[sylvanSpider]

Simon approached the door, looking up at the sheer magnitude of the Ward residence. While not a giveaway on its own, it was common knowledge among hellsings that vampires did prefer to live in luxury. His whistling didn't stop, however, as he wrapped his bony fingers around the knocker and slammed down on it hard three times in succession.

KLUNK. KLUNK. KLUNK.

There was no answer, not even the sound of scuffling feet on the inside. It was as quiet as the grave. His brow furrowed and he scratched the back of his head.[i] Well, if she's actually old, she may have trouble hearing it. Or perhaps she's in her room sleeping. But, I am here on official business after all.

KLUNK. KLUNK. KLUNK.

Still, nothing. He pursed his lips, scowling for a moment before resuming his whistling and trying the door knob. It barely budged, indicative of the house's intention to keep him out, which, naturally, only made the man want to get inside all the more. The happy little tune continued as he made his way around the house looking for another entrance.

=---=---=

This was to be the first of many gifts that Emily would give her husband. That is, in an ideal, perfect world, it would be the first of many. Provided nothing went horribly, horribly wrong as they were wont to do. Emily was in the brightest of spirits as the carriage careened into town, her companion looking less enthralled to be out and more forlorn than anything.

“Rosamund, what's the matter? You look so melancholy,” Emily said, grinning at her companion, radiant as always. Her usually unruly bright red hair was now pinned back in a neat bun bordered with braids. The women were a sight for sore eyes, and had it not been for the common knowledge that Emily was soon to wed, would have drawn more interested eyes than sore ones.

“Nothing, Miss Barker. It's nothing. I just...I just have a bad feeling. I think I may have an intolerance to milk or something,” Rosamund said in reference to the women's meal earlier in the day. They'd had milk with their tea, some toast, and some fruit, so the statement didn't seem outlandish, but Emily didn't look as though she bought it.

Regardless, the smile came back the moment the carriage came to a stop and she opened her parasol resting the handle on her shoulder, almost bounding out onto the street. Miss Emily Barker was a happy, shining creature, a light through the dreary fogs of the day, and unable to be contained by her petticoat and bonnet. “Oh, where should we begin? Do you think a nice tie would be nice?”

Rosamund clambered out of the carriage with aid of her energetic companion—though in her mind it should have been her helping Miss Barker. Few things went according to plan when being her escort it seemed, but her joy was infectious, and despite her ungrounded premonitions for what lay ahead, smiled genuinely, “I believe Mr. Shaw would adore a new tie—but then, I think he would enjoy just about any gift from you.”

Emily beamed, “Then we shall try the men's shoppe first, yes?”

“Yes, Miss Barker. That seems right.”