Olivia Carrington was a familiar sight, stumbling along dark streets en route to the family home. She was in no hurry to get there, and perhaps that's why she often opted for walking over a carriage--though the latter would certainly be less embarrassing. This night, she was particularly far gone, often holding the sides of buildings as she meandered toward home.

The woman's breath fogged the air in front of her, and her nose was red from the cold. Fortunately, her extremities were all covered! She held her arms close to her body, a bottle enclosed in one hand. She didn't need more alcohol, even at home, but she'd rather be safe than sorry. It didn't cross the woman's mind how sad this fact was.

She hummed to herself as she walked, and if one listened closely it sounded an awful lot like a sea shanty. Any question as to what she was singing became clear a few moments later when she murmured under her breath, "What shall we do with the drunken sailor? What shall we do with the drunken sailor?" It was almost astonishing how much of the words she knew to the song because she kept going for some time, all the while unaware of her surroundings for the most part.

That was, naturally, a bad idea. Olivia wasn't oblivious to the things that happened around Whitby, though she may as well have been considering her constant state.

It was cold. Way too cold for a boy to be walking out without gloves or socks, but he had his jacket as flimsy as it was. He'd rather risk the cold than being in the house a moment longer. His dad was drowning in drink as usual, mom was busy with another crying baby while his younger siblings were all screaming for one reason or another. He couldn't take it. 

He hugged himself tightly as he had been walking and looking for a warm place for the night. He had taken one of his mom's kitchen knives in case he ran into a dangerous sort. The crazies and drunks were always about late at night, and that didn't factor in all the people he made enemies with. He cursed the cold and everyone around him until he heard humming. His head turned up to see a woman stumbling towards him.

He was about to yell her names to make himself feel better when he noticed she was dressed a bit too nicely for the area. He looked around and snuck up on her, grabbing the knife from his pocket. If she didn't spend every coin on drinking, he'd get a nice warm room at a hotel. If she had, well he was sure he s ae some jewelry glittering in the moonlight. 

He stepped up to her suddenly from the shadows when she came close. "Eh! Don' go makin' any sudd'n movements. I got a knife, so why don' ya just empty yer pockets for me..and 'and over her purse if'n ya got it?"

A startled yelp flew from Olivia's lips and she took a hurried step backward. Her hand flew upward to her left breast, flat of her gloved palm pressed to the cloth of her bodice. The kid's height alone was imposing enough to catch her off guard--she was only five inches taller than him, and she wouldn't be getting any taller.

The socialite couldn't see the blade, though she wasn't in any state to question whether or not he did, in fact, have one. She didn't carry a purse, precisely for this reason. In case it ever happened. She hadn't expected it to, though. Her lips pressed into a thin line and she lifts her hands, showing empty palms.

"I spent it all," she lied through her teeth, not keen on giving up what she did have in the pockets hidden away in the folds of her skirts. Her dark gaze swam as it tried to focus on the boy. A necklace glittered at her throat, but aside from that, there was no other visible jewels upon her--her engagement band was joyfully hidden away beneath her glove. Her hands were held up defensively.

It was exhilarating.  This fancy lady who probably never knew a hungry, cold night was scared... of him! She didn't notice how his hand trembled or how he had to dig his feet into the dirt to feel like he was standing strong. But then she showed him her empty hands. He clenched his empty hand in aggravation then grinned. He felt like a genius.

"If'n you spent it all, you'd 'ave a empty purse. I don' b'lieve you. Give me yer necklace an' money or I'll knick  up yer face.. Then no one'll ever marry ya!" He snickered at his great plan and made a little swishing motion with the blade.

Olivia slid her foot backward, putting a few more inches between herself and the knife-wielding boy. Her gloved fingers curled around the cross at her throat and she tugged it free, breaking the chain before tossing it in Edward's direction. Her dark gaze remained fixed on him as she pursed her lips slightly.

