#oc: alistar “sparky” grace

[beeboos-creativecorner]

THE GENTLEMAN’S GUIDE TO PURSUING MONSTERS, DEMONS AND OTHER SUPERNATURAL ENTITIES

Day what now ? 8 ? Anyway, I present to you, the party of Victorian queers, members of a monster hunting cult. This was written as part of another English assessment in 2022, based off a D&D-esque campaign that we got to play in class for this task !! The basis of this piece is following my favourite, hopeless twinks, Alaric (my character) and Alistar/Sparky (friend's character) on an investigation through London. There's loads of silliness, romantic gay tension, elusive tragic backstories and even an in-party spat. All good fun. I love these silly guys. I wish I wrote more than 2-3 pieces about these characters/this world :(

Read under the cut x

TW references to assault

THE GENTLEMAN’S GUIDE TO PURSUING MONSTERS, DEMONS AND OTHER SUPERNATURAL ENTITIES

Session Log #4 — She, So Shaken and Sullen

After consulting our fellow — and I try not to write the word with such a foul taste in my mouth — lodge members, we established our next course of action. The only reasonable solution was to divide ourselves into two groups and set off to pin-point the locations of the victims of these irregular attacks. The separation was made with an unnatural amount of ease — Ethel and Slasher were to pursue any leads the police could provide, whilst Sparky and myself took to the streets. 

It was a fitting setting; Alistar thrived in the hustle and bustle of London’s streets. It was his ‘natural element’. And though I was invested in the investigation and eager to participate, I was purely along for the ride. Sparky navigated the city as if he’d traversed every path before, like it was engraved into memory. I trusted his knowledge and instincts, considering we had no better leads on our hands.

Engaging in conversation was neither of our forte, so asking around for any eyewitnesses on the account was a challenge. Setting aside the awkward encounters, tumbling requests for information, reluctant subjects of questioning and other countless complications, we approached a barman at a pub who expressed his concern quite vehemently about his younger sister, a victim of a frightful attack that left her ‘shaken and sullen’. Against all of Alistar’s communication incapabilities, he managed to acquire this information with next to no effort. Perhaps he who tended the pub saw no threat in us asking for victim accounts. Thankful as ever, we headed for the said woman’s residence without a second to spare for thought.

Yet again, Sparky proved to me his aptitude for navigation, landing ourselves on the doorstep of a potential witness. Looking at one another with an air of hesitation, I edged closer to the entrance, about to rap my knuckles on the door, when Alistar decided then was the time for caution.

“What are we to tell her?” he exclaimed, a little too breathless to remain dignified. “We cannot simply rush in and press the woman about her attacker! She’s likely still in shock and I guarantee she will be suspicious of our intentions! We need ourselves an alibi or some kind of ruse—”

“Is public concern not sufficient enough?” I countered. I played back the tone of voice in my head, the way a phonograph would. I was beginning to understand why the likes of Eliphalet found me so repulsive. Alistar glared at me in the same manner they did: like I was a wooden spoon. Yet, it also held the ferocity that reminded me of my father, before he put me over his knee for misbehaving. The one that clearly stated: you should know better, Alaric.

“That’s neither true nor believable. Whatever we do, we must keep her wariness of us to a minimum. I suggest we tell her we’re part of a secret organisation; we’re hunting Jack because it is our responsibility to do so.” I removed my hat and placed a palm to my burning forehead. It’s ineffable how, in all circumstances, I’m the foolish one?

“Listen to yourself, man! If my excuse is too far from the truth, yours is bang-on. It’s best not to divulge the true nature of our work to strangers, victim or not. Let’s meet halfway, what other options do we have?” 

“We could pose as brothers, hunting this creature out of revenge. Perhaps Jack assaulted a fictitious sister of ours? We could be… vigilantes of some sort,” Sparky proposed, his fingers tapping on the knuckles of the opposite hand — his brain was better engaged in creating a fake story. A cue recognisable with time spent around Alistar.

“All right,” I admitted, “that’s not the worst card on the playing table. And if she asks for a name for our so-called ‘sister?’”

“Eveline,” he said if he had that name stowed away for a special occasion such as this. “But we hold her so dearly in our hearts that we shall refer to her as Evie.” I nodded, replacing my hat upon my head, requesting,

“May I?”

“Onwards, then.”

I knocked on the door. Twice. Thrice. For a heartbeat I was certain no one was home, or we were at the wrong address. Sparky and I exchanged another glance, one wracked with insecurity. The door opened a moment later to a young lady with dark, sunken eyes and a complexion that could have misread her for the dead. The first impression explained everything: there was no mistake on our front.

