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Edge of Desire

New York City

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a part of Edge of Desire, by Lavender.

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Lavender holds sovereignty over New York City, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

503 readers have been here.

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New York City is a part of Edge of Desire.

13 Characters Here

Jackson Alexander [0] A lecturer at NYU, and computer-age philosopher.
Severus Corvis [0] A soldier of the Roman Legion.
Adam James Westerfield [0] A storyteller with a big imagination, and an even bigger heart.
Edward Washinton Collins [0] Really, how much could it have changed since the '40s?
Katherine Victoria de Lacey [0] "I'm a woman of the world and they say I am strong."
Matthew Haven [0] A singer and pianist at a local jazz bar who keeps to himself.
Isabella Beatrice Waldon [0] She retreated inside herself when it became obvious no one cared to know.
Hank Darringer [0] Think with a sharp mind and live with a stout heart.
Audrey Scotts [0] That teacher that all the kids adore.
Evelyn Williams [0] A young woman from the 1920's.

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She stared at him for some time after he turned his eyes from her. It was fascinating he hadn't left her sitting here to fend for herself yet. Isabella had asked him ridiculous questions, at least she would have found them ridiculous had he come up to her, and he had answered them honestly. She told him where she was from, that she wasn't from this year two thousand and... whatever it was and he said he believed her. Of course, no sane being would believe what could have been happening to her was real, but he believed she was sincere and that meant very much to her.

Isabella knew her eyes were drilling holes into his face and so she looked before her, watching a horseless carriage whiz by. Was she trapped here in this world? Would she forever be surrounded by falling stars, strange carriages, and scantily clad women? There was a very high possibility. The man she'd last seen before her departure into this place had explained nothing to her. Had he needed to? Perhaps his purpose had been to simply direct her onto the right path. That path must not have been to continue on in 1816, or in London. Her parents would assume her dead. A sad thought, but would they really be so upset over her leaving, or dying? They had both been so harsh to her. But was it not their faults for raising a child who only knew happiness and only wanted that for all time? Who had the right to tell her when and who to marry?

Rubbing her face once more, Isabella suddenly, and probably irrationally, made the decision to remain in this foreign time and country. There was a reason for most happenings in the universe, and she would take this particular instance with that in mind. For now, she would turn the emotions threatening to overcome her toward the inside and release them in the privacy of some other place. It would be rude to subject the young escort beside her to her babblings and goings-on. It was hard, but Isabella was stronger than she sometimes gave herself credit for. Turning her black-blue eyes back to Mister Jackson she sucked in her lips and then released a long breath. It would be very hard, she realized as her glossy eyes gave away much of her hidden feelings.

"I suppose I will need lodgings for the night," she spoke plainly. "But I have no money to pay. It would pain me to start off in this new place in debt, but I suppose I must." She would have to get a job and pay for her way. It was like nothing she was used to. How would she ever survive? Isabella was taught that a woman lived off her husband and society. No respectable woman needed a place of business to pay for her ribbons and silks, let alone food to eat. But Isabella was somewhere new and she would have to adapt as best as she could.

"Is there a place that would be willing to hold off payment until I can assess a job? From there I may figure things out." By the end of her statement she was standing and carefully removing Jackson's jacket from her slender shoulders. Stopping for a moment, she rethought her sentence.

"It must be a place I can afford with no money on hand right now." Quieting and letting her shoulders droop a little, Isabella looked at Jackson with pleading eyes. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart for helping me out of that place. I do not mean to sound despotic, for I can see how I must. I am very confused and you are the only person kind enough to help me." With a small smile and a slow blink of her lashes, Isabella continued. "Granted, you could be a thief in the night, preying on the confusion of young women, but I will trust you nonetheless. I have no one else." Her last statement held a sadness in it that almost physically betrayed itself with a flood of tears. But by trying not to appear so hopeless, Isabella maintained her composure and handed the jacket to him. "Again, I thank you."

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Her question set him to thinking. If she had nowhere to go, to where should he refer her? It wasn't as though hotels or even hostels would let someone stay on a tab, and there was absolutely no way he was letting her stay in a homeless shelter. That would just be cruel, and probably at least somewhat dangerous for someone so completely unused to living in the middle of New York City.

But it would probably be inappropriate beyond reason to suggest his own apartment. Just because he knew she would be safe and respected there did not mean he should expect her to believe it. Isabella had said she trusted him, but he wasn't of a mind to make her stretch that feeling quite so far.

Somewhere to stay for a few days... he rubbed absently at his chin with one hand. Tammy Reynolds, one of his fellow faculty members at NYU and herself an accomplished scholar of fifty-two, was fond of telling him he did so in preparation for the philosopher's beard he would someday wear. It always made him laugh to hear it, especially since they both knew he never let his facial hair get past five-o'clock shadow. Which reminded him... he should really shave sometime this weekend.

He was digressing, and he knew it. Scouring his brain for anything that might help, he realized that the answer had fallen right into his lap without him realizing it. Professor Reynolds had been his dissertation adviser; she knew him probably better than anyone in this entire city, and certainly better than he knew himself. If there was anyone he could convince to look after Isabella, it would be her. As a long-tenured professor, she was not for want of means, and she'd never married or had children besides. Maybe she'd even be able to employ Isabella in some fashion.

