1919: A Family Affair (IC)

kaleidoscopique · Apr 20, 2018

OOC thread!

Welcome to my AU take on the BBC show Peaky Blinders! No knowledge of the series is required. OCs are welcome + encouraged. *Please post in OOC thread if interested in joining!*

England, 1919

The war has ended. Birmingham's working class have returned to the drudgery of factory jobs, but men still wake sweating and screaming and wondering precisely what it was they fought for in the trenches of France. Women who tasted freedom have awoken to find themselves stuck back in the kitchen despite their grand ideas. Workers' unions are gaining traction and there are worried mutters in government about communism.

And yet, behind closed doors there is music and laughter, whiskey and a haze of smoke, beautiful women and backroom deals. Striding through this post-industrial hellscape, coats billowing behind and caps set at a jaunty angle, come the kings of this wretched domain. Businessmen tip their caps and mothers pull their children into doorways as they stride past. They are known as the Peaky Blinders, thanks to their reputation for treating dissent with a swipe to the face with the razorblades concealed in their caps.

This gang, headed by the Shelby family, controls the district of Small Heath more concretely than any politician or lawmaker. Aside from the occasional clashes with cops and the Italian mob, and a tentative peace with the local unions, they do well for themselves. Protection fees, controlling the local black market, and fixing horseraces provide a substantial income at a time when the poor are starving, and they reward loyalty.

The only problem? This small-time existence isn't enough for their ambitious leader, made reckless by witnessing the horrors of war. When the gang stumbles across something it was never meant to find, and he attempts to turn that to their advantage, its very existence is threatened.

Beyond the larger politics, the business is a family affair, and family is messy. Rife with conflicting personalities, romance, strong women and shellshocked men, relationships are complex. And, in a family where the workday involves paying off cops and honor is worth killing for, the stakes are high.

Welcome! You can call me Kay. I'm brand-new to this site, but an old hand at writing. I'll be playing the head of the Shelby family. The other characters, and the direction our plot takes, are entirely up to you. I'll likely bring in NPCs to move the plot along, any of whom are up for grabs.
[fieldbox="Rules, goldenrod, dashed, 10"]
- Adhere to all iwaku rules.
- 18+ for mature themes.
- 3 paragraph minimum. More is great. Evocative writing please! Adept + strongly preferred.
- Romance is awesome. Two characters holding up the plot while they get off? Not so much. Take it to the PMs, people! (again, pls obey iwaku rules)
- Be able to post minimum once a week. More is highly encouraged. If I haven't heard from you by then with a reply or a brief explanation, we'll work around you. If it happens again, I'll assume you've lost interest.
- If there's a lot of dialogue, you're welcome to use PMs and edit into a single post.
- Plot ideas? Sweet! Just please run anything gamechanging by me first.
- I shouldn't have to say this, but: no godmodding. NPCs are fine.
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[fieldbox="Character Creation, goldenrod, dashed, 10"]

Suggested characters:
- Mob family (associates, members, leader's siblings, aunt/uncle, mother, etc...please read my character profile)
- Cops (undercover, corrupt, new to town and idealistic, etc)
- Rival gang member
- Union leaders, Communist agitators, assorted political groups (IRA?)
- Aristocracy
- Journalist, investigative reporter
- Prostitute, barmaid, entertainer, innkeeper
- Ex-soldiers/nurses (can combine with any other occupation; can have wartime connections with existing characters)
Character Bio (though feel free to elaborate):
- Name, age
- FC (realistic please, no anime)
- History, occupation, personality
- Any relevant connection to plot/existing characters
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Beatrice Holloway

Age: 27

Occupation: Multiple, is currently working as a bookie.

Bio: Near dying for adventure, Beatrice left her large family in Cheshire and headed to London in 1914. Her two brothers had joined the military, but her father had been denied entry due to his health problems. There was more than enough help to be had on the farm and Beatrice figured that they would hardly miss her. Much to her family's chagrin, she settled in London, finding work first as a cashier and then as a bank teller. Subsequently, when the men returned from the war she was let go from her job. Beatrice was not interested in returning home from failure only to milk cows. Instead, she found work with her cousin who worked rigging bare knuckles fights, among other illegal activities. There, dressed as a young man to avoid harassment, she collects bets and provides bookkeeping services.

Personality: Beatrice is a strong-willed and confident young woman. Working alone in London has brought out traits that many would say are un-feminine. Quick witted and sharp, she makes an excellent bookie. She's not loud or brash but measures a situation before she speaks, and some people find her steady gaze unsettling, as if she's picking you apart, which she probably is.

Likes: Hot baths, new people, evenings, champagne (she's only had it twice in her life)

Dislikes: Rain, rude people, cabbage, being spoken down to
Bettina Valentina Claudia Rosamond (nee. Schmidt)

Pronunciation:
"Bet-tina Val-en-tina Claud-ia Rosa-Mond"
Nickname(s) or Known As:
Bet - Affectionate nickname fleshed from Bettina's family and adopted by her husband. Presently in 1919 the only person that calls her that is her love Horace, whose been mentally wasting away.

Mistress Rosamond - Known by the family's staff as Mistress Rosamond, Bettina has never been one for such a title because of her rather modest background in Austria. But, after the war her thoughts towards it have never mellowed, Bet normally just lets the staff call her want they wish and doesn't cause any issues with it. After all, her main concerns are her main concerns are Horace's and her children, the generation that will lead on their father's legacy more so give Horace something to stay living for, if not for her sake.

Madame - Loyal patrons of the Rosamond's Pleasure House establishment, often refer to her as the Madame as she's more often or not seen dealing with the business. Bettina has never seemed bothered by this respective title.

Mrs. Rosamond - Often addressed by business partners, or police that she sells information to. Personally doesn't really like people calling her Mrs. Rosamond because in her heart she'll always be a Schmidt.

Temptress - A teasing nickname that her husband calls her when Bettina manages to seduce him. Often referring to her as his Temptress in passionate moments or leading up to such a time.

Date of Birth:
9th September,1891 (28 years old)

Birthplace:
Vienna, Austria

Nationality/Ethnicity:
Austrian, Austro-Hungarian.

Personal Motto:
Live for the new day, and pray for a better future.

Quotes:
"The war may have broken my home, and shattered the heart of my husband. But it will not take me, it didn't then, nor will it ever."

"Our children are the breath of tomorrow, Mister Shelby. My proposal was to assist the expansion of the Shelby Empire, so our blood doesn't crust and run dry with the coming turf wars but rise up as the victors. Much like my parents had done before me by ensuring my marriage to Horace."

"You call it murder, I call it being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Horace, God chose you to be my husband the moment I was born. Things might not have been simple in the beginning remember? We said our vows in a moments that didn't promise certainty and a future of happiness, yet look at those glorious children we have. They're our purpose to carry on now. For the sake of their future."

"Mister Sabini, always a pleasure really. So what can I do for a drug fucked, loose canon such as yourself?"

"Birmingham, it's quite different from what I'm used to… But it will have to do."

Occupation:
Currently - Matriarch to the Rosamond family, runner of the family business between her husband. Furthermore the boss of the illegal operations of the Rosamond's family; Drug Dealing, Illegal Sales on the English Blackmarket, Professional Assassins, Criminal Setups, Covert Operations with Staff, Selling Information (between police or other gangs), and Privately Running a Pleasure House.

Formerly - Spy for the British Intelligence during the duration of the Great War, posted in the unstable city of Vienna. Before becoming a spy she married her husband Horace Rosamond, though kept her maiden name in Vienna because it was matter of safety.

Reliable Skills Mastered:

Fully mastered the following languages; German, Hungarian, French, Slovenian and English.

Capable spy - Able to change accent, dialect, pitch, and general appearance with the training she has received.

Multi-tasking - The perks of being a mother has shown Bettina is quite the multi-tasker dealing with children not getting along as well as business.

High level of education - mastering reading, writing and mathematics at a young age.

Capable of making bombs and weapons for junk. Much like different types of bombs from the cheapest and crappiest of materials.

Quiet the actress - To survive Bet has learnt a great deal about playing pretend emotions and actions.

Able to hold her own in a fight, even against much larger people. Because of certain techniques she'd mastered in the time of being a spy.

Weapons of Choice:

Mauser C96 - Semi-Automatic Pistol

Steyr Model 1907 (M1907) - Self-Loading Pistol

A Capsule of Cyanide - For if she's caught in the wrong hands. Kept within a small locket that she always wears, that was a heirloom that was passed down in the generations of her family.

***
Social Status:
Wife of a known veteran whom was left paralyzed, had five child, four of which are still living.

Marital Status:
Arranged Marriage to Horace Rosamond (since. 1908)

Issue:

Archibald 'Archie' Gilbert Rosamond, aged 10 years old (born April, 1909)

Jeremiah 'Jerry' Rowland Rosamond, aged 8 years old (born August, 1911)

Septimus Vincent Rosamond, aged 7 years old (born September, 1912)

Julius Hiram Rosamond, stillborn (born April, 1913)

Henrietta Priscilla Myra Schmidt-Rosamond, aged 4 (born February, 1915)- Bettina found out she was pregnant with her fifth child while undercover giving her sometime more to hide under, as pretending she was wedded to her second-cousin during the time.

***
Schmidt & Rosamond Family History:
Respective families that had alliances going back decades. The English family of Rosamond and Austrian family of Schmidt, decided to join their families together with an arranged marriage. This was arranged at the birth of the youngest and only daughter of the Schmidt family, Bettina Valentina Claudia Schmidt.

Drawn up in agreement between Horace's grandfather and Bettina's parents, the two rather underground operating families agreed to expand their business relations through marriage. They were to be married when the young Schmidt girl turned seventeen. Till then, the two would marry to stop them from running or dispising one another.

On the 13th of July 1908, after much preparation Horace and Bettina married. The newlyweds were a sign of good luck between the two families so they partied, not truly caring if the pair loved one another. Bet was seventeen years of age, and her husband Horace was twenty-one so it made finding a level playing ground difficult to establish for the young couple. Even language was a barrier, and caused some emotional strain between the pair. But, doing at they must the marriage was rightly consummated, and about September 1908 shortly after the lonely young woman found out she was carrying her husband's child, which made both families overjoyed.

While her first pregnancy Mistress Rosamond as her husband's maids called her, learnt English slowly and weakly. Gaining more of her knowledge of her husband, and comfort in his company on the harder days. Most mornings she'd wake at the side of her husband caressing her swelling stomach, trying to soothe the child growing within her, hoping to allow it's mother some more sleep. Though, Horace respectively worked hard on the family business, he worried for his young wife's health and the risks that came with childbirth as it was still a risk even with the best aid they could afford.

By the following year, in the middle of April 1909 their first son was born after long hours of labouring. Horace named their first son Archibald after his late father. The exhausted young mother agreed, as long as, Gilbert became his second name. After her father whom died from influenza in the later stages of her pregnancy. As a couple they had gained more of a solid relationship through the birth of their first son, often doing their most to experience with the young boy they fondly called 'Archie' together.

Everything thrived with the booming family, and excelling business that the two families had worked so hard to maintain. Bet took her place at her husband's side after the birth of their third son Septimius Vincent. As she felt that she was needed to assist her husband in opening up some further expansion plans for the family business. Which was when their first pleasure house was opened up in White Chapel, by the time their four and final son was born Julius Hiram whom was stillborn, Bet was struck by the brief of the loss after it had left her fighting for her own due to infection.

Horace felt his wife begin to slip away even after passing the infection, and recovering. Her grief had caused her to neglect looking after herself, and moving up in the family business. It took months of her state to improve, and then the officials came knocking on their town house door with an order to take Mrs. Rosamond into custody under suspicions of her being an Austro-Hungarian spy. Truth be told the young woman was cleared of not being a spy, yet was tasked a mission even her husband couldn't know about. To spy on officials and check in on the general life in Austria throughout the war.

To others it looked like she was just being deported, and thrown away for good. Separated pained Georgiana, but the realisation that she was once more pregnant with her husband's child made her commit to the course, and fight to protect the chance of going home to meet her love once more. Protecting her cover, one of her second-cousins stepped up and took the role of her husband in a chaotic time of Austria. Acting as her support, and companion in that time, even though she remained loyal to a fault with Horace.

Sending word rarely through to her husband, managing to get a letter with a photograph of her and their first daughter to him when she was born in February of 1915. Her daughter was raised in Austria much like her mother was, though when the war ended she went home with her mother to England. The reunion with husband, and sons was said to be something of her dreams one of the notable times she was seen sobbing in public. War had broken so many people, and it had robbed her husband of his ability to walk.

Moving to head of the Rosamond household at her husband condition, Bettina became a strong-minded figure. Loyalty never faltering from her family and the business. Though, since she had spent some time away from her young children, when she came home her sons struggled to reconnect with her. Which has caused resentment toward members of authority such as Mr. Winston Churchill. Henrietta fell into alignment with her siblings quite easily though, her brothers holding a sense of endearment towards their youngest sibling.

Horace was depressed from the war, and lost in the mindset of those days when he was able. A depression that almost lead to his suicide, but Bettina stopped him at the right time. Supporting her husband through his woes, and the struggles that he now faced many rich men began to approach her trying to take her under their wing as their mistress or lover. Yet, she refused. The grown woman of twenty-eight had her family and business to worry about.

Reaching out to the Peaky Blinders as a wish to push an Alliance, Bettina has offered herself at the disposal of Thomas Shelby in order to keep her unwell husband alive. Willingly doing whatever the Shelby brother wishes of her to do, much like she did at the age of seventeen with her husband ten years ago. To benefit her parents then, but now her husband and children.

***
Personality Traits:

Loyal - It is a spoken trait of the Schmidt family that loyalty means everything. Bettina possesses this trait and it could quite possibly be her own downfall. If there was any dog that could explain the level of loyalty Bet held for her family and close friends it would be the German Shepherd. She's always there for the people that need her in the lines of business and personal relationships.

A downfall of her loyal personality is that she has a bad habit of forming a bias for the people she cares about. Though, after time and energy in thinking through situation she'd often see the other side to the story.

Bettina often struggles with people that can't grasp the importance of loyalty. In one of the views that really personally erks her is when a spouse, or lover can't seem to hold a level of loyalty. Inturn people that she knows are like this aren't respected by her.

Loving & Devoted - Love has what kept Bet alive throughout the war, in various ways. After the separation from her children after their father was taken to fight at war her need to get back to her children has truly shown through. Finding ways to get in contact with them even countries away from them, from morse code message on their birthdays through agents, cards and letters when their little sister was born. She found no matter the distance she'd do anything for them, making sure they were taken care of and watched by her workers.

Finally at the war's end Bettina took all the time in the world around her, trying to make up for the lost time with her children. Even if her debications to work called, the mother always made sure to have time with her family. Driving them out to the countryside on holy days, and having a picnic. Getting some assistance on those days to make sure her husband's wheelchair could come along too.

During the long cold nights she stays by her husband's side, speaking with him about his worries and fears. In the comfort of their own privacy in their bedroom. Soothing her husband lovingly when he crumbles with his fears and the thoughts about topic of discussion.

Bettina has accepted what has happened to her husband, and loves him no-less because of his condition. Nor will she ever let him feel that he's a burden to her.

Business Orientated - From a early age Bettina has been raised about the importance of Good Business, and how to keep that kind of business. Forming and solidifying alliances with other gangs and powerful people.

Originally she was believed to be a quiet observer by her husband's side during the early days of their marriage. On some notable occasions with Darby Sabini apparent King of the Underground in London. Yet, she very quickly out-stepped those thoughts made by others. Becoming a rather ambitious rival that looked for alliances in many places, even the most unlikely. More impressively those business endeavours with the most unlikely have more often proved the most successful for the Rosamond Family.

Bettina's charming wit, and surprising amount of scarcaims have also helped on many occasions with known sexiest. The business woman is more than happy to take her success as an example of what women can do outside of a kitchen or nursery. Or more blunty not lying in bed for their husband's to please themselves with. She openly recognizes that this is now the time for change as women have proved themselves rather useful at holding up the fort during the war, why should they be tucked away in their kitchens again?

She hopes to make a larger place for women within the world, and the people she works around. Bet believes it's important for her daughter to know, and understand that she doesn't have to be a simple house wife.

Intelligent - Gifted the highest and best education that Bettina could afford in a considerably wealthy family had its up sides. But not all of her intellect came from the education from schools, and professional tutors. From a young age Bettina learnt what he family business was, and how she could use that to her advantage in any background. Her adaptive personality has allowed her brain survive the worse of conditions, most of all back in the war.

She always holds more cards at her disposal, and uses them with great care which has been part of the reason she's respected by the paranoid Sabini, and hasn't had any trouble from them.

Mothering - Extremely capable at being a mother, Bettina from a young age helped people in Austria with delivering and raising their children before having any of her own. Now that she is a mother of her own, and a busy business woman, Bet tries to balance her life to be there for her children, often taking them with her when it came to travelling her children often stuck by her. Her eldest son has now begun to hand out some of her letters to people she wishes to meet along with his little sister Henrietta, often putting up that it was just children sending letters that their father or mother wants to pay off something. Giving her business a little more of an innocent face before the person reads the letter.

Outside of work hours she often enjoys spending time with her children in the country-side, having a picnic, or joyous times. When she or her husband aren't with her children they are all watched with respective body guards that she appointed after years of service, trust and loyalty. If those guards slip up she's more than happy to execute them herself to ensure the safety of their children.

Archibald is often in her company for business day now because of the fact he's the heir to the Rosamond legacy, yet Henrietta is also there so she learns that woman have just as much strength as men. It was the way her father raised her in Vienna, Austria as a child also.

Excellent Spy - As a young woman married into a family quickly in a foreign country, Bettina became quite the observer over time watching on from the distance. Never able to be detected when entering from room to room, the young woman seemingly would float through atmospheres rather nicely, able to observe and get information from her targets without them even noticing. Bettina's acting skills are also something that made the young woman in places of high class, to the lowest of class between the many roles she could play.
"Well my answer depends on who's asking"
Name: Chasity Lucille Laurent

"Well that's a bit of a rude question, didn't you learn never to ask a lady her age"
Age: 26

"I make money to live. I feel like that's all you need to know"
Occupation: Entertainment at the Garrison, Ex-Combat nurse for WWI

"One word. Bitch"
Brief Persona: Chasity is a woman of many secrets and is crowded in an aura of mystery, which is how she likes to keep it. She's too independent for her own good and definitely knows how to keep herself in trouble. Although she seems like the sweet little dumb blonde to most when first meeting her, there are layers of her personality that she decides to show when she deems necessary. She's a manipulator, a survivor, and knows when to use her weapon of beauty and when to use her weapon of intelligence. But, she's a kind soul deep down who loves caring for people she seems worthy in her life. Loyalty is her middle name and anyone who messes with her or her small group of people has to deal with the tornado that this little woman can bring (and best believe she brings a storm). Let's just say that getting involved with her is worth the trouble it brings.

"Well that's for me to know, and for you to get me drunk enough to find out"
Brief History: The norm was something Chasity had never been aquatinted with. Her father was a French man her mother met one wild night, and only knew that one night before he found himself taking off like a thief in the night. Once she was born, her and her mother had been shunned by her grandparents They lived with the men that found interest in her mother, and It wasn't until she turned ten that she realized there was a problem with her mother.

There would be periods where even the world couldn't stop her from doing what she wanted, But with those periods would come times where she wouldn't see her mother for weeks, and when she did she was getting screamed at for being a filthy whore for holding hands with a boy. Her 'norm' was soon ripped from her life. Her mother was thrown in an insane asylum and she was thrown into an orphanage.

She never got adopted, the hopeful parents say her as a potiental risk since she was the daughter of an insane woman. So when she got the chance she joined the war efforts as a nurse after receiving the proper training. That was when Thomas Shelby first made an impact on her life, though one that would not last until their paths crossed again. After the war ended she found herself working at the Garrison as a singer which was where she eventually ended up meeting her 'husband' the criminal communist agitator Richard, a man she wished she never got involved with.

Dorothy "Dot" Helen Townley

Age:
Twenty-Four

Occupation:
Barmaid at the Garrison. Formerly a registered ANZAC Nurse located Gallipoli, Ottoman Peninsula moved to the Western Front after troops pulled out 1915. Originally a farmer's daughter.

Appearance:
Dorothy is rather average in height for a young woman, slender in figure. Complexion fair without a trace of a mark from stress or the war's presence in her life. Nicely shaped brows that match her beautifully styled chest-nut brown hair that is often gracefully placed in waves while performing or a messy updo when behind the bar. Sweet honey brown eyes that are almost like a wild doe's would be shaped, glittering beautifully in the dullest of lighting. Long slim nose. Beautifully plump lips are often coated in a lovely plum red shade or orange red.

Personality:
Rather a capable and adaptable young woman, during the war Dorothy learnt to cope with many changes in situation as well as circumstances. Friendly in established business situations where she's working one on one with people, Dorothy is often seen chatting and collecting gossip from her patrons almost like an old widow would. Not many know much about Dorothy's truly rather shy and innocent persona that longs for that storybook love, and dashing prince to save her from the nightmares she suffers from. Regarded as a bit of a mystery to all first meeting her, as she has never disclosed the reason of deciding to never go home to Australia. Rather snappy and quick to temper on bad days.

Acquired Skills:
- Speaks French, English and understands a little bit of German and Turkish.
- Nursing (fully trained to do surgical nursing, amputations and more).
- Lip-reading
- Bar tending
- Writing; War Stories, Poems, etc.
- Holding and retaining important information for officials and people who've been searching for certain information.

Brief History:
Born in East Fremantle to a rather modest family, that didn't own too much but a family farm. Dorothy Helen Townley was nothing more than a normal child with an overactive imagination. Raised beside several brothers and no sisters, the sweet girl that family and friends affectionately called "Dot" was rather left to her own devises. In a small shire known as York her family's farm was settled, and crops were their livelihood, along with the vast cattle and livestock her family produced. Dorothy took responsibilities around her home rather seriously, often going out with her father and brother's to control the local kangaroo population before they become too much of a pest. So, from a very young age Dot learnt how to use a gun and hunt.

