Feb 29, 2020
Uttermama puts Jekyll on a high shelf so his parents cant reach him
He is having a blast up there.
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Uttermama puts Jekyll on a high shelf so his parents cant reach him
He is having a blast up there.
@fox-guardian I made another TSC meme because reasons
I wanted to show how The Gents’ parents relationship dynamics are, and I guess this kinda sums it up. The Lanyons and the Uttersons are very much in love in a very sweet way meanwhile the Jekylls are all “haha we’re both evil and perfect for each other mwahaha”
Young Gents and their parents because hnnnnnnnnnngh I wanted to draw the Utterfam and then had to do the other two. Plus I wanted to design Jekyll's dad properly.
I added what the Gent in question would call each parent and their favorite nickname to give their son. You can thank @splatthecrystal for that hazelnut pun btw.
Meeting the Master (part 3)
Part 1 Part 2
(Trigger Warning for heavily implied abuse.)
As the week progressed, Poole paid particularly close attention to the Jekylls. Father, mother, and son were rarely seen in a room together all at once. Dinnertime seemed to be the most consistent setting for them to gather, and even then it didn’t seem guaranteed. Sometimes Mr. Jekyll would arrive home late from work and the others would already be eating, or Mrs. Jekyll would stumble in after being out with friends while the others would be finishing their desserts. Other than that, they didn’t spend much time all in the house at once. If the parents were there at all before dinnertime, Poole sure didn’t see them. He was always too busy with Henry.
Henry preferred to be out of the house, with his two friends, mostly. Poole got to know them a bit, and they didn’t seem like some awful gang of troublemakers as he’d first thought. They were well-mannered, friendly, and if anything, seemed to be good influences on his master. His master, on the other hand, seemed anything but relaxed all week. He would start the day with that strangely perfect demeanor and hold it together until he could bear it no more. By the end of the week, he’d given up holding it together almost completely. Even when he was more “himself”, Poole could tell he was still very tense and apprehensive, especially by the looks his friends gave him. They looked at him with pity and concern.
Eventually, the linear passage of time caught up to them, and the Saturday Meeting was about to start. All of the servants gathered in a circle, with Poole standing among them. At one side of the circle, Mr. and Mrs. Jekyll were stood, Mr. Jekyll holding his cane in front of him with his chin held high and Mrs. Jekyll fanning herself beside him. In the middle of the circle stood Henry, with his perfect posture, though his face was not bearing his usual smile. He looked nervous. Poole glanced around the room. This young man was surrounded on all sides by servants that all looked so terribly annoyed, tired, and almost resentful towards him, and they were all whispering to each other. No wonder he looked so intimidated.
Mr. Jekyll cleared his throat and the room fell silent immediately. He tilted his head down to face his son directly.
“Alright,” he began, “Who would like to go first?”
The room remained silent for a moment, until a maid lifted her hand, “I went in to check his room on Tuesday and he’d left some clothes on the floor.”
“He didn’t finish all of his food on Wednesday,” added a cook.
“He started playing with the bookends in your office, Sir,” chimed in another maid.
“Wait a moment-” started Poole, before Mr. Jekyll lifted his hand to silence him.
He lowered his hand slowly, “…Wait your turn, Poole. I’ll have you go at the end,” he said.
“But-” he tried again.
“I said be patient, Poole,” said Mr. Jekyll, more harshly this time. “Are you stepping out of line?”
“No, Sir. I jus-”
“Then be quiet.”
…Poole decided to be patient and to wait his turn. He merely wanted to inform him that the maid was lying. Henry never went anywhere near his father’s office all week, and if he had, Poole would’ve known. He looked at Henry. From where he stood, he could see him start to tremble.
“…I saw him pulling at grass in the backyard,” said the gardener. That was also a lie.
“He flung clean laundry about while he looked for something,” lied another maid, “I had to rewash it all."
"He stole from the pantry,” fibbed a footman.
Servant after servant, statement after statement, and Poole could count on one hand the amount of times they told the truth. Most were lying through their teeth, some of which even blaming their own ill-behaviour on Henry. Why would they all lie? Had they no integrity?
