Ramblings of Cassius

[Since I'm posting any I do for this on AO3 (and don't quite get how to combine things there), I figured I may as well add them on the original Lorel spot too. For any more that I get and/or do, I'll add to this post. So far I've only gotten 1, and I know this isn't followed by many now, so I may just ask my self some if I have any ideas. I can't guarantee any quality, as I'm really rusty with most things.

This meme is a list of emotions/numbers, where when one is left in Cassius' Tumblr Ask, I'll try to write a drabble for. As shown by the Anger one, these should come with Warnings.

"~{THIS MEME MAKES ME EMOTIONAL}~: Send a number, and you’ll get one Headcanon/Response around the following emotions"]

EDIT---
[I also previously uploaded ls_cassius' Twitter archive to MediaFire back in December. It's not complete now, but it has what would be needed for when I was actively playing & for logs or confirmations.]

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( Anger: 'Carrywell had sent that assassin. It was planned all along' )

Today is November 6th, 1891. Upon waking-up this morning, a Lorel Cassius had a memory of this time from the year before. November 5th is the birthday of a woman named Merriwether Fawkes, and they remember giving her a small British currency coin for it. But why a coin? On the night that they had first met her in person, the man that would later become there belle organised a game of Forfeits. Cassius had put a crown into the Iron Hat and then recited two proverbs (‘If you cannot be good, then be careful.’ & ‘Revenge is the longest journey.’) to have it back. So it is because of this that Cassius gave her a gift that was more tied to a memory than its size & value might suggest.

Lorel had also on the night before sent two telegrams down to London announcing their plan to take a Sunday dirigible down. Sunday dirigibles are often just small, and only for a few passengers. But it would get them back sooner, so Cassius bought their ticket. They had left the city in a rushed manner, and in doing so had missed having any real attendance of a lovely party.--The Lonely Knight’s ornate armour left sitting next to their desk at #27c Ladybones Road. They have travelled many times by dirigible in the past year-or-so, and besides from this vessels size nothing seemed any different than before. Well that and the fact they were travelling with a caged bat, and a bright green lizard.

So an hour later they were simply contemplating what to eat for supper, while looking out the window of the craft; when an explosion from above sounded and shook. A grinding noise as everything lurched forward with metal snapping. Cassius grabbed their two travelling companions as they managed to stand up. From the now open side, false stars could be seen whirling by as wind whipped inside with the dirigible rapidly descending.

The pavonine detective was beyond terrified as they clutched Triton to their chest.

Yet they were also used to bravery, so once buildings grew closer they made a last ditched plan to try and jump. It would be their only chance, and one that could very well not work. Unlocking Saunder’s cage and giving him a kiss on top of his head they let him fly off to his own safety. But lizards cannot soar, so giving yet another kiss they bundled their lizard into their shirt and made to run.

Their travelling boots thudded against the floor as the neared the ripped open cabin. Their heart pounding almost as loud. All around them they could hear the gas escaping and burning. The sounds of shouting. The air sucking-out. And just as they made to jump a small girl came tumbling in front of them. Would the momentum be enough for both? Probably not. But instead of side-stepping her to leave her be, Cassius grabbed her and gave her a shove as those boots left the flooring.

An Innocent.

A Sacrifice.

A Knight.

A Fall.

The young girl rolled onto the flat rooftop as her rescuer went tumbling down.

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[I just could not bring myself to write a full death scene. Just this now was so very heartbreaking. And by not including one, there can always be a slim chance that they could of survived.]
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Eventually the little brown bat will find someone and try to lead them to near the area. Yet all that will be found is a surprisingly unharmed lizard wearing four rings strung onto his blue collar. Two gold wedding rings, and two well used signet rings.

The crash was not a very large one. The bulk of the dirigible landed in the Unterzee, and what was left to land in London was mostly charred wood & twisted metal. Still it will be in most of the newspapers for the next few coming days. And the fact that an L.S. Cassius was aboard can be traced back to the ticket they bought, and the telegrams from the day before.

