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.

Bubs · Jun 14, 2018

Bettina Valentina Claudia Rosamond

Location:
Birmingham Station → Shelby Business Establishment, Small Heath.
Mentions:
Thomas Shelby (@kaleidoscopique ), John Shelby (@kaleidoscopique ), Arthur Shelby Jr. (@Dust Bunnies ), Alfie Solomons (@ZhenyaDup ), Darby Sabini (NPC), Henritetta Rosamond (NPC), Archibald Rosamond (NPC), Horace Rosamond (NPC), Elizabeth "Polly" Shelby (NPC).

***

The whistle of the train's whistle quickly woke the prominently dressed woman known as Bettina Valentina Rosamond. Lifting the curtains from her carriage window the a tired pair of perfect sky blue eyes scanned and observed the platform. Birmingham, was not a place she had ever really travelled to but business bought her there today, after a certain name Shelby kept popping up under her radar of interesting.

Peaking her interest furthermore with the necessary research she conducted against the family which held the Shelby name, and who they were. There in her carriage she thought about the some weeks ago when the first lot of files were delivered, holding the information of the rather prominent Shelby brothers; Arthur Shelby Jr, Thomas Michael Shelby and John Michael Shelby. Three ex-servicemen, that were current a formidable gangmen within the area of Birmingham, and a potential for business expansion between the Shelby and Rosamond family. The prospect sounded very financially pleasing to assist the Shelby family with their business based goals, as in the long term it would no doubt pay the woman back.

Standing up carefully from her seat, Bettina gazed over the two sleeping faces of her eldest son, Archibald Gilbert, and her only daughter the sweet, yet curious, Henrietta Priscilla. Smiling vaguely at her son's rousing into a state of wake. "Time to wake my sweet angels," spoke the foreign woman spoke blissfully in a form of high Austrian-German. Her gloved hands of black leather lightly stroking the two children's cheeks, as she let a soft chuckle pass her perfectly paint lips of deep plum. Henrietta refused to wake, making her mother have no choice but to pick her up and carry her.

A knock at her carriage door came, and Bettina popped her head through the curtains to see her three most capable workers standing outside, waiting on her. Two cleanly dressed middle-aged men that had been her bodyguards in the early years of her marriage, known as Gibson and Smith. The third man was a few years older than she, a tall blonde with a scar trailing down and over his right eye. Though the third hadn't been in service as long, he had done something that made the woman regard him rather highly, he managed to save her young daughter's life in a business arrangement that went wrong. For that, he always travelled with her.

Watching her worker's open the door, Bettina lifted her gaze to the prize and favourite member of her staff extending her hand before stepping out onto the platform. As the sun hit them, the sleeping Henrietta stirred in her finely dressed mother's arms. Bettina was clearly a sight of wealth with her finely tailored gown dress of black lace, leaving a rather revealing see-through black lace for sleeves. Her choice for hat was a subtle and sewn designed Cloche, in the shade of black with cooper threading giving it personality through its expensive accessories. Long pearls draped over her neck in a sense-able style, yet a golden chain was taken into under her dress for 'safety' measures. Nicely polished black heeled made by the finest of shoemakers.

By the stares it was quite clear that Bet was a sight to the common folk of Birmingham train station, holding a sleeping child against her hip where nanny's would normally be doing such work. Her son shifting from the train carriage quickly taking his place right beside her. Standing tall the prominent and out of place woman ignored the lingering gazes of men, women and children. Instead she focused on her staff men unloading the luggage, and showing her towards the transport. Ushering into automobile, holding her daughter at her lap calmly handing her son a letter. "Soon enough we'll be in Small Heath, my dear son please deliver this to the 6th house. Make sure it gets into the hands of a Elizabeth Shelby." Bettina told her son in a loving tone of voice, stepping out of the car with him when the automobile stopped in Small Heath, by the car she watched the boy rush into the house.

***

Rushing into the busy crowds of people, Archibald slipped between the legs of a few factory workers hoping to place their bets. Much to the disagreement to few patrons, the auburn hair boy shot a glare at the men making a fuss. Finding a woman of the description his mother gave him, she was there at a desk working on a few books. Coughing lightly into his hand the boy looked at the tired middle-aged woman known as Elizabeth Shelby. "Delivery from the Rosamond's of London, Mrs Rosamond wished for me to deliver it to you in person, Ms Shelby." The auburn haired boy smiled softly extending his hand with letter in it towards her.

Polly rose from her seat in the moment the boy began to speak, he was a sweet looking boy no older or younger than Finn was. Yet, there before her a innocent little boy was handing over a letter from a formidable gang family from London that managed to rise up from the ashes of the battles between the Darby Sabini and Alfie Solomons. Holding a rather perplexed and concerned expression the woman took the envelope carefully, orbs of brown curiously. Following after the boy that so quickly appeared and vanished for the door.

Opening the door to see the mystery boy speaking to finely dressed woman who held an expression of impress. She wasn't the typical gypsy type that hung around, she was a beauty of an almost foreign glance. "Send my regards to Mister Thomas Shelby, please make sure he knows we mean no harm. Unless the harm comes to us first." Polly heard the beautiful woman dressed in dark say, before helping the boy into her car. Looking to the driver to move off down the road ahead.

Polly couldn't help but stumble inside, moving towards her books in a ray of utter shock. Staring at the letter Polly waited on Tommy to make his appearance once more known, because it would truly made the woman's turning stomach settle if he did walk through the door. "Tommy, I need to talk to you now… We've received a letter just before you arrived…" Polly stated walking up to her niece offering him to gaze at the un-stamped letter. "It was personally delivered by a messenger of the Rosamond group in London. Its addressed to all the Shelbys, though when I went to stop the boy from leaving I saw a finely dressed woman helping him into a car. She wished me to send her regards to you, and that they mean no harm. Unless it comes to them first." Pol sounded worried about this fact, the blatant fact that the Rosamond's had survived the war and the war between Sabini and Solomons in London.

"I think it was his wife in person, Horace Rosamond's wife… Either way, she sounded like a German of sorts." Polly told her nephew wondering his opinion on the matter.

***

Everything was seemingly perfectly falling into place, the woman thought as she settled into a chair of the rented townhouse she was using for the time she was in Birmingham. Watching her children play together in front of the heat of the fire, Bettina smiled fondly thinking back to the letter she wrote Mr Thomas Shelby.

It going roughly along the lines of…

Dear Mr. Thomas Shelby,

I would like formally introduce myself as Bettina Rosamond, current head of the household and all owned establishments. My reason for making formal contact with you is quite simple. I'd like to propose an arrangement of business that might benefit the Rosamond family by investing and offering any means of expansion to your family.

You see, the Peaky Blinders activities among the race tracks has caused quite a stir with some of the Sabini Officers that happen to be on my pay role as well. Fortunately, such valued information has fallen into my own hands before the likes of Darby Sabini.

Since my husband has stepped down from the business frame, I would much rather look into make vast investments within the smaller, yet, powerful gangs. Your rather impressive business endeavours have caught my attention for some time now, but watching the activity group has been vaguely amusing. Much like the earlier days of the Rosamond's in the beginning, who respectfully took the aid from an Austro-

Hungarian gang offered assistance to expand.

My offer to you is... That in a joined alliance under paperwork and in crew. I'll offer an extendable assistance to you, as well as you'll become a partner of one of the brothels owned just outsider of Birmingham. The partnership will allow you an extra legal business address, as well as an expansion of your territory outside of Birmingham. All imports and sells you want to do on the underground in London will be completed under my legitimate business name because of the trading alliances I have with Sabini and Solomons. I only ask for a percentage of the profit for this, since I'm willing to put my name on your illegal goods just in chance I'm arrested and my children need that money to survive.

Respectively, if you have anything you wish to discuss with a formal meeting I'm either happy to meet you at the Garrison and speak there. Or I'll have my driver pick you up and drive you to my rented town house so we can get to the formalities.

I await your response,

Mrs Bettina Valentina. C. Rosamond

junebug · Jun 14, 2018

Girl Talk
@_Dulce_ & @Kat collab

Lizzie stared at the clear sky, fingers grasped around the dead flowers on her and Howard's balcony. She pulled them out of their pots and let them fall to the ground. They'd wilted yesterday, but she hadn't gotten around to taking care of them, and now that she could, it was better to take out the roots and wait for it to never grow back.

Numb and desperate to feel something, Lizzie considered going for the liquor cabinet inside before she recalled once more that Howard had taken the keys.

Lizzie sank down onto the chair of the balcony and stared at John's coat; surely, it was nearly done being dry now. She hated that she'd grabbed it off that lady; that lady had probably made John more happy than she'd ever made him. She was perfect for him, she was beautiful, he had her at his hip… Lizzie wasn't anything, just a cheater who needed a good fuck with someone other than husband. She turned to go inside and noticed Chasity at the kitchen.

"Something smells good. What're you making?"

Chasity turned at the sound of Lizzie's voice coming back in the house and just smiled softly before stirring the pot once again. "I'm just making clam chowder with pieces of meat. I had to shell out a few extra pounds, but it'll be worth it at the end of the day. We're supposed to be getting Billy today from his aunt and I want him to eat well. Maybe if I can get Richard to start acting right we'll be able to have Billy all the time," she said with a hopeful smile as she placed the top over the pot and just let it sit over the heat so that it could stay warm.

"But it's done. if you want to dig in, eat as much as you want. I made enough for a small army of men, might as well make enough so that it can last since money's getting a bit tight," she wiped her hands clean on the apron she had borrowed from Lizzie before hanging it over the back of the chair in the dining room. A small sigh escaped her lips as she turned to the woman and bit her lip not wanting to ask the question but knew she had to ask sooner or later.

"How are you feeling Lizzie?" she asked softly, a warm smile on her face.

Lizzie glanced over at her friend and sighed. She took a seat and rested her cheeks in her hands.

"Awful, but I guess you would've already figured that out by now. Were you scared when you found out he was some kind of notorious criminal?"

Chasity couldn't even stop the laughter that fell from her lips when Lizzie asked her questions.

"Was I scared? Of who Thomas Shelby?"

