Jack has been preoccupied. This may be evidenced by the numerous lay figures all around his spacious workroom, wearing Capes, winter outfits of various sorts, several outfits for the children, a few of with which he was feeling a little bit experimental.

((:::Continues the dance of thesis-is-approved-and-can't-be-bothered-to-do-the-two-week's-late-test-grading-and-essays-just-yet. Warning: Mun may still have The Dumb::))

((Crazy speculatory scene. Think I'm going to do this with a few of my characters.))

"All right, we can scratch Gryffindor," it gets out right away.
"My cowardice is hardly news."
"Otherwise, you're a tough one. Keen on book-learning."
"I always wished I had more of it," Jack concedes.
"Like being the best at what you do; Slytherin's not a bad place for that. Of course, what you do is sew. And between always keeping your hands busy and wanting to be useful in your own way, I think we have to say---

HUFFLEPUFF!"

Jack knows he may not make his ladies look like Anne of Austria, but the more low-key 1620s look is enough -- all right, he might have done a few more frills than was absolutely necessary. The sleeves are puffy at the top, and lace down the lower arm. The turquoise-coloured brocade of Samus's dress has, as promised, been prepared to conceal an easily-reached knife. Ali gets more of the scarlet-and-black combination.

They're ready within just a few days.

When everyone has properly returned home from festivities, the Jacks -- clutching the strings of beads they'd purchased -- gleefully retreat to the studio to "finish something up." When they finally emerge, it is with two Empire-waisted lame' dresses (with comfy cotton underparts). Ali's is gold, Sasha's is silver, each has beaded trim of the other colour.



Meanwhile, a rough silk green tunic-style shirt and a pair of slack-fitted blue jeans are soon sent to Samus.

When the goslings were most definitely in bed, the Jacks put on a movie. The Scarlet Pimpernel, 1982 version. Jack had briefed Jack about the ickier parts of the French Revolution. And they did very much enjoy the story, and the soundtrack, and portrayal of the daring heroes.

But most of all, they enjoyed the clothes.

The dress the Jacks had prepared for the occasion was was blue callico over cream-coloured linen. The Jacks themselves looked quite cousinly, with modern Jack in his brown wig and brown suitclothes. And so they blended in on this fine summer day in 1674 just fine, aside from a little envy, perhaps.

First was the matinee. The White Devil was a complicated little tragic tail of court corruption, forbidden love, murder, and revenge. In terms of poetry, it had some very good lines, which was why the Jacks felt it worth dealing with all the deaths. It was the same way they tended to feel about the bloodier Shakespeare tragedies.

When vengeance was achieved, and filing-out time came, they each turned to her from either side.
"I hope you enjoyed it."

"We have an hour until the Tempest begins. Do you need to stop at home or anything? What would you prefer?"

1674 Jack is in their room, finishing up plans for the children's clothes. He knows modern Jack should be allowed to have this conversation alone.

The worst stage of withdrawal was passing for him. Of course, that also meant there wasn't that much time left. And the more he thought, the more he didn't want to die. Not when there were other options.

"Ali?"

The Jacks had been in the studio for quite a while at work on Ali's underwater dress -- occasionally sucking too long on an accidentally pricked finger, but otherwise completely focused.
( Read more... )
They presented it to Ali with slightly-nervous interest in her reaction.

The Jacks did not waste time at all before going to visit Ali. After a glass of wine apiece to calm their nerves one fine morning, they scurried over and knocked politely on the Nexus door of the Trainer household.




((By the time I noticed the waterproof dress issue was up for discussion, she was already off for the occasion, but if Ali still wants one, she can totally ask, of course.))

So, two Jacks walk into a bar -- specifically, an open bar lying around somewhere in the Nexus. They're a bit forlorn, and they've been clearly having a long conversation on this fine Nexus morning, one that has caused them both to realize how much they could use a drink. They soon have some. Jack Rogers a la 2000 is saying things along the lines of "Of course, I mean, even when Henry di--" and Jack Rogers a la 1674 is interrupting him along the lines of. "Ahem, please don't finish that sentence, sir. Henry is fine right now and I don't want to hear what happens when in your version of things."
"Oh, good point, terribly sorry."
"Quite all right. So, my good alter ego, aside from our mutual shock, addiction, that other business, and things I don't want to know, there's one other important matter: nomenclature."
"I entirely agree. The Nexus is already complicated enough. So, for these next few weeks, would you prefer to be 'Seventeenth-Century Jack' or just 'Older Jack'"?
"How am I older Jack?"
"Well, you precede me, so you're the older."
"But I am not yet thirty, while you're three hundred and fifty four years old!"
A pause, complete with a wry smile.
"I beg your pardon," 1674 Jack continues. "I don't mean to unpleasantly emphasize your current situation."
"No offense taken."
"It's just that I'm younger. It's nice to be certain of something right now, and I'm certain of that."
And so they continue for a few minutes.