He waved a hand carelessly, encouraging his newest (and oddest) acquaintance to keep the coat for now. "I think I know a place that might work... an old friend of mine... she's practically my mother at this point." Realizing this might not be the most comfortable of situations for Isabella, he gave her the most reassuring smile he could manage. "She's really a sweet woman; I just know she'd love the company, too."

Well, the idea was out there anyway. If he remembered correctly, Tammy lived not too far from his own apartment, except in a much nicer area, another plus, now that he got to thinking of it. Now, what to tell her... there was no way Isabella was passing as any relative of his; the woman knew him far too well to believe that. Maybe she was a friend in a rough spot? Just lost her job and her family? Jackson flinched. That was probably true, at least on the latter count. Perhaps he should ask her if she was doing okay.

No, better not. Jackson knew well enough that he lacked social grace, and would probably just make her more upset by bringing up things she was already dealing with painfully anyway. There might be a right time, later, but for now it would probably do them both the most good if he found her a place to stay and something to eat.

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The idea was fair and she appreciated his thought. But her mind kept bringing Isabella back to denial. Was she making this decision? Was she really in this place? Was Mister Jackson a real person or just some figment of a wild dream she was having in the woods? It made her skin crawl and her head ache from the thousands of questions, thoughts, and memories of what had happened and all the what ifs. She was lost physically, emotionally... Isabella's life was changing- had changed- and she didn't know how she was supposed to react. Her parents had never taught her how to act when something enormous happened. They'd only introduced her to social norms and what others expected. The young woman had no idea what to do when some one pulled her from her home and all that she knew, and placed her in a future world where it was quite obvious she did not belong.

Forcing a smile onto her pink lips, Isabella maintained the jacket and carefully swung it back over her shoulder.

"Thank you very much." She started and the curtsied politely. "I do believe this friend of yours sounds very fine. If she will have me, I will gladly board in her home." It was an offer she couldn't refuse. Living in a place with another woman who knew the surroundings and could teach her. If she didn't mind of course.

"I do hope she doesn't mind having me, though. I would hate to be a burden on her in anyway. She must know that whenever she deems it necessary, she can have me out in only a day." Her eyebrows squirmed up together in the middle with this statement. It hit a little harder in her heart than she had expected, remembering her father's last words to her. Isabella had a lot of thinking to do... and possibly a lot of crying.

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Jackson caught the slight tremor in his newest companion's voice, and grimaced inwardly. He had always been really bad at dealing with people having emotional issues, particularly women. Not even really issues exactly, that was the wrong word. But he was no good at that sort of comforting thing that people did in movies.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he cast about for something to say. "I guess..." he began slowly, "that if this is all one or another of our imaginations or one of us is dreaming, it doesn't make too much sense to worry about it, you know? Maybe just... try and have a nice dream. Heh." Well, that had sounded ridiculous. Such things had a tendency to come out of his mouth sometimes, and usually he knew them by the blank looks that occupied the faces of whomever he was talking to. Isabella, though... she didn't really seem like the sort of person who even had a blank expression. too much life in her eyes for that.

Where did that come from? Shaking his head, Jackson cleared his throat a bit nervously. "Uh, well... we'll be taking a bus to get there, which is kind of like one of these-" he gestured at the cars whizzing by- "only larger, and with more people in it. That's okay, right?" He asked for confirmation, but started heading for the nearest stop anyway, making sure not to let her fall behind. His mother had, at some point not quite so far in the distant past as to be totally forgotten, taught him some manners, anyway.

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Mister Jackson's words made her smile and she felt a little like laughing. All that would come upon her face, though, was the gentle smile she'd inherited from her mother. A good dream sounded better than anything. She had been told by her crazy aunt one visit that if one tried hard enough, one could control the outcome of their dreams. It was a far-fetched idea at the time, but all of a sudden, Isabella was taking it to heart. Mister Jackson with his kind, and often wise, words was doing a spectacular job at making her feel even the slightest bit better. Isabella wanted to smother him in thank you's, but she remained quiet as he continued on.

Looking at the speeding carriages, her heart jumped again and she found herself taking a few steps closer to her escort. He was the only person she knew, of course she felt safe near him. But it was still a feeling that made her skin tingle for a moment.

"I suppose, if those are the means of transporting oneself to and fro, I must do it." She pulled Jackson's jacket close about her, covering up her chest and neck. It smelled of a strange musk she couldn't put a finger on. The scent was nothing she was used to, but she found herself enjoying it. Isabella wondering absently if Jackson smelled the same way his coat did. Following close behind him, she had to grab onto his elbow to keep the other people nearby from pulling her farther away from him. Some gave her hideous glances of rage, others just looked down their nose at her. They were all dressed in the little dresses with sparkling, shining trinkets beset upon the silky fabrics.

"I do say, the people here are fabulous but with the most atrocious attitudes!" Her mouth was close to his ear as she spoke, but it was the only way to keep with him so she would not be lost.

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"I do say, the people here are fabulous but with the most atrocious attitudes!" Jackson's face contorted into a sympathetic grin. It was funny, how much she managed to sound like him when he'd first arrived in new york, still dressed in the practical shoes, worn jeans, and flannel shirts of the rural-Montana kid he'd been back then. That had been before plaid was designer, mind you.

