The Governor @ishmaelhassan - Tumblr Blog

lucianriviera:

Sometimes you simply had to crack on with business, even with the whole of Whitechapel seemingly falling apart around them the world turned on and another day dawned. Which meant there was work to be done, whether they wanted it or not and Lucian couldn’t afford any hold-ups in cargo transport and delivery. Even with his nightly escapades he still had a reputation to uphold and clients needs to fulfil. He might not be Cora but she wasn’t the only one that served up a good time, it was simply that his came in far more discreet packaging.

The cart was due to arrive any time now to collect and transport the goods on to their final destinations, ultimately the simplest part of their journey especially now that the heat on them had died down on them significantly. But Ish was twitchy, his hands not as steady as they were upon their first meeting and Lucian had noticed, kept a keen eye to monitor the situation even if he hadn’t mentioned it. He couldn’t afford a slip up and if Ish’s work capacity was compromised… Well, that was an avenue of thought he’d put off but nothing came before his business not even rare come upon acquaintanceships such as theirs.

“Three more,” Lucian grunted setting down the barrel in the back-alley and turning to head inside once more. “You should know how many there are anyway considering you’re the one stockpiling it for me.”

There weren't words to communicate Ish's level of exhaustion. He pushed through. Day by day, he awoke and went to work and tried to take on more and more in order to keep his habit fed. He was in over his head. He had been for weeks, months, probably. His habits were becoming more difficult to feed, and as such, his expenses grew. So then did his work with Lucian, but he could tell Lucian was growing impatient.

Lucian's words in response to Ish's question were the first verbal indication of such a lack of patience, of doubt in him. Ish could sense it, but Lucian was good at being pragmatic, at keeping people on his side. "I know how many there are," he answered with a sigh. "I just hadn't been counting while carrying them up the stairs," he said, trying not to let his own irritation slip in. He had been doing his best. That was a fact. But his 'best' was different now than it had been before.

"Sorry, mate, got loads on my mind right now. Pretty sure you can understand why. You were there for that bloody Seance. Still don't know what to make of what happened there..."

#paras #with: lucian

profcss

starter for: @ishmaelhassan location: the britannia time: night, day after the seance

The professor has never fancied himself a drunkard. Given that all it takes is two pints for his head to feel heavy, Gilly is almost certain he’d be classified a lightweight. An unimpressive tolerance level for a man his age, though he can’t say he is missing out on all that much. He’s done enough people-watching at the Britannia not to envy its regular share of patrons.

But that night is different. That night, he takes a rare moment to indulge himself with alcohol. True to form, he is ready to pause after two beers, ignoring the voice at the back of his head that has begun tempting him to grab a third. Resting his arms against the pub counter, Gilly does his best attempt at appearing sober by keeping his eyes clear and open and setting his lips into a grim line. It’s his best attempt yet, though he doubts it’d fool anyone—least of all, The Governor, who has probably seen more than his fair share of tipsy patrons. He was running a pub, after all. Not to mention there have been many occasions when Gilly wonders whether the man himself has been under the influence, on the nights when he’d looked worse for wear.

The crowd is sparse enough that evening, so Gilly takes the opportunity to check in then, leaning forward the counter to better address the Britannia’s owner. “Governor,” he says, with a slight nod, “I do hope you’re having a better night than I am.”

ishmaelhassan

Ish was, to be frank, very rarely having a good night. They seemed to be getting worse, in fact. The nights in London were becoming darker and merely due to winter. The double murder at the hands of the Ripper, the Seance, the different faces who all seemed to be weighed down by their own fears and traumas. He had seen this man's face before, but he rarely drank. Ish had been trying to pay more attention to his patrons recently. Every face he saw, he found himself wondering about them, their experiences, their intentions, their secrets.

"If there's anything people use a man with a pub for, it's to share their troubles," Ish said, remaining neutral. He tried not to focus on the myriad of questions and doubts that ran through his mind, the inevitable twitchiness that would come with time from his substance of preference. "Why?" he asked. "What's wrong with your night?"

#paras #with: gilly

harlandbell-deactivated20251217

closed starter for @ishmaelhassan

location: harland’s office

when: right after the first seance

Although he had been initially tempted by Ishmael’s offer of a drink, Harland had decided it would be unwise to actually take him up on the offer. At least tonight. It would be impractical to get his doctor’s bag and then follow Ishmael home, so instead he brought the man back to his office for a brief check up. Once there, he spent a moment rummaging through his coat pocket for the keys before opening the door and letting the other man go in first. “Why don’t you have a seat in there” Harland gestured to a door off to one side while he hung up his coat on the coat rack that stood to one side of the front door.

