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If anything, train stations were the worst. Having to socialize with a random stranger only to attain your ticket, stand waiting for possibly hours for your ride to arrive, and then awkwardly hold onto a pole if there wasn't any space to sit.
This having been your first time, you were nervous. It was a wonder how your parents managed to keep you cooped up in their house until you were thirteen, then send you off for training like it was nothing. Training with Jacobs hadn't been the best time, but you had to admit, it did bring out your skills.
You tapped a rhythm to your thigh, in sink with each step further you took. The queue was lengthy, and it had to be a good few minutes before you reached the front. You found yourself glancing around, hoping for something to distract yourself. Alas, only a mere three buttons had found your interests, silver, with an engraving you weren't quite close enough to read.
The man in front of you couldn't be much taller than you were, looking around, most likely waiting for someone. You would've leaned forwards in attempts to read what was written in small print if it weren't for the lady who pushed through the crowd, breathless, and found her way towards, presumably, her husband.
Everyone surged forwards, and you tripped over your feet, sucking in your stomach as you found balance.
The lady, who you had plenty of time to study, had strikingly red hair, a hue that could only remind you of fire. No doubt she would be kind but fierce, with a strong attitude. The myth -- it wasn't exactly that, but you couldn't remember any other words to describe it -- had yet to be proven false. All the red-heads you had met only established that idea more.
Moving on to the next person, you found yourself admiring her distinct coils of black that set atop her head. She was beautiful, wearing a yellow sun-dress that only made her pretty features stand out more. The girl, who was probably only few years older than you were, rocked on her heels and grinned.
The man in front of her looked nothing like she did; if anything, they were opposites. Yet he held her hand, and she cradled it like his porcelain skin was delicate.
You smiled at the sight, stepping, once again, forwards in the line.
The happy couple sauntered on, leaning on a post and laughing about something funny.
Another person finished, and you were up again. Now you could almost see the man in charge of the tickets.
It didn't take long before you were up at the front, and you beamed, rummaging around your bag for a pound. It was surprising how cheap they were, especially with prices going up.
"Hello," you started, wincing. Gosh, you sounded like an old woman. "Erm, uh, to London? When's the next tube leaving?"
"Nine. Should be here in twenty minutes." He clicked a button and the cash register opened with a ding. He held his palm out and gave an expectant look. "Are you gonna pay, or what?"
"Oh, right." Your mouth opened and closed, and you briskly handed him the bill, recoiling back when his skin grazed yours. Not a moment later and the ticket was in your hands. You muttered a quick have a good day before rushing away from the people, sighing in satisfaction when you had space to breathe.
There wasn't much to do in the time it took for the metro train to come, so you resorted to wandering around, trusting future you to not miss it. With the exception of a few newspaper stands, there wasn't much to buy, other than a small café built in the walls.
It wouldn't matter, because coffee was always needed. Once you got settled, a good job and good income, then you could make tea. At the moment, though, you couldn't have any tea, so coffee was the way to go.
You squinted at the bright light, ears ringing from opening the door. Despite the bell at the top of the door frame being noisy, the small room was still. Nobody was sat on the stools, and none of the televisions hung on the wall were switched on. A faint hum and a quiet clatter were the only sounds for you to recognize that you weren't alone.
If it weren't for the girl who came stumbling out an employees only door, only to stiffen at the sight of you, you would have probably walked out.
Her brows furrowed, and she managed to muster up an introduction. "Oh, hello." She strode towards you, wiping her hands clean on her apron. "We don't get people in here much, so... uh, what can I get for you?"
You thought, chewing the inside of your lip. "Coffee, please. It's going to be a long day and I would rather be awake for the most of it."
She giggled and pushed a wisp of blue hair behind her ear. "Yes, I understand that." She wrote everything down quickly, before looking up and tilting her head. "Anything with that? Milk or cream or sugar?"
"No thank you," you shook your head. "It's gonna need to be strong." You looked around the shop, pressing your lips into a line. "There's no need for a name, right? There isn't really anyone else it could be."
She nodded, guiding you towards a small table, then, almost instantaneously was behind the counter. From where you were sat on a cushioned orange stool, you could see the worker very well. She must have been out of business, or at the very lest not getting many customers.
As she worked, you let your mind wander. It wasn't every day that you could go out and venture on your own, not since you were thirteen. The Ghost Hunting business was a dangerous one, and it was hard to grasp the reality of everything. Just a glimpse of a bloodcurdling ghost was enough to keep you up at night, frozen in bed, fearful that if even the sheets shifted something would be out to get you.