He'd almost forgotten how foreign it had all seemed. He had to still agree about one thing though: the things some of these people wore... were sequins really necessary? And the haughty looks that went with them... more often than not these days he just ignored it all, being "local" enough to pass without scrutiny, but he was slightly disturbed by some of the looks Isabella was getting- like she was some kind of exhibit or something.

His eyebrows descended into a knit just above his nose, and Jackson spoke back in a low tone. "Don't worry about it; I promise they aren't all this bad." He turned slightly to try and see her expression, and was suddenly very aware of her proximity. Luckily, they had just reached the bus stop, and so he had an excuse to not say anything (which probably would have come out garbled nonsense anyway).

Reaching into his back pocket with the arm Isabella was not currently holding at the elbow, he pulled out his metro buss pass and some money for the extra ticket that would be required. Shoving it awkwardly into the little box, he held his hand out to the guest behind him, intending to help her up the narrow stairs and to a seat a few places behind the driver.

The bus was mostly unoccupied, which was probably a good thing for her first ride on one, and thus he was grateful. It did have your fairly-common New York City standards though: an older guy with too many coats and a mass of gray hair in every direction, a woman probably edging on eighty with a practical black leather purse in her lap who was eying the homeless man suspiciously, a yuppie talking far too loudly on a cell phone about some business deal (sometimes Jackson wondered if there was anyone on the other end of the phone during those conversations), and of course your standard haggard-looking thirty-something mother and overly-boisterous nine-year-old, though this one appeared to be occupied with some kind of electronic device.

Jackson took a seat at the front, as far away from the yuppie as possible (was it weird that of all the people on this bus, he wanted to avoid that guy the most?), and patted the seat next to him. "it'll start moving soon, and you probably want to be sitting when that happens, he explained with a goofy expression. Buses in NYC tended to take off and stop suddenly, and the first time he'd been on one, he'd been quite surprised to find that it was a completely different animal from the Greyhound he'd come in on. the discovery had been made from flat on his back in the aisle, not something he thought she'd appreciate, to say the least.

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The young woman found herself in the middle of a polite curtsy to the bus driver when Mister Jackson advised her to sit quickly. Unsure of why she needed to be in such a rush, Isabella sat down beside him, holding onto a very smooth handle made of metal. It was nothing like the wrought iron she was accustomed to. The gates around her home and the homes of many socialites were rough and black, and yet this was as smooth as silk and a shimmering silver color. Perhaps it was silver?

A sudden jolt threw her mind away from odd metals and tossed her body sideways. Isabella reached out and gripped the bar with her other, once free hand. With wide azure eyes, she turned her shocked face to Jackson and gasped.

"My goodness!" It was all she could muster as she sat upright and held onto that smooth, metal bar for dear life. This place would definitely take a lot of getting used to. After the initial surprise wore off, she moved in closely to Jackson and whispered as loudly as she could over the rumble and roar of the machine they rode presently.

"Is this something I will have to ride often, or would walking suffice? I prefer walking most of the time." Biting down on the inside of her bottom lip, she smiled nervously. "And this beast will make my heart jump right out of my chest!" Was there anyway she could just go back home? The thought had occurred more than once since her arrival in New York City of the future, but not as strongly as right now. It was quite obvious she did not belong here. Isabella was not one to be rushed about, she wanted to take the time to observe. She wanted to feel the earth beneath her feet and not the giant wheels on a machine made to look like an over-sized caterpillar. It was horribly bumpy, like the awful carriages her parents made her ride in, and only made her fear of a new world greater.

By now, all her hair had fallen from it's plait. Waving and heavy, the mass of black hair fell over her shoulders and was hiding her face from the other passengers. It was a nice veil to mask how badly they were making her feel. They passed odd stares at her skirts and painted shoes, which had grown dirty from the walk in the woods and the streets of this city. Adjusting her petticoats and linens, she tried to hide the shoes she suddenly felt ashamed of.

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Jackson returned the nervous smile with a (probably stupid-looking, if he were being frank with himself) grin, though it faded fast enough once he caught the looks they- no, she- was receiving.

Consciously choosing to ignore them all, he turned back to Isabella. "Well, it depends on how far you're going, really. New York City's a pretty big place, but most anything you would need is within walking distance..." he trailed off. She'd never been here before. An obvious thought, but one he'd never really considered at length until now. There was so much to see here; she might like the MET. Or the Natural History Museum... would it be weird to take someone somewhere that had exhibits on the time period she was apparently from? It might help her feel a bit more acclimated, though.

He was opening his mouth to ask when the bus slowed for their stop, and he swallowed the words for the time being. Instead he stood, slipping past Isabella to disembark first and proffer a hand to make sure she didn't trip or something. Then again, chances were she was more graceful than he; it certainly didn't take much to say that.

It was much less crowded around here, and only a few blocks to Tammy's house, which he silently thanked whichever force actually ran the universe for, whatever it be. The home was actually freestanding, as this neighborhood allowed for a little more space than was typical in the city. As Tammy herself was wont to remind him, that was what years of putting up with no-account students did for you. He sometimes thought he might be coming to understand her point, now that he was the one giving the lectures. A neatly-trimmed front lawn sat behind a low fence that was really only mean to contain the dog; a small, black, unrepentantly adorable fuzzy thing named, suitably enough, Rousseau. Ah, philosophy jokes.

