Sl33pyWrit3r

Option 1:

The power of that dainty bell had always fascinated her. How it captured attention from all in the tailor despite the late night rushes crowd that should've drowned out such a light thing in her opinion. Or perhaps it was because of who had walked in, who she'd known to be due in that her ears were sharp to the announcing ring. She'd been writing a pick up receipt for the gentleman in front of her when it'd sounded again, her head lifting immediately. 

"Good evening, Alastor." She greeted, clutching her pen just that bit tighter. She'd had a soft spot for the raising star since he'd been a crier on the streets.

Option 2:

Her eyes flickered along the street, the silent city only adding to her racing heart.

Breathe. 

What a ridiculous notion. 

Breathe, you fool.

It was a dark winter night, much too late for a young lady to be out but she'd had tasks Miss Thorn wanted done tonight. Now that she was here, the jeering of that drunk still clear behind her, a telling off from the old hag wouldn't have been the end of the world.

Chapter One:🗡️🧵

Chapter Two: 🗡️🧵

It's curious, Alice thinks. How a stranger can slip from unseen to unavoidable. That's what Mr Frye had quickly become since the incident a week earlier. He must've been around, she's assumed, he is a leader of those green jackets. The Rooks. Who were most concentrated in Whitechapel. Still how a person can be invisible one day and everywhere the next was almost comical to the woman.

It had started with little things, hardly worth more than a passing thought at first. Seeing someone familiar on the streets of Whitechapel wasn't unusual, after all. The first time had been outside the charity shop on main street where she volunteered some afternoons, the air carrying an icier bite than she'd prepared for but she doubted she'd notice it soon given the strain of weight in the basket she balanced. The clothes within stacked high and promising her a long night of mending. Her hand had barely left the shops handle when a boy nearly collided with her.

"Sorry, Miss!" He chirped, helping her steady the basket. He sported a new green jacket, new on him at least, the article much too big on his wiry frame but room to grow could be the reason.

"Mind your footing." She said, softening. "That jackets big."

His face lit at her notice, spreading with a wide grin. She recognised him, a little fuller in the face than she recalled, but he'd been around some of the children from her orphanage before. "Was a gift." He explained. "From my new job."

He tipped his flat cap before darting off again. Alice watched him go, eyes surveying the market stalls before registering a familiar face. The man from the alley a few days ago. He didn't look as imposing as he had felt then. He looked like any of the other men wandering the streets with a top hat and nice long coat the noticeable staples of his outfit, just like that night.

Now he spoke with a vendor, exchanging coins for whatever sat in the satchel he was tucking away. She watched briefly, until her arms began to ache, reminding her of her own duties. She'd turned away without another thought of the kind stranger.

------------------------------------------

Her next sighting of the leader was admittedly at one of his own establishments. The Rooks growing power had meant they started gaining influence in businesses of London's society. She supposed they'd need funding somehow. Further research had led her to the discovery of a few Rooks filling beds even within Houndsditch. A signature green jacket had just been in her sight when making beds in the boys dorm.

She understood its secrecy. The doctor had made his thoughts on the new gang perfectly clear no matter how subtle he thought he was. It was no wonder the newer children, those not yet trusting of their new caretaker, would hide if they stood with the Rooks.

This evening the owner of that bed and a few faces she knew to keep his company had missed supper which was both against the homes rules and a cause of worry to the maid.

At first Alice had hoped they'd be near, perhaps in the courtyard or she'd find them in a close by alleyway.

'That had evidently been wishful thinking.' The young woman thought grumpily, minding the step as she entered the pub. It was easily distinguished as a Rook hotspot by the uniformed people outside alone. She felt warmer immediately, the atmosphere easy if loud thanks to some singing at the piano. 

 Her eyes flickered over the busy pub fully, taking a head count to find the friend group she'd been after all accounted for. The five children were at a table near the toilets, they appeared to be in a huddle with Clara, a barmaid for this pub and local leader for the network of urchins and pickpockets that filled London's streets. She'd brushed that off as nothing strange, the network was known for working with all sorts of people in the name of spare coin. Most now even wore new green jackets of their own, bright markers of their partnership with the Rook gang. 

She met the eye of one of her targets, the boys own eyes widened, now knowing they'd been caught. However she stayed back, coin was coin and if they were getting briefed on future plans, she wouldn't make a fuss that could cost the whole homes finances.

