Lelei
05-08-2010, 05:57 PM
“Miz, Miz, please buy a flower. Please, Miz.”
Jettie stopped. Long strides coming to a jolting halt when the small cracking voice deterred her, and the rail thin body of what seemed to be an eight year old moved onto the sidewalk. The girls face was washed with dirt, feces, and Jettie merely shuttered at the thought of whatever else. A single daisy was offered, a beautiful bloom of nature, clutched tight like gold and jewelry in the child's hands. Stooping down to become a less intimidating height of five foot seven, with a knee pressed into the dirt of inner city London, Jettie rested a hand on the little girl's shoulder.
“Cut your hair. Steal some pants. Never wash your face. And join the sweepers.” The girls eyes grew wide, the inkwells of black pooling with a known fear. Chimney sweepers were all small boys, who never lived past twelve after the coal had entered their lungs. Jettie started to nod then, her up-swept tawny hair falling a tad in spiraling tendrils, to rest over a dark, dirty cloak. “You must. You will last longer than what some will start to do to you. “ Straightening up, a coin was flipped to the child, and before the girl could reply with a choked appreciation. The woman was already gone.
–
Business completed in the Old Town, a bright an fanciful world was approaching in another block or so. Even now the sounds of steam engines hummed in the air, and the tinkering brass was like a miracle worker for the soul. Jettie Quinn was tall for her sex, but that never stopped the men from notching such an array of intimidating complexity. Sooty eyelashes framed almond shaped irises of the most starting jade. The pupils of darkness expanded in the milky gem colors to shadow emotions, such emotions that did not hinder the inventor. Yet seemed to make grown men shy away. Though she was twenty-six, her body was still ripe with youth and maturity.
Before turning out of an alley way onto a bustling street of wealthy commoners, and carriage hailing nobles, Jet whipped off her cloak, now dirty with soiled smells, to reveal what would have gotten her mugged, murdered, and possibly thrown to the dogs. Cloth, pure white, hugged each dip in body proportion. The material was vivid and lovely, a soft movement of elegance to her skin with each dainty well played step. The bosom cut was oval, one deep scoop to barely cover. Her chest was tanned, and decorated with the post peculiar colorful tattoo's that went from one side of her heart, and in intricate designs to both arms. Covering them completely. Gears. The tattoo's were of gears, wires, and a billowing smoke of steam that was her passion.
Many she passed while strolling down the cleaner sidewalks nodded in greeting, and full lips spread wide in a dazzling response. Turning into one doorway a blast of cigar smoke assaulted her visage. Swiping a hand to and fro to her face, Jetttie peered in at the dim room.
“Francis! Are you here?” She called out, squinting to see through a smoke haze.
“Yes I am here, blasted woman. I own the place. Get in from the light, woman.” Came a burly response.
Jettie stepped into the bar, and every man there shuffled in an uncomfortable manner. She was dressed fancy today. Most men rarely saw Jet' out of work leather and grease. Leaning over the bar, Francis was puffing on a fat cigar, looked more annoyed than usual.
“Another murder, Jet. You shouldn't come here until we find out who seems to be picking off my customers.”
“Haha, how silly. I am your most prized customer, so shut it Francis. Was it another Noble?”
“Can't say. The rats did him in.”
Jettie shuddered. Rats. Were not just mere little mice that nibbled on cheese, these rats Francis spoke of were the size of dogs. Huge packs that could infect and kill.
“Well. Let's see if I can fix that. Bring his body to my lab. I am sure his family wants to know about him.” Cheerfully said, her mouth tight with a smile. It was most likely a noble. The people she absolutely hated dealing with.
Jettie stopped. Long strides coming to a jolting halt when the small cracking voice deterred her, and the rail thin body of what seemed to be an eight year old moved onto the sidewalk. The girls face was washed with dirt, feces, and Jettie merely shuttered at the thought of whatever else. A single daisy was offered, a beautiful bloom of nature, clutched tight like gold and jewelry in the child's hands. Stooping down to become a less intimidating height of five foot seven, with a knee pressed into the dirt of inner city London, Jettie rested a hand on the little girl's shoulder.
“Cut your hair. Steal some pants. Never wash your face. And join the sweepers.” The girls eyes grew wide, the inkwells of black pooling with a known fear. Chimney sweepers were all small boys, who never lived past twelve after the coal had entered their lungs. Jettie started to nod then, her up-swept tawny hair falling a tad in spiraling tendrils, to rest over a dark, dirty cloak. “You must. You will last longer than what some will start to do to you. “ Straightening up, a coin was flipped to the child, and before the girl could reply with a choked appreciation. The woman was already gone.
–
Business completed in the Old Town, a bright an fanciful world was approaching in another block or so. Even now the sounds of steam engines hummed in the air, and the tinkering brass was like a miracle worker for the soul. Jettie Quinn was tall for her sex, but that never stopped the men from notching such an array of intimidating complexity. Sooty eyelashes framed almond shaped irises of the most starting jade. The pupils of darkness expanded in the milky gem colors to shadow emotions, such emotions that did not hinder the inventor. Yet seemed to make grown men shy away. Though she was twenty-six, her body was still ripe with youth and maturity.
Before turning out of an alley way onto a bustling street of wealthy commoners, and carriage hailing nobles, Jet whipped off her cloak, now dirty with soiled smells, to reveal what would have gotten her mugged, murdered, and possibly thrown to the dogs. Cloth, pure white, hugged each dip in body proportion. The material was vivid and lovely, a soft movement of elegance to her skin with each dainty well played step. The bosom cut was oval, one deep scoop to barely cover. Her chest was tanned, and decorated with the post peculiar colorful tattoo's that went from one side of her heart, and in intricate designs to both arms. Covering them completely. Gears. The tattoo's were of gears, wires, and a billowing smoke of steam that was her passion.
Many she passed while strolling down the cleaner sidewalks nodded in greeting, and full lips spread wide in a dazzling response. Turning into one doorway a blast of cigar smoke assaulted her visage. Swiping a hand to and fro to her face, Jetttie peered in at the dim room.
“Francis! Are you here?” She called out, squinting to see through a smoke haze.
“Yes I am here, blasted woman. I own the place. Get in from the light, woman.” Came a burly response.
Jettie stepped into the bar, and every man there shuffled in an uncomfortable manner. She was dressed fancy today. Most men rarely saw Jet' out of work leather and grease. Leaning over the bar, Francis was puffing on a fat cigar, looked more annoyed than usual.
“Another murder, Jet. You shouldn't come here until we find out who seems to be picking off my customers.”
“Haha, how silly. I am your most prized customer, so shut it Francis. Was it another Noble?”
“Can't say. The rats did him in.”
Jettie shuddered. Rats. Were not just mere little mice that nibbled on cheese, these rats Francis spoke of were the size of dogs. Huge packs that could infect and kill.
“Well. Let's see if I can fix that. Bring his body to my lab. I am sure his family wants to know about him.” Cheerfully said, her mouth tight with a smile. It was most likely a noble. The people she absolutely hated dealing with.