“Yes?” she said in an accent directly associated with the poorer districts of London. Except it was hoarse. Croaky. Drained. Lethargy was unforgiving on even the most youthful of people. I began,

“You may not know us but—”

“May we come inside? We have a few questions to ask you, madam. Your brother informed us that you were attacked recently, would you mind elaborating for us?” Alistar hadn’t yet mastered the art of subtlety, though I dare say we were short on time.

“What? Who are ya? Leave me alone!” Just like that, she was quick to shut the door on us. Jamming the door with my shoe put a roadblock in her avoidance tactic.

“Please, miss, I apologise for my brother’s behaviour. He may come across as insensitive, but I assure you, he means well.” Her dark brows furrowed. She was quite adamant about requesting our departure from her doorstep.

“Go away.”

“I beg you, please allow us to speak with you. Your brother’s story appealed to us; we want to be rid of this creature as much as yourself.” Only then did her abhorrent expression soften. With caution, she eased open the door, permitting us to enter. Sparky scoffed, it sounded like bemusement. I believe the feeling was indeed mutual. For two men who were socially inept, this was somewhat short of a miracle.

She got us seated and offered what meagre sustenance she had stored (the latter we politely declined), before saying,

“You know… him. That thing. Sirs, if you please, who are ya? If there’s anything I can do to help this monster be gone from London—” Tears welled in her eyes, distressed over the terrible memory, I could only assume it was so. The change in demeanour made this destitute woman noble in giving up what she knew about Jack’s activity. I bowed my head and introduced myself with the pseudonym I’d give anyone undeserving of my confidence and trust.

“Evander Kane, at your service, milady.”

“Alistar, very much in accordance with my brother here.”

“Emma,” she replied, feigning a warm smile. To my notice, she failed such an act, her gesture was devoid of comfort or happiness; tragic and empty, further proving the toll the attack had taken on poor Emma. “What can I do, gentlemen? How do you know that… winged bastard?” Alistar was right on one thing, she was suspicious of our motives. As genuine as she was, the caution displayed in her posture said much. Claiming the opportunity to speak, Sparky abided by our plan agreed prior, telling her,

“We have a sister of our own, you see. Eveline was attacked one evening by what she could only describe to us as ‘a penny dreadful in the flesh.’ We were hoping that we could speak with other witnesses to ascertain what this creature is, and how we may take it down. It’s our duty… in honour of our sister.”

“She… hasn’t been the same since,” I followed up, reopening a wound of my past in order to sound the most sympathetic and convincing. When I spoke of ‘Evie’, I thought of my niece, Sybilla, and how she was in her downtime: dejected, hollow. “Your appearance reminds me of her, quite frankly. Like shells… shells of your former selves. Not the people you used to be. The coppers have done nothing to bring Evie justice, which is why we’re here. And a little desperate, might I add. I, again, apologise for the intrusion, neither of us mean any harm by it. If you could tell us anything useful, anything at all, we’d be forever in your debt.” Somehow, like some divine figure was guarding us, Emma permanently relented. Somehow, we had made a phenomenal success of it.

“All right, I’ll tell you what I can.

“It was after dark and I was walking home. I was alone, my brother was still busy tending to his establishment and he suggested I would be safer at home than with the rowdy patrons that pass through. It seemed like sound advice, I was already feeling a little fatigued. I often walk home unescorted, it’s frowned upon — like all things we lower classes do — but I had no other choice. There’s… backroads, alleyways, shortcuts — I always arrive home earlier, so I assumed it was efficient to do the same that night.”

“And you did not think to take a cab?” Alistar inquired, pushing his boundaries further than I would have liked. We were guests in her home, not interrogators. Or we weren’t supposed to appear as such in these conditions.

“No,” she said, leaning forward in a way that suggested Sparky was senseless to ask such a question. “Cabs usually do not operate in the late hours, and if they do, they are few and far between — they do not travel in this area often. As I said, sir, I had no other choice.

“I almost made it home when—” Her voice cracked, an onslaught of fresh tears arriving as reinforcements. An emotion flushed away my controlled mask, leaving the resonance of trauma that was conceivably my own. Clearing my throat of an oncoming choke, I took Emma’s skeletal hands in my own, making eye contact to reassure her. I at least hope that’s what it looked like I was doing.

“Take your time, miss. We can wait if you need a moment,” I said, inclining my head, shooting a fleeting, comforting smile her way. In my peripherals, Sparky’s nose scrunched and it was as if I could read minds. His thoughts were too clear, one movement proving it. What do you mean ‘we can wait a moment’? We do not have a moment! Time is wasting away and we have no other leads! I understood this, of course. Alistar was an intellectual first; everything else was lower on the list of reactions. As Emma lowered her head to sob, I turned to angle my head towards Sparky to silently let him know that we must be patient, this investigation was not for nought. I was unsure whether he received the message, though I cared far less when Emma was ready to continue speaking.

