A cool night, though it was always cool in the Neath, today was especially cool. Fog rolled in with an exceptionally musty smell of fungus and wet rock, sweeping through the streets. The wood of the large house smells like it was rotting, a dusty smell.
Able had successfully entered the house through the cleaning staff, no one batting an eye when he showed up in full maid frock and apron. The staff in fact seemed to be a bit relieved.
"Oh thank the stars someone sent in a man who can lift this."
"Oh he's so pretty in that dress."
"How do you think the head housekeeper knows him?"
He keeps his head low, doing nothing but basic chores the first day in. He wanted to keep the illusion up as best as he could, the risk for failing was often brutal. He needed something from the main bedroom, a dangerous mark in a similarly deadly house.
The day was fairly boring. He did have reason to get closer to a young lady that seemed to know something. He was suspicious of her activities in poking around the kitchen, wondering what she could possibly need at such an hour.
He was nudged by the other staff to talk with her, seeming wary as to her position, as none of them knew her very well. Able relented, and found her in the kitchen again. He clears his throat.
Able: Ahem. What is it that you need....er...? In the kitchen, a woman is inspecting the dishes that the house's servants have prepared in advance for the house's late meal.
Her hair is a dark auburn brown, the woven straight mass tied back into a bun with a barrette and pin. Her skin is colored a fair, pale brown, the signs of age heavy on her cheeks and round her eyes. She is clothed in a black frock with brass buttons running along the back and lace accents on the front, lying perfectly in-between the simplicity of the servants and the prestige of the house's residents.
She is leaning over a pot, the lid in her hand as she stares inside.
???: -Under her breath.- . . .the meat is well rendered; that ought to be strong enough. . .ah, but. . .
She lifts her head, looking at Able with a tight-lipped frown. She looks frustrated, her eyebrows furrowed before she turns back to the dishes.
???: Ah. I need nothing from you; unless you can get me one of the chefs for me to talk to.
???: -Replacing the lid; scowling under her breath.- Honestly. . .told them several times. . .Elena has the vapors; . . .can't. . . any sort of spices or she'll get worse. . . Able was miffed, but settled his anger to fit his role. He had no intention of dropping his cover for this woman's manners. Able moves to the side of the woman, wondering what she could possibly have to fuss over. It looked fine.
Able: I can contact the chef. Anything in particular that's bothering you?
Able soothes his initial anger, looking up at the woman. The matron turns towards Able, turning their chin up.
???: Well. Tell the chef to not use as much pepper and salt for the children's meals. Elena has the vapors, and her sister Madeline shows signs of developing it; anything strong will send her into hysteria.
She turns back towards the dishes, muttering under her breath.
???: -Low.- . . .and such free reign to sweets. . .she's not going to be of good constitution if she's not properly nourished. . .
Able: Ah, Of course ma'am. I will let them know right away.
Able moves out of the kitchen, and back into the staff quarters. He is quickly accosted by the staff standing in the doorway, asking questions a mile a minute.
Able had formed a good idea of the household layout. He'd gotten enough information and needless gossip from the staff who'd exchanged this for the information he'd gathered about the woman. It wasn't a lot, honestly, but enough to sate their curiosity. They seemed rather wary around her in general, and Able gave her a wide birth when he saw her on his cleaning routine.
The day ended and the next was the day he was ready to get into position. He had snuck into the room he'd suspected the items to be located.
He was unfortunately correct, it was the master bedroom. He needed to get in quietly while they slept. He'd been told they would not leave it in the room while they were out. He just needed a single mirror, and he'd be set for a month.
He scoots along the dark room, being quiet as to not wake two in the bed. He is careful, and moves to the wardrobe. He can't find it in any of the pockets. It must be in the table.
Able moves to the table, and softly opens the drawer. He pauses when he hears their breathing catch, and continues as it smooths out. He reaches into it, pulling out a fist sized pocket mirror.
It was much less impressive than he thought it'd be. A simple silver etched pocket mirror. He wondered if maybe it was more impressive inside? He shakes his head, pocketing it. He wasn't paid to ask too much. The matron was waiting in the dark room, hiding in the corner of the dark bedroom. She's no longer wearing her frock, instead dressed in a looser blouse and pants, with a snug band of fabric around her waist. One of her hands is resting on the back of her head and lightly clasping the pin in her hair, while the other rests on a dagger on her hip.
She was waiting for the head of the house to wake, so she could murder him. It was imperative that they were awake, according to her employer; that they be conscious, late at night, and that the house hears the struggle. The reason why was irrelevant; what matters is that she's earning a healthy income.
