Jack Rogers

Buried in his Work

Sat, 17 Nov 2007 22:54:45 GMT

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::))

If Jack wore the Sorting Hat.

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 03:51:50 GMT

((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!"

Dresses

Wed, 01 Aug 2007 01:14:54 GMT

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.

Sat, 23 Jun 2007 17:46:29 GMT

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.

Open to Ali or Sasha, who are happy to join them, but I just had to do this

Thu, 14 Jun 2007 17:37:27 GMT

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.

Theatre Double Feature.

Sat, 19 May 2007 15:29:49 GMT

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?"

Decision, Open to Ali.

Wed, 16 May 2007 17:56:46 GMT

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?"

Fri, 11 May 2007 01:15:46 GMT

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.

There'd been a lot of experimentation in the early stages. They avoided an excess of ruffles, of course, and ended up borrowing a few stylistic points from the Greco-Roman chiton, feeling confident that it would flow well under water, but cutting the skirt, which was gathered at the waist, up the side some for better mobility in dancing.
The dress was ivory coloured, with golden trim at various points, particularly weighted a bit at the him just enough to make the skirts likely to fall into place when necessary. The Jacks had muttered to each other the uncertainty about undersea currents and didn't want to leave an opening for trouble.
Underneath, for modesty (particularly in case of currents), temperature, and colour-accentuation purposes, was a golden bodysuit made of a light nylon/spandex/a little neoprene blend-- modern Jack was quite satisfied with himself for having acquired the material.

They presented it to Ali with slightly-nervous interest in her reaction.

Clothes talk: For Ali's household.

Tue, 08 May 2007 03:04:44 GMT

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.))

Open

Fri, 04 May 2007 01:58:38 GMT

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.

Fri, 04 May 2007 00:14:52 GMT

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.

Wed, 02 May 2007 15:20:18 GMT

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.

Thu, 12 Apr 2007 04:54:49 GMT

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?

And so a few hours run by filled with the flash of scissors and of needles. Often he uses the trick;he'll be very thirsty eventually, but as there will be a particular 'overday guest,' and hopefully a very happy one at that, that shouldn't be too much of a problm, and there's a bit of a thrill to working at these speeds.

Finally, he looks at them with satisfaction. The large dress on the left is a beige and hunter-green ensemble of good thick cloth, the skirt just a little higher than usual to reduce the risk of trouble while doing goodness-would-prefer-not-to-know-what. Hopefully she won't tear this one.

The small dress in the middle is quite normal. A rich chestnut-brown fabric over white callico with lovely lace trim. The cut is modest but not dowdy. It will be very flattering on Eleanor, possibly for Sunday services.

The longer dress on the right was something unusual. A longsleeved underdress of thin, silver-colored material, with a shortsleeved red overdress. This, too, is hemmed above the norm -- for him, not for her. It's not as broad-skirted as many dresses of his time. One can't judge perfectly as something hangs on the lay figure, but the cut seems good to allow for ease of movement. It's time for the finishing touch. He carefully draws an outline of the image he recalls seeing on something at the house before cutting it out of the overdress and hemming the edge in. The effect is of a silver lion passant shining through.

He very much hopes they all like them.

Tue, 20 Mar 2007 04:39:30 GMT

She was home early. This had led to some ...discoveries which were problematic. But it could be worse. She hadn't told her friends. Apparently, they'd upset her about a generation back with other antics involving an unusual door. She was going to report it to the archbishop sometime soon, but she seemed not to see any rush. It wasn't any relation to their little war, after all -- from what he'd heard about war, it might be made so, but 'tactics,' if they didn't involve directly killing someone, never seemed to be Mistress Hunter's area of strength.
Additionally, since he'd reached the point, in the two weeks after the flask had run out, of staring longingly at raw meat, he was quite relieved to be drinking gratefully from her wrist. She'd held off for a while, discussing a few general things about secrets and about Miss Roper's cat. 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.

Wed, 07 Mar 2007 05:57:21 GMT

Jack was on the floor in front of Mistress Hunter, hemming a dress faster than would be considered humanly possible. Captain O'Connell was discussing 'the enemy,' who had apparently gained too much ground in the city and needed to be 'put into a panic.' Jack was trying not to think about that. Until he heard "So you'll have to make sure you're near enough lamplight, Janie, but after that, it'll just be a matter of being yourself."
Jack removes a pin from between his teeth after almost swallowing it. Mistress Hunter just asks what happens afterward. She reaches down, tugs Jack up a bit more, casually bites her wrist and presents it to him. He drinks, enveloped for a moment in the usual mixed emotions of feeling so alive and feeling what he sometimes suspects heathen worshippers of horrific dark goddesses must feel. But he doesn't completely block out what's being said.
O'Connell explains that after the fighting, they should leave the area for about a month or so, cause trouble elsewhere while the enemy is scrambling to cover up what happened. Then comes the casual mention that she'll probably want to leave Jack a bottle, since she should 'keep up established resources in town.'

There would be fighting, and she was leaving, and ...only one bottle?

Afternoon at the theatre.