You were thankful for all the training you had gotten, at least you wouldn't be completely defenceless, like a lot of other people. Regardless, defence was no excuse for how Jacobs was treating children; like adults that were in need of cleansing. That's what he used to say, anyway, though it didn't make any sense to you.
Your were startled out of your thoughts abruptly, a plastic white cup sitting in front of you. "Thanks," you said, nodding towards the girl and motioning for her to sit across from you. She held out a mixing stick, and you willingly took it, stirring and blowing the hot coffee. You sighed, the steam making your cheeks warm.
"Hey," the girl said, and your head snapped up, startled. "I didn't get your name."
You placed the lid on and took a slow sip. "I didn't tell you. Plus," you paused, watching her eyes glimmer, "I can save that for next time."
"Yeah, alright," she agreed, standing up and dusting off her pants. "I have to go now, but it was nice meeting you."
"That's alright," you murmured, chin still buried in your cup. You straightened your posture and stood from off the stool, giving the stranger one last glance before you slipped out the door. You could here a faint goodbye just as the door closed, and you shook your head, laughing to yourself. She was nice, and you could only wish for the chance to see her again.
The train in front of you slowed to a stop, and your eyes widened at the realization that it must be yours. You swallowed the rest of your coffee and dumped it into a garbage a few paces away, practically sprinting to the nearest door.
You made it just in time, scanning your ticket -- which, weirdly enough, had been in your hand the entire time -- and rushed through when the metal doors opened, letting out a sigh of relief.
Sitting hastily, you slumped, shutting your eyes and rolling them at the realization that it was far too bright for any sort of rest. You looked to the side, taking in everyone. There was a lot less people then you would have expected, especially when the destination was such a big city. Much too your consolation, it was quiet.
The tube didn't stay on it's tracks for very long, and you felt an abnormal surge, different to one of a crowd. Looking out of the glass caused too much of a headache, so you were stuck with starring at the ground.
"Is your final stop London, or are you headed somewhere else?" Not for very long, the world seemed to say.
Though you didn't usually like conversation, you smiled at the middle-aged man and answered anyway. "Yes, it is. Is that where you're going as well?"
He nodded, closing his book on his finger. You had only a moment to read the title, Murder on the Orient Express. It had always been one of your favourites. "Yeah, I'm off to see my daughter. Naughty girl, that one." He smiled softly before continuing. "She's a few years older than you- how old are you?"
"Seventeen," you informed, pursing your lips awkwardly. Hopefully he would stop talking soon.
"Oh, yeah. Mine's turning twenty-five tomorrow, thought I could come for a surprise visit, see my grandson." He opened his book up again, glimpsing at you from the corner of his eye. "He's turning four the week after. Kids grow up so fast, these days."
"Yep," you scooted farther, crossing your legs and fidgeting with your fingers.
God, this was gonna be a long ride.
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London was nothing like you thought it would be. Greeted with a rain cloud seemed to be the city's best welcoming, and all the shops with umbrellas inside were closed.
Luck was indefinitely not on your side, today. Staying up all night packing your bags kept your eyes drooping, but walking thirty minutes to the metro station topped it all. Then, after falling and embarrassing yourself while attempting to step out of the train, you got lost. Spending a long time looking for a staircase up, only to turn around and realize that you had gone the wrong way.
With your luck, there would still be a storm by the time you had finished any and all errands.
By the time you had reached ground level, it was already a quarter to eleven. Meaning only one thing; you would most certainly be late.
"Shit, shit, shit."
The people around you paused to glare, but you payed no attention to their petty glances, instead focusing on the ground beneath your feet. No way in hell you would be tripping again.
You heaved, skidding to a stop and placing a hand over your chest in attempts to slow your heartbeat. It was most certain you wouldn't be on-time, but you were desperate to arrive anyway. After all, they may have chosen to wait for you, though it didn't seem like something they'd do.
Using the few minutes you had, you wandered a while forward, unsure of where to go. There wasn't much to do in a town you had only just arrived in, and one could only hope for the help of a map.
Luckily, just outside the station -- which somehow, you had winded up circling back to -- there was a magazine stand, next to it one with maps. It didn't make sense how you missed it in the first place, but you would take what you could get.
Fumbling through the folds of paper, you eventually came upon what you were looking for: the route to Fittes Agency. It was quite obvious where you were supposed to be headed; up the hill, turn a right, then take two lefts. The walk from here to there couldn't be very long, but with your knowledge of the city it would take quite a while to figure out whether you were supposed to go up the hill in front of you, or the one to your right.
