the gravedigger

[misterhartley]

harlandbell​:

.

“Alright well, make yourself comfortable,” Harland gestured to the drawing room with a hand “I’ll be with you in one moment.” 

Not waiting for a reply, Harland disappeared deeper into his home, and after a moment John would be able to hear him speaking to someone - a young lady from the sound of it, and likely a servant of some sort. Although too muffled to make out, Harland was checking when supper would be ready and if there would be enough for him and his impromptu guest. Once settled he returned to John with a smile and all but collapsed into an arm chair. It was odd for Harland to be so informal, but he didn’t feel the need to impress John, it was one of the things he liked about him. 

“What a week, hm?”

.

John made himself comfortable. He allowed himself to sink into one of the soft chairs in Harland's drawing room. Closing his eyes, he listened to the panting and plodding of his beloved dog, and the soft sounds of the house around them.

He'd keep his eyes closed until his friend returned. In this moment, John was the master of the house - he could have fallen asleep in that chair, his dog at his feet...

Harland settled into the chair beside him, and John opened one eye to look at him. He smiled back at his friend - giving him an almost playful look - that was a rare one, for John. The way that the doctor went slack in his chair as soon as no one was watching him was amusing.

"What a week." John repeated, hanging his arm over the side of the chair. He looked and Harland, and then turned his head to stare up at the ceiling.

There was a pause.

"The killer sent me a letter, Doctor." He said, plainly, and low enough that only the two of them could hear.

[misterhartley]

daphneseong​:

.

“Mr. Hartley.” She starts, a little ruffled by his sudden and quite honestly unnerving presence. She avoids his eyes, although it was a bit hard when he was the only other person in the room. It took her a moment to process his outstretched hand, almost missing the dirt beneath his fingernails. With all the respect that she could muster up for him, Daphne chooses not to say anything. 

Something about seeing him in her office felt off. Like finding a lost object in the most unlikely of places. Daphne was not familiar with the sight of John in her office. She didn’t say anything about how outlandish he seemed to be acting either, since that was pretty much what you were gonna get with John. There was no point in commenting on it. That would probably just make things even more uncomfortable.

She nodded at him, “No worries. I uh-I was able to set aside time for this so.” She was nothing if not organized. “What would you um, like to discuss.” She assumed it was just another case of him awkwardly trying to sell her something and her just going with it because. Well, because she couldn’t find it in herself to say no.

“There’s tea too, if you’d like to sit…” She gestured to the seat beside him. 

.

"Th-thank you." John says, realizing a little too late that he's repeating himself again. He sat anyway, and laid the bag across the table.

For a moment he forgets about the contents of the bag, distracted by the offer of tea and biscuits. Something behind John's eyes shines. It isn't often that he's treated by someone else, to this sort of nicety. He helps himself to the tea, and the sugar, and begins explaining the purpose of his visit. Though, Daphne could likely guess. He'd never visited her for anything else before.

"I have more to sell. If you're interested - for your collection." The bag is opened, and he slides it over to the curator, so that she can have a look for herself. “Here.” The volume here is somewhat larger than his typical haul, oddly enough.

John seems to have calmed himself a smidge, but the little teacup rattles in his shaky hand nonetheless, as he stares across the table at Daphne, expectantly.

[misterhartley]

theundertakcr​:

JONATHAN HARTLEY IS an interesting fellow in that Rahat believes they’ve never met anyone more suspicious. Oh, certainly, the man seems nice enough, and he hasn’t exactly done anything yet to prove otherwise, not to Rahat personally, but since their first meeting, he’s always had a very particular, unmistakable air about him: a little jittery, a bit too cautious, eyes wide and watery, always flicking to and fro, as though worried someone’s been tailing him. Rahat wouldn’t say they’re friends, not necessarily, but there’s calm camaraderie on their part, owing to the fact that the two of them, along with the good doctor, all work very closely with one another, and enough familiarity to earn light jests here and there. John’s always been restless around them, though, which has given them cause to be a little more observant and alert around him.

All the same, Rahat regards him with a brief smile and a nod, glad for the company as they head out after a long, grueling day at work in the mortuary. They’ve only just finished, and they can’t wait to be home, but even then, there’s Polly to take care of before any real rest is afforded them.  