“I wasn’t too far from home when… when I was sprung by— when this beast sprung me. It’s like he came from thin air, he did. He was no man, I tell you. Blue and red scales, breath like corpses… he was so close to— oh, sirs, it was a nightmare!”

“We won’t make you recall any more if it stirs too much fright, madam. If you could give us anything of use, appearances and such, it would mean a great deal to us,” Sparky said. Did I mistake it, or did I hear some sincerity in those words? Perhaps he was starting to catch onto the line I’d cast out.

“It was dark, mister, it was difficult to see…” I cut her off, something strange hung over her, like a grim shadow, subjugating her into silence. She knew a bit more than what she said she did. No, she wasn’t lying, abstaining information seemed more on the mark. She needed to be disarmed, or this lead would be no use to us. What she had experienced was beyond our repertoire of knowledge as men, and we had the audacity to dig up these awful memories for her? I felt despicable, no gentlemanly stranger would ever do such a thing. Except us… in these circumstances where more women’s lives could be at risk. I had time to regret and repent later, duty was priority.

“That’s all right, Emma. Any small detail you can give us will help.”

“Well, his feet were cloven, like the hooves of a goat or sorts. Wild hair, like lions you see in zoos. Vicious horns on his head; the spawn of the Devil Himself. Large wings… looked like the wings of a bat, yet much, much bigger. Clawed hands… gripping—” She gesticulated each feature with more and more intensity, with the waterworks to accompany it.

“Say no more, Miss Emma,” Alistar interjected. “We swear to you, justice will be served accordingly. Thank you for providing us with the information to help us on our way. You have done a great service, I assure you.” Emma waved a dismissive, erratic hand at this, giving the incentive it was time to leave. With a final squeeze of her hand, we did.

—

“Got all that down, Ricky-my-boy?”

“Cloven hooves, lion mane hair, horns…” I trailed off, pausing to try and remember every detail listed off by Alistar’s vivid memory. “Uh, line?”

“Claws, blue-red scales and the large wings?”

“Scales, claws aaand the wings. See, I was listening.”

“Yes, but you’re not looking,” he said, yanking me by the shirt collar, keeping me on the walkway and out of the line of an oncoming bus. My eyes widened as the horses whinnied as they trotted past, passengers darting disdainful glares to add to the embarrassment. My gaze shifted from the people to the words scrawled in the handheld book. There was something off. I couldn’t differentiate between whether it was personal or general. Revisiting the pain of my past and the threat of a women-molesting monster lurking about were both plausible factors for my unrest and distraction.

“These notes will mean nothing if we can’t back Miss Emma’s statement with hard evidence. How are we to be sure this is our Jack or something else entirely?” Sparky replied as he always did: in riddles.

“We can’t. This may be Jack, as twisted and irregular as it may be. Perhaps it is an impostor, saving themselves from public recognition, consequently suppressing their name. We’re not even certain that Emma’s description will match with whatever our friends Ethel and Slasher find out from the bobbies. We’ll know once we regroup, eh?” I made some close-mouthed grumble. On one side of the coin, I knew those who waited received the spoils, and on the other, I wanted immediate answers. Speculation had to wait until we were back at the lodge.

—

Laying in front of our party of four was my pocket book, various reports from the police and dainty porcelain cups full of tea (courtesy of Bethly Violet, who surprisingly made us feel welcome back into the lodge upon our arrival). Ethel’s hands rubbed together in a hypnotic circular motion as they explained what was found on their investigation.

“So, after reading these reports, we asked Constable Stephen Moores to take us to one of the victims, who we then consulted about what she witnessed on the night she was attacked.” I could not believe what I heard. Could it be…?

“Hold a moment. Stephen… Steve? Dearly detested Stevie brought you to the doorstep of a victim? Willingly? You do mean—”

“Permanent scowl, twitchy upper lip, overgrown handlebar moustache? And, why, yes, I do believe he did.” Ethel’s face was set, it was Steve. The same one who robbed me blind at cards seven times consecutively, the same one who initiated a brawl the day I didn’t feel quite high-spirited enough to challenge him. The very Steve whose nose I had certainly broken at least once. Vile drunkard. I prayed he never knew I was associated with Ethel and Slasher, or that’ll be the last time he’d ever help the Rippers.

“Well I never,” I spouted, leaving it at that. I’d had enough background sharing for one day.

