Post #2535892 in Age Is But A Number, a roleplay on RPG

{ 1963 || Lincoln Memorial || 28th, August }

Beatrice had followed along with the march. She had walked with the March on Washington with her hands linked side by side with two African-American woman, her mouth opened wide as she sang the same songs as them, marched along with them with wide eyes filled with a sort of fascination that each of them bore. They were making history- and only Beatrice could already feel the triumph that would create waves throughout the American community until the shocking deaths of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, Jr. But for now she let the assassinations slip behind her as she marched on with the voices of protest and song. It was beautiful, truly, she thought as she looked around, her feet jittery and soft as her nerves constantly caught her breath in her esophagus, keeping it there indefinitely before finally letting it go so that Beatrice could breathe. It was beautiful and yet it was a failure at the same time. It would work- it would be an iconic movement, and yet at the same time there were signs of fracture. “Are you alright, sister?” The woman on her right asked Beatrice as she lagged behind a bit, her face growing white as the tall Lincoln Memorial came into view. It was all beautiful. The day was bright, the sky was blue. Everything would work out and the march would be joined shortly by the leading members of the Civil Rights Movement. Martin Luther King, Jr. would be late but it did not matter for he would make one of the most iconic speeches in American history. Oh how fickle history and time is. Beatrice thought as she struggled forward once more, keeping her hands linked with the woman. “Yes, thank you.”She muttered, giving the woman- Janice was her name- a small smile as they finally came to a stop.

The American anthem started to blare from the speakers but would not be led by Marian Anderson- no, like the leaders of the movement had been, she would be late. But the program would be followed and Rev. Patrick O’Boyle would be on stage next for his invocation, then A. Philip Randolph, Eugene Carson Blake, Bayard Rustin, Mrs. Medgar Evers, Daisy Bates, Diane Nash, Prince E. Lee, Rosa Parks, Gloria Richardson, John Lewis, Walter Reuther, James Farmer- and then there would be a break during which a choir would ring through the air. Beatrice knew because she had read the books and she had been there so many times already, hiding in the shadows, peering in on televisions, reading the transcripts. Everything had already been printed onto the very surface of her brain. The prayer that came next rolled off of her tongue as perspiration formed on her forehead- she was growing shakey once more but she would have to hold her nerves in. Rabbi Uri Miller, Whitney M. Young, Jr., Mathew Ahmann, Roy Wilkins, Mahalia Jackson, Rabbi Joachim Prinz, and then, once again, Beatrice watched Martin Luther King, Jr. walk up to the podium once more, surrounded by men whom believed in the same cause as him.

Beatrice watched as the man whom would die in five more years opened his mouth and started without pause the first sentence of his speech. “I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.” Her lips moved along with his as she stood tip-toe on the tips of her feet, straining her neck to look over the heads of thousands of others. “…One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination.” It was as if the mass of people whom stood at the Mall nodded in unison, ignoring the many police that had been stationed across the nation capitol with guns, fangs and tanks. But everything was silent as he spoke, his voice reverberating through the empty air as the people below watched on in awe and respect.

This was the moment of change- the time when dreams burst forth and were splattered down on the streets in hopes that they would one day be able to reach the sky.

Pulling away from her two friends, Beatrice smiled at them and waved, motioning that she wasn’t feeling too well before making her way out of the large crowd, her pale face shimmering in the air as she made her way out of the large group of people and onto the abandoned streets of Washington, DC. Reeling slightly, Beatrice made her way into an alley as she checked left and right, making sure that no one was watching her as she came to a stop, her black dress fluttering around her body slightly as she pulled her large sun hat off. It was time- she had wasted enough and she could feel the strain on her own body. Beatrice needed the sleep she had long since denied to skip from place to place, traveling in a frenzy as if to shake something off of her mind.

It’s time to go home.