[If anyone wishes to find Saunder, and then Triton, they are welcome to do so. Yet I do not feel able to play it out myself.]

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A few days later several letters will be sent from a solicitor's office.

[So basically one of my *sits down and just types what comes in one big, rambling session*! This on the honey-dreaming, and OF COURSE contains spoilers! Also it is mostly just a vomit of words, that follows roughly "Nemesis" 25-29.]

( SPOILERS FOR 'NEMESIS' PARTS 25-29!!!!! )

Thursday night was hard for Cassius. Going about normal business when their lover comes to them without his soul. It felt like--Well not quite that horrible, but it broke their heart to see him like that. He got his soul back but night's end, but it still scared Cassius. Even waking-up, sprawled and clinging to his chest, their ribs sore from laying on all the things in their suit pockets, didn't take all their fear away.

Because Cassius has been scared for almost their whole time in The 'Neath. Various questions and fears weighing on them. Anger, vengeance. Those too push at them. And grief. Questions such as "Am not a good enough detective to find the killer?", "How can I so want vengeance?", "Do I have what it takes?", "Am I strong enough to do what it takes?" Answers. They still haven't found the answers they seek. All they have is a name of a flower, a name of a man, and a possible location for said man. "Can I--Will I kill this man?", "How can I make him give me the answers?". "Will I become so stained with blood?". The dreams they have been having seem to foresee that their hands will be red.

Questions about friendship. Questions about starting roots. Questions about love. And so many questions about who they, themself are.

And The 'Neath cloys, clings, and suffocates them. Always dark. Dark even with gas light. And not just for its lack of sunshine. Creatures, secrets, people. Almost everything is so, so dark. And this too scares Cassius.

One year ago today, Cassius jumped off the dirigible and landed on Ladybones Road. One year without their answers, one year without going home. They knew the date was coming, but with the Office, they tried to busy themself into not remembering. But after they head to the High Castle on this Friday afternoon, it hits them. And all these crushing worries, fears, questions, and loneliness fall on them. It is all they can do to get out of their clothes-wrinkled from sleeping in, and smelling of Narciso- and into a nightshirt.

Commission: Immortalise Jack-of-Smiles in another penny dreadful!

Jack-of-Smiles is a possessing spirit who from time to time occupies some poor idiot's corpse and slinks round the streets cutting up people he takes a dislike to. Eventually some public-spirited citizen always catches him and puts him down.

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In early October Cassius was approached to write about their experiences on the 'Jack Case'.

For most of September they had dealt with him every night. Fighting in the streets. Parrying his knife on rooftops. Ambushing Jack-of-Smiles at every chance. Sometimes even while he was still claiming a victim. And sometimes waiting at a street lamp for him to attack. They had been hired by the Constabulary to try to dissipate one of his killing-sprees, this time on Watchmaker's Hill. The pay was ridiculously high-albeit not many on the case lived to receive payment-and it offered a grand chance to increase their reputation. Or reputations as the case often is, although taking such a case could also damage it. Not many people want to hire someone so foolhardy, but after a week of having worked the crime scenes for the then latest victims of Jack, Cassius accepted.

Never once did Jack get the best of them, but he always managed to come back. It was a stalemate, but one that could not continue with Cassius' lack of sleep and increasing exhaustion.

Finally it seemed that Jack realised that if he just left the area, then Cassius would collect their payment and be done with it. Or perhaps after 62 deaths he had developed a semi-respect for the red-haired detective. In any case on September 27th there were no Smiles' attacks on the Hill. And again on the 28th. There was a few cases in other parts of London, but there was not a one on Watchmaker's Hill. In the small hours of the morning on October 1st, the CLP offered payment and a relief of duty. The amount of Rostygold and Diamonds was enough to make Cassius gasp. (and it wasn't strictly not under the table.)

