Jackson Abberline's Questionnaire

Jackson "Jack" Abberline currently resides in London, England. While not a born native of old London Town, Jack found has lived here for the last ten years, and grown accustomed to life here.  London offers many opportunities for a man of Jack's talents, and its position as a trade hub makes it the perfect place to gather knowledge of the occult. All sorts travel through London, be it by sea or air, and there's always something just waiting to tumble off the back of a truck and fall into the waiting hands of one opportunistic enough to reach for it.

Jack is a man of simple means. While not uncomfortable, he's also far from rich. For that reason, he keeps a modest flat in one of the less affluent areas of the city. He likes it this way. His proximity to the less savoury elements of the population makes it easier to keep his ear to the underground, and keep track of occult goings on. Jack likes to keep a tidy home, so visitors will find his flat an organised scene. A place for everything, and everything in its place. While the majority is understated and uninteresting by design, he keeps a secret stash of occult books in a safe built into the wall behind his bed.

Jack knows these back streets and alleyways, the coffee shops and cafes, bookshops and bars like the back of his hand. London is his hunting ground, an orchard of gains just waiting to be ill-gotten. For one as ambitious and driven as Jackson, the opportunity is simply too good to pass up.

"I'm a thief. I steal things. I could lie to you and tell you I'm some sort of gentlemanly Robin Hood figure, robbing those rich twats in their ivory towers to feed those poor, destitute souls currently huddled on the streets. I'd be lying to you though. That's just not me. No, I'll do whatever I need to, to get ahead. If the price is right, I'll lift it for you. The fuck is a baby even doing with candy, anyway?

I am, however, a specialist. One of England's foremost, actually, when it comes to matters of occult interest. Spooky little statue of a goblin jerking himself off? Book of spells to make your ex's teeth fall out? Summoning rituals for some succubus? Naughty boy. I'm the man to call though. I've got connections. I know where it's going to be and when, and I'll get it for you. Don't let the arm thing fool you, the way it does the authorities. I guarantee, I can do more with one arm than most gents could do with six."

"Now I know I said I'm no Robin Hood, and I stand by that. I'm an honest man. But fuck the rich, right? Seriously fuck em all the way to hell. It's where they all belong. All my life, me and mine have struggled and scraped, fought tooth and bloody nail for every crumb we've had. I remember my mum working three jobs to put shit, own brand food on the table for me and my sisters. I remember how tired she looked at the end, and I remember no one lifting a fucking finger to make any change. Well shit, I've got four and a thumb, and I'll do more than lift em.

If it's the last thing I do, and it just might be, I'll see this culture of the rich getting richer end. I'll end it myself. Every one of those grubby, money hungry shits I can get my hand on, I will throttle into the dirt. I'll burn down their towers and castles, I'll torch their off shore billions and I'll do it all with a smile just for them. I will do whatever it takes it change this world, to save it from its slow, festering death at the hands of those heartless bastards. Whatever it takes, whatever I have to give. I'll see it done, and no force on this Earth will stop me."

"I lost my arm when I was twelve. Car accident. Our little rust bucket was nailed by a truck. Flipped us six times. Killed my dad but he was a piece of shit anyway. My little sisters were alright, thank whatever miracle twisted fate into that shape. Mum got out mostly fine physically, but it fucked with her head. And I was an arm down. Probably would've lost a lot more than that, but this doc put me back together. Worked miracles of his own, that one. 

And y'know it's funny? You might be thinking it made me humble, or that it made me see things differently or whatever. Nah fuck that shit. It made me sharp. I learned to work with what I had and I got damn good at it. And it also introduced me to the best teacher I've ever had. He taught me chess, while I was in the hospital, and chess taught me strategy. I wonder sometimes, if he knows how much of a difference he made, or just how much influence that had on making me the man I am now. Probably. Man's a bloody genius."

My little sisters, the twins, Amy and Lyla. Look I get it, the big brother complex is played out, but I'd pull the sky down for those girls. Dad was never any use, and now Mum's gone it's all on me to keep them on the straight and narrow. They're sharp girls, too. Going to make moves of their own once they've got a few more miles under their shoes. I will make the world right for them, if it's the last thing I do.

My Mum, Alice. She was the sun in the sky, that one. Would do anything for her kids. Would've worked herself to death if the cancer hadn't beaten her to it. I owe so much to her. I know she wouldn't be proud of the shit I do, but that's a sacrifice I'll just have to get square with, if I want to make the changes that need to be made. I watched the disease eat her alive. I watched as no one with an ounce of power did anything to help her. Never again. No one else.

Angelo. The doc. The man who saved my life. When they pulled me out of that wreck of jagged metal, the responders on scene said I was dead. The doctors at the hospital gave me a six percent chance to live through the night. Doctor Thomas told them where they could shove it. The story from the nurses says he worked on me til his fingers bled into his gloves. Patched the holes, stitched up the wounds, put my body back together. Then he got to work on my mind. He taught me to play chess while I was stuck in a hospital bed, and we stayed in touch after I got out. To this day, he is the only man with power I've met willing to use it for anyone other than himself. He's my greatest mentor.

What do you want from me? I grew up poor, in England. My childhood was kind of a roller-coaster. My mum was a saint, my dad was a dead beat. We were in a car crash when I was twelve. Dad died, and I lost my right arm. Things got tougher from there. It's not easy, taking care of three kids on your own when you don't have any money, or any family around to help. Especially when one of those kids is as banged up as I was. The crash did a serious number on me, physically and mentally. I spent a long time in the hospital, and when I got out I was far from done healing. Like I said... my mum was a saint.

School wasn't easy for a kid with no money and one arm. I got in a lot of fights. Like, a lot. Quickly learned two things. First, I was never going to win a fist fight. I had something of an unnatural disadvantage. So I got good with small melee weapons. Anything I could conceal, or quickly bring to hand when needed. Second, I learned if I ever got pinned down I was fucked. So I got real good at wriggling my way out of grapples and the like. What can I say, I'm a squirmer