Constable Hark took a step out into the cool-fresh air. His shift had finally ended, meaning he could go and pay a visit to Edmund. But first, he wanted to get him a gift.

What does Edmund like, anyway? He seems to have expressed a fondness to all sorts of things, especially birds. Constable Hark could recall the once, when Edmund had ran to him, freaking out about a crow that had fallen out of a tree.

Maybe he could get him something to do with birds? Which would prove to be difficult, since crows seemed to be the only ones around nowadays. Not many people liked crows, so there wouldn't be much gifts to do with them, and he certainly couldn't just get Eddie a crow, could he? Maybe it was his only choice, Edmund did take good care of that other crow.. Before it flew off.

Nah, not a good idea. What if the bloody-thing flies off like the other one? He would be devastated, and Charleston didn't want to be the reason Edmund could ever become a downer.

Just then, something caught his eye. Something pink. Charleston looked up to see that he was walking past a sign, that read 'A Stitch In Time'. Mrs Pankhurst. Hark had nearly forgotten the old lady.

Maybe she could help me? The Constable thought before shuffling indoors.

He followed the signs upstairs and glanced sideways as he passed by a shuttered door. I wonder what used to be there?

Finally, he had reached the top and was staring curiously at the bell. Did she still even have a business? Shaking the thought, he rang anyway and waited.

An old lady slowly hobbled to the counter, a sweet smile plastered on her mask.

"Oh, Constable! A delight it is to see you!" She spoke enthusiastically.

"Evening, ma'am." Hark greeted. "I was wonderin' if you could help me with something?"

"Anything for you Constable!"

"Are you able to make any customised items?"

"What do you mean, exactly?" Mrs Pankhurst asked curiously.

Charleston glanced around the empty hall for a second and then inside the window.

"Do you have a scrap of paper, ma'am?"

The lady smiled and walked away without speaking, returning with a pen and paper. "Is this good?"

Charleston nodded, thanking the lady, as he began to quickly scribble. He was in no way a good artist, but a few semesters of criminal-sketches in the police academy may have taught him one or two things. And of course; like the lovely woman Mrs Pankhurst was, she waited patiently.

Leaning back, Constable Hark looked over his very rough draft. His tongue sticking out and head tilted, he made sure he got every important detail into it. Finally, he smiled and happy with the diagram, handed it over to Mrs Pankhurst.

"Could you do something like this, before 9:00?" The constable motioned toward the piece of paper nervously. He really didn't want to be a bother, but it was 7:30 and he needed to get something meaningful for Eddie.

"Of course, Charlie! This is child's play, compared to all the clothes I make."

The constable winced slight at the nickname, it bothered him, and he didn't know why. Luckily, the odd behaviour went unnoticed by the very busy and very excited old lady.

The Constable sat on the dishevelled, ripped sofa. He honestly couldn't get the nickname out of his head. The woman's voice echoing 'Charlie', over and over. It disturbed him, to a small, but noticeable extent.

But he couldn't figure out why.

He looked over his shoulder, at his Bobby helmet. He found comfort in looking at it. Maybe it's because it's the helmet he received for his first shift? But then it would just have sentimental value, it shouldn't necessarily comfort him.

Charleston ran his gloved hands through his curly-ish hair. Why was everything such a mystery? It was his past for god's sake! It shouldn't be a mystery- Huffing quickly, he grabbed his helmet and went to place it atop his head. Only pausing to notice strange marks scratched into the inner-mesh. His eyebrows creased.

Odd. Was that always there?

The bobby sat the head-wear on his lap, inspecting the Chicken-scratch. He ran his fingers over the texture, an odd warmth of familiarity radiating from the sensation.

A feint, but sincere smile slowly inched it's way on his face. He didn't know why, but he could feel a well of giddiness erupt in his body. It was as if the engravings were an on switch to the spa, that was his stomach. Allowing his cheer to foam and become an overwhelming amount of bubbly-joy.