Sweet farm child Dorothy had seen many things within her short life, aged six years old, Dot witnessed her homeland become a country under the Commonweath. Yet, still were proud to follow their then queen and watch her rule from the mother land. Australia mourned the loss of Queen Victoria, but in a timely fashion welcomed a new King as the laws of procession advised. Like most families though, the Townleys' never knew that a war of such measure would come with Britain's allegiance.

At the time war broke out Dorothy had been thrown into heavy duty nurse's training, planned to be shipped off to Gallipoli on the Ottoman Peninsula. The landing on the beach shores of the Peninsula was something stained in the young woman's mind, blood stained the waters red that day. Those months in Gallipoli were images of hell, and a time Dot would rather not remember as she had watched so many broken men leave this world in a mangled state. At the end of that hellish time in the bosom of the Ottoman Empire, the now practices and talented nurse was shipped off the the Western Front of manage a bunch of roles and soldiers from both sides.

On the Western Front, Dorothy Townley met the first man to spark something within her heart. A kind private from English soil, a true gentleman that didn't make her feel like a freak from a farm. Strange how well they bonded in a time when death could have been so near. Her love wrote her into his will being his money wouldn't go to anyone if he died, so he wished to give it to Miss. D.H.Townley for good fortune in her future. The death of her Mr. Edward and a few brothers left her broken and unwilling to go home. She found a goal to if she survived the war, Dorothy Townley would move to England and set up a new life for herself.

She didn't hold much hope for herself, setting a small flat up with rundown furniture before one day a door on the door came regarding the estate of her Mr Edward. Since then Dot has been able to find work at a local bar known at the Garrison, and on the side sell her talents of information collecting. Yet, she dreams to open up a modest shop one day in memory of her beloved Mr. Edward.

Likes:
- Privacy
- Music
- A little bit of gossip
- Animals
- Warm Summers
- Memories of Simpler Days
- Reading and Writing Stories
- Drinking some tea at the end of a long day.

Dislikes:
- Cold days
- Snobbery
- Rude people

Georgina Anne Worthington, AKA Charlotte Clarke

Age: 25

Occupation: Grifter

Appearance: Georgina is rather tall, with the slender figure that is fast becoming all the rage. She has golden-blonde waves and the creamy white skin of an aristocrat. The nose, however, failed in revealing that particular heritage, being merely straight and a little on the small side. But the mouth makes up for any lack of distinction there with full, sensuous red lips. And in her dark, well-opened eyes there is a captivating twinkle that at times is irresistible.

Personality: Georgie, as she is known to her close friends and family, can be a bit of an enigma. For all her entrancing manners there is a certain veil of reserve behind which she retreats from the world. The only person she had ever really opened up to was her brother. For everyone else, the mind and true feelings behind the light and bubbly façade remain a mystery, though few would even think to see that more lay beneath. Georgie's society personality is trained, rather than inherent; left to her own devices she would be much more of an introvert, and eschew such parties as her parents delighted in (and as were, inevitably, their ruin). But though her reserve allows her to hold back her emotions, and react calmly in the face of even the direst situation, Georgie is not cold-hearted. Indeed, her sympathy for fellow men may well be her downfall in her chosen calling. That's not to say she would balk at killing, if necessary. She would face such a task as coolly as any other job. But she would also go out of her way to help a friend in need, even if it risked her cover.

Skills: Plays piano, speaks French and German, can mimic many different accents, nursing (basic), pickpocketing (basic)

History: The Honourable Georgina Anne Worthington is the younger child of Viscount and Lady Desford, with one brother, her elder by six years. The Worthingtons' lineage is prodigiously impressive, having been landed gentry for centuries and Viscounts for seven generations, but their acreage and accompanying wealth had dwindled by the time of Georgina's birth. Lord and Lady Desford, utterly oblivious to this fact, continued to live the merry, expensive, heedless lives of aristocrats of yore. Likewise, they raised their children to have absolutely no useful talents other than entertaining the empty lives of their fellow nobility. Or rather, a series of governesses raised their children in this mould, for the Desfords themselves had little to do with their offspring beyond periodic pro forma visits to the drawing room to show off their talents to Mama and Papa. In this pampered and yet strangely barren environment, Georgina and her brother Sidney clung ever-closer to one another. Being six years her senior, Sidney took on a rather parental attitude toward his little sister, shielding her from the most dangerous winds of the world.

When she reached the age of eighteen, Georgina was properly "launched" into high society, quite as if from a cannon, and felt herself flying aimlessly through the throng, utterly unable to control her own destiny. She was therefore one of few people on earth to be quite relieved when the war broke out, and put the London social scene in hiatus. Her only regret was for Sidney, who almost at once enlisted and was sent to the front.

Though they protested (frequently), the Desfords were given no choice but to open up Desford Castle (not, in fact, a castle, but rather a gothic-revival Georgian construction) to wounded soldiers returned from the front. While her parents retired to their private apartments and tried to pretend the incursion had never taken place, with a level of affront that you might well ascribe to poor Archduke Franz Ferdinand's family (to which overexertions might be ascribed Lord Desford's demise, midway through the war), Georgina signed up for a basic nursing course and volunteered to help care for the soldiers housed in her backyard. In her training course she met, under her real name, Lizzie McGowan-Bell.

Georgie did her duty in caring for the soldiers, and felt some satisfaction in having given to the war effort in her small way, but she quickly discovered that nursing was not for her. Her privileged life had not much prepared her for a profession where the great majority of work involved cleaning up various forms of bodily fluids. So, when the war ended, she gladly turned over her apron and awaited Sidney's triumphant return. The English may have been triumphant, but Sidney Worthington, now Lord Desford, was certainly not. He came back to Leicestershire with a ball in his knee that gave him a pronounced limp and a disturbing new predilection for strong liquors. He reviewed his father's papers with a gloom bordering on apocalyptic, and announced the family to be bankrupt beyond recovery. Lady Desford, predictably, went off into a swooning fit immediately. Georgie only asked coolly what was to be done now. 'Sell land, perhaps even the house,' were the dreary responses, intoned in a voice of complete detachment. They were Sidney's now, Georgie reminded him, with a sisterly kiss on the cheek. He must do as he wished. She would make do.

Since Sidney did not seem to much care how Georgina planned to 'make do', and Lady Desford had not even noticed that she was gone, her departure from the 'civilised society' that had engrossed her entire life up until this point was remarkably easy. In truth, she worried about Sidney, but ever since his return he had repulsed her advances, as if he knew her no longer. She could not bear to live with him like this, so the least she could do was remove the burden of her room and board from his plate. Georgie knew well she had no skills with which she could earn a real living, a legal living, that is to say, but she had heard tell, from the other nurses, of new types of establishments cropping up in big cities where a pretty face could earn a lot of cash in a night for simply ferrying a few drinks around, and maybe a dance or three. Georgie thought she could handle that; after all, years in the haute ton had amply prepared her. Of course, what Georgie knew of partying and what lay in wait for her were two completely different things.

Adopting the name of Charlotte Clarke and peddling a tale of forgettable working-class normalcy, she did earn a pretty penny, but she also quickly learned to lift a wallet or a weapon, spot a gullible sap a mile away, and fend off unwanted advances with precise use of her bedazzled heels. It did not take 'Charlotte' long to realise that there was more to be made out of some of these fools over a long game, rather than a one-night ticket, and she began to develop more and more elaborate schemes to draw out their money. Her domain was a little limited in Leicester, though, so once she had exhausted all the dupes there she moved on to Birmingham.

Name: John Michael Shelby

Age: 24
Occupation: Member of the Peaky Blinders. Formerly a machine gunner with the Warwickshire Yeomanry.

Bio: John is a proud member of the Shelby family. He looks up to his older brothers, and while he doesn't possess their ruthlessness, he is devoted to the business. He has an easygoing disposition, though there's a temper beneath it. While no schemer, he's quick-witted. He also has a softer side. In another life, he might have been been bothered by the violent repercussions of his work, but between Small Heath and the war, it's all he's ever known.

During the war, John was struck by a stray bullet in a confusion of friendly fire. He spent three weeks in convalescence, where he encountered the nurse known to him as 'Lizzie'. Somehow, despite the opium and the unflattering angle, he managed to seduce her from his sickbed. Or maybe it was the other way around. In any case, their relationship was short and sweet.

Name: Kenneth Smith
Age: 32
Occupation: Factory worker/former sapper
Bio: An evidently shell-shocked former sapper who served during the first world war. In recent years he has taken to a life of petty crime, drinking, drug taking and other pursuits and vices as a means of coping and as a political statement. His deep resentment at being sent to war with Tommy and the other men of small Neath is evident
His deep hatred of the establishment that sent him and many men like him to war and continues to hoard the wealth for the rich parasites sickens him deeply. Sickens enough to drive him to drink and drugs.
He is crass and crude but with surprising eloquence and possesses a wealth of political knowledge despite his regularly profanity-strewn speech.
Weaponary: A souvenier Webley revolver, a trench club and a dagger

Name: Regina Elizabeth "Lizzie" McGowan-Bell

Age: 27

Occupation: Freelance Journalist, Ex-Combat Nurse in WWI

Brief Personality: Lizzie is a great spitfire with a title to her name. She isn't afraid to speak her mind and is extremely aware of herself and of others. After she took up writing, she's used it as an outlet to cope with her PTSD symptoms from war. She tries hard to not let the world get to her, to wake up and believe that tomorrow is always gonna be a better day, but her friends fear she might have developed a bit of a drinking problem somewhere down the road.

Brief History: After doing her time as a combat nurse in WWI, Regina moved onto more pleasant things. She carried a great passion for writing about factual events and developing better global awareness about the crime and hatred spread throughout the world. She became a freelance journalist, opting to write inside and out about the turmoil and depression from the aftermath of the war. This writing outlet also became a source of comfort and therapy for the young woman. She's seen too many young soldiers die in her arms to want to be a part of war again.
Thomas "Tommy" Shelby

(Based on canon, some of my own twists)

Age: 30

Occupation: Leader of the Peaky Blinders, former Sergeant Major

Bio: Thomas is one of the children of a small-time gang leader, the product of a scandalous romance with a gypsy who gave up her way of life for love. (Mother either a. Died in childbirth, or b. Is an available character. Siblings are open to play!) His intelligence and people skills propelled him through gang ranks from a young age, and picked up the slack (along with other Shelbies, though he'd like to think it was single-handed) when alcohol began sapping his father of what little business acumen he once had. Tommy's ambition shaped the gang from a rabble of thugs into a well-respected illegal enterprise and a force to be reckoned with.

Then came the war. His father never made it out of the trenches. Thomas did, but a part of his soul was left behind. Four years of tunneling under enemy lines, of dirt and disease and the scraping of German shovels and the death-glazed eyes of comrades, left him angry and bitter, indifferent to personal risk. Enclosed spaces make his heart pound and he is constantly searching to fill an aching chasm in his chest. He relies on whiskey, distractions, and opium to make it through the week.

Personality:

Intelligent strategist and businessman. Plays cards close to the chest; can be manipulative.

Recklessly ambitious, regardless of cost to relationships or danger.

Carefully walled-off emotions, with anger and nihilism threatening to break through. Terrified of letting anyone in close enough to see how he's falling apart at the seams. Has a (well-hidden) soft side, and utter loyalty to his family, as well as the men he fought alongside.

His presence commands respect, despite his unassuming stature. He's mastered the art of bullshitting people into thinking he always knows what he's doing.

Likes: Irish whiskey, horses, respect
Dislikes: Slurs on his Gypsy blood, cowards, slowing down long enough for emotion to catch up
Tyler "Ty" Knox Shelby

Age: 24, born 1899

Occupation: Enforcer for the Blinders, former Corporal

Bio: Tyler has always been something of an enigma to his family. He was possessed of some need to prove himself for no apparent reason, always pushing himself further than he should. His family has had to bail him out of trouble more than they'd like, but seem to continue doing it for his prodigious marksmanship skills that landed him a spot in the Marksman Corps while in France.

Long hours spent sitting in muddy dugouts, isolated from the rest of the unit and being completely still. Eagle eyes watching for a German helmet to show above the wooden parapets of an enemy trenches, just to train his sights on a mans head and watch it turn into a red mass after coming into contact with a .303 bullet. Tyler remembers it all, from the first kill to the last. He still wakes at the wee hours, sweating and screaming at ghosts that aren't here.

Weapons: Tyler carries a souvenir Mauser "Red 9" C96, taken from a dead Austro-Hungarian during the Somme. During times where he his used to attack a rival gang, he carries a SMLE Mark III rifle or Model 1897 Trench Gun depending on.
Personality: Tyler is often likened to John and Arthur, sharing attributes of both. He's very headstrong, disagreeing with almost anyone bar Tommy. Willing to butt heads at the slightest provocation, he is usually kept away from any negotiations as a participant. But at heart, Tyler is a big softie, but rarely anyone knows that.

Likes: Vodka, Gambling, Killing
Dislikes: Layabouts, Rivals

William Edward Byrne

FC: Michael Fassbender

Nickname: Will

Age: 30

Family

Father: Edward Hugh Byrne

Mother: Deirdre Byrne (nee: Taaffe) deceased

Sisters: Niamh (32), Clara (22), Poppy (16)

Brothers: Conor (29) KIA, Oscar (27) MIA, Eoghan (24) KIA, Liam (18)

Brother In-law: Connall Doherty (35)

Features: green Eyes, Brown hair. William has a sharp jawline and stands at an even 6ft. He is most often seen dressed in a dark woollen tailcoat and simple dark three piece suit (often simply the shirt and waistcoat, wears the jacket to more formalised occasions. He dresses well out of habit making him stand out a little more than the average lower class worker.

Personality: Despite appearing to be constantly silent and serious, William loves a good laugh and has a dry sarcastic type humour. He is fiercely loyal to his family with the exceptions of his father and will not tolerate slander. He is honest but has learnt through his profession that he can tell a bloody good lie and cover his bases. He is protective to a fault. He is compassionate though finds it difficult to invest his soft side. When feeling hurt or experiencing episodes he shuts off and can come across abrupt and harsh.

Likes: boxing, privacy,

Dislikes: his father, disloyalty and white feathers, speaking about his time at war, heat, people seeing his scars (both mentally and physically), thinking time

Bio: First born son and second eldest of the eight children, William Edward Byrne more affectionately known as Will was raised in a small north Ireland county on the Byrne's family farm, land worked by their family for generations. His mother and father where married when she was quite young, his father at least ten years her senior. Deirdre was a local girl, wooed by Edward who knew her through family friends. Young and naïve, Deirdre gave herself to Edward though did not comprehend the consequences until she discovered she was pregnant. The pregnancy caused an uproar between the two families and Edward and Deirdre were married in order to restore honour. Though Deirdre dreamed of a more exuberant existence she lived anything but, instead spending most of their early years of marriage pregnant and confined to the farm. Edward Byrne inherited ownership of the land when his father died, continuing in the family business of training horses for supply across Northern Ireland and later provided stock for war efforts.

The first child; Niamh's arrival was not greatly received by Edward which was made much more obvious at his joyous celebration when William was brought into the world, a son the most favourable factor for Edward Byrne. William was to carry the Byrne name onwards and like Edward would one day continue the family trade. Across the years Deirdre continued to provide children, three girls and five boys altogether. The siblings were close, with William particularly close to Niamh, Connor and Poppy though he was always protective of all of his brothers and sisters. He did have friends around town and at school but more often than not, the Byrne siblings preferred each other's company. When he was old enough to take on larger farm duties, Edward pulled William out of school, consistent in his aim of having his son follow in his footsteps. William was fond of his life but like his mother, William needed more in his life. It didn't go down well with his father and after a furious argument and his father labelling him a disgrace, William left home and moved to Belfast where he joined the police force. He wrote his mother and siblings regular letters and despite Dierdre begging for him to return home, William refused, stating that he was okay but that he was determined to establish a life elsewhere.

An officer at the age of 18, William worked in the Royal Irish Constabulary within Belfast and due to their strict requirements, did not actively seek out a woman with the intentions of gaining a wife. He was well known to have a lady on his arm when not in uniform though he never felt settled. He was a member of a local boxing club and competed both privately and as a representative of the constabulary. William did not return often to the family farm, only when his mother fell ill and eventually died of suspected influenza and for Niamh's marriage. William and his father did not speak following his last visit and William refuses to speak of him openly with people.

With World War 1 declared, people in positions required for the functioning of the country were exempt from joining which meant Edward was to continue working the family farm whilst William's younger brothers rushed to recruit for the war effort. Though his work meant William was also excused from recruitment, William enlisted as an Irish soldier under the British armed forces, mainly because Conor was said to be separated from the other brothers as he had moved over to England before the war and thus had enlisted under the British force. It was William's idea to enlist so that he would fight alongside and protect his younger brother. Fatefully the brothers were never within the same unit.

A fusilier, William charged the frontlines along a long line of men, many of which did not return home during the years of service they saw. Little is known of William's experiences because he outright refuses to discuss them, even with other veterans save for the passing acknowledgements they would often swap each other. What is abundantly clear however is that at some point William was treated for a gunshot wound to his shoulder, a visible scar left behind and from a particularly horrific gas attack which has left William with physical scarring over his back, stomach and legs and is cause of susceptibility to the common cold. The sensations and memories of the attack have stayed with William who at time has been seen to be far off in thought.

The return from war was not at all easy, learning of Conor and Eoghan's deaths with Oscar officially declared missing in action and presumed dead. It devastated the remaining family and William has felt lost ever since. He returned to the police force once released from the hospital where he had recovered from his injuries though regular police work on the streets did not fill the void left behind.An opportunity however was not far away, William successfully promoted into a specialised unit of the police force investigating complex cases and eventually pulled into his senior officer's office where he was presented with the option of moving to Birmingham for a classified assignment. With little left in his life, William agreed and has moved to Birmingham in the very neighbourhood occupied by the Blinders.
Ada Shelby

Age: 24

Role: Sister to Thomas, Arthur, John, Finn and Ty Shelby

Bio: As the only female Shelby sibling, Ada was forced to develop a thick skin and a strong voice to make her ideas heard from a young age. She is level-headed, and strong-willed, with a streak of the family temper. She has mixed feelings about being a Shelby, as she doesn't approve of their criminal activities or violence, and goes out of her way to rebel against her brothers in little ways. For the sake of our RP, she's single, and deeply maternal towards John's kids.

Aleksei Petrov

38

Bio: Aleksei, a former professor with grand political ideals, came to England to escape persecution under Tsarist rule. He washed ashore at Liverpool, and eventually made his way to Birmingham through connections with his immigrant cousin who married a British barmaid. He got a job at a textile plant that paid cash under the table, and experienced firsthand the drudgery of factory work. When word of the October Revolution reached his ears, Aleksei cheered on the Bolsheviks from a distance. The local Communist Party branch was slightly suspicious of his nationality, but they saw in him an opportunity, and his charisma won them over. He's a proponent of armed revolt, and wants to smuggle in weapons through his contacts in Russia.

Archibald 'Archie' Gilbert Rosamond, aged 10

First born son to Bettina and Horace Rosamond, and heir to the family business. Often seen delievering letters with his little sister Henrietta Schmidt-Rosamond who only speaks very little English and mostly Austrian German. Regarded as a sweet boy with a rather troublesome personality; always willing to help his mother out, though, as he is quite the mama's boy.

Favours the looks of his father; auburn hair that is neatly slicked back, freckle kissed cheeks and bright green eyes.

Name: Arthur Shelby Jr

Age: 32
Role: Peaky Blinder; Tommy's right-hand man

Bio: While Arthur is the oldest Shelby brother, he's more comfortable firing shots than calling them. He's loyal to a fault, but his recklessness outstrips his good sense, and he lacks the subtlety and diplomacy needed for leadership. The war left him directionless and angry, and did no favors for his addictive tendencies. Arthur's looking for an anchor to hold on to.

Name: Elizabeth "Polly" Shelby (formerly Gray)
Occupation: Aunt to the Shelby siblings. Treasurer for the gang, and matriarch of the household.

Bio: Once upon a time, in another life, she was the proud daughter of a union between the Shelbys and a Roma princess. She married a gypsy by the name of Gray, but their life together was cut short when, drunk out of his mind, he drowned in the canal. After that, the State took away her two kids despite her sobbing and screaming.

When Thomas (John, Ada, etc)'s parents proved incapable of looking after themselves, let alone anyone else, the Shelby siblings became the children Polly never saw grow to adulthood. She's the thread which holds the family together. As involved in the business as any of them, she took over its operation while the men were at war, and relinquished some of her power to Thomas only with reluctance on his return. It breaks her heart to see how closed and emotionally distant he has become.

Personality: Polly is proud, fiery, and strong-willed. She's the only person who can keep her nephews under control. Despite her lack of illusions about the world she lives in, she's a romantic at heart. She fights with words and emotions whenever possible, and sees violence as a dull tool that women are intelligent enough to eschew.

Eugene Raymond Townley

Occupation: Australian Gang Member, Ex-Serviceman in France: Battle of Verdun & Battle of the Somme (Formerly) & Farmer (Formerly)

Age: Thirty

Summary: Life wasn't the same after leaving the war, returning to a broken family and missing younger sister that decided not to come home after foul treatment from his grieving parents. Eugene missed his little sister, and wished to be reunited with her, so took the chance from his brother when he offered to go find her. Before they did that the two brothers' had to organise some rebuild in York and throughout the rural towns. Taking a shining to being able to take his war related frustrations into fights, Eugene found a career worked well. Getting into contact with a former comrade Arthur Shelby, the Townley brothers' offered their assistance to the expansion of the Shelby business, and docked the next ship sailing toward England to have some more fun. Meeting new allies, an old friend and finding their little sister.

Finn Shelby; aged ten (almost eleven)

Youngest Shelby Brother, and forever dreaming to take his place in the Peaky Blinders to help his family. Finn longs to have the connection his older brothers have. Loyally he follows them like a lost puppy, in the hopes to help them out in jobs that they needed. His closest relationships within the Shelby family are held by his eldest brother Arthur, and aunt Polly Shelby. Sweet boy at heart, and both aunt and eldest brother try rather hard to keep him out of the dangerous side of the family, in hopes that he could have some innocence in his childhood.

Name:Frank Holloway

Role: Cousin to Beatrice Holloway; runs illegal boxing matches in London's East Side. A

!Not my character, so I won't write a proper bio! Just adding him to the list for reference.

