December 14th, 1894 — Great Hall, staff table

Professor Griffith entered the great hall when everyone was leaving. Dinner was over and the crowd moved outwards and away. Griffith found a place at the very end of the faculty table and sat down to eat. On the way, two of his colleagues stopped him and enquired after his health. A lack of sleep, he answered in a friendly manner that nonetheless discouraged further questions by the expression of his eyes.

People were very much used to seeing in Griffith a well-put-together and handsome man. Lately he was fading from the secenery of the school. At meals, his chair was empty. He seemed to leave on days he had no classes. All extracurricular responsibilities he was on hiatus from. The Professor himself seemed to be fading, too. Sitting at the table and looking glumly at the food on his plate, he appeared to be a shadow of himself. He knew it. In the mirror in the morning, he had seen the gaunt look of his face and the deep shade under his eyes. He had lost a noticeable amount of weight. Yesterday, he had spent in bed, gripped by a cryptic sickness that took from him the strength he desperately needed. He had been barely able to lift his head, let alone keep food down or get up. Today was better. He got through his class, feeling like his body piloted itself. When he spoke, he did not know what he would be saying until the words left his mouth. Thankfully, he was saying ordinary and expected things.

The piece of chicken he put in his mouth tasted like cardboard. Everything he ate lacked appeal, but he kept going. He was very glad to be alone at the table, until he sensed someone approaching and looked up. It seemed he got a bit paler when looking at the woman across from him.

"Good evening, Professor Lyra."

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Themis Lyra

  

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She felt him before she saw him, the magnet that was Samuel seeming to affect her bearing. The quickening in her blood was a sour feeling as, upon sight of him, her panic spiked. He looked skeletal, his proud shoulders hunched like a carrion bird. There was a shadow in his eyes that spilled over into the hollowed pits of his cheeks. It had only been a week that seemed to stretch for months and years since she left him alone in Whitechapel. How had he lost this much weight?

The rush of joy she expected to feel at his presence was lacking today, replaced with something that felt much too close to a warning. She knew she couldn't ask directly about his activities or her lack of role in them. They'd established that line between them, and she would honor it, even as she ached to know what was happening to him. She never promised not to worry about his health. She saw the color change in his sallow skin, making something catch in her throat. She was not a welcome presence, but she had committed to her course. She fought to keep thought at bay, but sure enough, the sight of him was distressing enough to bypass her attempts to block out her fears. What if this was the last time she would see him?

"Professor Griffith, it is good to see you." Even if it hurt every time they parted ways.

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Lou made magic!

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He looked up towards Themis, then back to his plate. Looking at her was like attempting to look at the sun. A sphere of guilt seemed to appear inside his ribcage and press outwards.

Of course, he thought, it was just his luck that this was the exact moment she caught him. After nearly three days without a meal and under the grip of a poison that took from the body whatever it deigned to, if one was not careful. He had not been careful. If it were a day or two later, he would have regained more of his physical constitution and would be better able to deflect her worry. He straightened his shoulders.

"Please," he said, nodding towards the free seat. There was really nothing else he could do. He discovered that his feeling was slow to respond to her presence, as it was slow to respond to everything. It was hard to tell how this would go and impossible to say what he wanted. Perhaps he would have preferred to be alone. He had avoided thinking about her since the night in Whitechapel on the 12th—at least he had tried to. It would mean facing his betrayal, and he was not ready to do that. It still felt like a dream he had not yet woken up from. "How have you been?" he asked and took another bite. That seemed kind of nonsensical, but the response was as much of an automatism as anything he did today. It was all simply not real.

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   Don Juan Dempsey

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'I force myself to eat, I have frequent and distressing nightmares about you, and I feel as if I've lost control.' She longed to respond to him truthfully, and in other settings, she would have. This was the worst possible place for a reunion. "I am managing my responsibilities." She answered evenly, leaving the miles of questions and concerns between them unaddressed. "I will be better when I hear news about a dear companion of mine. It is always distressing to await news." She added pointedly. It seems she couldn't let everything rest. 'I miss you, and I'm worried' was too vulnerable for this setting and presently too vulnerable for Themis at all.

She sat next to him, but every dish before her seemed grey and unappealing, food a frustrating necessity. She served herself a meager meal but ended up pushing potatoes around her plate like a child. She took a bite, regretted it, and reached for the glass in front of her. Whether it was pumpkin juice or vinegar, she didn't notice. Sitting this close to Samuel when there seemed to be a metaphorical ocean between them was surreal, her head and heart at war over just what needed saying and whether she would say anything at all.

