The Ripper

William Jack Holloway

There was something about the young woman that was proving to have an effect on the Hunter's every words. She was able to so readily pull him from those sullen thoughts about the companion with whom he lived and right back into the date that he was enjoying so readily. "Ah, but if you were a ghost and invisible, I would not have been able to see you spying on me," He winked at her as he dug into the dishes, truly savoring every bite that was placed upon his tongue. The clam that she offered him was appreciated greatly, though he was mostly distracted by the feeling of her fingertips against his lips to truly savor the food. Still, the taste of the clam was enough to have him nearly groaning in delight. "Blimey, your cook is brilliant, isn't she?"

The mention of his accent caused the man to chuckle, his fingertips closing around the wine glass as he lifted it to his lips. "I have been told that I have that effect on women. How I can make you swoon just with my voice," He teased before he took a generous drink of the red liquid. There was something so pleasurable about the way that she ate. The man was almost distracted enough to simply watch her, though he quickly realized that if he hesitated too long, she truly would eat all the food and leave him with nothing but an empty stomach. "Do you cook at all?" William inquired after a moment between bites of food.

The question that he asked of the woman was entirely genuine in nature, the man hardly expecting that it might poise any kind of awkwardness within the girl. The mention of the dagger made him chuckle. "I will not fault you for your love of weapons. It's always been a source of fondness for myself, as well." He commented, though he frowned as her smile seemed to fade as she spoke. He reached out then, his hand catching hers as she faltered on her sentence. It was only when she brought up books did William himself seem to brighten. "That definitely counts as a hobby," He said as he sat up a little straighter, the food forgotten temporarily as he merely seemed to enjoy the topic of literature.

"I also love books," William said, his accent more prevalent in that moment than perhaps it ever was, a side effect of the excitement that plagued him. "It was the one thing I truly loved in my youth. I would spend hours curled up by the fire reading until I was dragged out of my home and into parties. I'm afraid I don't have much of a modern taste, but I am rather fond of the classics. My father was a close personal friend of Charles Dickens, and the library at the Devonshire House had several first edition Shakespeares that I had collected. It is, perhaps, my biggest regret that I do not have them within my possession."

It was, perhaps, the only thing that bothered him knowing that his childhood home - or at least his London one - was no longer within his family. The books he had cherished were lost to some unknown buyer who would likely not have appreciated what they were. No, whoever owned those books likely saw them exclusively as a high priced antique rather than the literary treasure that they were. For a moment, the man is lost in thought of how much he would kill to have those books back within his possession. "Though, I might add, none of those books were classics when I was young. In fact, Dickens had yet to publish when I died. He was dead before I ever got to read any of his published work. Though, as he knew my father, he did occasionally slip me some writing when he would stop by."

He chuckled up at him as he leaned in, his posture matching hers as he spoke of his own love of literature. "Knives, of course," He commented in response to her question, the smirk ever present on the man's features as he spoke. "And reading, of course. But I also play the violin. Or I used to. I haven't technically played since I was alive, though I have no doubts that I could do it again." He winked. "As for strange women, I will honestly admit that you are the first one I have done that with, even if you did threaten me." He chuckled before he leaned back in his chair, the food entirely forgotten. "Shall we continue on our date, or are you going to lick the plates clean like a heathen?"

But darling -- it's only human nature.