World Tree MUSH

    Ah, Victorian London. The world frozen in time where child-filled workhouses were a popular way to put your children to work, and before the gruesome murders that would consume it later in Whitechapel. 

    Here, on the edge of the Thames, is where people typically end up dumping out of the Multiverse. On occasion right into the putrid waters of the waste-filled river. 

    As glamourized as it is for the memories of the rich worth recording, the working man's -- or woman's -- London is hardly sanitized. 

    Heavy coal smoke hangs in the air, casting a hazy light around the gaslamps. Water laps at the edge of the water and pleads against barges in the river, and the odd hansom rattle by, drawn by a tired horse.

Serrah has been wandering as far afield as she could, but when your whole goal is to get lost, you don't exactly have something measurable, and she's been slightly sensing Vincent getting closer from time to time.

So she's just wandering along in a more-or-less period-appropriate black dress plus a funeral veil -- she's pleased with that particular touch -- although it doesn't completely hide the red streak in her black hair, nor the red eyes or the unhealthy appearance of what skin is visible. Adding to the veil is the fact that she looks fairly glum, for fairly obvious reasons.

(Although she was lucky enough to find a restaurant earlier where she could order a black pudding with no garlic, so she's at least somewhat satisfied by her visit here.)

    "'Allo, allo, what's this then?" comes a voice from the shadows, and a few gentlemen armed with knives step out of the shadows between a warehouse and a pub. They're wearing black bowler caps and red jackets. 

    "Poor miss, already wearin' funeral blacks. Whut, did your mister take a tumble t'th' river, miss?" asks one particularly ugly gent, a bit portly, a scraggly mustache clinging to his face. 

    The others begin to circle a little bit. 

    "Cor, Mark, this is Rook territory -- shouldn't be messin' with no bird."

Serrah comes to a stop. Really, there is nothing she wants less than to deal with a gaggle of thugs right now. Really, the best thing to do is just zip away using her special ability. Or one of her standard vampire abilities. Yeah, just disappear right in front of them, that's the best way to handle this.

... though she can't resist the inexplicable urge to at least mess with them on her way out.

"No mister for me," she says, her voice betraying no emotion. "Only a 'His Grace.' As for whose funeral it is ..." She pulls back the veil, and grins a fangy grin which doesn't come anywhere near her eyes. Is that even a grin? Well ... definitely fangy, at least. "... it's mine."

... Not a bad way of putting things out there. But her heart clearly isn't in it.

    The toughs look at one another. The big one with the mustache rubs his chin a moment as he looks to the others "Welp. I don't recall any *Nobility* dyin', 'cept the one tha' got offed in Pailament. So iffin' you're not minding, miss," the bigger man states. "I'll kindly keep myself away from y' odd teeth an' just take your purse." 

    There's a disappointed sound. 

    "Tch. Really, gentlemen. A lady in mourning and you're after her purse?" comes a voice, and a broad-shouldered man with some short muton chops, bright, dark eyes peering out from beneath the rim of a top hat. He brushes off his jacket a moment, and taps a walking cane against the ground. "All the more pity that you're tip-toeing into *our* borough, but picking on young widows? Something I simply can't tolerate~."

Serrah lets out a sigh. "'Welp' is right, but not for the reasons you're thinking," she says. "I guess that kind of trash talk is above your mental pay grade, huh? I think it's time to show you the --"

She's interrupted by the arrival of the newcomer. She turns, and gives him a critical eye. "... huh."

She looks around at the rest of the group. "Any objections to me just disappearing from here? I really don't feel like getting into a scrap today." She still sounds fairly toneless. Not exactly hopeless, but her voice is matching her gloomy demeanor.

    "Good lady, don't worry yourself -- these Ruffians were just making themselves scarce!" The newcomer crows gently, and then between his teeth he mutters "Scram, Blighters. I'm generous tonight." he states, and even offers his arm to Serrah before he whispers: 

    "They've got a nother half dozen around the block waiting for us to run. Take my arm, keep walking straight, I'll see you to safety." he states in a barely audiable voice. He smells vaugely of something distantly herby, and something drastically sweet tobacco -- and the smell of blood clings to him. 

