feeding the dark

thomas walker | the governor | 35 | owner of the Britannia

[gov-tom-walker]

lucianriviera​:

The Thief is not an uncommon person to be seen approaching, loitering around and occasionally drinking in the Britannia. Unfortunately, his business on this occasion is less pleasant gossip and chit-chat with Oriana at the bar and more to do with matters typically kept behind the scenes.

Lucian had perfected the methods of his operation a long time ago: his many associates knew quite well the method of simple substitution to haul large quantities of valuables or illicit assets around the city unnoticed after they had been dropped off. The means of operation was typically quite simple which made it easy to teach and even easier to execute on a mass scale (in theory so long as each person at the respective stage did their job). The method continued as such: at a series of pre-determined quick stops strongboxes, papers and any other mixture of valuable items of value would vanish from one carriage and barrels marked as common food or drink would be loaded up and rolled away on another to ultimately end up at St Botolph’s.

After all, a church that ran quite so many charitable causes for the poor needed a steady infusion of basic supplies. The goods rolled in and life went on. So long as everyone did their job. 

Unfortunately, on occasion, mistakes were made. Mistakes that eventually made their way back through the grapevine to the thief. Explaining his little impromptu trip to the Britannia. He’d perfected the art of entering a place unseen and unheard a great many years ago and had in the process, seen a wide range of interesting things upon his entry. Distractions were useful, noise even better for masking the sound of movement and the crash of glass and cursing from the behind the bar was as good a distraction he might ever have. And so, Lucian slipped inside utilising it with no pause for thought, shutting and flipping the lock behind his back.

Finally Tom seemed to come back to himself, and Lucian offered the governor a slight tilt of his head to the right - one might surmise the look both and assessment and a greeting. “Tom,” he eventually added in form of actual greeting, eyes noting the strained movement’s of his colleague but making no further remark on it just yet. He could be cruel on occasion but he hardly felt the inclination to humble a man clearly in pain and struggling as Tom was presently; even if he had nearly cost him several pounds earlier in the day. 

Plus, humiliation would do little to further his understanding of just what had happened to cause whatever today was. “Sure, double whiskey on the rocks” he accepted with a nod finally moving between the tables to approach the bar his gaze tracking over the governor’s current state, “yes… it sounds like you’ve had quite the day, apparently lucks’ run away from you today…” He waited until Tom moved to arrange their respective drinks before his follow-up question was posed “how are you doing Tom? You seem a tad stressed.”

“Coming right up,” Tom said, glad to do something that he knew he could succeed at. The nuances of the man’s entrance weren’t lost on Tom - the greeting definitely held shades of something else, but he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know exactly what. He’d messed up today and he guessed that Lucian would probably want to acknowledge that at some point, but he wasn’t going to bring it up first...at least not without a drink or three.

“Luck, and much else,” he admitted. “Time, too, and perhaps my sense of direction.” And that glass from the table. He wondered if Lucian had seen that, or what he thought had happened.

He wanted to add that he hadn’t slept well, had hardly slept at all, but that seemed like an excuse, and Tom wasn’t much for excuses. Also, he didn’t particularly think that the other man truly needed to know about his sleeping patterns or lack thereof. The less anyone knew of that, the better.

How are you doing?

That was his least favorite question, as of late. But he couldn’t exactly lie to the other man, especially when he knew he wasn’t presenting his best self.

“I’ve had better days - ah, better weeks, even.” And then for some reason, he continued. Maybe it was because the two had had some semblance of friendship. Tom normally enjoyed their conversations, even though he wasn’t fond of the business they often shared. And it had been too long since he’d told anyone anything.

“I just - do you ever feel like...I’m not quite sure how to explain it.” Tom took a sip of his own drink. It was smooth, almost too much so. He had seen how some patrons drank the stuff as if it was water, and that wasn’t always a good thing. “Do you ever feel as if there’s...something, something that’s just causing things to go wrong, like it’s their - it’s idea of a joke?”

