The wagon rattled to a halt, steam billowing up into the inky twilight that hugged the corners of Newburry Street and caused the spires of the Cathedral to disappear as they flew upward. The flat bed of the wagon, boarded up so they could stack the sick inside, connected to the odd looking engine like a tag along. The Engine's vent rose up like an imitation of the Cathedral's spires, puffing out the last little breaths of steam until it settled quietly in the street. Vittoria stepped down and turned to the Orderly driving the machine. "Thank you. I will take a taxi back to the hospital." The orderly look around the darkened courtyard of the cathedral.
"I dunno miss... Its awful out here this time of night. Wouldnt you rather I waited for you to come back?"
"You simply cant!" She waved away his protests. "You must get these people back to the hospital and I must speak to the Sister's inside." She turned on heel, her white boots clacking against uneven stones, her skirts swishing like little gusts of wind. Her nurses uniform glowed white against the dimness, the red cross on her armband and chest a splash of violent color. She walked stiffly, like the high collar and tight buttons kept her from relaxing. It was good posture, her mother had taught her to remember her posture...

Three months the Swift's Plague had taken its toll on the lower streets of London. It had taken her nearly that long to get her uncle to agree to let her out of the hospital and onto the streets where she would be the most use. As she started working with the sick, talking to the people and seeing the outcome of the plague, her heart grew heavy and she became uneasy. Something was wrong and it was her duty to find out what it was. She just didnt know where to even start. So she thought, perhaps talking to one of the nuns who worked with the sick and dying everyday may give her some clues...

Deep in the heart of Lower London it had begun to drizzle lazily, the drops tinged with a slight acidity from the coal plant which clogged the air in the sunken section of the city with thick black smoke. A necessary evil, some might say, to power the street lights and elaborate hotels and shops uptown. Rabbit trudged through the refuse laden streets, his frayed dress shoes having long since soaked through with the heinous mix of garbage, compost and excrement. Perhaps they had the pleasantries of a toilet elsewhere in London, but down here it was nothing more than a trusty bucket and a window that opened the the street below.

Though he was scarcely a year old Jacob saw all around him the signs of hardship and woe people suffered, even before the plague. Now, Lower London was like something out of a depraved nightmare. It had never been good, but it wasn't like this. The stench of corpses hung thickly in the air, held in by the coal plants choking fog, it seemed down every narrow alley there were a stack of corpses. A vast majority of those who still lived didn't look far from joining them. Infected pustules speckled pale, lifeless skin, glistening as they oozed. Many of the living smelled worse than the bodies.

It seemed like an apocalypse. This plague knew no mercy; man, woman and child alike suffered its touch. And yet...

Just earlier that morning a few miles up the road the upper districts still went about their days largely unchanged. Most all the clergy and nobility seemed unaffected. Perhaps it wasn't surprising that the poor were dying, was it not them who always found themselves bearing the burden of the rest of society? If history was any indication The Black Death had acted much in the same way. In fact had it not been for Jacob's dealings with the upper class he likely would have been none the wiser, accepting the truth he was given.

But no, he had seen someone get better. As if by some strange sorcery a Zephyr addicted duke and his young wife had becoming healed within a matter of days after knocking on deaths door for several weeks. Then, one his top clients, a wealthy merchant with a heavy purse and a craving for a constant high fell ill. Despite the merchants vast wealth, he was dead within the week. It was a trend he saw more and more as the plague wore on.

Business was bad. People were desperate. And its only going to get worse. Truth be told Rabbit wasn't sure just what it was that spurred him to start wanting the truth so badly. Maybe he just wanted the world to make more sense than it did. A mind geared to logical thinking in an irrational world. It wasn't a thought he cared to dwell on. Rabbit arrived short time later at his destination. A nunnery in the heart of a particularly devastated area, known for its kindness even as some of the sisters began to grow sick themselves.

How strange it was that one would die and not another. It was well known there were countless minds at work under the benevolent hand of Herald Roydanan working tirelessly to find a cure. In a strange way that too steeled Rabbit's reserve that perhaps his efforts would amount to something greater.

Shaking his head he drove such thoughts from his mind, trying to drum up just what he would ask. As he pushed open one side of the large double doors and poked his head in it was a grim sight. The pews had been pushed to a far corner, making room for the dozens of families which dotted the floor. On his right it appeared the father of a young girl had just died, her wails of despair mixing with all the others who cried out in pain or grief. Here and there nuns helped where they could but there were simply not enough of them. Several of the bodies outside had been wearing robes, it was easy to imagine the suffering these women had been through, yet they still worked.

