A/N: To be honest this still feels unfinished to me? But it's just kinda a fun side project (I guess all of my fics are, though...) so I figured I needed to just let go and post it. Especially since I already started a later scene and got a couple pages of that bit written. I also realized I kinda like the struggle of coming up with chapter titles for this. Cause, y'know... first impressions. I dunno. It was satisfying. Also: at the moment this is FFnet exclusive, so that's kinda fun.
"Not saying you want trouble, are you?"
Elizabeth kept her eyes on the ground, slowing her pace. They were only a bit further up the way, and she didn't dare look to see just who it was. Small posture, meek affect, she blended in to the background, shifting further and further right until she'd ducked into an entryway of a shop, as though reading the bills posted in the windows. She could still hear the Blighters, the soft repetitive noise of hands pushing their victim back and forth, the way she'd seen them do before.
"Look here, I have customers that-"
"Shut it." The demand went hand in hand with a thick thudding slap of skin on skin, a cry of pain. "Thought we made it clear that you'd be going through the Blighters from now on. You want your shipments coming and going safe and sound like, you hire us."
The man's voice was hissed, but apparently more from anger than pain. "Your prices are exorbitant. You know what that means? It means you charge too damn much-" His voice was cut off by a thump and sudden whimper.
"You want your goods to stay good?"
"You're mad." He was wheezing, but clearly hadn't given up. "The whole bloody lot of you."
Breath was frozen in Elizabeth's chest as she heard a new voice speak up, and she pressed herself as far into the little alcove as she could, damning her stupid skirts, trying to remember just how many Blighters had been ahead of her. Three? Four? If she turned to leave now, there was no way they wouldn't see her. Hopefully they'd be heading away the opposite direction.
"You know why they call her Bloody Nora?" Elizabeth did.
Someone spat, and based on the sudden noise of blades being drawn, she assumed it was the merchant. His choked and muffled wail of pain seemed to support that theory as well.
"This is a warning. Next time, it will be two. Then three. Tell me: would you prefer to start with them all on the left, or alternate hands?"
Quick wet gasps hissed through clenched teeth, and Elizabeth was fairly sure she knew precisely what had happened. Her pulse hammered high and tight in her throat, trying not to picture the assuredly gruesome mess that would be the man's left hand. Everything had faded to a muted wash of colour as she focused on staying small, quiet, and still. And conscious. That would be ideal. Keep breathing. Don't faint.
In an instant there was a shing of metal on metal, followed by a wet gurgle. A cry of surprise from someone other than the Blighters' victim. Elizabeth found herself resting a hand against the wall behind her, trying to stay on her feet. She'd never been this close to such a skirmish, not something so lethal.
"What-"
Thuds and cracks and the briefest noises of struggle, all culminated in at least one body falling to the ground. She doubted a single Blighter remained conscious - or even breathing.
"Thank- ...thank you."
There was a piercing whistle and she quickly turned her face further from the noise to peer through the closed shop window as the clatter of hooves filled the street behind her, obscuring the words spoken in a low murmur from where the merchant had voiced his thanks. A few more noises she could reasonably interpret as a man with nine fingers entering a hastily-called carriage, and that very same carriage being driven away posthaste, and then all seemed to have settled.
Excepting not two minutes later when a lady's shriek pierced the air.
Her eyes fluttered closed with frustration as Elizabeth once more steeled herself to leave her hiding place. She'd finally gotten her bearings, and now there was the (disconcertingly) usual hubub about the brand new corpses in the street.
Christ, how was this the usual now?
Chewing at her bottom lip, she clenched fingers in the fabric at her sides as she slipped back out and down the street the way she'd come, not even glancing back to the scene of the crime. She didn't want to see it. A little inconvenience to retrace her steps a few blocks and take a different route seemed like a small price to pay for a moment of blissful ignorance.
She'd barely gone half a block when gunshots rang out through the air, quickly followed by the hysterical whinnying of terrified carriage horses, and the thundering racket as traffic surged one way or another, utter chaos sprouting from the direction she'd planned on detouring.
Again? More of this? She couldn't deny the surge of sheer disappointment. What a way to spend her day off, watching her city be terrorised by gang violence.
Well, what else was there to do but turn a blind eye, pivot on her heel and head down the nearest back alley in the hopes of cutting through to an area a bit less criminally inclined.
She hadn't expected to see him again so soon.
"Hello hello." His smile was at a shockingly low smirk-to-grin ratio, apparently recognising Elizabeth immediately despite having barely met her eyes before she'd looked away.