Sat, 03 Mar 2007 19:12:44 GMT

London is dirty. Very dirty. And on the new Monument Street, not far from the shop, the air carries a bit of dust from carpentry and stonecutting. But that's the way Jack knows how to get to Drury Lane, and he and Alison -- the dress suits her just as well as he thought it would -- manage just fine and don't get dirty themselves.
Walking along the Thames, discussing some of the buildings in the distance, Jack notices a few people staring. It doesn't take long to know why, and understandable as it is, it's still rude. He hope that it doesn't bother Ali. He soon realizes that it doesn't, although she does look at him with some concern. He smiles and says honestly that he's fine.
Arriving at Drury Lane with, of course, plenty of time, they go first to the bakery. Ali wants muffins. Jack's incredibly fond of muffins himself. These are the English sort, of course. From the Nexus, it sounds like other places use the term for a variety of cupcake. Ali seems fairly unfamiliar with paying 5d and a farthing.

And then to the theatre. Four shillings. The first gallery's a good view, and the tradesmen and their wives are a little less noisy than those behind them or the Quality, interestingly enough. Jack does ovehear a few things, though. Dress envy. The chatter of the theatre dulls down a bit eventually as things get started.
He's never seen Midsummer performed before, though he's read the Folio. It's very well done. Amusing. But between thoughts on the Puck and on love-potions, he gets into a very reflective mood.
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."

Fri, 02 Mar 2007 03:53:54 GMT

Jack had hurried home and now stood, collar removed, baring his throat for his best customer. This only happened occasonally. Tonight, apparently, was going to be 'busy, but boring' for her. As usual, it was only a few brief moments before the parody of ecstasy was over. The only time she had made him dizzy enough that he needed to sit down, she'd muttered that she should be more careful, because she had 'enough friends.'
Jack had spent a long time thinking about the implications of that.

Letter 2

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 07:05:24 GMT

Dear Sir or Madam:

All of the 'unusual ladies and gentlemen' we each have the distinction of dealing with need something to keep them -- and I say this solely for lack of a better word -- sane. Something that keeps their minds focused enough to keep them upright and capable of speech, as it were. Miss Roper has her vile experiments. Captain O'Connell --illustrating that sane may indeed not be the best word here -- has money and power. I would say that Heaven knows what holds 'Cousin Piotr' together, but somehow, I doubt that.
Mistress Hunter has her word, and her adherence to this dark church of theirs. I believe the reason she flinches when their is discussion of events in Tortuga years ago, her mutterings about how they were not supposed to open a box or enter a door, have to do with this strange, twisted code of honor. It is interesting to note how certain individuals finally stopped talking when she went quiet about these matters. It is good that they recognize that even all four of them would be in a difficult situation if she truly lost her temper.
At any rate, it is best that you keep these things in mind. Additionally, you should learn how to cook game. Her interest -- and, to a lesser extent, Cousin Piotr's -- is solely in killing, but she apparently prefers the kill be put to some use.

Sincerely,
Jno Rogers

A pleasant afternoon

Fri, 23 Feb 2007 04:24:11 GMT

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.

Fri, 23 Feb 2007 01:47:03 GMT

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.

Wed, 21 Feb 2007 05:36:47 GMT

She returned shortly before dawn, and as usual, she made woodcuts accompanying the Malleus Maleficarum seem like Italian madonnas. It wasn't just the waxy sallow skin, the fangs, or those things on her brow. That she was a ruthlessly efficient predatory animal -- with an affectation for reliable dealings and a great wardrobe -- was hardly hidden, and the enthralled fixation that kept her at the center of Jack's attention provided plenty of opportunity to notice, and to enshrine her in his thoughts as supremely horrific.

This time, she was carrying that large sword, and it was smeared with very fresh blood. He managed not to stagger as she thrust the hilt into his hands, told him that it needed cleaning and he'd best get the hang of it, and sent him out of the heavily-curtained room.
Jack examed it quietly for a moment, and before hurrying to get cloth and oil, he touched a finger to one of the streaks and...
Oh. It was one of them. Well, the best monster had won.

That made the whole chore less disconcerting. And more delicious.

The First Rule of Serving Vampires is -- you do not talk about serving vampires.

Sat, 17 Feb 2007 05:28:49 GMT

To my theoretical successor in the service of Mistress Janika Hunter:

Truth be told, I still do not know enough about this life to have any idea how likely it is to last long, though I hope it will be long indeed. It seemed reasonable to think it might be best for the next person to have some advantage in information, if for no other reason than to prevent her finding yet another too soon.

Discretion is paramount. Mistress Hunter and her friends may occasionally, in philosophical discussion, make comments about not being afraid or of not hiding what one is. Let me emphasize to you from the start that they are not talking about you. Frankly, the phrase "not being afraid" is very rarely relevant to this job. If somehow she does not tell you immediately to keep quiet about certain things, do consider it necessary anyway.

I am sure I have no need to tell you that she is foreign, but you may note that her need to invent a surname -- probably a translation from a Slavic epithet, is the first indication of what other signs make clear: she is obviously from peasant stock and is still unaccustomed to city Society, as interested as she is. As you are most likely another tailor or other tradesman of style, I beseech you to keep in mind that you must be the one paying attention, and direct your following of her instructions accordingly.