In the center one of the older nuns, her back holding a permanent crook stood talking to what appeared to be a nurse. Both women faced away from him, but it was clear they were in the midst of an important conversation. Wordlessly, the clockwork fully entered the makeshift hospital approaching the pair though not wanting to interrupt. If he happened to overhear anything useful, well that would just be a bonus.

Sister Constance was aptly named. She had managed the makeshift hospital with stout belief in the healing power of prayer and a sterner belief in hard work. A nurse who was wearing the insignia of the Ratchem Royal Hospital (a sister establishment to infamous Bedlam) had garnered a lot of attention. It had taken many protestations from Vittoria to convince the crowd that she was merely a student and had very little clinical experience. Sister Constance had saved her from the crush of nuns and parents finally.
"What brings you to this dark place, child?" Vittoria's certainty had drained amongst the smells of infection and the feeling of ineptitude. She had come here for answers, right? When did the first victim appear in this area, was there a commonality between time-lines, and most importantly what element of the victims daily lives was common before infection? Did they share a common source of water? Did they eat from the same batch of produce? Did one man get sick and then those near him become affected? But now that it came down to it, Vittoria was not at all certain she could get her answers. She was a lowly nursing student... What right did she have to poke around these peoples' wounds? Even if she was the niece of Herald Roydanan.... Still she pressed on.
"Ive come to ask about your observations, Sister." She spoke quietly, glancing nervously at the people around her. "It is much different here than in the hospital." She stopped and took a deep breath, starting over. "I mean to say that among the poor the patterns are vastly different. Cases among the upper classes appear almost random and I wish to compare the two groups..."
"Well, I dont know how much I can tell you but if it helps at all I am willing." So Vittoria asked her questions. Did the Sister know who the first victim was in the area? Yes, a Mason down in Newfont who had just found a way to use sound to test the sturdiness of a structure. Poor man had thought he had just seen brighter days. Vittoria took notes. From there, who became affected? His family, a son, wife, and newborn daughter. Then it seemed that people would just become sick out of nowhere. No one knows which one came after the Mason, but soon it was the entire market district of lower London. Vittoria frowned, not certain if this told her anything yet.
"Thank you." She said and took a look at the withering old woman. She was a marvel. No signs of sickness. There was a darkness though, behind her eyes, a haunting, probably from the horrors she lived with day to day. "Is there anything you need? I can have the hospital send supplies..."
"Ah, thank you, child. What the hospital can offer we would appreciate..." Vittoria turned to leave, taking one last look around the room.

The clockwork's keen artificial hearing picked up just the tail end of the conversation. Though it was clear the woman was asking questions it remained to be seen what her motives were. However Rabbit would have been lying if he didn't see the concern in the woman's eyes.

As she turned to leave she surveyed the room. It seemed as though the woman bore the weight of the world on her stiff shoulders. Normally this may have stuck out like a sore thumb, but those who remained optimistic often seemed mad considering the circumstances. Her situation wasn't helped by her tender age or line of work. Health care primitive as it was required such a vast amount of empathy it would be impossible to assume she would do anything else but take on more problems than was reasonable. Logically it was a sound explanation.

But logical assumptions didn't build trust. Quite the opposite the calculative mind of the clockwork predictable cast her in a different light. For one her body language rigid as it was spoke of noble upbringing. She held a vague air of superiority, whether intentional or not, as though she was used to 'knowing what was best.' Likewise her bone structure, very similar to Jacob's own, was all high cheek bones and symmetrical features which reeked of high-society inbreeding. As easy as it was to accept her as a loving, caring, do-gooder Rabbit hadn't become as successful as he was by simply reading appearances.

Indeed there was little doubt she was still nothing more than human. As far as he was concerned that translated into unpredictable, vindictive, and untrustworthy. Beasts guided by their emotions.

Still, there was a hidden strength hiding behind the mask of worry, a gleam which perhaps betrayed her intentions far more than anything she could have said. Even as he stood there he couldn't help but wonder what it was others saw behind his own emerald orbs. Was there any emotion to be found? Or were they lifeless as the gemstone of which they were constructed? Regardless, the ever-curious Jacob was instantly hooked. Certainly there were little guarantees if the nurse would be able to shed any light on the situation; but from what he had already gathered, coupled with the questions he overheard the woman asking it seemed both were driving towards the same conclusion. For now, as usually was the case for Rabbit, caution was the name of the game.