Giving up on the pretense of eating, she stated as blandly as possible, "I hope you are well, professor." There was no need to add the obvious 'But I know you're not.'

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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He could feel her sit beside him, even though their bodies did not touch. Her presence, projected around her like an invisible field, hit him and he felt like he should flinch to do the impact justice. Usually he was more protected against this. People did not get to him that easily, but whatever shielded him on a normal day had withered. He felt her anxiety and her want to know like a chokehold around his neck. It was hard to bear. "Well enough," he said, somewhat reflexively. Somewhat defensively. He frowned. The way in which his words bypassed their mental filter today did not bode well. Samuel wanted to look at her to soften the way he deflected her and found out that it was exceptionally difficult.

Guilt started gnawing at his insides when he raised his gaze to look at her profile. He saw the sorrow around her eyes and he remembered that he had predicted this moment. In their night in the tower there had been a second where he looked at her in disbelief at her beauty, which transformed from a distant notion to being real and immediate; a quality he could allow himself to experience with all senses. In that moment he imagined the light in her eyes turn to sorrow — well, it had not taken him long at all to manifest that vision into reality. The worst thing about it was that it was not even for a justifiable cause. He made absolutely no headway towards his goals; instead, he had fallen into his worst habits and he dismantled every moral standard he held himself to. He did not know what he was doing and why, or he could not look it in the eye as soon as he was sober, which came around to the same thing. Remiss of any comforting or sensible things to say to her, he looked away.

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   Don Juan Dempsey

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She wanted to rage, wanted to throw something to the wall and watch it shatter, anything to feel something in this moment. Her heart had chosen an uncomfortable flatness, a neutrality she hadn't decided on. This was survival stoicism, something she'd experienced once before in her life and loathed. The idea that her heart and mind were grieving Samuel terrified her; he was here with her. He was alive and functioning. Why couldn't she dismiss the clues before her and be grateful for his presence?

He was avoiding her eyes, dodging her attempts at connection, and it grated on her nerves. This was a frustration they hadn't planned on; just one of a million things they hadn't discussed. Pushing her plate away, no longer able to handle the pretense and falsehoods heaping up between them, Themis rose from the seat she recently took. "I have an unfortunate amount of essays to grade. Should you wish to discuss the paper we're collaborating on, I will be there." And she walked away.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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Professor Griffith's Office & Professor Lyra's Office

Her reaction should not surprise him. It didn't, not really. That changed nothing about the frozen feeling it left him with when he watched her walk away from him. After a few seconds of staring into space, he finished his plate, without really registering any of it. Samuel got up and left the nearly empty great hall. He walked up to his office and stood in his dark rooms. He could have been anywhere, it did not really connect. Eventually he opened the window and took out his étui of cigarettes to smoke, like he had done so many times before.

Even before he thought it possible to be with her, the light of the astronomy tower was a quiet comfort to him. Now he looked at the tower and saw that it eclipsed the moon. The light behind her window burned. He thought about the winding stairs upwards. If he let her slip away now because he could not face himself in front of her everything would be for nothing. All he went through. All he put her through, and all he was subjecting Don Juan to. It was difficult to put their names next to each other. His mind resisted it, yet it was all tangled up with each other.

He put out his cigarette and turned away from the window.
The way upwards seemed to take forever. When he thought to have reached the last turn of the stair, there was another. Finally he stood in front of her door. He knocked and waited.

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   Themis Lyra

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She walked away from him, her head held high as she walked away from the Great Hall, up the stairs, all the way to her tower. She closed the door, and then she paced. Every response in downstairs had felt muted somehow. Her body made up for it when she reached the Astronomy Tower. Her heart raced; body twitching and ready to run. Perhaps if she climbed the stairs again, at a run, three times, she would feel some sense of calm. Now, she was as likely to hex as breathe. Then he knocked and she made a decision.

She opened the door.

She said nothing as she let him in, checked the hall, and was certain they were unseen. Of course, she had a cover, but she wasn't in the mood for interruptions tonight. Anyone interfering with them tonight may plummet from the window without a broom. Locking and charming the door, she took a moment to breath before turning to face him. She walked past him, unable to look at him without fuming. Putting an armchair between them, unsure which of them she was protecting, she looked for his eyes. "I don't know if you expect me to kiss you or curse you. I don't know which I'd prefer."

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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The door locking behind him gave his decision to come here an eerie sense of finality. He carefully took a few steps into her domain, then stopped. She stood across the room from him, a chair between them, her piercing blue eyes ablaze. He could hold their gaze now. Her anger being out in the open was a relief. He felt that it was just. He deserved that.