“And this woman, our contact, explained to us that she was attacked by something far from man. See here, I sketched a little of what she described. Beware, this may not be what we’re up against. She spoke of thick scales, wings, horns and claws; attributes known to be linked to Spring-Heeled Jack. Unfortunately, we can’t be sure if this is man or beast.” Ethel wrapped up, taking a long drag of a cigarette before taking a seat at the table.

“Brilliant,” Sparky piped up with his usual perky optimism. “Our victim, whose name shall be suppressed for privacy reasons, spoke similarly. Although, we have to add a couple crucial details: a mane like a lion’s as well as cloven hooves. Spring-Heeled Jack is known to have… well, spring heels. Another feature to add to the possible theory that this may indeed be his doing or one of an impostor.” A voice growled out from the natural pause, disrupting the peace.

“Jack or not, we need to kill it.” Slasher. His opinion wasn’t well-liked to put it modestly. He was a valuable companion when it came to combat, being our strongman, but his narrow mindset snuffed out the spark of enlightenment. Often. To stay in his good books, we vowed to consider his input, though rarely acted on it unless we were sure. At the stage we were at, we hadn’t a clear image of what we were up against, so the idea was merely an idea. A suggestion, hardly an option.

“Come now, man,” I said, hopefully in a nullifying tone. I had no desire to bear the brunt of his rage for giving my side of the argument. “If, and only if, this does turn out to be our Jack, do you not think he could be brought round to reason?”

“No.” He needn’t beat around the bush with that one. I huffed. I supposed some did not believe in redemption as much as I did. Ethel pitching in, agreed with Slasher by saying,

“Not really, if you count the amount of women he has used to dishonour himself as well as them. There’s one too many incidents for it to be a misunderstanding. Attacks like these are deliberate for certain. Negotiating with an abuser over a pint? A misinformed choice.”

“I see. You’ve made your point.” Unlike most, I wasn’t entangled in my own self-regard. Any others’ view was of equal measure to my own. Yet… some ends were loose. I was sure of it. I offered a new angle.

“And if this is a monster, truly? What then? This doesn’t seem like typical Jack behaviour. I’ve followed this case longer than any of you, if anyone knows, it is myself.”

“I say we kill it.” Slasher was a man of few words and even fewer viewpoints. A man thrilled over education and exploration. I regret to say I had to retract my last statement: Any others’ view was of equal measure to mine, except Slasher’s.

“For once, I agree with Slasher here. Killing Jack or his imitator could put a stop to further attacks. This action is a preventative. Safe people, safe community. Having another Jack that torments poor women? Not ideal for regular establishments,” Ethel noted, stubbing their cigarette out on the saucer in front of them, instead of the ashtray that was directly in the centre of the table. A switch in my attitude occurred. I had a hunch and I couldn’t possibly be wrong. Although I voiced nothing of it, I took my frustration out on Ethel, as they were the last to speak and the first to ever grant acceptance of Slasher’s standpoint so early on in an investigation. This indeed was a historical moment for the party, though I could not say it was a good one.

“I didn’t notice we were making alliances within the party! Oh, and of course you wouldn’t mind making this political, Ethel. I am so comforted to know which way you’re inclined.”

“Alliances don’t sound so bad, now, do they?” Ethel fired back, venom in every syllable. “You and brainbox over there are awfully close—” They leaned over the surface, closing the space between us, the tobacco on their breath unbearably suffocating. Deadlock.

“Perhaps,” raised Sparky, attempting to diffuse the impromptu spat. “I think we need to set a new objective. This isn’t getting us further than a basic depiction. None of us have encountered Jack personally, yes?” With no reply, Ethel and I seated ourselves begrudgingly. “I suggest we consult our superiors, they have already proven useful in giving us information about Jack. I dare say they may even have contacts who knew Jack personally. My money is on going to them. That’s where I’ll be headed. If you two are done being petty schoolchildren, you are free to follow along. If not, please yourselves, I haven’t time to waste on bickering.” Swiping his mere possessions, Alistar fled the room, scuttling off to return them to his quarters, no doubt.

Draining the last of my tea, I sighed into the cup. My behaviour was deplorable and I knew far better than to engage in verbal combat. I ignored the little person in my head called Reason, paying for it by tearing a rift in one of my few prized relationships. Ethel was fuming in front of me, nor did Alistar appear very pleased with how I acted either. So, perhaps I made two rifts that needed patching. I was ashamed, yes, but I refused to let go of my theory that was hanging on by a thread. Answers would give a resolution. Briefly apologising to Ethel, I followed Alistar to his next point of interest: the east wing.