The room he had gestured to was clearly for examinations, and Harland soon followed Ishmael inside “Alright lets have a look at those scratches and get them cleaned up. Wouldn’t want them getting infected…”

ishmaelhassan

He was shaken, visibly unnerved, and physically injured by the Seance, three surface level scratches across his cheek from the spirit that had been angered. He'd been taken aback by it, and his natural reaction was to go home and get wasted. He hadn't expected anyone to take him up on the offer of company, but one man had. The doctor, he thought. Dr. Bell. He reached the bar, pouring himself a beer and then a second for his companion. "First one's free," he said. "After that, you're paying."

At the Doctor's request, Ish expelled a sigh and joined the man at a seat. He closed his eyes to attempt to force relaxation while he took the first drink of beer. "It's not that bad, is it?" It was sore, but he doubted it was that serious. His reaction was more the shock than the physical pain. "How did it even do that?"

#paras #with: harland

theouijaboard

Seance Live Event - 20.11.2021, 19:30 - 22:00 GMT

Timestamp: Sunday, September 30th, 1888, early morning Location: Muiris Doyle’s parlour Led by: Muiris Doyle With: @harlandbell, @ishmaelhassan, @kwon-jimin, @lucianriviera, @adaletneekartal, @dayanitas

Transcript below the cut. The following has undergone minor edits for clarity and continuity’s sake.

Keep reading

#paras #live event

Closed starter for @theundertakcr Location: The Britannia Pub

The pub was something of a central hub of the Whitechapel Area. It wasn’t the only one of its kind in the area, but most of the places had their regulars, those whose faces showed up often. Rahat was one such regular. The two weren’t friends, per se, but they were friendly. He tried to keep up with his good habits, though the more dangerous of his habits he knew were leading to his downfall as they began to outweigh the good ones. All the more reason to put an effort in. To be seen as just a normal pub owner.

Even Ish wasn’t sure what else he was. He knew what he feared himself to be, but he couldn’t be certain. Every time he spoke with someone, he wondered what dangers he might be exposing them to. “Rahat,” he greeted, giving them a nod. “Can I get you anything? Cup of tea or something?”

#paras #with: rahat

“Scotland Yard doesn’t arrest the first person who comes along. They’re looking for evidence.”

Ish did his best to seem composed. To seem normal. Why did that feel like such an effort recently? Broken sleep and an aching body accompanied an equally aching mind, and he almost felt as if he were afraid to say the wrong thing. "Who knows," he shrugged. "Maybe they're getting desperate."

#asks #with: polly

Closed Starter For @lucianriviera Location: The Britannia -

You wouldn’t normally think of a man like Ish as the nervous sort. In fact, for most of his life, he’d been the precise opposite. He was an imposing looking man whose physicality matched his seeming inner confidence. He knew he could hold his own, and so did those who saw him. This much seemed to have changed in recent times. Unloading goods stashed away behind barrels in the basement of his pub, Ish seemed on edge, fighting the instinct to over-think every sound one might hear from the streets above.

It was a common practice for them to haul the old barrels away on a horse-drawn wagon parked outside. Why should anyone think anything of it? Fear, though, had begun to replace logic for Ish. The substances he’d been so addicted to recently and the way they clouded his mind had inflicted a change in him, and he knew Lucian had noticed. In fact, he almost felt as if he was walking on egg shells, just waiting for Lucian to confront him about something. Perhaps he was imagining a tension in the air. Perhaps not.

“How many more after this?” he asked. Something to fill the silence that hung over them like a guillotine.

#paras #with: lucian

Starter For: @ryumyeong Location: Near the Brittannia Pub Time: Around 2:15am

He recognised the young one, barely more than a child in his eyes, a view likely biased by the fact she reminded him of his youngest siblings, who would in some ways, always be children to him. Ish hated the idea of her being out on a night like this. He hated the idea of her being out on most nights, but this one was a particularly dreadful one. He’d awoken to all the noise outside, a haze and stupor having taken him to bed. He couldn’t have left the flat above the pub and come back unnoticed, surely? Yet still, he had instinctively searched his body for signs of struggles, checked his clothes for bloodstains. Anubus trotted along at his side as he called to the young woman. He was reluctant to do so, but he had clarity now, the hustle of the night having sobered him up somewhat. Better him than no-one.