Lizzie's questions caused her to laugh again as she wiped a tear from her eye before looking down at Lizzie with small chuckles.

"I've been surrounded by crime my whole life, so figuring out that Thomas was some big bad criminal didn't really frighten me or turn me off to the idea of being with him. Plus, Thomas isn't a scary man. If anything, he reminds me of a pouty child who throws fits when they don't get their way," she teased with a soft smile before taking a seat in the chair next to Lizzie and placing her hand gently on her knee. "But he was my pouty child. I loved that man, but some things just matter more than love and that was his safety."

"How did you get over Thomas after you two broke it off?"

Chasity gave another small sigh and sat back in her chair, not wanting to have this conversation.

Chasity had never really had the conversation of her relationship she Thomas because only a few people knew, and that was herself, the Shelbys, Thomas, and Lizzie. This conversation put a weight on her heart that didn't belong there and put a yearning in her mind that hadn't been there in months.

"How did I get over Thomas?" she questioned softly to herself as she looked around the room trying to dry the tears in her eyes that threatened to fall at the mere mention of his name. Now, she could lie here. Tell her that it was easy, that all she did was just push him out of her life. Stop speaking, cut him off, and with that she eventually fell out of love with him. Her need for him went dry with just shunning him from her life and from her heart. Or she could tell her the truth, that there wasn't a night that she laid with Richard and just saw Thomas staring back at her; that even though she pretended that she had never met him and that they had never had a relationship she still longed for him in the back of her mind.

Once Chasity realized that there had been a good bit of silence, she decided to go with the lie. She didn't need anyone to know that she still cared for that rat bastard of a man.

"I got over him by not speaking to him. I avoided him at all costs, didn't look in his direction, and tried to focus my attention elsewhere; like to my husband and my son. It was hard in the beginning because yes, Thomas was my first love and I had never loved a man like I loved him, but eventually you numb yourself to it and ignoring him becomes like a second nature."

She wanted to give Lizzie a piece of hope that getting over John would be successful in the near future if he had decided to never speak to him again, and if she had to lie to do that, then she would do exactly that.

Lizzie stared at her friend, noticing the deep emotional anguish behind her eyes. She remembered the night before, how much distress Chasity had been in. It was clear she still had feelings for Thomas. Lizzie's fingers reached out to play briefly with her friend's curls.

"We both know very well we can't get over our men that fast," she murmured and stood up, walking over to the lunch Chasity had made for them both.

"Smells nice. Want some?"

Lizzie took down two bowls, one for her and one for her friend. She ladled some soup into the first bowl and the second.

"I was wondering Chasity, since you knew Thomas during the war and all, does that mean you were part of the Peaky Blinders too? Like his secretary or something?"

Chasity looked over at her friend and shook her head as she reached into her purse that was hanging on the back of the chair and reached for a cigarette.

"During the war not even he was in charge of the Peaky blinders, his aunt was running the show while all of them were gone. But when we got back he never really asked me to help. I would offer to help him but he always told me that his work was no place for a woman and he didn't want me to get hurt helping him, so I respected his wishes. He never really told me what he was doing either, I just knew that when it came to days where the horse races were happening that I wasn't to bother him because he would be too busy rigging them," she said with a small chuckle as she placed the cigarette in her mouth and lit the end with a match she struck.

"Why are you so curious? If anything I should be asking you a few questions, I've been wondering a few things myself. Like, why John? I'm sure you had handsome and sweet men in and out of your tent all day and night. Why fall for that ass wipe?" She took a breath of her cigarette and blew it out as she looked at her friend with curiosity laced in her eyes and a smile on her face.

"I would feel a lot better if I tried to understand John and where he came from. It would provide me with a sense of closure," Lizzie replied, pouring the last ladle of soup and grabbing two rolls from a basket nearby. She placed the soup bowls on large plates and the rolls on the side. A spoon went with both before Lizzie approached the table with her meal and Chasity's meal in hand.

"No one actually looked at me the way John did. I may have had men gunning to be my husband, but their eyes weren't filled with the same sincere spark John's held. When I was first assigned to be his nurse, it was his immature and goofy sense of humor that drew me to him. I felt at ease around him, despite all the death and blood. All the other men just wanted a good fuck reliever."

She set the plates down and sat across from Chasity.

"That being said, I'm also curious about why you fell for Thomas. He sounds like a pain in the ass and it's not everyday I get to hear about my friend's relationships. Perhaps this conversation will do us both some good."

Chasity had looked at the woman as she placed the cigarette to her mouth and shook her head, "Next question" she said not even wanting to talk about the logistics of her falling for that man, "I hate talking about it, him. I don't get the fondest of memories thinking about him and whatever our relationship was. Plus you don't have any liquor right now and I need to down a whole bottle of rum before talking about my short love story with Thomas," she said in all seriousness but tried to laugh it off as if it was a joke. "Ask me anything else, and when I'm drunk maybe I'll tell you why I loved him," conversations about Thomas were always easier when she was drunk.

"That isn't fair," Lizzie retorted, reaching over and grabbing the cigarette from Chasity's lips. "I told you about John, you tell me about Thomas."

She placed the cigarette between her lips with her thumb and index finger and took a puff, immediately relinquishing it back to her friend as she coughed.

"Shit, that is awful."

She ate some of the soup in an attempt to get rid of the taste.

"How you smoke, I don't know. Liquor's in the liquor cabinet. Howard locked it up and has the keys though. He doesn't trust me anymore with the alcohol, the bastard."

Chasity couldn't help but chuckle at the woman she she took her cigarette back and placed it back in her mouth. "I've been doing this since I was fifteen, I think I would know how to handle the awful taste by now," she said with a smile as she put the rest of the cigarette out and ate a small bit of the soup to taste her creation.

"Okay look. Thomas and I met in the war too, and just like you and John I was his nurse. There wasn't really anything to our relationship though isn't in beginning. We flirted and if anything I was probably more of a warm body to keep him company, but he was the same for me so I wasn't really offended," she sighed, biting her lip gently as she looked down at the bowl. She refused to look at Lizzie. This was probably the most vulnerable she had been in front of anyone and she was glad the person was Lizzie and not someone who could use this against her.

"One night he got hurt. Really bad. I told him that he couldn't die on me because he needed to take me out dancing, and not in that shitty camp but on a real dance floor with a real band. Those days I waited for him to recover were probably the worst days of my life, and that's when I knew. I felt like I belonged somewhere when he held me because he was just as much of a shitty person as I was. I finally felt like someone understood me, and that's why I fell for Thomas Shelby. But that doesn't matter anymore, he hates me and if we're being honest I hate him too."

She didn't even realize that she had started crying until she tasted a bit of salt on her upper lip. She quickly stood and wiped her eyes to act like it hadn't even happened, thought she was sure she wasn't quick enough.

"Look. Fuck Howard right now. I'm going to get us a bottle of rum."

She looked for the jacket she had haphazardly thrown when she walked through the door and pulled herself together before turning back to Lizzie.

"I'll be back love," she said with a smile as she made her way onto the streets, silently cursing herself.

kaleidoscopique · Jun 14, 2018

Tommy + Dorothy

Mentions: Alfie ( @ZhenyaDup), Bettina ( @Dust Bunnies), William ( @StareNation ), Ada, Harry, Frederick (NPCs)

Collab with @Dust Bunnies

Thomas had little time to collect his thoughts. The moment he stepped over the threshold, he was confronted by his aunt. He had already resigned himself to another nonsensical squabble when she pulled him into the pantry, door shutting on the curious gazes of onlookers. It was difficult to find privacy in their house at the moment. There, amongst the jars of canned fruit and tins of flour, she held out a letter. Tommy stared at it. He resolutely ignored the creeping sense of claustrophobia.

"Rosamond," he repeated, eyebrow raised. That was a name he'd never expected to hear around Small Heath. "Seems all of London's taken an interest in our little operation." He turned the envelope over between his fingers, thinking. Something was shifting in the north, an instability of power, and the whole of England had a role to play. Why else would the likes of Alfie Solomons and Horace Rosamond take such a sudden interest in Birmingham? Already the possibility of change, of rising and falling and near-inevitable bloodshed, began playing through his mind.

He supposed he should look at the damn letter before jumping to conclusions. He did so, fishing a switchblade from the pocket of his waistcoat, slitting open the envelope. A single sheet of high-quality stationary tumbled out. As he read, his eyebrows climbed higher. It seemed Bettina, not Horace, stood at the helm of the family business. He wondered if she were in some kind of trouble, or if perhaps she knew he'd been in contact with the Jews. In any case, he suspected there was more to the story than was contained within the letter.

Tommy glanced up to find his aunt reading over his shoulder. He passed her the paper. She raised her head, eyebrows furrowed, to gauge his reaction. "We could use an ally," she said. But they knew each other so well that words were often unnecessary, and both Shelbys could see caution written in the other's face. Allies came with responsibilities. They also came with new enemies. Still, the next step was clear: it would be downright imprudent to ignore an olive branch wielded by a prominent London gang.

"Right," he said. "You find out where she's staying, and I'll send someone over with my answer. I'll meet her tomorrow night; should give us time to think."

"Best you go to her," said Polly. "Keep the meeting quiet. The last thing we need is for Solomons to feel betrayed before we so much as know what he wants." Tommy nodded his agreement. And, head reeling from the day's events, he pushed open the door and out of the pantry.

Dorothy finally gained a chance to sleep after the departure of the man known as William Byrne, a lovely yet sad man. At the dawning of evening, Dot woke once more. Feeling tired and a little on edge about the amount of sleep she'd had. Which she felt she was really lacking in. Groaning lightly she stepped out of bed reaching for a robe and wrapping it around her body. Staring at the nurse's uniform that haunted her with nightmarish memories. Messy waves of short brown hair framed her cheeks and jawline, Dorothy's pale complex almost looked soft to touch yet cold like a corpse. Beautiful honey brown eyes almost appeared golden,glowing softly in the low lighting.

