Jack's hands were busy brushing dirt, leaves, and debris from the shambled remains of his coat, only vaguely aware that his actions were causing large portions of it to flitter down to the ground. Addressing the man standing in front of him, he said, "So, your name is Rube." At that the man nodded tersely. "And you are a Grim Reaper."

"Give the man a fucking prize," responded Rube with sarcasm so thick it practically became an entity in its own right.

At this point Jack got a little miffed. Killing him was one thing, or nine things if you counted each death separately instead of lumping them all together, but the mockery and the crude language were going just a bit too far. Not to mention that all of this had interrupted his planned rendezvous with Ianto and destroyed his coat so Jack fired back with equally heavy derision. "So I have you to thank for being impaled by a tire iron, dropped on a boulder, drowned, stampeded by horses, and four, or was it five, deaths by hanging. Don't you think that was a bit overkill?"

"Apparently not, since you're still alive and kicking." The response was issued with complete seriousness but Jack could see just a touch of a twinkling humor lurking in Rube's brown eyes before it disappeared into grave indifference. "And for the record, it's not the job of a Grim Reaper to do the killing. We just pop the souls, prior to death if it's going to be a particularly violent one. No, it's the gravelings that caused the accidents that were supposed to result in your death. Your permanent one." Rube eyed him somewhat sympathetically. "You've really pissed them off, you know? It took three gravelings two weeks to set this all up. They're really going to be out for your blood now."

Now Jack, as a man of the 51st century, former Time Agent, leader of Torchwood Three, not to mention traveling through space and time with the Doctor, had extensive knowledge of strange and alien life forms. A good portion of that knowledge was of the up close and personal sort. Oh, yeah. Very up close and very personal. Jack's brain still hadn't quite given up hope on that trip to Altair 7 so it was rapid firing images from some of Jack's more memorable trysts. He allowed himself a few moments to indulge in this trip down memory lane including excursions to multiple bed chambers, several cupboards, and even the desk of the President of the Independent Planets of the Corisican Federation before a wistful sigh escaped his lips and he returned focus fully to the matter at hand.

"Gravelings? Never heard of them."

Rube gave a snort of contempt. "And just why would you? The living can't see them. Aren't even aware of their existence. Not even when the fucking bastards drop a piano on top of them." He stopped to glance over his shoulder. "You can't even see the three fuckers sitting right over there, can you?"

Jack followed Rube's line of sight, eyes squinted, as he tried to discern any shapes, any movement in the dance of light and shadow under the trees. Nutter! He's an absolute nutter. There's nothing . . . Jack's thoughts trailed off as he watched, in amazement, as a rotting piece of fruit lifted from the hard-packed ground and flew to impact with a squishy splat on one of the few unblemished spots on his coat. "What in the!" Jack glared at Rube.

"Don't look at me. It's the gravelings. I told you. There are really pissed that you won't stay dead. Your life isn't going to be worth shit now."

Jack turned his attention back to where the fruit had started its journey. He felt more than a bit foolish. There isn't anything there. There's no such thing as gravelings. He'd practically convinced himself that Rube was nothing more than a complete and total sociopathic stalker with a near genius level of creativity for causing havoc and death. And then there was a shimmer, just the vaguest outline of something. Three somethings, to be more specific.

The shimmering outlines began to coalesce, giving shape and form to three of the most disgusting, gruesome, stomach churning, malevolent creatures Jack had ever seen. They were vaguely humanoid. If said human had survived being at the direct epicenter of five nuclear blasts followed by DNA splicing from mutant bullfrogs and malformed porcupines. The bumpy wart-covered skin was colored a mottled mess of grays, dingy whites, and blacks. Along the backs and on the top of their heads rose long, sharp, curving quills. The forearms were overly thick compared to the impossibly thin biceps. On much too thin and much too long necks, the heads were sharp and angular, with mouths possessing rows of long, knife-sharp teeth. But it was the eyes that truly horrified Jack. Deep sunken and glowing with red malice. And all three sets of glaring red eyes were fastened right on him.

Jack gulped. "Oh shit."

Barely suppressing a grin, Rube replied, "Now you're getting the idea." Glancing back at the trio of gravelings, he continued, "As I said earlier, you and I need to have a serious discussion. Let's get out of here before they decide to start round two."

Jack quickly nodded his agreement when he saw one of the gravelings pick up a remnant left by the stampeding horses. His eyes followed the lump of manure as the graveling tossed it into the air, seeming to take in its weight and evilly calculating just how much force was needed to cause the most damage to the already destroyed coat. Jack jolted into action, quickly stooping down to scoop up as many of the tatters of cloth on the ground as he could, then practically ran from the area as if an entire fleet of Daleks were on his tail.

Rube didn't even try to contain the gleeful smirk that graced his face at the sight of the quickly retreating figure. J. Harkness had disrupted the entire network of Cardiff Reapers. The man deserved all this and much, much more. He scanned the front page of his battered journal before turning to address the three gravelings. "Okay. I see here we've got a group pickup scheduled at 3:13 this afternoon. That'll give me and the undying one plenty of time to get everything sorted out. See you then."