Matching her gaze Rabbit gave her the most charming smile he could muster. His flawless ivory teeth sparkling in the gentle torchlight.

"Lo there madam." He removed his faded black bowler, pressing it to his chest awarding her a minute bow "My name is Marcus Granger, from the London Herald?" There was no apprehension in his voice, it was as if Jacob Harrington and Rabbit had disappeared in the blink of an eye, replaced by a new alias. Utterly convincing. Truly Rabbit was able to shed and take on personalities like humans changed clothes. But in the end is it a gift or a curse? "Don't mean to be rude, but I saw you asking some questions... I was wondering if perhaps you could save me some trouble?"

Vittoria stirred from her reverie to look at the man standing before her. As he introduced himself she felt her shoulders tense. A reporter? It struck her as odd for a moment until he spoke again. "You're here for a story?" She asked mildly looking around the room though she felt a bit nervous. A paper like the Herald could both help and harm. If it was a humane piece it might raise awareness for the people who were suffering in the poorer districts, however a sensationalists blaring about disease and corruption and whatever other poppycock they could come up with might just spread panic. She thought it over quickly calculating the odds. Unfortunately she couldnt know where he stood without more information. "What would you like to know Mr... Granger?"

The kettle whistled shrilly from another room, and with a start Tobie awoke from a nightmarish sleep. Groaning in frustration at her own tendency to pass into the depths of a dream at any time, she rushed towards the kitchen. Her eyes caught a few curious items laying upon the coffee table as she strode by. "You're going to want more Zephyr soon." Tobie murmured, stepping out the sitting room and into the kitchen. She stopped there and let the whistle pierce through her ears a moment.

"Yes...I know." She replied to her earlier statement, as there was no one else in the house.

"It's a terrible habit." She murmured again, after which her fingers began to anxiously tap the table beside her. The multitude of silver and gold rings she wore on them, glinted randomly in the light.

"I know!" Tobie replied insistently. Then a sigh rattled through her and she grabbed the still screaming kettle from the stove. Her hands gingerly poured the hot water over the tea leaves that sat ready and waiting in her teapot. The pot itself was of elegant design, though it wasn't a particularly good quality. Instead it was worn and stained with age, and even carried a few shallow cracks.

Surly the woman was well funded enough to buy a new teapot, but for some reason she rather loathed replacing items that--though a bit worn perhaps--could still be used. Perhaps it was a reminder of how she herself had been so quickly replaced when she'd done no more than gone a bit mad.
"Yes, I know I'm mad." Tobie mused, as she continued to ready the tea.

Her well means came both from her own few works, and the estate left behind when her husband had passed. She had only known him for a little more than three years, and that being the length of their marriage nearly the same... But she did love him.

He had been the only one there to care for her, the only man of wealth she'd ever known to save a poor woman from the hell of lower London. And all he'd ever asked in return was her love. But that had been before this wicked plague spread across London, taking with vengeance the man she loved. Yet it was something she couldn't allow to burden her. Or, at least, she rather liked not to think about. Tobie didn't know why he'd gone back to lower London that day, or why he had allowed himself to wither away, despite her cries and pleas for him to live. All that she did know, was he had saved her, twice before their short time together ended. Once from the depths of poverty and complete insanity, and then again from the wicked thing called "the Swift Virus".

She could recall, kneeling beside his bed, begging him not to leave her, when he'd reached for two smooth white pills beside his bed, and offered them to her. As she had held them with fearful eyes, he explained that the pills were a vaccine to keep her from contracting the plague. When she'd insisted instead that he take them, he had told her that the pills for him were in the pocket of his brown sports coat. And he'd been sure that she swallowed the two he had given to her, before allowing her to fetching the others.

It was easy to know he'd lied to save her. Tobie had never found the other pills, nor did she believe them to have existed. He'd given up his cure, to protect her. She had insisted upon buying more for him, but her ill husband had never given her the information. He had refused to tell her both where he'd bought the pills from, or how much he'd spent. Then not long after, he'd carried those answers to his grave and left her alone again.

"You need more Zephyr." Tobie commented again, as she carried her tea to the sitting room.
Then her voice dropped to a whisper. "The Rabbit will come soon."