Her focus on the bed was so great that she didn't notice Able entering; her hands clenched around her weapons as the master in bed paused his snoring. . .
. . .before she squinted; in the corner of her gaze, she saw a glint. She quietly unsheathes her knife, her eyes staring at the intruder she was now aware off. Was that the glint of a knife? She was not going to lose her commission again. She walks lightly, holding the knife in her hand before hooking her elbow around Able's neck, squeezing tightly and stepping back towards the door.
???: -Breathed.- Don't retaliate. Be quiet.
Her knife is pressing up against the small of Able's back, threatening to stab him if he struggled. She steps along towards the door, slowly opening the greased doors (pre-oiled during her original scouting of the house) and pulling Able out into the hallway.
She pushes Able aside, standing defensively with her knife raised.
???: -Hissed whispering.- So, who hired you? Able bites his tongue, allowing himself to be dragged out without a fuss. If she wanted him dead he would have been dead, he figured. He looks around the hallway he's pushed into, making sure the two of them were alone.
Able: Excuse me?
He whispers, putting a healthy amount of distance between the two of them, staring her down. He didn't know if she was going to cause trouble. The matron(?) looks at Able's hand, scowling and lowering her knife. Her face looks slightly off; she's missing the wrinkles around her eyes.
???: . . .you're not a murderer, you're just a thief.
She squints, staring at Able a bit more.
???: . . .hang on. . .you're that maid. Able puts a hand on his hip, and huffs.
Able: And you're that miss taking care of the children, yes?
He looks a bit annoyed, but he did get what he came here for.
Able: What's a gal like you doing in the master bedroom anyhow?
She scowls, turning to the door and holding a knife up towards Able to keep him a fair distance away.
???: -Quiet whispering.- I'm trying to murder someone here, and I'd like if you kept quiet instead of making me make you quiet.
???: -Holding their ear to the door; disgruntled.- Already lost my commission before. . .blasted teacher had more enemies than I thought, if she's turned up headless. . .
Able blinks. He thought he was more careful than that. He didn't think anyone would find the body.
Able: Ah... the lass in the correspondence hall?
Able looks away.
Able: -to himself, quietly muttering- ...I thought I.... Hm... More fire...? The matron(?) pauses, pulling away from the door.
???: -Measured.- . . .how do you know that?
Her grip on the knife tightens.
Able scratches the back of his head, looking at the door at the end of the hallway, not paying much attention.
Able: Ahh... Yeah see....
He looks a bit sick remembering it all.
Able: Sorry? I suppose?
She stares at Able, her hair standing on end as her eyebrows furrows and her jaw widens.
???: -Furious.- . . .sorry? That's it?
Her arms tremble against the door before she moves in a flash; she swung her arm quick, the butt of her knife landing square on Able's nose and cracking loudly in the hall.
???: -Barely restrained whisper-yelling.- You robbed me of a month's worth of income, is what you did! Spent two months trying to get at her in a private setting, and it would've been worth it, but I find her in burnt pieces all because of you!?
Able cries out, clutching his face as a sharp pain runs through it. He falls back, a little dazed. His nose is bleeding profusely.
Able: Augh hell!
He hisses. Both of their noises alerting someone in the master bedroom, and a few folks nearing the entrance of the hallway.
"What was that?"
"Did someone fall down?"
"Who is even up at this hour?"
Able: Ahhg, fucking...
He groans, quickly standing up and nearly tackling the lass to haul her over his shoulder as he stands. She rants and raves the whole time, clearly upset.
Able: No time, let's go.
He kicks open the door splitting the hallway and leading out to a window he'd left open, and quickly jumps out. He didn't land right, his ankle twisting bad and he falls over as he hits the stone road beneath. He drops the woman, but Able takes the brunt of the fall.
Able hears more commotion up through the window, and grips her wrist, pulling her along away from the home. He limps the whole time, mainly focusing on one leg as he makes his way into a nearby alley. He planned his route out, and this was the closest outside the vision of the window.
He presses his back against the cold brick of the building making up the alley, taking the pressure off of his newly injured ankle. He sighs, releasing the lass, just glad to be out. The woman turns on Able, their face contorted in a mixture of frustration and vague hurt...and also disfigured; it looks like the right side of their face has sloughed off, revealing more youthful skin underneath the barely attached, wrinkled facsimile.
???: -Bitter.- Well, you got what you needed out of this.
Able waves off her grumbling. He touches his nose, hissing.
Able: Well. Looks like you broke it.
He looks up at her face, cocking an eyebrow. That was unusual.
Able: Your face is slipping off. Might want to get that checked out.
The woman raises a hand to her "face", feeling the rubbery texture before sighing.
