Anonymous asked:

*A message can be found on the floor, having been slipped under the front door. It is written in a rough, but serviceable hand, with a drop or two of blood at the edges, and a zee-water stain is at the bottom* "Eddy. Will you look at that, I am still alive. Who would have guessed! We should try and meet at some point when I am not dealing with journeys and snuffler-gods. -Marcus Bauden"

Eddy holds the document between two fingers on each hand, careful not to touch any of the stains. Just in case. They read the words a few times, then lower the scrap and raise their eyebrows. 

“Well, if anyone was going to survive the Zee, it’s that one,” they smile slightly, remembering Marcus fondly despite being chased by him somewhat relentlessly at first. “We’ll have to arrange a little welcome home for him, I should think,” they nod slightly and grab some paper of their own, sitting at their small desk to compose a few letters to various establishments both reputable and not in London. 

The last of these is a direct reply to Marcus - “Sir, I am both surprised and somewhat impressed to receive word from you today. Let me know a date and time and I shall arrange you a proper welcome home. - Eddy Gale”

eddy gale marcus bauden fallen london letters anonymous

askmissbernadette asked:

*When one reads another's handwriting regularly, one begins to see the intent behind their written words. The note in the basket of pastries on the doorstep bears a script you know well from notes on your office door; But the familiar shapes convey an emotion you do not immediately recognize... Concern, perhaps?* "Gale- A few of your Bairns came to me in the dead of night. Said you'd caught the well-madness, and couldn't stop eating. Please... Do what you do best, and look after yourself. -BB"

A letter returns via a Knotted Sock runner who refuses to leave until he’s been fed a half jar of marmalade and several slices of bread for a job well done.

Bernie,

It’s lovely you’re so concerned about my well being as to write like this. Much nicer than the usual D–N IT ALL GALE I hear from you. I should like this pleasantry to continue, I think.

You can tell the lads it is safe to come back, if they wish. I have lost the itch, for the time being. The dreams stopped. The hunger is no longer so maddening. I am down to consuming a reasonable volume of meat and potatoes, as a normal Londoner should. 

Of course, if that letter was your way of proposing that you come by and help me by, say, cooking a large meal for the Orphanage, or taking over the cleaning, or whatever it is you do for invalids on an idle Tuesday in your pleasant Church-choir life? Please do drop in. There will be no payment, of course, but for some reason the little lads do love you and would probably enjoy your company. 

-Eddy

There’s some smudged writing at the bottom of the letter; it looks like there was going to be more written here but it’s all been splattered with fresher ink and smeared over. The one visible word is Name. With the N capitalized.

Eddy may not be as free as they’re claiming…

A Frantically Scrawled Nonsensical Note

…hunger gnaws at my belly, so raw I fear it may eat its way out of my person. nothing helps! nothing…

…I should not have listened to that well…

…all shall be well, yes? maybe never?

…perhaps when the hunger settles I shall be well again…

…a name haunts my dreams and I do not sleep so much because I cannot recall it when I wake up and that is probably driving me mad…

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A Note Next to a Heavy Key

In what I think is a desperate bid to get themselves back in my good graces after that incident with my soul being frittered away like a penny at a candy store, the Embassy has granted me even finer rooms than I previously had. Upgraded security, no outside solicitations unless I wish it. And the furnishing is lavish and plush.

They also offered my soul much better accommodations as well, and paid handsomely for the privilege of displaying it in a case of notables.

I think this will work out well. Yes.

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