"I take whatever comes my way, from you," he said, and he stood very still in this room of hers, straighter than before. He was slightly queasy, but the dinner at least put his body out of the stress of immediate starvation. Every modicum of strength he could gather, he was likely to need.

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She watched him closely, her eyes cataloging every perceptible change since she left him in Whitechapel. Too much of him had changed, he was too gaunt, too sallow to be healthy. She doubted he slept much. She pondered him, but the decision her brain made surprised her. She crossed the room in her long strides, a part of her felt as if she was along for the ride, also interested to see if she would kiss or kill him for the amount of worry she felt on his behalf.

She committed to her decision, but not before searching his eyes, judging whether her entrance into his personal space would be seen as a threat or be welcome. Taking his nonreaction as permission, she kissed him. Forcing herself to refrain from seeking anymore, she pulled back without crossing away from him. “You aren’t well.” It wasn’t a question.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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He watched her warily while she crossed the rooms towards him. If she were to strike him, he did not think he would have defended himself. He did not defend himself against the kiss, either. Her lips on his for a fleeting moment seemed to pull forth the current that always flowed towards her, that made him want to hold on to her before she pulled away. But in the brief second his eyes closed, a face in the throes of death flashed behind his eyelids. Then a face contorted in pain and pleasure. A thousand other moments and forgotten memories hung on to this one on a string that was tethered somewhere in the deep dark.

His heartbeat quickened and dread greyed out the fragile tenderness, choked it right off. He felt corrupted, Samuel realized. His body held on to the memory of what should not have happened. What he had done unto another had fallen back onto himself — was it not always like that? He should have known. The thought of what he might have done to the incredible and precious thing that became reality between them in this very room, not that long ago, made him weak. He tried to make amends with himself; surely, this despair was caused by his starved, depleted mind and body. He would recover. He would feel better and more level-headed about this. He needn't be quite as dramatic. "I've been better," he finally conceded. "Let's sit somewhere, if you don't mind."

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   Don Juan Dempsey

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His small concession quickened her heartrate. His partial admission concerned her more than an outright lie. He wasn’t fighting her assessment, just qualifying it. What had happened in those nights since she saw him last? She knew she wasn’t looking her best, the world around her losing some of its vibrance without Samuel around. It was a romantic, idiotic notion that she had always considered hyperbolic, until she felt it herself. Themis found herself resenting poets and every silly turn of phrase she’d puzzled over in the past three weeks. She still hadn’t found a satisfying label for just what on earth they had started. ‘Affair’ felt too crass, but what else was there to describe what they’d embarked on? The labels seemed inconsequential when Samuel was with her, but in the long stretches of the night she had to reflect, it was a question she couldn’t shake.

Themis went to her settee near the window, a place they had sat together the night they shared in her tower, lovers safe among the stars. She didn’t feel nestled among the stars now, the cold fire in the heavens seemed to judge her for her transgressions, loomed near to punish her for her missteps. How close to the edge were they teetering now? She sat, eager to take his hand, but thinking better of it. He looked too fragile for her sudden contact and cracking him had never been her intention. Placing her hand palm up on her knee in invitation, should he choose it, she did her best to master her emotions. She disliked this feeling of anger stoked by fear, it clouded her mind and impaired her judgement. Now, faced with the man she lov deeply cared for looking back at her hollow, she clung to the embers of her annoyance, it was easier to bear than anxiety. “Is there anything I can give you? Proper food? Anything to drink?” A loss of control, of certainty had her fussing over him like only a mother could, the need to nurture a safe retreat from the questions she couldn’t ask.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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Sitting in the place where they first really discovered each other, without rush and fear driving them on, made him not feel the least bit better. Nor did her fussing over him, because it split him into two directions. One part of him, that he thought to be outright pathetic, wanted to lie down on the hearthrug and passively accept every caring gesture she might bestow upon him. Considering what he was up to and planning to get up to in her absence, this was akin to a wolf deciding it had enough of its beastly ways and wanting to become a sedate lap dog, thank you very much.

The other part wanted to reject her and confront her with the truth. He had committed a crime and planned another, a murder, to be precise. Additionally, instead of clearing the rooms of his life from their mess for her to move in, he was busy flooding them with poison. Ah, and he had taken what one would call a lover, if what they did to each other was any less degenerate — for good measure. Yes, tell her that and watch the adoration in her eyes die, he thought. And then you might as well throw yourself off this tower, because there is no way to fall any lower.

