Jacob Frye X Male Reader. Artistic Difference.

Viewpoint vantage

You didn't know when it started. When that hooded stranger started running along the rooftops of the London city streets. Never the less, that man would run like the world was chasing after him, a hood that concealing his most prized secret. Circling Whitechapel for any unfriendly faces to peak from their burrows and nooks. Your small bedroom was no less than a few meters from the highest point in the area. The man seemed to favour this spot the most, as he looked upon London with the playful demeanour of childish intent. You didn't know when you started watching him. Noticing him. You especially didn't notice when you started feeling anxious when he missed your spot for a night. One would give up on the mystery, but the curious soul never rests.

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A brute of a boss you had with the name to fit. Mr Craddy. A master at his craft but he lacked the creative volume to draw costumers to his small furniture shop on the outskirts Whitechapel. "Boy have you gotten those standouts on presentation?!" He'd yell every morning as you moved the best of his creations to the outside of the store. Today, a couch made of cheap but well-incorporated fabrics and a table that screamed sturdy and strong. You operated the front desk and handled all the sales. You are logical to the point where it bores you. Mathematical equations are child's play, especially financially. There's always been an affinity for a creative change in your line of work. However, the likelihood of the store miraculously being in your ownership or Mr Craddy dropping dead and leaving you in his will was very unlikely.

The newsboy ran around the block, throwing his papers on the wet ground. Only caring to meet his quota on time. You caught it before it his the cold drizzled stone to see him on the front. The hooded man. 'Mysterious twins take over Train station! Who are they and what will become of London!?' The font was bold and cover sported pictures of these twins in the centre. It was oddly focused on their indescribably faces as if someone could identify them and turn them in with this 'evidence'. You could see their costumes quite clearly, though. You pulled at the scrap design and receipt paper eyeing the model of the truly unique clothes.

By the end of the day, no costumers had entered or left the building. The boss had grumbled at his misfortune, and you had a few well-drawn sketches of the mysterious duo. Packing the pages in your bag, you began to lock up the store. "Going home?"Mr Craddy asked, grabbing his own items "you'd best not go alone. Have you heard the gangs are riled up around here."

"It's not that bad. Lambeth has suffered greatly in comparison." You brushed off, locking the front door. "I'll be fine, old man. I'm gonna grab a meal down the pub, and I'll see you tomorrow bright and early."

Craddy grabbed the seams of your shirt "I'm serious laddy. These Rooks have run amok and instigated a riot among the blights. The last thing I want is to lose my only employee for a fight that ain't his." You take it back. Your boss was a brute but a caring one.

You nodded, walking down the street to the pub. Technically you went to three pubs. However, all three were vibrating from wall to wall with shouts emanating from swarms of red and green. Having no stomach for noise or confrontation, you simply went hungry.

The factories passed by you the groans of tired aching children ringing through the air, the smog filling your lungs. A small fire had started in one of the mills. "DOWN WITH STARRICK AND HIS BLIGHTERS!" There was a cascade of rooks and children that led out of the building. The pleads for a simple bit of coin was the cacophony of Whitechapel. It guilts the heart into believing there is something more substantial than London's crushing atmosphere. So why in God's name would you go and take jobs away from struggling families who had to fight to get their children into positions?

He's here. Standing like God on the tiles of the roofs of your neighbours' house. You pulled out your notebook as he crouched, looking at the streets below. The moon framed him perfectly. You got to work. Etching at the paper while diverting your eyes between the newspaper, sketches and the real deal. Midnight struck, and he was off on a new adventure. You blew the candles on your desk out and lying in the wooden bed. You were really quite enamoured with this individual.