With the notice set, 'wrap things up', she wandered closer, if only to keep them in sight as her gaze roamed the establishment for a second time, no longer filtering out the adults that took up much of the space. It was then that she recognised the leader. As chance would have it he occupied this pub tonight. She wasn't given much time to consider this, the purpose of her visit leaving their table. 

She hadn't asked their business, she had been on the other side of this exchange herself to know it wasn't wanted. She led them out of the pub and back to Houndsditch with little more fuss. "Watch the time from now on. We don't want this to become a habit." Had been her only words on the matter.

---------------------------------------------

It was the third time, two days later, when the coincidence's fully prickled her nerves. 

The morning had been normal enough. The echo of children's voices was quietened with the gentle click of the rooms wooden door meeting its frame. The floor creaked beneath her as Alice trudged towards the window, her arms burning from the full bucket she carried close to her stomach. 

The bucket of water landed on the windows' sill with a heavy thunk, the sponge within bobbing about before being swiped from its home. She wiped a streak of grime from the glass, enough to see a slice of the outside world, when movement caught her eye along the rooftops. She paid little mind to it at first, assuming the figure to be a sweeper.

It was once that window pane was clean that she observed the stranger further. An idle activity as her hand dunked the sponge back into the water, working it through to rid the fabric of the cleared muck now clinging to it.

'Awfully tall for a sweeper.'

The thought seemed to pull Alice from her lethargic state, eyes zoning back into the real world.

That was no sweeper. His clothing too fine for such a job and no tools in sight or hand. She knew who that figure was, Mr Frye, one of the Rooks leaders. The same man who'd intervened in her close call almost a week earlier and had been in the area far too often since. He sat in a crouch, his hat missing for once in favour of a hood that did little to hide him, given his stature.

Her hand tightened into a fist around the sponge, the material compressing with a wet squelch as murky water seeped down her wrist. She dropped the sponge finally, ignoring the splash caused from such a height in favour of opening the window. An action that didn't seem to capture his attention when his focus was so caught with the grounds of Houndsditch home.

Alice hesitated for only a moment, before steeling her nerves and committing to her curiosity. "I assure you the gate opens just fine, Mr Frye." She called, resting her forearms on the metal frame. "If you're after William, he's already left for the day."

The man seemed to jump, that recognition of eye contact quick to run through Alice as he faced her. "Miss Liddell!" He greeted, rising to his full height.

"Come down from there, it's much too high. You can explain on the street." She continued, not giving him a chance to explain his predicament. Alice didn't wish to shout out her business for the street to listen, much less give the impression the bloke was there for her. 

It took all of five minutes to be faced with the gentleman again. Though her mind registered it as much longer, what with trying to seem inconspicuous to those home. The pair now wondered the thin path towards the back of the orphanage. Alice hoped away from prying ears.

"I never gave you my name." She began, eyes down to the worn trail that snaked through the yard.

"No you didn't." Jacob acknowledged, unaffected at her blunt tone. He fell into step beside her, "But I never gave you mine, either."

"Yet you seem to have discovered much more on me. Where I live, for example." Alice countered, voice sharpening.

"Pure coincidence, I assure you." He defended quickly.

"No, our run-ins have been far too frequent than I'd care for." Alice justified sharply. She set her eyes on the weathered bench, away from the entertainment the children had out here. This was the last thing she needed rumours starting from. She had finally settled in at Houndsditch, she didn't need talk of her getting in with the wrong sort. "I haven't told anyone of our run in," She added, taking a seat. "If that's somehow your concern."

"A shared friend thinks you could help me." He clarified, following her silent invitation to sit down.

"So you have been following me."

Jacob couldn't help the laugh that fell from his lips, "That's a bold claim, Miss Liddell."

"It's an accurate one! I'd never seen you before the ally-way." Alice retaliated, spine straightening as her head whipped to him. "The pub or market I could ignore but my window?"

"I was on the roof of another building that doesn't-" He tried to defend but Alice didn't allow him to finish.

"That doesn't improve your case."

"I was watching the house!" He corrected quickly.

"That I happened to be in!" Alice reminded. She almost felt mad, but any reason he came up with, he had no reason to be up there. 

"Yes," Jacob tried again.

"Then enlighten me to the purpose?"

Jacobs' mouth closed, the pairs eyes remaining locked as silence stretched between them.

