In the Bleak MidWinter (Victor/open)(Casual)

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

Joan hummed to herself as she walked through the park. A heavy blanket of snow had fallen, covering the ground in its thick whiteness. Overhead, the wind whipped through bare tree branches, playing an eerie melody. Joan shivered and pulled her tattered coat tighter around her shoulders. she couldn't have said exactly why she was trudging through Central Park in the middle of one of New York City's worst snowstorms in history, but she was.

It beat sitting curled up in porches, she thought. Maybe later she'd try to find an abandoned subway tunnel. She shuddered at the thought of the furry denizens who might also share the tunnel. Rats. One of the few things that could make her blood curdle. She shoved her hands into her pockets, wishing she had gloves. Or the money to buy gloves. As she walked, she lifted her face, staring up at the cold gray sky. Even though she was freezing, she had to admit, Central Park was beautiful.

Joan hummed under her breath as she walked. Perhaps Father Robert would leave out extra blankets tonight. He'd promised to, now that it was so cold. He'd also told Joan about several shelters where she could go to get in out of the cold. "You'd be warm there and they have hot food," he'd told her just the other night. Joan had shaken her head. "No, thank you, father." She hadn't offered any explination and the priest hadn't pressed her, for which she was grateful. Joan didn't mind a little cold, if it meant she was safe.

Yes, the day certainly was--Joan's thoughts tumbled into one another as her foot struck a buried tree root. With a cry, she fell forward, landing face-first in an enormous snow drift. Her ankle and arm twisted beneath her as she fell. Biting back a whimper, Joan struggled to sit up, brushing snow away with a trembling hand. Suppose she'd broken something? The way her ankle throbbed, she was certain she had. "By my staff." A low growl escaped her throat. If she'd done serious damage, she'd have to go to the clinic--and they asked questions. Joan shook her head. No. She'd just have to hope that she could heal on her own.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

"It'll do you little good to stay down there," someone said above her, raising his voice through the high winds. The person soon had a strong arm around her waist and was helping her up.

Frankly, Victor couldn't believe himself; he was trudging through a park during one of New York's most vicious snow storms. So many things were wrong with this picture, and yet he'd done it anyway. Now he was paying the price for it, as he was freezing to the bone--and that was with a heavy jacket on. He didn't even want to know how this poor girl felt.

When he'd seen her, his first thought was to kill her. No one needed another homeless lurking around...and she didn't seem to be having a fun time, trudging through the snow, much like him. She surely must have been insane, was all Victor could figure. Yet, the moment she'd fallen over in the snow, he'd rushed to help her up; looking at him, though, you would never know he'd been rushing. The thought of the poor girl in the snow brought memories back that he hadn't wanted back, so he was obliged to put a stop to it.

A moment into helping her up, though, he regretted it. His frown turned to something that was not often shown on his face; confusion. Something about this little woman disturbed him right down to his very core. There was something very wrong with her.

((No, Vic, there's something wrong with you.))

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

"Thank you." Joan smiled up at her rescuer. She leaned against him, brushing away the rest of the snow from her coat. "You are very kind to stop and help me like that. Most wouldn't." She pulled away, keeping her hand on his shoulder for support. Her forehead furrowed as she gazed at him. He was soaked through, to the skin, because of her.

She bit her lip and looked down, studying her feet. "So sorry. Now you're all wet. I'm not usually this clumsy, but I was looking at the sky. Guess I deserved that. Not looking where I was going and all." Joan let go of his shoulder and took a few shaky steps. Her ankle still throbbed but she could move it alright. Maybe if she could limp over to a bench and sit down, she would be alright.

"Have you got somewhere to go to get warm?" she asked. From the look of him, he wasn't homeless, but you could never tell anymore, and Joan hated the thought of anyone suffering because of her. "I really appreciate you helping me. I mean that It's so rare to see people being nice to each other these days." She limped over to the bench and sat down, tucking her feet up beside her. Rubbing her ankle, her gaze found the man again and she smiled. "I'm Joan, by the way. What's your name?"