“You don’t seem very glad, John,” comes Rahat’s all-too-easy reply, tone light and perhaps even teasing on a good day, though it’s clear from the tired look in their eyes that today — or any of the days prior, in fact — has been anything but. “I’d say you’re looking a bit worried, in fact. Has the Ripper sent you a letter too?” It’s a joke, of course, one they’re hoping the gravedigger would understand whether or not he’s had cause to receive one as well, considering those letters have been nothing if not the talk of the town of late. At least beyond the usual death and murder, of course.

.

John was skittish, and all too quick to suspect that the undertaker knew more than they were letting on. It didn’t help that Rahat had that - thing - about them. They always seemed to know more than they let on. Always so calm and collected - gliding above it all, they were... graceful. John both admired them - and resented them for it, in some way. A distant, simmering bitterness, despite their familiarity - John was jealous. His nostrils flared. I could never be like that. Why? John wondered, Why can’t I? 

What he’d give to possess that kind of assuredness, that kind of serenity. Even for a day. Just to know how it felt.

So, the joke went over his head. It was John’s own agitation that was his downfall. And - well, he had received a letter from the Ripper. Those words still played nastily upon his mind, even as the day went on, even as Bill assured him that all would be well. That this would be taken care of. John worried that this was only the beginning. He received Rahat’s jest, well-intentioned as it was, like a jab to the ribs.

He stared at them. Eyes flickered across their expression, searchingly. If he was an animal, perhaps the fur along his back would be bristling up, defensively. 

“No.” John said, a bit sharper than before. There was no way he could tell Rahat about the letter. Obviously. That would complicated things immensely for him. “No - I haven’t. Have you? Undertaker?” 

He would continue walking with them, though. In this moment, he seemed a little intense. Though, John was always a little intense. It was, perhaps, hard to tell with him.

[mvsquerade]

closed to : @misterhartley location : bill’s (secret) office time : afternoon, first week of october

Zoya has half a mind to accuse Bill of penning her letter, but knowing that the Ripper’s sent them all over London, she doubts Bill would waste his time on writing all of those. Still, she needs to show it to him—he’s made it clear that her business is often his business. What he’ll actually do about it is still beyond her, but she supposes it’ll be more than the police and their wild goose chase. 

When she lets herself into Bill’s secret office, it’s John she finds instead of her favorite politician. No matter. She can wait, and John’s not awful company. Bill doesn’t seem to think so, anyway—how curious, that John’s the one he likes.

( In fairness, Zoya doesn’t exactly try to be nice. )

“Want a drink?” she asks, helping herself to a bottle of scotch from a cabinet. “Let me guess, Jack sent you something too. Suppose you can’t go to the coppers, either.” 

[misterhartley]

John had been left alone here, long enough that he’d forgotten himself - becoming lost in his own thoughts. While he drifted, it was Zoya’s sudden appearance that shocked him to alertness. She almost startled him. Though he suppressed his shock, mostly - John would have been embarrassed if she knew she’d managed to give him a scare like that.

Hunching forward in his chair and folding his hands together, John regarded her with tired eyes. It seemed to take him a moment to process what she was saying to her. John nodded slowly.

“Yes, I - you too?” He didn’t know much more about her than anyone did - but he did know she, like him, must have a secret. Enough of a secret to keep her in Bill’s employ. "Are you... okay?” John said, quietly. He didn’t know what else to say, but the concern in his voice was real.

“Please.” John finally said, to the scotch. He was never one to pass up a drink. Especially not at a time like this.

[misterhartley]

harlandbell​:

.

Harland liked John because he saw potential in the other man, even though he was sure not everyone would agree with him on that. He also just enjoyed John’s company, there was something agreeable about him. Even if he was odd, and today he seemed even odder than usual — something must have been bothering him. 

“Well, here we are” he broke the silence when they made it to his front door. The house was more than large enough for an old bachelor like Harland, but was fitting somehow. He soon had the door open and walked in, taking his coat off as soon as he was sure the door wouldn’t close on John if he let go of it. “You can put your coat on the hook here, if you like.” 