"Your employer." He decided finally.

her stomach twisted awfully, though she couldn't understand why. "Doctor Bumby? What could you--" Alice began, crossing her arms firmly.

"What do you know of a Doctor Elliotson?" Jacob tried again.

"That horrid man? Not much. I only met him once, wasn't a pleasant memory. What's that have to do with Mr Bumby?" She asked, watching the man rummage in his long coat.

"How's your reading?" Jacob asked, pulling a letter from his pocket and offering it to the woman. "I visited him before his untimely demise. This was sent to him from your doctor."

The air remained tense as Alice took the letter, she examined the seal, the company it belonged to was unfamiliar to her, but she had seen it on their mail before. Tentatively she unfolded it, skimming the ink briefly until her gaze met the signature. It was Dr Bumbys handwriting and his signature. 

I find that the younger children respond best to the methods discussed.

She looked away from the letter, folding it shut as it had been handed to her and passing it quickly, like the page might burn her. Jacobs expression had sterned since she'd last looked at him, his mouth set in a grim sort of twist that she could only assume was from current topics. 

"This hardly proves ill-intent, Mr Frye." She denied thickly, gulping past the tightening of her throat. "Doctors tend to speak coldly, I wasn't aware they'd been introduced." 

Uncertainty clouded her eyes before she looked back to the house. "I think your presumptions need more evidence." 

Jacob leaned back against the bench's rest, studying her as he tucked the letter back into his coat. "You couldn't have read it all that fast."

"I read enough." She answered quickly.

A beat passed, Jacob sat forward. "...Did you?"

Her fingers curled on her skirts, clenching her aprons fabric tightly. 

"You trust him." He voiced.

"Yes." She replied quickly, voice firmer than before. "I trust him enough." How could she not? he'd taken her in when everyone else had deemed her a lost cause. When all she had waiting for her was a doctor like Elliotson to make a fatal mistake to end her suffering painfully.

"Look, I'd rather be wrong about him, but men like Elliotson don't keep good company."

"That doesn't prove anything. you seem nice enough." She hesitated. "To an extant," She corrected. "and yet you were with him to find that letter."

She stood finally, wiping down her skirts. "I think we're done here. Good day, Mr Frye."

With that she returned to the house leaving Jacob on the bench.

[I'm a little out of the practise, sorry about that. This chapter was harder to piece together for some reason so I'm hoping its vibe is off to me from being on it too long.

Hoping updates will be consistent again.

Constructive feedback is appreciated. :)]

Tag List.

@kashasenpai

Option 1:

The bucket of water landed on the windows' sill with a heavy thunk, the sponge within bobbing about before being swiped from its home. She wiped a streak of grime from the glass, enough to see a slice of the outside world, when movement caught her eye along the rooftops. She paid little mind to it at first, assuming the figure to be a sweeper. It was once that window pane clean that she observed the stranger further. An idle activity as her hand dunked the sponge back into the water, working it through to rid the fabric of the cleared muck now clinging to it.

'Awfully tall for a sweeper.'

The thought seemed to pull Alice from her lethargic state, eyes zoning back into the real world. 

That was no sweeper. His clothing too fine for such a job and no tools in sight or hand. She knew who that figure was, Mr Frye, one of the Rooks leaders. The same man who'd intervened in her close call almost a week earlier and had been in the area far too often since. He sat in a crouch, his hat missing for once in favour of a hood that did little to hide him given his stature.

Her hand tightened into a fist around the sponge, the material compressing with a wet squelch as murky water seeped down her wrist. There was no reason for him to be here much less upon the rooftops. She dropped the sponge finally, ignoring the splash caused from such a height in favour of opening the window. An action that didn't seem to capture his attention when his focus was so caught with the grounds of Houndsditch home. 

Alice hesitated for only a moment, before steeling her nerves and committing to her curiosity. "I assure you the gate opens just fine, Mr Frye." She called, resting her forearms on the metal frame. "If you're after William, he's already left for the day."

The man seemed to jump, that recognition of eye contact quick to run through Alice as he faced her. "Miss Liddell!" He greeted, rising to his full height. 

"Come down from there, its much to high. You can explain on the street." She continued, not giving him a chance to explain his predicament. Alice didn't wish to shout out her business for the street to listen, much less give the impression the bloke was there for her. 