???: Well. There goes a whole week of work.
She grabs at her face, pulling it off with ease; the backside of the torn mass is the sickly gray of what appears to be rubbery, moist clay.
Underneath, there is the face of an annoyed, vaguely aged woman. Her face is variegated with patches of white skin peppering a light coffee tone, a cut in her right eyebrow from an old wound.
She tosses the false face to the ground, groaning.
???: A wasted face. God, that took forever; do you understand how hard it is to scratch in wrinkles without it looking like cuts?
???: -Crossing her arms; slightly pleased.- . . .at least I got to break your face.
Able: Ah, I see.
Able touches his nose again, hissing. He might need to get that straightened out. He snickers a bit, amused regardless.
Able: Ha. I think you did more than that.
Able sighs heavily.
Able: Sorry. Ahh.. The woman was a personal request. I don't typically make it a habit to... Kill others.
He looks downright uncomfortable just thinking about it. Of course it could also be the foot he's tepidly touching to the ground, wincing whenever it does.
???: -Snorting; sarcastic.- Yes, I'll accept your apology. Just as good as the two hundred echoes I would've received.
She snickers a bit too derisively to herself for a moment before sighing, cradling her temples with her fingertips for a moment.
???: -Sighing.- . . .well. I'm not gonna get anything from this either. . .the poison will finish them off, but I don't know if the flat price will be enough. . .
Able: Well if it's payment you want, I have a job for ya.
Able reaches into the front frock pocket of the apron and pulls out a pocket mirror.
Able: This should cover it. Just need you to drag my sorry hide to the church down Ladybones.
Able holds out the rather plain looking pocket mirror.
Able: Was told not to open it, I wonder if the missus has a sunlight addiction. You can exchange it to a certain vendor that I'll give you the contacts for afterwards. He was very interested in it.
The woman squints at Able, before grabbing at the pocket mirror from Able's hand.
???: Good enough for me.
The lady moves to Able's shoulder, hoisting him up by the shoulder carelessly.
???: -Sweetly.- Now, if this turns out to be a roundabout way of getting me thrown in jail, I'll be sure to have you beheaded, alright darling?
Able hisses, a little pained by being moved so quickly.
Able: Ahhh, that sounds nice.
Able laughs, amused to be so bluntly threatened. This girl was certainly not one he wanted to make more of an enemy of, he mused.
The deacon had finished the sermon of Saturday. The church on that day was always very packed, for, since he never preached on Sundays, it was considered the last day for a good sermon (never mind that he would be publicly open in two days after). Currently, the deacon is lounging in the bedroom upstairs, lying on the newly installed bed. They're sitting back, reading a book (a criticism of the church denominations) and resting without really resting, their thoughts preoccupied with what they're going to do tomorrow. Able and the woman had loudly made themselves inside the church. Able groans, not wanting to head up all those ladders on a sprained ankle. He thinks about it for a moment. He shrugs, figuring he could just as well deal with shouting.
Able: -Shouting towards the ladder- I'm just gonna sit in the pews if that's alright with you!
Able sighs, looking over at the gal.
Able: Thank you. The deacon looks up from their book, furrowing their eyebrows. Strange. Not the visit; Able has become more irregular in his visits, and coming round more than usual on days other than Sunday. Why wasn't he coming up, though?
Virgil: -Raising their voice.- . . .that's permissible! Don't scuff the brass!
The lady drops Able onto the nearest pew, sighing as she does so.
???: Great, there you are.
The woman looks around, whistling as she looks at the brass inlays and pews.
???: -Impressed.- . . .whew. You live here or something? That's genuine brass, isn't it?
The deacon pauses, looking up from their book. Did they hear someone else? . .who was that? Able winces, but leans back. He moves himself so his foot doesn't settle onto the floor.
Able: Ah, no. It is nice though isn't it? A little gaudy for my tastes, though.
He snickers. Reaching into his front apron pocket, pulling out a scrap of paper.
Able: Right, you will want this. He likely wont ask too many questions, and the echoes are good for this little trinket. The deacon gets up from their bed, heading towards the ladder. There's someone else here. That, and with Able not coming up as usual. . . He steps down the ladder, his steps silent on the rungs. Meanwhile, the lady snatches at the scrap of paper, holding it around and reading.
???: . . .hm. Dubious, but can't be any worse than anything else that I have to do.
She gestures at Able's face, the piece of paper flapping in the air. Her face is stern, her voice sounding as if she was scolding a child instead of threatening Able.
???: Now, if this turns out to be a trap , I'll make sure that your kneecaps end up like your nose once I get out, y'hear?
Virgil: Excuse me?