"Mr. Frye." The words were low, demure, delivered with a soft nod as she tried so hard to maintain her appearance of 'too boring to bother with' while in the crowded streets. It was somehow easier and more difficult in such surroundings, mostly difficult when trying to move.
Even as she ducked her head and passed by into the alley, the man fell into step with her easily.
"Enjoying the city this fine afternoon?"
Flicking her gaze to his face, Elizabeth immediately noted his cheeky smirk was back. A fine afternoon, indeed. Was he enjoying this chaos? "Hm." She quickly glanced back to the ground, a sardonic thread weaving through her otherwise mildly murmured words, almost silent under her breath. "Yes, well, can't go wrong with a bit of murder and mayhem, can you?"
She hadn't said it for his ears, but if his bark of laughter was anything to go by, he'd heard her loud and clear regardless. "No you certainly cannot," he mused, shoving hands into the pockets of his coat as he smiled up to the sky.
Steps faltering, Elizabeth let Mr. Frye move on without her, dropping away and allowing herself to stare fully at his back once he wasn't looking. There was that nagging suspicion, newly taken root, that he was far closer to this issue than she'd initially anticipated. And that just wouldn't do. She wanted as far away from this danger as possible.
Turning silently, she began to head back toward the street, once more running - or, well, determinedly strolling - away from her problems, slipping on the camouflage with which she'd become so adept.
It was either too late, or her tricks simply didn't work so well on horses or the humans driving them, because she was very nearly trampled into the cobbles by an oncoming carriage, driven by a woman in Rook greens. The shout of surprise was startling, as was the heavy hand grasping her shoulder and hauling her out of the street, but Elizabeth swallowed the squeak of shock that tried to escape her throat, eyes going wide instead, heart suddenly far too loud in her ears as the vehicle passed inches from her face, the driver letting out a stream of curses.
"Oi! An apology!"
It took her a second to regain her faculties, but she very quickly pulled away from the man's grip, taking a few shaky steps back and away even as she heard the carriage slowing. It was only a few feet up the road when the driver called back toward them: "Apologies, Mr. Frye. Miss."
Blinking back to her senses, Elizabeth watched this Jacob Frye with a hastily guarded gaze. They knew him. They respected him. And that could mean nothing good. Her words were low and verging on a mumble as her eyes hit the pavement again. "Thank you, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me…" She was several feet down the road before she looked up once more.
She'd known something was off. Usually, the method that let her melt away, it had a feeling. Like floating in lukewarm water - not particularly pleasant, but comforting nonetheless. And it was conspicuously absent.
Three Blighters stood at the corner she approached, and she was far too aware that they could see her. Not only could they see her; they were actively noticing. It was an experience she'd tried to avoid, and for it to be happening now of all times, piling misfortune upon misfortune, had Elizabeth quite cross. She stumbled over her own feet, slowing her pace, and watched cautiously as the woman on point straightened, something sparking in her eyes that made Elizabeth incredibly uneasy.
The Blighter hardly taken one step closer before all three of them stiffened, posture adjusting to something more defensive, eyes all moving at once to stare past Elizabeth.
"Please, Miss. Allow me to escort you home."
Elizabeth didn't look away from the three Blighters, even as she felt him coming up behind her. Oh this was bad. Very very bad. Respected by Rooks, feared by Blighters - and now he'd somehow marked her out as well? She craved the safety of anonymity again. But it didn't seem to be in the cards.
"Mr. Frye…" The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she risked turning her back to the gang members so she might gracefully decline the man's offer. He wasn't looking at her, staring instead with a hard challenge in his gaze at the red-clad toughs, lips a small grim smile. Christ, he was going to get himself killed with an attitude like that.
After a moment of hesitation, Elizabeth tried to stifle her exasperated sigh. "Fine."
He'd already taken an imposing step toward the Blighters when she grabbed at his sleeve, tightening her grip on his forearm into something resembling an appropriate escorting position, planting her feet as she might to hold back a particularly snappish dog. Heat rose to her cheeks at the familiarity of the action, and the motion itself seemed enough to snap Mr. Frye from his predatory glare, instead glancing to her with surprise. "I'm quite fond of this dress; I'd hate to see it bloodied," she explained drily, shooting him a sharp look.
Apparently Elizabeth's presence on his arm curtailed any more violent impulses, as he settled for a sharp-toothed warning smirk at the gang who silently drifted out of their path so the two might pass.
She didn't breathe until the trio was a full block behind them, and when she did she quickly dropped his arm. "You're a madman, Mr. Frye." It was hard to cover the irritation in her tone.
He was grinning. "Call me Jacob."
Elizabeth stopped short, just barely stopping herself putting her hands on her hips like she used to when dealing with younger children. "I most certainly will not."
