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located in Steampowered London - 1885, a part of Death Comes to London, one of the many universes on RPG.

Steampowered London - 1885

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Character Portrait: Khalil Jaziri
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Outside London - The Former Parish of St. Lukas
July 4, 1885 - 19:45 p.m. - Overcast
Khalil Jaziri

Khalil wasn't entirely sure why he'd agreed to the invitation Lady de Jaager had sent to him. “Please do take care to remember that you're a Prince to these people, and that you should act like one. At least just this once?" Ah, now he remembered. He turned towards his uncle, feigning a mock hurt look, and placed a hand over his heart. Dor just gave him a flat stare, his eyes narrowing slightly as Khalil felt a small smirk creep upon his face.

“You have such little faith in me, Dor," he spoke, causing the frown on his uncle's face to deepen. “Can't you see how much more work I have to do in order to get noticed around here? Whi—Lancaster shoots me down every time, so I have to work twice as hard to make sure I end up with something tonight," he stated. That, or at least someone. It'd been far too long since his last endeavor—since Elizabeth if he were being honest. He felt like he was losing his touch if Whitaker kept rejecting his advances. Blythe... she was too innocent for him to project himself like that on her. And he was fairly certain Ramsey wouldn't exactly take too kindly to him treating his associate that way.

“Khalil, I'm warning you..." he trailed off, however; Khalil was already making his way towards the other side of the room. There was a group of women standing, gossiping perhaps, and Khalil felt the urge to talk.

The group wasn't very large, of course, but then they never were at these kinda of event. It was more of a friendly gathering than anything excessively formal, though of course there was always a layer of manners to these things. This was quite the mixed group, too: threaded amongst their number were a pretty young blonde thing in the blue and white habit of the Sisters of the Church of the One, an older woman with flamboyantly-styled grey and brown hair, a woman who was a dead-ringer for Lady de Jaager except with freckles and a pale blue gown instead of green, and—ah.

It seemed that these three and the other two ladies with them were already in the throes of a conversation with a man, maybe slightly older than Khalil. He was tall and well-built, something distinctly Irish in the lilt of his accent. With wavy brown hair and sky-blue eyes, he clearly thought himself quite the charmer. From the way the women giggled as he told a joke, they did, too.

Khalil waited as patiently as he could, trying his best to be polite. But then again, he'd never really been the polite sort. He grinned once the women settled down, and made his presence known with a soft clearing of his throat. “It seems I have missed out on some of the fun," he spoke, waiting until their attention was on him before he continued. “Prince Khalil Jaziri, at your service," he stated, giving them a formal bow before straightening back up.

It'll be like taking a candy from a baby, he thought as he glanced towards the man. Sure, he was on the attractive side, but Khalil knew his own attractiveness, complimented by his slightly exotic nature would be more than enough to garner all of the attention away from the Irishman.

The perhaps slightly overdone bow earned him a few amused titters; one of the quieter women, a lady with light brown hair in a complicated curly updo of some sort, actually blushed. The older woman with grey hair glanced him up and down and smirked like she knew what he was on about—if she did, she found it funny.

The nun predictably enough had the least reaction, but it was she who spoke first. “How unexpected!" she said, inflecting her tone with what seemed to be genuine surprise. Her dark eyes suggested something a touch more canny than that, however. “I don't think I've ever been in the company of foreign royalty before. Sister Mary Hollis, Your Highness."

Her introduction paved the way for the others to do the same, and they did. The one who'd blushed and her aunt were Catherine and Fiona Morwood, or so he had to assume from the way she stuttered through the introduction, still blushing furiously. The older woman was Lady Elizabeth Carruthers—there were a lot of English women named Elizabeth, so that was hardly a surprise. The woman with red hair and the striking resemblance to Anne de Jaager was Mrs. Edith Hayes, it seemed.

Despite her physical proximity to the Irishman, which bordered on unseemly, he was not Mr. Hayes.

“Seamus O'Sullivan," he said, when the turn had clearly come around to him. Even then, it was at a slight delay, an irritation evident in the narrowing of his eyes. “An honor to meet you, of course." He could probably have sounded less honored if he tried, but not by much.

Khalil couldn't say he blamed Mrs. Hayes. O'Sullivan was an attractive man, and women were not beholden to their husbands. It was a line Khalil would never cross, but when opportunity presented itself... well, he'd gladly do it on their behalf. Maybe that made him a bit of a hypocrite? Regardless, his smile broadened at the introductions, his eyes narrowing with the force of it.

“Please, you can call me Jaziri, or Khalil, whichever you'd prefer," because if he were being honest, they'd probably be saying both by the end of it all. And that was making light of the word. He'd rather they scream it, if he could help it. Perhaps, though, he should see who would be the more willing candidate. O'Sullivan wasn't one, if his reaction was anything to go by, and considering how close Mrs. Hayes was, he was quite certain she wouldn't be interested. Perhaps the others, then? He'd never been with an older woman before; it was always nice to try something new.

“Sorry for the intrustion, but perhaps one of you lovely ladies would like to explain the nature of this party? I'm afraid I am not as well-acquainted with the de Jaager's as my uncle is, and he's failed to tell me anything," which wasn't a total lie, he supposed.

Muttering something under his breath, O'Sullivan grabbed a glass of brandy as it passed by, downing nearly half of it in one go.

Fiona had opened her mouth to say something, it seemed, but Elizabeth got to the answer first. “Well it's a garden party, of course," she replied, a hint of sarcasm coloring the edges of her tone. “If Anne ever gets around to opening up the garden to her guests, that is." She rolled her eyes, rather subtly, and sipped slightly from her glass of wine.

