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Aversion

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It paid to be a good judge of character, on the streets and just about anywhere else.

Wisely seemed to entertain the notion that Red was acting upon some animalistic instinct. Supposedly, some animals could seemingly pick up on what people typically missed; cats and dogs could typically tell whether or not people were friendly.

All in all, Red could definitely buy into that theory, albeit with some reservation. First of all, people were basically animals and as such in possession of the same instincts. Second of all, just like there were people who were in tune with those instincts, there were animals stupid enough to ignore them.

Red knew better than that; he was supposed to at any rate. But−

That clown bastard had always projected his hostility quite openly, readily translating it into violence.

That barmy old duke was different; he projected many things, and at first, Red had struggled to place more than a few of them. However, as things had gone on, one fact had become increasingly and alarmingly apparent; the man was dangerous, and had Red realised just how dangerous, then he would never have stepped into the man's line of sight.

Even in the dead of night, when scarcely anyone besides prostitutes, their clients and monsters prowled the streets, Red would feel his skin prickle; he would get paranoid, taking detours. He felt like it sometimes in the daytime too, but at night, it was all the more intense.

"Good morning."

Red suppressed a twitch, inclining his head slightly.

"How's young Charley?"

Red did not dignify that with a response, because 1) odds were that the man knew already, and 2) the man did not really care. "There's nothing to report," Red offered simply, getting back to his feet.

There was a slight chuckle at that. "Are you certain? I for one have−"

Yeah, and Red was not about to stick around any longer than strictly necessary. Granted, people would not exactly expect to find him here, in the posher districts of town. On the other hand, he most definitely stood out like a sore thumb.

And yeah, this was enough; he had reported in. Now, it was time to leave.

With that thought in mind, Red turned on his heel only to be stopped by two hands clamping down on his shoulders. Red did not act as much as he reacted, lashing out.

As it turned out, the barmy old duke actually bled red; somewhat surprising, but not at all a relief. As it turned out, he did not seem to be at all fazed by the fact that Red had just attacked him either; surprised, yes, but definitely not in a state of shock that would have prevented him from summoning servants who could in turn have summoned the appropriate authorities.

Really, Red should have just run now that he had the chance. Instead, he just stood there, still clutching the knife, watching as the duke pulled out a handkerchief to stem the blood flow; the cut was decidedly shallow and by no means serious, provided one did not forget to cleanse it in order to prevent it being infect−

"My apologies. You did allude to having an aversion to touch."

Again, instead of doing the sensible thing, Red slowly lowered the knife. "Aversion?"

The word was decidedly familiar; Wisely had no doubt used it before.

"Aversion," the barmy old duke repeated, still not projecting the hostility or wariness that ought to be expected. "It means having a most severe dislike towards one thing or the other."

Well, that made sense. Still− "Don't touch me again."

The man made a slight face at that. "If I were not so certain that my assurances carry little to no weight in your mind, then I would assure you. However, with the future of our business relationship in mind, let us say that I shall do my utmost to not lay hand upon you, provided you fulfil your end of the bargain."

Red narrowed his eyes slightly at that, nails digging into the meat of his palms. "And the moment I'm no longer useful?"

The man said nothing, and Red was unwittingly reminded of another relatively recent conversation…

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"Oh, this girl?"

Annie.

"Ah, Annie, wasn't it?" The man smiled, but it was more of a display of teeth than anything else. "Needed just a bit of convincing but got cold feet midway through. And well… we can't have that, can we?"

Annie had been beaten, and now, she was on the floor, trembling, not so much from the temperature and the thin clothes as from fear; Red could see it clearly in her eyes, and while he might have held some grievances against her in the past, this was not a fate that he wished upon anyone. That said however− "I'm not here for her."

"Perhaps," the man said, looking fairly pleased with himself. "But she came here for you – well, not you, per se, but for that boy, Charley, wasn't it?"

"Not my problem."

It was not that Red did not care for her. He might have cared for her as a fellow human being, perhaps even slightly more than that, but showing this to the man or any of the man's pawns would have been a serious mistake. Because that meant that she could be used against him.

"Perhaps," the man agreed, giving Annie a slight kick before straightening, getting all up into Red's space. "But fact remains that you are a problem."

Red stood his ground however, because if you gave these people an inch, you would never get it back. "I could say the same about you bastards," he said.

The man let out slight breath. "It's simply too bad," he said, pulling out a gun. "You would've been a useful pawn."

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Being hunted was nothing new. But he did not like it. It was better being the hunter than the hunted, even knowing that the roles could be reversed at any given moment.

Wisely though, Wisely was hardly hunter material, because while he did have the brains, Red found him lacking. On one hand, there was the lack of strength, but strength was hardly everything. The thing that Wisely truly lacked was a hunting instinct; he had the hoarding instinct down for sure, but hunting? No.