    The gentlemen in red appear to tense a moment, but they throw a couple of rude gestures -- before to their left, shots ring out, and men -- and a few women! -- wearing yellow and green jackets fire off revolvers at the men in Red. 

    "Keep walking."

Serrah considers this a moment as she takes the man's arm. "Well, you're, uh, a better kind of gentleman than the one I was worried about running into," she says dryly. She pauses as he warns him about others waiting for them to run. "Yeah, I figured it'd be something like that," she murmurs.

She jumps slightly when the shots ring out. "Actually, I have a better idea," she says quickly, shifting her grip on his arm. "How about I show you to safety?"

And with that, there's a sudden ripple of light, and the world turns gray and purple. And silent. And everyone except Serrah and the man are frozen in place.

Or more accurately, frozen in time.

    "Don't worry about a thing, they were tresspassing and harassing people in--" the dark-eyed man trails off, and his lips purse a moment at the ripple of light. 

    Everything Stops. 

    And he looks vaguely impressed, looking around with the utmost surprise. 

    "... I don't suppose you're a friend of one Mr. Henry Green, are you? Alec Bell? This is..." he purses his lips again. 

    "... oh she'd be ripped if she saw this."

"Don't let go of my arm," says Serrah, strolling along through the frozen time. Her glum spirits seem to be lifting, and she actually cracks a half-smile. "Uh ... nope, don't know a Henry Green. Or ... Alec Bell, unless you mean Alexander Graham Bell, and he was before my ... I mean, I've never met him personally or associated with him or anything." She isn't sure why she's being cagey about being temporally displaced. "This is just a li'l trick I seem to have picked up when I died."

She glances around. "Lemme know when we're at a good place to stop, you know this place and the state of the battlefield better than I do."

    "Huh. The man has admirers. Hold up here -- this is a good place. That's our Pub." the man states, cordially holding onto Serrah's arm as they trail through the street and he looks around in wonder. "My sister's bound to be inside though, so best get it outta the way --" he brightens, and gives a grin. "Would you like to join The Rooks? We're always on the look out for new talent, and I just can't help but noticing that you're not precisely from around London. Might be a tad bit safer to close ranks, right?"

Right as the man says the word 'Pub' ... Serrah stumbles slightly, there's another ripple, and the world returns to normal. To anyone who was looking, it looks like the two of them simply ... changed places. There's no transition, no light show or anything; one proverbial frame of animation, they were in the thick of the gang war, and another, they were within sight of the Pub. "Whoops," she mumbles. "Guess I had less 'time' than I thought."

She considers the offer, and shrugs. "Sorry, gonna have to decline," she says. "It's not a good idea for me to stay in one place for too long, if you take my meaning." She takes off the hat and veil, and they vanish in a swirl of shadow. Her hair now seems to have a couple of tufts which sort of resemble cat-ears. "Name's Serrah Delany, by the way. You?"

    "Figured as much." the man gives a wry grin, "But I saw you consider, just for a moment, how completely dashing you'd look in one of our uniforms." he jokes with a bit of flirt to his voice as he gives a wink, and allows Serra to have her arm back as he brushes off his jacket. 

    "Now I'm not ordinarily used to a lady saving the day, I don't suppose you'll humour me for one drink? After all, this is /my/ establishment, in /my/ borough of the city, and my name is--" 

    There's a shadow darkening the doorway and a familiar rings out 

    "/Jacob Frye!/" 

    Jacob's face wrinkles a moment. "At your service." He grins, and then turns around, looping an arm over Serrah's shoulders and raises his hat. 

    "And there is my sister! Oh, Sister Dearest, you'll never guess who the newest member of the Rooks is~!" he calls out, and just gives a playful, but wicked grin to Serrah. 