Upon further investigation, nothing changed. Both ways ended up in the same spot, but you weren't sure which would take less time. Opting for the one in front of you (only because it looked half as steep), you clutched the straps of your satchel and hurried on, letting yourself space out.
You would come back to your senses by the time you got there, anyway.
Never let the negative thoughts overpower the bright ones, your mother used to say. The last few years you had barely seen her, if you were lucky you would catch her staring at the end of each year, when you got your certificates for completing another grade.
It made sense, why she had sent you away. It was for the greater good -- so that you could protect yourself, and the others around you.
You had always thought it was selfish.
How she just threw away all your memories and let them be forgotten.
Baking with her was loads of fun, and it always ended with flour all over your clothes. When your father arrived home, if he did before you were already tucked into bed, he would scold the two of you and demand the kitchen be cleaned before the morning.
Those few minutes you got to see him were cherished, and sometimes you woke up extra early to give him a hug goodbye, before he was off to work. If you were lucky, or if Mother was sick and sleeping all day, he'd take you with him, showing you around his office and the people he worked with. Everyone there was always nice, some even gave you candies.
Thinking about it made your heart ache, and you would rather it not. Happy thoughts, repeating the words over and over in your mind always seemed to do the trick, and your lips tipped upwards.
Today was going to be a good day -- it had to be. If nothing turned out in the end then there was no reason to have gone through all that you had. You were going to get a job. Maybe your will was enough to tell the future. Manifestation, perhaps.
Loud noises brought you out of your thoughts, the sound of a honking horn and tires screeching against the road. It had stopped raining a while ago, though it was still a hassle to get through the puddles without ruining your shoes. If you had known that your first day would be wet, you would have taken time out of your day to buy boots. Though, you doubted there would be any comfortable ones.
You were on a sidewalk, now, and it couldn't be long before you arrived at Fittes. You stopped across from a little red brick building, but you payed no attention to the colour.
"Excuse me, Sir." You grabbed his attention by patting his shoulder, and you gave a meek smile when he turned. "Do you happen to know what time it is? I've gotten lost, and I can't be late." It was only a small lie -- you could see the agency if you squinted your eyes.
"Mhm," he hummed, rolling up his sleeves to glance at his watch. "Five past eleven, Miss. Hurry along, now."
You muttered a quick thank you, quickening your pace and looking at your map to make sure you were going in the right direction. You were, surprisingly, and you bolted in flurry of motion, not caring the backs of your heels were soaked. It hadn't mattered whether or not they were, considering the fact that in the few seconds that followed a car whizzed past you, unregarded for it's speed and that there were people walking, hoping not to get splashed.
You groaned, but didn't stop moving. Even the slightest hesitance and you would be late.
They would wait for you, right? Surely you had informed them that it was your first time in the city and you had absolutely no idea where anything was. It wouldn't matter, anyway. You were only a few minutes late, so they wouldn't mind.
Shit, you should have checked earlier if being tardy was acceptable in your situation.
Stepping up the marble stairs, you breathed deeply. This was a once in a life time opportunity, and you couldn't screw it up.
The door was propped open, and you winced. Inside probably wouldn't be warmer than outside, which was what you had hoped for. You almost tripped over yourself (once again), but managed compose yourself and walk forwards. You weren't confidant in the slightest, but at least you looked the part.
People gave you looks, and you were sure a few of them looked you up and down. Ignoring them, you tried to remember which room it was you were supposed to meet them in. Something... A? A5? No, couldn't be that, it was probably a smaller number.
It didn't come to mind until a few moment later that you had scribbled the room number in ink, specifically so you wouldn't forget, though now that you thought about it, it wasn't exactly a dependable plan. A1, it read, and your eyes flickered up to the sign, hanging above a big doorway. A1-7 on the left, and A8-14 on the right.
To the left, then. It should be the first door. At least it wouldn't take ages wandering down the halls, only to find out you had passed it.
Shaking your head, you looked around one last time before walking forwards and turning. It couldn't be ten past eleven -- not yet -- but the clock hung on the wall said otherwise. Eleven-eleven, you thought. Make a wish.
You held your breath as long as possible, brows furrowed. Nothing would go wrong, everything would be fine and you'd get the job. You winced, tripping over your toes and stuttering for good few seconds. Your cheeks burned. Nobody was behind you to see you stumble, and you looked over your shoulder to check again.
At last, you made it to the door, reaching for the handle. It rattled, but remained closed. Locked.
"Hey! Little girl!"
You made a face, spinning on your heel in hopes of finding the owner of the voice. Instead, you were met with a chest, belonging to a man much larger than you. You didn't take in much of his appearance, rather the scowl he gave you. Your gaze flitting from his identification badge that was conveniently peeking out of his chest pocket -- Inspector Barnes, it read -- and back to his eyes.