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor crossed his arms as he approached the bench where she sat, his teeth chattering like mad. "M-my name is V-victor," he managed through his clenched jaw. He did not react well to being cold and wet at all, worse than most people, actually. At that moment he wanted to give her a sizable scar for getting him all wet, but he didn't let that on. "R-r-really, it was no b-bother to help you. It di-disturbed me to see you lying there with no help. You probably would have d-died." He pulled the collar of his coat up higher, thinking that somehow that might warm him a bit more. Ohh, how he wanted to make her pay.

The kind of person he was posing as would have already teared up at the girl's appearance. She was such a sad, pathetic little thing, but so cheerful; the little thing could have died. Victor could not imagine dying in such a way, but he would not--could not--weep for her. He raised his foot, kicking away the snow on the bench, and sat down next to her. "You shouldn't be worrying about me, you should be worrying about yourself. You're as good as dead sitting out here."

He thought a moment. "I do have a warm place to go. You don't. Would you like to join me? It's down just a ways...the bar I own." Victor took off his hat, frowning at it a moment. In doing this, his face was fully revealed. Not only had she been saved by a kind mind, but by an attractive one as well.

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

Joan stared down at her hands. She didn't go to bars. Ever. She'd never even stepped inside one. But maybe, this time, it would be alright. Maybe. And she was so cold. "I don't...I don't know." She sighed. "I don't usually go to those kinds of places. I don't drink and I don't like the way the men look at me. I'm not that kind of girl."

She shifted on the bench. He seemed nice. Trustworthy. Kind. But she wasn't sure. Suppose he wanted to hurt her? but if that was the case, he would've done it already, right? There was almost no one around, and no one to care about a homeless girl anyway. Surely if he had meant to harm her, he would've done so before now.

Instead, he had helped her out of the snow and was now offering her a warm place to go. Perhaps it wasn't that sort of bar. He looked like a classy fellow. Not the type to have a seedy bar. "It's nice? Your bar? I don't go to bars. I don't drink and I'm not loose." She studied her hands. "if I go, will you keep the drunk men away from me?"

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor begrudgingly removed his heavy scarf, leaning over to put it around her shoulders. The cost of being trusted was his own comfort, which he had sacrificed only when it was necessary; for an extremely selfish man to appear unselfish was hard. He had occasionally had to convince himself that he was an actor--Victor was his character. Portray him, and the money would roll in. Everyone would hold you in high esteem. Really, though...that was the reality. So was the weak underbelly of the human race--they believed everything they saw, and he knew it.

"There's no one like that there," he said, nodding. "I kick out people like that, for the sake of my more dignified customers." He looked at her a moment, getting to his feet. "You're brave, times as hard as they are, not selling yourself out."

Victor held out his hand., looking down at the pathetic, shivering thing in front of him. "My car's down there, too, so we should get going. Hope we can catch a cab."

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

"Thank you," Joan replied, her own teeth chattering. The scarf helped some, though. She stood and started off through the park. She liked him, she decided. He was genuinely kind. "It sounds nice. And I'm glad it's not a regular bar." Joan picked her way through the snow, with victor trailing behind her. He seemed to hate the cold even more than she did. 'I wonder why?' Joan wasn't about to ask, though. She didn't want to upset the first kind person she'd met.

Turning to make sure he was following her, Joan said, "You know, I've been praying that I'd meet a friend. I'm glad I've met you. I'm sorry that you're wet and cold, because of me." She unwound his scarf and handed it back to him. It couldn't be far, and he looked like he needed it worse than she did. "My parents always told me to do the right thing, no matter what. So I won't sell myself. I'd starve before I'd do that." Her voice was fierce as she spoke. "I don't understand how people oculd get that desperate. There's always something else. Always." Heat rose to her face and she ducked her head, studying her feet as she walked. "Sorry, that just really makes me angry."