Finally, the servants ceased speaking and Mr. Jekyll smiled, gesturing for Poole to come forth.
“Now for the star of the show,” he began, allowing Poole time to step forward, “You’ve been closer to my son than anyone else in this house has been in years. You’ve seen firsthand how he behaves outside these walls,” he paused, grinning in anticipation, “Why don’t you tell us all about what he’s done, hm?”
Poole took a moment to process it. Perhaps that grin was his hoping to hear something good? He thought about the week, recalled all of Henry’s misdeeds, but also all that he’d done well. He’d start with that, since no one else would. “Well, Sir, he had excellent table manners all week. He always ate with his mouth shut, wiped his mouth accordingly, used all the right utensils-”
Mr. Jekyll’s grin fell from his face like a pitcher falling from a counter, it was sudden and startling. “Poole, do you understand your job?”
He was taken aback by this, “Of course I do, Sir.”
“And you understand which part of your job you are currently fulfilling?”
“I-Yes, Sir-”
“Do you?”
He paused, confused, “…Am I doing something wrong, Sir?”
Mr. Jekyll adjusted himself on his cane, “Tell me what you think you’re meant to be doing right now.”
“I am meant to be reporting your son’s behaviour from during this past week-”
“Misbehaviour.”
“I…beg your pardon?”
“I told you to report to me his misbehaviour. Only that.”
Poole stood there silently, confused, glancing about the room. His master caught his eye. He was trembling much more now, trying to stay still. He was staring ahead at the wall, and he looked to be sweating. Things started slowly shifting around in Poole’s mind, certain things were coming together, but he couldn’t see it all yet.
He looked back at Mr. Jekyll, whose eyes suddenly narrowed suspiciously. “…Did he tell you to say those things?”
Henry made a faint noise –sort of like a whimper, sort of like a muffled cry of protest, it was caught somewhere in between.
“No, Sir, I’m telling you the truth. Which reminds me-”
“I only want you to tell me what he’s done wrong, Poole,” he interrupted.
“But Sir-”
“That is all I ever want to hear from you at this point,” he was deeply annoyed now, rolling his eyes as he addressed Poole, “Now start telling me what I want to hear.”
Poole sighed, “He… climbed a tree with his friends.”
He perked up, more interested now, “What else?”
“He swung a branch at a tree and broke it in half. That was rather concerning.”
“What else? I don’t want you to stop talking until you’ve told me everything.”
And so… he didn’t. He kept talking, telling him everything he could think of that Henry had done wrong. Once he’d finished with what he thought was everything, his father started questioning him further.
“What about his posture? His smile? His voice? Was he articulated? Poised? Did he waver in his presentation?”
That was a tad nit-picky, he thought, “Uh, yes, Sir, he wavered a bit…”
Mr. Jekyll cocked an eyebrow, “A bit?”
“Well, he started the week holding himself high… but each day he could keep himself together less and less. By the end of the week, he had sort of… given up, I suppose.”
Mr. Jekyll turned to his son, who was now trembling terribly, tears streaming silently down his face. He looked terrified.
“Given up, you say?” Mr. Jekyll said slowly, keeping his eyes on his son.
Poole was almost afraid to confirm it, “Yes, Sir…”
“He was too weak to hold his own body correctly,” he said, his voice carrying itself with an air of scorn, “how pathetic.” He turned and walked towards a door, it was one of the rooms that Poole was forbidden from. He assumed it was a cellar of some kind. Mr. Jekyll opened the pristine door to a pitch black stairway. He turned back to his son.
“Come here, you insolent little brat,” he hissed.
Poole was shocked. He didn’t think that Mr. Jekyll, a man so popular and held in such high regard by almost everyone, would speak to his own flesh and blood in such a manner. He looked at Henry, who straightened himself up a bit, took a deep breath, and his expression changed from fear to… acceptance. A very morbid sort of acceptance. He stepped forward, still shaking, and went down the stairs, his father following close behind. A servant approached and locked the door behind them. Poole stood staring as everyone, even Mrs. Jekyll, all dispersed without a care in the world. He approached a maid, tapping on her shoulder.