Jackson checked his watch; it was only around nine or so, which meant she would certainly still be up. Good. It was going to be hard enough finagling his way through this without his old adviser being groggy and/or in need of coffee at the time. Approaching the dark wood front door, Jackson spared a glance behind him to make sure Isabella was still there, gave her a half-smile, and rapped the brass knocker a few times, standing back so that he might be visible through the inset window.

A few minutes and the sound of shuffling later, the door was opened by a stern-looking woman in her sixties, with steel-gray hair and eyes to match. The severity in her expression disappeared, however, once her gaze alighted on his face, and her countenance grew gentle. "Jackson? As much as I enjoy seeing you, I must admit that I was not expecting it." There was a wry sort of humor in the tone that made him adopt a sheepish look, reaching back to scratch the nape of his neck.

"Er... yeah... sorry about that, Tammy, but it was kind of urgent." He moved aside so that Isabella might be readily visible, and Tammy shot him a questioning look.

"And who might this be?"

"Oh, right. Tammy, this is Miss Isabella Waldon. Isabella, Professor Tammy Reynolds." If she was a bit perplexed by his odd manner of address to his companion, the elderly woman did not show it.

"Well, I imagine there is more to this story than a name, but I can hear it all indoors. Do make yourselves at home." The professor made a gesture for them to follow her into her home, and retreated therein herself.

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A professor? How astounding! And a woman at that! Suddenly, Isabella wasn't so frightened of this world. In fact, this small glimmer of the city made her delighted to be here. A woman... an intelligent woman who had the authority of a professor? Isabella curtsied low out of sheer respect and smiled wide at the woman before she moved to retreat inside. It was a much smaller abode than she was used to, but Isabella was not one to mind about space. Her own bedroom had been quite small compared to most woman her age. She didn't want for very much in her older years and liked the companionship of the wallpapered walls.

Sighing, Isabella found herself at a loss for words. She was going to open her mouth and stupidity would flow forth. This woman was most obviously very wise and renowned to be given such a title; what could stupid, naive Isabella possibly have to say to her? Looking down, Isabella made herself at least a small bit presentable. She wiped a few dead leaves from her hems and ran her fingers quickly through her lengthy mane of hair. All this was done in hopes that no one could see while she "primped", as her mother had so diligently called it.

Standing straight, and confident (mostly) in her appearance, Isabella folded her arms before her and bit her lower lip nervously.

"I thank you ever so much for allowing me into your home without having known me prior." She smiled timidly, staring down at her small hands clenching each other. "Mister Jackson has been so kind as to escort me safely about New York City to this place." Saying "New York City" was still very strange to her. Was it that she still thought of this as a dream? Would she ever leave this state of disbelief behind? At the moment, with the sudden knowledge of her own thoughts, Isabella figured she may always feel out of place here. Was there anything that could possibly help her to feel welcome and whole? With a glance to Jackson, she thanked him greatly with her eyes. He had done all that he could to make her feel better and she couldn't ask for a better companion in this mess she'd come into. Hopefully he would see it without her having to wrap her arms gratefully about his neck. That would be very imprudent.

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Tammy Reynolds was not the sort of woman to show overt surprise at anything. So when the unusually-dressed young woman with the shy smile and the pretty blue eyes thanked her for opening up her home, it took only a fraction of a second for her to reply, having already come to the conclusion from the statement and Jack's attitude that this was probably indeed the offer that had been extended on her behalf.

"Of course, dear," she replied kindly, not missing the slight alteration in Isabella's appearance that seemed to have transpired while her back was turned. This was a most strange circumstance indeed, but she could tell simply by the poor girl's manner of speaking that she felt considerably out of place. I do wonder where he found her. It's almost as if... but no. Still...

Her glance flicked to her once-student, who simply grinned sheepishly, and she shook her head. "Well, why don't I make you both some tea? It's quite the chilly one out there, after all." She had not missed either the fact that Isabella was cloaked in Jack's coat, and they both seemed a bit nippy, to say the least.

The kitchen, much like the rest of the house, was a palette of warm colors; honeys, cinnamons, ambers and chocolates pervaded, and most of the furniture was quite antique. The modern amenities were more noticeable in here, however; stainless steel appliances kept polished to a shine were set into cherry-wood cabinets and slate-colored countertops. Tammy moved a teapot with water onto the gas stove, turning the knob to get the water boiling. Checking her cabinet, she realized that all she had left was some imported Earl Grey; that would have to be it then. She wasn't about to serve coffee at this time of night, no matter how badly Jack was addicted to it.

The young man himself entered, clearly rather comfortable with the space, and she gave him a meaningful look. She knew not by what circumstances he had met the young lady, but she was going to trust his judgment on the matter for the moment at least, and the girl would want for as little as possible while in her home. she just hoped he knew what he was doing.

***********

For his part, Jackson managed miraculously enough to catch on to the fact that Isabella was grateful to him, and the thought made him a bit embarrassed. he hadn't really done a lot as he saw it, except maybe offer up somebody else's house for her to stay in. Actually, if he thought about it that way, he sounded even worse than he thought. Tammy was going to get it all out of him eventually, he could tell that much from the look on her face.

Still, for some reason that didn't really matter to him at present. he couldn't really recall the last time someone had ever actually been thankful for something he'd done. Well, of course there were the little things like holding the door for someone or helping one of the other faculty members move into his new office, but nothing of real magnitude. It was... heartening, in a sense.