He shook his head. “I probably sound mad. Can we pretend that I hadn’t said anything?”

A little pause.

“I didn’t sleep well.” He said, sighing. “How have you been faring?”

[gov-tom-walker]

mvsquerade​:

Skittish.

The word rings once more in her mind as Tom smiles thinly, his attention caught by three, quick raps on the bar. He darts from her table to the man waiting, pulling him to the side for a heated exchange, tension strung in the air. The man leaves, and Zoya’s curiosity grows—just who exactly is Tom having clandestine meetings in the Britannia with? Did it have to with the other meeting she’d witnessed before? But for the other man to come so openly into the pub has Zoya thinking things aren’t going so well for the owner of the Britannia. 

She drums her fingers on the table in thought when Tom returns with her order, the scent of cinnamon and citrus wafting from the mug. It’s a drink she’s often made herself on cold nights or when her throat is sore, and somehow, she can’t help but be comforted by it. Maybe it’s the same for Tom, whose favorite drink is not gin or scotch or brandy, but rather a spiced apple toddy. Something to warm you before you go to sleep, something soothing.

“I imagine people normally ask for something stronger,” she quips lightly, giving him another smile. “Thank you, though. It’s good, don’t worry! I like it a lot. I’ll have to try it again when you have apples around.” She considers him over the rim of the mug, her features softening. “Sorry, am I keeping you? I don’t mean to—if you don’t mind me asking, are you alright?” He’ll most definitely mind.

“That’s true,” he agreed. “People don’t usually care about the taste of their drinks. Depends on the night, though. When the workers get paid, it’s mostly beer and ale.” Her compliment warmed him slightly. At one point, before his current troubles had grown to what they were now, Tom had enjoyed making drinks. His days of soldiering had been full of danger and responsibility, and it was nice to do something that was relatively stress free. Sure, running a profitable business was difficult, but the Britannia had the advantage of location and clientele, so it wasn’t something he’d had to start from scratch either.

“I - what?” He glanced back at her, realizing what she had asked. “No, you’re not keeping me. Everything is fine. All the things.”

Are you alright? she asked.

No, he wanted to scream. He was definitely not alright. He was waiting for a shipment of something he was pretty sure he did not want to know exactly what it was, he was afraid to sleep for fear of what he might or might not be doing, and the only relief came from a bottle of something that he was increasingly having difficulty acquiring, so much so that he had begun scalping money from his business to do so.

But exactly none of that was acceptable to share. Especially to someone like her, someone who he was afraid that could transform from someone very much alive to someone very much not so. It was dangerous out there.

“I’m, ah - I’m fine too. Good, even.” He smiled thinly. “What’s not to be happy about? Besides the cold, perhaps. And, well, other things, but that’s not what people come to a pub for, right? I’m supposed to be asking if you’re alright. Are you alright?”

[gov-tom-walker]

billxbarker​:

Bill had grown talented at reading people. It was a skill he had cultivated over the years, and now, as a politician, it served him well. There was a lot that body language could tell you about a person, and what they were truly thinking, that their words could not, that even their faces could conceal. His observation of the barkeep revealed more than his jovial expression and friendly comments would have the world believe. There was something about him that was anxious, nervous. Bill didn’t think it was just a damp barstool and the presence of a politician that was the cause of it. 

“That’s nice,” Bill said, and it was. “I feel like hardly anyone is happy to see me these days. I’ve somehow become some sort of harbinger of doom.” It was true he’d been delivering more bad news than good lately, but that was politics. All he could do was hope for the time to turn it around. “There’s no need to make a fuss over me, though. I don’t deserve a seat any more that any of your other patrons.” He jerked his head towards the other men, propping up the bar. This routine was an old dance that was second nature to him now - but he still played his part to perfection. 

“How about you join me for a scotch, and one of those delicious stuffed olives you’ve told me about? It looks like you could use a moment’s break.” It was, perhaps, an impertinent statement, but Bill wanted to see how he would react to it - if he would indulge Bill, or decline the offer. 

