“I’m not surprised.” Dawn tucked a hand beneath her chin, gaze sweeping from one end of the bar to the next. “I don’t come here often, but it’s always been a very welcoming place each time I stop by. And the oyster tea is excellent.” There was the faintest lilt of an Italian accent hanging off her words, dripping from particular sounds and vowels and consonants. Faint, but not enough to make it difficult to catch. 

Alexandra. The name itself wasn’t too strange, but when paired with the rather lavish appearance of the woman, it rung a bell. While Dawn herself wasn’t overly involved in the [i]creme de la creme[/i] of London society, a few of her investigations had brought her to the doorsteps of some, and she had enough contacts in gossipy pools to catch a handful of trickle-down snippets here and there. “Alexandra St. Clair” was a name that she caught quite often. Dawn took a sip of her tea, brows knitted in quiet conversation, before replacing the cup back onto the table and settling more comfortably into her chair. 

“I’m not one for drink, actually,” Dawn admitted. “Wine doesn’t sit well with me. As for honey…” 

A grim look flashed across her face for a moment. Her fingers curled into the warm wood of the table, then released. 

“It’s, ah, not something I enjoy either, unfortunately.”

She cleared her throat, and took another swig from her mug. “I’m here on a day off, I suppose. Was originally going to take tea at Caligula’s, but with the rain, there’s not much in the way of elbow room there at the moment.” Dawn chuckled. “And you?” 

It was between sips that Dawn caught movement. Her attention was largely on Alexandra, but she still had a detective’s eye- prone to wandering, and attentive to detail. She caught the urchin as he slipped in, and had almost passed him by under the assumption he was simply another looking for shelter when she noticed him again.

She had to admit, the boy was good. His size, coupled with the sort of finesse that could only come from years of experience, had made her almost pass him by. But now that she saw him, she couldn’t ignore him. Especially after he slipped out from right behind Alexandra, eyes pointedly averted as he escaped into the crowd. Dawn quickly polished off the rest of her tea, and, placing the cup back upon the table, gave Alexandra an apologetic smile and rose to her feet.

“Excuse me for my abruptness, Ms. Alexandra, but I think I just saw an old acquaintance of mine in the crowd,” Dawn said. “I’ll be back as soon as I speak with them. I’m sorry to interrupt our conversation so soon.” She tipped her hat. The feathers bounced. Then Dawn was off, melting into the crowd with little effort on her part. 

It didn’t take long to find the boy, or to confirm her suspicions. He was reaching out towards a young gentleman’s pocket, fingers open and hungry, unseen and unheard. With steps silenced by her own experience, Dawn wound her way through the throng of bar-goers, around the table, and crept behind the boy. As soon as she was close enough, her hand shot out, wound itself about his wrist, and held fast. Given her own sickly appearance, there was a surprising amount of strength in the action. It would be hard for him to slip away so quickly.

“Hello there,” she said, softly. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a quick word with you.” There was no anger in her tone- only the same sort of politeness that she had held in her conversation with Alexandra. Dawn gave a brief nod in the writer’s direction, not looking to see if he glanced over at all the movement- if he asked, she could think of an excuse. 

At the moment, her mind was largely on the child, and what might be lining his pockets. 

[hr]

“A very recent arrival, then.” Madison nodded a bit to himself, fingers tracing the lining of his sleeve. He picked idly at a loose strand as he listened, pulling it until it snapped. “May I ask where you’re heading off to? You’ve mentioned not having any Echoes left, and I know a few kind people overseas who’d be more than happy to let you stay in their home for a time if you’re heading in that direction.” 

Madison had known the woman for only a few minutes, now, but he felt compelled to lend aid to her regardless. Perhaps it was naive of him, but she seemed at a point where she was struggling. No money, a bottle of fresh Oblivion, and a tattered navy coat. A bit of a lending hand seemed like something she really needed. 

“I’ll admit that I’m not sure if that’s right, miss,” Madison said, “but I won’t pry. Before you take that drink, however, would it be alright for me to ask you your name? You haven’t said it since I began speaking with you.” It was likely that the name, too, might be connected to the same past the woman was drinking to forget, but Madison thought it somewhat impolite to keep referring to her simply as “the woman” in his head.