Tammy headed for the kitchen, and he turned to Isabella. "Tea sounds good, I think. How about you?" He followed his mentor through the open doorway and slid easily into one of the stools that stood next to the island. If he remembered correctly, Tammy was something of a culinary hobbyist, and always liked to say that her home had two hearts: the kitchen and the library. He'd liked the idea then, but it wasn't until he'd actually seen the library that he'd taken her up on her offer to come by whenever he wanted. Tammy was like that; openhearted and sincere, especially to a student like him, who'd had no bearing in the massive city at the time. Maybe that was why he'd thought of her first, or maybe it was because she out of everyone he knew understood best when to ask questions and when to leave things be for a while.

A teacup appeared in front of him not too long afterward, and he grinned as the Professor pulled a jar of honey and a spoon from the fridge to go with it. She never forgot the small things, he reflected as he added a dollop of the sweet sticky stuff to the brownish liquid. So, too, were sugar and milk placed on the island, since neither of them knew how Isabella liked hers.

"So," he said, just for the sake of speaking, "I understand you're teaching the graduate seminar on existentialism next semester?"

Tammy took a sip of her drink, always with a little milk but no sugar, if he recalled correctly. "I am. I take it you wish you were?" She smile that played across her face was wry, and her eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Ah... well, it is no secret that you are a much better teacher than I am," he replied diplomatically, slightly flustered, and she chuckled.

"I think there are merits to both sides of that debate," she countered, "but let us leave them for another time. I'm sure Miss Waldon here would prefer to discuss something different. If you don't mind my asking, I do believe I detect some British in your accent, though I'm not sure it's quite London?"

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In awe of the kitchen, or what she was suspecting the kitchen to be, seeing that Mrs. Reynolds was making tea in it, Isabella moved aimlessly through the home until she sat carefully across from Mister Jackson. She had to follow his lead, for she was completely stupid as to how to act or where to go. It was amazing that no fire was needed to boil the water for tea.

Watching and waiting, Isabella said nothing as the two spoke with each other. They were very comfortable in each others presence and it seeped its way under Isabella's skin. She found herself slouching a little under Jackson's coat, wrapping her thin fingers around the tea cup and watching as the liquid sloshed up the sides. Everything about this place was warm and gentle. The colors caressed her cheeks and the smells engaged her nostrils. The books everywhere made her mind feel full of wants and needs. Jackson had brought her to the one place she could stay forever.

She frowned a little when Mrs. Reynolds mentioned her name and she looked up after taking a small sip. Isabella was holding the cup the way her mother had hated, sipping it slowly the way her mother had hated... But she didn't feel judged about it here. They were not looking at her in shock, but in curiosity. Thank goodness Isabella was still listening. What should she tell her? It was obvious a simple yes or no was in order, but was she to explain why she was here? How she'd gotten here? How scared and confused she was? How this place and Tammy Reynolds' hospitality was her only hope to sanity?

Perhaps that all would be a bit much in the first sentence.

"Yes." Isabella smiled tentatively. Setting the cup down gracefully, Isabella fixed her posture and removed the jacket from her shoulders. It was getting warmer by the minute and she folded it neatly over her arms. "Mister Jackson, this is yours. I thank you for allowing me the pleasure of wearing it in the cold." Handing it over to him, she nodded her head, trying to maintain some semblance of composure and turned her eyes back to Mrs. Reynolds.

"I am from London. Grovesnor Square." That should be enough, right? It was evident that she would have to explain everything sooner or later, but perhaps even Isabella needed more time to sort out all the facts.

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Jackson took the proffered coat with something of an embarrassed look on his face. To say he wasn't used to profusions of gratitude would be an understatement, and frankly all the gratefulness was making him a bit uncomfortable. Not that he minded it in the least; he actually found that he rather enjoyed seeing Isabella smile. He just... wasn't really expecting it.

He decided that it would probably be best to hang the thing in the hall closet. Heaven knew Tammy liked to keep things organized. "Uh... you're welcome. It's really no trouble. I'll be right back." Shooting Tammy a look that implored her not to ask too many questions of the poor young woman, he retreated, leaving the two alone for the moment.

Ever perceptive, Professor Reynolds chose not to press the point. "I see," she replied simply to Isabella's comment about her origins. "I've only been to London twice, myself, but my grandmother used to live in Liverpool." Pouring her own cup of tea, the gray-eyed woman took a seat on the other side of the island, across from her guests. Blowing gently on the tea, she drank it without adornment, smiling a bit when the sound of dog nails scrabbling on the floor signaled that Rousseau had finally become aware that there were guests in the house. The poor dog was a bit on the deaf side these days, but he never did fail to show up when Jackson was about.

The young woman in front of her looked a strange amalgamation of relieved and frightened, and Tammy's expression softened. Whomever she was, it was clear that she was doing her best to cope with what must have been some kind of emotional trauma. There would be no other reason why Jack would bring someone to her home, and it showed clearly enough on Miss Waldon's face. "You have nothing to fear here, my dear. You may consider my home yours for as long as you'd like it." While it may be strange for one person to so freely offer up their space to another nowadays, Tammy had been raised to treat those around her as best she was able. There was something in this girl, too, that reminded her of the unfortunate consequences of solitude. It was nothing quite so concrete as to be directly analogous of course, but still she could not help but feel that they were both lonely souls.