Walking along the old wooden floors the woman slipped her nightgown over her head, and shifted into her undergarments. Sitting down on a stool in her room adjusting her stockings, and clasping them into place. Next she tied something to support her light bust, before looking at herself in the old dressing table mirror. Running cool fingertips along the exposed flesh of her stomach, the young woman sighed softly. Often she wondered about what her body would look like if Ralph was around. Would her eyes be less fake with expression? Perhaps even her stomach would be swelled to a bump with their first child. All of it just seemed so cruel and unfair to the young woman the more she thought about it.

Moving around in her undergarments and robe, Dot brewed herself some tea. Closing her eyes,thinking about what the night could possibly hold. Standing by the window, she looked out and over Small Heath watching the night come to life. Holding a teacup in hand, Dot rested her head against the windowsill rather reflectively. The warmth of the teacup nipped at her hands, as she began to sing a quiet and soft verse of Waltzing Matilda to herself. Bitter-tasting tea tingling on her breath, in the cold of her flat which left goosebump kissing her flesh. If she was in the view of others, she knew it would be a scandal and rumours would fly because no one could keep their mouths closed in Small Heath.

Meanwhile, Thomas Shelby approached the apartment at a leisurely pace. The evening had been a success. Somehow, knowing the outcome of the races in advance did not diminish the thrill of leaning into the old wireless as the commentator's voice filled the smoke-hazy room. The cheer, which rose from the assembled men as one, at the confirmation that they had made rather a lot of money.

There was still no sign of Ada. Though her task should have taken less than an hour, this was hardly the first time she'd strode away in a fit of rebellion. With any luck, she'd met with Miss Clarke before pissing off to watch a picture, or shag some unfortunate bloke, or whatever the hell she did with her spare time. In any case, she'd receive an earful upon returning.

Tommy had taken Harry up on his suggestion to visit the barmaid out of a desire to get the damn business over with. The Blinders had as good as owned the place for a couple years anyway; as far as he was concerned, this was a mere technicality. It had never crossed his mind to consider where Dot went when she was not serving drinks or wiping down tables. He recognized the street address, though he had little cause to come this direction. As he walked, the housing complexes transitioned from cramped to downright derelict. He wondered what the hell the woman did with her salary; surely she should have been able to afford better. Perhaps she had family. Again, he'd never thought to ask, but the stack of letters in his hand opened new questions.

The steps creaked beneath his feet. He paused to look up at the row of windows, and for a moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of a pale face. Then the light shifted, and all he could see was the reflection of a dull sky. He reached the door and, shifting the papers to his other hand, rapped his knuckles smartly across it.

Echoes of footsteps rung clearly before stopping at her door, the mere fact of a visitor was completely unknown her at this time of night. Standing up, she tied her robe so nothing on her undergarments were exposed. Walking rather cautiously towards the faulty door, Dot grabbed her Luger pistol which was placed on the kitchen table. Her left hand gripped the handle and turned it, opening the door just slightly to get a glimpse of Thomas Shelby. "Mister Shelby?" Dorothy asked in a questioning gaze, resting her right hand, which held the German-issued gun, against the door.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Dot spoke between gritted teeth, clearly rather hostile about an uninvited guest rocking up on her doorstep. Orbs of honey brown fell on the paperwork held smartly in his arm, it made the woman cock a nicely shaped brow. "I suppose Harry told you where I live, because I doubt anyone else you know has any idea." A heavy sigh left her pink lips, as she clearly wasn't surprised but not impressed either.

Thomas Shelby glanced in with mild curiosity. From what he could see, the apartment was neat. Dorothy was undressed; he must have caught her just after waking. He didn't bother to avert his eyes in a pretense of modesty. "You going to shoot me, Miss Townley?" Rather than answering her question, his eyes trailed to the German weapon in her hand. His voice was laced with amusement. "May I come in?"

Dot merely rolled her eyes at his expressed amusement, "Wouldn't be the first nor last, Mister Shelby." She smiled in at the ending of her comment, pushing the door open allowing him to step inside. "So what do you want, or are you just going to stand there like a fucking tool?" Miss Townley crossed her arms over her chest, still holding the gun in hand. Used a scarred ankle to nudge the door shut before walking over to the gangster, cocking a brow. "Surely this isn't a fucking social call, because if so it could have waited till the Garrison." Dot's tone held some venom. or some reason it appeared she knew about these kinds of visits and had dealt with people like the Shelbys before.

Thomas had never seen the woman without her veneer of customer service politeness, and this other side of her was interesting. He could better appreciate what Harry saw in her. Still, he had been through far too much to be intimidated by a barmaid with a stolen pistol. He turned away from her, examining the well-kempt apartment. There were no signs of another inhabitant. "Maybe I decided to take up letter-carrying for a bit of spare cash." He drew back one of the spartan kitchen chairs and settled into it. He deposited his folder on the table, slid out the original copy of documents for her inspection.

"And I'm a good Christian girl," Dot rolled her eyes at Tommy's comment, moving over to another chair. Settling into it, gazing over the document, reading over the contract. "Jesus Christ…" She whispered under her breath, reading carefully through the contract. Her heart rate beginning to pick up, and violent pound against her chest. Biting against her thumb nail, she felt her gaze drift to the Shelby brother. "Letters before anything else." Dot held out her hand, waiting on Thomas.

He raised an eyebrow at her, made no move to hand over the letters. Instead, he helpfully slid his pen across the table towards her. "All I'm asking, Dot, is your signature. Harry and I've worked out the details. This is merely a formality. I assure you that you'll be fairly compensated. You'll get your letters when you sign." He cast a glance at the little packet still tucked beneath his left arm. "You've got quite the stack of them."

Her breathing hitched lightly on the term of the letters, as she picked up the pen. Scribbling down her signature as Edward instead of Townley once more. Before placing the pen on the document sliding it back towards him. "Keep the compensation, I don't want your fucking money." Dot spat looking at him, her gaze held a fire a willingness to fight against it. After all that wasn't her legal name, making the full document invalid. "Letters now, Mister Shelby. Or no legal signature." She folded her arms over her chest. If he wanted to play dirty, she could play just as hard.

Those letters were more important than his business to her, because they held information on whether she was going to be tracked down and hung for crimes she had committed before the war. Technically she should have been pardoned after her service, but at the moment it didn't seem likely. "Your move, Mister Shelby. At the moment you've got invalid paperwork, and a pile of letter than mean sweet fuck all to you. I assure you though, if you wanted to put a bullet in my head right here and now, you'll only be doing the officials the favour." Dot commented, tapping her fingernails on the surface of the wooden table.

Tommy regarded her cooly. She was right; he didn't give a rat's ass about the letters, though her intense interest in them had caught his attention. However, he didn't like the utter lack of respect in her tone. He had a second copy of the papers: one for him, one for the accountant. He didn't give a damn about the veracity of his edition, but the other one had to stand up to scrutiny. If she ruined both sheets, he was going to be sorely displeased. He rose from his chair to face her, stepped forwards. Now there was mere breathing room between them. He could see the highlights in her irises, the jut of her collarbone beneath her thin shift.

"You're testing my patience, Miss Townley," he said. "You won't like me when I'm impatient." His gaze drifted to her neck, and he wondered (hypothetically) if she'd get to her Luger before he managed to wring the insolence out of her. He had no doubt that she'd use the gun if she had to. "I'm not going to shoot you. I could go after Harry and let that sit on your conscience. I could pin you against the wall and snap every one of your pretty fingers so's you couldn't so much as wipe your own arse for a week. I'd leave your writing hand til last in case you smartened up. But I won't do either, cos you're going to sign the fucking letters, and I have better things to do with my time. And you're not going to shoot me, cos you're not a complete idiot." He chucked the packet at her feet. The string burst, and a cascade of envelopes spilled across the floor. "Go on. Pick up your bloody letters."

"You'd be doing yourself harm if you went after Harry. If you wish to keep the Garrison under your wing, the safety of Harry should be an automatic piece." Dot regarded knowing that if anything possibly happened to Harry, Tommy could kiss that legal business address goodbye. Reaching down calmly and picking up a letter that looked like it was from the government officials. Tearing into the envelope, Dorothy pulled the letter out carefully almost as it meant life or death. Skim reading the document feeling her heart begin to race, reaching for the paperwork grabbing Thomas's pen. Pulling the document over to her, crossing out her other signature initialing the mistake making it valid once more. Then, penning her legal signature, Dorothy Helen Townley before placing the pen down. Looking at the letter once more taking a deep breath.

"Any more pieces of paperwork you need signed now?" Dot asked softly looking towards Thomas, standing up from her seat walking into her bedroom procuring a envelope for the Shelby brother. Walking back out to him placing the envelope down in front of him. "Those are the deeds and all current insurance on the Garrison." Dorothy spoke softly looking at the second eldest Shelby brother. "You're a lot like my brother Fred, just don't end up like him, Thomas." She commented lightly holding a sense of sincerity in her tone as she moved back behind a divider in her room to finish getting dressed. Stepping out in a similar dressed from the night before, as she slipped her shoes over her heels.

"Don't shoot too far for the family business, or you might find people after you, if they aren't already." Dot spoke in a tone that seemed like personal experience talking.

If Tommy had been in a conversational state of mind, he might have been curious about Dot's life before Small Heath. About the stack of letters, the Luger, the aforementioned Fred. Not to mention her self-assurance. She did not see herself as merely a barmaid; she had an inflated sense of her place in the world. He respected that. But he'd grown tired of the woman's antics, of her sudden swing from aggressor to advisor. He didn't like her patronizing tone any better than her scathing one. Still, the information lodged in the back of his brain. When he had cause to think about the matter, he would remember.

He leaned in to examine her signature. It appeared to be in order. He swept the completed forms back into their manila folder and, with a sense of finality, folded it shut. He tucked the damn thing under his arm, collected his pen, straightened his collar. Then his eyes met hers. "I've been in the crosshairs a long time, Miss Townley. Hardly matters if it's Germans or coppers or some small-time mook with delusions of grandeur who's aiming the gun. You get used to them. I'm not cut out for a quiet life."

Dorothy smirked at the comment bluntly made about delusions of grandeur, and who was aiming the gun. It was amusing, just amusing as how formally she was address. "It's quite clear in your presence Mister Shelby, blokes like you have far to go. Just watch out for the idiot brother of yours, Arthur. He's been running his mouth on matters that might be considered important information for you." Dot warned Tommy in a light tone, watching his strides towards the door.