Sometimes, Red did wonder why he even kept a person like him around. Perhaps it was for entertainment value for the most part, especially now that there was no one else around to provide remotely intelligent conversation.

Fleeting acquaintances did not count. They came and they went, or he came and he went.

Annie was dead. Red had found her body sprawled on the cobblestones. Her throat had been savagely cut, and it did not take a genius to figure out why.

Red made a quick list of other potential hideouts and immediately started moving. Because it was only a question of time before they had to move base, and thus, there was really no time to lose.

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Unfortunately, as was often the case, there was trouble.

The Red-Haired Bastard was at it again.

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The waters of the Thames were dark and murky, and even more so in the dead of night. They were cold too and dirty, and stung in wounds and eyes. But Red was a strong swimmer, and he had survived far worse than this. Besides, wounds could always be cleansed. Inhaling dirty water however, that was another thing altogether.

Red emerged from the water underneath the cover of a bridge, heaving himself over the edge.

"Well, it's a bit late for a night-time swim, don't you think?"

Red very nearly dropped back into the water again, but fingers closed around his wrist in a positively vicelike grip, pulling him back up. Red allowed it, not because he liked it, but because he would rather deal with this with solid ground beneath his feet as opposed to being submerged in water. Then, once he was let go, he doubled over, coughing.

It was not a good position to be in, but−

"There, there. Catch your breath."

Annoyed, Red got back to his feet. "Why are you here?" he snapped. "I told you to get out of town!"

The man just tilted his head to one side, eyeing him quizzically. "But, Allen−"

"Don't call me that!" Red hissed, pulling his knife out, because he might be drenched, but he was also armed. "I'm not your bloody dog! That Clown Bastard killed him! I watched you bury him!"

The man just stared at him, blinking, reaffirming Red's conviction that the man was a hopeless case and that bashing his damned head in was not worth the effort. "…Allen?"

Yeah, Red was not about to go there. "Look," he said, decidedly exasperated. "I'm not Allen, and I don't really give a shit about what brought you here, but you're gonna get yourself killed if you stick around for much longer."

It was sound advice. Red should probably take it for himself. "What are you doing here anyway?" he asked, calmer now. Calmer, but still drenched, so he could not stick around for long.

"Fishing," the mad clown brightly informed him, gesturing towards some makeshift net a bit farther off.

'I could've been caught and drowned because of that,' Red privately thought.

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Red did not see why he bothered, really. He had perfectly good reasons not to care, and they greatly outnumbered the others. Still−

"Two pikes! And three perches! Quite a haul, isn't it?"

Red rolled his eyes, but really, it was difficult to walk away from someone who readily offered not just their spare blanket but also a spot by their makeshift campfire. Gutting the fish was no big deal, and if he got a free meal out of it, so freaking what?

"Save one of each for later, okay, Allen?"

Red felt tempted to snap at him again but simply ducked his head down instead, focusing on removing entrails and all that other shit. Because the man was obviously mad and arguing with madmen was a lesson in futility. Of course, readily going along with anything they said was dangerous, and−

"Are you being hunted?"

Red scoffed and his hands remained perfectly steady. "Are you?"

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Prey could attack when cornered, and hunters could easily become the hunted.

Annie's pimp and his people had never given it much thought; they believed they were safe because they were many and because they had a bunch of high-ranking members of the Scotland Yard in their pockets.

But no one was truly safe. Firstly, because there were always bigger fish in the pond, and secondly, because death spared no one.

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"It's all your fault. If it wasn't for you, then…"

Perhaps, but Red was not dealing with this. "She won't be coming back, you know?" he snapped, and Charley flinched as if he had been struck. "She's gone, just like the others."

For a while, they were at a stalemate. Then Charley, still halfway hidden behind the doorframe, spoke up once more. "You should be gone too," he murmured, wringing his hands. "If you'd been gone, then none of this would've ever−"

Perhaps, but if not for Red, then odds were that none of them would have ever lived this long. "Suit yourself," he offered simply, turning on his heel.

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Charley was a useless twit, and Wisely was neither quite useless nor a twit but still slow enough to be considered a hindrance. It would have been sensible to cut his losses and leave them both behind, but even when he was in a foul mood, Red had no plans on throwing either of them to the wolves.

For now though, leaving Charley alone would be for the best, because while he had been close with Annie, he was no threat; even incensed gang members would be able to see that. Even if they got to him, they would likely arrive at the same conclusion; Charley was an easily controlled scaredy-cat that, uselessness aside, had more use while alive than while not.