Or

Option 2:

The morning had been normal enough if unnervingly quiet. Most of the children were out as it was well into the afternoon, with even the doctor out to some meeting or other. The floor of Bumby's office creaked beneath her boots as Alice trudged towards the window, her arms burning from the full bucket she carried close to her stomach. The bucket of water landed upon the floor with a heavy thunk, the sponge within bobbing about the metal can. Alice left it ready for later, leaving the room once more for the used tea leaves and broom stored in the kitchen. This was the last room of her duties, a rare time when the office wasn't in use. An opportunity she was quick to grasp.  

Seconds after the echo of her steps had taken the stairway gloved hands grasped the open windows sill. Jacob heaved himself up simply enough, being careful to avoid the bucket. Once fully inside, he wasted no time scouting the office out, the shelves were sparce with books. Couldn't be much there if it was just out in the open. However a box on top of the shelf beside that caught his eye, up high enough that most of the children living here couldn't reach without the effort of moving one of the heavy chairs in this room.

However he wasn't a child, so could reach with ease. The container was wood, and heavy, setting it down with as soft a thud as he could manage. Jacob didn't have time to find the key needed so reached into his pocket for his pick, kneeling down to work better.

"What are you doing in here?!"

Jacob froze, head turning instantly to regard the furious woman.

set in 1969, buzz is part of the apollo team that are known as the first men on the moon.

or make up a different mission. I've seen a clip on TikTok of buzz speaking with one of the crew members and finding out she's engaged after 3 years of knowing her fiancé. I'm thinking he went on a mission and instead of decades passing so he doesn't bother fighting to return when everyone he loved has passed, he's gone for 3 years. Everyone's lives have moved on. He has time to recover and goes back to his home town and is staying with his friend woody who's father is in the middle of a health scare so his sister is also home to care for him.

I really want the second movies dynamic with Woodys' round up of Jessie and the Prospector being closer and Woody being sort of out of the loop. so for this I'm thinking Jessie is an equestrian champion for bullseye to be included. The prospector has had her training since she was how young and has slowly turned her passion into a stress. this still gives her the abandonment issues as she now measures her worth and love of those she cares for through her successes.

The prospector getting ill gives Woody and Jessie a chance to hang out and bond as well as Buzz and Jessie to get to know each other as adults. I have more notes but don't want to give everything away. The most important of them is I want to do a drunk scene where Buzz only speaks Spanish.

Spanish mode is drunk.

Maybe first confession is in Spanish........?

Why is this? either a parent was Spanish or he learned it in high school and kept learning till he was fluent.

Why is he living with his friend? His parents are dead and he doesn't have a house.

It's curious, Alice thinks. How a stranger can slip from unseen to unavoidable. That's what Mr Frye had quickly become since the incident a week earlier. He must've been around, she's assumed, he is a leader of those green jackets, the rooks, she'd learned who were most concentrated in Whitechapel but still, how a person can be invisible one day and everywhere the next was almost comical to the woman.

It had started with little things, hardly worth more than a passing thought at first. Seeing someone familiar on the streets of Whitechapel wasn't unusual, after all. The first time had been outside the charity shop on main street where she volunteered some afternoons, the air carrying an icier bite than she'd prepared for but she doubted she'd notice it soon given the strain of weight in the basket she balanced. The clothes within stacked high and promising her a long night of mending. Her hand had barely left the shops handle when a boy nearly collided with her.

"Sorry, Miss!" He chirped, helping her steady the basket. He sported a new green jacket, new on him at least, the article much too big on his wiry frame but room to grow could be the reason.

"Mind your footing." She said, softening. "That jackets big."

His face lit at her notice, spreading with a wide grin. She recognised him, a little fuller in the face than she recalled, but he'd been around some of the children from her orphanage before. "Was a gift." He explained. "From my new job."

He tipped his flat cap before darting off again. Alice watched him go, eyes surveying the market stalls before registering a familiar face. The man from the alley a few days ago. He didn't look as imposing as he had felt then. He looked like any of the other men wandering the street with a top hat and nice long coat the noticeable stables of his outfit, just like that night. 

Now he spoke with a vendor, exchanging coins for whatever sat in the satchel he was tucking away.  She watched briefly, until her arms began to ache, reminding her of her own duties. she'd turned away without another thought of the kind stranger.