So what was left for him to do?
He looked at her with bewilderment. It had been a mistake to come to her in the state of mind he was in. He had no idea what he would do or say. What was left for him to do was to lie through his teeth. It was the only right thing in this situation, in fact. "No. Thank you," he belatedly answered her question. "I know how this looks and I know that I worry you. You see me at a low point, there is no doubt about it. But I will recover. In two days' time, you will see me in the hall looking much better. The worst is over," he told her. His voice was firm and he could look into her eyes. "All of this will soon be over. The new year will come."
He reached towards her hand, that lay palm up on her knee; an invitation to soothe her that he could not afford to deny her.

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   Themis Lyra

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Samuel looked lost. Themis decided it was one of the most unsettling sights she knew. She didn't need him to have all the answers, but the sight of him without any had her spinning. It was her duty now to know things. It was her place to rule in this room, to command the proceedings here. She, at least, shouldn't look so out of place in her own quarters. She wanted to pace, to run, to swim, anything to burn the anxious energy in her body, anything to make the fear silence itself for one blissful moment.

She couldn't miss the details he didn't want her to see, the signs that things weren't all right. She wasn't fooled easily and, truthfully, wasn't sure if it was better to know the truth or exist in ignorance. She always chose knowledge, but today, knowing seemed like a pyrrhic victory. She would believe what he told her; it was decided. She could wrestle with the implications of her stupid decisions in one of the many hours that stretched on without him. She took his hand, hers holding tight as if she could will him back to health and cheer him on to success. She ignored her misgiving as he looked her in the eye and promised an end to both of their suffering. He needed to be correct; it was of vital importance.

She nodded, needing to believe him, but her misgivings made her twitchy, upset by every promise of tomorrow. "I want to believe you with every ounce of my being." She meant it, but she couldn't look away from him; she was afraid she would miss some vital clue to his dealings. There was so much she wanted to know but feared being answered. She busied herself tracing the scar on his palm, the action bringing her close, but offering no comfort. "I'm a fool." She hadn't meant to say it out loud. "There is so much I know I cannot ask you, and yet, I am flitting about like some war bride awaiting news from the front." Her tone made clear what she thought of this predicament. She was reduced to waiting on him, hoping he would give her the information she needed to live her life. It was unintentional, unwelcome, but she could shed him as quickly as she could shed her skin. Samuel was a part of her that seemed vital. "I am mortified to feel so inadequate, but I cannot think of a way to support you." She didn't add this with great reluctance, Themis found it hard not to slouch at the thought. She did not feel strong and upright; she did not feel correct. She was terrified, enamored, and confused. She wouldn't have wished this mix on anyone.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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"You're no fool," he answered uneasily. "In the position I've put you in, there is little to do."
Her hand traced over the circle on his palm. Involuntarily, he searched for signs of the red mark on her wrist. Would it have faded by now, or was it still as red as the night he last saw it? The thought unnerved him. He shifted in his seat. His body seemed far away from him. Not feeling it and not having his physicality at his disposal meant he could not rely on it to keep her close and under his spell. Just last week he could. After their run-in at the library, he was able to take her into his arms and make the difficulty of her situation matter less. He could not bring himself to do that now. He had very little to give her and it was the first time that he felt that way.

Feeling restless, he stood up and walked to the window. Her hand left his. The sky was darkening and turned a dirty grey, like a puddle on cobblestone.
"It's all more difficult than I thought it would be. I understand it less and less, the further I go," he heard himself say. He did not comprehend why he was saying it. Had he not just halfway succeeded in calming the waves? Why was he contradicting what he just said?

"I think I should leave," he said, disquieted. "Today there is nothing much I can give you to make this any easier."
The air in the room seemed to be cooling rapidly. He tried to suppress the shiver he felt. He had the hunch that the longer he would stay around her, the more he might say, and the worse this would get.

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He matched her unease as he pulled away from her. She was finding it difficult to sit still, needing something tangible to fight off. She would give anything for a problem they could confront together, some villain they could combat, save the day and end the story. It was juvenile, absolutely ridiculous and she still longed for it to be possible. She couldn’t stay seated.

Themis was on her feet, but didn’t move to approach him. She barely moved at all, now standing and unsure of what she meant to do. He was giving her breadcrumbs, puzzle pieces without a guide. She wasn’t certain of the final picture, but shadows and forms were beginning to materialize. “The things most worth doing are often the most difficult.” She offered without understanding what she commented on. She flinched when he announced his decision to leave. It made sense, more than this awkward chasm between them, but it still hurt. She didn’t want him to leave; not tonight and not ever. The thought was wrong, unattainable. It didn’t stop the throb in her chest that begged for him to stay. “I won’t stop you, if distance is what you need.” That was the end of it, she should have left it there, but Themis heard herself saying, ”But I don’t want you to leave.”

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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