass of humanity, previously heard but unseen. A large crowd filled the streets in front of a row of cottage town-houses, whispering, gossiping, screaming out questions, and exchanging rumours, held back from the crime-scene by a cordon of Bobbies. Taking Olivia's hand, and pushing their way slowly through the throng, Darcy reached one of Policemen, shot him a charming smile, and dangled the business card in front of his eyes, fairly certain that the man wouldn't even be able to read. "I'm here on behalf of the Queen's counsel." Oxenham stepped through, with Olivia in tow, as if both had every right to be there.

"Worked like a charm." Darcy winked at his companion, then approached a group of pasty-faced uniformed officers. stood with their backs to what appeared to be a bundle of bloodied clothing, stashed on the rear entrance steps of Twenty-nine Porter street. Annie Chapman, her name was, as the press would soon reveal, but how the mangled corpse could be positively identified would forever stay a mystery to Darcy, for it barely resembled a human being. Rivers of blood stained the steps crimson, and the woman was splayed on the stairs, naked with legs spread. Criss-cross slashes, inflicted by a razor-sharp blade, adorned her skin from feet to scalp, and she was missing half of her face, whilst red, raw flesh seeped from deep incisions, and the victim's remaining features were screwed up in an expression of unadulterated agony. One breast lay next to her on the stair.

And that was only the start, for Darcy next noted her stomach had been ripped open, exposing the gleaming white bone of her ribs in the cloud-filtered sunlight, contrasting against the hollow black cavity beneath. A cavity that should have contained the organs of life. Adjacent to her breast sat what at first could be assumed a slab of meat left out for the family dog, but which quickly coalesced into the shape of a human heart, and coiled across her ravaged torso were the slimy trails of the woman's intestines. It was that last image which caused Darcy to splutter and drop to one knee, simultaneously tugging on Olivia's hand and attempting to pull her away, not realising it was already too late, and having missed the grin rising on her face. "Don't look." Then his grip slipped from hers, Darcy keeled over, and began to dry-wretch.

Groans and heaves alternated from the depths of his throat, as he attempted to throw up, but nothing came out. The uncontrollable paroxysms of his body brought tears to his eyes, and obscured his vision, so even if Oxenham had possessed the desire to lift his gaze, he'd have been unable to clearly make out the lone figure who'd separated himself from the crowd of onlookers. The man, dressed all in black, whose benign expression transformed into one of humour as he watched Darcy Oxenham blindly clasp for his lover amidst his struggle to cope with the sight of Annie Chapman's defilement, before he focused his piercing green orbs, newly ablaze with curiosity and interest, on the man's companion. This was no place for such a finely dressed woman.
 
RE: Scarlet Letters -QuixoticXCandy-

Was her desire to leave the flat miscommunicated? Did Darcy believe that the cause for her frantic pulling on his arm was caused by some other reason? Or was he so wrapped up in his own little world that she was just an annoyance to be dismissed with a wave of his hand? Apparently, she was! Why was it that every distraction known to man or beast, was set on detouring them? Since her youth, Olivia had never understood the purpose of 'small talk' and could honestly say that she detested it. The asinine conversations never seemed to stimulate her mind or her emotions, yet everyone else around her was quite content with such an annoying pleasantry. Countless times she had considered asking those around her why they engaged in small talk to try and better understand but instead had opted for silence. After all, it was far safer to leave such things unsaid.

If she had possessed a watch, Olivia would have been anxiously checking the time with the impatient tapping of her booted foot. Constantly watching in disgust as Darcy wasted second after precious second of her valuable time on mindless chatter to only Heaven knew! Didn't he understand how much she detested small talk from subtle hints she had dropped at their introduction? Clearly, he hadn't. The whore was certainly dead, but that didn't mean the police weren't getting close to removing her scattered remains or worse, they had already done so while Darcy and the nitwits droned on and on. If there was such a thing as God, he had a sick sense of humor and penchant for seeing Olivia squirm. However, all prior annoyance melted away the instant their slender figures weaved expertly through the crowd of onlookers towards their journey's end. Mentally the young woman had prepared herself for the sickening effigy but as her body broke through the thick crowd, her breath was instantly snatched away from her lips.