"Constable, I know there isn't such thing as 'too much joy', but you need to at least pay attention to the world!" Mrs Pankhurst giggled, snapping Hark out of his half-conscious state.

"Oh, my sincerest apologies, Mrs Pankhurst! I didn't mean to make you wait." He stood up, brushing his pants off.

"Oh, don't be so humble!" The lady cried out joyfully, handing over a small bag to the Constable. Taking it, he nodded and reached into his pocket to pull out his sovereigns. "Oh, dear no, it's on the house Constable!" Mrs Pankhurst rose her hands up, denying any payment.

"You Constables do enough for frail old women like me!"

Constable Hark left the money on the counter, smiling toward her. "Ma'am, as happy I am for your gratitude, I must insist I pay like everyone else. I just do my duty; everyone's safety is payment enough."

Slowly walking away, he turned his head back to her, lazily pointing to the counter. "The money is there if you decide you want it." Then he continued on his merry way.

It was only just 8:30, most wellies would be leaving the pub by now, clambering in the general direction of their homes. Not Edmund though, he usually stayed behind to see if he could convince the bartenders to let him wash the dishes. Charleston chuckled at the very thought, he was a sweet lad. He really was.

The Constable slowly drew the door open, spotting many of his work-colleagues chatting away, over a pint of scotch. The vibrant and warm oranges was quite the contrast compared to the cool blues and purples that seemed to hang around during night-time.

Finally, in the corner of the room, he spotted him. Edmund was sitting in a booth by himself all the way in the farthest corner. Even though Eddie was a people's person, he usually grew quite tired when it became late.

I only have 30 minutes, tops.

Constable Hark slowly and gently pushed past the remaining few people that lingered in the bar. A feeling of pure awe washing over him, as he saw Edmund's grin and how his eyes twinkled upon seeing the Constable.

"Hello, Constable Hark!" He blurted excitedly.

Okay, maybe he wasn't tired.

"Evenin', Edmund." He tipped his helmet and chuckled slightly. His smile then turned a little more serious. "I heard you had a run-in with the Plough-boys?" He asked, slowly reaching his hand to Eddie's shoulder. Looking at him for any signs of discomfort, before finally settling a comforting pat there.

"Yes, how did you know?" Edmund asked in wonderment, before immediately forgetting the question, in favour a different one.

"OH- Do you know how long it takes for broken legs to get, un-broken?" The young man stared up at the Constable, a face of pure innocents.

Christ-oh-mighty did he feel like an old lady, just ready to pinch at his cheeks.

"I'm afraid It might take a while, Eddie." He gently spoke, trying his best to mollify the reality of the situation.

"Oh.." Edmund seemed to lose his eagerness anyway. Shit.

"But- I got you something to pass the time!" Constable Hark used his most convincing enthusiastic voice. Eddie already seemed to be brightening up, sitting up and attempting to scoot closer to the Constable.

Charleston finally sat down beside Edmund revealing a bag from behind his back. He handed it to the beaming man.

"This is for you, Eddie."

Just as Constable Hark thought the lad couldn't smile wider, he was immediately proven wrong.

"Thank you, Charlie! You're good!" Edmund chirped as he pulled out a soft crow-plush. This time, when he was called by the nickname, he didn't bat an eye, instead he felt a swell of pride.

Briefly an image flashed in his head. One of a woman. She seemed very familiar, her tied up black hair and short dainty frame, very fresh in his mind. This time though, his thought process couldn't be interrupted, the mysterious lady pulling him in too deeply into his own mind.

"Charlie!"

The newly employed bobby turned at the mention of his nickname, a real, meaningful smile plastered on his mask. "Ebony?" he called back. He honestly didn't expect her to show up here for his first shift.

"Of course, you oaf!" She giggled teasingly, punching his shoulder, or at least what she could reach.