“What was all that? What’s going on here?” he asked, distraught.
She sighed, “You’re new, I get it. It was kind of shocking when I first came here too.”
That helped nothing.
“What do you mean?” He was starting to become frantic.
She sighed again, more annoyed this time, “He gathers us here every Saturday to tell him how his son misbehaved. He won’t let up until everyone has said something about him.”
“Is that why you all lied?” he said accusingly.
She shrugged, “Doesn’t matter if it’s true of not, he doesn’t care. He just wants to know all the bad stuff.”
“But why? What good does that do?"
Her face suddenly became dead to him, apathetic, uncaring, "Because once he’s knows all the bad stuff, he can beat it out of him.”
Poole’s eyes widened in horror. He turned back to the cellar door, he started to charge at it.
The maid held him back.
“What are you doing?! You’ve done enough already!”
“I’m going to- Wait, what do mean I’ve done enough?”
“That little stunt you pulled? Trying to tell him nice things? No one will ever convince him that boy didn’t put you up to it to try and make him take it easy on him.”
“But that’s not true!” He turned back to the door, “I’ll tell him, I can convince him-”
“You’re a fool if you think you could make anything easier on that child. The best thing you could do for him is to do exactly as you’re told.”
Poole stared at the door, “But he’s hardly done anything wrong…”
She shrugged, “Doesn’t matter. This isn’t just him being punished, y'know. His father’s job tends to get him pretty riled up during the week. This helps him to sort of blow off steam.”
He kept staring at that door, filling with rage for that man and worry for that boy…
“Just let it happen,” she said, turning away, “He’ll thank you for it later.”
…
Poole was sitting in his bedroom, his face in his hands. Everything was making sense now. Henry had been trying to shape himself to his parents’ standards whenever he went out, and the pressure built up until he could no longer endure it during the day, hence why he broke down. He didn’t want to stay in the house so his other servants would have less to report, so he spent all of his time with his friends. Everything his parents and all the servants said, it was all because they were only allowed to see the worst of him. It was all they were required to look at, so they didn’t care about the rest. They weren’t supposed to. It all made sense, it all made some sickening, twisted sense.
That boy wasn’t some menace, he was just a boy. Just a young man that wanted as much freedom as a young man should have. His parents were suffocating him and worse, whatever was being done to him in that cellar. His father had set everything up just like that, putting an entire household against his own son to punish him, and for what? To cope with his own job? It had taken everything in Poole’s body, mind, and soul to not burst through that cellar door to see just what was being done to that boy, and to lift him up and carry him far away from it all. His stomach turned with worry as his brain tried to fill in all the gaps.
He heard footsteps. One set was mostly steady, though one foot seemed to fall more heavily than the other, as if the person was limping. The other set seemed to also be limping, but with an extra limb, a cane. Poole stood up quietly, and pressed his ear to the door. He could hear faint whimpering and sniffling, and Mr. Jekyll speaking quietly.
“…I hope this has helped you learn your lesson, boy…” He paused, “You speak when you’re spoken to.”
The response was meek, and uttered between quiet sobs, “….Yes, Father…”
“You won’t lie to me again.” It wasn’t a question, or even a request. It was a statement, a command.
“…No, Father…” came the tiny reply.
“Good. Now…” Poole could hear him take a step closer, "What do we say?“
Poole listened very closely.
”…I love you, Father.“
"Good boy.”
The three-limbed footsteps went back the way they’d come. Poole wanted to scream. He wanted to strangle that man. But most of all, he wanted to check on that boy. But he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. Not to mention the chance that any other servants that may hear him. He’d need a proper plan before he did anything bold.
…
The next morning, he brought his master breakfast as usual. He watched carefully as he ate it. He couldn’t see any bruises or other marks peeking from under his master’s night shirt, but he could tell by the shaky way he lifted his utensils that we was at best very sore. Poole contained himself.
Later on, they went out as usual, but Poole made a request this time. “Sir, may we stop in the park for a bit?”
“What?” asked his master, turning to him, “What for?”
“I would just… like to speak to you, somewhere private.”
He looked at him suspiciously, “…Why? About what?”