[A/N

The old wooden door creaked as she pushed it open, the quiet of her bedroom widening the pit in her stomach further. Something felt wrong. She wasn't sure what, maybe it was this business the Frye's had planned with George tomorrow. She did always stress at the new additions to her schedule, she was use to Jacobs idle chatter at this time, but this felt more than that.

Like Jacob's earlier assurances of his planned absence tomorrow would last longer than the day. Like she wouldn't see him for a long while.

She settled at her desk, placing the candle that lit her newest journal carefully as she thought. She hadn't had time before, having the stall to run and the last few errands upon her return to take care of. and now their interaction had nothing but space in her mind.

He'd caught her that afternoon, nearer noon than dusk, eyes brighter than she'd seen in weeks. "I won't be around tomorrow. George needs extra hands out west and Evie volunteered herself and me." He'd explained as she sorted through customers orders. The man handing her things as he spoke.

She'd been too busy at the time, the man having picked the rush of the afternoon, so she'd barely given his words thought. "Alright, I'll see you after then." She'd said with a smile and he'd run off with a rushed goodbye. That had been unlike him, maybe with the passing of Ethan? but even so.... She shook her head.

Most of the farm work was hers these days, with her father's passing and her mother's mind steadily slipping just as her grandfathers had before her.

Maybe that was the cause of her recent paranoia, she considered, taking the pen from her ink pot and wiping the excess from the nib. Her mothers current state the very reason for her current pass time. Her eyes trailed her latest entry fondly, the old worn child version of this recountment close by and open to the same date. It was almost funny, that she'd reached her meeting with Jacob now. She seemed to have him on her mind frequently these days. She smiled, brushing the pen to the page as that day came to mind.

June 23rd 1854.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was exceptionally warm for June, the air thick with heat that made the young girl's hair stick to her skin. Even tied back, the ends still brushed her neck and clung heavy to her skin. She hadn't dwelled on such a downside to this weather for long once she was outside. With chores done, she'd raced to the ends of her family's property, eager to climb her apple tree and read with the birds as had become her habit this year. Her plans crashed though once she'd gotten the tree in her sights, close enough to register the boy in its' branches.

"Oi!" The little girl screeched, looking up at the boy in her tree.

The boy was a scruffy dishevel of rumpled clothes, his hat falling from his unruly dark hair as his head snapped down at her yell. the cap landed at her feet with a dull thump.

"This is my tree, mister!" she scolded, arms crossing over her puffed chest with defiance, her face growing red with anger that now ran hot through her blood the heat of the afternoon suddenly the least of her problems.

"Where's your name on it?" He called, voice as high as hers. He stood, arms spreading as he walked the thick branch he'd perched on. If he'd been lower she'd have seen the smug grin begin to pull his cheeks.

Her brows creased at his audacity. "No one's name is on a tree! And the this field is my fathers, so the tree is mine!" She corrected, tone as fierce as a seven year old could manage, sadly it did little in scaring the boy.

"Well your dad hasn't stopped me." He retaliated, plonking down at the end of the branch to lean over precariously to taunt. "Tell ya what, If you can reach the top of the tree before me, I'll let you have the tree."

"But it's mine, already! I live here!" She reiterated again, crouching down to pick up his cap. She wiped at the material gently attempting to brush off any grass stains.

"Does that mean you admit you couldn't beat me?" He challenged, swinging a leg over the branch like it was nothing.

Her nostrils flared. "I can too!" She retaliated, approaching the tree determinedly.

She made quick work of the climb, the activity like muscle memory with how often she'd been doing it. She thought the branch wobbled as she settled at the base of the branch he swung from, the action she'd recount as a nervous thought rather than fact. "See? I'm up!" She boasted, gritting her teeth in an attempt to clench her jaw.

"Okay, maybe this tree is yours." He confessed, swinging precariously from the end of the branch they now shared. 

"Of course it's mine!" She huffed. Despite her tone she crept forward carefully. "But I suppose I could share." She offered, settling beside him nervously and offering his cap. "So long as we agree its mine."

The pair settled into an awkward silence. a bird higher up choosing this moment to wail for food. The girls fingers worried her bag's strap shyly as the boy, who she hadn't got the name of pulled himself back into a proper sitting position, taking his cap and shoving it onto his head. 

"So," He began "What's so important about this tree for you to own it, anyway." 

"Read." She answered. He continued to look at her, almost expectantly. The attention flustering her. "Its far enough from the house to be quiet and has nice shade." She explained, opening her bag and taking out her book. "Do you want to read it with me?"