"If I had a purse, don't you think you'd see it?" she bit back at the boy. Nonetheless, she reached into the folds of her skirt and withdrew a few coins. Like the necklace, she simply tossed it at him. It wasn't all she had on her, but perhaps it was enough. To be honest, the idea of having her face knicked up was appalling. She'd been left at the altar with a perfectly fine face. The mere idea of a marred visage sent a shudder through her body.

And then Olivia began to cry. It wasn't a dainty cry of a woman overcome with fear, but rather that heart-wrenching cry of a woman in mourning.

Ed looked dumbfounded. "Tha' was the bloody point, ya cow! I knew you was a liar." He kept his eyes on her and small knife still raised as his fingers picked up his  stolen gains from the dirty ground. As he pocketed them, he blinked as the woman cried. 

"Wha' are ya doin'!? Ya don' ave a right ta cry. I'm tha one 'ose gotta steal ta survive. I ain't got a nice meal at 'ome an' this ratty piece a cloth tha's older 'n me is my only chance against tha' cold..S-so shut yer trap. Ya won' get a bit o' pity from me!" Yeah he didn't have food or anything adequate to wear but he knew the moment he could, he'd spend it all on snacks or candy. Life was far too short to care about the long term. What was the point in taking precautions for the rest of this winter or the next? He'd rather eat like a king tomorrow since he could die a peasant the week after regardless.

"I don't have a right to cry!?" Olivia shrieked suddenly at the boy, her eyes narrowing. A moment later she ripped off her left glove and took the band from it, which she threw at the boy. "That ought to fetch you a few meals. Now bugger off. You make your own choices, kid."

The woman nearly growled the last of her words, but she caught herself. If anything, she strived to maintain her dignity even when she was trashed. Reaching into her pockets, she reached for the last few coins that were truly there and tossed them toward Edward too, shaking her head with a click of her tongue.

"That's everything," Olivia sighed. And without another word, she drew closer to the boy. It was hard for a drunk socialite to look menacing or intimidating, but she stared down her nose at the urchin. She reeked of booze.

Edward stared as he carefully gathered the last. It was quite a bit, he stuffed them into his pocket. He backed up as she came closer and pointed his small blade up at her. "Course ya've a right ta cry. Yer rich aren't ya? You've a right ta do anythin' ya want since the law's always on yer side. Lousy old bat. An' I do make my own choices, it led me to this moment didn' it?" He grinned but looked suspicious as she came closer as if she would attack him.

He reached down into the muck, some that he was certain was rained down horse manure, and threw it at her face. "Don' get clos'r! I'm warn'n ya!" He really didn't feel like using the blade on her. There was being rough and then there was hurting someone to the point of going to jail. So far he'd been able to stay on the side that kept him out of being locked away.

Olivia didn't have a chance to react. Maybe if she'd been sober, she could have avoided the sudden, awful intrusion that occurred when the threw the handful of muck into her face. It [was], at least in some part, horse manure. She could smell it, and she could taste it on her lips. If that wasn't sobering, only God knew what could help this woman. She took a step back, spitting at the ground in a desperate attempt to clear her mouth of the horrid taste of horse shit.

A moment later, the socialite was gagging. She had something to help this though--the taste at least. A different pocket was reached into and she withdrew a flask, taking a mouthful from it. She swished it around in her mouth to cleanse it of the manure and then spat it out. What a waste! But she didn't like her booze that much. Dark eyes glowered at Edward as she gestured toward him with the flask--it appeared to be made of silver.

"I bet you want this too, don't you?" Olivia snarled and her lips curled menacingly. "Well too bad. You're not getting it. Go on, get. Before I scream. And I bet you if I scream, someone will come. They tend to do that when ladies scream."

Seeing the woman in the fancy dress gagging and spitting had him laughing up a storm. 

"Nah, I don' wan tha'. It's been touchin' yet lips, ain it? An' you can scream, it won  make a diff'rence. No one'll come. This a bad part of town at night. Besides, you gonna admit ya got robbed by Me? I'd think yer feeling pathetic enough, don' you?"

He chuckled as he pocketed the stuff he'd taken. "Consider it charity."