undergrounds | [open] From the Cripples to St. James'...

There's a right nip in the air when the Dodger steps out in the early morning to begin his business for the day. Well, his business, Fagin's business, it's all the same when it comes down to brass coins dragged from the bottom of pockets. He rubs his hands together, making a note to lift himself some gloves at some point during the day - if he recollects correctly, the ones from last year weren't really as decent as he would have liked. Not terrible, but for a gent of taste like himself, they weren't up to scratch.

Scratch... scratchings... pork scratchings. Hm. His stomach grumbled a bit. Looks like the sausages at the den weren't enough. Right, well that decided the plan for the day then. Breakfast first, and then on with the work of the day. The markets would be the best places to check. Maybe the one down by St James, folks would be too distracted to pay attention to a kid nipping among them.

Seemed like a good plan, and the Dodger grinned, adjusting his hat to just the right angle.

Right. Time for work.

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There's a shrug from him.

"Much as you c'n trust anyone in this city." He pushes his cup around a little. "An', 'course, barin' in mind the information what you're lookin' for don't effect me an' mine."

"Of course not." She asks, for clarification: "You're one of Fagin's, aren't you?"

There's a pause.

"So you know of the esteemed gentleman, then?"

"I do. And I'm sure he's heard of me." So don't say her name to him, please.

"He was operating when I first came to London."

He gets the message, giving a brief nod.

"Long as the business don't impede, there won't be nothin' from me."

"I would never ask you to betray your own," she says solemnly, extending her hand again.

"100 pounds to start seem good to you?"

100 quid... how much of it would he get to keep if Fagin got wind?

"Seems fair. What you lookin' for?"

Evie reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a wallet. It's simple, but the tailoring on it is impeccable, the black leather soft. In the corner, her initials were engraved, pressed into the leather. Expensive, but nothing you'd be able to pawn.

Without any ado, she starts counting out bills- 20 pound notes. Easier to hide, if need-be. She knew how things worked on Dodger's part of town. "Anything with regards to what few Raymond supporters we have left, is what I've got my eye on right now."

She pauses, looks up at him, and adds an extra 20 as she speaks: "and let's keep the old one out of it, if we can, shall we?" He doesn't have to answer. The money is his.

Dodger eyes the wallet. The pressed initials would cause problems if he tried to pawn it, but it wasn't impossible to get rid of them, just really bloomin' hard and not worth the cost. "EF" weren't the most common initials either. Not uncommon an' not common. Made it hard to try to pawn it off as was. The softness of the leather would be a draw to a good number of people but... Nah, not worth it. Besides, he was doin' business with her now. Had to keep her on side.

"Raymond supporters," he keeps his eyes on the notes, giving a nod to show that he's understanding. He does glance up at the request, raising an eyebrow. The expression on his face is very easy to read: what kind of green mark do you take me for?

She nods. "I want to make sure my investments stay secure. There are always remaining supporters after a coup like that."

Hey, she has to be careful, and she gives hm a look about that, too. But she hands him the money.

The Dodger snorts. Remainin' supporters... That was one way to put it.

"It'll be done."

"Wonderful." She glances towards the door, then back at him and reaches into her coat pocket. She pulls out a small card, the Assassin's symbol lightly embossed on it. On top of it is her name and title, followed by a phone number.

"Don't hesitate to contact me, if you need me, Mr. Dawkins."

"I'll keep it in mind."

He won't, not unless he's got her information.

"I'll leave you to it, then." She pulls out another twenty pound note and places it on the table.

[open] From the Cripples to St. James'...

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