She closed her eyes. Darkness greeted her with hints of red, as sunlight splayed down from the heavens into the little alley that she stood in- but colors suddenly burst out of nowhere as they showered Beatrice’s sight with streaks of rainbows. Her breathing stopped as a fierce wind billowed around her, buffeting her hair and the hat that she clenched tight to her chest. Then, she opened her eyes, letting out the breath that she had kept down inside as she stumbled into the Castle Aetas library, her eyes wide and filled with confusion. But the familiar sight calmed Bee down as she sat down on one of the plush sofas, gathering herself once more before opening her eyes. A long sight left Beatrice as she straightened herself up, sitting up straight as she turned to hear footsteps in the corridor adjacent to the library. “Hello?” She called out, getting up on her wobbly legs before sprinting lightly out of the library, turning her head left and right as she hoped she would see a familiar, heart-warming face or back.

“Sadie?” Beatrice hissed out as she leaned against the door frame, a small smile appearing on her face as she recognized the familiar back of her friend. “Sadie! You wouldn’t believe where I just was!” She said as she tried to follow behind the other Watcher, only to catch her right foot on her left leg, causing her to trip around before finally regaining her balance. But Beatrice only took two steps in Sadie’s direction before coming to a stop. “Sadie?”

{ 1888 | | Near Flower and Dean Street, Spitalfields | | Midnight }

“The Canonical five…” Asmodeus allowed the words to roll off of his tongue as he smoked, his hair swaying in the dirty Victorian Age English air. “If only they knew…” Standing up, Asmodeus grappled his way onto the top of the chapel, standing at the top of the pointy rooftop as he flung his hands into the air. “I am the true Jack the Ripper!” He yelled as, cackling loudly as the wind buffeted around him, almost causing the hard felt hat he had purchased earlier to fly away. Securing it further down onto his head, Asmodeus twirled around two times before allowing his hands to raise into position, the cords of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, Winter, Movement I to flow through his limbs. As his arms flew in place of the music inside his head, Asmodeus hummed the tune as well, his eyes closed taut as he walked on the thin ledge that he stood on. The last final chords were put in place in the air as Asmodeus opened his eyes once more, taking in the dark, mucky scene that was London. Show time. Asmodeus took in a long breath as he fixed his earphones, keeping them in place as the next movement of Vivaldi’s Winter started playing. It was slow- but Asmodeus needed to act fast. 12:35 was slowly creeping up behind his back.

Leaping onto the slanted surface of the two wings of the chapel roof, Asmodeus slowly strode over to the ledge, glaring down at the floor that was three stories down below. It would be no big deal at all. Bending over, Asmodeus made sure he had a secure grip on the side of the chapel roof before he let the rest of his body over the roof, allowing his feet to fling around in the air for a few seconds before he found the small cracks in the stone surface that made up the walls of the chapel. Quickly, he let his hands go as he made his way down, taking a rest at a window ledge before continuing until the ground was but two meters away. Pushing himself off of the wall, Asmodeus flipped midair and landed on his feet, stabilizing himself for a second before somersaulting on the ground and quickly walking away. “Faster…faster… bloody hell.” Walking down the street he was on, the sounds of laughter and singing rose into Asmodeus’s ears as he rounded onto Flower and Dean Street, his eyes searching left and right before continuing on into the street. The handbook Asmodeus had taken from the real Jack the Ripper had detailed the lives of each of his to-be victims- and Elizabeth Strides was no different from the others. Prostitute, easy to pick up. Pretty. Lots of customers.

