This fic has been beta'd by my lovely friend Sara, any errors still present are my own.
The Night Huntress world, and the events of Crispin's life belong to Jeaniene Frost, I'm just playing with them.
London, 1783.
The cobbled streets of London were always so full of toffs. Toffs who turned their noses up at everything and everyone around them; nobody would ever be as good as they were, especially their own spouse. If you couldn't pay for outrageously expensive Panier dresses and Stays, those high-bred women thought lesser of you. Of course, this meant that us poor wretches had no place in their world. How did we ever survive by wearing petticoats and stays made with cheaper fabrics? Sigh. It always was a mystery. The women would tell themselves every lie in the book if it would help them sleep at night. Their husbands, however, had other activities that helped them sleep at night.
Callista observed them all from her spot by the Thames. She watched them skate over its hard, icy surface, doing all manner of splendour to show off to one another, and she wished it to crack. She watched them week in and week out, alone, just as she'd been doing for the last thirteen years of her life. No matter the season, she was always watching; learning, just like her mum had told her. She would say, "Cali, the way out of this mess is by learning from them. We've no place in their world, yet." And of course, she couldn't forget her dying words. "Do this for me. For your father and your sisters." Shame she had never known her father, and that her 'sisters' were the other working girls. Such a shame that her mum had died eight years ago, with nary a thought about how her daughter would cope in the big, bad city.
Her watchfulness and the ghost of her mother did pay off. Over the years Callista had bought subtly better quality clothing, hadlearned to save and hoard money, and learned how to speak like the toffs. Among other perfections, she had almost perfected the art of behaving like them.
As a child skated purposefully towards her, Cali's thoughts were pulled back to the present, and for the first time she noticed the looks being bestowed upon her; revulsion, shame, anger, pity, curiosity; the usual. The child was now standing directly opposite her, so close that she could make out every wisp of red hair that escaped his hat, and could count the buttons on his tight little coat. Definitely close enough that she, and every person for a mile around heard every word of the little boy's small speech.
"We know what you are. We see you watching. If we were in York, my father would have you in chains for daring to look at me. You are filth," he spat, "so take your service elsewhere."
"What's your name, little boy?" He looked up at her, disgust making his small features stern. Which only made his silence more amusing. "Don't worry, I didn't really want to know. But…" She softened her voice until only he could hear. "…didn't your daddy ever tell you to watch out for us bad, bad folk? He should have, you know. You never can tell when we're about to strike." She accentuated it with a flick of her wrist at his coat, which sent him sprawling across the ice.
She turned and began walking into the crowds, away from the river, when the boy spoke up, almost sputtering with rage. The thought made her smile.
"My father will see you hanged for touching me!" Cali turned back and blew one kiss towards the boy, before kicking up her chin and disappearing into the crowd, dignity intact.
~/~
London was practically littered with alleyways; some cobbled, some that could almost pass for mud. After wandering in the crowds, Cali finally stepped out near her home. It damn sure wasn't one of the best places in town, but it wasn't one of the worst, either. Hey, the street even had an oil lamp.
In the daylight, the street was just another average working class district. When the sun went down, it was transformed into every drunk's fantasy. Drink, crime and women might have been out of fashion, but there was still plenty to go around. The rich, the married, the poor, the lonely, the bored and the horny all came to this place in search of anything to take their mind off of their lives. Ah yes, even the noble Lords came to us, and us to them.
Cali weaved through the alleyways until she found the non-descript back door of her home. As always, she was glad that the days of throwing piss and shit out of windows were over. Heh, mostly. Of course, there were still a few unfortunate victims.
Soon enough, the steps of her home were visible. She gathered her skirts at the waist, lifted them, and ascended the steps through the open door. As soon as she stepped inside, the giggling of girls could be heard, most likely gossiping about beginning another nights work. The girls were easily found, their eyes lit up and dancing with amusement and anticipation. Excited whispers could be heard from each girl, and each one Cali passed seemed to measure her.
Then Cali heard the woman's voice, telling yet another girl they weren't bringing in enough money. As was the norm in Lucille's bordello.