    Meanwhile Evie Frye seethes a moment before she registers just /who/-- 

    "Jacob. No. Miss Delany is certainly /not/ joining *The Rooks*."

Serrah smirks slightly. "Eh, I can handle 'dashing' on my own time," she says. "Plus 'running' and 'sprinting' as well, if it comes to that, but usually my style is more 'sauntering'." She glances down at herself. "And I'm starting to rethink the whole 'funeral' thing, feel like it's kind of played out. No objections to a drink, though."

When Evie makes herself known, she chortles and turns, shooting her an easier smile than she's had all week. "Hey, Frye," she says, pushing Jacob's arm off her shoulder the minute it's around her. "How's it going?"

    "... OH! You've /met/!" Jacob exclaims with great glee, giving a toothy smile to Serrah. 

    "Miss Delany, I must apologize for any uncouth behavior my brother might have put upon you -- had I known you'd arrive in our London I would have come to meet you!" Evie states, flushed and embarrassed. 

    "Oh, no 'hullo Jacob, thank you for retreiving my friend Jacob, goodness Jacob you're bleeding from your side--" he trials off, throwing one arm up as Serra removes his arm fro m her shoulder, but it's clear that while Jacob is enjoying the bit of fun, Evie is not. The siblings look at each other, and Evie gives a sigh. 

    "Jacob is far more a bon vivant than I care to be, but please, do come in. It's not our home but--" 

    "It's our home away from home!~"

Serrah nods to Evie, pointedly ignoring Jacob. "Eh, it's fine," she says, stepping in at Evie's invitation. "Neither his heart nor his buffoonery are anywhere near as bad as Vinny's, and he's actually helpful to boot, so ... yeah." She then looks sidelong at Jacob. "Thanks, by the way," she adds, sincerity in her voice. "I had at least three ways of getting away besides my little trick I showed you, but I do appreciate the gesture."

She glances at the door, before turning back to Evie. "So how're you doing?" she says. "I've been just ... playing World Tree-Keepaway with His Nibs. Didn't expect to wander into your world."

    "World tree?" Jacob inquires, removing his outer jacket, and his vest, "His nibs?" 

    There is truly some blood on him, along with a pen-knife hole in his shirt. 

    Inside, the pub is in full swing. There's some celebratory thing going on, Rooks in yellow jumpers and jackets cheering, clapping each other on theb ack and doing what working class thugs in Victorian London do best -- getting drunk. 

    "His heart is in the right place, I promise. Rough around the edges, but there are few I would rather have watching my back. When he's not mucking up the bank of England." 

    "OI! That was a perfectly good--" Jacob begins, and then just gives up, leaning back in an undershirt. "Eeh. All right, tha's on me." 

    "And, incidentally, it's a bit of a challenge to even get back here most times. London is not an easy place to find." Evie admits quietly, "And leaving is trickier still." 

    She turns, "Rupert, go down the way to Mr. Hodge's shop with a glass jar and tell him Ms. MacBean is making black pudding." Evie states softly. A lad, maybe fifteen looks confused. 

    "But Miss Freye, Ms. MacBean is--" he buttons his lip, gives a nod, and exits to fetch the requested ingredient. Best not to question the more enigmatic Frye twin. 

    Evie motions to a booth towards the back, and sits where she can mind both Jacob, who appears to be tending to his own injury, and the door, and motions for Serrah to sit.

Serrah nods at Evie's assessment of Jacob. "Yeah, 's pretty much what I was thinking," she says.

She considers the comments about the prospect of leaving. "In that case, I might wanna try to leave sooner rather than later. As hard as it is to find, I don't wanna end up stuck here with him. That'd be a pain no matter how you slice it."

She raises her eyebrows at the exchange with Rupert, and sits across from Evie. "Unless that was some kind of arcane code phrase," she says dryly, "I've already had some. Was just walking it off when your brother rescued me from some thugs in red." She makes a face, and lowers her voice. "I'd kiiiind of rather pace myself in terms of ... uh ... 'feeding'. I seem to have some kind of 'essence of humanity' left that means it might be possible to restore me if we destroy the Scepter or kill Vincent, and it ... goes down when I 'feed'." She pauses. "Black pudding isn't as bad as, like, even drinking straight from an animal. But still."

