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Some Ripper-related things
Here are a few small tidbits I wrote while portraying Jack the Ripper and a number of other Whitechapel residents for a Ripper-related role-playing game. I hope those who are browsing my thread enjoy it.....they are by no means the best examples of my writing.
I know the community is somewhat divided on whether or not Martha Tabram was a canonical victim, so be warned!
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The End of Martha Tabram, an Unfortunate:
It was a damp, miserable evening and the short, stout woman shivering in the cobblestone alleyways hated every moment of it. The holes in her boots were a persistent reminder of her station in life as the lowest of the low: a woman with whom no respectable person would dare to be seen lest they wished to tarnish their carefully molded reputation. She paused to peer down at her plain features in the reflection of a nearby puddle and straightened the black bonnet perched atop her dark hair. A momentary feeling of self-revulsion made her twitch in disgust before resuming her route towards the cramped and equally damp George Yard. Poll had not yet returned from her latest.....excursion. Not an unusual occurrence, although it was nearing two o'clock in the morning. Only one fellow tonight and with a poor excuse of a payment in return.
"Didn't even get enough for a bloody pint." she muttered, wistfully recalling a time when she once could afford a new dress or mittens.
As she turned the corner of Whitechapel High Street, she collided with something that nearly knocked her to the ground. The sharp scent of tobacco and the low voice hissing violent curses informed her that the subject in question was, in fact, a man. Backing against the wall, she made a dart towards the other side of the alleyway, daring to peek over her shoulder only when she could hear nothing except rats and the rain.
The woman gave a start as the man whom she had collided into gave a slight cough as if clearing his throat and the tempo of his footsteps quickened.
"I've nothing on me, nothing! Not so much as a penny, mind you!" she whispered to herself, now striding in the opposite direction and slipping in the mud. "I got nothing he'd want anyways. He's better off with Poll or --"
The dagger's blade struck her repeatedly and the man made short work of the affair, relenting only when she ceased to move. Panting heavily, he wiped his hand across his brow in satisfaction as he surveyed his handiwork with the eye of a painter. The first wound had seen to her end with not so much as a moan.
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A little piece of rather disturbing (at least to me, considering I wrote the bloody thing!) dialogue I wrote for His Supreme Nastiness:
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“A woman is best kept under the watchful eyes of a guardian or her husband, so as to know her place. Women are more apt to stray when they feel that they are above social conventions, such as yourself. I find women to be weak creatures, inferior in intellect and in body, needing constant guidance......but for those who willingly stray of their own violations, well, I cannot vouch for their safety. Rest assured the woman they found in the George Yard buildings was neither my first, nor my last. There have been many more before her. Remember that for every time we should meet again, you are to greet me as warmly as you would your closest confidant, in the knowledge that I have shown mercy in sparing your life. Should you fail in this.....”
Varner paused, tapping the blade of his knife against her throat in a hideously playful manner.
“......I will very much enjoy carving you up. It would be an awful shame to destroy such a beautiful face; I don’t even think your own family would recognize you once I had finished my work. Tread carefully and mind your manners, lass. You shan’t know when I’ll be watching.”
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I'll provide more examples if anyone would like to see them.
Cheers!
I know the community is somewhat divided on whether or not Martha Tabram was a canonical victim, so be warned!
_________________________________
The End of Martha Tabram, an Unfortunate:
It was a damp, miserable evening and the short, stout woman shivering in the cobblestone alleyways hated every moment of it. The holes in her boots were a persistent reminder of her station in life as the lowest of the low: a woman with whom no respectable person would dare to be seen lest they wished to tarnish their carefully molded reputation. She paused to peer down at her plain features in the reflection of a nearby puddle and straightened the black bonnet perched atop her dark hair. A momentary feeling of self-revulsion made her twitch in disgust before resuming her route towards the cramped and equally damp George Yard. Poll had not yet returned from her latest.....excursion. Not an unusual occurrence, although it was nearing two o'clock in the morning. Only one fellow tonight and with a poor excuse of a payment in return.
"Didn't even get enough for a bloody pint." she muttered, wistfully recalling a time when she once could afford a new dress or mittens.
As she turned the corner of Whitechapel High Street, she collided with something that nearly knocked her to the ground. The sharp scent of tobacco and the low voice hissing violent curses informed her that the subject in question was, in fact, a man. Backing against the wall, she made a dart towards the other side of the alleyway, daring to peek over her shoulder only when she could hear nothing except rats and the rain.
The woman gave a start as the man whom she had collided into gave a slight cough as if clearing his throat and the tempo of his footsteps quickened.
"I've nothing on me, nothing! Not so much as a penny, mind you!" she whispered to herself, now striding in the opposite direction and slipping in the mud. "I got nothing he'd want anyways. He's better off with Poll or --"
The dagger's blade struck her repeatedly and the man made short work of the affair, relenting only when she ceased to move. Panting heavily, he wiped his hand across his brow in satisfaction as he surveyed his handiwork with the eye of a painter. The first wound had seen to her end with not so much as a moan.
_____________________________________
A little piece of rather disturbing (at least to me, considering I wrote the bloody thing!) dialogue I wrote for His Supreme Nastiness:
______________________________________
“A woman is best kept under the watchful eyes of a guardian or her husband, so as to know her place. Women are more apt to stray when they feel that they are above social conventions, such as yourself. I find women to be weak creatures, inferior in intellect and in body, needing constant guidance......but for those who willingly stray of their own violations, well, I cannot vouch for their safety. Rest assured the woman they found in the George Yard buildings was neither my first, nor my last. There have been many more before her. Remember that for every time we should meet again, you are to greet me as warmly as you would your closest confidant, in the knowledge that I have shown mercy in sparing your life. Should you fail in this.....”
Varner paused, tapping the blade of his knife against her throat in a hideously playful manner.
“......I will very much enjoy carving you up. It would be an awful shame to destroy such a beautiful face; I don’t even think your own family would recognize you once I had finished my work. Tread carefully and mind your manners, lass. You shan’t know when I’ll be watching.”
_______________________________
I'll provide more examples if anyone would like to see them.
Cheers!
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