Dropping back, Joan fell into step beside Victor. "You must be from somewhere warm. You look colder than I am." She glanced up at him and then away. "It's not so bad for me. I'm used to it. Plus I have places I can go, usually, where it's warm. Safe places. Where no one will find me." She stopped abruptly, clamping her mouth shut. She'd done it again. Started babbling. Just like she did every time she got nervous. Impulsively, she reached for Victor's hand. He seemed...lost. Lonely even. Maybe I can help, Joan thought, I know how it feels to be alone.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Praying? he thought, mentally cringing. God and Victor had not had the best relationship. God had never done anything for him, and as one would not trust a careless brother with ones car, he did not trust God with his life...or anything, for that matter. No doubt there was a God. He just didn't like Him. "Well..." he said slowly, "...I suppose it's good that you're so adamant about it. But sometimes it really isn't a choice...so far as I've observed."

He looked down at her a moment, a confused expression coming to his face for the second time in their meeting as she reached for his hand. "Uh...but...I wouldn't if I were you, anyhow. There's supposedly a serial killer on the loose. Preying on prostitutes." However uncomfortable she made him, he did not resist when she took his hand...but, damn, he could feel how freezing she was through his leather glove.

Victor looked down at her again. The young woman talked so fast that it was hard to keep up with her and answer all the questions she was asking him. He had had to start picking and choosing ones that would be easiest to lie about. The big lies never got you far, unless you were the master, and though he was, they still tired him out.

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

Joan sighed. "You are right, I suppose. I have heard of this man. I pray that he is caught soon. I suppose something terrible must have happened to make him as he is." Her fingers tightened around Victor's hands. "I think we are almost to the corner. There should be a cab soon." She fell quiet as she walked. The snow fell faster and Joan tried not to shiver.

She glanced up at Victor. Goodness, he must really hate the cold, she thought. "You shall be warm soon." She quickened her pace, pulling on his hand. It was growing dark anyway and she had little wish to be on the streets after dark. Especially with the killer about.

"Will they catch him, do you think?" she asked at last. They had reached the corner and now she squinted against the snow, searching for a cab. She certainly hoped that they found him soon. A man like that was dangerous. Still, she found herself wondering what had happened to the man in the first place. Something truly terrible, she supposed, to make him do the awful things he had done. She had heard the stories and they made her blood go cold. Trying to put the thought from her mind, she concentrated on watching for a cab.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor tensed noticeably as she pulled him to the corner. Something terrible, she says! Something terrible, she says! his mind screamed. He tried to hide it as best he could, but something was wrong and that was clear. He shivered to try and pass it off as standing still in the cold--she'd so far as guessed that he had a problem with that, at least.

Oh, yes, something terrible indeed had happened to the murderer, but no one would ever find out. No one would know that his mother had been a whore, no one would ever find out that he had run away, no one would find out that he would later return to D.C. and poison the woman's canned tomato soup. No one would know about...No! No, he couldn't even say it to himself--that part of his life was over. He had made a choice and he had stuck by it. Nothing wrong with that. It was an experiment anyway.

He finally came to, realizing she'd asked him something. "I don't know," he said, in regards to her question about catching the murderer. "He seems clever...hasn't been caught yet. Hopefully, he'll slip up." Victor could have worried about jinxing himself--but he had complete faith in his clever operation. He would continue to outwit the police.

"Taxi!" he called suddenly, hailing a cab with one effective sweep of his arm. He looked at Joan, a hint of ice in his eyes. "Your carriage awaits, m'lady."

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

"Thank you," Joan replied, looking away. Perhaps I made him angry by speaking of it, she thought. She picked up her mug and slid into the cab. She let out a sigh as Victor got in and closed the door. The warmth of the vehicle settled over her, making her drowsy. She rubbed her hands together and yawned, resting her head on the back of the seat. She couldn't very well fall asleep sitting here. That wouldn't be proper.