Poole sighed, “Yesterday.”
Henry tensed up, “W-We don’t need to talk about tha-"
“Master Henry,” he interrupted, “please…”
He looked away, “…There’s nothing to talk about. That’s just the way things are.”
Poole looked at him, he didn’t want to cause a scene out in public. “Please, Master Henry. I only wish to speak with you.”
He hesitated, “…Fine. But make it quick.”
He smiled, “Of course, Sir.”
And so they went to the park, and Poole led him off of the beaten path, into that little patch of forest that those three young gentlemen had played around in just a week ago.
He began slowly, trying to ease into it as best as he could given the urgency of the subject, “Master Henry, I had no idea that my reports would lead to… whatever it is your father did to you yesterday evening.”
Henry looked away shamefully, “It doesn’t matter. It’s basically the same every week. There’s no good weeks, only bad and terrible.”
Poole looked at him sadly. Such a bright young man, a doctor, he was a doctor! With two law degrees! He was brilliant! And he wasn’t nearly as awful as his family insisted. He didn’t deserve what he was getting, he didn’t deserve to feel so hopeless. “Is there anything I could do to help? You know them better than I do.”
He didn’t look up, “You can do nothing. It’ll only make things worse if you try to help me.”
Poole sighed in frustration, “Perhaps I can talk to him, help him see how wonderful you are-”
“NO!!” Henry suddenly cried out, “Don’t try to talk to him! He’ll punish me for ‘manipulating you’!”
Poole clenched his fists by his sides, “Then maybe I’ll have to be more aggressive-”
“NO!! You aren’t helping!!”
“Surely there’s something I can-”
“You can stop caring. It isn’t worth it.”
“If it means you won’t get hurt, it’ll be worth everything that it takes.”
“But I will get punished no matter what. If I do poorly, he punishes me. If I do well, he would never tell me, and it doesn’t make things any easier. It’s useless. Trust me.”
They stayed silent for a moment.
“…Wait,” Henry started, “Did you say that I was… 'wonderful’?”
Poole looked at him, surprised, “Of course. You’re incredibly bright. Once you leave that awful place, I’m sure you’ll have a bright future.”
Henry’s face fell, “They won’t let me leave. I would have if I could have… years ago. They won’t give me the money to leave. I don’t get anything more than pocket money until they die and then I inherit everything…”
Poole approached him, and gently rested a hand on his shoulder. Henry looked up at him.
“You deserve so much more than what you’ve been given,” he said, “I wish with all of my heart that I could take all of this away. I wish that I could give you a fresh start, a new life, and wipe away whatever pain you’ve endured from this terrible treatment.”
Henry’s face shifted from furrowed brow and annoyed scowl to misty eyes and a mouth that hung open in shock. “…Y…You don’t mean all that…” he said, his voice breaking.
“Of course I do,” Poole insisted, “It pains me to hear you doubt me in that way…” He placed his free hand on Henry’s other shoulder, staring deep into his eyes, almost as if trying to telepathically show him how deeply he truly cared. “I would do anything to bring you any sort of relief from this.”
A tear fell from his master’s eye. “You’d lose your job… and if you really mean what you say… then I’d have lost the only person in that entire house that cared about me.”
Poole’s heart wrenched as his master spoke. He thought for a moment. “…The other servants lie about what you’ve done. Why don’t I do the same?”
Henry looked at him in confusion, wiping tears from his eyes with his sleeve, “W-What do you mean? You can’t lessen my punishments any.”
“I know,” he replied, “but if it doesn’t matter whether what I say is true or not, then why must you hold yourself so carefully if I could lie about it anyway? If your father wants to hear about your worst behaviour, then I’ll tell him what he wants to hear. You won’t have to put up a facade in front of me.”
Henry hesitated, and then smiled at him, a real, genuine smile.
“Of course, you still need to mind your manners and be kind,” Poole clarified, “but the nit-picky bits are just…bleh.”
Henry laughed, a real, genuine laugh.
Poole smiled back at him, “You can be yourself outside the house. You can be yourself around me.”