    "Oh. Well. I figured you can't partake in... normal spirits so I..." Evie stumbles a moment, and rubs the back of her neck. She looks tired. She has dark bags under her eyes, and Jacob rolls his eyes and makes his way over, dropping down in the booth with a casual air. 

    "She's trying to be hospitable in a way that says 'Stay, you're welcome, and if that Nibs fellow shows up, we'll kill 'im." Jacob gives a shrug. 

    Evie just heaves a sigh, and buries her face in her hands. 

    "Jacob. You ass."

Serrah shakes her head. "I actually can eat and drink normally, as long as there's no garlic," she says. "The blood business doesn't actually sustain me in the normal sense, it's just ..." She shrugs. "You start to lose control of yourself. Can't focus or anything. Risk of going into a feeding frenzy."

She side-eyes Jacob. "I meant 'his nibs' in the usual slang sense, numbnuts," she says. "Also he's Duke Vincent D'Ambrosio, he's a vampire like me except more of a jerk, and also he'll kick your ass." She frowns. "Especially if he catches me here and he figures out my 'trick'."

    "Look, you're a bird from the colonies, I don't know how much you've perverted the Queen's English, could mean anything, in my defense, Toothy." Jacob gives a grin, and he leans back. 

    "Not to boast or brag, but currentl you sit in the company of two of Englands /greatest/ fighers and freer of peoples, breaker of bonds! BARKEEP!" he suddenly turns, roaring, "Fetch us a round! Tonight we're celebrating!" he calls out. There's a cheer alla round, since this probably means Jacob is showing off and going to pay for it. Amid the cheers, Evie leans in: 

    "Only Garlic? That seems a bit off. Is that a trait passed down among different groups of vampires or is that universal for your world?" Evie inquires curiously, the cheering and suddenly drunken singing piping up around them giving them the chance to talk as Jacob collapses down, and gives a huff. 

    "It's tough being this charming."

Serrah snorts, and sarcastically salutes Jacob before turning back to Evie. "Garlic's the only food-based one," she says. "Holy symbols, if held by a true believer. Belmont chatting in Latin kinda made me nervous. Sunlight makes me weaker, I'm invisible in silver-backed mirrors like you saw, and if you want to put us six feet back under, you either use complete incineration, a stake through the heart made of ash, hawthorn, or oak, or some kind of supernatural holy or divine or Light-based stuff." She recites this all in one breath.

She pauses, and pushes aside her hair to reveal the black heart-shaped mark on her forehead. "Also, if the heart on my forehead glows, it means Vincent's got control of me," she says. "And you're gonna wanna see that trick I mentioned, if Vincent tries to use it against you, so you know what's going on." She reaches over to touch Evie's arm, and then ... ripple of light, the world turns gray and purple, and the festivities freeze and go silent.

    JAcob gives a grin, and points at Serrah. "I like this one." he gives a soft laugh, and then winces. 

    "We'll have to make sure you don't glow like a gaslamp then." Evie replies beneath the din, keeping her eeys set on Serrah -- and she exhales in a soft sigh. "Fortunately, magic is *not* /in general/ a reality in our world." she explains -- and then she pauses, her lips purse, and she glances around as the world around them goes silent. 

    "... I wish this is one you could share... this would make life so much easier." she trails off a moment, looking at the people frozen around them, looking to Jacob, then back to Serrah.

Serrah nods. "Oh, same," she says. "But it l--" And then in the next instant, time has resumed and she's halfway to sitting back down. "--ke the only way to get it to work is by touch, and that's not exactly feasible when I'm ... 'on his side'. But mostly I'm putting the weaknesses on the table so you can use 'em on Vinny or Wilhelmina, when the time comes."

... When, not if.