Hesitation creased the woman’s features. Perhaps a reporter wasn’t the trustworthiest of guises, inwardly cursing himself for not realizing it sooner. He found it odd that humans, with all their obvious shortcomings, would place things like honor and trust on such a high pedestal. After all they were little more than apes with the largest stick.

"What would you like to know Mr… Granger?"

His charismatic smile unflinching, Marcus Granger continued to blossom, taking on a personality all its own “Well, miss, howsabouts we start with your name?”

To Rabbit’s surprise, Mr. Granger was a bit of a flirt. He coupled his cheeky question with a wink, as women were generally suckers for such things. It was a gamble; to be sure, there simply hadn’t been enough of an opportunity to read the woman. Forced to leap before he looked as it were, he prayed the girl would appreciate Marcus’ effort to make light in a dismal situation. It would be prudent to get this done as quickly as possible; anything to ruffle feathers could prove an insurmountable obstacle. Taking his own advice his face grew somber, his tone more grave.

“I’m doing a story on the plague.” Jade orbs drifted across the red cross emblazoned upon her breast, another shot in the dark. “Trying to bring the woes of the common folk to the attention of the rich.”

Rabbit cleared his throat, puffing out his cheeks for good measure. As he did so his fingers dipped into his overcoats pocket, drawing a tarnished gold pocket watch from its depths. A parting gift from his late fathers estate. Dexterous fingers popped the small latch, revealing a cracked glass face, the hands still keeping perfect time despite the spider webbing of the glass.

“I have an appointment with a woman who lost her husband not much longer after this. I promise not to take up much of your time.” At least that part was true; Tobie Green was an eccentric young woman, to say the least. Her already off-kilter mind helped little by her constant doping. Rabbit wasn’t one to complain, she had deep pockets. In the Zephyr business the customer was always right.

“I must admit blood makes me rather queasy. I realize how ridiculous it must sound, but could we step outside afore I lose my lunch?” His shoulder dipped, bowing a second time and gesturing to the door with his bowler, as if to usher the woman outside.

If she had known his true inner workings she would find it even more ridiculous a clockwork claiming to be made queasy by anything. Lucky for Rabbit, there would be little way to tell.

Vittoria was a little surprised by Granger's attitude but if anything her work in the hospital had gotten her used to the idea that the world was filled with all different types. She smiled professionally, hoping that her nurse's facade could get her through the uncertain situation. She listened to his chatter relaxing minutely after hearing the purpose of his story. There was no guarantee but at least he didn't come across as a sensationalist. "Vittoria Roydanan." She offered and then looked around the room. It didnt occur to her that someone might be bothered by the blood and sweat around her. She had long since gotten used to the most grisly of sights. Wound care was a students job and some men had come in after hunting accidents and when she was allowed to work in the clinic she saw laborers' wounds. "Im truly sorry. Yes, lets step outside. Im finished here, after all." She gave one last look around and then proceeded to the door not noticing how stuffy and odorous it had been inside until fresh air filled her lungs. She stood under a street light, pulsing slowly as the power ebbed and flowed and turned to face Mr. Granger. "Now sir, I will have to know what specifically you want to know, because some information would be unethical to release..."

"Vittoria Roydanan." That was a certainly an interesting development. It took quite a bit of will for Rabbit not allow his jaw to go slack. It was clear now, the similar curve to the bridge of the nose, the somewhat heart shape hairline. Similarities between the nurse before him and the Doctor Roydanan, the man working hardest to fight the plague were evident, though Jacob’s judgments also led him to believe she was not of direct descent.

If he truly had been a reporting the simple gesture of giving out her true name would have been enough to conjure quite the tale in the papers. “Roydanan’s Niece Casting Suspicious Light on Good Doctor.” In his minds-eye Rabbit could easily picture such a headline. Following her gracious apology, the pair stepped outside.

The air of lower London was hardly in a better state than indoors save for the simple fact it was less stuffy. In a spot of luck the acidic rain had ceased for the time being, allowing the pair to walk in relative comfort. One of the few streetlights that dotted lower London bathed the nearest corner, one that Vittoria quickly stepped under.

"Now sir, I will have to know what specifically you want to know, because some information would be unethical to release..."