Time stood still as she tried to remember how to draw breath in the presence of something so exquisite. Nothing she had ever witnessed could compare to the disgusting loveliness of the Champman strumpet lying torn and prone on the gray cobblestone street. How shocking to witness the stark contrast between the pale dead skin comparatively to the crimson rivers of blood that painted the earth vermillion. If there was such a thing as God, this had been his doing; he had inspired Jack to continue his murderous rampage. However, her admiration of the dead woman was interrupted by a hand that tugged against her own and the sound of the weak-willed sap beside her sputtering and hacking as he wasn't able to stomach the sight of Jack's second masterpiece. 'You pathetic little worm,' she thought darkly, beautiful caramel eyes narrowing with burning hatred.

At least Darcy had offered her a good, although bitter, chuckle with his sad comment to 'look away'. 'Look away', she thought furiously, her shimmering orbs never leaving his quivering form. If the young woman hadn't been so horrified by her lover's lack of a spine she might have laughed aloud at his misery. Why in the name of God would she ever desire to 'look away' from the whore's disfigured body? Hadn't the purpose of this particular excursion been exactly the opposite of what Mr. Oxenham had pleaded? To look into the face of horror? If Darcy hadn't fallen to his knees to dry heave, Olivia herself would have left him by the wayside to enjoy the gory scene. Perhaps when the moment passed and her nerves weren't raw with agitation, she could look back on this moment and cherish his sniveling whimpers, even recall the image to her mind long after she and Darcy were no longer an item.

Honestly, could he not even pretend to be stronger than he was and be a man? If only his superiors could see him now, curled into a shivering mass of useless flesh. Ha, and to think he had said he would have to carry her when she fainted. An impish smirk curled up the corners of her mouth as she wished she had been a gambling woman; to think she could have made a quick pound off the spineless whelp. 'I wonder if he even has a spine,' she contemplated, lifting her fingers to her lips to gently tap against her pouty mouth. If he didn't, there was a corpse but a few feet from them that could easily offer her's up as she no longer had need of such trivial things like bone.

It was still entirely unsurprising that a man who claimed he wouldn't be carrying her if she fainted, couldn't stomach the gore but what had shocked her further was the strange tingling sensations of a presence at her back.The same hate-filled eyes that had been locked on Darcy turned towards the darkly dressed figure with enchanting green orbs and that immediately softened with curiosity.

Who was this stranger?

Olivia watched him with a quirked brow as he watched Darcy, his face a perfect slab of pristine marble, completely unchanging. The moment those same jade eyes flicked up towards her, Olivia could see curiosity glittering within the stunning pools of liquid emerald. Forthwith her mouth went dry with apprehension and her heart thundered within her petite ears. No man, even the most divine of creatures, could not elicit the feelings that squirmed within her belly, yet the man in front of her had conjured them without even a word.

"Good morrow sir," she cooed, hoping that the wavering within her sultry voice was not inherently obvious. Looking at him, really drinking in his visage, Olivia couldn't put her finger on why this stranger's presence was entirely consuming. Again, she had forgotten how to breathe, and when she did draw air into her lungs, she gasped loudly and her cheeks turned a lovely carmine. With another wavering inhale, she extended a lovely smile as she swallowed the hard lump of apprehension that had formed in her throat. "Frightening isn't," she said, turning her gaze back towards the corpse with a distant glimmer in her amber eyes.

Regrettably, Olivia couldn't say the actual words that had come to mind whilst staring at the remains of Annie Champman, instead, could only hope that the stranger could sense her actual meaning. "Just think," she began, finally turning her gaze the stranger again with that same impish smile curling up the corners of her suggestive mouth, "that Jack has struck again and eluded police for the second time, without leaving even a hint of his identity behind." A longing smile ease past parted lips, "Surely if that is not brilliance than I do not know what else in this world is." Likely Darcy had heard at least a portion of their conversation and he had probably wondered why his lover spouted madness. "You know," she started again after a considerable pause, her slender finger folding delicately behind her back, "Some consider his work beyond him time, saying he is some evil spirit sent front hell to punish the wicked. Other call him deranged, and psychotic for the slaughtering of 'innocent' women." The duration of her psychotic rambling, she had worn the same crazed smirk, She hissed dangerously before turned her gaze towards this stranger again with a hint of a smile turning up the corners of her pouty lips, "There are even some who think that this Ripper fellow is a woman scorned because of her adulterous husband. Which do you think sir? Psycho, genius, deranged or a bitter woman?"
 