His lips pursed, and she was about 80% sure he was trying not to laugh at her, his eyes bright and jaw twitching.
She glared right back, heart rate still uncomfortably high, still thoroughly shaken from the morning's events. "I can't believe you'd drag me into something like this," she grumbled, stabbing a finger into his chest accusingly. "You don't even know me!"
There was no way for him to hide the smirk hooking up the corner of his mouth as he glanced down at her (and he wasn't even that much taller, damn it, how could he manage an expression like that), raising an amused brow. "Careful, love, don't want to attract any unwanted attention."
At his warning Elizabeth's posture adjusted automatically, pulling away, adopting that bland and proper facade she was all too used to, though her suspicious glare didn't lessen a bit. "You seem to do more than enough of that for the both of us."
He surveyed the area calmly, and she thought she sensed a flash in his gaze, like he was looking with more than just his eyes, before they rested on Elizabeth again, clear. His cocky attitude had mellowed a bit, tempered with the smallest dash of humility. "And I do apologise for that," he inclined his head graciously.
Good.
"...But as it seems the damage is done, it's only proper I ensure your safe return home. Please."
Elizabeth chewed her lip, eyes still narrowed at the man even as traffic began to flow as usual once more, the two of them melting into the bustle of the streets again. That feeling of liquid anonymity was comforting, though she felt the smallest seam in it - the smallest exception being made for the man who stood before her. Still, she was lost to the crowd. Perhaps that was why she relented. "No fighting," she insisted, strictly. "No brawls, no scrapes, and dear god no carriage chases."
"You think so little of me…" He shook his head with a chuckle. "Fine;" he smirked, "No fun." The laugh was louder at her affronted expression. "I kid, I kid- just a walk, no trouble."
There was a long silence as they resumed their stroll back to Elizabeth's employer's residence, her brow furrowed at the ground. She hadn't initially planned to return so early, but at this point…
"...Breathe, love, you're alright." Mr. Frye's words were a murmur - chosen to be comforting, she assumed - and she suspected he felt some guilt for his teasing.
Heat rushed up her neck, colouring her cheeks, though it was mostly discomfort that he'd assume she'd need such a thing. Was it that obvious, how rattled she was? "It's never been this bad before. Not in my experience. Not here," she admitted quietly, voice hard with firmly controlled anxiety. "If it was Southwark or Whitechapel, the waterfront - hell, even Lambeth I might understand…" But this was the City proper, this was wide boulevards and middle-class homes, and more proper stores than factories. Elizabeth had come here thinking it would be safer.
"Always darkest before day dawns and all that."
How could he be so flippant? Elizabeth hummed her ambivalence, and her words came out a dry murmur, more to herself than to him. "One must wonder who on earth said that and how they could possibly believe it true."
There was a soft huff of laughter before they settled into a brief - and surprisingly amiable - silence. His voice was a curious half-accusation when he spoke again. "You're not from Southwark."
She shot him a sidelong glance, willing to set aside her worries for his offered distraction. "I'm not?" Mild innocence coloured her tone, even as she felt a touch of reluctant amusement at the statement. He was right, of course. But she certainly wasn't born on these streets. She'd sooner claim Southwark her home than the City borough.
"You don't sound like you're from Southwark," he amended.
Ma would be so proud. A fleeting glance up and Elizabeth looked away soon after catching his eyes. Had anyone ever watched her with such unabashed interest before? She didn't think she'd ever let them. It was… not as bad as she'd expected. "Neither do you," she pointed out, loftily.
"'Cos I'm not." He was smirking - though he always was, wasn't he? Always entertained by something or other. "Crawley."
She raised doubtful brows. He may not have the same practiced diction she'd cultivated, but there was a bit of it in his speech. Then again she hadn't met many people from outside of London.
"...And my father imposed elocution on us." There was a sheepish tilt to his grin, speech almost mockingly affected as he rolled his eyes.
"Us?" Elizabeth's interest was polite but genuine as she glanced up again, watching him in profile from under lowered lashes. In a moment she wondered what this Mr. Frye had been like as a boy. Not an older member of the family, surely. A younger brother or cousin. He reminded her too much of those younger children - hungry mouths and grabby hands, too impatient and too reckless, the ones she'd been stuck keeping in line.
"My sister and me." He'd been watching the walk before them, but now he turned to catch her eyes again and she once more quickly looked away. "You'd like her."
She hadn't expected the warmth in his tone. If she hadn't seen him pummel twenty men she would've scoffed at how quick he was to trust, how dangerous it was to be so familiar, so open with strangers. But he could clearly take care of himself. Elizabeth wondered if this was how Emma felt walking with William - shielded in a bubble of bizarre safety. For once she'd stopped scanning for gang colours, and she hadn't even realised it. Stupid. She shouldn't trust so easily.
