#c:gilly

“Thank you for coming,” Bill stands, crossing the room and selecting a bottle of cognac from the cabinet. He selects two glasses, and pours the drink himself, before returning to Gilly and placing one in front of the professor. He resumes his seat then, raising his own glass to his lips and taking a thoughtful sip. 

There are two possibilities, and Bill doesn’t quite know which is true. He’s a man who likes the truth, to know exactly what hand of cards he is facing before making his next move - but he has always loved a puzzle, and that is certainly what the man before him is. A strange, contradictory riddle Bill has yet to decipher, either the slipperiest man in London, or the most unfortunate. 

“I’ll admit that I have made less progress than I would have liked since our last conversation,” Bill acknowledges, a small nod of his head punctuating the fact the two have unfinished business. “Though there has been talk. Tell me, do you think there could be any relation to the Palmer’s death?” Bill looks as collected as ever, unblinking  in his enquiry - despite the fact he knows that Professor Gilly has a link to both parties lost. He watches carefully, though, anticipating a reaction, and thus, they will go from there. 

“I actually called you here on other matters.” He produces the invitation then, the one delivered all throughout London. Perhaps Gilly has received one himself. “I’ve never heard of a Mr Ashton, but by his choice of theme, I judge him to be an educated man. Perhaps, you may have more insight here?” 

Location : Gilly’s office 

Time stamp: Monday, October 1st, 1888

It had been remarkably easy to get somebody to tell her where Professor de Leon’s office was. Perhaps his colleagues sensed that Dayanita was not to be messed around with today, or perhaps they simply did not like ‘Gilly’ all that much. She didn’t really care which was the right answer. All she cared about was giving the professor a piece of her mind. It didn’t matter that their actions had been remarkably similar. She had hurt a man, but he had hurt Feriha, and for that, he had to pay. 

“Professor de Leon, I assume?” she spoke coldly, letting herself into the office without knocking. She didn’t wait for his reaction, either, before plowing on. “Just who do you think you are?” She folded her arms over her chest, eyes blazing. “My sister-in-law was there when you decided to start swinging your fists at a man who’s half in the grave to begin with. You should count yourself lucky that it’s just her hand that’s cut.” 

“Gilly,” Bill calls to the professor in greeting. It, after all, what he is commonly known as, but still, the nickname takes off a tone of mockery in Bill’s voice. 

That is no accident. 

The enigma that is Professor De Leon is one Bill is intent on unravelling. The man presents a series of questions that Bill cannot answer, and that only makes him all the more intriguing. They had discussed tonight, previously, and it should be no surprise to see him here. And yet, he seems remarkably out of place. 

Bill’s eyes rake over the costume the professor has elected to wear. He has to admit there is is a certain dignity to it - he had half expected him to show up as Jangles The Jester, or in some other ridiculous outfit. 

He presses a glass of wine into his hand. “Awful lot of fuss, isn’t it, with them carriages? Dreadful gaudy things.” He shakes his head. “And those footmen wouldn’t say a word. What was all that about?”