RE: Scarlet Letters -QuixoticXCandy-

Knee's scrabbling in the dirt, and chest heaving, Oxenham tasted the bitter taste of alcohol from the previous night's soiree mingled with the bile rising in his throat as he reacted to the sight of the mangled woman, and cursed himself for initiating this morning excursion. Why had he agreed to come here, what had he expected? In the back of his remained the reasons he'd explained to his lover, but right at this moment, they appeared ridiculous and insignificant; his ego talking. Yes, let's go view a corpse, it'll be fun.

What the man hadn't counted on was the vast difference between between reading about vile acts, such as a woman having her intestines ripped out, and the reality of witnessing it first-hand. Although his back was turned, and vision obscured by the tears welled in his eyes, Darcy Oxenham could still see her. It was a sight he'd never forget, and one he instinctively regretted bringing Olivia to. How would she cope? Although she was a fling not intended to last long-term, the man did care for his lover, and remorse wracked his brain, simultaneously as spasms wracked his body. He blindly reached for her, to pull her gaze away, so that she wouldn't be forever struck down with nightmares of the hellish vision.

However, he couldn't locate Olivia, and as the paroxysms relented, Darcy instead raised the arm to wipe his mouth, and clear his vision with his coat sleeve. All he could see was her feet, and then hear the sound of her voice, which sent goose bumps trailing down his spine. The man expected, well, he didn't know what he'd expected, maybe a scream of horror?, but definitely not the lightness, almost joy, he sensed in her tone. And who was she speaking to, one of the coppers? No, it couldn't be. All of them had been too ashen-faced and in shock to initiate conversation. Curiosity provided Oxenham the strength to struggle to his feet.

When he raised erect, he was met with a pair of glowing green eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul. No sound emanated from the stranger's mouth, and his expression was implacable, however, Darcy Oxenham gained the impression that he was being mocked, before the man swiveled his attention back to his Olivia. Entranced, and unsure of what was occurring, he could only swivel his own head in unison. Did she look, happy?

The man in black, who'd remained unflinchingly still and expressionless as she'd spoken, casually appraised the finely dressed woman with intense green orbs. For five seconds, ten, fifteen, he stared, before, as if in slow motion, his mouth opened, and he finally spoke; his tone low and melodic. "Madman, psychotic, tortured soul, scorned lover, or possessed by the very Devil himself, who knows why the man perpetrates such heinous crimes. However, no sentient being ever acts without a purpose, no matter how insane that purpose may appear to the uninitiated. And, in any event, who is the arbiter of sanity? Am I sane? Are you? Or is it all a matter of degree?"

He paused to allow his cryptic reply to linger momentarily in the air, then shrugged. "The villain undoubtedly has his reasons, and as to whether he'll continue to elude authorities, that remains to be seen. Though, for your companion's sake, we should hope not, he is looking rather unwell." The stranger threw a taunting glance, tinged with amusement, at Darcy, then dipped his hat to the woman, "Until we meet again," before he pirouetted lightly on his feet, and swiftly melded into the crowd. A second later, it was if he'd never existed at all.

"What the Hell do you think you are playing at." The spell breaking the instant the other man disappeared, Darcy gripped Olivia's elbow and hissed furiously in her ear. "This isn't some performance, where she's going to raise once the curtain comes down, and bow to the adoring crowd. The woman is dead, Olivia, butchered like an animal. I don't think you appreciate that." His narrowed eyes found hers, and Oxenham jerked harshly on her arm, before he realised, evident from the murmur that passed through the throng of onlookers, he was creating a scene, and took a deep breath to force the anger away.