The deacon is standing at the opposite end of the room, holding a rather hefty volume of the Old Testaments. The woman looks up, her gaze hardening.
???: -To Able.- . . .this is your house, correct?
The deacon's eyes lose cohesion for a moment before his arms move in a blur; the woman shrieks, her hands raising in self-defense. . .
???: -Shrieking.- Ah!
. . .and catching the hefty book, stumbling back a little from the impact.
???: -Inspecting the book.- . . .oh, the Old Testaments. . .an old volume, at that. . .
She drops the book nonchalantly onto Able, her eyebrows furrowed. The deacon is stepping towards the woman, his shoes clicking and echoing in the empty church with the intensity of his steps.
Virgil: -Even.- What are you doing in my church?
Able was about to offer a snide remark towards the woman before Virgil steps in. He looks surprised and then annoyed. He huffs at the heavy book dropped into his lap, sliding it off of him.
Able: Oy, that's no way to treat a lady. Honestly.
Able sighs heavily, rubbing his temples.
Able: I needed assistance and she gave it. It would have taken me much longer to get here if she didn't.
Able leans back, moving his leg again, hissing.
The deacon pauses in the middle of their run, before stepping a bit more slowly towards Able.
Virgil: -Chuffed.- . . .you could've said.
???: -Hands raised.- I'd like to say that he didn't say that this was someone else's hou- hey!
The deacon pushes aside the woman, before pausing for a moment.
Virgil: -Lightly.- . . .you're dressed like a maid.
Able: You could have also asked...
Able looks down at himself and then up at Virgil.
Able: Yes? Sometimes I need to blend in.
Virgil: -Tense.- Why like this though. . .right, what did you injure. . ?
The deacon moves their hands along Able, moving him into a lying position across the pew's seats; he pauses for a moment before lifting the dress hem, to inspect his legs.
The woman stands back, inspecting the pocket mirror in her hand and rolling it in her palm like a flat stone.
???: -Leaning against an adjacent pew.- . . .so, are you two lovers, or just folks that regularly know each other?
Able: It's all they had.
Able winces, lifting the leg with the rolled ankle, already swollen. It looked bad at a first glance, but it would likely be fine in a few days.
Able: Well besides my face, my ankle hurts like-
Able looks over at the woman, suddenly aware of how this looks. He quickly turns his head away, a little flush about it.
Able: A-Ah...
Virgil: -Flatly; slightly irritated.- No, I'm just moving my hands up along his legs to figure out his sex.
???: Ah, very good lovers, then.
The deacon feels Able's ankle, before withdrawing.
Virgil: -Furrowing his eyebrows.- What did you do?
The deacon tenderly holds Able's ankle, nudging it slowly to see when Able winces.
Virgil: -Sighing.- You're going to have to wear a brace for a while. . .
The woman heads towards the door, opening it and talking without turning back.
???: Well, I can see that I'm no longer needed here; I'm sure you know how to treat a broken ankle better than me, so. . .bye!
She hurries out the front door, the door swinging closed behind her. The deacon pays no attention, focusing on Able's ankle and not paying any remarks.
Able grimaces at the grabbing and poking. It was extremely sensitive it seems.
Able: Jumped out a second story window?
Able smiles sheepishly. He gives a nod at the woman as she leaves.
Able: I think my nose is crooked.
Able's nose was tilting a little to the left. Beyond that his face was coated in dried blood. He looks down a bit.
Able: Ah... my collar is stained. Annoying.
The deacon scowls, gently letting go of his ankle and moving towards his face.
Virgil: You broke your nose. . .did you fall onto your face?
The deacon cradles Able's head and holding his nose.
Virgil: Stay still for a moment.
Able: No I got hit by a knife handle.
He grunts, gripping the edges of the apron to steel himself.
Virgil: That'd do it.
The deacon quickly snaps their hand to the right, resetting Able's nose back into place with a crack.
Able cries out in pain, tears briefly welling up in his eyes. He quickly settles, the pain moving from sharp to dull pulsing.
Able: Augh Christ!
Able: Ahh.. thank you.. Ow..
Virgil: You're welcome.
The deacon moves their hands across Able's leg, moving it aside a bit as they mutter.
Virgil: -Sighing.- I'm sure I have some bandages you can use. Even though you don't have an open wound, you're going to need to keep your ankle in a tight brace.
They gently settle Able's ankle down. . .
Virgil: -Muttering.- . . .it'll need to be wrapped tight. . .
. . .pausing for a moment longer, before squeezing Able's leg.
Virgil: . . .do you intend on keeping this?
Able blinks looking up at the deacon.
Able: Er.. Are you excited by this..?