Frederick Otto Townley

Occupation: Australian Gang Member, Ex-Serviceman in France: Battle of the Somme (Formerly), Farm-Hand (Formerly)

Age: Forty (Eldest Townley Son, sixteen years older than his sister Dorothy)

Summary: Fredrick Townley, affectionately known as "Freddie" only by his younger sister Dorothy Townley is a returned servicemen from the Battle of the Somme. Originally recorded to be MIA, he was later found and sent back home to find out that his family had fallen into chaos and out-cast his little beloved little sister 'Dot', on top of that news he learnt more about the debts and struggles men and woman faced after the war creating a gang to rebel against the government. Under his guidance for a time, Fredrick stepped down and travelled to England with his second brother to locate their sister, and offer her some protection and family comfort around her. But Fred has another motive, hoping to settle in the area of Birmingham and work closely with a certain Arthur Shelby to help expand the Shelby's family business.

Henrietta Priscilla Myra Schmidt-Rosamond, aged four.

Final child to Horace and Bettina, born during the war in Vienna Austria, after her mother was formally removed from her family to be a spy against her will. Originally it was unknown that Bet was pregnant until part way through one of her assignments. Henrietta was raised to speak Austrian-German by her mother and third cousin that helped her mother raise her for a short time before moving back home after the war. She's quoted to be a rather curious little child, tagging along happily with her bodyguard, brothers or mother. Horace is rather resentful to himself about not being around when she was born, but has only really taken that anger out on Henrietta thus Bettina has separated the two and she spends most of her time with her mother in the working hours of the day.

Heavily favours her mother's appearance, with beautiful blue eyes and brown waves for hair.

Name: Howard Bell

Age: 35
Gender: Male
Role: Lizzie's Husband
Occupation: Chief of Police
Summary:
A sophisticated, moralistic man of a few words. He's been on law enforcement for almost eleven years now and shows no sign of retiring. When Howard was 18 years old and just a dumb high school boy, he took a bet that he could bed Lizzie, a girl many boys deemed notoriously difficult to please. This led to a marriage, one that Howard considers himself and Lizzie quite happy in.

Name: Ian Patterson

Occupation: Birmingham Small Arms factory worker

Age: 32

Bio: Ian has always lived in Birmingham, in the worker's housing unit shared by his parents and his sister's family. He's resigned himself to the fact that the world is not forgiving or fair. Years of hard labor, with an intermission of warfare, have given him nothing to show but the calluses on his hands and the nightmare of memory. His would-be fiancée fell in with another man while he was overseas. However, this gloomy outlook has not dampened his natural cheerful mannerisms. All Ian wants is a steady income and a loving wife (though he wouldn't say no to a less-cramped living arrangement). He has a strong distaste for the Shelbys, and sympathy for socialism, but he's too wrung dry by daily routine to bother with politics.

Name: Raymond Gallaway

Age: 31
Gender: Male
Occupation: Car Mechanic, BAS Factory Worker (Formerly), Cadet Captain in WWI (Formerly)
Summary: Lizzie's friend, that's all. Joined military to get away from factory work but also to prove his worth to his dad and mum and fight for his country. Has been sober for a while now and gives Lizzie advice from time to time. Started a small, private car mechanic business not far back.

Richard Chapman

Full Name: Richard Sasha Chapman
Age: 35
Role: Communist Agitator; Chasity's Husband
Bio: Born to a English mother and Russian father, Richard began to appreciate the ideals of communism at a young age. His father was a communist agitator who often took to violence to get his point across which led to his arrest when Richard was the age of sixteen. When his father had gotten arrested his mother has changed his last name to her maiden name so that Richard hadn't been looked down upon because of the radical ideals of his father that frequently appeared in the newspaper, and moved them to Birmingham where he would finish his learning and ultimately be raised. Though when he turned 18 he realized that the preachings of his father were right and against his mother's wishes continued his fathers legacy. Now he commonly is found starting small rebellions in factories and spreads the ideals of communism hoping to gather more people for the large scale rebellion he's planning, but he has yet to gather the right people who actually want to set the plan in motion.

junebug · May 19, 2018

A Difference in Views, Lizzie and Howard

Lizzie woke up, her head feeling like it'd been cracked straight down the middle, all the way to the back of her head. She groaned and turned over to the side, noticing a glass of water and a banana at the bedside. It was morning, she could tell, but last night… Fuck. All she remembered was nothing. Lizzie knew she'd gotten drunk again, so much that Howard had to take care of her again. She reached for the glass of water, her head splitting with every move she made.

She took a small sip and sighed, gently laying back down on the bed. The curtains were kind enough to block any natural light from coming in, which kept her from experiencing a migraine. Another sip and she tried to rake her memories for something. It was an unfortunate event, winding up at the bar again, only to show how much of a terrible wife she was once more, but she didn't care. Lizzie silently prayed that Howard would not go off on her once she got better though.

"Regina, you awake?"

Howard's concerned tone shone through and Lizzie groaned. She hated it that Howard called her by her first name; it was confusing when everyone else called her Lizzie or Liz. She took a deep gulp of water and opened the banana, shoving a huge bite in her mouth. Howard came in with some pain relievers and shook his head at her sorry state. Lizzie rolled her eyes and chewed the banana thoroughly before swallowing it all and taking another sip of water.

"Yeah, I'm awake," she muttered, irritation searing through her tone. "You gettin' ready for work? Ya don' look like you're wearin' your stuff." She took another sip and sank back down beneath her covers. All she wanted was peace and quiet.

"I'm hanging out with a friend today. I don't have any work," Howard offered. "Where were you last night, Regina? Your friend Chasity brought you home. You were so slobbering drunk, barely awake, and you smelt like piss."

"I was at the bar, obviously. Don't ask me stupid questions. You already knew where I was. Don't try to force me to admit it," Lizzie scoffed and pulled the comforter over her head as Howard sat down at the edge of the bed.

"Regina, you need to stop it. This drinking problem you have, going out, what? Four, five nights a week? Or every other week? Whatever it is, this has got to stop. I'm sick and tired of it," Howard stated with exasperation.

"No, you just don't want your reputation and ego hurt. You don't want the chief of police's wife to be a stupid person who drinks often because she can't cope with all of the stress going on in her life. You just want a perfect woman."

"Now, Regina, we've had this conversation. I love you very much and I accept you for who you are, but I just want you to do better as a person. I want you to improve but you can't if you're going out drinking and getting yourself wasted."

Lizzie rolled her eyes and combatted Howard's statement. "Where's John's coat? I was wearing it and now I'm just in my night gown."

"Wait, who's John?" Howard raised a brow at his wife's statement. Was that who the coat belonged to? He narrowed his eyes, suspicions on the rise. She shrugged her shoulders and buried her face in her pillow.

"Uh, just some guy I met at the bar." She dismissed Howard's critical eye. "He gave me his coat last night because I was cold. It was a friendly gesture." Lizzie emphasized the friendly part because she could not stand her husband getting up all in her business and wanted him to realize that even she could hang out with men and stay faithful… somewhat. She bit her lip and pulled her hair out of the way, an annoying sigh rippling through her lips.

"I don't understand. Why didn't you just-"

"Oh shut it, Howard. I'm tired of your crap. Why didn't you do this? Why didn't you do that? I'm gonna accompany you next time, I'm gonna make sure you're alright… I'm sick of it," she groused. "Go wherever you're goin' with your friends. I'm sleeping in."

Her petty response roused anger and judgement in Howard. Did she not understand the importance of doing what was right? Of keeping her safe, no matter what? It hurt that she didn't stop to think of how her drunkenness and recklessness impacted him. He stood up abruptly, glaring at her.

"Regina, grow up, would ya?" He snapped, blood boiling. "I can't keep babying you."

She shot the covers down and glared at him twice as hard.

"I never asked to be babied by you in the first place. You did this to yourself, Howard. You should've divorced me plenty of years ago, and yet, you still put up with me and I can't even fathom why."

"Regina, it's a matter of life or death around here. Your decisions have consequences and those decisions you make don't just impact yourself. They impact your family too," Howard seethed through gritted teeth. She grimaced at his words; His decisions had certainly impacted her alright. She licked her lips.

"Just tell me where his coat is and we can be done with this."

"The stupid coat's in the laundry. You threw up on it last night in our bathroom, way to go."

Before Howard walked out, he turned back on his heels to face Lizzie.

"And whoever this John is, know that he won't be kindly welcomed into our family. I don't care if he's a friend or not. He's a stranger to me."

Lizzie stuck her tongue out at Howard and he rolled his eyes, slamming the bedroom door behind him as he went off to go visit William, his STING man. Meanwhile, Lizzie buried herself in the comforter once more, John's face clear as day: Angry. Angry at her, angry at the world. Her chest tightened. She still fucking wanted him, she still wanted to say how sorry she was for being such a mess. She wanted to hold that man and feel his fingers upon her back.

"God, John," she mumbled, tears blurring her vision again. She felt like a child all over again. "I just miss you, okay? I just want you to see that."

kaleidoscopique · May 19, 2018

tommyxxx

Location: Train station, London → Shelby household, Watery Lane, Birmingham
Mentions: Alfie ( @ZhenyaDup ), Chastity ( @_Dulce_ ), Lizzie ( @Kat ), Georgie ( @Kythera )

The earliest train from London pulled away from the station at six-thirty. A lightening of the sky to pre-dawn gray found the Shelby brothers, minus John, stretched out in a compartment. Arthur was snoring gently with his head against the window; three hours' sleep was not enough, particularly after a night of drinking. The younger brother hadn't slept at all. The London accountant had been reluctant to give financial advice at two in the morning, but Thomas had been persuasive. He didn't want to sleep. The last thing he needed was to wake, screaming and sweating, to the concern of fellow passengers. Again. He stared out at the city skyline as it receded. He was as eager to leave as he had been to arrive.

The walk from the station was a quiet one. The air was still, and coal smoke hung heavy overhead, blocking the feeble progress of sunlight. They paused for Arthur to vomit in an alley and Tommy to light a cigarette before continuing on home. Thomas opened the front door cautiously. With any luck, he could slip into the back room without drawing attention.

He was not lucky. Ada was sitting at the kitchen table, poring distractedly over a romance novel while her cup of tea grew cold. She looked up at the sound of footsteps. Arthur's still-drunk stumble over Finn's stray shoes did not help. John's daughter Lucy was sitting in Ada's lap, head nodding against her chest.

"You missed quite the show," said Ada. A slight smile crept to her lips. She looked at Tommy, daring him to ask. He didn't. She plowed ahead anyway. "Right. To summarize: John made an arse of himself as usual. Got caught between two women with more balls than good sense. Oh, and your girlfriend cut him a new one."

"Chastity's married now." Tommy's voice was curt.

Ada rolled her eyes at him. "Like that'd stop you. And you're missing the point." She took a delicate sip of her tea, reaching carefully around the little girl, before replacing the cup in its saucer. "I nearly forgot. You have a new employee. Just give her some shit errand to run or summit. She owes me. And you have a telegram." She scowled at the pair of them. "Honestly. I don't remember signing on to be your secretary. Dunno why I bother."

"You bother," said Tommy, "because it's the business what puts food on your table." Arthur didn't reply. He looked as though he were going to be sick. As if on cue, a wretching noise came from the upstairs bedroom.

"And that'll be John." Ada put down her book to wrap an arm around the sleeping child. "You'd think by now you boys'dve learned to handle your liquor. Not that I blame him, really. You should've seen Lizzie screaming at him."

Arthur snorted at that, managed to speak. "Wot, like John's Lizzie? Nurse Lizzie?"

Ada let out a dry laugh. "Yeah. That one."

Tommy had drifted away from the conversation. He had picked up the folded slip of typewritten paper on the counter for inspection. He raised an eyebrow at it. Solomons. The Solomons: head of the London Jews, and renowned eccentric. Interesting. Later that morning, he'd send his reply with a date for the following weekend. Might as well see to Frank and 'break bread' in one fell swoop. Besides, he suspected he might bite someone's head off if he got too close to the night's unsuccessful deal without time to cool off.

Beneath the telegram lay a card. On one side was an address for a rooming house. On the other, Ada had scribbled a name. Charlotte Clarke. He presumed that this was the hapless new employee. He didn't recognize the name, which was a good sign; there might be a job for her after all, if he decided he could trust the woman to keep her mouth shut. He wouldn't even have to pay her. He'd drop by for a visit after checking up on his boys in the back room.

At least, that was the plan. It took a detour when his aunt appeared on the stairs. Her lips were pursed with the promise of trouble.

StareNation · May 21, 2018

William Byrne (Will)
Location: Will's Apartment/Small Heath/Bank

The air was a thick blanketed smog of grime as they crawled amongst the dying and dead, overhead artillery gunfire and explosions sending vibrations through their bodies, so much so that in silence they felt their bones shake and rattle with the remnants of distant horrors. Three hours had agonisingly passed since the fusiliers unit had defended their line against the enemy and now the trenches seemed to grow still, a cold lingering calmness which signified an unsteady cease in battle. William felt the uncontrollable shake of his hands as his fingers tried to pluck a cigarette from one of his uniform pouches, pained eyes staring across the narrow trench at the remnants of young jimmy who had been shot clean in the face and had little left to be identifiable. Only four hours ago Jimmy had been heard shouting down the line of soldiers for more grenades. Now his mother would be sent nothing more than a simply telegram to tell her that her son would never come home.

A world away from his dream of the trenches, Will turned in his sleep in the small apartment room. His feet pushing at the roll of bedsheets as he struggled to sleep peacefully.

Swiftly his dream changed, hurtling from the deep dug out trench to the medical tents where gunfire was exchanged for the wounded howling and agonising screams of soldiers on tented cots, adjacently laid in three rows. But no sound was louder than the whimpers and screams that pierced his ears, coming directly from himself as he felt the awful bite of agony at his skin. 'hot stuff' the men had nicknamed it, but Will had never anticipated pain like this. His throat was on fire, his skin blistered with savagery over his torso, back and legs as a doe eyed nurse tried to hush him with soothing words as she began the extensive process of excising the large yellow blisters on his chest, trying to somehow ease the added burn of antiseptic against the raw flesh left behind. As pain ravaged his beaten body, William's dream ended with abrupt harshness, so quick that as he awoke he sat bolt upright with an almighty yell, chest heaving as his widened eyes instinctually searched over his chest only to find that he was completely untouched and simply met by the scars which had lingered on from that horrid event. His fingers had pushed and prodded at the marks, reminding himself of where he was now.

Still sat upright William's eyes left the sight of his scarred chest, searching along the walls of the room with hesitation as he took a sharp inhale. Sweat beads had formed along his brow as his heart raced and for the next few minutes his sole focus was to push the memories of war deep down, deep enough that he could pretend he wasn't at all damaged by what he had seen, felt and heard before. By the time he had brought himself back to a state of composure light had breached the apartment window and had crept across the wooden floorboards where his bags still stood full.

The rented apartment room was located north in small heath where the notorious peaky blinders were said to run their business, in a large building which was predominantly occupied by Irish immigrants. It was a perfect lodging for William since it would place him spitting distance from the blinders and provided a common look for his background story should anyone enquire. He had enough coin to pay for a year's worth of lodgings but instead he had agreed to pay a weekly based sum, claiming that it was the best he could do in 'tight times'. Having arrived only the night before, William had managed to sleep reasonably well until his dreams had plagued him and now as the cloud covered sun rose over Birmingham, Will swung his legs over the edge of the bed and placed his feet onto the cold floorboards, tiredly wiping the sleep from his eyes and assessing his plan for the day. Slowly standing he took a moment to stretch the tension from his back, somewhat cramped from the long train journey the previous day. He proceeded to check the time before hauling a suitcase onto the bed, opening it to reveal his clothes and belongings neatly packed in an organised manner. That was something the army and police force had taught Will years ago and now it was ingrained in his character. The other thing that he had come to perform almost religiously was dressing in such a way that set him out from a crowd of lower working class people. His uniforms and suits were always pressed, no matter where he was headed. William was always seen to be presentable and it served him well since it granted him access to places a commoner ought not to go and most often was not wanted.

Dressing in a clean white shirt with black waistcoat and pants, William placed a small notebook into the pocket of his large overcoat and pulled the woollen item from the back of the door, swinging it over his shoulders and sliding his arms into the sleeves as he had done a hundred times before. Today would be the start of a new chapter in his life, not entirely a safe or desirable chapter but something new none the less. Before leaving the room he paused to dig out a cluster of folded papers which he had hidden behind the chest of drawers, casting his eye over the pieces of parchment paper which detailed the meeting place that morning, a simple mud map sketch of the bank location. Taking in the details Will folded the paper and pulled a packet of matches from one of his coat pockets, using the ashtray on the top of the drawers, Will struck out a match, letting the small single flame flicker beneath the corner of the papers, soon watching it engulf the note until it fell to the tray beneath in ashes.

The bank was located just outside of Small Heath, away from the eyes of prying individuals and secure enough that the discussion with his superior would be discrete. He took to the street, walking through the very place he would come to know like the back of his hand, thick grey clouds overshadowing the muddy streets as workers moved about shovelling coal into the blast furnaces. The heat was palpable and as Will walked past the temperatures prompted an increase in his pace, yet another reminder of a time he would rather forget. His boots pounded over dirt and mismatched cobblestones passing more factories until he arrived in a much more fashionable part of town, the streets seeming to be replaced by the friendly exchange of women's voices and kids playing noisily. The building faces housed small boutique shopfronts and local grocers who were busily opening for the day's business. With his hands comfortably swinging with his step, Will made short work of the walk to the bank, spotting no one of note outside waiting for him. Concluding that his superior would be inside or still on his way, he took advantage of being able to head inside, away from the streetscape where he could be easily seen.

Pushing through the large foyer doors, Will cast his eye over the interior of the bank, high ceilings and large stone walls complimented by the finely detailed teller window and benches. There were a few people already in line to see someone for whatever personal or business financing was required and Will did little more than simply walk over to the waiting area and stand as though he were waiting to be the next in line.

kaleidoscopique · May 22, 2018

johnxxx

Location: Shelby family home → The Garrison Pub, Birmingham
Mentions: Lizzie ( @Kat ), Dorothy (@Dust Bunnies )

John felt consciousness creeping in. He tried to halt its progress, tried to return to the blessed oblivion of sleep, but to no avail. With it came a roiling queasiness and a haze of memory that he did not want to examine. For a moment, he simply lay there, eyes resolutely shut. Unbidden, flashes came. Alone at the bar, night bleeding into morning, and Dorothy removing the empty glass from his whisky-clumsy fingers. Before that, there were women, an onslaught of them. Then he remembered Lizzie. Lizzie, who belonged in a nurse's uniform, in a med tent somewhere south of Dieppe. Lizzie, with her sweet sweet lips and the tender skin behind her ear. Lizzie, who should not be allowed to exist in Small Heath, much less screaming at him while tears rolled down her cheeks in the back of the Garrison.

His stomach lurched. He sat up, and the room spun, a headache announcing itself with a vengeance. He squinted against the light leaking around the edges of the curtain. Then, he vomited into his wash basin.

He lay back down and closed his eyes. The nausea was better now, but the memories were worse. From downstairs he could hear voices. His brothers were home. Pol was up and, from the dry bite of her tone, unimpressed with something. Probably Tommy's self-appointed role as Shelby Family Dictator.

The longer he lay there, the heavier last night weighed on his chest. Details began to crystallize, and he could feel the phantom burn of Lizzie's hand across his cheek. Headache or not, the need for fresh air was suddenly suffocating. He sat up again and, after the world stilled, he began the slog of making himself half-presentable. He found he was still dressed. His coat was nowhere to be found. This was unsurprising, given that the memory of the evening was still patchy.

The stairs creaked beneath his weight, and there came a break in the conversation below. When he rounded the landing, they were looking at him. Tommy, leaning against the sideboard and twirling a piece of paper between his fingers. A bleary-eyed Arthur, buttering a piece of bread. Polly, arms crossed. Even little Lucy, seated on Ada's lap, chose that moment to wake up. She blinked up at him, held out her fat little arms. "Da!"

John groaned internally, but crossed to where Ada sat. He reached out to take Lucy's hand in his. "Hey, kiddo." He didn't trust himself to hold her without dropping her. It was a convenient way to avoid the gazes of his family.

Arthur made a choking noise through his mouthful of bread, which John assumed was a laugh. "We hear you had one hell of a night."

John returned a death-glare. It would have been more effective if he weren't squinting past the brightness. "You could call it that. Bloody hell. I s'pose half of Small Heath has heard about it at this rate." He helped himself to the rest of Ada's lukewarm tea.

"I'd say at least eighty percent," said Ada matter-of-factly. Polly snorted.

"Right." John slammed down the teacup with unnecessary force. "I'm going for a walk."

"Watch out for rogue exes," said Ada dryly.

Tommy stopped his progress with a hand across his chest. "I've some papers what need dropping off with Harry. You might as well stop by the Garrison, if you can stand to go back." John scowled at the lack of sympathy, but took the proffered documents anyway. The pub wouldn't be open for hours, but the morning cleanup would be underway. He could search for his coat.

"Hey." He bent down to look Lucy in the eyes. "I'll be back soon, love. You be good to your aunt Ada, alright?" Wide-eyed, she nodded, and he released her hand. He straightened. It was a moment before the black spots faded from his vision. Then, without another word to the rest of them, he stumbled towards the door.

For once, he appreciated the overcast sky. The fresh air helped to clear his head. The breeze cut through his shirtsleeves, and he hoped he'd find the damn jacket, but in the meantime it helped to wake him. There were a few people about. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but they seemed to be looking at him.

The bell jangled as John pushed open the door to the pub. He fought back another twist of his stomach. In daylight, the place looked unfamiliar, and far removed from the scene of last night's debacle. Harry was behind the bar, wiping up spilled liquor. John wondered if the man ever left the place. He was as much a fixture as the overhead lights. He looked up at the click of the door, and something flashed across his face before it was replaced with a practised professional smile. "Morning, Mister Shelby."