He strode to the exit before pausing, one hand on the door handle, turning one last time to look at her. His voice was sardonic. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Quite," Dorothy rose her brow, finding a bit of amusement in his mockery of a tone. "Have a good evening Mister Shelby." She boldly companied his tone of voice, watching him slam the door so boldly behind him.

Then he slammed the door. Sighing softly in her seat, she laughed lightly resting her head back. Before remembering the letters he so boldly threw at her feet. Scooping them up she slowly began to pick through the letters intensely reading through them. When the time was right, she left for work herself. Taking the short water down Watery Lane, looking at all the people seemingly come out of their shells at this time of night. Regarding the interaction with Thomas earlier with a smirk and shake of her. "Fucking poms." The woman regarded with the rolling of her eyes, lightly running her fingers through her hair.

Moving through the doors of the Garrison, shooting a look of utter disgust towards Harry. Flecks of golden brown stared the middle-aged man down. Apparently there was no fury like a woman's scorn.

kaleidoscopique · Jun 14, 2018

richard + alekseixxx

Location: Birmingham Small Arms factory

Collab with the lovely @_Dulce_

The BSA factory was silent and dark. The machines sat dormant, the bosses' offices were locked for the night. The usual deafening clattering and clanking and the chugging of smokestacks was absent. And yet, there was a light in two windows, a light which should not have been there.

During the war, they made weapons. Now, it was automobiles and bicycles and aero engines. While the work had not changed, the sense of purpose had morphed into resentment. Most of the men had fought for their country, had shed blood and sweat and belief in humanity, and they had nothing good to show for it. Wages were low. Hours were long. Business was booming, yet there was no sign of its proceeds save in the recently-remodeled upstairs offices.

The workers were fed up.

The self-appointed guard at the door gave Aleksei Petrov a suspicious once-over before nodding him inside. He was clearly no copper, with his unfashionable beard and his thick accent, but there was a wily glint in his eye which put people on edge. A hunger for action. Besides, he might share a common goal and a class with these people, but most of the Birmingham men had toiled and pissed and fought side-by-side since childhood. He would never quite be one of them.

He made his way through the echoing chamber of the workspace, the hulking forms of great machines like slumbering giants. There were voices now, and he followed the light like a moth to a flame. The foreman had been bribed to leave the door unlocked. A crowd of people stood, shoulder-to-shoulder, before a makeshift stage of old pallets. BSA, mostly, but there were others as well, both men and women. The energy was palpable. An excited murmur, anger and anticipation simmering just below the surface. All that was needed were a few carefully-chosen words to set it ablaze. Aleksei watched, coming to rest near the front of the crowd, as a dark-haired man threaded his way towards the stage.

It had always been the same for Richard Chapman. He would give a few words, the crowd would start to get fired up and demand change, and then eventually they would find methods to get their hours shortened; their wages increased; and their working conditions bettered. That might have been enough for some people, but for Richard it was only the tip of the iceberg. He was sick and tired of being looked down upon because he didn't have the money or the fancy suits, because he had to work hard with his blood and sweat to even afford a piece of burnt bread while the men and women at the top barely lifted a thumb and a full seven course dinner was placed in front of them. He wanted more than better wages and shorter times, he wanted these classes to be dismantled and he wanted to see the men at the top live like the men he forced to be at the bottom.

"How long?" he said loud enough to cause the soft chatter of the room to slowly stop as all eyes turned to him with anticipation. "How long are we going to allow the one percent of the one percent to rule everything?" There was already a fire burning in his stomach as he looked across the room at everyone who understood the pain he went through and understood the struggle that had been placed on him because of his class. "We are look down upon even though we put the food in their bellies!" There was a chorus of sounds of agreement and he smiled. "We put the clothes on their back! Our hard work gets them clean, beautifully laid offices while we work in the grime with sweat pouring down our faces and calluses on our hands." the sounds of agreement got louder and they were damn near shouting with the same passion he felt burning in their stomach.

Now, he had their attention right now. He always had it in the beginning. It wasn't until he actually started preaching the real truth that men and women began to raise their voices in disagreement. "Shorter times, higher wages, and better working conditions are something that we deserve as human beings regardless of the money in our pockets. But something else that we deserve is for this disgusting class system to be destroyed! Our worth as human beings should not be determined by how large our houses are or how much education we have. We are worth just as much as those prudes at the top, and we should be treated as such!" Passion was still burning brightly on some faces in the crowd while confusion was starting to take its place on others. "We should rip away what these people hold dear and burn it down to the ground! Their large estates, their businesses, their own cash!" And this was where some people's faces of confusion turned to disagreement.

These were the people that he had no faith in because they were only focused on the now and on themselves. Richard wanted more for himself, and he wanted more for his fellow people. They could get more money for their work, but there was no telling how long that would last for their cause. If they got rid of this offensive class system then they could live as the rich at the top, everyone would be an equal. That was what he saw for the future of his cause. But as a murmur of dissent began to rise, he started to lose faith in this future.

Another voice rose above the babble, a voice that Richard knew all too well. Aleksei, too, knew the man from afar, though they had never spoken. "Brothers and sisters!" And then the red-headed centrist Peter Blythe was shoving his way to the front of the crowd. People parted to make room. "Chapman is right to be angry! God knows, we all are." At that, a wave of agreement, and he had their attention. "What I want - what we all want - is a better life. For us, for our wives and children. But there are coppers kicking down our doors, and men beaten to death for standing their ground, and 'burning down the city' means war. Dunno about you, but I've had my share of war." His voice rose, emboldened by the favorable reception. "What we need is change. Real, and tangible, and organized. We've come a long way this past years. Have we not won ourselves an increase in wages?" At that, there was a cheer.

Aleksei was quivering on the spot. It didn't matter that he was an outsider, that this was not his place to speak. He couldn't help himself. "But you are thinking so small!" It was almost a wail. Charged with passion and conviction, and Blythe turned to look at him. So did those nearest, and he was charged with sudden fervor. He bounded forward, cleared the crowd to stand at Blythe's side. He might not be a local, but underground meetings and tempers high with political tension were his natural habitat. These people were not educated. Their ideas were confined to their experience, but he shared Lenin's conviction that, once given a chance to think outside of their constraints, workers were natural defenders of their own interests.

"Comrades!" The thrumming excitement carried into his words. Silvertongue, his mother once called him, and his powers of speech had only improved with study and practise after leaving the countryside. With any luck, they would serve him now. His English was good, though accented and textbook formal. "I am Petrov. I speak on behalf of the Comintern, and I say to you that you are a part of something larger than yourselves." 'On behalf' was an exaggeration, though a technicality. He had contacts with the international communist organization, but years abroad had distanced him from official party structure. In Birmingham, he was on his own. But, with the cooperation of locals and a few carefully-worded letters, that could change.

"A fight sweeps across Europe, a fight for change, and people like us are its vanguard. You have heard the news from Petrograd. There, the workers, not so different from you, have seized power from the hands of their oppressors. You outnumber the bosses a hundred to one, and yet you do not see the rewards of your work. This-" and he gestured at the distant machinery, "-is slavery! You have grown accustomed to your chains, and so you do not feel their weight. Revolution is not only possible, but inevitable. It is coming to Birmingham, my friends! It is coming, and we must rise to meet it!"

Richard Chapman couldn't believe what he was hearing. Raising wages wasn't a real and tangible change, it was a cop out of having to deal with the actual war that was going to come to their doors regardless of if they wanted it or not. Raising wages was still allowing them to be treated like the dirt underneath someone's shoes, but a more high class of dirt. Peter was a man who could have money thrown at him to shut him up but Richard was more loyal to his cause than that, and apparently another man was as well. Petrov he called himself and it was easily distinguished that he wasn't from around here, but that hadn't mattered to Richard because it sounded like he was a man that could see past money and onto the larger issue. They were being held down and spit upon because of their title, and that all could change if they came together as one and overthrew their oppressors.

"Listen to our fellow comrade, he is correct! We are letting these men at the top chain us to these machines like dogs. A higher wage isn't going to change that! It's just going to show that we are weak animals looking to our masters for acceptance. It's showing these men that they can continue to mistreat us and abuse us as long as they throw money in our direction, and I don't know about you but I am no animal and I am someone who doesn't care to be looked down upon any longer." Richard realized that slowly Peter's words were losing their charm on the fellow people as this man he had never heard of took to the stand and support what he was saying. Of course some people were still on the fence about his words, but most of the people that had lost interest in his words gained them again as they raised their fists in excitement. "A revolution is coming, and we will rise to meet it!" He shouted, his words booming across the room and people started to cheer along with him finally grasping onto what he was saying.

Higher wages can't change everything, and people were finally understanding this message. Richard hopped off the makeshift stage and made his way to Aleksei with a large smile on his face as he clapped the shoulders of the man, someone who finally understood what he was trying to preach and seemed to have some backing to him if he spoke for the Comintern. "Now what do you have to say to that Peter?" He asked with a smug look on his face that knew he had already won this battle, with the help of someone he found himself needing to get acquainted with.

"What do I have to say?"

Peter had listened to the Russian with a deepening scowl. It was clear that the man had won over Chapman, clear that he could talk, but for all his revolutionary vocabulary, the newcomer was sorely misguided. Peter couldn't recall so much as seeing the man before. Mention of the Comintern sent a shiver up his spine. He was a reader of subversive papers, but mentions of a 'class struggle' felt like they had been written somewhere else, by someone with their head in the clouds. Someone who had never been to Birmingham. He shook his head at Chapman's sycophantic echoing. Still, he waited for the man to finish before jumping in.

"I'll say this. You can blather all you want about revolution and slavery, but we don't need more empty talk. Squabbling divides us. Where's your plan, Dick? What'd you have us do? Wave signs? Shoot the bosses? Mow down the cops when they come calling? They'd send in the fucking army. The papers'd paint us with devil horns. Half of us are living payday to payday to feed our kids. What the hell are they going to eat while they wait for your revolution if we all lose our jobs?"