But still they would jump at street corners, warily watching for any movements in the shadows. So when they were approached to write on their experience, they took the opportunity to try to relieve some anxiety and to offer hopefully an aid to others that would take on the Case. It did not take long to actually write, but to make sure the facts were straight Cassius revisited crime scenes, read back-issues of newspapers, visited surviving victims, and drew various diagrams. Growing again without sleep, and spending rather too much time at the Parlour of Virtue. What came about was not fictionalised, and was in fact so gruesome with its details that it quickly became blacklisted by the Ministry for Public Decency. Still it sold enough copies before for 3 'official' printings, and is actually a relatively easy book to buy from out-of-the-open sellers. Cassius even occasionally lectures on it's contents, although rather grimly and only for quite a bit of payment. And yet not many of their associates or friends know that they have authored such an account.

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They asked for it. They want blood? Give them blood!

Turn in a piece so savage, so terrifying, so gruesome and detailed that it may be banned before it ever gets off the presses.

'ah, Si-, er, Mad-, er, yes!, this is quite an achievement. You'll excuse me if I don't shake your hand.'

You are escorted from the publisher's office and questioned by constables. Your work gives nine hundred readers nightmares and closes four schools. Women scream and faint as you pass in the street. Sales are excellent. You receive an unexpected bonus: late one night, a stranger delivers a package of bottled souls to your door. You don't see his face, but a note with the package reads: 'Best wishes - Jack'

Sputtering. Shaking. Cassius' first realisation of sight is the brown eyes staring back at them. The horror and confusion in them takes startles and they do not realise who that they belong to. That the scraggled mess is their own reflection. But how? Why? So many questions still. The look they give themself reminds them of the fish they saw upon falling on black 'ice'...once. Its face literally frozen in the fear of freezing alive and the confusion of how exactly it was happening. 

Slowly Cassius starts to remember a...what exactly was that place? Was that what a jungle is? They had only ever read about them and seen illustrations...but how could they have been in a jungle? This was still London, even if underground...and all other trees were dead, so how could there be a jungle? And the sun--The sun! There was sun in that place...was it really, truly the sun? The last image in their mind was of stars...Stars! How could they be in such a place?

The ache of their body starts to sink in and they finally notice that their jacket is missing and the shirt is in tatters...and is that...blood? Was everything real? Something wet seems to be dripping down their hand and for a moment they contemplate how much like honey it is; before rolling back their sleeve to see a gash just by their elbow.

"I fell looking for a stream."

But they couldn't have actually fallen...and yet there is mud and...leaves stuck in it. Cassius reels back and grips the sides of the dresser.

"....nothing is ever here in the first place"

They mutter, remembering they uttered the same thing...how long ago was it? Where were they again? Is this all a 'Neath dream? Or have they even been down here to begin with? They cry out and shake.

A voice squeaks out and briefly they wonder if it is their own, until a large rat pulls himself up to have a better chance of making eye-contact. "'Ow 'bout ye get o't of that things?"

Maybe.

But even if Cassius is imagining all this, imagining being somewhat cleaner and freshly dressed would be a better option. 'If this is all in my head...' They think, 'Then maybe this Disgraced rat really is the best guide?'.

A moment of walking along, and then a moment of laying on the cobblestone, dazed and with no idea how they got down there. Their pants and jacket were wet on one side, and there would probably be a bruised hip in the coming days. If it had been back above, Cassius would just hang everything out by the fire, and all would be well. But this d---able stuff, which was called 'snow', but certainly wasn't -real- snow, was a completely different matter. They had read on experiments conducted with cats and it, and they had no wish to let it seep in and possibly be absorbed through their skin.

They swore.

When Cassius had opened their eyes that morning and saw The Chief laughing by the window, they swore. It was not that they didn't like snow...but this could not even been called 'snow'. This 'snow' was horrid, and probably toxic, and of unknown origin, and unnaturally cold & slippery, and--well and it made walking more of a dance than anything. This was how L.S. Cassius came to have slipped and fallen right in the middle of the street. Cursing-probably making a scene-they gathered their bearing and headed to the nearest public laundry. And better still the nearest public laundry to a place to buy better boots.