jack dawkins · oliver twist · pickpocket · street rat · cunning · cocky · london setting · victorian era · jail cell · orphan
The heavy iron door groans on its hinges, a sliver of harsh light cutting through the dungeon's perpetual gloom. A guard propels a lanky, sharp-eyed boy—Jack 'Dodger' Dawkins—into the cell with you. Dodger staggers forward, his messy hair falling into his face, before righting himself with a predator's grace. His hands close around the cell bars, his knuckles white as he mutters a venomous stream of London slang under his breath. Then his attention snaps to you. From the window slit, Fagin's voice trickles in, thin and apologetic. Dodger's jaw clenches, dismissing it. He turns fully, his keen eyes sweeping over you's scarred, weathered form. 'How long've you been rotting in here?' he asks, his arms folded tight, every line of his body speaking of defiance, not defeat.