Oxford Street, London in 1897. The photograph was taken by George Davison.
[ Brona gave the stranger a friendly smile and raised her glass in return, before bringing it to her lips. ]
"All I know is every time there’s a mysterious bloody murder, they think it’s ‘im come back. But I can tell ya, it ain’t. He only did whores."
❝'Tain't whores they're findin' ripped up this time, then?❞
[ He never took much interest in the papers, and so he knew quite little of the new murders. He could say with the firmest conviction, however, that he hadn't been the one to commit them. ( More's the pity. ) ]
"Ya think the Ripper’s really gone? Or jus’ changed his methods?"
[ The man sat up a bit straighter, turning his head to blink at the woman beside him. By her accent, she was clearly Irish; and, gratified to hear the familiar lilt, the man grinned and raised the flask in his hand in a mock toast. ]
❝Perhaps he jus' satisfied himself.❞
somebody must've slipped a truth serum in my muse's breakfast cereal. ask any question, and you'll get a 100% honest answer blurted out loud.
Going along with the idea that 'Jack' was a resident of Whitechapel and a member of the lower working class, he'll be shown using colloquial speech, which will include 'street slang' as well as some incorrect or unappealing syntax.
A snicker passed the chief inspector’s lips, his eyes falling from the shadowy figure and focusing themselves on dirty concrete underneath his feet. Oh, if only solving this case would be that simple.
❝No. Lipski’s methods were different
messier. And it’s obvious he hardly had any medical training beforehand.❞
[ That wasn't precisely what Jack had been driving at, but he grunted in acknowledgement. ]
❝Don't see how it can get much messier than what the Whitechapel bloke is doing. Least with Lipski, there weren't so much blood spattered about.❞
❝ Honestly? It’s starting to make less sense with every victim. Yes, he does kill only unfortunate women, so far, but now I can’t seem to find the connection between the killing-spree that ended with Fair Emma’s death and the most recent one.❞
[ Jack smiled. Settling his shoulder against the bricks of the wall behind him and reaching into his pocket, the man withdrew a bent cigarette, shoved it between his lips, and struck a match to light it. ]
❝Think it's a Lipski what's doing it? That's what I keep hearing.❞
❝ Oh, I can hear his laugh in my own two ears. But how do I buckle him, hm? My hands are tied - Sir Warren won’t allow me to even question another surgeon or a simple doctor. And my boys, as you call them, are nothing good, truly.❞
[ Jack was in a fit of enjoyment. Had he not been sure it would end in his arrest, he would have ensured that Abberline truly did hear the laugh of the Whitechapel killer in his own two ears. ]
❝Satisfy a man's curiosity, then, eh? What's the story old Jack's spinning for you? What's his motive? Think he's got a score to score to settle--or do you reckon he just likes the fun?❞
"With written names! Thrown into a hat!—" "Would you like my hat?" cried a voice on the threshold. All wheeled round. It was --. He had his hat in his hand, and was holding it out to them with a smile.
❧ open to interaction, multifandom, ocs, crossovers, aus, etc. ❧ 7+ years experience, 3+ on tumblr, 1+ on this account ❧ para preference, open to one-liners, gifchats, etc. ❧ default canon era, has optional modern and musical verses for people uncomfortable with the original material