Death of a Reaper

New Plans

"I don't think Lydia realizes how difficult it is to find a job these days." Jacob huffs as he stumbles out of his latest rejection. He'd tried everywhere. The baker, the polisher, the dressmaker. But nobody was looking for a run of the mill author in need of cash. "Hmm. Where had I worked before? Do I dare go back there after my accident?" The place in question was the local blacksmith. Apparently he had worked there since his youth and had become quite good at it judging by the calluses that had graced his hands when he'd awoken from his coma. Since then, his hands had become soft save the places were he regularly clutched his quill. "No. I don't think going back there would be good for my health." He mutters, stepping back into the foot traffic of London.

Meanwhile across town, Lydia Furnet was busy cleaning her already spotless kitchen. She wasn't known to be messy and loved to awe guests with her cleanliness. The only room she wasn't allowed to touch was the one she shared with Jacob. The one that was constantly scattered with enough paper and ink to make her head spin.

"Maybe just a little touch up. He won't notice." She mutters. "He doesn't notice very much these days anyways."

With her jaw set, she begins her climb up the stairs, each step creaking beneath her weight. She'd have to get that fixed. She pauses briefly outside the door, her hand frozen on the handle. Would Jacob return and accuse her of snooping? She chuckles. More like drag her into another description of his story, convinced that she really was interested. Slowly she opens the door and slips inside, letting it fall shut behind her with a quiet click.

"And he wonders why I prefer the guest room." She huffs, her burgundy eyes scanning the room. "Nothing but useless notes and empty inkwells. Might as well start at the beginning." She says, reaching down to pick up a few scattered quills. She didn't understand her fiancés need to be so scatterbrained. He was even too blind to notice that they were so far in debt that she had had to pick up an occupation of her own. She shudders slightly as she remembers the feeling of callused hands running over her skin. Her customers weren't as kind as they had promised.

"But no matter. Once Jacob finds a suitable job, our financial problems will be gone." She stops. "Maybe he'll go back to the smith shop. Yes... That made us lots of money." The freak accident that had nearly killed him was due to a careless intern. The newcomer had swung his hammer as Jacob had walked by and nearly cracked his skull in half. She remembered the call, the blood, and his pale, lifeless face as she had sat by his bedside for two years. "And then he wakes up and refuses to go back to work!" She growls, throwing and empty ink pot across the room. It hits the wall hard and shatters to the floor in multiple pieces.

"My my. What temper you have." A cool voice remarks.

Lydia spins around, eyes wide, as she gazes at the figure sitting on the window sill. The stranger was clearly male, dressed in a long black wool coat and grey slacks. He inclines his head politely and pushes up his glasses.

Lydia was shocked. "H-how did you get in here?" She stutters.

"That is of no concern to you, Miss Furnet." The figure states, sliding from the window sill and walking towards her. When Lydia doesn't retreat, he extends his hand as greeting. "My name is Alan. Alan Humphries. It's come to my attention that your having a bit of financial difficulties."

Lydia gazes at his hand cautiously. "Well perhaps a bit.. May I ask why you couldn't have knocked on my door Mr. Humphries?" She questions, shaking his hand quickly.

Alan chuckles. "Oh but I did. But since no one answered I decided to check your room. But only because I have an incredibly efficient way to get you back on your feet. That is... If you'll listen." He purrs, motioning for her to sit on the bed.