#c:rahat

[billxbarker]

Closed Starter for : @theundertakcr​ Location: The Parlour

Bill’s eyes narrow at Rahat. 

The two of them managed, quite civilly, to maintain a facade of politeness, though Bill is not fooled for one minute, and does not believe that Rahat is, either. They do not say anything, they do not act upon it, but they do not like one another, and that’s all there is to it. The two are far better off when they stay far away from each other. 

But then, Mr. Ashton invites them to the same blasted party, and the whole thing is ruined. 

Bill takes a puff of his cigar, and deliberately exhales the smoke directly in Rahat’s face. With one hand, he makes a swooping gesture, motioning to his costume. 

“It’s not bad, that’s not what I’m saying.” He begins. “It’s just all a bit literally, ain’t it? I mean, Charon. Ferryman of the dead. Have a day off, Ra.” He laughs at his own joke, and the purposeful shortening of Rahat’s name. “Or do you just love playing with dead things so much that you can’t?”

Bill raises the cigar to his lips again. Inhale. Exhale. 

“I certainly hope you didn’t pay much for it, anyway. I’m not sure where you found it, but I’ve definitely seen better. Mind you, we all do what we can on a budget. I borrowed mine from The Theatre. Seems frivolous, wasting the amount of money most spend on rent in six months.” 

[pollysheedy]

Closed starter for @theundertakcr Location : The Streetz of Whitechapel  Timestamp : Tuesday, 15th of January, late night

Polly had half expected Rahat to turn them away when they had darted the short distance from their own front door to the undertakers, but to their credit, when Polly asked them, they agreed. Perhaps they could see the desperation in their eyes,,  burning need to stretch their legs. Perhaps they could see their fear at the thought of doing so alone. 

They pass a derelict building, the windows covered with rotting wooden boards, and Poly affords it a quick glance. “I used to sleep in there sometimes. When I was little.” Littler. They are talking about their childhood now, a time before even Lucian had a place in their life. “There was a woman who used to look after me a little bit, until I was about five or something. We used to stay here until the police started coming down.” And then, Polly had gotten too old to be of use. Women with children always made more money when it came to begging, and Polly could not stay an infant forever. 

“I want to show you something,” they declare, suddenly, one hand closing around Rahat’s wrist and giving it a slight tug. “Down by the docks. My favourite place to go. Would you like to see?” 

[dayanitas]

Closed Starter for : @theundertakcr​ Location : Daya’s Dining Room  Timestamp : Wednesday, October 10th, Evening 

“You look terrible,” Daya announced, matter-of-factly. There was no cushioning to soften the harsh effect of their words. Rahat did look bad, especially next to Dayanita, swathed in clothes of sky blue, arms and neck glittering with jewels, obviously having made an effort to look her level best. “If I’d have known, I wouldn’t have changed out of my nightgown and slippers, yet here I am trying to make a good impression,” she tutted and rolled her eyes, and it was suddenly clear that she was completely joking. 

They didn’t look their best, though. Worn out, older somehow. She could ask if they were all right, ask if they wanted to talk, offer her unconditional support, but Dayanita didn’t. There were times, more times than Rahat knew, when the distraction provided by their presence had been enough to pull Daya from their darkest days. That was what she was going to do now. That was all she knew how to do. 

“Well, seeing as you didn’t dress up for me, I hope you brought your appetite.” With that, she rose to her feet, gesturing for Rahat to get up and follow her. “I’ve been slaving away all afternoon. Pearl helped. Come on, you can help me carry everything in.” 

[pollysheedyarchived]

Closed Starter for: @theundertakcr​​​​  Location: The Britannia Pub Time Stamp: Early Evening, Saturday, September 7th, 1888

There was a strange sense of ease that came from Rahat’s presence. Though Polly could not deny that they unnerved them, that something was undeniably off about them, they couldn’t say that they didn’t enjoy their company, nor that he wasn’t welcome. There had been times before where they had found them in a state of peril, and provided comfort and safety, and perhaps this, too, could be one of those times. No matter how much they told themself things were fine, that they had a roof over their head and a place to rest for the night, they couldn’t help but feel like being locked up like this was making their skin itch. 

“Will the shop be okay without you for the night?” They asked, gently. Whitechapel wasn’t the most law abiding of areas, and leaving any establishment for an extended period of time was never wise. At least the streets were crawling with the police, they supposed, though they were hardly on the lookout for burglars and the like. “I suppose all the reprobates are locked here with us, though. It’ll probably be fine.” 