"I'm sorry, I must have imbibed too much last night, and the stench made me nauseous and short-tempered. I concede defeat, your stomach is stronger than mine." Ensuring his back remained to the mess on the doorstep assisted the man in regaining composure, and with the effects of his hangover worsened by the recent retching, the last thing his throbbing head needed was a screaming match, so it was easy enough to put Olivia's strange behaviour down to simply to a continuation of their earlier competitive jesting. He even managed a smile to accompany the conciliatory tone. "Now, let's get on our way, a hair of the dog will do the trick. I know just the place."

If the East End was good for anything, it was for the ability to indulge your vices, at any hour of the day, and the equality it offered. God Forbid, some of the illegal drinking establishments even accepted women. "Who was that man, anyway, he gave me the creeps. Fucking voyeurs." The irony escaped Darcy Oxenham.
 
RE: Scarlet Letters -QuixoticXCandy-

If there was a single word in the entire English language that could aptly describe the total encompassing sensation Olivia felt possessing her entire being, it was enchanted. Never before had someone like this stranger completely captivated her wholly, at least no one who was alive. Yet as she stood before him breathlessly admiring his brilliant jade orbs, the young woman had forgotten the purpose of her venture into London's East End. In that same moment, she was awestruck with this stranger and much like the Grimm fairy tales she had adored reading as a youth, she felt as if she had been dropped into her own gothic tale. The particular spell the stranger had weaved without speaking a word felt unbreakable but for the dark haired Ackerman woman, she had no desire to be set free. 'If I'm dreaming,' she thought with a shuttering gasp, '- don't wake me,", having not realized that Mr. Oxenham had risen back up to his feet, his eyes curiously flicking between her and the darkly clad stranger, in puzzled curiosity.

It was only when the man in black, with his hypnotic malachite eyes, finally spoke, did Olivia finally slip free from her comatose. If there was such as place as heaven, it could produce not a single sound more glorious than the voice that tumbled out from a pair of lips that ignited with her an unquenchable yearning. He answered her question with one his own, a query she mulled over thoughtfully, it forced her to truly wonder: who did indeed determine who was sane and who wasn't? "Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos to the fly." The thought had appeared in her mind as if placed there by unseen forces to answer the dark figure.But wasn't there truth in that solitary thought, that sanity and normalcy were entirely relative. Looking back up into the liquid pools of green that already she felt herself drowning again, Olivia felt the unspoken spell tighten around her quivering form. Like a butterfly caught within a spider's silk. While she knew she should follow every natural instinct that told her to run, she desired instead to be devoured entirely: body and soul.

Reality had long since faded away and in its stead was the lovely gritty black and bloody red daydream she had to hide from the world beneath false pretenses. The same desire to remain within her twisted sweet dream returned as she basked within her own insanity silently, breathlessly drinking in this tall, dark stranger, Darcy forgot for the moment like a bad memory. Just as she had opened her mouth to say more, perhaps to request a name, did he respond, halfheartedly mentioning her companion. Wait, she had a companion? Wide eyes flicked towards the pale male beside her "M-My companion? Oh...-" She even questioned aloud before her voice held instead disinterest for the man at her side. Sadly, the carmine and onyx daydream she was having began melting away as reality slowly shift back into focus as she realized that any fantasy world that she constructed would most certainly not contain the spoiled, selfish playboy that was Darcy Oxenham. With a reluctant sigh, Olivia smiled back to the stranger and offered a quick "Let's hope not" in response to the dark clad gentleman's comment about Jack and his killings. In truth, the Ackerman girl wanted nothing more than to hear about another grizzly, disbodied murder in the papers as it meant Jack's work hadn't been concluded.