Richard looked at the man and stepped closer to him before placing his hands gently on the man's shoulders. "We will plan, I don't want us to just jump gung-ho into a war that right now there is no chance of us winning. We will stay silent, we will follow their orders obediently, we will collect our money and we will save. They will think of us as the perfect lap dog, but in reality we are planning something beyond their beliefs. I know that squabbling divides us Peter, but can you as a man continue to look at your children knowing that they will not have the opportunity to become better than you. That they will be stuck in the same worthless cycle that you are stuck in now all because they father was a factory worker and not a man of high class. If we start this revolution, break down the boundaries that divide us from the higher man. Then your children will get the live the life that you dreamed for them and then some." He stared him in his eyes, silently pleading with him to just join the bigger cause and put the mission of higher wages on the back burner for now. "Peter if we all come together there is no way they could outnumber us, and if we plan accordingly then there is no way they can beat us. They've won the battles, but we brother; we will win the war."

As the rally progressed into a squabble, both Blythe and Chapman reiterating worn-out arguments, Aleksei began to grow impatient. These men and women were ready to fight; he could see it boiling beneath their skin. What they needed was permission. What they needed was direction, and competent leadership. But before diving head-first into their domain, he had to make good with the people who counted. And so, when the meeting had died down to a rather unsatisfying close without any real agreement reached, Aleksei approached a flushed Chapman. He had seen the spark in the man's eye upon hearing his words. He saw an ally.

"You speak from the heart," he said. "I admire that. Perhaps, sometime, you might go with me for a drink? We have much to talk about. I believe that we can help each other." His gaze was intense.

Richard seemed to be getting nowhere with this man, and what made it more frustrating is that the scared bastard wasn't even trying to see his point. He was too focused on higher wages, more money. He couldn't even believe a idiot like him could gain so much support, he didn't care about this cause. He cared about more money in his pocket. Richard rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sigh and just as he was about to collect his things and go, a familiar face had come up to his side and he looked at the man after listening to his words before his serious expression broke out into a smile. "Of course we can go out for a drink, I like the way you think. I've finally found someone who understands there is more to this. Actually, there is a meeting I'm having with more men who think like us. This Friday, maybe you would like to join. There we could be surrounded by like minds who think further than more money. How does that sound to you?" Richard asked knowing he could trust this man already, but still keeping a good wall up between them. He had just met the man still, regardless of how passionate he seemed to be for their cause.

Aleksei was already grinning before Richard finished. Men like Chapman - honest and passionate, if still blind to the full potential of their ideas - were the start of something bigger than themselves. He hadn't come to Birmingham by choice, but by God, would he make his mark on the place. He reached out to clasp Richard's arm in a show of brotherhood. "That," he said, "sounds delightful."

Frankle · Jun 15, 2018

Mentions; Bettina ( @Dust Bunnies) Tommy (@kaleidoscopique)

It was another day in the Solomons bakery and another nervous Jewish lad, this time one working in the post office was sat anxiously in the office of Alfie Solomons, this one couldn't have been older than 20 and was nervously pawing at his hat as he awaited the arrival of the eccentric gangster.

The tell-tale clank of the cane belonging to Alfie could be heard long before he was seen, each reverberation of the walking stick against the concrete floor made the poor lad's heart race even faster and shred his nerves even further than they already were coming into the lion's den like he had even with news important to him. His nerves probably resembled mincemeat or a badly crumpled up piece of paper that's been torn up by a temperamental toddler.

The hulking form of Alfie emerged into the room. The boy stood up immediately out of respect and mostly fear of the gangster.
"Careful, yeah?" Alfie said pointing to him. "You'll hurt your knees jumping up and down like that." Alfie sniffed noisily and sat behind his desk.
"This is a bakery, yeah?" He asked as he leant forward before the lad had the chance to speak, leaving his jaw hanging open in a silent acknowledgement as he nodded nervously. "We bake all sorts here." He calmly and distractedly said as he rummaged under his desk. "We bake... white bread." He placed a glass bottle of clear liquid on the desk. "And we bake brown bread." He placed another bottle on the table. "Bread, yeah?" He asked looking at the lad and gesturing to the bottles on his table.

"B-bread-d... yeah." The boy stammered out, half out of his mind in fear.

"Yeah I know it's bread!" He said quickly. "What kind would you like, lad?" He said nodding to the bottles on the table. "...Brown?" He jingled the murky brown bottle. "...Or white?" He did the same with the clear bottle.

"B-b-brown-" The boy managed, awkwardly standing in front of Alfie's desk.

"And fackin' sit down, yeah?" Alfie asked as almost a demand. "This isn't fackin' school, you look like you're about to shit yourself standing there like that." The boy awkwardly fumbled with the seat opposite the gangster and sat down quickly. "My 'ousekeeper isn't paid enough to deal with shit." He continued pouring him a glass of brown bread "There you are - brown bread." The boy gingerly sipped it, making a scrunched up face.
"What d'ya think?" Alfie asked.
"Not... bad." The boy managed breathlessly.
"Not bad, huh? Not fackin' bad?" Alfie asked angling his head forward threateningly. "It's fackin' shit, innit?" Alfie smiled mischievously.
The boy nervously nodded. "Uhh... Mr Solomons?"
"Yeah what is it, mate? Want some more bread?"
"No... thank you. It's about why I'm here."
"Yeah the Brummie lads and fackin' the other one. One who isn't fackin' Sabini, the cunt. Fackin' 'ell, my mind's like a vase that's been smashed and glued back together by an 'orse."
"Y-yes it's the Rosamand's."
"Ah that fackin' cunt, fackin' Hun cunt. Fackin' don't say that name, can't fackin' stand 'em." He clenched his fists over the table and stood up, the boy nearly fell out of his chair.
"Are you still here?" He asked the lad, passing him. "Fuck off, yeah?" He said patting him paternally on the shoulder. "Good lad, fuck off, yeah?" He said casually as he left the office.

He was soon in a car on his way to Birmingham

Bubs · Jun 16, 2018

Tommy + Arthur

He woke with a start. He couldn't remember his dream, thank God, but it must have been the culprit. The sky outside the window was a pre-dawn gray. Beneath his back, the sheets were sweat-soaked. For a moment, Thomas stared blankly at the ceiling, mind caught in the limbo between consciousness and sleep.

A soft snoring suggested that he was not alone. He turned his head, blinked blearily at the mop of brown curls obscuring his vision. A slender arm lay stretched across his stomach. He groaned. It took another moment to collect himself, to persuade his limbs to cooperate. Then they did, and he disentangled himself. The snoring was replaced by a noise of sleepy protest.

The previous day began to catch up with him. Jews and Austrians, an obstinate barmaid, a blonde whose self-satisfied smirk he couldn't shake. He groaned again. At least in wartime you knew who the enemy was. He was now fully awake, and there was much to be done; he might as well take advantage of the headstart on the coming day. He sat up against the headboard and reached for a cigarette, only to find they were still in his jacket pocket downstairs. He sighed.

"You." Thomas reached out to rouse his slumbering companion with a shake to the shoulder. She blinked up at him, frowning in protest. He couldn't for the life of him remember her name. "Out."

"What?" Her voice was stupid with sleep. He stood, yanked the sheets off of her, and she let out a shriek of protest.

"I'm going to wash up, and when I get back, I want you gone." Without another glance in her direction, he turned to the pair of trousers folded on the bedside table, yanked them on. It was doubtful that anyone else would be up at this hour, but the last thing he needed was a confrontation with his sister in the nude.

The floorboards creaked beneath his feet. In the bathroom, he splashed his face. The shock of cold water pulled him into alertness. The face in the age-warped mirror was closed, even to him. Its cheeks were rough with stubble. He fished a jar of shaving paste from the cupboard and allowed the routine of self-presentation to pull him under, relishing in the momentary thoughtlessness.

Dawn found Tommy Shelby dressed to the nines, poring over a mess of documents and newspaper clippings at his desk. A nearly-untouched cigarette smouldered gently against the rim of the ashtray. If he was to meet with Rosamond, he wanted to learn everything he could about her operation, and how it could benefit his own, not to mention her personal life on the offchance that she tried to pull something. He made a point of keeping tabs on anyone of significance.

Arthur Shelby, much like his brother, was already well-aware and awake for the morning. The echo of his bed springs screeched loudly, pairing with shallow-sounding moans. His gruff hands ran over the back of the prostitute he found a passion and craving for. Leaning down, he sank his teeth into the pale flesh of her shoulder. A cry out from the whore and a jerking of his hips, and then the redhead crumbled in searing pleasure. Flopping back onto the bed, the eldest Shelby brother sighed in a satisfied manner, running his thumb and middle finger over his red moustache. "Bloody hell, t'at was a good one.." He spoke breathlessly, reaching out, tracing his fingers over the prostitute's glorious curves, before spanking the woman's backside.

He pulled himself up to look over the sublime creature in the bed beneath him. The second prostitute teased herself in the hopes to get some more coin from Arthur, but he was absolutely pooped. Heart racing, he couldn't believe it wasn't visible against the tattooed flesh of his chest. "Right, you lot, out. I needs to get on with me day." Arthur spoke in a huff getting to his feet, standing rather proudly in the nude.

Shuffling along the wooden floors to a pair of boxers he pulled them up to his waist, hastily grabbing a shirt and pants wandering off into the bathroom. Taking a slow pace to wash himself, Arthur felt his head ache with the coolness of the water contacting his skin. It had been a few too many drinks last night- an amazing night of sexual pleasures to be explored. Arthur didn't care much for his messy appearance before coming across Thomas poring over documents, and newspaper clippings dressed in his absolute best suit.

"Got er date Tommy?" Arthur asked, voice curious but rough. "Or a business meetin'?" He asked observing his brother, gazing over the clippings and other forms of documentation around the place.

Tommy glanced up from a list of Rosamond-operated warehouses to see his older brother leaning over him. Arthur's lower lip was slightly swollen, his shirtsleeves rumpled, and peach-fuzz-pale stubble coated his chin. By this point, he'd stopped bothering to ask. "Summit like that." He scribbled a note in the margin. He debated recounting the tale of Bettina Rosamond's delivery, but he wanted their business kept quiet, at least until he could speak to Solomons. It could give the appearance of choosing sides before so much as knowing what was on the table, and while he trusted Arthur's loyalty, he didn't trust his brother's discretion.