"Morning." John glanced around, still trying to reconcile the starkly empty room with the memory of noise and smoke and volatile emotions. He slid Tommy's file across the bar. "Hey, Harry, you seen my coat?"

junebug · May 22, 2018

Lizzie stared at the wash bucket in the backyard for hours. A glass of water sat beside her, though a strong part of her wanted it to be Cabernet Sauvignon. Howard was a sneaky bastard though. He'd gone and locked up their liquor and wine cabinet before he went out and took the keys with him. Lizzie ran John's coat through the bucket a second time since she woke up this morning. She was unable to bear the thought of giving John back his coat after she'd thrown up on it last night. She also admitted that she would rather pretend to not know where his coat was and keep it on her person forever, as a sentiment and a way of luring her lover back into her arms.

The Peaky Blinders. John Shelby. She couldn't make sense of it. How had Chasity known and she didn't? Lizzie curled her legs up against her chest. Chasity's words echoed in her mind and stung her deep.

'Knowing someone for a few weeks while you're tending to their gunshot wounds doesn't equal love.'

She licked her lips and sighed. John's face while he was laying in the hospital bed made her skin tingle with excitement. Chasity may have not had it well with men, but John made Lizzie feel like the world, even while he was wounded. Every single time Lizzie wasn't assigned to him, she made the nurse on duty switch her out with the other nurse who was tending to John's wounds that day. Lizzie made it abundantly clear she could take on John, that she was the only person who could handle his outbursts, and she even told John himself that he should always ask the nurse on duty for her to take care of him so he didn't get any other nurse looking at him the way she did.

People grew suspicious, no doubt, but god, Lizzie didn't care. She didn't care because the night he took her was more magical than any moment she'd ever shared with a man. She loved the way his lips pressed against her neck, the way his teeth grazed her skin. She loved it all, and no matter what Chasity said, Lizzie knew she'd never take another man over John, no matter how much she couldn't shake the fact that he was a criminal. Lizzie knew that even though John was not a part of the same world she was living in, she could not just "stop" loving him. She knew who he was, she was certain.

A couple hours passed and John's coat hung on the clothespin line, gradually being dried by the sun. Lizzie did her unofficial background check of smelling the whole piece of clothing for any weird, subtle smells, particularly vomit. She caught onto something near the lapel and immediately tossed it back in the bucket, scrubbing it hard. She would've used bleach, but the damn label said not to, otherwise it would discolor the coat. Hopefully, this was the last time she'd wash and dry the coat. Apparently, she'd been so sick that she couldn't even direct her vomit into the toilet— according to Howard.

The days were as grim as ever. Lizzie had gone and fucked up once more, much to Howard's disdain. He was growing tired and weary of her; he didn't know if he could truly keep up with the kind of woman she was becoming. On top of that, it seemed she had met a man named John who'd gone and given her his coat for the night. The thought made him jealous of the man and hate every ounce of blood in his bones. A hand ran through his clean, slicked back hair as his worn out brown loafers hit the ground.

William was an excellent tracker, a young man with eyes like an eagle and the intelligence of a baboon. He knew what he was getting himself into and why he was being sent on this STING operation. Howard could not have asked for a better man and he'd hoped that William, as much as he'd been told by the Royal Irish Constabulary, was truly as great as they said he was. Howard made his way down the sidewalk, far from where he'd parked his car, and walked up to the doors of National Provincial, one of the banks in Birmingham.

The moment he stepped inside, his eyes and ears were on high alert. He could remember William's face from the picture flipping back and forth between his thumbs and immediately headed over to where the man was. He greeted him rather quickly, but it was clear that Howard did not come for a simple chit chat. There was much more to the story than this STING operation William was to perform.

After a brief exchange of words and introduction, Howard led William to the back towards a vacant manager's office. They'd gotten in with a well-crafted excuse; the bank employees had no idea who they were and for good reason. Howard shut the door behind Will, but kept an ear out for anyone that may pass by and try to eavesdrop. It was helpful that there were cameras in the room.

"Alright, chap," he began with a grin on his face as he took out a piece of paper and a pen. "Here's what we're gonna do."

Bubs · May 23, 2018

[div

❧ Dorothy "Dot" Townley ☙

Location:
The Garrison, Birmingham
Mentions:
Harry (NPC), John (@kaleidoscopique )

***

Miss Townley was rather glad when the last of the Shelby brother left in the early hours of the morning, because it meant finally, she could start the long cleaning job. Moving to the door she flicked the locked, and turned over the 'sorry we're closed' sign, while she was cleaning. A breath of exhaustion left the plumps lips the smaller woman had, turning on her heel work was about to begin. Humming softly a tune that reminded her of the bushes, and shrubs she was used to back home in the town of York. Walking down to the cleaning supplies Dot grabbed herself the tools she needed in order to get the job done.

Carrying a bucket filled with soapy water, mop and scrub brush for some areas around the dirty and almost muddy wooden flooring. Drinking in her surroundings with eyes of honey brown, two nicely shaped eyebrows knitted together when noticed some of the damage from the night. Apart of her right then and there wanted to spit the dummy, it could have mainly fuelled by her own exhaustion. Toddling over towards the messes made. Dot dropped the metal bucket on the floor and got to work, water sloshing over the side of the bucket when it landed on the wooden flooring.

Kneeling down onto the dirty floor, the brunette grabbed her scrubbing brush and dunked it into the water. Rolling her long dress sleeves up to her elbows with her left hand, exposing pale elbows. A daily routine before finishing her night shift was cleaning up the place, and making it look somewhat presentable. Swiftly brushing the cleaning brush up and down on the wood, and then working on the mopping along the floor once they were clear of stains. The immigrant, and former nurse found herself lost within the scrubbing as it reminded her so much of cleaning blood from things much like her uniform.

The expectations Dorothy had for what the floor should have looked like were quite high, so there she stayed on her knees scrubbing for a good hour and half, and mopping was much the same in time. Standing once more sent an ache through her knees and back, much like the strains of nursing used to put on her. Wiping her hand onto her skirt of dirty gray which was stuck to angry red knees that throbbed painfully. Dorothy regarded the pain as being all worth it though, mainly because the floors looked absolutely spotless and almost shiny clean.

"You have out done yourself again, Dot." Harry stated stepping out from his office, counting up on the profits made from the night before. Wavering slightly, she could see the stress really beginning to effect Harry's well-being.

"Well, presentation is everything. So, everyone says." Dot laughed in a vague manner, standing there with her knuckles resting in the crook of her hips. The honey eyed beauty felt extremely proud of the effort she had put in.

"This is true, and its not like we'd be vaguely popular if we didn't take care of that." Her boss recounted back, flashing her a easier smile. For, Dot it was almost a sense of relief when she saw a moment of approval like this from Harry because other times he has been quite difficult. In spite of that, Dot worked hard and did her best to earn a living from the Garrison's work.

Dorothy Townley found herself once again back at work, strolling down into the storage cupboard to place everything back where it was meant to be. All except the bucket went back right away, because she was going to empty the dirty water onto the garden. However she was going to do that when sunlight came beaming in through the windows, and the wooden floors were completely dry. Polishing the empty tables was next, making the wood spark and shine in the dim light of the often smoke filled bar.

Walking out to tables where the floor had already partly dried, she wiped them down and them used a old cloth dug into the polish. Dot found herself humming sweetly as she worked, and but the further she got caught in a melody she began to sing. In time with each hand movement, the young woman sung like a caged bird trapped in a world she merely didn't understand. Coping and adapting from the war's conditions had coursed things to be impossibly hard with moving into a brand new area and country.

***

Dorothy knew no one, nor did she completely trust them. Everyone around seemed to have their own things they were dealing with, or were working with the local gangsters which didn't seem overly appealing. So, she kept rather to herself. At the arrival of her first break Dorothy unlocked the Garrison's front door and sat quietly on the step, watching the sun begin to rise. This opportunity was always her favourite, watching the clouds from the overcast morning be kissed by a beautiful golden glow, and some almost a gentle orange from the sun's touch. It was so calming, and a time she could just sit and do nothing even if her cigarette just burnt down.

Morning's cool breeze blew her short bobbed waves, kissing and tickling her cheeks. There was a certain tenderness in the moment, almost reminding her of a touch and lips she once found comfort in. Blinking back tears at sorrowful memories, there was no use crying over a man that was forgotten to rest of the world now. Pushing herself up from the shop steps, Dot went back into the beautifully polished and crisp looking bar, Harry was finally beginning to work on the bar as she had finished everything else. Wiping away the smallest trace of tears, the brunette immigrant bent down and picked up the metal bucket filled of cold murky water.

Stepping back outside, she began to walk down the road. Simply paced, carrying the right buck on her dominate right side. Moving to a few flower beds she found, pouring the water onto the plants allowing them at the very least a chance to be watered. Heading back towards the Garrison people were more lively wandering down the streets, or awakening for another working day. Enjoying the crisp freshness of the morning walk, Dorothy dreaded the fact that it was very quick to end. Walking up the few short steps, and opening the door. Honey brown eyes gazing at the ground, at the ringing of the bell before looking up at a familiar voice.

"Hey, Harry, you seen my coat?" John Shelby had said when she entered the bar once more, causing her to look up at his taller figure.

"Oh, G'day, Mister Shelby." Dorothy said in a light tone of voice, breaking away from her light daze. Offering a gentle smile.

Location:
The Garrison, Birmingham
Mentions:
Harry (NPC), John (
***

Miss Townley was rather glad when the last of the Shelby brother left in the early hours of the morning, because it meant finally, she could start the long cleaning job. Moving to the door she flicked the locked, and turned over the 'sorry we're closed' sign, while she was cleaning. A breath of exhaustion left the plumps lips the smaller woman had, turning on her heel work was about to begin. Humming softly a tune that reminded her of the bushes, and shrubs she was used to back home in the town of York. Walking down to the cleaning supplies Dot grabbed herself the tools she needed in order to get the job done.

Carrying a bucket filled with soapy water, mop and scrub brush for some areas around the dirty and almost muddy wooden flooring. Drinking in her surroundings with eyes of honey brown, two nicely shaped eyebrows knitted together when noticed some of the damage from the night. Apart of her right then and there wanted to spit the dummy, it could have mainly fuelled by her own exhaustion. Toddling over towards the messes made. Dot dropped the metal bucket on the floor and got to work, water sloshing over the side of the bucket when it landed on the wooden flooring.

Kneeling down onto the dirty floor, the brunette grabbed her scrubbing brush and dunked it into the water. Rolling her long dress sleeves up to her elbows with her left hand, exposing pale elbows. A daily routine before finishing her night shift was cleaning up the place, and making it look somewhat presentable. Swiftly brushing the cleaning brush up and down on the wood, and then working on the mopping along the floor once they were clear of stains. The immigrant, and former nurse found herself lost within the scrubbing as it reminded her so much of cleaning blood from things much like her uniform.

The expectations Dorothy had for what the floor should have looked like were quite high, so there she stayed on her knees scrubbing for a good hour and half, and mopping was much the same in time. Standing once more sent an ache through her knees and back, much like the strains of nursing used to put on her. Wiping her hand onto her skirt of dirty gray which was stuck to angry red knees that throbbed painfully. Dorothy regarded the pain as being all worth it though, mainly because the floors looked absolutely spotless and almost shiny clean.

"You have out done yourself again, Dot." Harry stated stepping out from his office, counting up on the profits made from the night before. Wavering slightly, she could see the stress really beginning to effect Harry's well-being.

"Well, presentation is everything. So, everyone says." Dot laughed in a vague manner, standing there with her knuckles resting in the crook of her hips. The honey eyed beauty felt extremely proud of the effort she had put in.

"This is true, and its not like we'd be vaguely popular if we didn't take care of that." Her boss recounted back, flashing her a easier smile. For, Dot it was almost a sense of relief when she saw a moment of approval like this from Harry because other times he has been quite difficult. In spite of that, Dot worked hard and did her best to earn a living from the Garrison's work.

Dorothy Townley found herself once again back at work, strolling down into the storage cupboard to place everything back where it was meant to be. All except the bucket went back right away, because she was going to empty the dirty water onto the garden. However she was going to do that when sunlight came beaming in through the windows, and the wooden floors were completely dry. Polishing the empty tables was next, making the wood spark and shine in the dim light of the often smoke filled bar.

Walking out to tables where the floor had already partly dried, she wiped them down and them used a old cloth dug into the polish. Dot found herself humming sweetly as she worked, and but the further she got caught in a melody she began to sing. In time with each hand movement, the young woman sung like a caged bird trapped in a world she merely didn't understand. Coping and adapting from the war's conditions had coursed things to be impossibly hard with moving into a brand new area and country.

***

Dorothy knew no one, nor did she completely trust them. Everyone around seemed to have their own things they were dealing with, or were working with the local gangsters which didn't seem overly appealing. So, she kept rather to herself. At the arrival of her first break Dorothy unlocked the Garrison's front door and sat quietly on the step, watching the sun begin to rise. This opportunity was always her favourite, watching the clouds from the overcast morning be kissed by a beautiful golden glow, and some almost a gentle orange from the sun's touch. It was so calming, and a time she could just sit and do nothing even if her cigarette just burnt down.

Morning's cool breeze blew her short bobbed waves, kissing and tickling her cheeks. There was a certain tenderness in the moment, almost reminding her of a touch and lips she once found comfort in. Blinking back tears at sorrowful memories, there was no use crying over a man that was forgotten to rest of the world now. Pushing herself up from the shop steps, Dot went back into the beautifully polished and crisp looking bar, Harry was finally beginning to work on the bar as she had finished everything else. Wiping away the smallest trace of tears, the brunette immigrant bent down and picked up the metal bucket filled of cold murky water.

Stepping back outside, she began to walk down the road. Simply paced, carrying the right buck on her dominate right side. Moving to a few flower beds she found, pouring the water onto the plants allowing them at the very least a chance to be watered. Heading back towards the Garrison people were more lively wandering down the streets, or awakening for another working day. Enjoying the crisp freshness of the morning walk, Dorothy dreaded the fact that it was very quick to end. Walking up the few short steps, and opening the door. Honey brown eyes gazing at the ground, at the ringing of the bell before looking up at a familiar voice.

"Hey, Harry, you seen my coat?" John Shelby had said when she entered the bar once more, causing her to look up at his taller figure.

"Oh, G'day, Mister Shelby." Dorothy said in a light tone of voice, breaking away from her light daze. Offering a gentle smile.

StareNation · May 25, 2018

William Byrne (Will)
Location:Small Heath/Bank
Interactions: Howard Bell

The lobby of the bank was not overly busy, just enough activity to obscure William who had picked up a nearby newspaper and made himself busy with reading the local gossip columns, not out of enjoyment but because it was information gleaming for the task at hand. The local news was a good source of information on who was marrying who, divorces and other memorable engagements along with advertisements for local jobs which told him more about the local industries and who worked where. He already knew the basic information on where the Peaky blinders held control but more information would need to be acquired through forming relationships with locals. Though William didn't acknowledge his talent for working undercover it was fairly clear that he knew what he was doing and with some ease.

The bell on the banker's door chimed as a new face appeared, foreign to William and the other people who were gathered in the waiting area. The man who seemed to be but a few years older than himself however had made short work of identifying Will and he could only assume that this was none other than his new superior. As Will raised his eyes from the news column to view the man approaching him, he moved his hands, allowing the paper to fold over in half as he dropped it to the table beside him and rose as Howard moved over and greeted him with a simple nod and handshake. It was enough for William since there would be no reason why someone other than his superior would be there in that moment and as such he rose and followed Howard to the vacant office at the back of the building. He had to hand it to his employers in Birmingham, meeting Howard in a bank was a smart move considering what he knew of the Shelby's. Exactly how many people surrounding the peaky blinders were likely to have loose lips was an unknown factor which seemed to worry Will and so quiet meeting places like this were few and far between.

Entering the room and waiting for Howard to close the door behind them, William turned and nodded, his posture straight and stance hard to attention as he looked across to Howard ahead of him.
"Sir, thank you for the meeting." William mentioned before Howard presented with a grin. William could see he was clean cut though wore somewhat tired clothing. As Howard pulled the pen and paper out from his pocket, William stood where he was with hands comfortably clasped behind his back. Out of the public eye in front of Howard he was the ever dutiful solider and officer, only relaxing a slight amount when Howard laid the paper on the table infront of them. He kept his arms clasped where they were, comfortably settling in to listen to Howard's run down of why he had been brought to Birmingham.

"The constabulary intends on closing down the Peaky Blinders, but so far our efforts have been…somewhat hampered. There is little trust in some of the officers locally and frankly we need a fresh approach. That's where you come in." Howard explained as Will simply nodded in silence.
"You will be expected to report regularly, particularly in regards to any new business ventures Mr Shelby and the gang develop. You will not have assistance in the field and let me make it clear Mr Byrne, if you are discovered there will be no support from the local constabulary and know that recently there have been far too many occasions where we have missed easy opportunities due to those bastards being one step ahead." Howard detailed as William's eyes locked on his superior's for a moment. He didn't answer straight away and hesitated a moment before finally replying with
"Understood sir."

It wasn't the first time he had been in this position. Prior to the war, William had been undercover though it was back in Ireland and it was in an area much more familiar to him. Here in Birmingham he was indeed going to be alone and with crooked cops about he would need to be attentive to who was taking bribes and who could be trusted. He had to have a clear way of communicating back to Howard and after a moment of thought as Howard continued to detail information on particular locations in small heath he would need to frequent, William spoke up again.
"Each month, I will head to winson green to the pauper lunatic asylum under the guise of seeing an ill friend, I will meet you there to provide what I have learnt from my contacts. Poor ill Mary, at least she has a kind friend to check in on her" William ended with a joke over the fake scenario, serious in tone though a glimpse of a smirk drawing across his lips. Like the bank, a lunatic asylum was bound to be less frequented by the public since most patients were left there by their families. As howard passed him a cluster of papers which held information on areas of interest Will folded them and tucked them into a pocket on the inside lining of his overcoat as he nodded to Howard.

"Pleasure to serve the Birmingham constabulary sir, I am sure it won't be long until I send word." William concluded, shaking Howards hand before taking his own pen and jotting his apartment address down and ripping the small piece of paper from his notebook, passing it to his superior officer as he strode over to the door.
"I have secured a small room in a local building of immigrant workers, the landlord doesn't appear to be affiliated with the Peaky's. This is the address…Good to meet you." William farewelled Howard before opening the office door, making a casual paced stride for the bank's front entry and soon enough out into the dreary streetscape. He didn't hang around because looking awkward only ever drew more attention to one's self. With a confirmed agenda and planned reporting procedure, William found confidence in the job he was undertaking, though what lay ahead of him would be turbulent and no doubt dangerous. Stepping out into the street his pace seemed relaxed, his hands comfortably sliding into the coats of his overcoat as William headed back through Small Heath.

kaleidoscopique · May 27, 2018

tommyxxx

Location: Shelby family home → Watery Lane
Mentions: Alfie ( @ZhenyaDup ), Georgie (@Kythera ) Will ( @StareNation )

The door closed behind John, and there was a moment of silence, broken only by the pointed rustling of the pages of Ada's book. It was broken by Arthur, who clambered unsteadily to his feet. "Well," he said, "I'm going to bed." He raised an eyebrow as if daring them to stop him. When nobody did, he disappeared up the stairs. Ada turned another page, faster than she could possibly be reading.

"Ada," said Tommy, "I've a job for you."

She looked up then. "Lucky me," she said without enthusiasm.

He slid the address card in her direction. "This 'Charlotte' girl. I want you to decide if she can be trusted with information. I need someone who's not linked back to us, someone with a good head on her shoulders. You talk to her. You find out what you can, and if she'll do, you tell her that she has an appointment for Friday."

Ada took the card, considered it with pursed lips. "Fine. I'll go. The girl seemed smart enough, if a little lost. But someone's got to keep an eye on Lucy. John's hardly up to the job."

"I'll watch her." Polly reached out to take the book from Ada's fingers. "Off you go." Ada hesitated. Then, gently, she hefted the little girl against her breast, pushed back her chair. Deposited the child in her aunt's arms and busied herself with her coat. Pol let out an exaggerated huff. "I swear she gets bigger every day."

"She'll no doubt be hungry when she wakes. I left some porridge on the stove if she wants it." Ada cast an anxious glance at Lucy.

Polly rolled her eyes. "It weren't so long ago that I was wiping your bottom. I can handle one little girl."

"I know you can." Ada stuffed the card in her pocket. "Right. Shouldn't be gone long." She glanced between the remaining occupants of the room. "I'll leave you to it."

The moment the door clicked shut, Polly opened her mouth. Her tone was sharp. "What happens on Friday, Thomas?"

Tommy sighed. He'd known that delaying the argument an evening would do nothing to undermine his aunt's resolve, but he had still hoped she might lay off. "Dunno yet," he said. It was a truth, if obtuse.

"Don't do this with me," she snapped. "You need me, Thomas. You need me and you know it. This is a family business, and I've been a part of it long before you. What happened to family votes?"

Tommy contemplated her. "Things have been good, Pol. The money's pouring in. I know what I'm doing."

"And I don't," she said shortly. "You're only one man, however much you want to believe different, and men make mistakes. All I want is a say."

Tommy was not partial to slowing his thoughts long enough to explain them. In his experience, playing one's cards close to one's chest was the best way to avoid unwelcome surprises. But, while he could shrug off accusing stares without effort, the full force of Polly's stubbornness was more trouble than it would be worth. With any luck, an explanation of recent events would mollify her. He let out a breath. "Look at this." He unfolded the scribbled note and held it out for her inspection. "It's from Chapman. I found it by chance. Think he's up to something, and I want to know what."

Polly took the note, smoothed it between her fingers. "Chapman," she repeated. When she looked up, her eyes were dark. "You're playing with fire, Thomas."

3039494-inline-i-4-weird-name-stellar-production-why-peaky-blinders-is-the-years-most-immersive-crime-seri.jpg

His aunt's voice faded to a nagging echo as he turned away. He'd left her- not satisfied, but no longer bristling with irritation, which was an improvement. The bustle of the 'office' was a welcome escape. What had once been the Shelby family sitting room now bustled with the daily routine of business. The tapping of typewriters and calculating of odds, the color-coded lists of protection fees, the betting records, stood in orderly contrast to the chaos of practical matters, written in blood between the lines of text. Smoke and shouted numbers crowded the air. A chorus of greeting met Tommy's entrance.