I am also sure I have no need to tell you that she is monstrous. However this letter is to arrive in your hands, I'm sure it will not do so before you have seen her full face. But in case you are for a moment taken in, do not forget that her beautiful, more well-spoken friends are monstrous, too. Watch out for them. I have managed to surmise that the deformities under Mistress Hunter's hat are the result of Miss Roper's 'experiments,' and that 'assistance' in these was hers for the asking. I have not yet come up with a method of safeguarding Mistress Hunter's interests from her own friends, but the matter dovetails with the fact that your services will occasionally be 'lent out.' And if such as we run out of services, I have no doubt other uses will be found. Therefore, particularly whenever you should overhear Miss Roper saying "Janey, may I...?" I suggest you begin doing essential work immediately.

That is all for now. I am sure there will be many more of these as times goes by.

With greatest sympathy,
Jno Rogers

Post Scriptum. In case it is necessary to note, she does not love you.

Eventually... very much eventually

Fri, 16 Feb 2007 03:54:50 GMT

He'd closed up shop for a few days, claiming to be going on a visit to the country, because Mistress Hunter wanted to take him with her to Calais. And so now he sat in the hold of that O'Connell creature's ship, his fingers still working at hemming a shawl as his eyes looked up to fairly confrontational crew member.

"Excuse me?" Jack asked incredulously. "Is this some sort of status issue? A Seating Debate for the Damned?"

"Yes. Now move."

Jack had decent lamplight where he was. "Out of curiosity, is this a matter of how long everyone has been ... such as we? Because if it's the more standard criteria among servants, then I should think --" He managed to refrain both from voicing the ridiculously childish and perfectly true joke 'my mistress could thrash your mistress anyday' and from laughing at the thought. "That Mistress Hunter handling an errand on the authority of an 'archbishop.' Which gives her precedence."

"You think? 'Cause she's been giving the captain a lot of 'precedence.'"

"Ah, politeness and eagerness to help an old friend. Clearly a sign of immaturity. Certainly, a mindset such as hers is not responsible enough to handle an entire ship's crew. Speaking of which, sir, when was your last time on the rotation for a pint? And I don't mean the grog."

The sailor reached for his knife, but Jack and the finished shawl, thanks to just a little concentration, were already behind him, continuing to step back several yards. He loved that trick, and it didn't matter that he was craving now. He'd finished an excellent shawl. She'd love it. "Because I," he said the fuming sailor as he continued backing away. "Have had one every night this week."

A Job Well Done

Wed, 14 Feb 2007 00:43:18 GMT

As before, she enters the shop when everyone else is long gone. One look at what can be seen of her face makes her seem very unattractive. She takes off her scarf and looks exceedingly ugly. She takes off her hat and is a monster.
She greets him, offhand.
"Good evening, Mistress Hunter," he responds quietly, politely, and very, very nervously.

One thing can be said regarding the difficulties she faced getting into an evening dress -- for apparently teh first time -- without damaging it: at least she had no trouble holding her breath. Finally, she looks into the mirror.

The underdress covers everything below the jaw in sheer linen of a golden-cream sort of color, with small touches of lace at the chin and wrists. It downplays, by contrast, the sallowness of her complexion, and covers the more...discoloured patches that would otherwise be exposed by the stylishly dipping neckline of the overdress. Jack is very proud of the overdress; bare or even "bare" shoulders would have been problematic, but done right, a pair of 'puffed' sleeves can can actually minimize what would otherwise be highlighted as disproportionate. And the dark blue brocade actually brings out her eyes a little. Which will hopefully divert attention from other parts of her face.

His heart races as she frowns just a little. She remarks that it isn't quite the same as the other dresses that have come out of his shop.
"I didn't make this one for everyone else, Mistress Hunter." He prays that that will be enough, though he's not entirely sure if it's appropriate. Then she smiles a horrific smile, and he thanks Providence for something It probably had nothing to do with.

She says it's a nice job. She says he's worthing having around. That means she's not going to kill him. Then she says more.
"Well," he says quietly. "If you happen to have another bottle--"
She cuts him off, saying that she's not bothering with bottles tonight. Very carefully, she pushes back the underdress sleeve. Then, she sinks jagged teeth from an oversized jaw into her own wrist.

Before Jack can react, it's pressed to his mouth, and it's -- well, he certainly can't pretend he hadn't realized it wasn't exactly wine in the two bottles. He drinks. It feels great.

Later, after the holes on her wrist have miraculously-- no, that's not the right word -- inexplicably closen, she explains that he should now consider himself permanently retained, although the shop should keep running, of course. She'll be there at least once a month. He should stay until this time, in case.
"Of course, Mistress."
She adjusts the sleeve, gathers her other things, puts the hat back on, and prepares to go. "Are you leaving?" He asks. He doesn't say 'like that,' although the thought occurs to him. She explains that she is going to 'borrow' a friend's hairdresser, one who will be able to handle the 'peculiarities,' before going to the archbishop's party. Jack's pretty sure she doesn't mean York or Canterbury, but he doesn't ask. She walks, horrifically ugly and absolutely magnificent, out of the shop.