“Myeong!” He called her name, gesturing with his hand for her to approach. He walked towards her, cigarette in hand. “Walk with me. You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

#paras #with: myeung

seancerpg

THE GOVERNOR

Name: Ishmael “Ish” Hassan Age: 34 Pronouns: he / him FC: Oliver Jackson-Cohen

BIOGRAPHY

tw - drugs, murder, addiction

There is scarcely a time that he can remember being alone, always surrounded by a large family and plentiful friends. A grafter from a young age, he saved as much as could be spared, that wasn’t marked for helping support his many siblings, and in a stroke of fortune, purchased The Britannia, the large pub on the corner of Dorset Street. However, living in such proximity to the poorest district in the city took its toll. It started with a few drops of laudanum, and quickly spiralled into something he could not control. His spending out of control, he had to look at other alternatives to keep his business from crumbling - and with much of his clientele composed of the local crooks, the allure of the money to be made involving himself in their schemes was too much to resist. It was only small things, at first - hiding smuggled or stolen goods in the cellar, using the pub as a place to hide from the police. Before he knew it, he was embroiled in large crimes, directly involved in the activities of the local gangs that plagued the area. With his addiction to narcotics growing, he’s begun to have strange, terrifying dreams of late - and what’s worse, he can’t decipher fact from delusion, and is beginning to wonder if he himself could be responsible for the murders striking fear in the hearts of all Londoners - could he be the Ripper?

THE GHOST

It’s violent. Whatever is haunting him, it’s out for blood - though it is too weak to cause any degree of harm yet. Instead, it lies in wait, feeding off of guilt and misery, growing ever more amused by the governor’s misplaced guilt. It started with nightmares. His mind was deliciously open to all forms of manipulation, and it was only too easy to slip in while it was dreaming, planting thoughts of horrific attacks The Governor did not commit and addling his already hazy memories. Nightmares became hallucinations, dashes of blood that weren’t really there, anything to drive him further to despair. It’s gathered enough strength to send glasses flying from their shelves to shatter against the walls, and it won’t rest until it is able to cause the pain and suffering it desperately craves.

CONNECTIONS

THE WAIF: She comes in most nights, and he suspects it’s because she has nowhere else to go. However, recently he can’t help but be drawn to her - of all of those he casts his eye over, it seems most likely she’ll be the next target of the infamous ripper. Try as he might, he can’t keep his gaze from her, overwhelmed with shame over what he may do if he followed her into the night.

THE ACTRESS: She’s a star on the rise, and yet, she still frequents his bar, seemingly unaware that she sticks out like a sore thumb. Still, she doesn’t seem perturbed by his usual clientele, and he can’t help but wonder the reason why - perhaps she has a secret on par with his own. When she does show up, she’s usually the last to leave, and he can’t help but feel paranoid about what she might have seen him do. If she knows something, she’s keeping quiet for now.

THE THIEF: They’ve been working together for a little while. The Thief has been in the game for a long time, and the connections and reach he provides are valuable. Still, he demands ever more from The Governor, and the burden is starting to weigh heavily on his shoulders. As much as he tries to carry on, The Governor’s addiction has begun to make it hard to keep up with The Thief’s seemingly endless schemes, and the other man is growing more and more frustrated

THE ALCHEMIST: She’s an expert in potions and substances, and he’s been frequenting her shop, only too willing to try out the experimental concoctions she conjures for a fraction of the price. She’s been more reluctant to hand over her products as of late, though, recognising the signs of addiction in his tired eyes. He’s noticed that her mixtures have been less effective, chalking it up to a growing tolerance, but continually has to come up with new excuses to prise more of what he craves from her hands.

THE GOVERNOR IS TAKEN BY RILEY

#bio

The Harsh Light Of Day || Solo

Ish never woke up in peace and quiet. He never woke up with either any more, to be honest. This morning (if you could call it such) was no different. He stretched long, aching limbs with a groan, his arm falling against the warm fur of Anubis as it flopped over the edge of the bed. He shot awake, the feeling of unfamiliar warmth against his skin filling him with dread, flashes of blood and blades seeping into his consciousness, leftover from his dreams.

"Fuckin' hell," he grumbled with a low sigh as the world came into focus around him. There was no blood, no fresh remains in his bed, not even any telling cuts or bruises on his hands, so why was he filled with such a hefty guilt in his conscience? Ish's waking was greeted with a series of licks, which only prompted more groans. "Alright, gerroff, you daft sod," he yawned, no malice in the words as he pulled back the covers and dragged himself from the sheets. Another restless night. His body and bed were still soaked in sweat.

