Ripper Street Season One Recap [x]
Check out the trailer for Season Two of Ripper Street, and don’t forget to tune into the season premiere on Saturday, February 22 at 9/8c on BBC America.
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"Twinkle, on account of his cheerful disposition".
Θ - Just 3? Omg. Okay.
1: I would wish for all of the superpowers.
2: To know the location of an undiscovered treasure from history.
3: To never age (essentially immortal, so I could do ALL the things :D).
σ - Yup. But you didn’t ask who ehe so I’m not tellin’ :p
Silence stood for an icy moment, bitter, niggling fury setting itself into Goodnight’s mood, pulling at his mind like wolves to prey as he reacted to Judge’s words by turning sharply on his heel, meeting the other man’s gaze with a new sense of purified and unmasked resentment.
Was he done?
Instead of allowing the impudent reply to leave his mouth, Frank threw the man a defiant look, his eyes flashing with temerity as he fought the urge to spit out vicious words or strike at something in a sheer moment of blinding anger.
Ignorance was a trait Frank had the littlest tolerance for, and he knew full damned well that Matthew was acting ignorantly as of late. An unnerving sense of arcane premonition festered clandestinely within the Pinkerton, and he’d frequently found himself acting heedlessly in recent times.
Confusion and obscured abhorrence were proving to be an ascendant mix, and Goodnight found he was recognizing himself less and less as each day went on.
Though now, as the two men stood in the training field, a mangled target behind them and a conglomeration of bullets, beer bottles and cigarettes in front, Frank’s expression darkened in a way that sent a clear message to anyone and everyone that he was not in the slightest bit happy with the past few days’ developments. His eyes held the undertone of vacancy that the American often hid behind as he stared Matthew down with a steely glare, neither man backing down.
Was it jealousy? Envy? He didn’t know. And he’d never admit to either.
Kicking the weapon on the grass to one side, hearing a soft chink as the iron settled into it’s new resting place, Goodnight turned away from Judge, unblinking, and without another word he walked past the man, picking up his hat.
Yes. Yes. He was done.
Matthew had figured out early on during his time with the Pinkertons that it was best to hold Frank’s gaze if you ended up on the wrong end of it when he was fired up as he was now.
Reason one being that if you were fool enough to look away you would be deserving of whatever came next depending on whether or not the man controlled his anger - a punch to the throat, a kick to the groin, all because you weren’t ready. Hell it’s not like Matthew could match his speed, Frank was still quick as shit, his reflexes were something to be seen that was for certain. Yet Matthew felt at ease in the knowledge that he at least knew what to expect.
The second reason was more to do with the Judge himself. He wouldn’t shy away from the look of a man who had cause to trouble with him, he would simply stare right back, unphased, unmoving.
‘You deal with your problems straight up, or you live with ‘em’ - he’d been told once. It was just one of the many pieces of advice his father had given him.
On this occasion with Frank however it was appearing to be different to the previous ‘stand-offs’ the two had shared. The anger was seething from Goodnight, it surrounded the pair of them and locked them in place as neither man moved. The way Frank was looking at him in that moment Matthew was glad of the fact that he’d emptied his piece into the target.
It doesn’t stop him killing you with his hands. He still has his other gun too.
The Yankee snapped out of his thoughts, tensing up momentarily as Frank tapped his boot to the piece on the ground, Matthew resting his own finger inside the trigger guard on his colt. The man turned his back on him, and walked away silently without so much as a ‘fuck you’.
Matthew just blinked, his jaw clenched tight as his body loosened up again. He knew what it was. Frank’s issue. Caitlin. Matthew’s lip curled up as he spoke, his eyes still on the target ahead.
“Why don’t y’just talk about it. That’s what normal people do when they’ve got a problem Frank. Or is that too beneath you- what’s the matter y’don’t have feelings?”
He was baiting him out. Frank would likely have picked up on it immediately but he didn’t care. It was getting ridiculous. Either they sorted it now or it was just going to get much, much worse and Frank was going to snap and do something he would regret later.
Because Ripper Street was nominated for an Igor Novelo award for Best Soundtrack—but we still can’t get a soundtrack album. (Thanks to exponential63 for the heads-up.)