To say that later that very same night, he was still not over the fact that she was dead was a bit of an understatement. However, he was prepared, having 'tidied up,' to deal with some of the fallout. It was a very good thing that he was only poor liar with his friends.
Time to kowtow to monsters one last time.
"Good evening, Captain O'Connell, Miss Roper, Miss Reilly, ...sir. Mistress Hunter is not in right now, She had to meet with the archbishop about being sent on a private errand."
An eyebrow is raised, a comment made that 'the whole pack' is normally sent on errands together.
"Yes, captain," he puts ever ounce of deferential delicacy he can into his tone. "But there was some talk of a similar event in Tortuga, and some discussion to the effect that 'this time,' she should handle it alone."
There is eyerolling, comments between the four about having the ability to remember one stupid mishap when she can't remember the twenty-third letter of the alphabet. And they discuss other plans, and leave for the night.

Jack drinks half a bottle of wine to get himself to sleep. He has errands to run first thing in the morning.

In 1674 London, Janika Hunter is in the black-curtained bedroom attached to Jack's shop, having decided it more convenient to stay the day there than with her friends. It's sunset, so she won't be there much longer.
Jack -- 1674 Jack, is busy tidying up in the shop itself.

Jack had finished all of his current comissions of the sort paid for in money. After some candy -- my, he did tend to stuff his face sometimes -- he laid out the materials for three more. And he set to work. Neither of the three had specifically asked for a new dress. But since he had the leisure that night to craft three surprises, why not have the fun -- very different kinds of fun -- of making all three of them happy?
( Read more... )

She was home early. This had led to some ...discoveries which were problematic. But it could be worse. ( Read more... ) But finally, life was in his veins again. Then she took it away and began giving instructions. As usual, she towered, and terrified, and the three-point Eerie Presence flaw almost miasmatic feel of her personal space chilled him.
She looked at him as she finished. "Missed me?"
"Yes, mistress," he said truthfully.

Jack was on the floor in front of Mistress Hunter, hemming a dress faster than would be considered humanly possible.( Read more... )

London is dirty.( Read more... )
After the flamboyant final monologue and a great deal of applause, Jack turns to Alison as the theatre begins to empty. "Well, that was very amusing, I thought."

Jack had hurried home and now stood, collar removed, baring his throat for his best customer. ( Read more... )

Dear Sir or Madam:
( Read more... )
Sincerely,
Jno Rogers

It was quite an ordinary sort of day. He'd just seen another satisfied customer -- the kind that paid in money, rather than survival and addictive substances -- out of the shop, and was taking the opportunity to finish filling a few orders. He pondered whether he would just, in a little while, go up to his own rooms over the shop and have somse leftover oatcakes, or go to the public house for a bite.

Jack was becoming fairly adept at cleaning weapons. On this particular occasion, he had just finished with Mistress Hunter's sword when another was laid down beside it.
For just a moment, while still looking down at it, he frowned. Jack had never been a man of quick temper, but sometimes, of late, it had been getting very difficult to maintain his self control. On the other hand, in this instance, did he really need to do so? He looked up at Mistress Hunter's 'cousin' with a quizzical expression. "Sir?" He asked. He received a deadpan expression and the booming, accented statement that the sword needed cleaning.

Jack, not missing a beat, flashed his very best'Dreadfully sorry, No Credit' smile and said. "Mistress Hunter will be available again very shortly. You can ask then, sir."

The incredulous young monster brings up the matter of how easily he could crush Jack's skull. He grasps him by the collar. It would probably have been terrifying to someone who hadn't gotten used to terror. "Indubitably, sir," Jack replied with calm, ingratiating tones and a smile that stopped just short of the eyes. "But how easy will it be to keep her calm afterwards? Particularly when she realizes how much effort it's going to take to get her dress mended next? How easy will your next....vermin-control expeditition be while she's...vexed?"
All was silent for just a moment, and then the 'cousin' smiled, let go of Jack's shirt, and picked up the cloth and the oil. When Mistress Hunter came in, all changed and handing the mending off to Jack, the man-for-lack-of-a-better-word was cleaning his own damn sword. How nice.