She was still furious after her trip to London, and wanted nothing more than to strangle the life out of the man who had caused her brother to become a demon spawn. She'd made inquiries and acquired a certain address, brought Tilly along to serve as a chaperone, and didn't seem to care at all how "proper" this was. She found the door she was searching for and knocked loudly enough, but not forcefully.

Then she took a step back. In her left hand was the crumpled paper, smoothed out mostly by now but clearly damaged from temper, folded into a not so neat package. Her eyes were filled with palpable rage as she stared at the door and willed the blackguard to come out and face the woman who he didn't even know. How could a man write such fiilth?

She knocked again with rapid knocks, tilting her head determinedly, knowing she would be annoying but that was the point. Rap-rap-rap. Rap-rap-rap. Rap-rap-rap-rapraprapraprap.

Gareth sat slouched in his arm chair, his heels planted on a footstool in front of him, and a glass of whisky in his hand. It was his free day, and technically he could go do something, but he just didn't feel like it. Instead, he enjoyed his drink and lay there, observing his own stream of consciousness.

It was quite pleasant actually, and the disturbance was therefore all the more unwelcome. He sighed when he heard the rapping, slowly sat up, and put his glass down on the little table beside him. But he hardly had time to rise to his feet when the knocking came again, more aggressively. "Coming!" he shouted in the direction of the door.

"Must be an eager fan..." he soliloquized quietly, but before making his way to the door, he opened a drawer, took out a revolver, and stuck it in the back of his trousers. He had encountered some 'fans' before, and he didn't like the sound of this knocking.

He opened the door and was prepared to duck, only to find a pretty girl in the gallery, accompanied by an older woman. Gareth ran a hand through his hair and flashed her a smile. "Can I help you, Miss?"

He wasn't what she expected... she didn't know what she expected, but it wasn't this mousy looking man. She pressed her lips together for a moment before replying to him. "I presume you are a Mister Gareth Scott who wrote the article about one... Miss Pearl Carrington? You are he, yes?" she asked with a soft voice that belied her anger. Pearl had to give herself credit for not shaking with her outrage that he would create such lies as he had. She remained as composed as she could given the circumstances.

Gareth leaned his arm against the doorframe. He had a suspicion who she was, now that she started asking questions. Rich and pretty, then? Interesting. He could hear the anger in his voice, but she was only a slight girl. No need for that revolver after all. If she was going to shout at him, it would probably be merely amusing. Perhaps he could even write an article about it. "I am," he replied casually. "Miss Carrington, I pressume?"

"I am Pearl Carrington, yes, Mister Scott. I've come to talk to you about your work... the very article I previously mentioned. You see, you've painted a very different picture of my plight than the picture I remember... And until now, you hadn't met me to ask how the story actually went." She gave pause for effect. "How did you come up with this version..? Gossip?" She did not walk in, not without his consent anyhow.

Tilly was glaring at Mister Scott, crossing her arms over her ample bosoms. The older woman had read the article as well and was none too pleased. That much was very clear.

Oh, she didn't shout. That surprised him, considering the fact that she seemed to be boiling with rage just below the surface. It was inconvenient though, because now he would actually need to talk about his work and answer uncomfortable questions. "Would you like to come in, Miss Carrington, so we can talk at ease?" he said, partly to win time, and partly because he was quite intrigued by this young lady and her approach.

He stepped out of the way, and gestured into his small flat. The door opened right into the living room, which was dark, with heavy curtains blocking out much of the daylight. The walls wore old green wallpaper with a flowery pattern. The floor was had brown carpet. There were several armchairs around a saloon table and there was a small fire burning in the fireplace. On the table stood his glass of whiskey, right beside the half-full bottle.

She gave a nod. She and Tilly both entered the apartment, one after the other. Pearl sighed softly as she and the maid advanced inward. "I appreciate your talking with me, Mister Scott." There wasn't much else to say at that moment.

Gareth closed the door behind them and followed them in. He was once again surprised at her fine manners. "The pleasure's entirely mine, Miss Carrington. Might I offer you and your companion something to drink? Do sit down."

"Yes, please. Tea is perfectly fine if you have it, thank you," she said as she moved to sit down, smoothing her hands over her skirt. Tilly was a bit more formidable, eying the man as she had been but not saying a word as it was not her place to do so. As for Pearl, she was trying not to make it any worse than it already was by letting her anger boil over, having hated that she nearly hit her own brother in temper. She was still pretty angry at her brother right then, angrier than she had been with the reporter.

"Of course," Gareth said, and he walked over to the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove. Then he returned while waiting for the water to boil. He leaned his forearms on the back of an armchair and eyed the young lady. "You know, I actually went to the manor to see if I could interview you or your family. But one of your brothers told me to... how did he phrase it?" He rose and stared up as if he was actually trying to remember. The he leaned on the armchair again. "Oh right: go and take it up the backside. Most ungentlemanly, I thought."