"Say, Arthur." A fragment of yesterday, an unanswered question, flitted across his memory. A strange comment by the barmaid. "Dot, from the Garrison: she mentioned you. Said you had summit to tell me." He looked up to gauge for a reaction. "Said you'd been running your mouth off. Now, I dunno what the hell she was talking about, but if you do, you'd best tell me now."

"Ah- I do have summit to tell you… Yer see how you were lookin' for expandin', I have some folks from Australia who do the same stuff we do. Happen' to send them a letter some months back, and they came over." Arthur stated in a straightforward manner, his words growing fast and confusing as stress built up. "They're good lads, plus they were lookin' for a sis'er. So I 'ought, I'd help 'em out with that." He scratched his head lightly, explaining things to his younger brother.

Whatever Thomas had been expecting to hear, it wasn't that. He put down his pen and fixed Arthur with the full weight of his attention. Australia, of all places. When he spoke, his voice was artificially calm. "Let me get this straight. You've been in contact with some kind of international crime syndicate? What's sent representatives to our turf? And it never occurred to you to, I dunno, mention it?" For fuck's sake. Yes, expansion had been in the cards. That didn't mean he wanted to deal with half of London's criminal underworld, commies, Australians, and his family on the same bloody Monday morning. There were only so many hours in the day.

"I didn't think about it in that way… Frederick and Eugene have only 'ought themselves over. To my knowledge." Arthur admitted, casting his gaze to the side. "Their sis'er is their gunner, and someone that might be a profit to us if we get our hands on 'er first. Right?" He tried to make things better, so that Thomas wasn't so angry or frustrated. Blue eyes lingered on a empty chair in Tommy's office. "The Townsen or Town- Brothers aren't that bad… Don't really remember their names…" The messy redhead stated rubbing the back of his head.

Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm himself. Two men were manageable. He could deal with two men. Probably. "Arthur," he said again, "I can't be of much use if I don't know what the hell is going on with my own business. Did it even cross your mind to talk to me, or Pol, before inviting them over? Christ." He took another breath. He wasn't angry so much as exasperated, or at least he was trying not to be; Arthur's intentions were good. Unfortunately, good intentions were rarely enough, especially not in Small Heath. "Please tell me you looked into them. Please tell me you've more than half a surname to go on." His own words niggled a memory. A name in neat cursive, a bundle of letters. It wasn't as if Birmingham was overflowing with Australians.

"They ran a gang through farmland, and towns leading to the city. Cut Throats were established in a country town known as York, which then expanded from there to Brookton, Beverley and another place called Northam. Were good for manufacturing explosives, hunting, drug dealing and theft. The sister has a record too, shot a police officer after something happened from what Eugene told me once, while on the Somme." Arthur settled into the empty chair in the office, and looked up at his brother, hoping that the information helped somewhat. "I reason I didn't tell ya, is that you always have a lot on your mind." He spoke gruffly, feeling rather ashamed of himself.

Arthur's voice was competing for attention with Tommy's sudden leap of insight. Dorothy Helen Townley, with her murky past and her penchant for privacy, had mentioned brothers. Come to think of it, she'd called one of them 'Fred'. Maybe Arthur was right. Maybe there was some way to turn this to his advantage. He couldn't quite bring himself to believe that the barmaid who had poured his drinks for the past months had a history with an Aussie gang, that he could have failed to notice something right under his nose. But Arthur was right about another thing: he did have a lot on his mind.

Tommy wanted to knock some sense into his idiot brother. He wanted to be angry for the withheld information. But, despite his gruff voice, Arthur was looking up at him with hopeful eyes, as though searching for something. Approval, maybe. Tommy's face softened. "There's no need to protect me, brother. I can handle the thinking. It's the memories that's the problem, and you can't do a fucking thing about those."

"'Ight" Arthur gave a nod of understanding about what his younger brother was dealing with. The memories, or nightmares that left the soul haunted. "The fucking shell rattles." He said in a haunted manner, his pink and lively flesh turning pale and clammy at the thought.

Perversely, the war was a safe topic in present company. Shared experiences, slogging through hell together, forged the kind of bond you couldn't break. But the present was complicated enough to demand Tommy's full attention, and so he halted the line of talk before it could devolve into overwhelming memory.

"Fine then." Tommy rose from his chair, moved around the desk to get a better look at his brother. He crossed his arms. "You started this business, and it'll be up to you to see it through." He shot Arthur a piercing look. "With my full knowledge and consent, this time round. And you're gonna be the one to let Pol in on your little venture." He smirked. "We'll meet with the Townleys, the both of us. But first, you have a helluva lot of paperwork to do. As you said, I've a lot on my mind. I want a full rundown on their business, and their family." He clapped his brother on the shoulder. And, he thought darkly. I want a word with Dorothy.

"Right, I can do that with the letters they've sent." Arthur stated looking at his brother, resting his hand onto his shoulder in a calm manner. Giving it a light squeeze, his blue eyes held a lightness to them once more. "Good luck with whatever yer doing, Tommy." The older brother said gruffly.

Bubs · Jun 21, 2018

Alfie + Bettina and Tommy

Mentions: Alfie ( @ZhenyaDup), Bettina ( @Dust Bunnies), Dorothy (@Dust Bunnies), Tommy (@kales ) , Eugene (NPC), Frederick (NPC)

Monday morning was crisp and cold, when Bettina awoke in the large bed in her small town house. She stretched slightly and turned on her side to look at Henrietta that had climbed into bed with her. It was almost comforting to see someone there by her side, stepping out and wrapping a robe around her body waist, tying it comfortably around her body. Looking to her bedroom door as a maid let herself in she smiled lightly, "Be a dear and make sure little Henri doesn't sleep too late. Sweet child has been a little under the weather lately. I must be addressing that with a doctor." Bettina spoke in a hushed tone of voice careful not to wake her little sleeping beauty, her German sung through clear like a nightingale's song.

Dressing without much shame, the woman just dropped her clothes after the maid left and pondered over to her drawers. Pulling out a blouse, and high top hair of pants for that were her attire for the morning. Tightening her corset and pulling her blouse over her shoulders the woman hummed a soft melody to keep her daughter sleeping. When finally dressed she applied her normal routine of make-up; powdered face, perfectly lined eyes, painted lips of coral this time, blush and lined eyebrows. Coughing lightly into her gentle hands covered by lace, she pulled herself to her feet, guiding towards the bedroom door heading out to prepare for the meeting with Mr. Thomas Shelby.

In a rather modest sitting room, Mrs. Rosamond had laid out a few files regarding one person that hung around the Shelbys quite often, and two gentlemen that were stirring things up in London. Neatly stacked one on top of another, issued stamps on some labelled certain servirties of crime. The unknown parties were stacked below the first file, thick and filled with a rather interesting history, charges and scandals. The name on the file Dorothy Helen Townley. Everything was perfectly set out on the table in the centre of the small modest living room, a bottle of Irish Whisky and two glasses, the contrast of old dark files against a perfectly clean white lace tablecloth.

Smoothing down the fabric covers on the chairs, Bettina assessed the room with great pride in her decorator's skills. It very much reminded her of the cottage she lived in during the war. Letting out a soft sigh, her delicate blue orbs danced along to the figure at the door. Offering her favourite a light smile, as he strode up and touched her powdered cheek.

"What did Mr. Rosamond ask of you? I know it involved me because your eyes have been the distance the past day or so." The tall blonde guard asks, gazing into her beautiful blues watching a build of fear rise within them. His rich Hungarian accent played on each word he spoke in English, giving a little more comfort to the woman. Who closed her eyes, reaching up to touch his cheek.

"Not right now, before a meeting is not the time to speak of these things." Mrs. Rosamond spoke in a heavy heart, casting her gaze away much lie how her guard, Andras had described. What her husband had suggested made her stomach turn, Horace had truly lost his mind from the war.

Let him fulfil you in ways I now fail you as a husband and love him, Bet. Horace's words echoed through her ears the day she left the manor in London, the words stung and almost felt like a granted betrayal to her husband if she acted on it. Mr Rosamond had lost all sense of love and devotion after the walk that left him lame, almost taking measures of inviting in prostitutes to lay with him in the bed he shared with his wife to scare Bettina away. Even in acts of defiance, Bettina would often pretend to sleep beside her husband when nights like that occurred.

I have nothing to offer you… You've assumed the family business and bore my children. But I just can't look at you in the same light anymore. Were other comments that her husband had made leading up to leaving London. He had successfully broken her heart with that comment, but still… Bettina could never betray him, after all, it was almost eleven years married soon. For once upon a time, Horace was the one and only thing she knew about in the United Kingdom, thus he was the entire world to her seventeen-year-old self.

Bettina didn't even hear Andras leave the room, but the door leading to the sitting room was left wide open. There she stood rather blankly, blinking back any chance of tears. Stepping out into the hallway Mrs Rosamond looked at herself in the mirror and took a few deep breaths to compose herself. Pull your head in, this is important for the sake of everyone! More importantly your children! Bettina mentally scolded herself, thoughts drifting to the people she was doing this for; Archibald, Jeremiah, Septimus, Henrietta and lastly Horace Rosamond whether he liked it or not. Bettina had set her mind to it, after all, she's his wife and will stay by him, no matter what.

Stepping out of the sitting room, Mrs Rosamond calmly strolled down the hall. Resting her hand on the knob for the front door, as she saw a vague silhouette of a much taller figure than her. Carefully she opened the door, Andras stood closely behind her protesting that he should be the one opening the door. "Hush, it should be fine." Bettina spoke in a hushed tone back to her worried guard, lifting her gaze to see it wasn't Thomas Shelby that she had sent a messenger to pick up but rather an unwanted guest. Drawing in a shallow breath, she was greeted by the Jew that she thought was still in London dealing with Sabini issues.

Alfie immediately stood up on Bettina's entry into the sitting, throwing his arms wide, his walking stick balanced between his thumb and forefinger. "Betti!" He said warmly, moving to embrace her. "I see your husband is… absent from today's business, yeah?" He embraced her in a firm hug.