[pollysheedy]

for : @theundertakcr​ location : near whitechapel road time : 2am

It wasn’t out of the norm for Polly to wander by themself. It was in their nature to roam, and the more confined they felt, the more they rebelled against it. No matter how many people uttered warnings to them, they just couldn’t find it in them to obey. 

They wished they had listened now, though. They would give anything to be at Cora’s place, which was, at the very least, a safe one. But they still had their pride, and though they were terrified, a small amount of courage in their stomach. Now wasn’t the time to hide whilst others did the hard work. That wasn’t their way. 

They followed where their feet took them, absently, gazing nervously down each street before committing to walking down it. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to find themself at Rahat’s door first. The undertaker was a strange source of comfort - but to Polly, they were comfort all the same. 

They weren’t home, though, and so, Polly continued to wander, ignoring the slight desperation gnawing at their gut. That is, until they finally clapped eyes on them. Flooded with relief, they darted to their friend’s side. 

“I was looking for you,” they spoke quietly. “Went by the shop, but you had already left. They really are dragging everyone into this, aren’t they?” 

[pollysheedy]

Closed Starter for @theundertakcr​ Location : Rahat’s home  Time stamp: Post-Seance, the small hours of Sunday morning, September 30th 1888

Rahat had made the decision that Polly was to stay with them, but Polly hadn’t objected. The night had already seemed long enough, and they certainly were not ready to spend any amount of time alone. They couldn’t get the image of the poor woman they had seen in Mitre Square out of their head, and since what happened in Muiris Doyle’s parlour, they hadn’t been able to stop shaking. 

It wasn’t so much what had happened with the glass. Rahat had shielded them from the worst of it. But the scream that accompanied the shattering had burned itself into their brain. 

After a cursory check over of both Polly and Rahat (they had told the undertaker that they were fine, but Rahat had still insisted Polly be looked at first, despite obtaining injuries far worse than theirs), they had come back here, to Rahat’s home. to finally rest. 

“You know the floor is fine,” Polly stood by the edge of the bed, shuffling awkwardly from one foot to the other. Every slight noise, a voice from the street outside, the howling of the wind, made them jump and look over their shoulder, as though expecting something to be hovering behind them. They had never in their life been this shaken, an they doubted sleep would come to them anyway. 

“I’ve slept in worse places before, you know. I don’t need the bed to be comfortable.” They knew Rahat knew the truth of their words. They had even slept in worse places in his own property, having spent more than one night bunking down amongst the coffins in the past. “So the floor is fine. I’d go downstairs, but...” they paused, lips pursing and brow furrowing. The truth was, they didn’t want to be on their ow. Not yet, at least. They shook their head. “No.”

[pollysheedy]

Closed Starter for : @theundertakcr​ Location: The Ballroom 

“There you are!”

Polly has been looking for Rahat since they arrived, but with the crowd of impeccably-dressed party goers, the music, the dancing, and the opportunity to explore the largest home they had ever been in, they had been distracted. But now they have spotted them, and there seems nothing more important than enjoying the night together.

So Polly bounds over, face flushed in their excitement. It shouldn’t be a surprise, but when they take in Rahat’s appearance, and note the outfit they had created together, that Polly had spent hours ensuring was absolutely perfect, has indeed been worn for the festivities tonight, their expression breaks into one of complete joy. 

“And you wore the outfit!” they exclaim, noting with pride how well it looks on Rahat. “I didn’t think - well, it doesn’t matter. It looks great.” They nod, as though that settles that. “Have you danced yet?” They feel like they could guess the answer with a high degree of certainty, but they ask the question anyway. “I want to, but I don’t know any of the steps. Everyone else seems to.”

[pollysheedy]

Closed Starter for : @theundertakcr Location : The flat above Rahat’s Shop  Timestamp : The same day Rahat went to collect Polly’s Things, but later that day

When Polly had spoken to Cora about leaving, they hadn’t been ready to empty their old room of their things. In truth, everything about that place, where one they had found a sense of comfort and protection, no matter how stifling, made their skin crawl. Whatever security they had felt there had been destroyed by The Ripper, and the sooner they found a new home, a new place to rest their head, the better. 

But Rahat had stepped up to the plate, as they always did for Polly, on top of everything else they had done for them. They owed them a debt of gratitude they could never truly repay, didn’t even know where to start. Polly didn’t like to rely on others, hated to accept help without offering something back. It seemed different with Rahat though - they made it okay to let somebody else take over for just a little while. 

“Thank you,” Polly’s few items of clothing, including the outfit she had made for Zoya, had been neatly put away, but their box, an old, battered thing with a rusty lock, full of little trinkets they had collected over the years, sat on the table between them. Polly slipped the key from around their neck, where it hung on a chain, and inserted it, turning it until the lid popped open with a click. 

