April 21st, 1890 — Wellingtonshire

With a huff of apathy, Shrike sat down on the pristine stone steps, leaned his arms on his knees and entwined his fingers. He had lead fragments beneath his fingernails, crinkles in his half-buttoned shirt, and a splash of blue paint on his jaw. On his back he wore a long cardboard tube like a satchel. This person was completely out of place in high Wellingtonshire; so much so that one resplendent passer-by actually hastened her pace when she spotted him, as if to spend too much time in his gaze would be to melt slowly in hell. Shrike winked at her. She walked faster.

Doubtless he wouldn't be waiting here long, on the mansion steps beneath the white afternoon sun. Shrike had come to deliver something, but neither his patron nor the patron's servants were at home. So the rangy Cartographer decided to wait a short time and engage in some incongruous people-watching. A pastime quickly interrupted by... a small white poodle. The dog was completely on its own, despite being exquisitely groomed, but it trotted right up to Shrike and demanded a scratch behind the ears.

"Who're ye then, eh lass? Ye look lik' ye ain this hail fancy neighbourhood..."

  

---

-

Hope was not used to having a dog but her parents had gifted her one. It was a lively delight and while the Crawford parents were regretting this life choice, Hope was pleased about it. She didn't think a dull dog would be as much fun.

The dog had yet to have a sense of boundaries though and kept escaping the yard whenever someone so much as opened the gates to their yard. "Madame! She called to no avail as she looked around her yard. One of her neighbors warned her not to go the way she was going as there was 'some sort of criminal looking lad' but Hope paid that no mind.

"She is Madame," Hope said with a friendly smile as she approached to take back her dog. "She enjoys attention and won't leave you alone until you have also patted her head and told her she's a good girl."

  

Shrike looked up to see a fancy wee girl with hair so bright he might've squinted. Sometimes this happened — a naïve young lady might escape her chaperone to rough it with the pond life. Such an event was always entertaining to be a part of.

So Shrike followed her instruction and stroked the poodle's fluffy white head. "She is a gud girl; aren't ye Madame?"

He gave a wolfish smile. "I'm well flattered she likes me. Mebbe she smells my aen dogs on me. No matter how prim an' proper these wee things are trained tae be, naen wud say no tae playin' aroond wi' their aen kind."

  

---

-

Hope smiled when the rough looking man stroked the poodles fluffy head. Madame was greatly pleased to be called a good girl, going so far as to try and give the man several wet, doggy kisses. A habit that Mister Crawford severely disliked to the point that he took great pains to avoid Madame altogether.

"That may be so. Though Madame isn't quite so prim and proper," she admitted with a light laugh. Not that she minded Madames more unsavory ways. It was a constant source of amusement for her.

---

  

"Then mebbe ye shouldnae've called 'er 'Madame'", Shrike quipped with a contentedly inappropriate wink. This young lady was a very pretty little thing; he'd keep her smiling for some rowdy kicks.

"Perhaps Wolf wid be a better name for 'er", he teased the dog fondly, ruffling that curly fur. "Or Ranger, or Butch, or Bludger..."

  

---

-

"Maybe," Hope said in amused agreement. But Wolf didn't seem quite the name. "Or I could call her Bonny after that lady pirate." She had read about her in school from a book that some of her friend group and dorm room had found scandalous.

---

  

Ironically enough, the bandit hadn't heard of the pirate — but the lady had.

"I haven'ae heard o' such a pirate", he remarked with interest, ruffling Madame's ears again. "Ye'v an aspiration tae be yin?" he teased flirtatiously.

  

---

-

"Her name was Anne Bonny, she was Irish but mainly operated in the Caribbean," Hope said before figuring that the man was not sitting around in Wellingtonshire for a history lesson. She blinked a bit in surprise at his words before laughing. "Heavens, no. I do not have the constitution for crime."

---

  

Anne Bonny — Shrike would make note of that name, without a doubt. In fact, he was quite sure that if such a pirate had ever existed then his young niece Linnet would know about her.

Still sitting, the bandit leaned forward a little and regarded the chuckling young woman. "Ach, it's no' all aboot constitution. All ye really need tae begin wi' is the will", said Shrike, clearly a criminal himself.

Well... clearly to some people anyway.

  

---

-

"I don't think I have that either. Is there anything else that makes a criminal?" Hope asked in curiosity. Her moral standing was a little too great to dwelve into crime. And she didn't particularly have a need to do so. But she would not judge a man for what he chose to do so long as he did not harm anyone.

---

Bragi Holm / we can start a fadeout from here!

  

The young woman seemed quite earnest in her interest of crime; she was steeped in blissful ignorance. But the scene took this moment to change — a squat, smart Butler was approaching the house. Shrike knew this to be the servant of the gentleman he'd been working on the map for. So as the Butler clocked him, and beckoned him stiffly towards the tradesman's entrance, the young Cartographer adjusted the cardboard tube on his back and got to his feet.

He towered above the petite lass, and for a moment the bright afternoon sun dipped into the clouds. "The bite of a wolf", he revealed to her simply, putting a full-stop on their canine conversation. And with that, Shrike headed into the manor.

  

---

-