He hoped it was the former. If there was anybody who held more information about a community that the owner of the local pub, Bill had yet to find them. 

“Oh, well isn’t that a shame. But no one’s a harbinger of anything here at the pub, unless you’ve too much to drink and an eye for trouble, but I doubt you’re the sort for that.” Tom said. He frowned in sympathy - mostly genuine. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but he felt like he knew what it was like to be a walking portent of misery. Sometimes he wished that he could confide in someone to hold him accountable, but he couldn’t think of a soul he entrusted with the information he wasn’t exactly sure he wasn’t off committing heinous murders during the night.

“That’s kind of you,” Tom said to following statement. He still felt anxious and tongue-tied to an extent, but the other man’s nature had a calming effect. Still wishing that he had a window into the politician’s head, he couldn’t help but feel slightly reassured.

Slightly.

“Scotch? With you? I don’t know, it’s...” The question caught him a little off-guard, and the frown returned. Tom glanced around, half-hoping that a patron would need his attention or one of the workers wasn’t doing what they were supposed to be doing, but to his internal distress, everything seemed perfect. Still, it would be nice to get off his knee for a few minutes. A normal break would have Tom reaching for the laudanum, but a scotch would do - for the immediate moment.

“You know, that actually sounds quite agreeable,” Tom said, exhaling as he spoke. Some part of him objected, the logical part of his brain telling him that spending any time with someone who could cause trouble for him was not a good idea, but sometimes he just felt so tired of being paranoid, and also just tired in general. It was exhausting to worry so much. “Just one moment, then,” he said, trying to minimize the limp as he fetched everything needed for another drink and a plate of the stuffed olives, in addition to some crackers. He emerged after a moment, putting the dishes on the bar top as he came to the other side of the bar, plopping himself on the stool that he’d spilled the drink on without hesitation.

“Here, you have to try one of the olives with the crackers. It’s a little salty, but that’s why you have the scotch, yeah?” Tom modeled exactly so, following it up with a generous sip of the scotch. He closed his eyes as he relaxed slightly and momentarily. Again, no laudanum, but he treasured the increasingly rare moments he didn’t need to turn to the stuff for a bit of relief. 

“It’s not very common where everything’s going so well as to not have to be a raging tyrant to make sure all is well,” he remarked, “Although it is probably quite rude for me to complain. I’m sure you have to deal with all kinds of problems much, much more difficult than any I see around here.”

[gov-tom-walker]

Closed: https://lucianriviera.tumblr.com

Location: The Britannia

When: Afternoon

(TW - Drinking & Alcohol, Substance abuse, chronic pain, violence, blood, anxiety)

“We’re closing up early - apologies, but urgent...uh, pub business to deal with,” Tom said, managing to shoo away the last few patrons out of the bar after a moderate amount of fuss and probably one too many unpaid for drinks. Still, he didn’t care, though - there were more important things to worry about than a slow Wednesday afternoon’s profits, such as a nearly-botched smuggling job’s profits (which, while the risk was substantially larger, so was the money, of which Tom was increasingly desperate for as of late).

Today, Tom had had to procure the shipments himself, which shouldn’t have been a problem, but on the way, he’d been seized by an unfortunate thought - passing by an alley, he’d had a flash to his dream (hopefully, although he wasn’t sure anymore) where he’d followed a young woman into an alley like that one, and inflicted cruelties beyond measure. He’d woke up in his bed frantically checking his hands for blood under his fingertips, and although he hadn’t seen any, the open window in his room that he was positive he hadn’t left open didn’t reassure him.

It had to be a dream, he told himself. It had to be.

What was the alternative if it wasn’t?

Tom had been thrown mentally, and he’d almost dropped the goods off to the wrong building. He’d only been saved when the young man at the front desk reacted with appropriate confusion to the supposed code word to signal safe drop off, and although Tom wasn’t sure exactly what was in the box, he knew certain people would be very angry if he lost it by delivering to the completely wrong goddamn place. And while he was very late to the actual exchange, at least he’d made it.