"Isaiah." Tommy motioned to one of the boys who was perched on the table, skinny legs dangling. Isaiah started. "If you're gonna skip out on school, you might as well make yourself useful. I want a telegram sent to a Mister Solomons, up in Camden Town. Tell him that I'd be delighted to try his bread. Tell him that I'll be up sometime next weekend. Tell him I'll find him." The kid nodded enthusiastically.

A combing through the papers on his desk revealed nothing of great interest. The weekend race numbers were good. The pub up on Swanley had missed a payment. A new shipment of cigarettes was in. He paused on an inventory list; the Garrison hadn't been updated. He could have sent someone, but he wanted to talk to Harry anyway. Besides, he thought wryly, it wouldn't hurt to check that John hadn't collapsed in the street.

Both Polly and Lucy had vacated the kitchen by the time he passed through, which made things simpler. Inventory list in hand, Tommy stepped once again out the door.

Had he been paying better attention, he might have noticed a man walking with the unmistakable uncertainty of one unfamiliar with the area. As his mind was elsewhere, he did not. Later, he would regret the lapse in attentiveness.

kaleidoscopique · May 27, 2018

john + dorothyxxx

Location: The Garrison
Mentions: Lizzie ( @Kat )
Thank you @Dust Bunnies !

Harry cleared his throat in response to John's question. It looked uncomfortable, and John wondered precisely what had happened the previous night. His memory was still fuzzy around the edges. The manager was momentarily rescued by the arrival of one of the serving girls. John looked round at the intrusion. The Australian accent gave away the speaker as Dorothy. She was smiling, and despite having stayed up as late as he, she appeared to be in a considerably better state. He returned a smile despite the stabbing pain behind his eyes.

"Morning, Dot." He didn't know her well, but she had become something of a fixture at the Garrison. He appreciated her friendly greetings, and her nationality made her something of a curiosity. "I guess you had to wait up for me last night." An internal voice that sounded suspiciously like Polly prodded him to make up for his train wreck of an impression the previous night. "I guess I owe you my thanks."

Dorothy lightly wiped her hands into the fabric of her skirt, an eye of curious nature watching John. Her beaming gaze almost instantly settled at the return of her greeting, and wishes for a good morning. Pulling a rather relaxed smile, the young woman merely shrugged at the gentleman before her. "I'd hardly say you I was left up waitin', don't really sleep most nights… Kinda hard, adjustin' nothin' like peaceful nights to keep you awake. First thought shells were bad…" Dot politely added to the conversation, walking just passed John over towards the bar, placing the empty metal bucket on the beautifully polished and clean floors.

A small laugh escaped the smaller woman's two plump lips, cupping her hand over her mouth lightly. The mere gesture of thanks from John Shelby amused her. No one ever thanked Dorothy for staying up till the early hours of the morning before. Frankly, it was a blood nice change for once. Lifting her gaze towards Harry, noticing him cock a brow ever so lightly in Dorothy's presence. This wasn't the real Harry, but merely a hardened exterior and protective side of him. What was he overprotective about. Dot would never quite know.

Closing her eyes, the small Australian woman sighed lightly. Dorothy Townley always felt like she was constantly fighting for approval from Harry, although she didn't completely understand why. Moving her neck, she shifted uncomfortably moving to look at John noticing the pain behind his eyes. Something she learnt during her time as a nurse in the war, Dot could tell the difference in shifting pain and sorrow in eyes' emotions. "No, thanks are in need. Would you like me to fix you some tea, and possibly something for the hangover." Dot kindly offered, her expression was light, and gaze was soft as a cloud.

Miss Townley was one hardly to judge, after all they all had respective demons. Unlike her boss, Harry who was rather disagreeable in the best of days. The rather average height, slim build of a woman grabbed the bucket heading down towards the back. Walking with a innocent bounce in her step. "I'll fix yer some tea, Mister Shelby. Bacon and eggs, for breakfast sound any good?" Dorothy said walking away, not allowing John a chance to stop her from cooking, and brew his tea away from the forever disapproving Harry.

Shaking his head, Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. His right hand resting lightly on the envelope of documents from the Blinders. "Sorry about that girl, she's quite the challenge on a good day. S'pose she doesn't have anything to go home to." Harry spoke in a rather tired manner, his voice wavering slightly.

John raised an eyebrow at the girl as she disappeared upstairs towards Harry's living quarters. Even if he had his wits about him, it was doubtful that he could have managed to get a word in edgewise. "No need to apologize. Tea sounds damn good about now." He ran a hand over his face. The bacon and eggs was another matter, though he did feel substantially less queasy by now. The thought brought him back to the previous night, and his current mission. "The coat, Harry. Have you seen it?"

He was beginning to sober up, which meant that at some point a decision was in order. A decision he was not yet mentally prepared to make. Lizzie had stumbled back into his life and, for better or worse, it could not be undone. The question of whether he wanted to see her again remained.

Yes. The answer came, and his heart sank, because there was no denying it. He wanted her back. He wanted her back, and yet they knew so very little about each other. For all he knew, he'd passed her a dozen times in the street. Certainly their paths must have crossed at the Garrison, and sometimes he'd imagined catching sight of her face in a crowd. But he often spent downtime in the back room of the pub, and he doubted that anything short of a slap across the face could have convinced him that she was more corporeal than a memory. "Tell me," he said, leaning forward across the bar. Despite the dark circles beneath his eyes, his gaze was steady. "What do you know about Lizzie? The, ah, the angry drunk blonde. From last night."

"Lizzie?" Harry asked with a small amount of curiosity regarding his best customer. "She's the wife of the police commissioner…" The middle aged man commented scratching the scruff of his neck. "She's an ex-nurse, much like Miss Townley. Has a bad habit of coursing issues during the night, so I get my staff to take her home." The middle aged man just found himself wondering how the police commissioner's wife knew him. "Ask for the coat, I didn't see it in the cloak room earlier." Harry shrugged listening to Dot walking around upstairs.

Wife. It was the last word which John heard. A lump of bile rose to his throat, and for a moment he thought he might vomit again. Had she been married when they had first met? Had their whole relationship been built on a foundation of half-truths? His anger resurfaced, burning with justified righteousness this time. Married, and to the fucking police commissioner, no less. Sobriety was fast losing its appeal. Maybe he'd ask for whiskey in his tea.

Meanwhile, the sweet brunette was cooking the bacon and egg in a small pan. Humming in a light manner, she moved the skillet within the pan. Flipping the egg and bacon, before placing them down on the plate with toast. Placing the food and brewed tea onto tray. Carefully picking the tray, walking down stairs in a slow and well paced manner.

"You were rather quick, sometimes I wonder you, convicts eat things raw…" Harry commented bluntly.

Dorothy rolled her eyes in a manner of annoyance at Harry's pull of her heritage. Carefully moving down the stairs in a steady pace, walking into the bar calmly. Placing the tray up, and pouring some tea into the cup for John. Lifting her gaze towards him, noticing a rather sick and angry look in his eyes. Exchanging glances with Harry, concern rising like bile up the back of her throat.

Absently grasping for a bottle of rum, Dot felt the rising need to drink. John's change of character made her evidently nervous. "Breakfast is ready," she stated with a tight lipped smile.

junebug · May 30, 2018

Lizzie took to letting John's coat dry further in the morning sun instead of wearing it while it was still damp. She took a shower, brushed her teeth, and immediately felt somewhat refreshed afterwards. Hopefully, her breath didn't reek of alcohol as much as it did last night. She threw on a short-sleeved blouse, a high waisted skirt, and left the house. A cab service took Lizzie to the Garrison, the pub that would be her best bet in finding John.

She gave the driver a decent tip and opened the door of the Garrison. The bell rang and almost immediately, she felt a sense of dread fill the atmosphere. A few males sat throughout the pub, some glancing up to eyeball the clean, yet familiar lady from last night. She felt bile rise in her throat as she regarded three familiar figures at the pub counter; Dot, Harry, and worse, John Shelby. Lizzie immediately rounded out the door as Dot greeted her.

She didn't want to see John right now. That wasn't why she came. She wasn't prepared to see him again in front of Harry or anyone else at the pub, not when he still had such a heavy effect on her. Lizzie darted down the sidewalk, walking as fast as her legs could carry her in the black leather oxfords she'd decided to wear. She took a right turn down the next street and sank against the brick wall next to the antique shop, wanting to disappear.

Her heart was like a hammer striking against an anvil. All she could think of was how she could go back to him and apologize or how angry he might be at her for what she did, whatever she did last night. She took a deep, shaky breath. She couldn't run away. John was different now, but he wasn't much different than she knew, right? He was still the same man she fell in love with, but how could she approach him now?

I know who he is. I know who he is.

Her lips pressed together and she clenched her fists, the thought willing her to stay put. He was John, but no matter how much Lizzie tried to brush it off, the moment she'd seen him standing there at the bar in the Garrison, the realization that he wasn't truly the same man she'd known. It hit her cold and she second guessed her decision to approach Harry about John.

Perhaps, John was too dangerous for her to consider pursuing. Afterall, the Peaky Blinders were something of a notorious gang, a gang Howard had always told her to stay far away from. He didn't want her to know they existed, but now, now she really knew and she'd had an affair with one of them behind his back. She couldn't even recall if she'd ever told John she was married; she probably hadn't if their relationship had gone on this long.

There was only one solution to find out more. She'd have to go through Howard's things and see if she could find any leads to the Peaky Blinders. It was a long shot, but perhaps, he would bring home some files one night and she could look through them. She could learn more about the Peaky Blinders from a distance, instead of up close. The thought settled somewhat in Lizzie's mind as she turned to leave the spot, unaware of what might happen next.

TAGS AND MENTIONS John, Harry, Dot @kaleidoscopique @Dust Bunnies

Bubs · May 31, 2018

❧ Dorothy "Dot" Townley ☙

Location:
The Garrison, Birmingham - Watery Lane
Mentions:
Harry (NPC), John (@kaleidoscopique ), Lizzie (@Kat ), Thomas (@kaleidoscopique ) and William (@StareNation)

***

Tucking loosened strands of beautiful brunette waves around and behind her ears, Dot took her hand away from the bottle of Rum when the Garrison's door opened and the bell rang once more. Awkwardly swallowing back at the familiar but uncommon sight of a sober patron known as Lizzie walking through the door. "G'morning," Dorothy called out to the front door of the Garrison. Big doe-like eyes of honey brown eyed the woman seemingly a few years older than Dot, whom rather quickly turned and fled out the door.

The only response the could muster was a creasing brow, into a light frown at the woman's rather dramatic turning out back the door. Turning to gaze at Harry, Dot couldn't help but shrug excusing herself. "So sorry, Mister Shelby, I should go see what's the problem there...." The average height Western Australian immigrant stepped behind Harry, and out of the bar area towards the door with a steady pace. Gripping the door handle, Miss Townley went to open the door and the cool breeze of the morning's breath kissed her in a form of greeting.

"Dot, don't worry about her. She'll come back later, just go home. You look exhausted, and by God, I don't want Ralph haunting me for working you to an early grave." Harry called out to the small woman at the door, picking up a glass and pouring himself a drink. Hearing the audible sigh from the young woman at the door. Watching her walk down the front steps of the Garrison and off on the muddy, dirty roads. Tight lipped he raised his glass to Mister John Shelby before him, and took a swift gulp of his spirits. Enjoying the stinging burn it left in his throat.

Harry strolled over to the large amount of paperwork, that John Shelby had delivered before hand flipping through it. "Your brother sure doesn't waste his time with paperwork," The middle-aged man commented his light blue eyes trailing over the ink on the paper. It was the sign of change, and a ending of an era to Harry. His son was dead, meaning he had no one left to gift the Garrison to, even if his son wanted the business to Dorothy Townley. That wasn't going to happen. But, Harry would definitely give her his son's share within the business to help support herself a bit more. He could promise that on his deceased son's life.

Meanwhile, in the cool breeze of mid-morning, Dorothy moved onward down the road hugging her almost shivering body. Hugging her body as she walked down the muddy roads, feeling her shoes drag and pull along the way. Biting into pale chapped lips Dot breathed heavily in discomfort. Listening out for the rare wolf whistle, and sounds of men starting their day once more of being on the prowl for a whore to warm their cocks in. A mere thought that made Dorothy's stomach turn in a uncomfortable way.

It was a quite a bit of time before her honey brown eyes found a familiar face in the regards of Mister Thomas Shelby. "G'morning, Mister Shelby." The small woman greeted offering him a gentle gaze, curtsying lightly in the moment before straightening her back. Dorothy Townley lightly gripped her dress's skirt tightly in her fists, the fabric was crumpled and dirtied stained by alcoholic drink, and food that was thrown in a few arguments when she first cut people off during the night. She was much smaller compared to the man heading in the direction of her workplace, the Garrison. "I wish you a good day. Also, before I forget if you're worried about your brother, John Shelby arrived safely at the Garrison. Just hopes he likes the tea and breakfast I made him, he looked a little worse for wear."

Dorothy spoke kindly in a gentle tone of voice, offering the rather well known Shelby brother a smile. The small woman didn't bother to start disagreements with the Shelby, that would have been fucking suicide. Lowering her gaze, Dot slowly moved on passed the much taller man. "May the day bring you much luck, and the greater outcomes of a busy day ahead." She stated in a calm manner before moving off on her journey home once more, humming a soft melody that reminded her so much of home.

Further down Water Lane Dorothy walked, the more the crowds began to shift in the mid-morning. Most preparing themselves for more work, or another day of surviving the harder times. Counting the faces of men scarping for survival on the streets, Dot wondered and dared to hope in seeing men she once nursed among them. None of them. None of them were there, much like each other day and each other search, their wasn't a face she noticed out there that seemed to stand out. Or so she thought before spotting a man who was seemingly just as out of place as Dot, herself.

His features were crisp, clear as the day she last saw them. Sharp jawline, standing tall at roughly six foot. Scruffy brown hair, and no doubt the same lively green eyes. It had to be! Connor Byrne! Dorothy thought with a look of utter surprise, her heart raising as she felt her pace quicken after him. "Connor! Connor Byrne is that you?!" Dorothy yelled out in a feet, causing people to turn and look at her. But something made the young woman not care so much in that moment, before she stopped huffing a few feet away from the man.

Horror danced across her expression when she saw that she had the wrong man, and her heart sank. "I-I-I'm so sorry, you just looked like someone I used to know... From the war." Dot stated in a low huffed voice, tears daring to spill at her mistake that she could only believe came from her exhaustion. "I'm so- terribly sorry, to disturb you." She said straightening back up, as her accent leached through her words in a strained manner. Completely and utterly unaware of what could happen next.

Beesknees · Jun 3, 2018

❀Chasity❀

Location:Home ➝ Sweetwater Market
Mentions:Thomas(@kaleidoscopique ) // Dot (@Dust Bunnies ) // Lizzie (@Kat )

⇹❀⇹

This wasn't supposed to be how her life ended up; with the sounds of loud retching and heavy breathing being the alarm that woke her up in the morning. In her mind it was supposed to be clear blue eyes and a stupid grin she found herself rolling over to, but in reality it was an empty and cold bed with a hungover and sick husband trying to get rid of the mistakes from last night into their toilet. A soft sigh found its way from her lips as she pulled herself out of bed and sat with her feet dangling over the edge. "Love. I need something for my upset stomach." She heard in between her husband's vomiting and she tried her hardest to play the sympathetic wife as she pulled on a simple white dress that stopped right below her knees with a black jacket that sat on her shoulders, then a pair of black heels and a white hat with a small satin ribbon wrapped around it. A trip out of this house was just what she needed so any excuse to take just that was something she was going to cling to.

She was still ticked about everything from last night, the argument with Richard, him using his own child for his personal gain, every fucking male Shelby at this point (minus the cutie Finn), and a drunk Lizzie. That whole ordeal just brought back memories for her that she worked her hardest to suppress not only for her sake but for the bastard involved. "Sure Richard, I'll run to the market and pick up some herbs to make tea and something for a broth. Just stay in the bathroom to refrain from making a mess anywhere" she said with the most sympathetic voice she could pull out of her arse as she made her way out of the door and down the street.

Chasity knew that sooner or later she was going to have to sit down with Lizzie and talk about that whole Shelby mess, but right now she wasn't in the best shape emotionally to even think about talking about a Shelby. Let alone the talk about being romantically involved with one. She had the worse nightmare last night that a few months ago she would have called the best dream, the only factor that switched her wonderful dream to a bittersweet nightmare was how the party involed more than likely hated her and how she was married now. Another sigh slipped past her now deeply reddened lips as she placed a cigarette between them. But just as she found herself trying to produce her match box and about to round the corner to the street, she heard a voice that sounded familiar and saw the familiar face of the devil himself.

Her heart leaped into her throat and her whole body went cold. The voice belonged to one of her friends from the Garrison, a cute girl who didn't belong there with all those rough looking factory workers and tough gangsters. But none the less knew how to take care of herself and get her drunk off her arse when she needed it the most. Dot was speaking to the familiar face of no other than Thomas fucking Shelby, the face that haunted her in her sleep with those cold blue eyes that still made her a little weak in the knees (though she would never admit that out loud). She had been avoiding him ever since she got married, she didn't even want Richard to have a chance to figure out that there was a her and Thomas Shelby once upon a time so rather than risk it she cut all ties and made sure to keep it that way, to keep them both from being worse than dead (because angry commies were something she hated to deal with, especially when they were proud and drunk angry commies. Like Richard).

But avoiding him had always been easy, especially when she knew exactly what she was doing it for. She'd rather have that stupid fucker alive and hating her than dead. It was just now that it proved to be a challenge, since last night she had to listen to a drunk Lizzie exclaim about her feelings for her Shelby and see first hand how in love with each other they were (even if they were both too proud and stupid to admit it for their own good). Now she was just irked at how much she wanted to see those beautiful blue eyes looking down at her in anger and how much she wanted to hear him speak even if all of his words were coated in irritation. She just missed him, and she hated it.

When she heard Dot's parting words she found her teeth attaching to her lower lip as she tried to think about everything. Avoiding him had been working so well for her, so she should keep doing it right? Well wrong, so very wrong, because before she could even rationalize with herself and tell herself how much of a idiot she was being. Her heels were already clicking against the pavement of the street in the direction of the worse half of her she wished she could just get rid of. "You know. That Dot is just too nice to you Shelbies." She said with a smirk as she smoothly recovered from her initial shock of seeing this cocky fuck. She slid a match across her box and let it spark to life before she placed it against the end of her cigarette (that was still sitting in her mouth surprisingly) and extinguished it quickly just as she took a drag. A stream of smoke blew from her lips and (being the asshole that she was) made its way into the direction of Tommy's face causing that mischevious smirk to never leave her face. "G'morning Mr.Shelby. I wanna talk to you" she said with a faux sweetness and innocence as she gave him a curtsey with her mixture of light green and light brown eyes staring into his steely blue eyes.

StareNation · Jun 3, 2018

William Byrne (Will) and Dorothy (Dot) Townley
Location:Small Heath
Interactions: William, Dorothy, Thomas Shelby, Arthur Shelby
(@Dust Bunnies @kaleidoscopique )

William's eyes drank in the small details of the street as he strode down slowly, with no particular destination or time frame in which to meet he was now left with enough time to absorb the comings and goings in small heath. The morning air was as clear as could be around the furnaces of nearby workshops; and as he made mental notes on the types of people milling about and the landmarks which were significant to the area, William had his first encounter with one of his targets. This target perhaps the most important of all.

He was just a little shorter than William, though despite this, the man appeared to be every bit the intimidating presence he had been labelled as. He seemed to be in deep concentration as he walked by and in regards to that, William was thankful. Thomas passed as though he were invisible and Will was grateful to be able to steal a passing glimpse of an unguarded Thomas Shelby. He noted the way his target walked with purpose and a furrowed brow, Thomas's face marked not only by his chosen profession but the noticeable mask of war, the same blackened gaze many of the young men in society had come home with including William himself. It was a moment William would come to remember well, purely because Will was not forced to put on an act to disguise himself and the observation could be taken with little disruption.

In a mere moment the notorious Thomas Shelby had passed and soon enough he was gone around the next corner leaving William to continue at his pace, though by now his mind had left the task of observing the street and had wandered back into recalling the information he had read on the Shelby brothers. By all accounts the Shelby men had all served in the war and through covertly questioning men who had seen action at the battle of Somme, it was discovered that Thomas Shelby was held in high regard by many. It seemed a world away from the Peaky Blinders gang and told William a much more about Thomas's personality and standing in stark comparison to the crimes the blinders were regularly carrying out.

William had barely noticed the fact that he had waked three streets without taking in an inch of detail until a buggy passing backfired. The sound alone had rattled through his bones and for a brief second William could be seen to throw his hands up over his head in an overreaction to take cover. The sound had not been overly loud in the street but certainly prominent enough for troubling memories to flood him, his breath hitching as he froze in stance with eyes creasing shut in a grimace as distant thundering and gunfire played in his head. Habitually he had expected a throw of dirt over him from the imagined explosion, only nothing came but the clear morning air. He hesitated before slowly looking upwards, backwards and forth from where he had come as he fought internally to reason with his anxiety. It's just a car Will…you're not in France anymore he told himself. Bringing himself back to a better train of thought he turned on his heel with the idea that he needed to refocus and keep on task. Sliding his hands back into his pocket and stepping back down the road he began to fixate back on landmarks and people.

Stepping off to the side as another buggy passed him by, William briefly swallowed down the feeling of discomfort, seeming to mentally prepare himself for another moment of exhausting flashbacks. The buggy past without incident and as he moved back into centre of the road a light voice could be heard with the unmistakable name leaving the persons lips.

They were calling out for his brother.

His eyes had widened in mixed disbelief and confusion as William whirled around, looking more so for the face of his brother before secondly aiming to find out who was calling out for Connor. Will withdrew his hands from his pockets to gently guide someone out of his way as he walked backwards and negotiated through a small crowd of workers who had stopped to talk, the voice of a woman growing louder until at last a young woman appeared within his view. She was slender in frame, concerned honey brown eyes staring him down as she rushed towards him until they slowly dimmed and she stopped just short of him in the street.

Who was this woman? And why was she calling Connor's name? He began to shake his head as he held out his hands in gesture to stop her as she began to apologize. He instantly recognised her to be foreign, her accent thick like his had always been described. The way her words were pronounced told him she was Australian, not at all unusual given they were allied with the United Kingdom.