Turning along the street, Asmodeus ignored the looks of others as he hummed the “From the New World” symphony by Dvorak, his voice sinister and low, collar popped up so that half of his face was blocked. But Elizabeth would see his face, no worries. As he turned to the house that had been listed in the small notebook, a woman and a man came blundering down the street, laughing at the tops of their lungs before the man grabbed the woman, pulled her into an embrace and hastily left. Asmodeus raised an eyebrow at the fat man whom dashed across the street and into a cab before turning to the woman whom he presumed to at least know Elizabeth Stride. Coughing slightly- the horrid air was creating an infection in his throat- Asmodeus looked at the woman and nodded his chin at her. “Elizabeth Stride? Or presumably an acquaintance of Elizabeth Stride?” As he asked, he shifted the black violin case on his back to one shoulder, allowing it to hang from his shoulder as he looked at the apprehensive woman. “Yes? I am Elizabeth Stride, sir.” Asmodeus’s eyes roamed down to her mouth as she spoke, the words forming slowly in his mind as he deciphered the words she said through the shapes she made with her mouth. It’s her. Reaching into his pocket, Asmodeus flashed a few pieces of the money fo the era, allowing her to get a good glance before standing straight and looking away. It was as if the prostitute immediately knew what Asmodeus wanted. “This way, then.” Her mouth formed, as she reached over and attempted to link her arm through Asmodeus’s- but the man immediately moved away and struck out, muttering to himself as he recited the plans that the original Jack the Ripper had planned out for Elizabeth Stride.

But the deed would not be finished. Damned Jews would come blundering down to Dutfield’s Yard. A growl left Asmodeus as he turned and stalked down the road, hesitating for a second before finally walking into Dutfield’s Yard, the poor, soon-to-be-dead prostitute stumbling along behind him through the muggy September air. ”Sir?” But Asmodeus could not hear her as he stalked further into the Yard, his fingers drumming against the long coat that covered him from head to toe. “Sir- is this not far enough?” He still couldn’t hear her. However, as the last wavering notes of the Symphony sounded from Asmodeus’s earphones Asmodeus immediately grabbed his violin case and swung it through the air. A dull thunk sounded from the collision between the hard wood and the side of the woman’s face as she fell to the ground silent. She wasn’t dead. Crouching down, Asmodeus brushed her hair aside hastily as he peered into her face. “Hello?” No response. Looking around, Asmodeus quickly grabbed the prostitute by the scarf around her neck and dragged her to a more secluded spot, cursing the entire way under his breath as Mozart’s Requiem started to play. “Everything alright?” He whispered while his right hand pulled out a knife and twirled it between his fingers. The woman hadn’t even tried to struggle as Asmodeus had dragged her along.Out cold. Good enough for me. The knife immediately found its way to Elizabeth’s throat, stabbing itself in deep.

A gurgle seemed to sound from the unmoving woman’s mouth as her last breath left her. “Sleep well, dearest.” Asmodeus growled under his breath as he dragged the knife horizontally across her neck, causing flesh and bone to be exposed. The cut itself was clear and straight, slightly downward bending but acceptable in Asmodeus’s eyes- but as he moved to the woman’s abdominal area his music stopped. A crack of a tree branch resounded through the silent yard as Asmodeus immediately stood up, his eyes wide with petrifying anger as he glared at the man whom had stumbled upon Asmodeus in the middle of work. From the dim light Asmodeus could make out the man- a Jewish protestor that had been lounging in front of the club meeting for the “Necessity of Socialism amongst Jews”. The man spoke jibberish with an alarmed tone as he tried to make out what was happening- but Asmodeus only hissed one word. ”Lipski!” A cackle sounded throughout the air as Asmodeus flipped open his case and reached for his bow- and for a second everything was black before color once again returned.

He was in his room once again. Slamming his violin case shut, Asmodeus let a loud snarl to leave him as he kicked a stack of books aside, ignoring the mess as he paced angrily around his room. “I was so close…so close…bloody Jewish societies…so bloody close.” His left hand fingers flew in the air as music ran through them once more- but it was not enough to calm Asmodeus down. Finally coming to a stop, Asmodeus glared down at his violin case before picking it up once more and storming out of his room. It would not do for him to go back in time to finish the deed- no, he didn’t feel any interest in completing the Elizabeth Stride business. But the man. Yes, he would go back, then. Finish something that the original Jack the Ripper had never done.

But now- now, Asmodeus needed to calm down with a cup of ramen.

Snippet #2535892

located in Time (Present: The United Kingdom), a part of Age Is But A Number, one of the many universes on RPG.

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