The dog padded to the door, doing his morning pacing and circling, the indicator that he needed to go outside. "Just hang on a bloody minute, would ya? There's a good lad," he reassured the creature as he grabbed clothes and shoes. He grabbed the cheap pocket watch on his bedside table, checking the time and looking at his companion with an almost guilty expression as he reached for the laudanum tincture beneath his bed, swallowing all that remained in the bottle as if it were a glass of water on a warm day. Only a couple of bottles were left in the box. He'd need more soon. "Yeah, I'm coming, 'Nubis," he answered with a sigh at the dogs whine, finally getting up to head outside.

The East End was a bustle of activity as usual. At first, he didn't notice anything amiss, but the atmosphere felt somehow darker and colder today as people gossiped in hushed tones. People who didn't know him gave a wide berth to the large, exhausted-looking man smoking a cigarette while his dog took a piss in the back alley of the pub. He did cut an intimidating figure.

"Right, come on then," he called to the dog after a few moments, and he smoked his cigarette as he walked, the beast trotting at his heel as he made his way to the local Apothecary. His stomach was in his throat as he approached. 'You're not doing anything wrong', he told himself, and yet with each day that passed, it became harder and harder to believe. His visits had become so frequent that it was almost embarrassing, and he knew they'd been noticed.

"Y'alright, Ishie, mate?" the person behind the counter greeted as he walked in, and Ish did his best to perk up, be natural and easygoing.

"Yeah, 'bout the same as always, Bill." he said, which wasn't a lie. "You?"

"Not bad, not bad. Business is good, at least. This stuff in the papers is enough to make anyone turn ill."

Brow sweating, Ish nodded. Had something else happened? "Something in particular you're on about?" he asked, which prompted a look of surprise from the apothecary. After all, to most of London who arose earlier than noon, this had been news since the early hours of the morning.

"Ain't you seen? Hold on..."

He scuttled away to grab the newspaper. Ish's fingertips were digging into his palms as Bill laid out the headline in front of him. Ish's eyes widened, color draining from his already pale cheeks as he struggled to take in the words, details of yet another act of horrific violence. And where had he been last night when it happened? He couldn't even remember.

"Shit, that's..." He struggled to find the words, not being a particularly educated man, he wasn't very descriptive in his language. "Fucking hell. Where does the sick bastard come up with these ideas? To do this shite to people..." And there was truth in his words. They were sincere, but there was something else in them too; a lack of conviction that came with his own uncertainty, his own paranoia. "Sorry, Billy, I've got some work to do back at the pub, if you could just..."

"The usual?" Bill answered, seemingly knowing what Ish was looking for without Ish needing to say the words. He was already reaching for the item from his shelves.

"Yeah, just..." He reached into his pocket, pulling out the majority of what remained from his last 'job'. "Just give me a crate. Save me coming back every week." He could sense the trepidation on Bill's expression, but the wad of cash seemed to override that particular instinct.

"If you're sure. This stuff can be dangerous if you're not careful."

Ish shook his head, a scoff that melded with a chuckle leaving his lips, hopefully one that came across as amused and not indignant, but he couldn't rightly tell. "Trust me, mate, not as dangerous as the way my muscles and bones still ache after hauling rich pricks’ cargo at the docks for the past fifteen years."

"Yeah, well, you're not alone there."

Maybe not, Ish thought, but God, it felt like it. The transaction completed, he left the shop with his purchase, fighting the self conscious feeling he got as he made his way back to the pub. Could've been anything in this box, he thought. Bottles of ale for the patrons, new glassware, dog food, and yet still it felt as if everyone around him knew something deep and shameful about him.

Ish slowed his pace as he approached the back entrance of the pub. Anubis let out a low grumble at his heel at the hooded figure, but Ish recognised their frame and gait. "Shh," he instructed, setting his purchase down carefully near the back door as he reached for his key.

"You know we open at five, yeah?"

The hooded figure grinned, teeth like jagged yellow tombstones in a stubbled jaw. "I know. That's why I'm here at twelve." He reached to pet the dog, but kept his eyes on Ish. He used his other hand to slip a note into Ish's breast pocket. "Details of our next assignment. Don't be late." He nodded towards the box, as if he knew what it contained. "Do you need help carrying that inside?"

Ish shook his head, not even reading the note before answering; "I'll be there." Anubis snaked through the gap in the door as soon as it opened, and Ish bent down to lift the box back into his arms. "Thanks, but I'm fine."

He said the words with confidence, but they both knew that was debatable.

#paras #solos