His face pulled into a serious pout as he thought, looking over the book. "Is it good?" He asked, watching her flip it open to her marked page. 

"Well, I think so." She paused. "Wait! You haven't given me your name!" She exclaimed, shoulders jumping with her exclamation. 

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

She couldn't help the small smile that grew as her pen spelt out his name. Little her hadn't known the importance of that bond just yet, hadn't known how much space the scruffy boy in her tree would take up in her life, but she was grateful for it to this day. She cared for those childish memories enough to rewrite them carefully in her now much neater handwriting in clear detail. The memory now a story preserved before time could steal it from her mind as many of her mothers had from hers.

She dipped the pen back into it's pot carefully, tapping the excess on the glass rim.  The candle beside her journal flickered, drying the ink of her entry as she moved on to her current dairy. The correct date quick to mark the clean page. Her twenty year old self had far less thrilling things to report. Errands, stall work and chores she'd done thousands of times but she wrote them anyway if just for the routine of her habit. 

Another thirty minutes slipped by before she retired that night, the familiar dark and the scent of candle smoke drifting her to sleep. 

The next time she sat at that desk, everything felt wrong. Her clock was too loud, worsening her headache. But she pushed through, setting up the books before her and taking her pen as usual only for the infernal thing to burst as soon as it touched the fresh page. She frowned, dropping the pen bac into its pot harshly, the click of metal hitting glass just about pushing her over the edge.  

 She hadn't seen Jacob all day. 

It wasn't a big deal, people could be busy. But he had made it a habit to speak with her at least once everyday. Even if just a greeting, they were best friends. Crawley was a small town. She didn't think it possible to just miss each other.  

She'd seen George that evening. She'd even stopped him in the market, catching him just before she'd planned to leave for the day, quick to ask after the Frye's. 

George had blinked, seeming to freeze for a moment as confusion took his features. "They left me this afternoon." He explained. "They should've been back by now." 

She froze, the world falling silent. "What?" She asked, the word breaking her voice . She shook her head, "Sorry." She apologised, clearing her throat quickly. "They must be busy elsewhere. Good evening, George!" Her call was rushed, a moment she would replay as impolite later that night. But at that moment she had more pressing matters. Like the whereabouts of the Frye's. 

[A/N

As most of my works seem to be going, this is gonna be a story instead of a oneshot. Because I'm annoying and like dragging things out. I don't like how I finished it but I wanted to get the ball rolling. I've been sitting on this too long. There are some people I should probably tag but I don't think my tags are working. So 🤷‍♀️.

Jacob planned to begin his investigation in the morning. The rain may have finally stopped, but night had set in its place and no one sensible would be about now. A fresh start at first light was his best chance.

Even so, his eyes followed the second blighter patrol he'd seen of the hour he'd been here with distain. The earlier rain had brought with it a chill wind which took delight nipping at his numb skin, the man pulling his top hat low as a vain shelter attempt. His gaze swept the thinning street. Most shops had already closed, with only the streetlamps to light the area, while the remaining vendors were packing quickly. A show of Whitechapel turning in for the night. He knew he'd have better luck in the morning , but he couldn't let it go. Not when there was a faint chance of learning something now. So he hung back, watching the last stragglers disappear.

Alice Liddell.

Not a name he recognised even with all the associates he and Evie had met in their short time here.

With the spare time his mind had wandered, trying to put together what she could look like. Perhaps stern? Someone neat. Templars tended to prefer their underlings tidy, maybe she kept her head down and her mind on business if she worked under a doctor. A templar would probably have that kind of subordinate too, he considered.

He cast a look at the streets pub, an old building at the corner of the road, already noisier than when he'd first arrived. The roar of a full house spilled out the doors, calling to anyone stupid enough to call the night done.

"Miss Liddell! You're out late, girl. Streets'll spit out drunkards any minute, mark me words! "

Jacobs head snapped back to the vendors, eyes darting for the loud voice. A fruit vendor was the owner. Jacobs eyes followed the old mans attention to a young woman. She matched Clara's description. Dark hair that brushed her shoulders and a pale complexion. She carried an overstuffed satchel that seemed ready to fold her in half.

She had paused at the Vendor, seeming to greet him, though her voice must've been much quieter than his. His eyes narrowed, interest peaked. This had to be the girl Clara told him of. His ticket to one Angus Bumby.