He hadn’t really considered if Rosie would be coming inside or not. The invitation had been rather spur of the moment and so nothing was really prepared at all for John’s visit, let alone for the dog. He’d have to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t get into anything she shouldn’t.

.

John slipped off his jacket and hung it beside Harland's. He rolled his shoulders, taking the chance to stretch out his sore muscles. Having stopped for a moment, John could suddenly feel how tired he was.

"Thank you." He suppressed a sigh. Rosie was let inside without much thought from the gravedigger - he let her have the run of his place - unless Harland said something to stop her. The hound paced about the house, claws clicking against the wood of his floor. She sniffed her new surroundings with some excitement.

It was nicer than anything John could afford. He'd been here a few times before, but each time he took a moment to look over the doctor's comfortable living space. His eye twitched with subtle jealousy.

“Thank you,” repeated John. For having me, he meant. This is nice. He looked to the doctor tiredly. He could tell something was bothering Harland too. Surely the events of the past few nights were weighing on them both.

[misterhartley]

billxbarker​:

This wasn’t just a bit of a scandal. This was an absolute, monumental, motherfucking disaster. The kind of incident that could completely sink a man’s whole career, and it just so happened that it was Bill in the firing line. They had worked too long and too hard for all of this, and yet, they found themselves caught in the middle of it anyway, trying to catch a killer who seemed to be able to disappear into thin air. 

And then, the letters. He hadn’t seem that particular twist in the tale, but there it was, in horrible red ink. The fiend was just torturing him now. Bill had done some terrible things in his time - but this was beyond even him. 

The sound of footsteps had Bill tensing up, and he rose to his feet, resolving to take his anger out on whoever had decided to cross his path. That was, until a familiar voice reached his ears. 

“John,” he sighed. “It’s just you,” he jerked his head, inviting him to sit down. 

“What do you have for me?” 

.

John stared at Bill with that familiar, wide-eyed expression of his. He opened his mouth, trying to speak - but for a moment, nothing came out. As if he had to catch his breath.

He was relieved to see him. He was. John let his shoulders relax somewhat, feeling safer now that the two of them were together.

John took the paper out from under his arm and tossed it onto the table in front of Bill - so that it opened up. Between its pages sat John's letter, the one he'd received from the ripper. John nodded anxiously and sat down. He'd let Bill read the letter.

The gravedigger rubbed his hand along the stubble of his chin. Bill looked about ready to blow a fuse, and John didn't blame him.

John, himself, was scared. This situation was bigger than him, and they needed a plan. But the implication that the murder knew what he'd been up to - it terrified him. He rested his forehead in the palm of his hand.

Please, tell me what to do, He wanted to say.

[daphneseong]

open to : @misterhartley

location : daphne’s office

time : sometime in the week

Sometimes, Daphne wondered how she ever thought considering John Hartley to be a business partner was a good idea. She figured it was much too late for that now though. They’d built up quite the dependency, he gives her an item she’ll never let see the light of day and she manages to support him by overpaying. Every single time. And she doesn’t even know why. Daphne didn’t like John Hartley. In fact she considered him to be someone to avoid as much as possible. Yet she couldn’t help herself, politely shaking his hand, smiling even. It didn’t mean anything but she hoped he couldn’t tell how her hands shook in doing so. How she couldn’t even meet his eyes for longer than a second. Daphne didn’t like John Hartley, but she didn’t have it in her to tell him off. 

She wasn’t a nice woman, she was fair and that was that. So maybe that was why she didn’t question Mr. Hartley much when he brought such…special items to her. She knew he probably didn’t know any collectors or whatever, and maybe he did ! Maybe he wasn’t lying and the jittering mess that he was around her was just who he was. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have a growing collection of stolen items. But she would give him the benefit of the doubt. Considering she wasn’t exactly a saint herself. She would give him the benefit of the doubt. And her money, because she knew he needed it.

She wasn’t nice. But she was fair.

And a fair woman like her accepted his inquiries. When he reached out to meet at her office, she wasn’t exactly jumping for joy. Not when she had been so out of it for the past week now. She accepted the arrangement still, already with some tea and biscuits. Mostly for herself, considering she hadn’t eaten much that day. She knew she was going to need it.