Bettina lightly returned the embrace that Alfie gave her, before lightly kissing his cheek. "A pleasure as always, Mister Solomons." Mrs Rosamond stated in an accented voice which was smoothly spoken, leading the man on and through to the sitting room. Allowing him to settle into a chair.

"I have to say it's a more pleasant sight to see you than your husband at today's proceedings. It makes me wonder why he's sending his wife to meet the Peaky Blinders rather than go himself. He hasn't bottled it, has he? Hmm… no matter." He sat down and sniffed loudly. "Right, so you've been sending letters to the… Peaky Blinders, yeah? Letters about business arrangements and meetings with said Brummie boys, right?" He scratched his nose and moustache with an electrical crackle of stubbly hair being bothered. He stared intently at something only he could see. "Those Brummie boys have been running boxing matches in London. On our territory without our permission, yeah? He's in a lot of trouble, yeah? But I'm willing to cut him a bit of slack, he's a little tiny fish and he was in the war. That's something I respect, yeah? Same with your man, right? Both in the war. Especially your man, wasn't enough to give the Huns a good hiding so he decided to marry one, yeah?" He looked up at her with a hard to decipher look in his eyes. "I will spare you the gory details of how I've dispatched Huns during the war. But I've liquidated quite a considerable number but I've never knocked up a Hun woman, right?" He smiled at her, bearing his teeth. He leant forward in his seat with a slightly pained grunt.

"Maybe that could change since your husband is otherwise indisposed, yeah?"

"Considering I've only sent one letter thus far to the Peaky Blinders, and that was carried by my son I don't know where you're getting information from." Bettina's eyes narrowed in distain, flicking her gaze to Andrea's to go upstairs and protect the children. Hesitantly he left with wary eyes going towards the unwanted guest, before closing the door only slightly just in case he heard Bettina's cry for help.

Mrs Rosamond kept herself very composed about the comments of the war, cocking a brow briefly at Alfie's remark regarding her marriage. "That was an arrangement made between our families years before the war, but you already know that. You were there at our wedding if memory is correct." Bettina stated in a cool tone of voice, easing into a chair close to Alfie Solomons seat. Talk of the war didn't seem to phase Bettina Rosmond in the slightest, as she merely cocked her right brow at Alfie's false courtesies. "How considerate of for leaving those details blank, Mister Solomons." Her Austrian accent was well versed much like when she first arrived in England ten or so years ago.

Bettina's gaze seemed harsher at the comment about having his chance of knocking up a Hun woman now, while her husband wasn't around. "My husband has been indisposed for the last four years, as most men have been. I've been running the business since. As for my business with the Shelby's consider it a debt being paid, and nothing of your concern." Bettina stated rather protective over herself standing up, putting some distance between her and Alfie.

"Your little boy going all the way Brummie did cause a bit of a stir, yeah? A little boy out on his own on the mean streets of London and Birmingham, yeah? Course my boys are going to keep an eye on him, right?" He fixed his stare on her. "Oh yeah, that wedding was bangin' yeah, things are better when we're all playing nice, right?" He sniffed again. "Paying off debts, yeah? Hmm, kind of debts that involve running boxing matches in the middle of our turf, yeah?"

"Archibald is rather a competent young man, so your boys don't need to keep eyes. I was with him. Just his younger sister regarded to be watched. Archie felt more like than happy to go deliver a simple letter." Bettina returned the stare, her heart thundering in her chest after the last few comments made by Alfie. Discomfort wasn't clear on her stoic facial expression, yet the turning of her nerves and backflipping stomach was another thing.

Thoughts of her wedding day made the woman slightly smile before reaching for one of the files on the table. "It's quite nice, works out rather nicely if we have a mutual friend or enemy," Bettina commented lightly, opening the file to read about the certain barmaid from the Garrison that tugged at her interest, after visiting that evening before. "I do seem to remember some drunk advanced from someone though." She lifted her perfect blue eyes to meet his once more.

The first time she met Alfie she was an innocent young girl freshly married, now it had been ten years and she had blossomed into a beautiful but untouchable flower. She was protected by thorns, Sabini often said about her. A mother that didn't seem exhausted like others, she hadn't a sign of stress from the war on her face either. She was truly a practised poker face. Returning to reading to the opening of the door caught a young woman looking up seeing her tired daughter Henrietta out of bed.

Henrietta held features much like her Austrian beauty of a mother. Quietly, and shyly she wandered into the room holding a velveteen rabbit by its arm. "Mama…" Henri spoke in an utterly sweet voice, innocence touching the very word she spoke. Wandering cautiously to her mother looking at the stranger. "Morn', sir." The small girl said, as her mother lifted her up into a gentle and nurturing embrace.

Alfie nodded along, commenting yeah and grunting in affirmation, smiling at the young girl and the memories of the wedding ceremony, he and Sabini had a falling out that night, like they had many times before and since. "Hmm? Yeah it is." He said nodding to the girl in confirmation of the fact it was morning. "He's only little, yeah? So I'm just bein' a good uncle by lookin' out for him, right?" He sniffed again. "Glad he's doin' well, they grow up so fast, yeah? Anyway, so the peaky blinders, right." He held his hand up in front of him as he spoke. "What's your plan with 'em, right? Have 'em pay their debts then they stay outta London or what, yeah?"

Henrietta looked over at the older man, giving him a sweet smile. Before settling down on the floor allowing her mother to calmly braid her hair back. Messy curls straightened with Bettina's long fingertips tugging through them, before finishing and carefully tying her hair off at the end. Smiling affectionately, Bettina looked down at her almost mirror copy of a daughter. "He has grown quickly, always reminding me that he's ten years old now." The woman laughed lightly sending her daughter off as she could hear the maid down the hall looking for her. "I do appreciate you looking out for him though, during the war I know a lot of your men as well as my own who couldn't go did. Henrietta was actually born in the first few months I was in Austria." Bettina lightly showed a grimace of pain at the thought that she wasn't near her children for such a time.

Blinking back her emotions, Bettina took a deep breath collecting herself. Everytime in fact felt too real, raw or fresh, like an open wound. "The Rosamond's are the one that owe the debt. So I chosen to pay it forward. Horace is alive because of the Peaky Blinders leader; Thomas Shelby. Helped him get out of on of the pits after a shell landed, caused the walls to cave in a giant wooden beam came down and hit him in the lower back. So he's paralyzed from the waist down." Bettina explained to Alfie in a soft voice, locking her eyes on his. Eyes of haunting blue, that seemed alone now and the mere thought of husband wishing to move on made her sick.

Alfie nodded and made a look on his face like he understood. "Right. Makes sense, yeah. This is a matter of honour. That's something I can respect… So this Thomas Shelby is a good egg. A decent bloke. Sounds like an alright chap to have around. If he's any good with business I'll break bread with him, yeah?"

"Indeed, we both should. He's got a mind for business which will bring in profit for us too." Bettina stated in a calm manner. "I'm offering him part of the Rosamond turf just outside of London, and transferring the whore house into his name." Bettina explained what she planned to do to Alfie looking at the man who was some years her senior. Nodding at his statement about breaking bread with Thomas Shelby, before standing up strolling over to one of the cabinets. Her movements were sophisticated and graceful, everything ideal for a business woman. Lightly her heels echoes with each step along the wooden floors. "I thought it would be wise to honour him, make him known. He brought my husband back. Though, Horace is no more an empty shell turning to whores now." She stated coldly, opening the cabinet doors.

Alfie nodded, sniffed and groaned as he shifted in his seat, repeating his usual "Yeahs." As she spoke. "More fool your husband." He commented as she mentioned her husbands enjoyment of prostitutes. "Hoping that the signing over of the whorehouse will dissuade your husband from eating away from home, hmm?" He sniffed again.

"Won't stop him, Alfie. I have often found them in my bed. I think I've preferred trying to get a gun out of Horace's hand when he's tried to end it all." Bettina reached into the cabinet getting out a ash tray and packet of cigarettes before offering them to Alfie in a calm manner. Closing the cabinet doors. "Personally, I've had enough of how Horace is now, I have to think about our children." Mrs Rosamond looked to Alfie, leaning down close to him, kissing his cheek softly. "That's for looking out for my boys, do do appreciate it. Horace maybe be too proud to stay it, but I'm not." She whispered softly into his ear.

There was a slight look of annoyance on Alfie's face. "In your bed, hmm? Very naughty thing to do that." He shook his head slightly. He returned this kiss on her cheek in a friendly manner, grunting bassly as he shifted in his seat. "Oh no it's no bother at all, just being a decent uncle by looking out for your boys, yeah?"

"Still much appreciated," She spoke tenderly towards the older man. Clasping her hands together at her front, before moving back to her chair. Procuring a cigarette for herself, lighting it in her mouth and taking a light drag before exhaling the smoke into the open air. Sighing softly. "What do you think we should do about Sabini regarding the Peaky Blinders?" She asked Alfie wondering his opinions on the matter of Darby Sabini.

"Fuckin' 'ell Sabini… Don't fuckin' say that name around me." He stated casually as he pointed to something in the room that only he could see. "The cunt. Fuckin' race courses without my bookies. He's gotta be shitting me, right? As long as the Peaky Blinders don't work for Sabini I'm fine with 'em, yeah? If they work for Sabini I'm gonna lose my rag, right?"

"From my research, they don't. I wouldn't have even bothered setting anything with them if they did…" Bettina affirmed flipping the ash of her cigarette into the tray on the table. "Can barely stand the man myself, he's a sleaze and rather uncomfortable to be around. You're different in that sense," Mrs Rosamond smirked slightly holding her stick of nicotine to her lips. The bud stained with her crimson lipstick. "You're almost a character from Alice in Wonderland, a compliment mind you. To run the London underground we all have to be a little mad mind you. We're the Mad Hatter's Tea Party, that crook is the Red Queen." Bettina Rosamond chuckled in self amusement, pushing her cigarette into the ashtray, sparks flicking up and biting at her fingertips ever so slightly.