"Er," you hesitated, taking a step backwards. "Do I know you?"
For a fleeting moment his eyes widened, panicked, and then came back to his senses. "I was supposed to interview you," he stated, frowning. "L/N, was it? We don't accept tardiness."
"But, I--"
"No buts, young lady. If you are expecting to find a job then I recommend you do so elsewhere."
The man didn't wait a moment, spun around and refused to listen to your excuses. He led you out to the front door and waited until you were down the steps. "Good day to you, now if you'll excuse me."
That was the last of human interaction you wanted for the day, and so you were back on the street.
You hadn't walked for very long until you saw the same man from earlier, and you waved and gave a small smile. What else was there to do, all alone with only the comfort of yourself? Keeping your head down was not an option, and so you resorted to dragging your feet and going on a stroll.
You chose one direction and kept that way, admiring the sky until you were too tired to move on. You hadn't been out for long, and a walk this short shouldn't have tired you out, but the lack of sleep over the last few days was finally catching up, and you wished for a comfy bed and cold pillows to lay your head on.
You entered the next building you saw, and was surprised to find a café. It was cozy and quiet, and smelt of vanilla. When you first had walked in, there hadn't been anyone sitting inside, though there were some loitering outside -- and you had found it nice. This kind of silence was always appreciated.
The seats were wooden and uncomfortable, and it had took you a while to realize that there were cushioned booths at the back.
There hadn't been anyone around, except for a man behind the cash register. He couldn't be any older than you, early twenties if he were lucky. When you had trudged in he hadn't given so much of a glance, eyes staying glued to the newspaper he was holding. You had wondered what it was that a kept his focus, but promptly decided not to be a bother and ask.
The man threw the paper out not long after, and you had left the book you were reading to fetch it from outside. As far as you could tell, there wasn't a rubbish bin anywhere near, and you had expected him to throw it onto the pavement -- which was exactly where you found it.
The storm hadn't stopped (as you had predicted), and instead of staying put you sauntered back in, smelling of rain.
Your satchel, which you were still carrying, consisted of not many things. Other than a few shirts and even lesser pants, you had only one pair of shoes -- the ones you were wearing now.
When you got money you would be going out to shop, although, you couldn't exactly do that without a job. Fittes had failed before you had even gotten a chance, and there was no way you would be going back to try and negotiate. The last thing you should've done was hop on a train to London without so much of a plan and expect everything to go well.
You should have seen it coming, that you'd mess up one thing and cause a chain reaction. You'd have to look for a new job, then. Hell, maybe you could even get one here, at the coffee shop. Maybe it would pay well. After all, not everyone could be a ghost hunter, someone had to work day jobs in order for the cycle to continue going around.
You relaxed, back in your chair, and leaned forwards to rest your arms on the table. Deciding it was best to dry off before reading the paper and looking for a job with good pay, you laid your head in your arms. The dark was sudden, and you let it consume you.
Falling asleep at night had never been easy, especially not with all the terrors that had come with The Problem, but you found no issue with sleeping during the day. With your head buried into your elbows, you were out like a light.
You hadn't dreamt something in years, so it didn't come as a surprise when all that you saw was empty. It was nice, a dreamless sleep. Nothing to remind you of your worries, nothing to scare you awake, and nothing to make you feel stupid.
When you awoke not long after, the man behind the desk was replaced by a brunette woman, who was busy drawing on a pad of paper. You played a guessing game, trying to figure out what it was that held her interest, but decided not to ask. There was no doubt you looked a bit groggy, bags under your eyes prominent, and it would be embarrassing to watch her eyes rake over your figure. If you wanted somewhere to sleep tonight you'd need to get up and look, but at the moment it didn't seem that tempting.
Now was most likely the best time to get up, so you found yourself sitting on a bench, near the train station once more. You had looked around, breathing in your surroundings, and only once you were familiar with where you were, you opened the paper.
You had spent a mere few minutes flipping through the pages before you were face to face with capital letters. LOCKWOOD & CO. GHOSTHUNTIN.
You let out a little laugh, chewing the inside of your lip. It was always funny when there was a misspelling in the newspaper -- you were sure it cost a lot to pay for an advertisement, let alone redo one.
The realization hadn't dawned on you until you were three paragraphs down, to which your gaze snapped back up and you read it once more. You read it until your eyes were too tired to move, and your mind was beyond confused. The only agency you had heard of in London was Fittes. Why hadn't you known about Lockwood and his agency?