“Of course, madam.” He assured. Rabbit stepped forward, a gentle hand placed to the small of the young woman’s back, guiding her steps across the street. “Anything you can tell me, the personal stories of a patient, the horrors of its effects. Feel free to leave out anything you’re uncomfortable with, though know that all statements will be taken anonymously…”

His voice trailed, allowing her to process his request. Still ushering the girl forward. Staying still would be a most grievous error, his original tactics had been decidedly less subtle, something that by now had surely gained the attention of police and the like. Few lawmen stepped foot in this part of London, but that wasn’t to say it was safe for Rabbit. His job had left him at odds with several of the more prominent gangs of the area, malicious men who weren’t afraid of attacking even in broad daylight. Enemies were everywhere; at least a moving target would prove more difficult to catch unawares.

Across the street, Rabbit’s voice dropped to little more than a whisper. There was little use dancing around it any longer, it was time to see if this little fish would bite when bait was wiggled in front of her. “In truth, my research of the virus I have found something most disturbing. It would seem there are inconsistencies in who and where the plague strikes…” He stopped there, allowing the implications to linger while simultaneously pinning the woman with a soul-piercing stare; reading her features for signs of acceptance or disdain.

Tobie set down the empty cup. Then picked it up again, rotated it slightly...and returned it to the plate upon which it should rest. With a frown she tapped the side of her seat anxiously, and reached to spin the cup in a complete circle, using the tip of her finger to push the handle around. Letting an exasperated sigh slip between her lips the woman left the cup to complete its spin, standing out of the chair so that she man not see where it chose to stop. It would just aggravate her any way.

It wasn't the teacup, it was more...this anxious realization inside her that told her every waking second what a pitiful useless being she was. And it was then, on rare occasions, that she began to hear the voices of the secret ones, whispering horrific ideas into her ears. Tormenting her with thoughts of murder, regret and suicide.
She then found herself pounding, palm open, her hand against her forehead. "Stop it, stop it you crazy fool!" Then hearing a subtle thud of small footsteps approaching, Tobie smiled and spun towards to noise. "Jack! Where've you been?" She asked with a giggle. Though it would seem the woman had began talking to someone who wasn't there...it wasn't the case. No, she didn't talk to imaginary people any way.
...Only to herself and random inanimate objects...and Jack, of course.

The rabbit looked up at her with his curious and yet bored expression. No, not the man whom she knew as "The Rabbit", or simply "Rabbit" the man who was kind enough to keep her supply of Zephyr coming...this was in fact a literal rabbit. The rodent was slender and of average size, his coat a soft white that slowly darkened until reaching his grey tips. He had been an anniversary gift from her late husband, and they'd named him jack according to what they had agreed to name their first son. Somehow it suited him well.

Hopping towards her in as close to a march as a rabbit could manage, Jack then paused, and turned his ears up towards the young woman. With a smile she picked up the small piece of celery she'd brought along into the sitting room, then after breaking off a small piece she offered it to him. As usual, the bunny rabbit accepted.

She sat down again. "Yes well, eat it up luv, and don't leave anything on the floor." Tobie said to the small white rabbit, who's eyes cast up towards her as he munched on his snack. "I think that I shall go out in a bit, I have an odd feeling I may have received a post letter." After informing the still chewing Jack of her plans, Tobie stood, wondering as she did if she should wait for Rabbit to come before she did. It was an appointment she would very much not like to miss. "Well," She begun, as if Jack had been able to hear and grasp her last unspoken thought. "I suppose I must get ready either the case. So you don't do anything you're not supposed to." And with that, Tobie dropped the last bit of celery to Jack the rabbit, then turned to ready herself for a brief outing.

A brief moment of panic struck Vittoria. What he said did not disturb her because he knew, but because he had just confirmed her own suspicions. When it was just her own worry that there were discrepancies she could write it off as paranoia. But HE had said it now... It made it even more of a reality. She just couldnt imagine the cause of such a thing. Perhaps she would have to talk to her Uncle... "Well, as far as I discovered the very first cases were reported in Bethlem Hospital..." That was one of those things she was going to keep to herself, but with her stomach roiling at the possibilities she wanted someone else to confirm what she was now fearing. That Bethlem was a test of the efficiency of the plague. She drew in a deep breath and looked around her city, the place she had always lived and the people she had been trying so hard to help and felt it had turned into a raging monster. "This was buried once the first reports came in from Cheapside."
She looked him in the eye her face serious. "Ive been trying to find information on individual victims. I wanted to know if there was a pattern. If I had a map I would show you what Ive found but Ill just have to explain well." She paced. "Each outbreak revolves around a family or individual. I have yet to see a case where they find a street urchin dying in the street or a member of the clergy... Always a semi-prominent family in one of the lower districts. This district was infected by a mason who had just gotten a grant from the Guild for a mechanism that used sound waves to test for... Well it was ingenious... And he died last week." A sinking feeling hit. "I want to search his home for his research...." She said so quietly a human would have not heard. The wheels of her mind were turning. An inventor, a merchant investing in zephyr trade lines, other people with progressive ideas. She turned and looked at him with wide eyes. She could no longer deny. The one spark of doubt this man allowed had set fire to her naiveté and the cinders held an awful truth. "This wasnt an accident..."