Besides, leaving him behind would signal that he did not matter to Red, and Red would have done the exact same thing to Wisely if he had thought it would work. Instead, he gave Wisely his knife and sent him on his way with instructions not to run. Because 1) running made you look suspicious, 2) Wisely had next to no stamina, and 3) Wisely had a definite tendency to stumble and fall, which was the complete opposite of subtle.

"Maybe you should've just told him that."

Red snorted softly, ignored the internal voice and vanished down an alleyway to the left.

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Contrary to popular belief, working hard was not the key to success.

In fact, working too hard to succeed might just spoil one's chances altogether.

The real key to success was working smart and using the means already available or just within reach. Becoming a good pickpocket obviously required skill, but becoming a great pickpocket? Now that required charm.

Granted, this was not a skill that Red had employed often and never in his usual stomping grounds. Because the others, mostly Jack, would never have allowed him to live it down. And because Red hated it, and he hated it a lot.

"Please, Madam… anything will do. My little brothers are…"

Because it was charity, and Red would have much rather bought food for his own money, not begged for it, his hair covered up and his face smudged and partially covered with bandages.

"Oh, alright then," the stern-faced woman finally said. "I've already passed out any bread at hand, but I do have some apples."

He would rather buy than beg, especially so when he had money at hand. Unfortunately, peddlers tended to be a whole lot more sharp-eyed compared to people like the woman at the door, who had given him a simple onceover and then dismissed him as a common waif. This suited Red just fine though, because it was not like he would have to keep up this farce for long.

"Thank you, Madam. I am most grateful."

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Moving around at night was both easier and harder.

It was easier because of the cover of darkness.

It was harder because there were no crowds to hide in, only people to hide from.

But, fortunately for him, people only rarely looked to the rooftops, and Red could navigate them just fine. Granted, he still needed to be careful, because some of them were fairly unstable and could be slippery at times. Still, rooftops made for more than just hiding spots; they also made for excellent vantage points.

The only real drawback was the distance. And the height, but neither was much of an obstacle to him. Nor would it have been much of an obstacle to anyone, at least not to anyone with a decent aim.

Procuring a gun had been a bit of a whim; not particularly difficult per se, considering how Red had a decent idea about where certain groups of people stored certain things. This one though, this was one that he had nicked from a policeman a while back.

Generally speaking, Red was no fan of guns. Generally, he favoured stones or bricks, because they were quieter and far easier to come by. Impact aside though, the range was limited, and knowing what they were up against, it was better to be safer than sorry.

And, observing the situation with Wisely unfolding from above, Red knew that he had made the right choice. But, just as he took aim, intending to pull the monster's attention away from Wisely, a shot rang out.

Red might have been prepared for most things, but he was most definitely not prepared for that Red-Haired Bastard to arrive at the scene.

This was not a good situation. At all.

Red should really run for the hills and hope for the best. Had it been Charley down there, then sure. Wisely however−

Red adjusted his position and took aim.

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Getting away was not easy.

Because sure, Red had hit him, hit the damned bastard right in the arse. He would have aimed for the kneecaps, had he had a better angle and confidence that he was not going to hit Wisely instead.

Red wasted little time in making his getaway though, checking to make sure that the gun was secure before shoving it inside of his clothes and vaulting over the edge, springing himself over to the next roof.

Then, two or three rooftops thereafter, he nearly collided with yet another unexpected obstacle, this one airborne.

Reacting more on instinct than anything else, Red threw his hand out to snatch it. The thing – which most certainly was not a bird or a bat – let out a kind of hiss, wings flapping, tail swishing and jaws snapping.

It took Red a moment, both to regain his equilibrium and to identify the thing. Once he did though, he was undeniably annoyed. There was really no time or need to talk to the thing, so Red just caught hold of the other wing and then used the long, swishy tail to bind them together, all while the thing hissed and struggled fiercely. Red hardly cared though, and as he spotted the chimney just ahead, he did not hesitate.

Red dropped the struggling thing down the chimney and then took off, satisfied that he had probably just bought himself enough of a head start to make a proper getaway.

There was no sign of the man or that odd winged orb of his when Red finally slipped back down to street level. Red took a moment to be sure of it before setting off.

He found Wisely quickly enough, but it was not all that difficult when there was an obvious blood trail to follow. They were not too far from the new hideout, but Wisely was obviously still in shock and had lost a fair bit of blood. Carrying him was no greater task.

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Police constable Moor Hesse was an unexpected boon, but even though Red could tell that she was a better person that most, he was not particularly comfortable in her presence. Sure, the fact that she was with the Yard might have played a role, but that was hardly the only reason.

The man in the photograph on the desk looked undeniably familiar.

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It had been said past mistakes always came back to haunt you.

Had Red had any sense, then he would have left this town a long time ago.

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