Jacob Frye X Male Reader. Artistic Difference.

Abberline

There was a real dip in business. Craddy wasn't even making anything new as he didn't have the money to pay for the materials needed. You played idly with a pen before Craddy let out a groan "Alright (Y/N) I can feel your boredom through your skin. Go home."

"If you say so, sir."

Now with an entire day to yourself, you decided to do something different. You made your way over to the slightly higher class area of Whitechapel. These were the people who had money to spend and who often indulged in beautiful things, specifically art. Placing a lightweight table on the pavement, sketches of birds, places and even people out on display. It was nearing peak hour, and the right amount of people started walking the streets. "Excuse me, mister, how much for the crow?" it was a little boy. He was dressed to impress, wearing a concoction of blues, purples and yellows. He was quite a spectacle when compared to your own brown slacks and dirty grey shirts.

"2 pounds. Give me 3.50, and I'll give you 2."You said to the small boy digging through his pockets for coins. He pulled out the precise amounts, and you handed him the crow. His mother in the same royal purples wondered over, grabbing the boy beginning to pull him away. He waved a goodbye clutching the crow sketch to his chest. "It's the little moments (Y/N)." You said happily to yourself.

"These are some good drawings." A man said, leaning over them. He was a proper gentleman, and he was wearing a bobbies badge on his left breast. His face a roundish shape with a thick beard. He's quite handsome. "Would you draw me if I asked?"

"It would cost you." you shrugged, pulling your sketchbook from your bag "you would also need to sit here for a while, but I wouldn't mind."

"It's decided then."

"Do you draw full time, or is this a hobby?" He asked. The man was sitting in a seat opposite you, flicking through your sketchbook. You ripped out a page for this.

"Hobbie I work at a furniture shop, but business is slack, so I find myself in these situations."

"You have quite an affinity for the two masked vigilantes." He placed the book on the table with a sketch of the two of them in different positions.

"Isn't everyone nowadays? I find them a mystery to be unsolved. It's just a little bit of an indulgence."

"They are quite a mystery. "

It was 12:30 exactly when the sketch was finished "What was your name again sir?"

"Fredrick Abberline. Listen, I would like to hire you for something. Next week at this time would you meet me at the station on the far side of town?"

"Of course. More work is always good." You handed him the sketch with your slim signature with the note 'TO MR. FREDRICK ABBERLINE' in cursive written to the side.

"Damn thats good."

________________________________________________________________________________

He wasn't here as early. You could hear him stumble onto your roof before his silhouette appeared before the moon light. He looked about ready to collapse, clutching his side and groaning loudly. A pistol was present in his right hand. He stopped over his little viewpoint, vigorously pulling the trigger on the gun. There wasn't a sound or a shot made "DAMNIT!" he yelled before pitching the gun into the tiles and limping away.

The thing about growing up is that the things you did as a kid becomes infinitely more terrifying because you're aware of your own mortality. So imagine how terrified you are when you begin to climb the walls of your neighbour's house, to reach the weapon left on the high roof. You pulled yourself over the line and picked up the gun. It was your average market gun. Not cheap but certainly not unobtainable. The barrel was roughed up, and the wooden bearings were barely holding it together. Great. Another clue to who this mysterious man was. How do you get back down?