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Ripper Street/Fire and home
Jan. 31st, 2013 10:41 pm"Oh Sergeant Drake, what happened to your face?"
Drake scowls, the skin over his bruised cheek pulling uncomfortably. There went any hope that the mark was discrete.
He mumbles something about a thug in the slums before shuffling past his fussing landlady, his arms laden with a box of books and potions and a portmanteau full of outrageous clothes.
Drake hasn't exactly expected a warm reception from Long Susan, but he hadn't thought he'd need to duck. Turns out the woman could hit harder than a bull in the ring.
Shouldering open the door to his room, he glances at the bed, before ducking his head and carrying Jackson's possessions towards the table.
If he's very lucky, Jackson might not notice.
Drake scowls, the skin over his bruised cheek pulling uncomfortably. There went any hope that the mark was discrete.
He mumbles something about a thug in the slums before shuffling past his fussing landlady, his arms laden with a box of books and potions and a portmanteau full of outrageous clothes.
Drake hasn't exactly expected a warm reception from Long Susan, but he hadn't thought he'd need to duck. Turns out the woman could hit harder than a bull in the ring.
Shouldering open the door to his room, he glances at the bed, before ducking his head and carrying Jackson's possessions towards the table.
If he's very lucky, Jackson might not notice.