Well, all three of them were that way, she reflected as Jackson reentered the room, the aging schipperke in his lanky arms. He was liable to get dog hair all over him that way, but then he never had shown much regard for his clothing. "Sorry," he articulated to the two of them. "Rousseau snuck up on me." he seemed to remember something then, because his eyes widened marginally and he took a step back. "Oh, you're not allergic to dogs or anything, are you, Isabella?"

The concern in his tone was enough to make Tammy chuckle inwardly. That was simultaneously so like him and something she saw only infrequently. In some sense, he treated the young woman as though she might break at any moment, and Tammy privately suspected that Miss Waldon was made of sterner stuff than that. She could not fault him for it entirely, though, given what seemed to be the present state of things.

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Isabella wasn't entirely sure how to respond to the Professor's words. They'd been sudden and mostly a relief. She hadn't remembered either she nor Jackson saying anything about a long term stay, but Isabella was a very open book. It was quite obvious Professor Reynolds liked to read. Perhaps Isabella would like staying here more than she thought. Already it felt like a home, but she was still unsure if it was the heightened emotions she felt, or just the Professor's kind demeanor. Either way, it made the young woman feel better about the entire incident so far (whatever the "incident" may be).

Just as Isabella was planning to respond, Mister Jackson came back in, followed by a most peculiar creature. It was obviously a dog, but Isabella had only seen them from a distance; strays in the alleys of the commons or out in the fields hunting with the men. She'd never encountered one so close and she was thoroughly intrigued. Letting her curiosity appropriate the rest of her physical body, Isabella stood up and walked toward Mister Jackson. With more confidence than she felt, her small hand and long fingers reached out and started petting the dog's back. His fur was thick and a little coarse on the top, but as she moved around and massaged his neck she found a softer coat beneath.

"What a magnificent creature," Isabella whispered. "His name is Rousseau?" Feeling a swell of joy and enlightenment, she whispered out words she'd memorized in secret. "Man is or was born free, and he is everywhere in chains." Without even realizing she'd said this, she continued to pet the dog, her smile evident of a memory she shared with just her self.

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Jackson's eyes enlarged slightly at the whispered quotation; whatever he had been expecting Isabella to say, that had not been it. He readily admitted to himself that he was impressed. So few people knew philosophy. Most of his friends found it a tremendous waste of time, the study of "old dead white men." If only they all understood that it was so much more than that!

"All of my misfortunes come from having thought too well of my fellows," he replied slightly wryly, smiling to himself as Isabella buried her fingers in Rousseau's fur. The little dog seemed to be enjoying her ministrations, though Jackson himself felt a bit awkward just holding him, so he offered the black ball of fuzz to Isabella. "He's really placid. He'll just lay in your arms all day if you let him," he explained.

Tammy watched the interaction with a slight chuckle. Miss Waldon was quite the interesting young lady, indeed. As far as the professor was concerned, the fact that she seemed both intelligent and fond of the older woman's two favorite 'children' (the dog and the young man both, and to about the same degree) made her perfectly acceptable and enjoyable company.

But, there were certain things that needed to be taken care of. "Sorry to interrupt," she broke in gently, "but I do think there are a few small bits that need airing out. Miss Waldon, I do not know what you intend for your stay here, but if you are seeking employment, I can help you there, depending on what you would like to do. You are not of course obligated to do so- when I said you could treat my home as yours, I meant it." Tammy had been single and childless all her life, and a Professor's wage in New York was nothing to sneeze at, so it wasn't as though she required any financial assistance, but for the girl's own peace of mind, it might be better to find her something to do.

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When Jackson spoke, Isabella couldn't help but look up at him, smiling gently. They had something else in common, aside from being a tad awkward around others.

"Well spoken, Mister Jackson." Isabella spoke softly, her hand gently resting on the dog, her attention focused elsewhere. When he broke her stare (thank goodness for she realized how blatant it must have been!) she nodded and held out her arms. The little dog was warm and sat neatly on her lap when she returned to her seat. He was actually quite calming. Isabella knew this to be a trait of cats, for she'd seen and played with many of those small creatures, but as far as dogs, she hadn't realized the serene effect they could have on a person. The young woman knew she could really get used to this.

But get used to what, exactly? Still the question haunted her if this was all a dream, a new reality, or a horrid trick some god was playing on her. She had made the decision to go on and try and make the most of whatever was happening, but her chest was still tight with a small kind of mourning. Absently she stroked Rousseau's head and his chin rested lazily on her wrist. A wave of memories, the same ones she'd seemed to have in the last hour or so, came back to her mind. The fight with her parents, the young blond-haired man, the cramped space of whatever room she'd woken up in...

The professor's question caught her out of her turmoil and she looked up with furrowed brows.

"I'm sorry," she apologized for gazing off and tried to collect her thought of the present again. "Well," she started, "I was hoping to find an occupation of some kind. Seeing as I've already commandeered your hospitality, I would hate to ask for much more. But if you already have something in mind, I am very willing to take it. I am not talented in much. I learn quickly, however, and can do most anything I put my mind to." Processing her last words, Isabella smiled wide and looked down at the cute, old dog in her lap. As if to solidify the statement, he was looking up in her direction, tongue lolling out the side of his smiling mouth.

Her dark blue eyes turned back to the professor and spoke softly and carefully, else she betray the overwhelming combination of joy and sadness inside. "I am eternally grateful to you, and to Mister Jackson. I was very lucky to have run into him tonight." She had to stop there and turned her eyes back down to the dog. Sleep was sounding better and better.

