People were always quieter when they passed the undertakers. Even the loudest of people were suddenly more subdued, they'd cast one glance at the weathered sign that belonged to 'Fitzwick & Sons, Funeral Directors' and move along hurriedly as if expecting to come to face to with one of Mr. Fitzwick's customers. The truth was, the original Mr. Fitzwick had been dead sometime and his son had now taken over the business. Cedric Fitzwick was the only one who'd take on his father's business, his other family members wouldn't even go near the place, let alone work in it.
Very few people wanted to work with the dead, plenty of people were scared by it- with good reason. Where there was death there was usually disease, where there was disease there was usually more death. People liked to avoid dying, it was human nature. Besides, when you could earn more money as a thief why risk the red plague in the first place? Or any kind of disease for that matter. Everyone knew the dangers of bad air, it spread disease. Goodness knows how dangerous it was working at a funeral directors! Only a fool would dare.
That was where Lance Campbell and Henrietta Spinner came in.
It was a cold day, with a wind that blew tiles of rooves and grabbed hats from heads, sending them spiralling into the air. Everyone who could had retreated indoors, most people, however were filing into the filthy streets, dodging the occasional roof tile and trying to avoid the pickpockets that swarmed like flies throughout the city. While the rich could avoid working on days like today, the poor had to suffer in the blustery weather. There was always so much noise here, from the rattling of horse pulled carts to the constant sound of voices. No one was silent, one voice indistinguishable from the next. There was nothing too unusual among the cobbled streets, in fact it was a perfectly average day. One might see the odd priest mixed in with the bakers and black smiths. Those with the disreputable professions stuck to the shadows, waiting for night to fall.
The previous winter had been hard for everyone, many had died from it. Lack of warmth and quick spreading disease had hit the poorest folk, but you couldn't say the rich hadn't suffered too. The employees of the funeral directors still bore the signs of overwork, even if it was only slightly. It was almost surprising how many old rickety bigwigs had keeled over due to the harsher whether. There had been one point in time where they'd almost run out of space to put the dead. It was hideously amusing looking back on it. If there was one thing you had to have in a job like that, it was a sense of humor. One risks madness otherwise.
"Oi, Henry! D'you think ol' Fitzwick will really dock our pay if we're late again? It ain't like I 'aven't got a rent t' pay." Lance sighed, stopping to let his co-worker catch up with him. He'd had to set off later than usual, his sister Deirdre made him stop for an 'urgent' tarot card reading. Half the time she let the act she put on go to her head, though there was truth behind her overly dramatic show. He did have to doubt that her talk of 'strangers' was anything but her cooking fumes going to her head.
"Nah, we needs us. Who else is going t' actually do the work while he slacks off?" Henry replied laughing. "But, I'd rather not find out. Last one there gets their pay 'alved!" With that she dodged between a couple of important looking women before disappearing around the corner. Sighing, Lance ran after her.
A street or so later the young man came to a halt, stopping for breath. He'd never been much of a runner. Henrietta had to be around here somewhere, after all, it wasn't like she'd purposely leave him behind. A pair of brown eyes watched him, peaking from behind a wall, her curly blond hair was wind blown and held in place with a particularly ragged flat-cap. Henrietta was a good few inches shorter than her co-worker, with twice the energy any normal human being should have. Lance on the the other hand was rather tall, with something of a beanpole physique and short mud-brown hair.
"Hurry up, would you? We'll be 'ere all day."
Very few people wanted to work with the dead, plenty of people were scared by it- with good reason. Where there was death there was usually disease, where there was disease there was usually more death. People liked to avoid dying, it was human nature. Besides, when you could earn more money as a thief why risk the red plague in the first place? Or any kind of disease for that matter. Everyone knew the dangers of bad air, it spread disease. Goodness knows how dangerous it was working at a funeral directors! Only a fool would dare.
That was where Lance Campbell and Henrietta Spinner came in.
It was a cold day, with a wind that blew tiles of rooves and grabbed hats from heads, sending them spiralling into the air. Everyone who could had retreated indoors, most people, however were filing into the filthy streets, dodging the occasional roof tile and trying to avoid the pickpockets that swarmed like flies throughout the city. While the rich could avoid working on days like today, the poor had to suffer in the blustery weather. There was always so much noise here, from the rattling of horse pulled carts to the constant sound of voices. No one was silent, one voice indistinguishable from the next. There was nothing too unusual among the cobbled streets, in fact it was a perfectly average day. One might see the odd priest mixed in with the bakers and black smiths. Those with the disreputable professions stuck to the shadows, waiting for night to fall.
The previous winter had been hard for everyone, many had died from it. Lack of warmth and quick spreading disease had hit the poorest folk, but you couldn't say the rich hadn't suffered too. The employees of the funeral directors still bore the signs of overwork, even if it was only slightly. It was almost surprising how many old rickety bigwigs had keeled over due to the harsher whether. There had been one point in time where they'd almost run out of space to put the dead. It was hideously amusing looking back on it. If there was one thing you had to have in a job like that, it was a sense of humor. One risks madness otherwise.
"Oi, Henry! D'you think ol' Fitzwick will really dock our pay if we're late again? It ain't like I 'aven't got a rent t' pay." Lance sighed, stopping to let his co-worker catch up with him. He'd had to set off later than usual, his sister Deirdre made him stop for an 'urgent' tarot card reading. Half the time she let the act she put on go to her head, though there was truth behind her overly dramatic show. He did have to doubt that her talk of 'strangers' was anything but her cooking fumes going to her head.
"Nah, we needs us. Who else is going t' actually do the work while he slacks off?" Henry replied laughing. "But, I'd rather not find out. Last one there gets their pay 'alved!" With that she dodged between a couple of important looking women before disappearing around the corner. Sighing, Lance ran after her.
A street or so later the young man came to a halt, stopping for breath. He'd never been much of a runner. Henrietta had to be around here somewhere, after all, it wasn't like she'd purposely leave him behind. A pair of brown eyes watched him, peaking from behind a wall, her curly blond hair was wind blown and held in place with a particularly ragged flat-cap. Henrietta was a good few inches shorter than her co-worker, with twice the energy any normal human being should have. Lance on the the other hand was rather tall, with something of a beanpole physique and short mud-brown hair.
"Hurry up, would you? We'll be 'ere all day."
((Ick. Tried to work on my writing style here, I don't think it worked. XD; Sorry for the wait, anyhow. <33 Click pet image for human form. <3))
