I can show you, I can show you...
WHO: Grell Sutcliff {chainsaw_juliet} and Madam Red {redtribution
WHAT: A meeting at the docks
WHERE: The Docks
WHEN: Mid-afternoon
Sand. There was sand on her boots. Angelina picked up the hems of her velvet skirts and scoffed in distaste. Somehow her hat had gone missing and her clothing was in tatters- …What was this bloodstain and tear on her chest? It seemed a devastating cut, right between her breasts. She paid no mind to that now. There were more important matters to attend to, such as her location. This old boat was rickety, nothing like the grand ships and yachts she had attended parties on. A shiny, rich-smelling leather journal had been passed to her with brief, gruff instructions.
She wrinkled her nose at the man’s rude tone of voice. Honestly, military types. Biting off a torn leather glove and discarding it over the bow, she folded open the journal. Sure enough, entries were appearing on the pages like an amusing toy Ciel might’ve created. What a curious thing! Angelina turned it in all directions, shaking the book as if the words and pictures might tumble out.
“What in all the worlds…”
Angelina perched herself atop a barrel, dusting it first with a hand, which was rather ludicrous considering the state of her dress. Thumbing through the pages were faces and names she had never heard before. Strange, since she knew nearly everyone in London, to see so many that she didn’t know. And then there, there was that ridiculous mop of red hair and toothy grin she recognized so well.
After a short exchange with her butler, who seemed strangely alarmed and subdued to see her, the ship lurched as it met the shoreline. Angelina tumbled forward, and had barely righted herself when she was manhandled down the gangplank.
"Unhand me you animals!" She ordered, but was not obeyed.
It took uisng her many years of balance training to keep herself from falling in the mud as she disembarked. It was at that time that the sky decided it was a good idea to rid itself of moisture, and it began to rain. Angelina craned her head back in defiance to the clouds. The rain often made her ill, even with the best protection. Out here bare, she was bound to catch a cold. Dismayed and soaked, Angelina huddled on the docks, eyes narrowed. Oh, she would kill that Grell when she saw him.
WHAT: A meeting at the docks
WHERE: The Docks
WHEN: Mid-afternoon
Sand. There was sand on her boots. Angelina picked up the hems of her velvet skirts and scoffed in distaste. Somehow her hat had gone missing and her clothing was in tatters- …What was this bloodstain and tear on her chest? It seemed a devastating cut, right between her breasts. She paid no mind to that now. There were more important matters to attend to, such as her location. This old boat was rickety, nothing like the grand ships and yachts she had attended parties on. A shiny, rich-smelling leather journal had been passed to her with brief, gruff instructions.
She wrinkled her nose at the man’s rude tone of voice. Honestly, military types. Biting off a torn leather glove and discarding it over the bow, she folded open the journal. Sure enough, entries were appearing on the pages like an amusing toy Ciel might’ve created. What a curious thing! Angelina turned it in all directions, shaking the book as if the words and pictures might tumble out.
“What in all the worlds…”
Angelina perched herself atop a barrel, dusting it first with a hand, which was rather ludicrous considering the state of her dress. Thumbing through the pages were faces and names she had never heard before. Strange, since she knew nearly everyone in London, to see so many that she didn’t know. And then there, there was that ridiculous mop of red hair and toothy grin she recognized so well.
After a short exchange with her butler, who seemed strangely alarmed and subdued to see her, the ship lurched as it met the shoreline. Angelina tumbled forward, and had barely righted herself when she was manhandled down the gangplank.
"Unhand me you animals!" She ordered, but was not obeyed.
It took uisng her many years of balance training to keep herself from falling in the mud as she disembarked. It was at that time that the sky decided it was a good idea to rid itself of moisture, and it began to rain. Angelina craned her head back in defiance to the clouds. The rain often made her ill, even with the best protection. Out here bare, she was bound to catch a cold. Dismayed and soaked, Angelina huddled on the docks, eyes narrowed. Oh, she would kill that Grell when she saw him.