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"Well," Tammy replied, suddenly feeling quite proud of herself for a rather incidental idea, "it so happens that the Department of Literature at NYU is in need of a new receptionist. The building is the same one Jackson and I work in. The job is somewhat demanding as far as organization goes, but if it's something you are willing to try, I could put a word in for you, and we could see what happens." There was something of an interview process involved, and such employees generally had degrees, but luckily the University was just a bit on the nepotistic side, and the recommendation of someone of her status would count for a great deal.

Jackson looked pensive for a second, but then he nodded. "I forgot Stacey was moving," he put in somewhat unnecessarily. It sounded like a good idea to him, but... since Isabella was from another time period, he wasn't sure how she'd handle computers or any of those sorts of things. All the more reason to take her to a few museums, get her caught up on what's happened since she... was before.

Tammy raised an eyebrow at him, but he stared back uncomprehendingly until she tapped her watch. Glancing at the clock on the wall (he was far too disorganized to remember to wear one) he blinked in surprise. It was that late already? Isabella must be barely awake, what with all she'd been through... today/ Maybe that wasn't the right word, but who knew? "Er... I guess I should be leaving," he admitted somewhat reluctantly. He was a bit worried for the young woman even still. He knew of course that she would be fine with Tammy, but... shaking his head he offered a silly smile. "Time passes too quickly in good company. Oh, right... Isabella, if you don't mind, I'll come by and take you somewhere interesting tomorrow. You're in New York, might as well see some of it. I mean, if that's okay with you and all." His grin morphed into one of sheepishness, and he scratched the back of his head, Causing Tammy to chuckle.

"A-anyway, I have to go. It was nice m- seeing you." He wasn't sure if Tammy knew they had only just met, but decided it probably wasn't best to make it too obvious. Unless he already had? He couldn't remember.

He was out the door shortly after, and his mentor sighed after him. "He manages to be always in a hurry and always late," she remarked wryly. "It's really quite amazing. But I imagine I have kept you awake far too long, my dear. Would you like me to show you the guest room? There's a washroom attached, so you won't have to worry about that."

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Following behind the Professor, Isabella reacted normally, calmly, and thankfully. The guest room was more than she could have hoped for, and to have her own wash room was amazing! It was not in the middle of the room, but actually separated from it. And she wouldn't need to go and heat up water over a fire. No! In fact, the hot water just poured out of a faucet with the turn of a knob! How intriguing the future was! So many things, different and new, Isabella could barely keep the excitement from her face.

Once left to her own devices, Isabella sat on the bed (that wasn't made of hay or downy feathers!) and looked about this new abode. The emotions waved up and hit her like the tsunami she'd been waiting for. Tears slid easily from her eyes and down her cheeks. They fell onto the linen of her walking dress and into the palms of her upturned hands. The young woman was at a loss for what to do, who to tell... Why was she here and not home? Why had she said the things she had? Why had that beautiful blond haired man taken her from London and put her in the middle of New York City, almost two centuries later? Wiping the wetness from her cheeks, she tried to keep from sobbing loudly, but it was proving harder than first thought. Laying down on her side, Isabella planted her face childishly into a pillow and cried until her body was weary.

It was then she stood up drowsily and took a long bath. Something else had been working with her, she had to admit. Meeting Jackson had been like finding an angel in a time of suffering. Was it all too good to be true? He'd found her a place to stay, which had inadvertently given her an occupation to maintain a living in this new time. Isabella still had so much to learn and it was all frightening to even fathom what those lessons would be. But she felt comfortable facing all these new things as long as Jackson was with her. He was a kind soul, with a great deal of intelligence to match. Her lips, swollen from the tears and frowns, curved slightly from the thought. Perhaps they would become good friends? It was a happy thought she took to bed with her, trying to keep the sadness at bay.

((Sorry it was short and... pointless. I figured we could just start off the next morning heading to the museum? :P I'll follow your lead.))

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Jackson woke the next morning with considerably less trouble than he usually had. It was only seven a.m., and already he felt himself quite energized indeed. If Barry could see him now... oh, right. The young professor flinched, realizing he'd left his friends high and dry last night. He'd have to call and apologize for that. But not right now; they'd still be asleep, and not particularly appreciative of their cell phones going off, no doubt. He'd been so preoccupied trying to get Isabella all sorted out that he'd completely forgotten to make his excuses before he left. Oh well; it wasn't as though he didn't regularly skip out on engagements of the young-professional variety, which was a nice way of saying he really disliked clubs.

Shaking his head to clear it of the thought, he hopped into the shower, glad that for once he could take his time instead of having to almost literally dive in and out because he'd be late for class otherwise. He really was terribly disorganized, he reflected, lathering his shampoo. Tammy had tried helping him get himself sorted out, but it seemed that he was just one of those people who was doomed to be forever, late, disheveled, and missing something fairly important. At least he wasn't unclean; his apartment lacked the characteristic mess of people who had no care for hygiene or sanitation. There were just books all over the place instead.

Shutting off the flow of the near-scalding water, Jackson fluffed up his hair with a few passes of a towel, trying to semi-organize it with his fingers. It never laid flat anyway. Based on last night's temperature, he should probably consider at least a sweater. Even spring in New York could be a bit chilly. Not that he was unused to that at least, being from the rather northerly region that was Montana. He went for jeans again, though, with a gray sweater over a red collared shirt that probably needed to be ironed. Not one of his skills, ironing. Now, cooking on the other hand...