Everything in it seemed in order, all her belongings, worthless as they might be to anybody but Polly, safe and untouched. Underneath them all sat a collection of papers, handed to Polly by Zoya for safekeeping. They didn’t know what they read, though they had long been curious. There was nobody they trusted to read it to them and still keep Zoya’s secrets to themself. 

Well, nobody but Rahat. 

“Can I ask you something?” Polly asked, suddenly. They slipped a random piece of paper out of the pile, a handwritten letter, it looked like, and shoved it unceremoniously in front of Rahat’s face. 

“What does this say?”

[dayanitas]

Closed starter for: @theundertakcr​ Timestamp: Early morning Location: Rahat’s shop

The contents of the basket in Daya’s hand are a curious mismatch of French baguettes and sweet pastries, purchased mere hours before her return journey with Rahat in mind (they have always built their relationship around sharing food - it is no surprise that her return to London would continue their tradition), and home made chutneys to spread on the bread. There is even a beret in there, a joke gift she hopes they see the humour in. She has been home only one night, but that is enough to remind her that they don’t want to be alone in the house. Sleep only came once she knew Feriha had locked all the doors, and even that was fitful. 

So, as early as she could, she had made the journey to Whitechapel. It is just stirring for the day, shopkeepers busying themselves behind locked doors to prepare, delivery men making their rounds, but still busier than Daya’s own neighbourhood. She still sticks out, in all her finery, and regrets asking the carriage driver not to drop her directly at Rahat’s door under the misguided thought that stretching her legs would be good for her. 

She arrives at the shop, and knock, and wait, one shoulder resting on the brick wall. When Rahat answers, she does not smile, but that does not mean her expression is not warm. “I hope you haven’t had breakfast yet.” They hand him the basket, and step through the door without being invited. “Let me in, before somebody mugs me of my jewels.” 

[pollysheedyarchived]

Closed Starter for @theundertakcr​ Location: The Final Rest Timestamp: Early evening, September 8th, 1888

Rahat had not invited them, nor did Polly know if they were welcome. The previous night had been a lot, and if anything, it was far more likely that Rahat wanted to be alone, to enjoy the solitude they had been denied. Polly didn’t want to deny them that, but their feet had carried them here before their brain could truly stop them. Their hand knocked at the door, and they drew to the side, pressing back against the wall in case somebody decided to come up behind them. After what had happened this morning, they couldn’t be too careful. 

They couldn’t go back to Commercial Street. The others she lived with were scared, full of gossip and theories, and that only made Polly feel worse. They couldn’t stand sitting around to listen to it, but neither did they want to subject themselves to the street tonight. Aside from being dangerous, there was too much police presence around, and that was almost as terrifying as everything else.

When Rahat opened the door, Polly straightened, stepping into view with an apologetic look on their face. “Sorry to show up uninvited,” they began, wrapping their arms around their mid-section. “I’m sure you’d rather be alone, but may I come in for a while? I’ll be quiet as a mouse. Promise.” 

[pollysheedyarchived]

“There’s work for you if you ever want it.”

Polly’s mouth opened, and then closed quickly. They had been poised to politely decline Rahat’s offer, but as it turned out, it was simply one too tempting to turn down without at least considering it. Polly had dabbled in what one might call honest work before. They had sold flowers on Commercial Street, and matches up by the new station on Liverpool Street. It never lasted as long as they would like. 

But this was Rahat. Rahat, who had proven themself a friend a long time ago. Rahat, who once had unsettled them, but had turned out to be an unlikely saviour. Rahat, who despite their differences, Polly was coming to know well, and perhaps even understand in a way they had not anticipated they ever could. If they had come to Polly’s rescue before, perhaps they could do again. The living had never granted them much, after all. Perhaps the dead would be different. 

“Like an apprentice?” they shot him a grin, a flash of white teeth. “Or one of those people in the big top hats who walk in front of the hearse? If you can find one to fit me, that it,” they chuckled, running a hand over their hair. They ceased their laughter for a moment, looking up at them and hardly daring to hold any sense of hope in their eyes. 

“Do you truly mean it, Rahat?”

[pollysheedyarchived]

"Let us have the luxury of silence."

Polly clapped a hand over their mouth, eyes crinkling in her mirth. They had hardly noticed that they were singing until Rahat pointed it out. It was a sign of how comfortable they had become in Rahat’s company. That was never something they could have anticipated the first time they had stepped through their door, but something they were now endlessly grateful for. It was strange that such a feeling should come from the undertaker, whose living was so entwined with death, but perhaps that was precisely why. With so much uncertainty and terror in the air, it was a comfort to see this side of dying, in a way, to reframe it as something peaceful, restful, almost. 