[misterhartley]

"Ms. Seong." And so, there was the gravedigger, standing in Daphne's office, reaching over her desk for a handshake. There was dirt under his nails. His outstretched hand jittered. He looked like he often did - a tired, underfed, sad man. A bit wild behind the eyes. Wild - more than usual, the curator could likely surmise, if she met his gaze for more than a moment.

John was looking right at her. He was trying to ignore the gaze of all of those precious artifacts she kept around her office - he couldn't help but feel like they were... staring at him. Even when he wasn't looking, he could feel it. Something... staring. And angry. Burning holes into the back of his head.

If Daphne wasn't here he might have reacted. But under the gaze of Ms. Seong, John tried very, very hard to look as normal as possible.

John felt like she was too smart for him. He kept up the dance, but some part of him could feel her staring right through him. But she continued associating with him - why? The pressure to behave for her made him unbelievably tense whenever they crossed paths.

Which was quite regularly, it seemed. Poor curator.

"Thank you for seeing me on... such short notice. I'm sure you're, ah, busy." Daphne didn't look too happy to see him, John thought. Not that she was ever *really* thrilled... she was certainly hard to get a read on.

He rolled his shoulder, hand still outstretched. John had an old doctor’s bag in his other hand, and it looked heavy.

[misterhartley]

open to: @harlandbell​

location: otw to harland's house :)

time: late evening

On a night like this, John was glad to have a friend.

If you asked him why Dr. Bell liked him so much, he couldn't tell you. He was glad that he'd invited him to stay for dinner (and maybe something to drink, to calm the nerves). John didn't want to be alone. He'd spent the entire day looking over his shoulder, the feeling of someone... watching him - it was driving him wild. But he found a little peace in Harland's company.

While they hadn't discussed the matters of the previous night very much yet, John could tell that the other man was suffering with something, too.

The two walked in silence for a long time. John, following him home like a lost dog.

Of course, Rosie was there, too, trotting astride the doctor. She peered up at him with interest as the trio moved through the night.

[misterhartley]

open to: @theundertakcr​

location: just outside of the mortuary

time: evening

You could feel it in the street, the city was gripped by fear. This was worse than anyone could have imagined.

John, himself, was wracked by it. The letter he'd received was causing him his own, personal terror. Very few could know what was written in that letter. Everywhere he went, the gravedigger gave watch, unable to rest his bloodshot eyes, always alert, in fear of someone... following him, watching him, when his back was turned...

Another thing, when there was a murder, was that the grim work of taking care of the body, trickled down to him and his... "colleagues". Most citizens at least had the pleasure of turning their eyes away. It would be John who was digging the poor victim's grave, in the end.

Pertinently, John's restless wandering sent him smack into the path of the undertaker. Rahat seemed to just now be leaving the mortuary, after a long day of work, no doubt.

"Rahat," He came up to their side, looking a bit wild. "I'm glad to see you."

[misterhartley]

open to: @billxbarker​

location: bill's (secret) office

time: morning

Just like that, the city was turned on its head.

Another murder, and the killer now had a name. This mystery just revealed another dimension, and it was proving to be worse than anyone first imagined. Not to mention that letter - not only the one sent to the police - but the one addressed directly to him. John held a copy of the paper tight to his side, his letter folded snugly within it's pages.

He was booking it down a familiar path. Towards and old warehouse, one nobody would think to check. Though, John took great care to watch for anyone following him, watching him... the man prickled visibly with fear and paranoia.

John let himself in. If he knew Bill, under these circumstances, he'd be expected. If his boss wasn't here yet, John would resolve to wait for him. He didn't know what else to do.

"Mr. Barker?" He called out, pale and uneasy.

[misterhartley]

harlandbell​:

Harland frowned a little when John shook him off, but said nothing, only putting his hands into his pockets. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that John didn’t like to be touched, but the that particular fact always seemed to be forgotten until it was too late.  At the appearance of the dog, Harland’s frown disappeared and he smiled down at her as she sniffed at him. If he wasn’t so busy, he thought it might be nice to get a dog of his own, but as things were now, it just seemed like more work to him. Perhaps if he ever retired…  “On her terms?” Harland laughed at the idea “and here I thought you had her trained! She comes when you call, doesn’t she? Who’s to say you couldn’t convince her to put her nose to good work?”