    "... as much as I admire my brother's optimism on defeating Vincent, I... have my doubts." 

    Jacob blinks. "What. The great. Evie. Frye. Doubting!" he leans forward, his fingers lacing and watching his sister like a hawk. 

    Evie looks at Serrah. 

    "With all seriousness, I lack Belmont's powers, or Mr. Brock's abilities. All my skills, all my own work is designed around the elimination of monsters, yes... but humans." Evie replies quietly. 

    "Wilhelmina perhaps, because she seems a dullard in all other manner, but Vincent himself..." she seems disturbed. "You are canny, Serrah, and with a trick like time freezing.. how can someone who is only human fight against such a power?"

Serrah looks over at Jacob. She pauses a moment to consider what metaphor to use. "Imagine ... getting kicked by a horse," she says. "Now imagine that the horse can continue kicking you fast enough to hit you a couple dozen times in ten seconds. That's the baseline level of a vampire's ability to punch you, even before getting into their other advantages." Slight pauise. "Our other advantages," she corrects herself.

She turns back to Evie. "As for battle strategies ... aside from the weaknesses I told you, you'd know better than me," she says. "My idea of fighting is 'punch a bunch of times', and 'throw baseballs fast enough to hurt with my new vampire strength.'" She pauses. "... do you even have baseball yet?" She shakes her head. "Anyway, uh ... maybe a crossbow, with oak arrows ... or ..."

She hesitates. "Actually, you might want to keep me out of the battle strategy conversations," she says. "He can't make me say anything, so it's not an automatic, uh, security breach. But, like." She grins mirthlessly. "Y'know?"

    "Trust me, Miss Delany -- Serrah -- if it ever came down to a battle for your life between me and Vincent, I would do my best to kill him and free you of his tyrany if we cannot find a cure for your condition." Evie states with the utmost seriousness. 

    "RIGHT! Like I said -- we'll kill 'im. Miss Delaney is as good as safe here in our London!" Jacob states as he puts his arms behind his head. 

    "She's not safe as long as we have our own fight, Jacob." 

    "Stick 'er on the train with Agnes. They'll get along right well, and if things work out then we have a secret weapon in case the Tem-- OW!" 

    Evie might have kicked her brother. Her eyes are still on Serrah.

Serrah nods to each of them in turn. "I definitely appreciate it!" she says. "And don't get me wrong, I do think I can afford to stick around for, like, a few more hours?" She shrugs. "But I'm gonna have to decline the offer for, for lodgings. Like I said, it's better to stay ahead of him than end up trapped here with him."

She raises her eyebrows at the 'Tem' comment, but doesn't say anything about it.

    "You mean she's trusting you with her secrets but you're not doing the same? Evie, that's not being a /good friend/." Jacob chides, and motions to Serrah. "Look, she's positively crushed!" 

    "We can debate the finer points of inter-world conflict later, Jacob." Evie states, then turns to Serrah. 

    "Suffice to say that the skills displayed at your death are not widely known on our world, and I would like to keep it that way, Serrah. For your safety, and ours." 

    Evie frowns, and finally, after all others were served, the generous patron gets a pint of alcohol, and it's served up in tin mugs. Jacob imbibes immediately. Evie does not. There's also a cup set in front of Serrah.

Serrah chuckles. "It's not secrets, I'm doing what I can to give you guys whatever tactical advantage you can for handling Vincent," she says.

She takes a deep breath, hesitates and frowns as she once again gets tripped up by the fact that there's no relief tied to the action, and nods. "Right," she says, gingerly sipping at her drink. "Got it. I know all about needing to keep parts of yourself secret from the public." She doesn't elaborate on this, however.

    "What Evie is trying to say is that we're from an even bigger overarcing gang and we're going to free London from the tyranical rule of a bunch of old mules who want to keep everyone Under Their Thumb." he takes a deep daught of his beer, then slams it down. 

    "An' we'll kill 'em too." 

    Evie has her head in her hands. 

    "You lost a lot of blood and it's all rushing to other parts of your body, isn't it?" 