No, now wasn't the time for unanswered questions, this was the time for action. There had been an address on there, right? You hadn't misread it as something else. There was an interview and... it was for today.
The day wasn't over yet, not in the slightest. It was only four PM, surely they wouldn't mind if you walked in. Were they expecting you to make an appointment?
Not the time for questions, you reminded yourself. If you wanted a job, then you would to work for it. Even if that meant sacrificing your legs and walking as far as they would take you; hopefully until your destination.
Sitting upright, you brought your satchel into your lap and rummaged through it, hoping to find the stained map hidden between your belongings. You pulled out the certificate for completing First Grade, though you were sure you had thrown that away awhile ago. You never knew how things found their way back to you. Nothing you owned was ever lost.
Eventually, after an embarrassing amount of time spent searching, you found what you were looking for and immediately dragged your finger along the street you were supposed to be on. All the names were confusing, and you'd have to remember them all later.
Thirty-Five Portland Row, that wasn't so far. A mere twenty minute walk at the most, you calculated.
Heaving, you stood up, swinging your bags strap over your shoulder and holding onto it with your hand. Your knuckles were practically white -- gripping something so hard couldn't be good for you.
Along the way, alike with every adventure you had been on in your minimal time in London, you zoned out. Thinking left foot, right foot had never been entertaining, though some would argue it was much better than staring off into space as you journeyed.
As the day turned evening, people slipped into their homes, praying to god for safety. There hadn't been many outside before, and yet somehow there was even less. Their loud yells had reduced to whispers, as if someone was listening over their shoulders. You supposed there was (well, you), and the amount of frightening confessions you had heard were piling up the farther you walked.
The shops where closing, doors locked shut, and you had waved to their owners and went on with your way, wishing them that all was well land then lying when they asked you. You hadn't seen anyone before, and they had never seen you. You supposed it didn't really matter -- by the end of the week they would all be a blur of faces.
Birds had stopped their songs and cuddled into their nests, relying on the warmth of their loved ones to coax them into sleep. You had always liked their choir, as a young child it had always helped you wake up peacefully.
The weather was nice, at least, though it didn't seem to matter what time of year it was for it to rain or snow. Weather in England was unpredictable -- some days it would be sunny and others all you could see when you looked up was grey. You had rarely ever had a problem with the climate, it was always a comfort never knowing what was to come. You couldn't know whether you'd need a winter coat or umbrella, or sandals and sun hat.
If you were to attain this job, how would it end up? At Fittes, you wouldn't necessarily get a room, so you'd have to rent your own, either in a hotel or rooming with someone else. You racked your brain, trying to remember if there had been anything other than the bold words Lockwood & Co.
There might have been (in fine print) something that said Food and Board, but you couldn't be sure. It was a house, most likely, which meant there might be an extra room for you to sleep. If they wouldn't allow you to sleep there over the course of your time, the least they could do was lend you a bed for the night. It was getting late, and you'd have to hope they knew it was dangerous in the dark.
A cab passed by you, and for a fleeting moment you thought you'd be getting splashed again. You sighed a breath of relief when you didn't, stepping to the side at just the right time.
You weren't far from your destination, a few more minutes and you'd arrive. Just one turn to the left, and you'd be there. You could rest.
You focused on your breathing instead of anything else -- in and out, in and out. It was a tactic you used to clear your mind and pin one thought against your thinking board, instead of the million of other things you wanted to think.
It didn't take long for you to realize that you had been walking more than you should have, farther than the house you were meant to be at. Squinting your eyes, you managed to make out the brown numbers on their door; Thirty-Seven. No, that wasn't right. It was thirty-five, wasn't it? That was the address of Lockwood & Co?
It hadn't occurred to you -- quite odd that it didn't -- that there was a sign in front of their house stating the name of their agency. You had only noticed it when you walked backwards, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. How had you missed a sign that large?
Shaking your head, you tightened your hold on your satchel with one hand, folding the map up with your other. You stepped up the steps, giving a weak smile to the girl next to you. She was beautiful, to say the lest. Auburn hair that framed her features well, though you didn't get a good look at her eyes. You expected them to fit, like everything else.
"Hello," you greeted, your voice tired and low. It was most obvious you were out of breath.
She muttered a small hi, but didn't say anything more than that. As she went to knock on the door, you stepped behind her, fearing who might be there.
For all you knew it could be a 50-year-old man with a white beard, ready for the interview. You hoped not. It would be hard to make a friend with someone who wasn't in your age-range. Lockwood & Co. was the name. That must mean there was another one, or more.
But who?
5232 JESUS THIS IS SO LONG. add to your library to be notified for the next updates :)