"Stop…please…stop…what did you just call me?' he asked her as his brows knitted together, his expression somewhat pained. Was his brother not dead after all? Was he local to Birmingham? William's questions mounted by the second.

Dot raised her head looking at the taller man, an expression of utter surprise, rather quickly wiping her tears away from her eyes. "C-C-Connor Byrne…" The young woman whispered in a soft tone of voice, frightened honey brown eyes searched those similar green eyes. Dorothy awkwardly shifted hugging herself, shifting her gaze around the streets noticing the stares from people. "You look… A lot like him. I met him when I was stationed in France, he was a patient that I met. A friend." Dot's voice began to shake lightly, as she spoke of Connor. Shifting her gaze up to the man. "I thought that the news of his...Death was a lie when I saw you." The smaller woman commented, as she gripped her dress sleeves tightly.

"I was most likely wrong, yer see… I haven't slept a whole heap." Dot explained lightly to the man in a nervous tone of voice. Listening to the people around them lingering in the streets, coming out staring at the commotion.

William felt his stomach sink at the woman's words, only revealing her own want to discover Connor to be alive. Though amidst her mistakes a new revelation had presented itself to William and now he could understand why she had mistaken him. This woman knew his brother and well enough to have identified Connor as a friend. William's kind face had contorted into one of concern and grief, raw emotion that could only be felt at the remembrance of a lost loved one. It had caused enough of a talking point for those surrounding them that their interaction peaked interest. William felt the gossiping onlookers fade into the background amidst his inner turmoil, struggling to comprehend what had been instantly gifted to him.

"You knew him well...you cared for him?" William asked her. He had not known any details surrounding his brother's death, simply that he was a recorded number of the fallen and the family were fortunate enough to have received his remains back in Ireland for a fitting burial. The morning plans had been thrown to the side and as he began to ask her a further question he was disrupted by a liquor fueled local.

"Shut up you filthy whore! Stop pestering the nice man, go back to that so called country of yours. Fucking convict blood!" One of the men slurred, drawing closer towards the man, and Dorothy. Carrying a menacing gaze, and the hopes for trouble. Dot slipped back taking a breath, those words stung like a freshly acquired wound. Backing up away from the men movement towards her, Miss Townley bumped right into the almost mirror-image of her late friend Connor Byrne, the Irishman.

"I'm no whore." Dot whispered lightly, closing her eyes tightly with tears rolling down her cheeks. She cowered back, biting into her fingernails.

William had not been in the right frame of mind and perhaps had he had enough control on his emotions he would have simply steered the woman away from the drunk. As the woman reeled backwards into William he firmly yet gently pulled her to the side, stepping around her in the path of the drunken local who seemed to want to make their business his own.

"You'll do well to take leave you drunken scut before I lay you out for the rats." William scowled as the man staggered towards them, straightening himself as he pushed the sleeves of his jacket upwards in preparation. William's eyes glanced at the action and in response took a step towards the man, away from the woman to distance themselves. With an incoherent slur the man suddenly lunged towards Will who stepped aside to avoid the lumbering actions and responded without much thought. He stepped into the side of the man and swung his left arm upwards, uppercutting the man in the jaw with a solid thwack.

"Last chance, on yer bike" Will yelled though he was unprepared for the man who turned sharply and dove mid waist, his arms grappling around William's torso and took him clean off his feet.

Gazing around at the environment, hoping to catch the gaze of a passer by Dorothy noticed a certain tall man about thirty-two years old. Dressed in a pretty ragged state, wandering down the street towards the Garrison with a hobble. "Arthur, get your arse over here will ya!?" She stated as the drunk leapt forward tackling the Irishman to the ground. Meeting eyes with a taller, and much looser in mind man, she saw the older Shelby brother come running to their aid. Roughly drawing his arm back, and land his fist into the side of the drunk's jaw. Forcefully removing him from the other man's body.

Dorothy lowered herself to the side of the man, offering him aid to get back off the ground. "Are you okay? We should get out of here." She told the Irishman knowing that Arthur could very nearly turn on the other man, because of how his mind was at the moment. Grabbing the man's wrist she helped him to his feet, before moving over to Arthur catching his arm when he went to lay a fist once more. "Arthur stop please, just go to the Garrison, tell Harry to put it on my tab." She spoke soothingly, glad that the eldest Shelby brother didn't remove his hand.

Shakily Arthur got to his feet looking towards Dot, recognising her face and gaze as the polite lass from the Garrison. "Al'ight Dot, I'll take that as yer thanks, glad you didn't get 'armed." He told the smaller woman, no older than her possible early twenties. Lightly taking her hand to help to get off the ground, he looked at the drunk spitting at the limp body. Heading off towards the Garrison with a wobble in his step, wiping the scruff of his mustache that was stained with blood from the drunk's face.

The fight had finished abruptly quicker than William had expected, at first finding himself on the ground before the drunken man had been swiftly knocked out of the way by another and soon enough the woman had leaned down and helped him to his feet with the suggestion of leaving the area. It was only then that he had noticed the people watching, though some had scuttled away with sudden abandonment which was due only to the appearance of another formidably notorious name. As William got to his feet and wiped the grime from his ruffled coat, he watched Dorothy stop Arthur, smooth words bringing an end to the scuffle as Arthur acknowledged her. William briefly stared across at the man, his face matching one of the files William had back at his apartment.

As Arthur disappeared towards the Garrison, William glanced to the woman with slight hesitation. What was her affiliation with Arthur Shelby?

"Are you okay?" William asked her as the situation calmed and people began to move along as though nothing had occurred. He raise a small smile as he rearranged his coat.

"I'm quite fine, thank you. What about yourself? You weren't harmed were you?" Dorothy asked with pressing concern apparent in her doe like eyes of honey brown. Cool breeze blowing her short waves of hair in the wind.

Her unwavering concern over him prompted a small laugh and considerably lighter in mood, Will nodded.

"I am fine thank you miss," he replied to her question though he paused a moment as he considered what he had been told prior to the scuffle. "My name is William..Connor Byrne is my brother."

Dorothy looked at William with a face of utter shock, cupping her hand over mouth about not quite being wrong about who the man was before her. He was a Byrne, just not the one she thought.

"I'm Dorothy Townley, I was a nurse of his on the Front… He was a friend of mine and of my fiance." She spoke lightly holding a mournful tone of voice, as she looked up at the man before her. "He was a good man, I'm sorry… But would you prefer going somewhere for tea? I don't live far from here, and was heading there before I saw you…" Dot offered lightly looking towards the Irish gentleman.

As Dorothy introduced herself and explained her connection to his brother, William nodded and pushed away the small lump in his throat as he sighed, "that would be lovely, thank you Miss Townley."

Dot merely smiled at his thanks, before heading off in the direction of the small ran down flat she owned.

Bubs · Jun 3, 2018

Arthur Shelby Jr.

no-lightbox

Arthur still drunk from the night before stumbled from his family home, not to short of John and Thomas's leaving sometime before. Wobbling off the front doorstep, Arthur held his flask up to his mouth allowing the whisky to drip down into his mouth. Rattling the empty flask, coming to the realisation that nothing more would out of the nicely polish silver flask, drunken Arthur Shelby curse and tucked it back into his coat pocket.

Kicking at a stone on the road, Arthur coughed roughly due to the cold breeze burning his lungs. Tucking his hands absently into his coat pocket, Arthur felt his mind brief on his journey to the Garrison. Thoughts of the life in trenches, and the battles that made his mind this daze mess and body a loose canon of impulses. Staring down few people that seemed to look at him in the wrong way, Arthur would straighten himself up making himself look taller and more intimidating.

Few people who got in his way on the streets drew his uneasy temper through the roof, stopping down in the middle of Watery Lane yelling in the face of a blubbering idiot. "Get out of my forkin' way unless you wanna be blinded boy!" He cursed, watching the young man of skin and bone shuffle away from his line of sight quite quickly. Inhaling sharply, and drawing his head to the left he spat rough contents from the back of his throat on the path beside him. Sniffling his nose, he groan. Mentally cursing cold mornings like this that left him thinking so much of the Somme, in France.

"Fork, France.." Arthur cursed under his breath angrily, looking to be an grumble under his moustache from others walking the streets. It was a way that Arthur happened to cope with things, either but drinking, muttering to himself, fighting and getting a good shag from on of his favourite Prostitutes.

Everything was somewhat peaceful till he got about halfway from the Garrison, and he heard an accented voice that was commonly heard at the pub. By far his favourite barmaid that Harry had hired since the war, she was sweet and carried a ray of innocence about her, Arthur didn't see very often anymore. Even Ada had grown out of that sweet womanly innocence since he'd been back from the war.

"Arthur, get your arse over here will ya?!" Echoed perfectly through his ears as he turned to see the sweet young Dorothy Townley in a bit of a situation. No doubt the poor girl was being bothered once more about her heritage. Even his brother Thomas had slurs made about his gypsy heritage, and hated it beyond most other slurs.

Moving rather quickly upon the scene, Arthur roughly pulled up at his sleeve and drew his right arm back. Staring at the man in a drunken state that was the problem, it seemed the other was trying to defend Dot's honour or something along those lines. Poor girl for gettin' caugh' in this shit. Arthur thought about taking off his peaked flat cap and blinding the slurring drunk fucker. But, he didn't want the girl that called for his help, to be terrorised by all the blood and gore that would have come with that.

So, he just decided on a swift connecting punch in the jaw. Roughly his knuckled the drunk on top of the hero of this moment it seemed. Fucking heroes my arse, he might have been just as bad. Drawing his attention on the drunk who was now off the other man, and scrambling around. Arthur punched once more and the drunk was out cold, for good measure he wanted to go for another hit. But, two small arms wrapped around his. Causing Arthur to look into beautiful honey brown eyes, that held concern and worry for him.

For some reason this girl had always the calming presence, there had been few times she was able to pull Arthur out of something stupidly reckless at the Garrison. Easing back off the other drunk, Arthur's blue eyes stared up at her for a moment. Her words echoing cleanly through his ringing ears. Not many could snap Arthur out of a state like this, Dorothy taking the place as a close second. First place was always taken by his brother, Thomas "Tommy" Shelby.

Getting to his feet with the needed aid of the smaller woman, he felt her arms leave his and almost left a sense of loneliness inside him. Eyeing her up and down, Dot didn't seem harmed with made the taller man make a gruff of approval. Blood stained and paint his face from the wound he left on the drunk, and it had splattered on his cheek as well as knuckles. "Al'ight Dot, I'll take that as yer thanks. Glad you didn't get 'armed." Arthur stated softly reaching to touch the smaller woman's cheek, offering a tight lipped smile before turning and spitting at the drunk laying limply on the ground.

Withdrawing his hand from the young woman's cold cheek, he couldn't help but notice that he dresses were always horribly thin. Not designed for the weather of London. Possibly the weather of the Ottomen Empire, or her homeland of Australia. Shaking his head, he noticed the other man with her. "Take good care of 'er." Arthur grumbled quietly to himself, tucking his hands quickly back into his pockets once more. Feeling the ache of his bruised and bloodied hand. Moving onward toward his favourite watering hole, the Garrison in hopes of getting himself some more Irish Whisky curtsy of the sweet little Miss Townley that reminded him of old friends from the Somme. Two brothers he had recently heard word had landed in London, not too long after his last letter and the money for the boat across was sent.

Arthur's ideals were that they would be good help to the family business expansion, unfortunately, he only thought of this at the drop of the hat. Proving it a fearsome topic he didn't want to speak to Tommy about yet. But, until then, he'd keep a look out for their little sister who ran off to England, apparently last known to be located in Birmingham. Staring down few young women who looked between twenty-seven and twenty-nine, Arthur never thought to ask for the age of their little un-named little sister, and for a fact he didn't know her name didn't help.

Starting a few scuffles with other men over their ladies, and the questioning them intensively caught Arthur with a bloodied mouth, and nose by the time he made it to the Garrison. His hand pressed against the weeping bloodied, non-colting nose. "Harry, some whisky on Dot's tab! Ran into 'er on the way 'ere. Got 'er out ov' some trouble." Arthur explained waving bloodied hand around causing some of the blood droplets to stain the nicely, and cleanly polished that his little damsel in distress before had broke her back over cleaning.

Walking with a wobble to the counter, the eldest Shelby brother picked up his drink and took a sip. Sighed in sanctification with the light burn running down the back of his throat.

kaleidoscopique · Jun 3, 2018

tommy + chasityxxx

Location: Watery Lane
Mentions: Lizzie ( @Kat ), Arthur, Dot ( @Dust Bunnies ), Richard Chapman ( NPC ), John ( @ myself heh )

Collab with the lovely @_Dulce_

Thomas Shelby glanced up at the cheerful chirp of greeting. It was Dot, the infallibly sunny Garrison barmaid. If he gave her any thought, it was usually to wonder how the hell she'd come through the war with an ever-present smile. Maybe it was her way of coping. Maybe Australians were accustomed to hardship. In any case, it was good for business.

He smiled a little at the mention of breakfast. "Christ. Maybe you should marry him and put him out of his misery." He was talking to himself as much as to her. He continued, the strains of her voice raised in song trailing behind him. She had a pleasant voice.

John needed to get a grip. Arthur too, if they were to get anything accomplished before sundown. He'd talk to them the moment John was in a state to listen. The last thing John's tenuous hold on composure needed was an unstable woman. While he hadn't been speaking to the Australian in seriousness, perhaps matchmaking was not a bad idea (though best left to Pol). While Polly's griping wore on his nerves, at least she had her head on straight. He'd never admit it, but her fortitude often seemed the only anchor in the Shelby household of late.

Click-clack. He looked around at the sound of a determined approach. It took all of his considerable self-control to keep an impassive expression upon recognizing the woman. Chasity. Chasity fucking Chapman, with her scarlet lips and self-satisfied smirk. It had been months since they'd held a proper conversation, though he sometimes watched her from the safety of the stage, her voice echoing off the walls of the Garrison. The mutual avoidance had suited him fine. In her absence, he could avoid the thought of her. He could pretend that he didn't see a shadow of her face in the passionless women beneath him.

His eyes caught hers. "You're probably right," he said evenly. The Townley girl was undeniably too nice for her own good. She was also the last thing on his mind at the moment. Despite his mild tone, his gaze was glacial. A cloud of smoke hit him in the face. He blinked. Inside, he was quivering with taut-strung anger. Only the knowledge that it would satisfy her prevented him from lashing out. It seemed the intervening time had done little to diminish his ire.

She curtsied, voice sugar-sweet, and he wanted to wring her neck. He wanted her mocking words to devolve into screams. He wanted to pin her against the wall of the alleyway- but that was a dangerous line of thought, and he dismissed it as quickly as it had come. He hated that she still had an effect on him. In the end, all he did was to bury his hands in his pockets.

"Then talk," he said.

"Oh come on Tommy, don't you think you're being a little mean to me. You sure were sweeter with Dot, she even got a smile." But she knew that was the last thing she wanted from him. His anger was always much sweeter and better than his kindness. Chasity pouted like a child who had just gotten their candy taken away as she wrapped her arms around Tommy's and started walking in the direction of the market. "Whatever you're doing can wait because I need to talk to you about you brother. He's a little bit out of control. Don't ya' think?"

A shiver traveled upwards from the brush of her arm against his. Reflexively, he jerked free of her grip. She no longer had a right to lay a hand on him. It had been revoked the moment she had decided she wanted someone else. He couldn't, for the life of him, understand what she saw in her drunken layabout husband. He nearly believed that she had married Richard out of pure spite.

"My brother," he said, "is my business. It's not your place to intervene." She was right, which made it worse.

"Oh. I'm sorry, but it became my right the second he fucked with my friend. Badly. He didn't just hurt her, no. He ruined her. She was having a good ol' time until he showed up with some broad on his arm." She sighed as she wrapped her arms around herself instead since he had just been so disgusted with the idea of her holding onto him. Which she knew she deserved, it just didn't make it any easier. "She loves him. It's so easy to see because she's just like him in a way. Too emotional for their own good and so ready to show it. But you wanna know what she didn't know. That he was a fucking Shelby." She said between gritted teeth because the name was like a bad omen that only seemed to worsen the more you said it.

Chasity sighed and looked over at Tommy with a soft smile. "Almost reminds you of us huh? So wild and in love, except they actually have a chance. If they both were to get rid of their egos and sit down like sober adults and talk it out," she said as stopped her movement and turned so that she was facing him. "I don't want Lizzie to get screwed up by John, I love John with all of my heart and even though he can be quite an ass he's still a good man. But if I have to hurt your brother we both know I will, I'll make that slap Lizzie gave him look like child's play. So just talk to him for me will ya' try to make him see that he needs to talk to Lizzie, and I'm going to talk to her too. At least with this discussion they can figure out if this is something they really want to embark on," Chasity said before she stepped close enough to Tommy to close every bit of space between them.

Her hand, without any thought on her part of course, gently grazed his cheek and she pulled it away before he could snatch it off of him. "Just help me out here will ya'. I want to see my friend happy and her idiot husband isn't doing it for her, but I'm sure John will." It was almost ironic at this point, she would rather see Lizzie and John together rather than herself and Thomas. But she had her reasons, he just could never figure them out.

She spat his name as though it had burned her mouth, and that was better. Honest anger was better than her little games. Once, he had found them charming. Then, as quickly as it had come, it was replaced with a gentle smile. Half his attention was on her words. The rest was occupied by following the flicker of expressions across her face, the movement of her lips.

Tommy didn't know Lizzie. He knew only that John had fallen for a girl, and that their paths had diverted. And, it seemed, he couldn't leave town for a single night without all hell breaking loose. He knew that John was a wreck, and that she was to blame. Love. It wasn't a concept he believed in, not anymore. It was intangible and elusive and prone to fucking up the best-laid plans. What John needed was stability. For his kids, for himself. He'd need to speak with the woman before making up his mind about the handful of rumors, though out of habit he wanted to hate her for falling under Chasity's protection. It was a matter of principle.

"From what I hear," he said, "your friend's a rum-soaked wreck. Not to mention the fact that she's hitched to the chief of police. How d'you see that playing out? Somehow, I can't picture homecooked meals and visits from the inlaws."

He fell silent as she took a step forward, momentarily caught off guard. Her hand brushed his cheek and a renewed flush of anger washed over him. This close, he could smell the scent of her hair, feel the crackle of air between their bodies. Memory stirred, unbidden and unwanted. He took a shaky breath. Let it out. Then, with a supreme effort, he slammed the shutters over his emotions. Damn her for breaking their unspoken truce. Damn her for her ability to reach him.

He took a step back. Met her eyes one last time, memorizing their set. Then he turned on his heel and set off at a leisurely pace. If he knew Chas, indifference would be worse than anger. Without looking, he threw his final word on the topic over his shoulder. "'Course I'll talk to John. Why the fuck else d'you think I'm not in the office on a race day?" And, without waiting to hear her undoubtedly witty retort, he made for the Garrison.

kaleidoscopique · Jun 4, 2018

john + lizziexxx

Location: Small Heath, The Garrison → some random sidestreet
Mention: Dot ( @Dust Bunnies )

Collab with the one and only @Kat

A breakfast tray was deposited before him. John managed a nod of thanks. He didn't notice the nervous edge to Dot's smile. He gripped the provided fork as though it were a weapon and made no move to eat. The aroma of fried sausage rose from the plate, but there was no room for anything but the revelation of Lizzie's marriage.

The front door whined on its hinges. He glanced up, did a double-take. Speak of the devil. The last thing he'd expected, or wanted, to see was that mess of blonde hair. Though she was less devil than temptress. Or, maybe he was just an idiot for caring about her. Lizzie was considerably more composed than the previous night, but on seeing him, her eyes widened. Her footsteps halted and she froze, trembling like a startled rabbit, before turning on her heel. The door banged shut behind her. If he hadn't been looking, he might easily have missed her appearance. It seemed that sobriety had caused anger to bleed into regret, or fear, or maybe she simply couldn't face him.

"No," he muttered to himself. "No you bloody don't." He would not let her get off that easy. Breakfast quite forgotten, along with the better part of his headache, he leaped from his stool. There was no rational thought, no idea of what he would do or say, only an urgent desire to give chase.

On the street, he glanced right, then left. Amongst the milling people he caught a glimpse of her back, heels clattering along the bricks in her haste. He hurried after her. Down, pushing past pedestrians without so much as glancing at them. After a block she vanished down a sidestreet.

He found her slumped against the wall of a shop as though its support was the only thing holding her upright. Her fists were clenched, her breathing quick, and he could see her mind churning even from a distance. This time, she would not have the opportunity to slap him. This time, he was better prepared for an encounter.

He stopped, the tips of his shoes a mere pace from her own, looking down at her. Now that he was here, his purpose began to recede.

"Were you married? Back then I mean. What was I to you anyhow? A stopgap shag, while your hubby was stationed elsewhere?"

It was the first thing that popped out of his mouth. It reeked of bitterness.

"John," Her voice was small and pained. Lizzie hardly expected him to come after her and run into her around the corner. Her mouth dried and the anxiety heightened. She wiped her hands off on her skirt, realizing she couldn't try to figure out an answer. John was impatient, and rightfully so. No matter how much Lizzie thought she was scared of him though, she couldn't run away.

"I… I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

It didn't matter where he'd found out that information now, though she had a hankering it was from Harry; she knew that she wouldn't be able to back out of this one.

"I was married, I still am." Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

She tried to keep herself composed as she forced her blurry eyes to meet his. She realized how much she was hurting him right now and how shameful it'd been to keep her marriage a secret.

"You weren't a temporary fix. You never were, John. I never loved my husband. Our marriage doesn't mean anything. You were the only one I thought I could have something more with and in spite of me being married, I don't regret what I've done. I'll never regret finding you and falling in love with you, but I understand, if you are having second thoughts because of this."

She was ready to take the worst of his backlash; It didn't matter if he didn't love her anymore or if he thought everything was a mistake because she'd been married. What mattered was the truth, right?

"Second thoughts," he echoed. The term was so utterly inadequate that he let out a hollow laugh. It sounded unnatural even to his own ears. Lizzie's words resounded through his brain. Married. Sorry. Love. This had nothing to do with regret; you couldn't change the past. This was about her deception and betrayal and the question of a future.