    "OH, NOW you're concerned about my injury! I'm hurt, Evie!" 

    Evie gives a stern look and an eyenarrow to Jacob, and motions to him, turning to Serrah. 

    "I'm still sorry for his behavior."

Serrah nods. "Glad to know it," she says dryly. She's clearly poking at her drink more carefully than Jacob is, at any rate. "Good luck in freeing your world, at least!" She grimaces. "Although, in my own case ... even Vincent is more of a symptom than a cause. But." She shakes her head. "Yeah. I'm just ..." She laughs nervously. "My own situation is weighing heavily on my mind, y'know?"

    "Precisely the reason why you should spend some time. Relax. Take in the sights of our Glorious City of London! Tour via Omnibus. Take a hansom. Steal a couple of wagons. Cause a minor explosion, join a gang -- I /highly/ reccomend the Rooks if you care to join one, Miss Delaney, I keep 'em polite. Most of them." he gives a small, but friendly grin. 

    "If nothing else, we can smuggle you far enough outside the city that maybe he won't sense you. We've got onctacts in Persia, in India, China, the Colonies -- though should you fancy there, I may have to disown you --" Jacob gives a smile, and pats Serrah's arm. "Consider a rest. You can't run if you're trying to sleep." 

    And iwth that, Jacob goes to stand, barking out a greeting to another yellow-clad lad. 

    Evie breathes out quietly. 

    "He's right. Without any way to contact us, it risks chance meetings. Besides -- meeting a vampire is the most animated I've seen Jacob in weeks."

Serrah shrugs, and doesn't react at all to the arm-pat. "I'm pretty sure he can sense me literally anywhere within a world, so it doesn't really matter how far away from London I go," she says dryly. "But I'll, um, consider your suggestions." That said in a tone of voice that she's approximately as likely to follow them as Evie is. "And yeah, I'll probably sleep tomorrow during the day."

She smiles thinly back at Evie. "Gonna level with ya," she says. "The fact that that was his reaction to meeting me put me in ... a much better mood than I was in before I ran into him. I have learned firsthand that I do not like it when people have the opposite reaction."

    Evie gives a soft sigh, and gives a slight smile over to Serrah. 

    "I would dismantle that entire stupid empire one by one if I could, you know. It made me quite cross to hear of it." Evie states with a quiet, slightly more friendly air, and she motions with ehr head. "Come with me. We have a train, it moves and it provides a good amount of cover. Might buy a couple more hours of rest should he show his face."

Serrah considers this, and nods. "I mean. I'm not exactly optimistic in general, let alone about the possibility of the whole torn getting torn down," she says. "But ... I do appreciate the sentiment."

She smiles, and gingerly finishes the drink. "He can activate the Blackheart Mark from anywhere if he's in the same world, but all right," she says, ever one to lay her cards on the table about he current situation. "But yeah. Thanks a lot, for all the help you've been able to give me so far!"

    "It's the least I could do, Serrah. You're as close to a friend as I dare have." Evie admits quietly, "But come, we'll get you set up for the day and I will show you where the branch out leads in the morning."

Serrah nods, gives Evie a thumbs-up, and follows Evie out. "Coffins are optional, by the way," she says. "Most vampires who can afford it just do it for the aesthetic ..."

    "Ugh. How overdramatic." Evie mumbles, and she leads Serrah off into the night.

Serrah laughs, following Evie without hesitation. "I know, right!?" she says. Really, her change is like night and day.

    ...

        ...

    The next evening ...

Serrah is resting on the train in a black nightgown, looking for all the world like she's ... well ... dead. With a slight twitch, her eyes flit open as if a switch had turned on. She sits up, stretches, immediately lowers her hands as this has no effect, and then in a swirl of shadow, her nightgown transforms back into Victorian daywear.

And then she goes still for a moment, as the black mark begins to glow purple. "... Welp," she mutters, as she gets to her feet in stiff and almost robotic-seeming movements ...