...Still. It was hard to remind herself to be on edge, her tone coming out more playfully teasing than she'd intended. "And how would you know what I'd like, Mr. Frye?" Was she flirting? She very well might be, now that she thought on it. Damn it. Emma would be absolutely delighted.
He chuckled. "Fine: she'd like you. That bit you do - your little disappearing act."
Suspicious eyes darted to the man at her side, his hands suddenly thrust deep in his pockets as he turned an unassuming gaze to the sky in a show of innocence. "Hm." She pursed her lips, finding it far easier to watch him, to study a face built for impudence, when he wasn't watching her right back. "It hasn't seemed to be working as of late," she deadpanned.
A grin flashed before he tamed it to something more appropriately reserved. "If you're referring to me, I am honoured. And I can assure you: I'm an outlier."
Mmhm. Right. "I'm sure you like to think of yourself as one." She couldn't help the smirk that teased at the corners of her mouth, her words overly sweet with the smallest bite of condescension.
"First the accent and now I can't quite pinpoint the attitude either." It was a playful accusation, only making her smirk more prominent.
Elizabeth could practically feel her tongue sharpening, and it was delightful. "Don't all RP accents come with instilled superiority?" Her eyes flicked over the man at her side, teasing, intrigued by this reading he was attempting.
"Yes, but born int-" He stopped himself, fingers snapping at the air in sudden epiphany. "Nevermind, I've got it."
"Oh you have, have you?" It was more smile than smirk now, brows lifted in playful challenge.
"Working in a house like that, it's most definitely a requirement to have a bit of holier-than-thou," he jibed, and she shot him an admonishing look. "The question is only which came first: the job or the accent."
Teeth nipped at her lip as Elizabeth tried not to smile. A touch of wicked glee coloured her lofty response. "First impressions are important, Mr. Frye, but they can be deceiving. For instance: my first impression of you included the word gentleman."
A very ungentlemanly snort passed his throat, but he otherwise ignored the barb. "So: born in Southwark, picked up the RP for a job?"
"If you like." She had to feel a bit smug: she hid her roots well. "What about you?" she redirected, "What brought you here from Crawley?"
"A-" He cocked his head, as though amused by how he might answer the question, finally settling on: "A job."
Oh how vague. She shot him the incredulous look such a response deserved. He just grinned.
"Well…" The word was low and drawn out, somehow both relenting and cajoling at the same time; half sheepish and all too charming. "Doesn't every young man deserve a chance to seek his fortune?"
"A fortune gained by stealing from bankers' wives?" Elizabeth proposed, scepticism colouring her otherwise innocent tone.
His lips made a half-considering pout, as he shrugged. "A fortune gained alongside the glory of prizefighting?" he suggested.
"And the Blighters chasing after your carriage, that's part of... the prize fights?"
"Ah." Now he really did look sheepish. At least a bit. "Well, no," he admitted. "But I can assure you that cargo found a much nicer home."
Her face snapped to fix narrowed eyes on her companion. "Cargo?" When she'd seen him he'd been on a coach, no cargo in sight.
The crooked smile was back. Like a child caught lying. "...When was this?"
"This happens regularly for you?" Right. Of course. Mr. Frye had that charming roguish air - she already knew of his sticky fingers - of course he was a full-time thief. How could she have ever let herself forget it.
"A man's got to keep food on the table, Miss."
She shook her head, bemused. "Thievin' and boxin' does that for you, then?"
"Ha!" He jabbed a finger towards her in sudden triumph, pulling his gesture back just before he would actually touch her, hand curling into a fist as though suddenly remembering to hold back any violence near her person. "That, there it is."
"What?" Elizabeth had to admit it was a bit entertaining, seeing this quick turn of joy.
"'What'-" He scoffed. "There's the streets in you." Again he jabbed, but kept his hands close to himself, a polite distance away even when he obviously wished to point out his success in the most blatant manner possible.
There was no hiding the smirk that quickly morphed into a grin as she shook her head, glancing to her feet, trying to reprimand herself. After a moment, catching the smug smirk of her companion in the corner of her vision, she trained her face to something a bit more subdued. Still, a wry smile curled her lips. "You're a bad influence, Mr. Frye."
His grin was sharp and wolfish and incredibly self-satisfied: "Oh, very."
A/N: Thanks to Shy911 for the inaugural review ^^ Always interested in what people think of this... collection? Of snippets? And also the character. I don't do a ton of OCs lately, so I'm curious to know what people think. Shoot me a review?