So now here he was behind the bar, taking a break, nursing a gin sling,  and trying to savor the solitude until Lucian came. The two usually had fairly easy conversations and if Tom had to make a list of people whose company didn’t very much stress him out lately, Lucian would be near the top, but today Tom felt anxiety at the thought of him. He knew he’d let his friend (?) down with the job today, being so late and all, and he knew he couldn’t tell him the real reason why.

He heard the creak of a chair at one of the tables, as if someone had sat down on it. Tom looked up from his drink, frowning. The usual bustle of the people outside was at its normal din, but for a moment, the air in the pub seemed to stand still. Tom shook his head at his foolishness and was about to turn away, but then he thought he saw a bottle move, the remains of someone’s earlier purchases, now empty and filtering the sunlight through dark green glass.

No, it couldn’t be. That would be ridiculous. Reaching for the bottle of gin to top off his glass, Tom ducked under the bar, but the sound of glass crashing sent his head upright two times quicker and his bad knee against the wood of the bar.

“Fucking hell,” he exclaimed out of pain, dropping his own glass which also shattered. He pushed himself against the bar, eyes strained against the pain when he heard a door open. Tom glanced toward, ready to kick out a patron, but instead he saw Lucian, who had probably witnessed the last bit of chaos, even when he wasn’t sure exactly at what point he’d walked in.

“Lucian,” he acknowledged, trying to smile through the pain, but it forced him to lean against the bar for a moment to regain his balance, and his face dropped. He took a deep breath and tried to steel himself, only being able to imagine how it must have looked to the other man.

What a fantastic start.

“Care for a drink?” He asked after a moment, an unsaid current of embarrassment coloring his words. “I think I need another. Perhaps two, after this afternoon...”

[gov-tom-walker]

 mvsquerade​:

Perhaps Zoya frequented the Britannia a bit too often for someone of her status, but she couldn’t help it. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, raucous and jubilant. In another life, perhaps she might’ve been the woman playing cards two tables over. She would’ve been part of this community, still one of its own. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

But she didn’t want that life. Curiosity twined with nostalgia brought her back again and again; sometimes, she came with friends, and sometimes, she came alone. Tonight was the latter. She’d picked a seat in the corner, keeping mostly to herself, and when she thought to finally pay her tab and leave, a familiar figure moved to take her empty mug.

Ah. Here was something interesting.

She smiled amiably at Tom, noting how his words stopped and stuttered, how he’d been momentarily stunned into silence. It took a liar to know a liar, and he had always struck her as paranoid, a shiftiness about him she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Her suspicions had heightened when she’d witnessed a covert exchange between him and another just after the Britannia had closed, something passed between hands.

She’d get her answers in time. For now, she contented herself with watching and listening, gleaning what she could. 

“If you could, thank you,” she replied, resting her chin in her palm. “Or surprise me. Your favorite drink, maybe?”

A few months back, perhaps Tom could have handled the situation with some grace. Then again, a few months back, Tom wouldn’t have been as desperate as he was, at least a smidge. He hadn’t had as many sleepless nights then, whether they were because of the nightmares or the clandestine late night exchanges. His sense of control was tenuous lately, and even something as innocent as a friendly smile, coming from the wrong person, was enough to make his fingers twitch slightly.

“My favorite drink?” A slight raise of his eyebrows and a twitch of his nose betrayed his slight surprise at the question. His own favorite drink was a spiced apple toddy, something that he would treat his friends and acquaintances to quite happily. He wasn’t sure he wanted the woman to know much about him, though. She was watching him with a certain patience, as if she had all the time in the world.

“Well, that’s - actually, if you believe it, it’s a simple favorite, just a  - “

Then three knocks at the bar drew his attention - one of his contacts from a local gang. It wasn’t somebody he worked too closely with, but given the fact he was expecting someone, this had to be him.

“Actually, if you’ve a moment, I will be...I will be only a moment. It’ll be worth it, I promise.” He smiled then, although the anxiety thinned out the expression. Tom quickly made his escape then to pull his contact to the side.