Florence stood before the mirror, holding a dress in front of her. She threw it on her bed and plopped down in disgust. She couldn't believe him. The Swift Plague was running rampant in London, and claimed more and more lives each day, yet they went on like nothing was happening. Just how could her father have a ball when so many people were dying in the streets? Every day she grew more hateful and disillusioned to this society which she was born to.

"Trudy," Florence said to her maid, "tell my father that I'm not feeling well and won't be attending tonight's party."

"Miss...well, I'm afraid I can't do that. See, your father came to me earlier and said he thought you'd say something like that..."

"To hell with him! I could have caught the plague for all he knows!"

"That's impossible," said Francis Ainsworth as he walked into the room. "Get dressed, Florence. You're coming to this party tonight whether you like it or not. There's a big surprise in store for you."

Vittoria’s eyes widened as the realization dawned on her. For a moment it seemed that she might run away, not to flee his accusations but to flee from a truth she had already come to herself.

Rabbit’s cog-mind buzzed with the flood of new information, as Vittoria spilled her discoveries. Her report of Bethlem, and the cover-up surrounding the hospital was most unusual, of all the places for a plague to erupt, was an upper-class hospital really the first place you’d expect? No. Rabbit thought, not at all. As a Zephyr dealer Rabbit’s circle of victims was decidedly limited, the mason she spoke of Rabbit had never heard of, though it continued to twist the story in a new direction. The look on the woman’s face was enough to reveal her belief, though her voice quickly followed. “This wasn’t an accident..."

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. Briefly he thought again to Vittoria’s uncle, how her suspicions could easily cast a long shadow across her family name. How strange it was that someone so close to the biggest opponent of the plague was one of its biggest critics.

“Intentional?” Marcus replied, façade flowing back freely. His mouth creased, a frown turning down the edge of his mouth. “Indeed. I have come to much the same conclusion. Truth be told I’m more interested in why…”

He hesitated, the sudden realization of this woman’s words dawning on him. With just a gentle nudge this woman had laid her cards on the table, while Jacob’s hand was still played close to the chest.

There was logical backing for either option; on the one hand it was only fair to be truthful with her as she had been with him…yet, if she so easily gave up her beliefs, what would her loose lips say of Rabbit? Perhaps more importantly, what would she think if she found his original personality was nothing but an elaborate ruse?

Snapping back to reality, Marcus found the girl studying him, obviously hanging on his words now that the two were locked in this strange union. “Vittoria…” his words were only just louder than a whisper. “Who else have you told of this?”

His eyes whirled around; silently praying he’d find the streets still empty. Damn. He mouthed, his eyes falling on a pair of men with nasty sneers drawn across their features. Blue bandannas wrapped around their forearm revealed their identity: Griffon Gang.

This really isn’t a good time. Rabbit groaned inwardly. Saying nothing to the girl he again placed a hand on her spine shepherding the girl down the nearest alley. “Oi!” The gruff bark of the thugs echoed after them in the dead air. In response Jacob picked up his pace, coming very close to carrying the girl forward, his powerful artificial limbs having little trouble with the petite girl.

“Admittedly, this may seem a bit strange, but I think it’s best we head to a friends house to discuss this further. Just…” Jacob looked down, giving the woman a reassuring smile. “Just trust me, okay?”

The game had just gotten more complicated, his hand forced. As the pair walked onward Rabbit guided them down another alley, zig-zagging in hopes they’d lose their pursuers. “Raaaaaaabbit, come out and play!” The call echoed after them, as the sound of boots against cobblestone rose from behind.