“She, um." Catherine tried, looking towards her aunt as if for permission. Fiona nodded slightly. “Well, she's selling the property, Your High—I mean Khalil." She pronounced his name slowly, making some effort to get it right. She was not very successful, but the effort seemed to be genuine. “I wouldn't be surprised if she were hoping someone here makes an offer."

“It's a lovely property," Sister Mary added, eyes still slightly narrowed at him. “But not worth what she's asking for it, unfortunately."


“I've heard Lord de Jaager's property was worth quite a pretty penny," he responded, brow lifted in slight curiosity. He, of course, knew that Anne was selling the property, but it wasn't something he was interested in. This much land with that much value to it would not be worth the upkeep. And he probably would spend most of his allowance on it if he were to seriously think about it.

“Has something happened to the property that the value isn't quite what Lady de Jaager is asking for it?" He was, if slightly, interested in what the rumor was. The last he heard, Lady de Jaager was adamant about the selling price, but it wasn't bringing potential buyers. If anything, it seemed to be pushing people away.

“I don't think it's quite seemly to discuss such things in any more detail than that," Sister Mary declared, folding her hands together in front of her.

The reminder of propriety seemed to chasten the others a bit, though Elizabeth did roll her eyes again. “In any case," she said, in a much more droll tone. “I—oh, that's interesting." She seemed to be looking at something over Khalil's shoulder.

“Associate of yours, Sister Mary?"

For the first time in the exchange, the nun looked a little unsure of herself. “I—no. I've never seen that man before."

Khalil, the ever so diligent gatherer of information that he was, turned to see who'd taken the attention away from him. Even if it was for a moment, Khalil would be lying if he said he wasn't curious.

The man who'd drawn their attention stood out with an uncommon sort of severity. His face suggested youth, but a degree of harshness was present that aged him a little, so that while he might not have even hit twenty, he seemed as one who'd achieved the middle of that decade. The cut of his black cassock was more military than the typical priest wore, but the clerical collar, white tab at the center, did mark him as clergy of some kind. The Church of the one only allowed its ordained Fathers and Brothers to wear those.

His hair was a sharp contrast with the black, a bright crimson worn medium length but shorn on one side. Hard amber eyes were narrowed on the room, as though he were looking for something in particular.

“You don't suppose he's an inqusitor, do you?" Elizabeth seemed delighted at the prospect. Perhaps not unduly. Members of the Church's Inquisition were rarely-spotted, and almost always preceded the reveal of some kind of scandal.

This managed to capture Khalil's full attention. A reveal of a good scandal was always interesting. It wasn't any of his business, but Khalil never really cared about such decencies. “What do you think it's about?" he stated, grabbing a glass of brandy from a passing servant. He inclined his head in thanks before turning his attention back to the group he was with. There was a strange feeling, as if he were being watched very closely by someone, however; he knew Dorian was mingling with the other people. He'd shake the feeling off, for now.

“The only thing I could think of is Lord de Jaager's death. From what I heard, it wasn't natural," but when had murder ever been natural?

Elizabeth cleared her throat softly, her tone quieting and losing a bit of its witty edge. “It wasn't, no," she agreed. “But anyway it was a year ago, and that would be a strange time for an Inquisitor to appear, no?"

Sister Mary and the Morwoods looked a little pale and drawn, as though the man's very presence intimidated them somehow. That wasn't entirely surprising, either. The inquisition did have a bit of a reputation for mercilessness. O'Sullivan had gritted his teeth, tracking the other fellow as though he were suddenly of more concern than Khalil.

“Can't much say I like him being here unannounced," he murmured.

Of the group, only Edith looked unaffected. “Well you never know," she said with a dull shrug. “Annie's been so caught up with those Churchy sorts for years now. Thomas did used to be a Vicar, after all. Maybe they were friends."

Doubtful, was the only word Khalil could think of. A friend didn't just turn up unannounced for no reason. Unless said friend was Khal, himself. He turned up unannounced just because he could. Church-goers were a little more formal than that, especially if this newcomer was, indeed, part of the inquisition.

“Do you think he may have some new information on Lord de Jaager's death?" that was more a possibility than anything. Perhaps he did, and he was here to inform Lady de Jaager. Khalil pursed his lips, though. That... didn't seem right, now that he thought about it. If they did have more information about Lord de Jaager, they would have been a little more discreet, he would think. Perhaps he needed to spend more time with Lancaster and Ramsey?

“I'll bet you fifty pounds that's not it," O'Sullivan replied. “He's probably here for one of the other guests, using a connection with Lady de Jaager for an in. Inquisitor shows up at your house, you know you're in for it. A party like this, though? No way to know if it's about you or not." He drained the rest of his glass and set it down on the table nearest, reaching past Edith to do it. She didn't seem to mind.

“Quite possible," Elizabeth replied, though the answer looked to have unsettled the other three yet further. “Very mysterious in any case. Perhaps we'll know by who he speaks to as the night wears on, no?" She seemed almost excited by the prospect, an odd little gleam in her eyes.

“You may well be correct in that, Lady Carruthers," he stated, taking a drink of his brandy. He was almost tempted to make a remark, to make her excited about some other prospect, however; he remained where he was. He was much more interested in this new development; he could play at a later time.

“Whatever the reason, I'm sure it'll be exciting," he stated, glancing in the direction of the newcomer.

“In that," she said, “I believe you are most certainly correct."