Able grins, leaning back a bit.
Able: Mh. I can.
He pauses for a moment.
Able: Ah.. Not tonight though, I have to head back.
Able sets towards home, bandaged up and still limping. He felt slightly more put together, but sore nonetheless. He needed to feed his pets, regardless of Virgil's advances. He wondered how much they'd knocked over while he'd left, sighing as he opened the door.
In Able's living room, the woman is looking around, trying to gingerly step around the weasels in the room.
???: Oh, he has pets. . .people who have pets are good folks, usually. . .
It was surprisingly easy to get into the place, given that the owner was emotionally indisposed; the simple claim of "I'm hired to clean" was enough to get in. She wasn't here to do anything, though; she was here to leave something.
???: The table should be fine. . .this place doesn't have a cleaning crew, I hope. . .
She reaches into her pocket, before freezing as the front door begins to open; she quickly moves to dusting off the table, whistling quietly to herself and trying to make herself look like she's busy and belongs here. Able stands at the edge of the doorway, looking confused. He quietly closes the door behind him, and calmly walks up to the woman, eyebrows furrowed.
Able: ...What are you doing here?
He also wanted to know how she got in but that was likely the same story any thief could tell. He should change his locks. The weasels were pouncing around, smelling the new person with confusion before devolving into play-fighting amongst themselves.
The woman turns her head, confidently speaking. . .
???: Hm? Why, I'm. . .er.
. . .before trailing off as she sees Able walking in. Ah. She thought he was the owner, checking up on the guest he let in.
???: -Chuffed.- . . .well, clearly I'm the maid. Can't you tell?
She swipes her hands across the desk, shaking non-existent dust off her hand while she holds her hip.
???: -Smiling.- Least, a better maid than you.
Able blinks, looking down at the weasels briefly before back up at her. He looks amused, cocking an eyebrow.
Able: You..
Able laughs a bit, moving to his couch, sitting to relieve pressure off of his foot.
Able: Ha! Am I to pay you for that too?
Able snickers.
???: Yes, of course. A hundred and fifty echoes, please; I charge by the minute.
She sighs, leaning against the table.
???: And here I thought I could do a good thing without being known. That's always a good role, inn'it? The mysterious do-gooder. Doing good.
She reaches into her pocket, before tossing a bag of echoes at Able, sighing.
???: -Sarcastic.- Shame, really, that I can't be a mysterious figure. You've robbed me of the potential of being a grossly misrepresented character in a supposedly true book. That'll be another hundred echoes, on top of the cleaning.
Able grabs the bag, taking a peek inside before placing them next to him. He smiles.
Able: Ah of course. I am a thief after all.
Able does a vague shrug, dramatically sighing.
Able: Mystery solved, but you still haven't said your name. At least you have that, huh?
The woman muses for a moment, before snapping her fingers.
???: . . .I'll give you a name if you'll give me a month. Any month of the year.
Able leans back a bit.
Able: February.
Able looks down at Magenta, who hops up onto the couch, and is quickly joined by Swees. Both weasels lay in his lap.
Able: Ah, and thank you for the cut.
Able absentmindedly pets the weasels.
???: Right, then. You can call me Violet, for the rest of this month, at least.
The woman moves around, stepping over the weasels carefully as she makes her way towards the door.
Violet: Do they have names, or are they just really comfortable strays?
Able: Alright, Violet.
Able points through the weasels as he lists names.
Able: Magenta is my oldest girl, then I have Swees here, Winter, and Elle. I've had them a while now.
Able smiles, looking down at the now three weasels(Elle had joined the pile) in his lap.
Violet: That's. . .rather sweet. Any meaning behind the name?
She leans against the front door, brushing the hair out of her eyes.
Able: Oh, not particularly. I just wanted to pick what most fit their personality. Except Swees who sort of came with her name, poor dear was trapped in her old home.
Winter joins the pile, making it completely impossible for Able to move now without uprooting them.
Able: Magenta looks tough but is the sweetest dear, a color that suits her. Winter just seems to have a cooler colored coat than the rest.
Able sighs, his hand being gently nipped at.
Able: Ah... Elle was.. She is named a bit after my first gal, I had her for a while, Elizabeth. A gentle girl.
Violet: Well, they seem to be well taken care of.
Violet opens the door, moving around it.
Violet: Now, I am going to take my leave.
Violet: -Squinting; dramatically.- I need to go murder. . .
Violet: . . .some food, because I haven't eaten yet and I am starving. Treat those weasels well! Bye!
She swings out through the door, closing it shut behind her; she looks at the floor, making sure no weasels skitter out as she leaves.