Henry started to cry happily. Poole smiled even wider as he pulled him in for a tight hug. Henry grunted in pain.
Poole pulled back immediately, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Henry stared at him for a moment, and then wrapped his arms around him, “A little bit… but it’s alright.”
Poole hugged him back, more gently this time, and felt his master hug him as though he’d never get the chance to do it again.
…
The day went on. Henry wiped his tears and went to spend time with his friends as usual, only this time, he seemed more free. His friends definitely seemed to recognize him for once. He seemed happy, truly happy. And it warmed Poole’s heart to see. That day, he decided that this young man was his top priority. He would do everything in his power to make him feel happy and loved as often as possible. He’d make that boy feel loved if it killed him.
((Ok wow this one took two days. Also I hate doing so much dialogue, I hope it turned out well. Hope y’all enjoyed this one.))
Meeting the Master
Poole was currently sitting in a luxurious carriage, on his way to a new job. According to the description, he was to be a personal, live-in manservant to the son of his employer. He would take orders from the son, tend to his needs, and protect him from any harm that may come to him. The second part of the description was for him to not only tend to the boy's daily needs, but to also be by his side at all hours of the day -- even chaperoning him on any outings -- and report his behaviour from the week to his father during meetings that were to be held on Saturdays. The description warned that his new master was defiant, disobediant, rebellious, unruly, and several other descriptors that were mostly synonyms of each other.
Despite this, he saw nothing he couldn't handle. At least not yet. He would have to meet the little rascal in order to see for sure. He imagined his service was being given as a sort of gift to the boy, perhaps it was his birthday. He knew the family was very wealthy, so he figured it wouldn't be unlikely for them to allow their child his own servant for his birthday. He just hoped his new master's daily demands wouldn't be too ridiculous. After all, the upper class can be very spoiled, especially when they're young.
Henry got his impressive stature and looks from is mother? Oh, I'm digging this. And them being all cold and detached is fanon that I cannot love more.
Here’s a little face comparison for your viewing pleasure uwu
As you can see, he inherited his father’s ~°•eyebrows•°~
And here’s their little family dynamic aLSO for your viewing pleasure uwuwuwuwu
I didn’t mean to draw Henry’s smile.... Like That but yeah whoops. also I almost called him “Jekyll” but then I remembered that they’re all Jekyll what-
"You want to meet... my parents?" Asked Jekyll, turning to face his friends.
The three young gentlemen were gathered in Jekyll's dorm room, sitting on the floor in a clear spot amongst scattered clothes and papers. Lanyon and Utterson glanced at each other before turning back to face him. Lanyon sort of shrugged, "Yeah, why not? I've heard they're lovely people."
Jekyll stayed mostly still, only his eyes shifting and his mouth speaking, "Well, yes, sure, but... why? Why do you want to meet them?"
"They must be wonderful people if they've raised a young man like you," said Utterson, smiling.
Jekyll softened up for a moment, taking the compliment, before stiffening up again, "Y-You don't need to meet them though, it would be so boring-"
"And so what if it is?" asked Lanyon, his voice starting to boom as it often did, "We just want to meet them! Our parents have all met them at least once, and we only know of them, why don't we pay them a visit? I'm sure they'd love to meet their son's new friends!"
"Of course," Utterson chimed in, "I'm sure you've told them about us," he looked at Jekyll, half-expectantly, Jekyll looking a tad guilty, "...haven't you?"
Jekyll sputtered a bit, "Well uh, I... Th-They don't really check up on me very often, an-an-and I'm... not really the type to send letters as often as you do."
"Well, of course not," he replied, "I know you're probably too busy to tell them everything, but... you haven't told them you made friends here?"
Lanyon put on a sad face, "Are we not that important to you?" he inhaled dramatically, an exaggerated expression of hurt on his face, "ARE WE NOTHING TO YOU?!" He then held his wrist over his forehead and fell over, wailing, prompting the others to laugh.
Jekyll slowly composed himself, as if he didn't want to come back to the subject, "... I suppose you could meet them... If you really wanted to."
Lanyon sat back up immediately, lifting his arms in triumph, "YAYYY!! We're going to Henry's house!"