It was not the first time they had intended to be quiet, but it seemed they were simply incapable. They had been chattering away all morning, regaling Rahat with stories they did not ask for, relaying the mindless Whitechapel gossip they had picked up on their travels through the streets. They doubted that they even knew who Polly was speaking of, but the quiet of the shop left plenty of opportunity to continue, and so they had talked and talked until they had completely run out of stories. Then, instead of letting a comfortable silence fall between them, they had filled the room with their merry tunes, songs better suited to a night in The Britannia than a funeral home. 

“Sorry, Rahat,” they let out a laugh as they held up one finger, pressing it to their lips to indicate their intent to be silent from this point forward. 

[pollysheedy]

theundertakcr​:

•

AFTER EVERYTHING THAT’S come to pass with this child, Rahat wouldn’t have said no at all. It’s difficult to dissuade Polly when there’s something they want done, that they had learned the hard way, and with the lateness of the hour, sending them off would’ve been irresponsible of them. On the other hand, letting them in would’ve… Well, it would’ve made for a very restless, possibly stir-crazy Polly — as if they haven’t already been fidgety enough lately. It isn’t lost on Rahat that the tragedy that’s come to mark the end of the previous year has affected them greatly, in ways it seems they aren’t quite ready to speak about just yet. For their part, they don’t want to push too much either, considering the amount of trauma Polly’s had to weather in the past months. Truly, in no universe would they have denied them of this walk outside together.

For the most part, they’ve been quiet, letting Polly do the talking, simply listening and taking note. They won’t say it’s particularly pleasant, hearing about all they’ve had to go through in their youth, but there’s a gentle warmth in knowing they’ve moved past that now, far from the homelessness they’d had to endure perhaps not so long ago. It’s terrible, having no family to look after you, to make sure you have something even resembling a childhood in some way. Comparing then and now, the fact that Polly, with Zoya’s help, had gotten a flat for themself is far more than a large step forward in the right direction.

“You lead the way,” Rahat says after recovering from the slight surprise of being tugged forward so suddenly. “I’ll go wherever.” Part of them considers being a little more upfront, telling Polly that they’re glad she’s showing them places that were once ( and maybe still are ) important to them, but they decide against it at the last moment, unsure if it’s the right time. They go for something lighter instead. “If there’s a bench there, perhaps we could take a moment to rest. I’m assuming you’ve plenty more to show me in this walking tour around Whitechapel.”

. 

There’s a point to all of this. They haven’t arrive to it yet, nor does Polly think either of them are ready for that. No, instead, it is important to know that Rahat sees everything as it was, so that Polly can be sure that they fully understand what it is they want to say. It is no coincidence that the route Polly has chosen tonight leads them through some of the most significant places in their life. There, where they slept in their earliest memories. There, where they first met Lucian. There, when they had first been apprehended by the police. There, where they had sat and sobbed when the loneliness and hunger and desperation had gotten too much, a moment completely devoid of hope that they would never forget. Each place a pin in the map of Polly’s life, each one holding a story they have never told anybody. Rahat knows who Polly is, what they are, and what they have been, but tonight, Polly is colouring in the picture, revealing truths that they have never spoken about before beyond vague allusions. 

And now, they approach the final stop, the last place Polly wants them to see, and the last piece they need to understand. I’ll go wherever. Was there ever a time in their life where somebody, anybody, agreed to something, simply because Polly had asked them to do it? They can’t answer, and that says all it needs to. The agreement has Polly smiling, and their step quickens a little. “Thank you, Rahat,” they speak with all the sincerity they can muster, but although this means a great deal to them, it is not for their own benefit - but for Rahat’s. 

They duck into a narrow alleyway, sandwiched between a tobacconist and a butcher’s shop that overlook the docks, and they laugh quietly. “No bench, I’m afraid, but the floor is comfortable. We can sit there and rest for a minute.” The alleyway opens into a courtyard at the back of the tobacconist, but most of the space is occupied by a large wooden structure. “I think it’s a watch tower of sorts,” they try to explain. “It’s been here for years, though. I don’t really know.” they drop Rahat’s wrist and begin the climb, gesturing for them to follow until they reach the top. The structure is tall enough that it offers a decent view, over Whitechapel, over the river and beyond, the twinkling lights across the water almost star-like in their luminance. Despite the late hour, boats float along the water and for a moment, all is peaceful. 

“This is it,” Polly, as they said they would, takes a seat on the wooden floor, dangling short and thin legs over the edge, and pat the spot next to them. “It’s dry. Don’t worry.” Once they took their seat, they would say everything they needed to.