Sadly like most sweet dreams, her's came to an immediate, screeching halt as it was when the dark stranger with his soul searching emerald gaze dipped his hat in parting and excused himself. Already as his body melded into the thick throngs of onlookers could Olivia begin to see beautiful fragments of her dream breaking away and the ugly, gray reality that was her world began to snap into place. However, unlike the bone-chilling fairy tales she had come to love, her particular hex was broken by a rough tug at her elbow that elicited a yelp of surprise as Darcy was not as entertained with the dead woman, the strange man beneath all black or the strange behavior. The sweet crimson dream melted away and reality immediately snapped back into focus like a whip. She was left standing dumbfounded and breathless, her lover's displeased hissing immediately against her ear like a venomous snake in her ear. His hot breath blasted against her chilled flesh like a furnace, instantly drawing sweat to coat her palms. It was evident by his clear distaste for her actions as it practically wafted off of him like a thick, musky perfume that permeated the air, make her stomach churn with disgust. While she knew she had to act a certain way for any man she was with, she would not allow any man, Darcy especially, to treat her like he owned her. There was a fine line between desiring his touch and openly seeing it and his current, reckless course of action. She was owned by no one and she would allow no one treat her as such, "Do you think me dumb Mr. Oxenham?" She hissed in return, yanking her elbow free violently, taking a step back from him with a look that could only be considered as pure loathing. "She is dead and while it's unfortunate, do not think for a moment I believe this atrocity to be a 'performance', as you so kindly suggested!" Her voice rising above the low murmur of the gathered crowd. Granted there was more she wished to say however the prospect of being escorted away the pretty painted dead girl, Olivia was not keen on such ideas. The thing that perplexed her most was any knowledge of her family's history: it was steeped in death and misery.

When the moment passed as it appeared their argument had drawn a small following, eagerly listening to the lover's quarrel, Darcy was the first to concede defeat. Good, because if Darcy wanted to continue access to the best pussy London had to offer, he needed to understand his place was beneath her heel! An entire scenario had played out in her head if he had desired to continue, and while it was an unsatisfactory end, she would've walked away from him without a second thought as he was her plaything. It was only after his pathetic and watered down apology did Olivia's on visage soften.
"You are forgiven, for now," The words bitter against her tongue as she had half a mind to lay into him again, perhaps just to watch him squirm beneath the gazes of those less fortunate than they. Stepping close to him again, Olivia leaned her temptress body in close to him as she hooked her arm with his, whispering ,"You'll have to make it up to me in one way or another." Her wicked tongue deftly coming out to flick against his ear to drive her point. Afterall, Mr.Oxenman did boast but an hour ago that his phallus could 'work wonders'. Perhaps it could work a spell on her headache and twisting guts 'My dearest Darcy, if there is but a single thing that I enjoy, it's the pleasure I can reap from your willing body.' And while the thought of sex encompassed her brain, driving her wild and getting sticky wet, the visage of limitless green orbs continued to return to the forefront of her mind.

However, all previous scenes of ravenous fucking left her as he suggested more liquor to quiet their painful hangovers. Olivia's could swear she felt her stomach summersault within her with disgusted at the protest of more liquor; she had consumed enough for a time, if Darcy wished to drink himself into a drunken stupor, it would allow her the opportunity to explore the East End and learn more about her favorite serial murderer. She did question if it was wise to seek the very poison that had caused their current discomfort? "You believe this to be a wise idea lover?" She finally verbalized, the hesitation in her voice, followed by a gentle laugh to soften the blow of getting a drink, "you realize that spirits this early will require us to continue to drink them until we are both in a drunk stupor? While I am not opposed to copious amounts of drunken fornication" she lowered her voice to a seductive purr, "I do like to be sober so I might remember."

It seemed that Darcy wasn't interested in her suggestion and instead their conversation shifted to the mysterious man in black who already she could not dislodge his handsome image from out of her mind's eye. Yes, it wasn't a particularly horrible topic to switch to but it was one she didn't she be having with her current man candy. "Hm?" She feigned her ignorance for but a moment longer before she reached a delicate hand up to tap gently at her lips thoughtfully, "His face does not come to memory, I do believe that was our first meeting." She admitted truthfully, failing to omit that she desired that it was not her last. "I believe his is just as curious as we are dear. Wondering if he can perhaps stomach the sight of the whore gutted like a fish and laid out like holiday ornaments." With a sly sidelong gaze, Olivia tried to gauge whether her dear, sweet Darcy would break into another fit of violent paroxysms, silently hoping to what more of his suffering.

But her joy faded with his last cutting comment. 'Fucking voyeur?' She thought outraged, the taste of coppery blood filling her mouth as she began to gnaw loathingly at her inner cheek. Hadn't they just gone to witness the same thing? Were they not voyeurs for their morbid curiosity? Not only was Darcy slothful but he was also a raving hypocrite that almost caused her to double over and vomit. "If you are intent on a drink, then take me away."
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Back
Top Bottom