Steampunk

Time to write!

The room was dimly lit, and rather quiet, an unusual state of things for the West End Tavern. Felicia Mont-Lorrison and Shelia Wisclam  warily strode past the coat hooks into the tavern's main room, where the tables were filled. Neither removed their coat at this time- Shelia because she wasn't wearing one at all, despite the unpredictable weather, and Felicia because taking off her brown leather jacket would reveal the pistol she had concealed at her waist. While guns were not by any means prohibited in the West End Tavern, such an item was not often viewed on the person of such a lady as Felicia Mont-Lorrison.

Shelia felt more at home in the tavern than Felicia and took the lead, striding up to the bar where she greeted the bar tender's wife in friendly terms, then asked the bartender for a drink. Felicia stood quietly behind her companion, straightening her long, brown, silken skirts and hoping nothing went wrong. Both women waited in silence for their drinks to be mixed, then took their glasses to the side of the room where they sat and surveyed the scene.

"Do you see him yet?" Felicia asked, looking straight ahead and taking a sip of her frothy, creamy beverage.

Shelia removed the slice of lime, perching precariously on the edge of her glass, and squeezed it, releasing more of it's sour juice into her cup and shook her head. "Not yet, but he's here," she answered.

Shelia finished her drink and assessed the tavern with wary eyes. Sometime in the last few minutes the band in the corner had begun to play and the tavern was becoming increasingly animated.

"I see him," Shelia murmured, fingering the revolver at her hip, her eyes glittering with anticipation.

"Well..." Felicia said, rising to her feet. "Shall we do this?"

Shelia smiled and began walking across the floor, Felicia following, head high in her normal posture of confidence and assurance, but her eyes darting to each face as she passed.

They made an odd pair, Shelia Wisclam the only female assassin to be found in London and Felicia Mont-Lorrison, social butterfly and heiress, but tonight they were united in a common goal. They both had a bone to pick with Grant Featherly, and it wasn't going to be pretty.