To others, it probably appeared a normal enough interaction. To someone with a reason to pay attention, though, Tom’s impatient hand gestures and the way he ran his hand through his now-disheveled hair probably displayed something closer to conflict. A few moments, and the other man stomped off. Tom sighed, wished he could retreat upstairs, and then steeled himself. He would have something to take the edge off soon, not later. It would be okay. But right now, he had a job to do, so without really thinking of the artifice of his previous plan, Tom made up his favorite drink indeed, a spiced apple toddy. Okay, well, it was distinctly less apple-ish than usual, seeing as he didn’t have the baked apples on hand to truly complete it, but he brought it back to the waiting woman after a minute, placing the drink on the table with what he hoped was an appropriately apologetic expression.

“One spiced apple toddy...er, rather without the apple. Not something people usually ask for,” he admitted. “But hopefully still up to your taste. If you try it and don’t care for it, I can always have something else made...” Tom trailed off, and glanced over his shoulder, looking for the man to come back in with the box, distracted.

[gov-tom-walker]

billxbarker​:

Bill tended to drink in the local pubs more than the average politician. Of course, he rarely got drunk. Not really, anyway, though he would let himself be seen to be merry. But losing control completely was not an option, had not been for years. Luckily, he had a high tolerance, meaning he could knock back more than a few, and still feel in control of his faculties. 

The Britannia was the perfect place to be seen, and to be seen as normal. As of late, with Whitechapel so under scrutiny, Bill had hardly had much cause to venture away from his Stepney home. With October drawing to a close, and no further attacks occurring, though, it felt like a good time to be seen. 

It seemed he was not the only one with the notion to head out tonight. Good. It meant being seen by more people, and after all, that was Bill’s goal for the night. As he went to sink into the seat, though, the landlord called out, leaving Bill hovering in mid-air. 

“Oh?” he glanced over his shoulder at the sodden chair, before sighing and leaning on the bar rather than sitting down. “Well, I’ll never turn down a free drink,” he half-smiled. “A scotch will do. Just whatever you have.” 

Bloody fantastic.

The relative anonymity of the pub was one of the few things that kept Tom grounded. He liked the routine now, the feeling of predictability that came from the day-to-day running of the establishment. Everything outside of the pub? Increasingly, he felt like his life was out of control. Anything that kept the peace was welcome, and having someone like Mr. Barker in The Britannia could go either way in that regard. Tom wasn’t necessarily interested or invested in local politics, but the politician was discussed regularly, and from what Tom overheard, in generally positive ways.

“Smart man,” Tom grinned. His gut threatened him with the possibility of twisting into anxious knots, but the man was in his element, so putting on the charade of competence wasn’t as hard as it would have been elsewhere.

“A scotch, then,” Tom continued, almost grabbing a bottle of the cheap stuff by instinct. But no, whatever worried plagued his mind, he still had a reputation to maintain, so he grabbed a bottle of scotch normally reserved for patrons who had more than a few pennies for the night. “It’s good to see someone like you around these parts,” he commented as he offered the glass across the bar. “If I’d have known you were coming, I would definitely have saved you one of the good spots. Er, I mean, one of the better spots, anyway,” he said, looking around at the people gathered. “Are you just stopping in for a drink? It’s fine if so, but we have some anchovie-stuffed olives we just got in if you’ve a bit of a hankering.”

Tom hoped the question didn’t seem too off. He felt a little ridiculous as soon as he said it, but he wondered if he could get a sense of the man’s purpose for coming to the pub - it would relieve him a great deal if there wasn’t, but either way, he wouldn’t be able to relax until he knew.

[gov-tom-walker]

OPEN: anyone! everyone!

Location: The Britannia Pub

Time: literally whenever!

