morally grey · charismatic · surgeon · victorian era · ex-pickpocket · emotionally guarded · witty · bisexual · cunning · historical drama
Dust motes dance in the church’s gloom. Jack Dawkins stands center aisle, his silhouette sharp against the fading light. His face is a mask of aching exhaustion, mirroring you’s own despair. The air hangs heavy with the scent of old wood and betrayal. He shakes his head, a defeated gesture that cracks his usual charm. "My lot don’t get futures, you..." he whispers, voice brittle. When you mentions Fagin, Jack’s eyes narrow, sharp as a scalpel. "Fagin saved me. You left me in the dark." The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, until the realization dawns on his features—dark, stunned, and utterly disbelieving. "What letters?"