Pausing briefly to Vittoria he turned, shoving a small parcel from his pocket into her unprepared hands. “Take this to 1508, the corner of Hyde and Queens.” Emerald orbs glanced down the alley, the sounds of footsteps only growing as time ticked away. “Give the parcel to my friend, Tobie, stay there until I arrive. Now is not safe.”

As if on cue the two men rounded the corner, “Lo’ there little bunny, what have we here?” The nearest asked, pulling a knife from the folds of his coat and brandishing it menacingly.

With a commanding push Jacob placed himself between the girl and the ruffians. It was an odd sensation, playing the hero of sorts. Not due to a chivalrous sense of duty but because she, Vittoria, was the key to all of this, a means to blow the lid off this entire plague and return things to some semblance of normality. In his haste to remove the young nurse from the equation he failed to mention Tobie’s peculiar behavior, or the fact she was now in possession of a small fortune of illicit substance. His mind had skipped over such details in the face of a more immediate problem that was leering towards him, in the form of some surly Griffons.

Giving one parting glance to make sure the girl had followed his command to flee he turned to face the aggressors. A wide smile spread across his features as he straightened his collar. “Gentlemen.”

The hands on her clock didn't move. They never did. Pacing back and forth Tobie slowly became more distressed as to the Rabbit's arrival. He should have been here by now, she thought. But, with a broken clock, who could know? He had always come on time before…or so it seemed. Perhaps she didn't know that for a fact either.

If he's late, then perhaps he isn't coming. You should go check the postal service…You have something waiting…you know it.

Tobie turned to look down at Jack, who had marched over rather calmly, to watch her pace the hall. "What if he isn't late my Jack…or if he is late…perhaps he's still coming." She turned to look at the door, and then her eyes angled left, observing the wall clock beside it. Tobie pulled the clock down from the wall, and stared at it a moment. Then, she continued pacing, with the clock in hand, staring down at its most certainly inaccurate time.

Thoughts whirled through her head, begging her to stay, asking her to leave, reasoning and bargaining with facts that were only so in her own imagination. For a slight moment Tobie felt distant, as her contrasting ideas battled within her…she seemed to view them as an unrelated spectator, wondering which would win over.
At last she walked over to the sitting chair, laid the clock down upon it, and turned back to the hall. You've enough time…if you stay here waiting, you won't do anything but pace. She nodded as if to plant the thought firmly as her decision, and with that, Tobie grabbed her hat and cane from beside the door. With a last look towards Jack, she stepped out.

Somehow Tobie managed not to notice the odd looks received by any who passed her by, and she made it to the nearest post building without a single thought as to anything but getting home as quickly as possible.
By the time she stepped through the doors, Tobie had begun to doubt herself, and realized that her certainty of having some sort of letter was most likely no more than a daydream or wishful thinking. She hooked the handle of her old wood cane on the edge of the counter and wore a pleasant smile for the postman.

"'Ello ma'am." He greeted with a bit of a grin. Tobie nodded and smiled as though she were as proper as any of the other upper-class Londoners.
"Yes, would you have received any items addressed to a 'Tobie Green' or something the like?" She asked, quite simply. With a nod the postman turned to look. Tobie tapped her fingers quietly on the edge of the counter, trying not to seem terribly impatient. Though of course, she was. After a moment--which had seemed more like an eternity--the man returned with a very subtle look of surprise upon his wrinkled face.
"Certainly ma'am, there's this envelope addressed to Tobie Green with a street name, but it has no address of residence." He offered the letter, and with a bit of suspicion she carefully accepted it. Her eyes searched over the slightly worn envelope, suddenly taking her time a bit.
"No return address either…" She said softly, and the postman agreed with a slight grunt. A tick in the back of her mind suddenly reminded her she was in a rush, and with a rather brief look back towards the man, she nodded. "Right, thank you!" Tobie said, scooping up both the letter and her cane, then turning to exit the building.

Why do you hurry so? "I mustn't miss the rabbit." She mused softly. You need to see him..? Tobie sighed. "I…I need the zephyr."

Tobie arrived home in short order, and as she stepped inside, her mind buzzed. Did he come? Did I miss it..? She forced a tremble from her hands. Walking to the sitting chair, she picked up the clock, gazed at it a moment, and then set it upon the table beside her. Then, with a deep breath Tobie sat down, staring at the envelope clutched between her hands. Her mind wouldn't calm; too many questions…too many questions and no answers. She could hardly move. He will come…He will come…He will come.