If Tom could go back and change anything, he would absolutely warn himself about how tiring it was to run a pub. Or maybe it was the dreams (?) that were wearing him down. He could no longer tell the difference between the shades of weariness that tugged his eyes down and clouded his mind. It didn’t help that he wasn’t sure that his dreams were actually dreams anymore. The thought chilled him to his bones. It couldn’t be true, right?

But he heard about the things the Ripper did. And he wondered.

Wondering wasn’t good for him these days.

Still, nothing seemed to happen during the day.

Nothing’s happened yet, he reminded himself. There was always time for something to go wrong.

Tom shook his head. He wasn’t going to down this road today. Maybe later, when he could take some of the laudanum waiting in the cabinets upstairs, he would try to figure more out about his dreams. Perhaps he would go see if there was something new he could take. Tom hadn’t given up on trying to achieve a modicum of peace, and he would do anything at this point for a blissful afternoon nap.

But with the mental tiredness also came the familiar ache in his leg. When he’d gotten the injury in the war, the pain had been fresh and raw. The doctors had told him the shot had broken his bones. There was no easy recovery, but Tom had been determined regardless, and to a degree, he’d been successful. Often, his leg didn’t bother him particularly much, and people had to be observant to note the limp that he’d learned to minimize, but sometimes, especially lately, the fresh pain had been replaced by an ache that seemed to settle into his very nerves. He sighed irritably as he wiped the counter, but then the ache turned into a stab, and his leg twitched and he stumbled forwardly slightly, catching himself on the counter. Good to stop the fall, but probably not good for the person who had just walked up and was about to sit in the spot that Tom’s stumble had spilled a half drunk mug of ale onto.

“Looks like that mug had something against you,” Tom said, trying to recover even as his cheeks flushed red. “Let me get that devilish thing put away. How about first round on the house to make up for it?”

[gov-tom-walker]

Closed: https://mvsquerade.tumblr.com/

Location: The Britannia

Time: Evening

It wasn’t enough that one of the workers had been too ill to show up for work, or that the Britannia seemed to have a large sign that apparently advertised the pub as the finest place to have an evening brawl, but tonight was also the night where one of the local gangs had enlisted Tom for a job. Normally, a simple smuggling job wouldn’t be a big deal - there was enough going on at the pub to where a simple change of hands wouldn’t draw attention. Tonight, though, Tom felt pulled in a thousand directions, and his already-frayed concentration was worn more thin than usual.

He manned the bar tonight. It wasn’t unusual to see him at the bar, but he really needed to make sure that this change of hands went smoothly. Whatever was being delivered in the crate of costumes was apparently worth a great deal. Once it was in the pub? The rest was absolutely easy. But his contact was running late, and many things ran through Tom’s head. What if the contact had gone to the wrong place? Would he still get paid? What if the contact had been apprehended by police and they were outside the doors right now, waiting for the right moment to come in and arrest him?

The thought seemed appropriate for a moment, and then he remembered that prison didn’t actually sound particularly appealing tonight.

He shook his head and was content to let that thought sit for a while, but someone in the corner waved him down - right past where she was sitting. Tom licked his lips. Tom took a deep breath, grabbed the tray of filled mugs, and went to replenish the table’s drinks. He was on his way back when he thought he noticed an empty mug, so he turned to the occupant of the table and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who was sitting.

Tom had never gotten her name, but he had seen her often enough. Most people who came here were easy to get a read on, but Tom had not gotten much from her. He had noticed that she wasn’t intimidated by this place, and on top of that, she seemed...observant. It wasn’t something he could point to one specific situation that gave him the idea - moreso the little glances in her direction that he thought he caught her looking at him, or maybe it was the fact that she chose the perfect place for watching sometimes (the corner, where no one could surprise you).

“I, uh - “ Tom’s breath caught in his throat. Why was he so nervous? She couldn’t have seen something, right? (Or maybe she was with the police who were definitely not outside. Who knew?)

“Can I get you something else? Maybe, ah...another one? Of whatever you’re having?”

[aseaofquotes]

Holly Lisle, Talyn

[danstevensource]

Dan Stevens photographed by Jesse Dittmar for The New York Times