.

"Only if she wants to," Mumbled the gravedigger, with hidden pride. She usually did - that was his girl. His face betrayed some reluctance at the idea, though. As selfish as it was, he didn't want his dog getting involved with the murder. What if she got hurt? "The police have dogs, don't they?"

Rose looked up at Harland with round eyes. her snout against his legs. She seemed to be expecting a treat.

John took a step closer to the other man. He lowered his head,  speaking with some secrecy now.

"I'm afraid to say, but I feel like this whole search is hopeless. What do you think, Doctor?" John looked him in the eye.

[misterhartley]

Mr. Hartley,

  You and I both know how easy it is to get away with anything under the cover of darkness. I’ve even been getting away with murder. Ha ha ha. 

  The problem is, Mr Hartley, I have been getting rather bored. My knife is so sharp and so lonely, and I’m not sure I can stand waiting much longer before my next little adventure. 

  The police are never around when I am at work. Is it the same for you? Perhaps we can trade tips. It would be beneficial for both of us. 

  Yours, 

  Jack The Ripper

[misterhartley]

billxbarker​:

starter for: @misterhartley​ location: The Britannia time: 3am, Sunday September 30th

Bill needed a drink. 

The night had been long and the search, so far, had proven useless. After so long tramping through Whitechapel in the cold and the dark, and turning up nothing, many had decided to return to their homes and their beds. He couldn’t blame them. If he wasn’t bound by his career choice, he’d have joined them. Unfortunately, he was bound by politics to remain for as long as the inspector kept up the man hunt, and so there was little he could do. 

He was certain, though, that nobody would begrudge him a quick drink,  ten minute respite to forget everything that was going on. 

Luckily, The Britannia was open. Upon entering, Bill managed to get to the bar, order a pint and a tumbler of whiskey, and have both in his hands in record time. He took a sip of his whiskey (it was uncouth to drink it fast, so he had been told), and cast his eyes around the bar, until they came to rest on a familiar face. 

“Mister Hartley,” he spoke pleasantly, picking up his drinks and moving to where The Gravedigger stood, acting as though it was a perfectly ordinary accidental meeting, and not like there was a hunt for a killer going on outside. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” 

.

John gave the man in front of him a long stare.

It had been fruitless night. Rather than finding his way home, the gravedigger found himself looking for oblivion in his corner of the Britannia. Usually, he’d go on uninterrupted. Tonight, however...

"Of course," He flashed him a nervous smile, "Sir." He wasn't one to turn down a drink - especially from someone like Mr. Barker. Despite being somewhat drunk already, he straightened up in his presence, conscious of how he looked. He felt the need to impress him, however pitiful he looked right now.

“Thank you.” He added, “Any, ah... luck, out there?” John knitted his eyebrows together - he felt like he already knew the answer.

[misterhartley]

harlandbell​:

“You always look like you’re up to something” he said with a smile, still teasing his friend. Harland gave John a gentle pat on the shoulder once he was close enough to do so. It was partially a friendly gesture, and partially an attempt at steadying the man who was quite clearly drunk. “Where’s your little friend?” he looked around for Rosie, the little dog who was often at John’s heels “Do you think her nose is good enough to sniff out a murderer?”

 .

“Yes, well...” John flashed him an uncomfortable half-smile, without finishing the thought.

He seized up while Harland touched his shoulder. It was a nice gesture - and he could use the steadying hand. He was quite drunk, the doctor could surely tell. But it only took a few moments before he shook himself free of the other man’s hand.

“She’s around somewhere.” John looked contemplative, and then gave a weak little whistle. Like magic, the dog appeared at his side - John reached down and gave her a pat on the flank.

“Maybe. She doesn’t follow commands, Dr. Bell. You know what I mean? It’d... ah, have to be on her terms.” The gravedigger slurred fondly, as his mutt came over and sniffed Harland’s shoes.