He shifted from his place against the wall, approaching the pair carefully as the vendor continued his loud mouthed ramble. Jacob barely had to strain his hearing to catch every word.

-------------------------

Alice hated this time of the week, when the errands had piled up for whatever reason or the doctor had an event coming up that meant preparations. In any case, she found herself in the crowds and mayhem of Whitechapel's main street, which had been chaos since winter with the arrival of those green jackets, prompting an increase in gang warfare between them and the normal blighters that littered the neighbourhood. Still, she was glad that hassle of a day was behind her and wouldn't be repeated for at least a week.

Small blessings and all that.

The chores had gone smoothly. Her satchel was now full of the items once listed on the rolled parchment, now forgotten and hanging out of the carrier. The leather bag was bursting at its seams, and the weight of it had left a dull ache in her shoulder after the long day.

It was much later now, past dinner time she guessed. Yet despite the hour and the darkening sky, Main Street was as busy as it had been that morning. The last few lingering customers and closing shop vendors littered the pavement she walked.

"Miss Liddell!" Mr Howson's voice cracked the night air, loud enough to rattle a few window panes, she was sure. The sound enough to make her jump. "You're out late, girl. Streets'll spit out drunkards any minute, mark me words!" He warned, waving his pipe towards the pub down the street.

Alice offered a hesitant smile. "Its not too late and I'm heading home right now." She hoped to assure the old man adjusting her bags handle as she spoke. "I won't be out much longer."

He sniffed, eyeing the satchel. "Need another hand? I could spare my wheelbarrow if you'd like."

"That won't be needed, thank you. I'm managing just fine." She assured with a grateful nod.

"Suit yourself. Jus' watch for trouble. Streets getting loud tonight."

She agreed with him. the pubs patrons were in full swing now, calling and jeering as loudly as Howson on a good day. Alice bid the man farewell, her steps quicker than before as she moved on.

She didn't get far, 3 minutes at best, before she was stopped again, a tiny call barely heard over the sounds of the city night. The street seemed to quiet with her pause, ears straining for the sound.

meow

Retracing her steps back to the alley she'd just passed she peered in, her eyes caught to a little black cat that returned her stare.

"Hello, puss," she murmured, offering her hand out to the feline. "Awful weather to be out in." The cat sniffed at her fingers hesitantly. Alice took a step forward, questioning a second for fear of the animal bolting before freezing.

A shiver climbed her spine resting as a cold knot at her nape. The breeze stilled almost dropping in temperature, a contrast to her raising pulse. Her eyes moved first, sliding along the bricks of the alley walls. She froze for a heartbeat the edge of her vision now catching the roof across the street behind her as her head followed, something tall and foreign to the nights usual landscape. Her head turned fully in a measured pace that felt casual as though surveying the street. By the time she faced the building fully the shadow was gone, just the chimney stood as usual with not even a sweeper to explain the humanoid figure. She exhaled, breath joining the mist that had followed that afternoons rain in thin stream and turned back to the cat still lounged across the short brick wall as though nothing had been wrong and the human wasn't odd.

She ran her palm over its' coat, following its' spine gently; the fur damp, flecked with water that seemed to shimmer if she focused on its' otherwise black coat.

"No owner?" She asked softly, warmth blooming as a light purr rumbled the creatures body, a shift Alice appreciated after her spook moments prior. Not unusual for strays to roam the alleys, much like the orphans.

Her ease was short-lived. Heart jumping to her throat with a sudden burst of shouts not far down the street. The cat shared Alice's jump, the feline jumping off the wall it had loafed on to bolt into the night it camouflaged well with.

"It's alright," she called, following after the feline. A habit she still had yet to break despite everything. She knew this wasn't the wisest choice, a young woman slithering through the back alleys of London so late but the lone lanes seemed safer than heading back to the cobbled streets and their voices. It wasn't long before she caught sight of the critter, a black tail peeking from behind an unlit fire barrel, the water that had yet to dry catching in the lanterns on the buildings around that social spot. She was quick to approach, shifting her satchel and offering soft words as she did, not really noticing her surroundings.

"Oi!"

"What's she doing here?"

"Clear off!"

"Don't make me come over there!"

The barrage of voices made both girl and cat jump again, the pattern beginning to annoy Alice, the former spinning around defensively as a shadow overcast her.

Blighters. Four of them, her mind supplied. Their red jacket uniforms undeniably recognisable.