"Who else has an absolute doll voice like mine?" Charleston Hark laughed along with her. He couldn't believe the day he had so far. It was incredible!

He recalled waking up and receiving a new letter along with an odd package through the blower. Confused and tired soon replaced with excitement and giddiness. It had read out:

Dear, Charleston Hark.

We have received your request to become a fully-fledged Constable. We are happy to confirm that, you, have indeed met the requirements and shall take your first shift today at exactly 10:00 AM.

To celebrate your beginnings as a Constable, we have arranged an initiation party. This will be arranged for tomorrow at 7:00 PM sharp. We suggest that you bring your uniform (located within the package) and leave all casual-wear at home.

If you are, for some reason, unable to make the shift or party, we suggest that you pop a joy, and try again some other time, when you are fit for this job.

-The Constabulary

A party? He smiled. Just for him, just to welcome him. Charleston already felt at home as part of the team. Looking to the clock on the wall beside him, he rushed into his room to get dressed. Bloody hell, it was 9:10!

By the time he came out of his room he realised he hadn't picked up his helmet. Frantically he ran around the lounge, looking under the cushions and pulling the sofas up to glance under. Feeling a tap on his shoulder, he turned, nearly dropping the sofa on his toe from the suddenness. He yelped at the sound of the furniture hitting the floor.

Relief flooded his systems however, when he saw it was just Ebony, holding his helmet smugly. He rolled his eyes friendlily, snatching his uniform from her grasp, she jokingly stuck her tongue out in response.

"So, did you take my helmet, just so I would be late?" He asked a hint of humour in his tone.

Ebony shrugged avoiding eye-contact, that iconic smirk flashing on her beautiful face.

"Close enough, but I was actually hoping to watch you freak out over being late." She laughed. "And I must say, when does the show come out on the tele?"

Constable Hark blinked his eyes open, only now just realising the pleasant feeling spread throughout his body. He felt happy, content even. This Ebony, he had no doubt was close to him. Hell, he admitted to a downer that this person had affected him!

But, he couldn't quite remember who she was to him, exactly. Not yet at least. Looking beside him, he noticed a note where Edmund was meant to be sitting, it read:

Sory Charly! I had too go home too go sleep. Thank you! -Edmund

Edmund's obvious spelling mistakes were too hard to ignore, even in his messy and tired writing. It wasn't that it bothered him, it was rather cute actually.
No, it just felt distracting in a way. Probably because after you read so many legal forms and contracts, you begin to become a bit of a grammar fanatic.

Finally, he stood up shakily, his body tired and protesting any movement. Pocketing the small note he made his way to the door and waved farewell to the bartender, who was probably too busy cleaning up after Charleston's co-workers, to even notice.

Stepping outside he finally came out of his sleepy daze, the cold air freezing his face and waking his muscles up.

Best I head home, you never know when you have a shift; until it's last-minute of course.

No matter how tired he was, Hark decided to take the long way to his home. More specifically, the way that went past Mr Cutty's butchery. 'Meat was like gold these days' he thought, quoting the common saying.

He couldn't say that the quote was wrong, either. So, ever since he made it an effort to check the Butchery at least once every few nights- Just to make sure there were no break-ins.

As he approached the building, he could hear loud crashes and screeches. He picked up his pace, soon finding himself to be running.

Shit, what's going on?

Loud and familiar muffled yells could be heard through the door. He tried to turn the knob, just in case. Strange, it's unlocked. Who ever is in there didn't break in.

Now muffled screams of complete horror and distraught could be heard echoing from where ever it originated from. The Constable soon kicked into serious action.

He reared back and prepared himself, his elbow extending outwards from his body. He slammed his full body weight into the door, grunting from pain. The screams soon sounded more like shrills and shrieks. It sounded like a slaughter-house, more than a butchery. Repeatedly rearing back and smashing the door, he began to sweat anxiously.

Dear god, whatever was happening in there would surely haunt him.