((But I'm sure Victor would be happy if she did.))

Joan dug in her mug, fishing out the crumpled dollar bills and held them out toward Victor. "For the fare," she explained, waiting for him to take the money She was homeless but she was still going to pay her own way. "It's the least I can do after getting you soaked. Are you from the desert?" Perhaps that explained why he hated the cold so much.


She remembered the look in his eyes earlier and ducked her head, studying her hands. Peerhaps he didn't want to talk about his personal life. It was none of her business, really. Her parents always told her she'd asked too many questions, a complaint echoed by her voices. "Forgive me, I talk too much sometimes." She lifted her gaze to the window, watching as the streets shot by in a blur. It was still snowing hard and she was glad to be inside the cab. Joan bit her lip. 'I hope I haven't upset my new friend,' she thought.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

"Nonsense," he huffed, shaking his head at the money she'd offered. "I'm not going to take that, even if you insist." He raised his head and told the driver the address, and then looked back at her. The girl sitting next to him intrigued him, and he found himself intrigued by his own actions as well. Was there a good reason that he was helping her like this?

Well...yes...

The thing he wouldn't talk about. The snowy night when he was small, and then the second snowy night when he was older.

Victor had to shake himself back to reality again, realizing that he'd been watching Joan for quite awhile. "Ah--no, I'm not from the desert. I'm from quite a snowy place actually...Vermont, born and raised...then NYC. I just don't like the stuff." Absentmindedly, he fiddled with his damp clothing, wringing it out so that it dripped on his shoes.

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

"Ah," Joan replied. She was not especially fond of winter either, and told Victor so. Still, the one good thing about the cold was that it made one appreciate being warm. She pocketed her money, not wishing to further offend her friend. "I am from Domremy, in the east of France. It is a nice little village and I miss it. We moved to Iowa when I was twelve. It snows there as well." She did not volunteer how she'd come to New York. She wasn't sure she trusted Victor with her secrets just yet.

The cab continued to move through the snowy streets and Joan propped her chin up in her hand, watching the buildings. The neighborhoods were getting better, she could tell that much at least. Jack's must be a nice place, she thought. Her stomach rumbled and she blushed. "Does your bar sell food?"

She hoped that it did. Perhaps, since she didn't have to pay for the cab, she'd have enough to buy something to eat. If she didn't, maybe Victor would let her wash dishes or wipe down tables. He did own the place, after all, and he didn't seem like the type to turn away someone in need. He'd helped her this much already.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor rubbed his nose with one gloved hand, the cold whether bothering him further. And he had a damn cold too. "France? I thought it was something like that, from your accent," he said, looking out the window a moment to see where they were. They were just a few minutes from the bar. He hated French people. Of course, he hated most types of people, because humankind consisted of animals in general; there was something about the French, though, that set him off. Maybe it was the English blood in him.

He swallowed a moment and then woke himself up again, realizing she'd asked him another question...something about the bar. Something about food. "Food? Yes, there's dining," he said, blinking slowly. It was obvious how tired he was--it had been a long day. "We're not busy today, obviously, because of the storm. So there may only be a few people there. And it's late anyway." He looked over at her again, taking off his hat and running a hand through his soaked hair. All he wanted right now was to be in bed with the heat turned up to seventy-three.

[JEHANNE MARIE D'ARC]

Joan smiled at him. He looked as if he were about to fall asleep, sitting there. "thank you for going to all this trouble." She watched as the taxi continued to move. The snow was still falling and she hoped it would be gone by the time she had to leave. If not, maybe she could find an abandoned building nearby to curl up in.

"You can go home once we get there," she said. "You don't need to stay with me. I can take care of myself, don't worry." She flashed him another smile. Besides, he looked like he was going to have trouble getting out of the cab, let alone getting into the bar. "Thank you for all you've done."