That reminds me... Jackson smiled and headed for his small kitchen unit, heating the electric stove and making himself an omelet with all the fixings. Growing up where he had meant that he'd always been a fan of breakfast, which was ironic since he rarely ever ate it. His morning routine and then some was completed by eight, and he found himself wondering exactly what to do until he dropped by Tammy's again at around nine. He'd purchased online tickets to the Metropolitan Museum of Art last night, just to make sure they could absolutely get in, which was ludicrous because the place was never full. Jackson could spend all day in a place like that, but he had every intention of taking Isabella to the Museum of Natural History, too, if she wanted to go. Actually, he was kind of worried that she might not enjoy herself; his preoccupation with museums and such had not been Estelle's- no, he shouldn't be thinking about that sort of thing. The MET would be a great chance for Jackson to catch her up on things that had happened since her time, and maybe learn something himself. Plus, it wasn't the same thin as taking Estelle, because that would imply it was a date, which this absolutely was not... right?

Deciding that he'd done more than enough thinking for now, he chose to exit his apartment and catch the bus early. Better than what he was doing now, anyway.

******

Tammy Reynolds, as it turned out, was very organized indeed. She'd been up earlier still than her former student, and had made the trip to a department store to make some essential purchases for her guest, who, having arrived with nothing but the clothes on her back and a shy smile, doubtless would find herself in need of them. Jackson would likely never think of such things himself, as she constantly had to remind him when his clothes needed replacing.

She'd made the observation that Isabella's manner of dress was quite conservative, and tried very hard to buy articles that reflected as much. She'd selected mostly skirts, but thrown in a few pairs of pants as well, just in case the dress was purely a matter of coincidence. A few new pairs of shoes had topped off the lot, and though it wasn't much, Tammy had found herself smiling the entire time. She'd have to insist that Isabella make a return trip with her, since she was largely guessing on sizes, or maybe she'd make Jackson take her. How long had it been since she'd been shopping for someone? Not since Christmas, and certainly rarely other than that.

Returning to her home, she set the purchases down in front of the young woman's door and knocked gently even as her own doorbell sounded. That boy just has a knack for awful timing, she thought with a trace of amusement. "Miss Waldon?" she called softly. "You may wish to wake soon, if you are to spend the day in the city. There are some things here for you to wear, if you would like to go through them. I hope something suits."

With that, she went downstairs to answer the door.

(Hey, no worries. =) Also, you can make the garments anything you like/horribly sized/whatever. I just thought someone as practical as Tammy would try to make sure she had something to wear!)

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Having been up since before dawn, Isabella had already found a brush in the wash room and brushed out her long, dark locks. There was no way for her to pin it back up. All the pins she'd had were either missing, or useless. Sighing, she assumed perhaps it was acceptable to wear it down? Most of the women she'd passed just the night before had long following strands trailing down their backs and pooling over their shoulders. Gazing into the mirror, Isabella realized just how long her hair had become. Wearing it on the top of her head all the time, she'd never really had a chance to admire its health and growth. Stopping just at the small of her back, its end grew into a light point and brush easily along the bow holding her chemise to her body.

She hadn't thought of getting dressed when there was a light knock at her door. Taking a quick glimpse in the mirror she noticed her eyes were still sleep ridden and swollen from all the crying. She'd fallen asleep crying and woke up with horrible nightmares she couldn't understand. It was most obvious the poor young woman was angry with herself. Isabella had known better than to argue with her parents, but she couldn't take the facetious nature of society any longer. Honesty and romanticism were things the Waldon woman treasured and it was near impossible to find them in her time.

It was hope that made her wake up that morning. The idea that perhaps she was brought here to find the things she couldn't have in her own home.

Ms. Reynolds spoke through the door after the sound of a bell. Furrowing her brows she cracked the door open to find the bag on the floor before her. Gripping it up she took it in the bedroom and sifted through the clothing. What a wonderful woman! Isabella had been set on wearing her own clothing again (knowing it was still going to get her odd looks) but this was a gift! She would have to do something soon for the Professor. Perhaps Jackson would help her? Smiling widely, she picked out a long, white linen skirt and placed a darker brown one over top of it. The waist was a little loose so she just pushed it down over her hips and found it fit nicely there. Isabella still chose to wear her corset, feeling it necessary and prudent to do so, she placed a cream colored blouse over it, letting the ends hang over the band of her skirts. It was ruffled at the chest and had a high neck line, much like her riding dresses were. Wearing a brown vest over that and sensible boots, Isabella looked into the mirror on the washroom and ran her fingers lightly through her hair.

Today would be a good day, yes? The thought made her corners of her lips turn up and she remembered Jackson had mentioned taking her someplace today. Her heart leapt in her chest and she took in a deep breath. Perhaps this was a good start to a new life? There was really no other way to look at the situation. Isabella took a good, long look in the mirror at a new woman. A freer woman than before. She was someone who was going to follow the dreams into reality; something that was impossible where she'd come from. Exiting the room, her boots rapping lightly on the floors of the Professor's house, she made her way toward the kitchen (which seemed more of a common room in this house), unable to keep the smile off her lips.