"Fuck, Lizzie!" Without thinking, he channeled emotion into motion. His fist connected with the brick of the storefront, sending a jarring pain up the length of his arm. He inhaled sharply. Looked down at scraped knuckles, then over to the cause of his suffering. After a pause, he sank against the wall next to her. He was intimately aware of the hair's breadth separating their arms.

Finally, he looked at her again. "What d'you want, Liz?" His voice was tired. Maybe this needn't be so impossibly complicated. He wasn't sure if it could happen so soon, but he knew that he could find it in himself to forgive her. He wished he weren't so weak. "Just tell me what you want."

"I want you."

She said it without hesitation, and even in the silence of the moment, she wasn't expecting him to exchange any heartfelt statements or forgiveness. "I know what happened can't be undone and I know you don't forgive me for that. I've broken your trust and I deserve it, but I still love you regardless of what you decide."

The strength of her conviction resonated in the still air following her declaration. Words took their time in forming- a phenomenon which John was becoming all too familiar with of late. She had a knack for leaving him uncharacteristically speechless. Her confession twisted something inside of him. It did not, however, erase her actions. However they had been intended, those three little words felt like a stealth attack. He knew she meant them. That was half the problem.

He wanted her too. He wanted her, and it was too much, too soon.

"No." He didn't remember moving, but his feet had carried him across from her again. His voice shook, climbed higher in volume. "No. You're right. You broke my trust. You stormed back into my life and slapped me across the focking face, like I'm the one who screwed up, when the whole time you've been hitched to a bloody copper who'd as soon shoot me as look at me. And now? Now you spring this on me? You love me?" His face was blotchy with anger.

He shoved her in the chest. The gesture was petulant, not violent. "I need to think," he said abruptly. He was fighting back an unbecoming wave of tears. "Need some air. I don't wanna see you for a while, not until I get my head on straight. Go back to your husband, Liz."

He turned, then, so she couldn't see his overbright eyes. So he didn't have to look at her. He turned and his footsteps echoed the pounding in his chest. He rounded a corner, and then she was gone.

If only it were so easy.

Tears brimmed her eyes. Words had not been enough. As much as a part of her wanted to go after him and beg for his forgiveness, Lizzie found herself stuck in place, silent grief wracking her body. She'd never get him back. Never.

junebug · Jun 4, 2018

Lizzie + Chasity
Courtesy of the lovely @_Dulce_

Lizzie's breath shook uncontrollably as she fought to hold back her tears. How wrong had she been, to think that he would so easily come to her after she apologized. It didn't work that way though. John's resentful eyes crossed Lizzie's mind again and again. The intimidation and annoyance he'd held upon their unfortunate meeting hammered down hard. She'd screwed up and a little voice in her head constantly barraged her with insults about how awful and worthless she was. She picked up a pay phone nearby and called a cab to bring her home. The last thing she wanted was to cross paths with anyone amidst her emotional grief.

Chasity needed a drink, she didn't even care that it was still morning and she had groceries hanging off of her arms causing them to become sore and tired. That whole shit show of a meeting between her and Thomas just put her in a bad mood. How dare he leave her without the last word like she was just one of his cheap and dirty whores.

"Fucking Shelbies," she murmured under her breath as she found herself lighting another cigarette to calm her nerves. Of course calm nerves just weren't something the man in the sky wanted her to have, because just as she was passing by her own little shortcut to the Garrison that equaled no people and no forcing her way through a crowd to get there; she saw the emotional wreck Lizzie had been in. She didn't care if the woman was still mad at her at this point because she looked like she needed someone, and if she was deducing correctly she especially needed someone educated on Shelby men.

"Lizzie?" She breathed out quietly as she approached the woman and sighed softly seeing the state that she was in. "Lizzie," she just said again with a new found softness in her voice as she just enveloped the woman in her arms without any words. The only other time she had ever seen Lizzie in a state such as this was last night after her conversation with John, so she figured that this was caused by no other than John.

"I'm just going to make a safe assumption that you talked with John," she said quietly as she stroked the woman's hair gently and combed her way through any tangles. She always did this with Billy when he was frustrated or up in arms about something, and it always successfully calmed him down, so she just prayed that it would work for Lizzie.

"Talk to me Lizzie. Tell me what happened. You've had me worried about you all night. I even talked to fucking Thomas cause I was so worried about you."

She pulled away from the girl and looked her one over before noticing the pay phone she was standing beside.

"You must have just called a cab. Do you want me to leave you for right now?"

Even though that was the last thing Chasity wanted to do, she would respect Lizzie's wishes. Dealing with troubles of a first love were earth shattering and hard, and she knew the beat of that tune all to well. But she didn't want to leave Lizzie by herself in this state, there was no telling what she would do.

"Come home with me," Lizzie whispered, leaning her head against Chasity. It seemed the only thing that could temporarily bring her comfort was her friend. Chasity had been right all along; love was a lie. She had been foolish to believe that there was something between her and John. Too trusting that she'd given everything to be by his side while he was wounded, and yet, none of it mattered now. She was just a dumb two timer who didn't know what she wanted, let alone have the strength to leave her husband for another man.

"He told me he didn't want to see me anymore. You were right, last night when you told me nothing good was gonna come out of us fallin' for a Shelby. He doesn't wanna see me anymore."

She broke into a silent sob and wrapped her arms around Chasity.

"I broke his trust and it's my fault."

Her heart broke for Lizzie, one of the two friends she had was broken because of a Shelby and she hated it. Chasity hated how there was nothing she could do to mend her broken heart, she could cuss each of the Shelby brothers out but nothing was going to fix the loss of her first love. "Lizzie" she whispered as she gently placed her chin on the other woman's head. "Listen to me. There's still hope for you. I know this probably isn't what you want to hear right now, but last night I was wrong. I was bitter and jealous of you and John. He still loves you Lizzie, but he's just hurt. You hurt him, and that's something that you're going to have to live with. Believe me I know. I hurt Thomas by getting married to Richard and that's something I've lived since we've been apart. I know it hurts right now, but Lizzie you've got to be strong because you can't let your husband even have the chance to piece together that you're in love with John. That you're hurting because of another man."

She didn't want to be telling Lizzie how to get over a heartbreak, she honestly wanted to be telling her how she could get rid of Howard so that she could live out the rest of her days with John. If it came to that of course. But she sadly had to use her vast knowledge of getting over a Shelby to try to pull Lizzie back together.

"It's going to be hard Lizzie. So fucking hard, but you've got to promise me that you won't do anything stupid to hurt yourself. I already have to worry about a drunk Richard every day and night, please don't add to my stress by having me worry for you too. I'm too young to look fifty-seven by all the stress you two give me," she joked lightly with her trying to lighten the somber mood until she could get her home, good thing she bought enough groceries to feed Richard as well as twenty other men because she was sure Lizzie was going to need some good home cooking (that she didn't have to make herself) and a good laugh.

"Sorry I'm such a bother to you," Lizzie mumbled, gently pulling away from her friend and rubbing her arms in an attempt to comfort herself. The cab became more visible down the road. "Howard took the keys to the liquor cabinet when he left the house this morning, so it's fine. He doesn't trust me with the damn thing anymore. I'll just go home by myself. There's no hope. I'm not going back to the Garrison. I don't want to see John again. He'd just have another girl at his hip to keep him company like he did last night. He'll never forgive me, Chasity."

"Oh, hush with that. You're not a bother to me Lizzie. I love you, and right now you need someone that loves you to be by your side," she said with a soft smile as she looked towards the can and held her hand out. "I'm not letting you go home by yourself. I'm going to go with you, make you something to eat, and just be the shoulder you can cry on. Because as soon as Howard gets home. You have to be a new woman, you can't show him that there's a weakness."

It sucked, but it was true; if Howard saw that she was upset he (being the meddling idiot that he was) would stop at nothing to figure out what was wrong and if his search lead him to John then there would be heaps of trouble.

"If John never forgives you then so be it, I know you love him but you've tried to show him that you're sorry and that you care. You've done everything you can, and now decision is his to make. Give it time to sink in and give him time to heal, and if after that time he hasn't forgiven you then you've got to let him go. You've got to move own."

Just as she finished her statement, the cab driver pressed down on his horn to signal that he was there and Chasity sighed looking at her with a soft smile.

"Come on. Let's go Lizzie."

Lizzie nodded in silence, and the duo, along with Chasity's groceries, paid the cab fare and were taken back to Lizzie and Howard's place.

Bubs · Jun 7, 2018

Tommy + Arthur + Harry

.::Huge thank you to @kaleidoscopique for giving me a chance to collab with her once more::.
Mentions: Lizzie (@Kat ), Dorothy (@Dust Bunnies ), Ralph (deceased character), Tommy (@kaleidoscopique ), Arthur (@Dust Bunnies ) & Harry (NPC)

Harry stood still utterly stunned, at the scene that had so dramatically unfolded before him. The rather dramatic turn of events, involving none other than, John Shelby, and Harry's most frequent customer, whom he knew as Lizzie. What next could happen? Harry dared to think of the only normal events of the morning, which included Dorothy leaving work hours later than she should have. The woman truly had nothing to go home to after all, so it seemed the Garrison was her source of sanity as well as a tool to survive.

Shifting back into his office picking up the important documents that John Shelby had dropped off prior. Placing it on the desk with varieties of letters, some addressed to a certain Miss. Dorothy.H.Edward written in a beautiful form cursive writing. Harry had remembered allowing Dot to use the Garrison as her main address in the early months of employment, but he never knew the young woman would actually go under another name when letters were sent to her.

I wonder if she's being bothered by someone so that's why her name is different? Or she's hiding from something? Did the Dorothy he knew have multiple sides to her, involving a messy past? Harry thought staring down at the letter intently, thinking back to the hopeless wreck that was Miss Dorothy Townley, whom he met so shortly after the war. Dot was once no better than the Police Commissioner's wife.

He looked over a old photograph of his young handsome son, and the lovely but mysterious immigrant Dorothy Townley. On the Western Front in one of those rare moments, that was able to be recorded by a photograph forever sealing that moment in time. Two lovers that could have flourished into something beautiful, though both their smiles were robbed from their innocent faces. War does that to you, Harry thought with a mournful expression lightly pushing the framed photograph of his son and the sweet woman he got to know. Leaving the glass of the photo frame resting against the surface of the old wooden desk.

The ringing of the Garrison's doorbell made the tired middle-aged man snap from his depressing thoughts. Straightening and neatening his appearance, Harry moved out of his office. A familiar voice connected with Harry's ears, causing him to recognize the more baritone voice which rippled lightly with gitty laughter.

"Harry, some whisky on Dot's tab! Ran into 'er on the way 'ere. Got 'er out ov' some trouble." The tall redhead known as Arthur Shelby Jr waved a bloodied hand around, almost in a victorious display. While messing the floor up the nicely cleaned floor with droplets of his blood and other's. Pounding on the bar-counter surface excitedly for a free drink of Irish Whisky.

Reaching for one of the recently cleaned spirit glasses, Harry filled in generously with Arthur's favourite type of Irish Whisky. "Some trouble you say?" Harry asked in a tone of masked interest.

"Just a scrap 'tween a drunk. Seems some'ne took a shin'in' to the girl, and fought on 'er behalf." The vague Shelby stated, taking a swift movement in his wrist completely downing the potent Irish whisky that burnt as Arthur swallowed. "Poor gurl, seems to get that unwanted attentions from others a lot, right?" He stated at the cock of a bushy brow.

Drying off another spirit glass with a clean piece of cloth, "I wouldn't know, she doesn't tell me of those things. Most of my female staff don't speak of such matters… Miss Townley and Mrs Laurent are both ex-combat nurses from what I gather. So they could just be quiet out of habit from the war." Harry stated placing the dry glass down with the others, looking to the door. Watching the people of Birmingham walk past his pride and establishment, one of the last things he had left. That was until the finalisation of the sale to the Peaky Blinders was complete.

Harry's gaze seemed dazed thinking of his wife, how the war had killed his marriage. Carrying the loss rate personally to Harry to two. His heart only seemed to ache now. Meaning it was time for him to try and move on. Harry couldn't help but felt a guilt eat at his stomach in that moment. The emotionally and physically tired man stared up at the plark he had made for all those who didn't return from war, engraved names of fallen members of the Garrison Pub livingly community.

One by one he read the names, seemingly lost in a clouded mind. Amongst the array of names Harry read them quietly to himself.

R.L.Edward stared back at the now childless father, and his heart aches in such a bitter form of sorrow.

"Ral was a good lad, I hope you know that 'Arry." Arthur stated in a cough, clearing his throat. "It a cryin' shame that boy didn't come back. No doubt would have snagged a lady and married by now." The redhead commented looking at the plark, running his teeth up roughly against his top lip. Feeling the vague tickle from his moustache. A habit of Arthur's drunk persona, it helped the man cope with the rattles and shakes his mind experiences due to what happened at war.

"I know, Mister Shelby." The man on the opposite side of the bar responded to Arthur Shelby, causing the eldest Shelby to cock a brow. "Ralph was actually engaged before he died, I think if they knew anything of his fate. They would have married while being at war as a comfort." Harry stated casting his gaze downward at the surface of the bar.

"Knowin' that son of 'ours, s'pose she is real sweet'art." Arthur commented, tadding his glass on the counter for Harry to fill it back up. "I think it'd be cruel if they married in the war, then his bride became a widow." Arthur thought about what kind of person Ralph's woman would have been like, where she was from, and partly… Where was she now. The eldest Shelby remembered Ralph's choice in women, it was something different. Unlike most men who didn't like trouble, Ralph liked look at those girls that were trouble from afar. Almost like a focking hopeless virgin, Arthur recalled with a chuckle wondering who could have ticked Ralph's almost impossible list of traits his ideal woman had to have.

A vague memory of those qualities popping into the drunk man's mind, making him chuckle sadly at the funny memory of a dead friend. She had to be; witty, fun, troublesome, have that innocence that most women in Birmingham didn't have any longer, adaptable and loyal. Arthur listed of the qualities and traits that his old friend wished for in a woman, and felt a sad smile then a single tear roll down his cheek. Resting his head forward on the counter surface, his messily slicked back hair fell forward into his arm. "Some woman," he grumbled lightly, the now depressed man stated sighing softly.

Arthur's head didn't even turn to the door when it opened, and the bell chimed softly. But, it certainly caught the attention of Harry who was neatening up things behind the bar. "Morning…" Harry spoke rather gruffly, beginning to grow tired and weary of any more visits from the Shelbys in the morning.

Luckily, in that moment it was the boy delivering the post, quickly and swiftly the short boy no-more than ten or eleven placed the letters on the bar counter. Returning out the door in no time, only to invite the other guest Harry was rather expecting to see that morning.

"Morning, Mister Thomas Shelby." Harry spoke again, moving over to the letters on the counter. Flickering through the ones for him, and the others that seemed to come for Dot. Mentally organizing everything in a system of his, Dot's, mine and his, repeating forever and ever in his head. Gazing over the barmaid's letters, placing them down on the counter.

"She's got heaps of letters coming in at the moment… A birthday possibly?" Harry spoke out aloud trying to figure out what exactly made the sudden influx of letters come pouring in. "Unless it's other friends of hers.. If she has friends." He commented almost looking like a concerned father about his beloved child, flicking the addresses on the letters. Brows knitting together in confusion, completely unaware of the fact he was speaking out aloud. Exhaustion truly setting in on him.

Thomas Shelby had managed to pull himself together between leaving behind the red-lipped devil of a woman and entering the pub. The encounter might have rattled him, but he could do a damn good job of pretending it had never happened. He waited for the round-faced mail carrier to scurry aside before stepping through the door. Voices drifted towards him. The midday sun had not reached its apex, and yet he was unsurprised to see Harry behind the bar. The man was married to his work. However, he had not expected to stumble across his elder brother. He'd sent John with the papers to allow the kid to walk off his queasiness; he could easily have carried them himself. There sat the folder of documents, but the younger Shelby was nowhere to be seen.

"Hallo, Harry." Thomas shrugged off his overcoat and tossed it onto the back of a chair. He noted the untouched breakfast tray on the bar, recalled Dot's comment. The barman was shuffling through a stack of correspondence. "Seems you've had an eventful morning." He made his way to where Arthur sat, clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Wot the hell happened to bed, eh? Thought you were desperate for sleep." He gave Arthur an assessing glance. Before him sat a glass of amber liquid. The knuckles of his right hand were glazed in still-tacky blood.

Tommy cuffed his brother across the head. He slid the whiskey glass out of reach and leaned against the bar, arms crossed. "It's not yet noon, Arthur." A note of exasperation crept through. He himself might not be the poster child for sobriety, but at least he had his head on straight. The same could not always be said of his eldest brother. "I'm not even going to ask what happened to your 'and. What I am going to do is to tell you to get your arse back to the betting room. There's a race tonight, in case you've forgotten, and there's plenty of work what needs doing. The factory's on break in half an hour, and it'll be all hands on deck. And, for God's sake, leave the whiskey. If you see John, tell 'im I want a word."

Arthur glanced up at his younger brother Thomas, staring into those gypsy blue eyes. "I ran out of whisky, so headed here. Came 'cross Dot in a scarp and helped 'er out. Then, Dot said I could grab a drink on 'er tab, 'n act'al lady wanted to pay for a drink for me." He beamed lightly at the last comment, smiling almost happily like a child. Before averting his gaze from Thomas. "Hav'n't seen John, but 'ill let him know." The eldest Shelby brother grumbled lifting himself out his bar stool, looking to Harry before glancing at the letters. "When is 'er birthday anyway? Didn't even know that your wife's name was Dorothy.. I 'ought it was Edith." Arthur commented in a drunken slur, looking at the bartender whom cocked a groomed brow.

"My ex-wife is Edith, Dorothy was to be my daughter-in-law. You've met her Arthur, it's Miss Townley." Harry stated in a rather tired tone of voice, watching the drunk stumble off his chair. "Just on letters she prefers them to come her under Ralph's name, then her own. That girl is a bit of mystery…" He stated flipping over one of the letters that looked rather formal, as the envelope embossed. A kangaroo and emu standing by a emblem, the front of the address stamped for some months ago it was sent.

Arthur seemed rather taken aback that Ralph's girl had been under his nose for quite some time. Wandering off towards the door, the man tucked his bloodied hands into his pocket. "Heading off now." He stated before wandering out the door of the Garrison. Leaving Harry to sigh looking down at the letters in his hand, worrying if Dot was in any sort of trouble.

Tommy watched his brother disappear around the corner, bell letting out a musical tinkle as the door fell shut. He knew that Arthur could withstand a lot, but he had always been a man of extremes, and the war had broken something inside of him. Once upon a time, his older brother had been his protector, someone to look up to. That had shifted long before puberty. Despite the difference in age, Tommy had always been the thinker, the independent one. A younger Arthur went looking for a father figure in all the wrong places. The current version didn't seem to know what he was looking for.

"Wot trouble could a country girl be in to get a letter like that… She done something wrong?" Harry mumbled lightly himself before sighing, his dark brows knitted together tightly. Fixated on the letter, before placing it against the other pile of her letters. Shaking his head before combing his hand through his messy strands of hair, slicking it back. Before composing himself taking a deep breath looking at those piercing blue eyes before him. "So, Mister Shelby did you want to speak business?" Harry asked addressing Tommy rather respectively in a formal state.

Tommy looked round at the sound of his name. Nodded curtly. "Shall we?" He gestured to a nearby table, settled into one of the straightbacked chairs. He fixed his gaze on Harry. The barkeep was reliable, and, despite his brusque exterior, a good man. He did not wish for bad blood between them. "So," he said. "You know why I'm here." Managing business from the Shelby family apartment had never been ideal, and it had long since reached the level of the ridiculous. Polly's griping about the dirt tracked from the street to the betting room was reason enough for a move. The Garrison was not intended to be an office, but it was already a routine meeting place for business dealings, and the Blinders needed a legitimate business address as a buffer between their earnings and the accountants.

He rested his elbows on the table, interlaced his fingers. "I want you to stay on as manager. You can keep the apartment, and I'll give you a fair price." Whether Harry had any desire to sell the pub had never been on the table.

"Do I get to keep my desired staff, or is that not an option as well? I have other lives that are riding on this too. I hope you understand that Mister Shelby." Harry spoke gruffly, coughing to clear his throat slightly. The middle-aged man knew that options were not his pick, but he knew that he could at least try to keep his staff in the Garrison because all of them worked extremely hard.

There was no need for Tommy to consider. It was easy to be gracious when it was in your own best interest. "As manager, how you run your pub is your business. The staff can stay. They know the place, and they know what goes on here. Nothing need change, 'cept on paper."

"I'm glad to know that I'm able to keep my staff, it would have been bothersome to find others." Harry regarded with a sigh, it would have been bothersome indeed and time consuming. "The staff are more than capable to learn their place, most already know it within the Garrison. I wouldn't consider any of them to start any issues for you, Mister Shelby." He was right about that, his staff knew their places and all fitted in well at the Garrison. Although, whatever they did outside of the hours of their work was none of Harry's concern.

"Good." It was clear that Harry cared about his staff, and the business. Tommy found it difficult to understand how a man could pour years of his life into unvarying routine without desire for something more, but then the world needed its barkeeps and serving girls. The Garrison stood at the center of Small Heath morale. "Right. I'll need the storeroom, and I'll expect you to field under-the-counter sales and business inquires in my direction. Apart from that, it'll still be the same old Garrison." He rose to retrieve the file folder. Withdrew a document, and plopped it in front of Harry. With it he deposited a handsome ballpoint pen from his inside pocket. He tapped a finger on the required field. "Your signature, Harry. Here, and here."

"You know my son was on the ownership of the Garrison as of eighteen," Harry stated dryly looking down at Tommy. "His will left Dot's name on the paperwork so you should have her sign over the other part of the document." The older man stated in a calm voice, picking up the ballpoint pen, uncapping the lip. Holding the pen in his right hand uncomfortably, scribbling his signature down. Turning the paperwork around and pushed it forward resting Tommy's pen back on the paper.

"I thought ownership reverted to you upon his death." It was an unusual move, to leave a business in the hands of a fiancée, but then Ralph had been an unusual kid. Tommy's gaze had softened a notch upon mention of Harry's son. Plenty of boys had died in the war. He'd grown desensitized to death itself, but grieving families were another matter. "Fine. Get Dot to sign when she next comes in, and I'll stop by for the papers sometime this week." He hadn't expected Harry to protest, but he had expected negotiation of some sort. Perhaps the man was smart enough to know that it was futile. Perhaps he didn't care about the money. Had it been anyone else, Tommy might not have bothered with payment at all, but he needed Harry on his side.