The man before her was a brute in size, shoving her shoulder. "This is private property, loon." He growled. "You got no business here."

"I didn't know." She defended, throat tightening as she stepped forward trying to step past to no avail.

'This wasn't shaping to end well at all,' her mind supplied, a rather useless thought as her eyes darted over the looming men in red. Her pulse kicked up, hands itching between using her satchel as a shield or a weapon.

"Now that's hardly polite, is it?" A new voice rang out, far too amused for the dark alley or the situation she was in at al. "The lady's learned her lesson, lads."

The blighters turned all to eager for another victim, the small group parting enough for Alice to see the new addition. "Maybe better signage would help let the public know this is private. Or a gate, I head they work wonders." A man in a top hat, though he didn't look quite mad yet, approached easily seeming to enjoy the sudden tension shift if the quirk of his mouth was any indication. "Unless threatening women is a hobby of yours."

He seemed decent enough if she went off looks alone, a tall fella in decent clothing. Much nicer quality than her scruffy apron.

"You've got some nerve, showin' your face 'round 'ere Frye." the brute spat, now close enough to spray spit at the man.

"Lovely." Jacob cringed, a scowl growing quick as he wiped the splatter from his cheek, thankful he'd worn gloves today.

"Now piss off. You're missin' your little merry band of misfits." another of the group called.

Their leader spun raising his cane high, intent clear to the woman whose arms rose to shield her face quickly.

Jacob acted quicker, pressing the trigger on his gauntlet. His grapple launching forward embedding into the blighters shoulder.

The smack never came, instead the man faltered, eyes wide and breath catching. A low clang echoing through the night.

A spray of, no doubt, red followed the blur of motion as he was pulled backwards. His assailant quick to bury a blade into his skull. The other members seemed frozen for that instant. Time no longer moving within the alley.

Shouts seized the night as the men ran at her saviour, boots loud, fists quick to fly to no avail. Sound seized the alley as the fight took full swing. Alice stumbled back, shoes scraping the slick rocks underfoot in her bid to get out of the way. Her back meeting the fire pit hard.

Despite the man being a brute in build, he moved with a swiftness even Alice couldn't achieve outside of her wonderland. He ducked beneath a fist, sweeping the attackers leg out from under him. the man collapsed, his disorient enough for Jacob to drive a blade into his throat. The corpse barely hit the floor before an arm was around Jacobs own neck.

Alice gasped, Jacob shoved backwards hearing the thud of the blighters head hitting the alleys wall. A gasped puff of air blew past Jacobs ear, the assassin twisting out of the dazed mans grip to sink a blade into his gut.

The last blighter hesitated just long enough for Jacob to swing his arm, a second blade finding home in the last enemy's head.

It didn't take long, seconds? just over a minute for them all to be down, puddles of blood painted the alleys path. The man in the top hat pulled his knifes from their last victims with a low squelch, the sound prompting goosebumps to wake along her skin and her head to spin nervously.

The alley returned to its silence once more. Alice fidgeted, struggling to find her voice for a long breath. "Thank you," She managed. "For stepping in." she finished, her voice too fast and eyes focused on the floor, on the odd moving liquids she could make out against the wet cobble taking quick steps back from the thin stream of blood flowing closer to her boot. It was much different from a kill in wonderland.

"My pleasure. Not exactly the crowd you want to keep." He commented, eyeing the bodies that laid around them. "Best be getting home now." He offered a nod, already stepping backwards before he finished him sentence, his boots the only sound between them.

she turned to check the cat, finding the critter gone. Her head whipped to return the farewell only to find the alleys entrance empty. She frowned, He couldn't have moved that quick. She stepped forward, quick to find herself on the now empty street of Whitechapel, no vendors in sight. And no gentleman. Frye, the men had called him. Her head turned slowly, eyes narrowed in her focus as she studied the area.

What on earth?

Her thought escaped her mind in a soft whisper, breath adding to the setting mist of the cold evening. The street felt too still now even with the pubs racket now behind her, the air felt stiff. Alice gripped her bag, a vain attempt to settle her nerves, shoulders tight. Enough for one night she wanted to already be home. She set off again, eyes darting around herself with her earlier exhaustion now replaced by adrenaline. 

Chapter One - Letters To The Doctor: 🗡️🧵

[A/N: Constructive feedback is appreciated.]

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