[misterhartley]

harlandbell​:

starter for: @misterhartley​ location: near The Brittania time: at some point in the night

Harland had wandered whither his feet wanted to take him, and so, after some walking, he found himself just down the street from the Brittania. Had the circumstances of the night been different, he might have stopped in for a drink or two, but as it was he felt it was best to stay sober. He doubted very much that he was in any danger from a murderer who seemed to target women, but still there was always a chance and it was best to have all his senses about him. Over the course of the night he’d already bumped into a few people, some familiar faces and others less so, and the encounters had all livened up an otherwise uninteresting walk about in the dark. However, he wasn’t sure if he was pleased or concerned when he saw John the gravedigger ambling down the street in his direction. “Mister Hartley, you aren’t up to anything, are you?” he was mostly teasing.

.

The street blurred as John stumbled ahead. He had to focus in order to recall where he was - why he’d left the warm and light and promise of drink in the Brittania. Everyone was out, and the news of the murder bled back into his murky mind. He didn't really want to think of it. He didn't want to see the body - or find the killer, for that matter. The thought of it disoriented him wildly. More than anything he wished to go unnoticed, what with everyone searching for a killer. He didn’t look like a killer... did he? He ambled on, without direction...

Hearing his name, John went alert. It took the drunken gravedigger a few moments to properly register the face of the man in front of him. Dr. Bell.

“Do I look like I’m... up to something, Doctor?” John wobbled where he stood, giving the man a despondent look.

[seancerpg]

THE GRAVE DIGGER

Name: Jonathan Hartley Age: 48 Pronouns: he / him FC: Adrien Brody

BIOGRAPHY

tw- poverty

For as long as his memory serves him, there’s never been a day of untainted happiness for him. Life is hard, his upbringing harder. He’s never had anything to his name, and so he took to whatever work he could find to keep himself afloat. But when you have nothing, you have nothing to lose, and so, he turned to ever more immoral ways of making money. He stumbled upon his current job, digging graves for the dead to be laid to rest, quite by mistake, but he likes the quiet of it, the rhythmic work almost therapeutic. It was a shame, though. So many seemed to be buried with their most valuable of possessions, and committing such items to the ground for all eternity seemed a waste. It wasn’t long before he begun stealing into the coffin, stripping them of anything of value. He knows most would be horrified, but in his mind, it’s easily justified. What good is riches to the dead, while the living who remain suffer? He can afford small luxuries now, for the first time in his life, and that isn’t something he is willing to let go of. 

THE GHOST

It serves him right to be haunted - serves him more than right to be driven to the brink of insanity with the things he’s doing. It is angry, red eyes burning like inferno as it watches the digger, pale lips curled up in a sinister growl - and it watches with delight as the man’s gaze flutters with apprehension around him before his shovel hits dirt. It is determined to make him pay for his crimes, but the stench of fear that radiates off him soothes it - and in it’s greed to feed off it, it forgets to terrorise the man in front of it. Tomorrow, it says. Tomorrow when the fear dulls down, true terror will begin.

CONNECTIONS

THE DOCTOR: The Doctor is everything The Grave Digger could be, if only he had the chance. That alone makes him a target of fascination, and he seeks him out for even the smallest of ailments, if only to draw him into conversation. But he can see pity in the other man’s eyes when he looks at him, and that makes him so very angry. Perhaps they could be friends, if The Digger could ever get over his rage. 

THE CURATOR: They’re well known for their love of the rare and the curious, and so whenever he finds anything unusual, she is his first port of call. She asks far too many questions, but always accepts what he has to offer in the end, and pays well for it too. He’s not certain she believes his explanation for how he came to possess such trinkets, but their little arrangement has continued nonetheless, and so he tries not to dwell on it. 

THE UNDERTAKER: They both help the deceased reach their final journey, but he’s kept out of their way for most of their professional relationship. That is, until recently. It’s useful to know which coffins contain the most loot, and nobody knows this better than The Undertaker. They’re annoyingly tight-lipped, though, and trying to win their friendship has thus far been fruitless. Still, he perseveres, knowing it will be worth the time he’s investing. 

THE ASSASSIN: He knows exactly what she is and what she’s up to and watching her trying to discern what he’s seen is entertaining for him. He isn’t innocent either, but he isn’t sure that she knows that. He’s trying to figure out how to get the most out of her, but for now, he’ll content himself with watching her squirm. 

THE GRAVE DIGGER IS TAKEN BY IZZY

[theundergroundwoman]

the ghosts of the abandoned st. george’s church in luková, czech republic