"She'll be in tonight." Harry confirmed in a light tone. "Or she lives in a small flat near by. The rundown flat at the very top floor." He stated lightly. "Down in the slums. If you want to get her to sign everything off for you, and processed as soon as possible, I think she'd be happy to do it. Or she not..." Harry frowned thinking over his response to Tommy, scratching his head. "Dorothy is a difficult one, you might have to talk to her if you want her to sign the paperwork. She's a little unpredictable." Harry commented in a worried tone of voice. "But if you decide to visit her, can you drop the letters off, Mister Shelby?" He asked not completely sure what decision Thomas Shelby was going to make.

StareNation · Jun 10, 2018

William Byrne (Will) and Dorothy (Dot) Townley
Location:Small Heath & Dorothy's Flat
Mentions: Connor Byrne (Deceased Character), Arthur Shelby, Thomas Shelby @kaleidoscopique , Ralph Edward (Deceased Character), Eugene Townley (NPC),
Fredrick Townley (NPC), William Byrne (@StareNation ) & Dorothy Townley (@Dust Bunnies )

It had been a good twenty minute walk before Dorothy and William had reached her building and in that time William had spent much of it in a strange silence, almost as if asking the questions that had come to the forefront of his mind threatened to take something else from him if he dared to ask Dorothy. It was true in some part, there had always been an odd comfort in the limbo of not knowing more than he did. There were however, far too many painful emotions over not knowing his brother's time in France, having been so close and yet too far to protect him. William had rarely revisited his grief over losing three of his brothers and the distance he had placed in between himself and his father had meant that being immediately in the vicinity of Liam and his sisters was no longer a viable option. Of course there were still letters regularly sent back and forth but they were drenched in and unspoken turmoil.

Reaching the steps of the building, William allowed Dorothy to lead. Dot's steps were light and gentle, not even a creak from the somewhat ancient looking staircases when she walked up them. Well paced, she took her time whilst William followed behind. There was something timely about the building Dorothy Townley lived in, something that held a sense of character the young woman couldn't quite put her finger on. As rundown as everything appeared the closer it grew to her flat things appeared to be more ragged. The ever creaky stairs grew louder and louder, and even the condition of the wood seemed poor offering a risk of splinters.

"Mind your step on these last few steps, they're rather fragile." Dot stated in a light tone of voice, her accent singing through like a sweet bell in the quiet stairwell to which William acknowledged and understood as he felt the steps bow and creek under his boots. Stopping at a nice ebony door, the young woman reached into her dress, procuring a key from her undergarment. Wriggling it into the copper door handle, pressing her head lightly into the wood listening for a few clicks of the lock. Before, raising her hand towards the center of the door frame before bashing her palm against the wood leaving a curved indent within the center of her palm. Consequently it caused her hand to dully ache but released the door from its fixed spot and William stood patiently behind with a raised brow. The young woman before him stepped into a modestly designed flat that was well-renovated and designed. I was a pleasant contrast to what the exterior looked like and William stopped just before the threshold to take in it's contents. It was neat and tidy which spoke to his own habits.

Placing the keys down into a small jam jar, Dot smiled fondly at the memory it served her. She had been quite the troublesome youth growing up, getting into all sorts of trouble. One of those very troubles was, she had learnt to make a bomb out of a glass jam jar or metal jam tin. Dorothy never knew until Gallipoli that the skill of making such weapons would become useful, they weren't even fun for pranks. Good for turf wars from her pleasant recalling going against some other pieces of shit back when she was a stirring trouble seventeen year old. But, for a time it was believed only her brothers did such troublesome things, that was until she was caught after keying a police officer's patrol carriage, as well as, tying the horses loose.

Pinching the bridge of her nose Dorothy cleared her mind of such a time, the thoughts of past that heavily played and toyed with emotions she wanted to bury. Dot missed those days before she was thrown into nursing in Perth, away from her family as punishment. The ideals of the officials was to rein her in so she could become a broken in mare, in stead of the wild one she was. When war broke out, her sentence was extended, Dot's service was needed in Gallipoli for the landing just incase something went terribly wrong. So, on the 25th of April 1915, a woman celebrating her twentieth birthday as a somewhat free woman watched the seas stain red with blood of young men for a cause not in interest of Australia, but for the apparent "mother-country".

The mere thought stirred an anger with her, even when her gaze lifted towards the neatly pressed war issued uniform. Covered in the faintest of stains from its past. A keepsake, and memorial for all the men she worked on and had died. But, also a symbolic reminder that the young woman did aid and save lives also, as before the war she would have harmed and injured others in turf wars. Swallowing back, she closed her pale eyelids for a moment trying to settle the uneasiness of her stomach. Within a moment her eyes fluttered open once more, and Dorothy turned to gaze at William whom still stood awkwardly outside the door. He had hesitated upon entering, and the hung uniform had done well to stop him in his tracks, wondering if this was a smart decision. He'd never tell a soul just how much the war haunted him and the sight of the nurses uniform prompted an unsettling churn of his stomach. Soon enough however he was brought back to the present by Dorothy's distinctive voice.

"Please, make yourself at home. Do you want some tea while we talk about some things. Maybe some bikkies?" The young woman cocked her right brow only slightly, her honey brown eyes held sincerity in welcoming and inviting him inside. Williams hands wrung uncomfortably though he took the offer, clearing his throat.

"That would be lovely," he replied as he walked into Dorothy's apartment and cast a long look about the place. It was at least twice the size of his room and contained sections such as the kitchen which were all common areas at his own apartment building. Had he not been acclimatized to living in a trench and eating in mess halls with dozens of other soldiers William doubted he would ever have stood for living so simply.

Shuffling out of her shoes, Dot kicked them comfortably under her bed, not long after nipping into the kitchen to start the kettle on the fire. Humming a soft and merry tune as she worked away in the kitchen. "Please shut the door when you come in, I have a few neighbours that are nosy and gossiping old women… They're quite the talkers and spreader of rumours." Dot stated lightly, staring up at the clock. 11:45am it read, causing the young woman to frown, if everything had run smoothly that morning. She would have been long asleep by now. As requested William turned back, shutting the door with a thud before turning and sliding his coat from his back and hanging it over the back of a hook in the door. He had barely been in Birmingham for two days and here he was having tea with a woman who had intimately known Connor. It defied his logic and had pulled him clean from his job. Though it was an uncomfortable confrontation to talk about his deceased brother he had entertained the idea, perhaps simply to put his own heart to some rest.

Today hadn't been like any normal day, running into three of the Shelby brothers separately in small bursts. As well as, being saved by one of them. Dorothy knew she just had to count her blessings with Arthur's assistance, because it could have been a whole lot worse. Filling the teapot with some herbal tea, Dorothy thought about what she could have done if every escalated further and how much trouble she would have been at the end of that choice. Strapped at her thigh was a stolen German gun that she snuck back from the war, known as the Parabellum Pistol, or commonly the Luger pistol.

William had stood on the other end of the kitchen having spent the moments searching for clues in the room that spoke more on Dorothy without having to directly ask her. It was his habit, bad or not and straight off he could see that she was no doubt independent since there seemed to be no sign of anyone else living there.
"Do you like milk and sugar with 'er tea?" The small woman asked turning her gaze to the man she barely knew.Her question drew him away as he looked back over to her and smiled, his arms comfortably folded over his chest. "A dash of white, no sugar.'

His face almost hauntingly similar to his younger brother's. "You look a lot like him, but no doubt you've heard that before." She commented lightly, offering him a sincere yet sad smile. "It's kinda like looking at a older reflection of Connor, it's quite calming to the soul. Not like seeing a ghost, but a memory of a good friend." She smiled vaguely looking into his beautiful shining green eyes for a moment. William could feel his heart rate rise at the mention of Connor and though she was sincere and kind with her words he could feel them sting.

"Many a time, people often mistook us for one another when we were younger. Needless to say it did come in handy when one of us got into a spot of bother, though I can tell you it got old rather quickly being chased with a crop because of the silly things Connor got up too." he shifted in his stance as his eyes glistened and he swallowed hard as he recounted a childhood far back in his memory. He did his best to not bombard her with queries, instead asking, "Did he...did he suffer, when they tell you they've died it is a bluntly simple note. I need to know more than an I'm sorry, he served us well." William asked as he looked back at her, his eye contact unwavering in anticipation of her answer.

Dot straightened and her body stilled at his question about how Connor died. Taking a deep breath she felt her hands shake remembering that day. The world seemed to be in the shades of black and gray, like a picture the only colour other than gray and black was red. Shells rattled the earth, and made her stomach stir that day. Even now thinking about it she felt physically sick. In the hospital tent, her footing stuck in mud, her boots, apron and uniform smelt thick on iron in a person's blood. In a cot at her side was a sobbing Irishman she befriended, Connor Byrne the end was near for him. Festering infection had seen through to it, no matter her efforts it was no use.

In the sirens and screaming of landing shells the handsome man had turned to no more a fearful child, yet, Connor feared death itself in that moment. Dorothy remembered singing to him into a peaceful to sleep were his final breath was taken, and his skin paled. "He died in his sleep," Dot stated blinking back the painful memories, tears spilling down her cheeks as she turned her face away. "He had managed to managed to fall asleep after exhausting himself, and that's when he went. It was like he was a sleeping angel after that…" Dot stated in shaking tone of voice, resting the back of her right hand over her mouth. William closed his eyes as he listened to Dorothy recount Connor's death, soon enough opening them to see her look away with emotion. He couldn't stomach asking for further detail, it was obvious that she had cared a hell of alot more than he had anticipated. These feelings were all raw, for the both of them and William used the wall in the kitchen to brace himself as he sucked in a deeper breath.

"I remember the very day I took my oath as a nurse to preserve all life, and the war made me and many others break that oath. By sending so many young men to their deaths." Dot took a shallow breath, her accent held a raw and strained tone of grief. "All my brothers were lost at war, and so was the man I loved." William glanced up as Dorothy continued, her tone somber and angry as she told him much more than he had first thought. It was clear that she carried just as many scars as he did himself and it became apparently clear that she too had lost just as much as he had. "My family despise me…" She stated in a sorrowful tone of voice, moving her hands down to the counter surface clenching her fists tightly till the blood had gone from her knuckles. "Men became crippled because of the duties I had to perform, how many since have put a bullet in their heads because of that. We all are victims of war in our own account, and the ones at fault didn't even have to step onto the battlefields of France or on the beaches of Gallipoli. They held the power to send young men to fight in their war!" Dot hit the countertop angrily, her body shook with grief as it felt like old wounds had been re-opened with salt rubbed in. The bang of her hand against the counter resounded in William's ears and at that moment he abandoned the basics of interactions with people one knew little of. He made short work to stride across the room, his hands taking Dorothy's into his own as he shook his head with gritted teeth.

"Don't you dare Dorothy, don't think you are the cause of another man's demons." he told her as he did his best to gain her eyesight. "A hell of alot of people made it home because of people like you...war took our innocence, it was war that broke us and it as sure as hell wasn't because of your hand." he told her in sincerity. Absentmindedly he had gently wiped his thumb over the her knuckles, nodding as he affirmed his own thinking.

"It's true, there are many people we left at home who don't understand, that will never understand... but all we can do is thank our stars that as broken and beaten as we are now, maybe we have something in the ruins." he expressed to her though whether he even believed his own words was another story. Suddenly mindful of how much he had exposed of his own mind and having overstepped his own boundary of interaction he released her hands, taking a step back as he cleared his throat, "I do apologise…"

"It's fine, really Mister Byrne," the much smaller woman stated in a soft tone of voice. "The people who willingly sent us to war stole our innocence from us, because they knew where they were taking us. They knew what we were going to see before we saw it." She reaffirmed lightly taking his right hand soothingly running her thumb over his knuckles, looking up into his beautiful green eyes with tear-rimmed honey brown eyes. "Anyway, have your tea and there's a bikkie on the plate for you." She spoke softly letting go of his hand, gently offering him the saucer with a filled tea cup.

As Dorothy let go of his hand William felt himself exhale long and slow, unable to stop himself from placing an immediate distance from their conversation. It was automatic and a learned practice that Will was far too easily able to practice. He knew immediately that he had said far to much of what he thought and expressed too many feelings to remain protected. Sitting down and recollecting himself as he lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip of the hot liquid, William soon lowered the cup to the saucer on the table and watched Dorothy. He needed to go back to basics, to return to the fundamental principle of why he was really in town.
"Are you sure you are okay from the earlier fruckus? We were lucky to have had your friend intervene."

"With the drunk? Quite alright, it's common actually. Partly the fact of Arthur intervening, most of the time I've expect him to be in a pool of his own vomit around that time of morning…." Dot shrugged lightly rubbing her arms trying to keep herself warm. Moving over to a rack in another room, picking up a shall and wrapping it around her body. Stepping back into the kitchen. "He's not really a friend either, just happens to have a favourite drinking spot which is my bar that I work at."

As Dorothy explained Arthur's intervention with simplicity, William wondered what her connection seemed to be. This of course was confirmed when she offered further information, though he wondered if Arthur was something more than what Dorothy was describing. Watching on as the gentleman before her, cocking a brow lightly wondering what he was possibly thinking about. "All of the Shelbys happen to hang around the Garrison…" Her tone was rather informative as she picked up her tea and saucer. "I'm just a barmaid at the bar to them, to my knowledge." She shrugged lightly adding some honey to her tea, before stirring it into her tea. Wandering over to the stranger in her flat, settling on one of the chairs in the small kitchen. "Arthur was in France same battle as my two older brothers, though I doubt they met. He tends to ramble on when drug or dazed…" Dorothy commented, speaking as if she had seen it many times before in the past.

"The Garrison...I've heard it's the place to be in town." William replied as he took in what Dot had told him. She was genuine in her approach and there was not an inch about her that seemed the slightest bit devious. He nodded as she explained Arthur's knack for rambling whilst under the influence and he wondered whether it was worth pursuing Arthur Shelby, if asking him questions was a viable option. It of course came with a feeling of tension, knowledge that Arthur Shelby was characterised by others to be unhinged and unpredictable.

"Aye, the Garrison is the place in town. The very heart of Small Heath, they say." The young woman shrugged slightly, looking towards the man taking a gentle sip of her tea. "It's not half bad, I just miss the grog at home to be honest. York was nice for stuff like that." Dot thought fondly of home letting her mind drift to that picture. "There's even singing performances from one of the girls there, like the Garrison does. Most of the time the drunks would get up and sing with her." She chuckled lightly, holding a sense of light and fondness that she hadn't shone before.

As William drank the remainder of the tea in his cup he smiled at the thought of Dorothy and the mystery that was Australia, having only ever heard stories of it's bright sun and unusual lands. Though as she told him what she missed of this place called York, William couldn't help but smile. "I can see why my brother held a fondness for you." Dorothy blushed faintly at such a compliment, drifting her gaze to the side in a shot of embarrassment.

"He liked the fate I wrote to his family more." She continued on looking up at William, soft hues of pink kissed her pale cheeks. "There's nothing really to be fond of with me though," Dorothy stuttered nervously, moving her hand up to rub behind her ear as it was habit of hers. William shook his head at the way she dismissed herself though he agreed with the idea that her writing was one reason why Connor appreciated her.
"Well Miss Townley, I should really be going..we don't want your neighbours to think lowly because of a strange man visiting you whilst unattended." William mentioned as he pushed the chair out and stood, nodding to her."I cannot express my gratitude enough to you for what you have done for Connor. Though these were strange circumstances to have met each other I am glad to have had the opportunity."

"It was a pleasure to meet the brother Connor looked up to so much." Dorothy smiled softly, raising in her seat looking towards him in a calm and pleasant tone of voice. "I hope our paths meet again someday soon," Dot spoke sincerely moving over to the door to let him out as he went on his way. Picking up his coat from the hook on the back of the door, she extended her hand toward him, offering it in a gesture of kindness. "Best be wearing it now, it's rather chilly this morning." She spoke softly, looking up at the man, their height difference was quite something. Though the appearance of her hand him his coat was almost like a wife giving her husband his before he left for work. William took the coat and lifted it upwards as he turned on his heel, letting the large thick garment slip down his arms to rest upon his shoulders before his hands flicked out the collar.

"Be well Mister Byrne." Dot told him lightly, offering a gentle form of farewell that could have meant forever or to see one another again in the future. After all it was hardly possible that they wouldn't if he also lived in Small Heath.
"And you Miss Townley," William farewelled her, soon descending the stairs as Dorothy closed the door between them.

When the man left Dot closed the door, flicking the lock causing her to sigh softly. Exhaustion finally beginning to bother her now as she moved into her bedroom, throwing her clothing off. Slipping into a light nightgown, and pulling herself to the single metal frame bed. Drawing her blankets to her chest, hoping to keep herself warm. Slowly fading into a state sleep, thoughts of Connor Byrne, and the stranger Mister William Byrne running through her mind as dreams overcame her.

William stepped back out into the street as he exhaled and released a long sigh as though it were expelling a weight from his chest. Though completely out of surprise and not at all an intentioned meeting, meeting Dorothy Townley had laid to rest at least a few of the questions that had haunted William. He would soon recount the endless letters Connor had written to him during their time in service and just how many of those had actually been penned by Miss Townley. As he headed for his home a mile or so away William thought long over the last few hours of the day, caught in a mix of chaotic thoughts which seemed to blend the discussion he had had with Dorothy about Connor with the appearance of Thomas and Arthur Shelby and later the information Dorothy had divulged regarding the Garrison. Tomorrow he decided, William would go to the Garrison pub and he would investigate further. Perhaps with luck he would once again encounter one of the Shelby brothers and find a way to insert himself into the life of the Peaky Blinders. The building he resided in stood stacked in between a cluster of other apartments which seemed to mirror one another, a far cry from most of the places he had lived in back home. As he neared the doorway it opened, a mother scolding her son in French as she hauled him through the doorway into the street, William stepping aside as he tried not to chuckle at the sight. Stepping in through the entrance as the door swung closed once more he headed through the common area for the stairs to his room.

kaleidoscopique · Jun 10, 2018

tommy + johnxxx

Location: Watery Lane
Mentions: Lizzie ( @Kat ), Chasity ( @_Dulce_ ), Harry ( @Dust Bunnies)

Thomas Shelby left the Garrison with a stack of letters and a folder of half-completed transfer-of-ownership documents tucked beneath his arm. A quick survey of the storeroom had revealed ample space for keeping an inventory of black-market cigarettes, liquor, and a trial stash of cocaine on hand for ease of sale. The door had a sturdy padlock. Anything more volatile could remain at the dockside warehouse. He had reviewed management procedures with Harry, and found them sound. The man was good at his job (though overly generous with his staff).

Tommy was running the numbers through his head, in search of possible expenditure cutbacks, when his train of thought was abruptly derailed by the approach of deliberate footsteps. He glanced up to see his second-youngest brother pacing towards him. John did not look good. His face was blotchy with the remnants of recently-subsided anger. His eyes were red-rimmed. The green tinge had faded from his skin, but it wasn't much of an improvement. He still didn't have his coat. Wordlessly, he fell into step.

"You never ate your breakfast," Tommy commented after a moment.

John snorted derisively, but his bad humor lifted a notch. "Fock breakfast. And Lizzie."

Of course it was about Lizzie. "Well. At least you're concise." Tommy's voice was bone-dry, but John knew him well enough to hear the creeping amusement.

The younger man sighed, buried his hands in his trouser pockets. He supposed the situation was objectively entertaining. He wasn't in a very objective mood. "She's married," he said. "To the bloody chief of police."

Tommy let out a whistle at that. "S'pose she never thought to mention that, whilst you was fucking her. You've a right knack for picking them." John made to punch him in the side, but the movement was predictable, and Tommy stepped back in time for the blow to fall short. The situation soon devolved into a full-fledged scuffle. It ended only when one of the letters fluttered to the ground, and Tommy released his brother from a headlock to retrieve it. The letter was unharmed, if a bit dusty. Both men were grinning like rambunctious children.

They fell into step again, and John blew out a breath. The brief tussle had released something inside of him more effectively than a night of drinking, and he could almost breathe again. Most of the time, his older brother was an utter bastard. Sometimes, he didn't know what he'd do without him. "How d'you do it?" he asked suddenly. "Not care."

"How d'you mean?"

John's cheeks flushed. He couldn't believe he was looking to Tommy, of all people, for relationship advice. He must be losing his mind. Still, it was too late to withdraw the question, and so he plowed ahead. "I've seen how you are with women. They don't get to you, not like they do to me."

"Haven't you heard?" Tommy fished in his pocket for a slim silver case, drew out a cigarette. Not 'women', he thought. Singular. Just one particular woman. "Apparently, I'm the devil incarnate."

John snorted. "Right. I still remember when you were eleven, and Arthur broke your fucking top. You know," and he made a spinning gesture, "the wooden thing. Chipped red paint from when you chucked it at my head. Anyway. You cried for, what, a day?" Mind you, he also remembered a time when Tommy had slit an employee's throat after the man was found embezzling cash. Ear-to-ear with a shaving razor, eyes unmoving and breath unhitched. You could still see the stained carpet if you looked. John had seen plenty of evidence that people were capable of bad, did not lose sleep over distinctions between right and wrong, but seeing behind the curtain sometimes made it hard to reconcile the good with which it coexisted.

"You see why I don't like sharing." Tommy's deadpan expression cracked into a smile. John was one of the few people who could draw them out of him.

The lighthearted banter continued down the length of Watery Lane. By the time the brothers reached their front door, their spirits were in better shape. It was lunch break, and a queue of men waiting their turn to place a bet on the night's races tailed onto the street, shepherded by a couple of the boys. The Shelbys pushed past them into the thrumming hive of activity. Even with the knocked-out wall of the former sitting room, where they had co-opted part of the adjacent apartment, the 'office' was long overdue for an update. Still, the noise felt like home. And, if the morning's encounters with old flames had not been entirely forgotten, they were easily consigned to the past. This was the now, and there was business to attend to.

1919: A Family Affair (IC)

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