Alfie nodded and locked eyes with her, a strange look in his eyes. "Alice in Wonderland, yeah?" He burst out laughing. "Alice in fuckin' Wonderland." He slapped his knee in laughter. "I haven't heard that one before."

Bettina chuckled lightly looking at Alfie noticing his burst of laughter, seeing it as a sense of approval. "Amuse you?" She asked in a playful tone of voice, allowing a smile to tug on her cheek. "I see picture it though, a fucking Italian queen running around in red queen screaming off with her head. While you're the at the Mad Hatter's tea party offering him brown or white bread." She smiled at Alfie's reaction enjoying it rather thoroughly.

His face turned a faux serious and he pointed a finger. "Bread is never fuckin' discussed outside of the bakery." He waited a moment before bursting into more laughter.

Bettina merely smiled at the false look of seriousness on Alfie's face, before looking at her watching wondering what time Thomas Shelby was due to come around. For the needed discussion of business as well as handing over some property ownership paperwork to him. Truly, Mrs Rosamond normally didn't like it if people were late though, this morning she didn't mind at all. She was enjoying catching up on lost time with a considerably good friend, since the war had made that rather difficult before hand.

kaleidoscopique · Jun 21, 2018

tommyxxx

Location: Shelby home → Bettina's rented rooms
Interactions/Mentions: Arthur, Bettina ( @Dust Bunnies ), chief of police ( @Kat ), Alfie (sort of; @ZhenyaDup )

The morning slipped out from under him, sun creeping overhead as the papers moved from one side of Tommy's desk to the other. The cigarette had burned to a stub, and his scribblings covered several sheets of looseleaf. When he was younger, he'd never expected a life of crime to look so much like a bloody desk job. Truth be told, he didn't hate this part. It wasn't as exciting as breaking noses and buying horses, but it was satisfying to watch numbers align beneath your hand, to pick apart people's lives with nothing but notes and a couple of phone calls. Besides, there was always something to do.

Apart from a flurry of activity in the hallway as Finn was caught smuggling a cigar to school, the day was uneventful. Breakfast came and went. Ada was still absent, and Polly's brow creased as she glanced at the empty chair before noticing his gaze. John stumbled down the stairs at quarter past eight, in considerably better form than the previous morning, and set to slathering butter on his bread with gusto. Arthur was presumably upstairs again. Conversation was light and easy, John cracking jokes, Pol's mouth twitching with repressed smiles.

Then both nephew and aunt left, along with the car, to run errands. John had volunteered as driver; he seemed taken with the vehicle. They left an uncharacteristically silent house in their wake. Tommy leaned against the doorframe to watch them vanish around the corner.

By the appointed pick-up time, he was ready. He'd checked his hair in the hallway mirror, smoothed his perfectly-crisp suit, strapped on his shoulder holster beneath his jacket, compiled the necessary papers. First impressions counted. Then Thomas Shelby watched the street outside the window for his ride, fingers tapping with impatience. He'd agreed to the loan of Rosamond's driver; it was a vote of confidence in their coming partnership. Besides, the meeting place was too far to walk.

Instead of the crunching of tires on gravel, the sound of pounding footsteps and panting breath reached his ears, followed by a few colorful swears, then a pounding on the door. Thomas felt for his gun before cracking open the door. Before him stood a rather disheveled, rather squat man in driver's livery. He raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, sir, I-" The man held up a hand to catch a wheezing gasp of air. He must have sprinted over. He coughed twice, then straightened. "Right. See, I'm s'possed ter drive you. Thing is....well." His cheeks flushed a shade darker.

Impatiently, Thomas checked his pocketwatch. The meeting was due to begin any minute. "Spit it out, man," he said.

The driver gulped before speaking. "I only stopped fer a smoke. Swear on me mother's grave I ne'er took my eyes off it more'n a moment. One minute, there I was, and the next, some fockin barefoot urchin's run off with me tires. Pardon me French, sir," he added hastily.

Thomas stared at him for a moment. "You're telling me that someone nicked your tires." The man nodded, and Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose again in exasperation. Showing up late was not a promising start to a business relationship. It'd take him two hours to walk there, and while he could commandeer a vehicle, few people in Small Heath owned a motorcar, the other being the Chief of Police. Most taxis avoided the area in favor of more reputable neighborhoods, and those who came out usually did so only in time for the pub's closing. He could waste the morning hunting down the damn tires.

However, Tommy was nothing if not resourceful. The clip-clop of hooves echoed down the lane, preceded by off-key whistling. A bay mare, ill-suited for the trailer of bricks she was hauling, led by a teenage boy. She was well-built, though rather badly groomed, and unsaddled.

"Oi!" Tommy pushed past the would-be driver, putting himself in the horse's path. The young man stopped, looked up at him with bleary eyes.

"Wot?" he asked warily.

"Apologies for the inconvenience. Only, I need to borrow an 'orse. Your bricks can wait." The lad blinked stupidly, made a noise which might have been protest, but Tommy had already turned to the horse. She whickered softly, allowed him to run a hand along her velveteen muzzle. Hot breath greeted him, and he smiled. Stepped closer for a cursory inspection. "Hallo, girl," he murmured. "You're a pretty one, aren't you? En't no racehorse, but I reckon you'll get me there." He patted her flank fondly. Inhaled the musk of sweat, and straw, and horse.

He remembered the boy, who was still frozen in place. "Well?" he snapped. The kid looked at the horse, then at Tommy, as though sizing him up. Tommy made the decision easier by prying the boy's fingers from the bridle. The movement revealed the holster beneath his coat. The kid made another noise, and Tommy looked him in the eye. "I'll bring her back," he said. "Promise."

Then, it was a simple matter of tucking his papers inside his pocket, unhitching the trailer harness, and clambering onto her back. She shifted beneath him, but he gripped her steady. It had been years since he'd ridden bareback, and the intimacy brought back fond memories of racing a twelve-year-old Arthur down the lane on a stolen carthorse who refused to go above a leisurely walk. Rather sardonically, he touched his hat to the boy below. And then, with a murmur of encouragement and a touch of heels, he spurred his newly-acquired mount into motion.

By the time they arrived at their destination, both horse and rider had overcome the initial discomfort of a new partnership. Tommy was windswept and grinning from a gallop down the main thoroughfare, people leaping to the side and gawking after them. So much for his careful grooming. The horse, accustomed to the banging and shouting of the industrial town, was not bothered by dodging obstacles. If anything, the opportunity to run had gone to her head. He had to circle her around several times before she calmed enough to let him dismount.

His entrance had gathered a crowd of grimy, wide-eyed children. He slid to the ground and pulled a coin from his pocket, flipped it towards the oldest one. The kid caught it, narrowed his eyes. "Come here." Tommy held out the reins. It was less than ideal, but he had a meeting to (finally) get to. "Take care of her for me, will you? Anyone gives you trouble, you tell them that's Thomas Shelby's horse, and he won't take kindly to her disappearance." With great solemnity, the boy took the proffered reins. With any luck, the Shelby reputation would be enough to stop the little scoundrels from running off with her.

He attempted to smooth his hair as he approached the door. The papers were undoubtedly crumpled, and he was undoubtedly late. So much for professionalism. And yet, his blood was still pounding, and his face was still flushed with the afterglow of exhilaration. Approaching the front door of the townhouse, he rapped twice.

junebug · Jun 29, 2018

A splitting headache greeted Lizzie in the early morning. She laughed and winced as she sat up. Her friend, Chasity, slept soundly on the vintage couch across from her own. Last night had been much of a blur, but Lizzie didn't need to remember what'd happened to know they'd had a good time. They'd probably talked trash about their stupid ex-lovers or whatever they were, ate tons of food, got drunk, and sang. Lizzie walked across the townhouse to the kitchen area and grabbed two bananas out of the bowl, fished for some pain killers, and two glasses of water for her and Chasity.

There was no doubt Chasity would be waking up soon to greet the morning, perhaps late afternoon. Lizzie hummed a soft, heartbreaking song she'd heard at the Garrison as she took her pills and ate the banana. Hopefully, John hadn't gone there and gotten drunk after their spiel. She wanted to find out more information about the Peaky Blinders from Harry, and John even, if she could get it out of him. That would be the last time she'd probably plan to visit. There were plenty of other pubs in Small Heath where she could go get wasted if she wanted.

The reality, however, was that she had to stop. If she wanted a top knotch story, if she wanted to give this her all, she needed to straighten herself up somehow. Lizzie didn't know who she could turn to, who could help her out of this mess. Lizzie was determined to get a headstart, however, and that began with getting herself cleaned up and ready to go to the Garrison with a pen and small notepad tucked away in the pocket of John's coat. She smoothed out the lapels and buttoned the coat up before leaving the house promptly a couple hours later around ten.

The Garrison was a bit rowdy, as always, but she expected nothing less. It was a relief that John wasn't around for once. She approached the bar and unbuttoned the coat, but did not remove it. Her eyes scanned for Harry, but only found a young barmaid tending to a few men down at the end of the counter, cleaning their glasses and pouring them a few more shots. She waited until the barmaid was done giving the men her attention before she flagged the woman down. Lizzie wasn't interested in a drink, not even a glass of water and lemon.

"Where's Harry? I want to speak to him."

Poinsettia · Jul 3, 2018

Beatrice Holloway
Location: Old East End Hall, London
Mentions: Frank Holloway, Thomas Shelby (@kaleidoscopique )
___________________________________________________________________________________

Frank had taken his time notifying Beatrice of her potential new employers. The longer he waited the further the dangers of Tommy Shelby and his gang seemed. Of course, this only meant that the wad of bills he had been offered plucked more fiercely at his heartstrings. Frank made his attempt a few days later. Beatrice, dressed in her coat and collared men's shirt deftly counted out the money they had made from the past weekend. Frank had no real business in the office, so he fidgeted, scuffing the floor with his boot and alternatively taking swigs from his flask. Soon the flask was empty and the looks that Beatrice flashed him became increasingly annoyed. He cleared his throat, Beatrice glared.

"I err, hmm. I have..." Frank paused, how to word this? "I have some news." He tried to sound cheerful as if he had come to some brilliant conclusion. Beatrice said nothing, she didn't even raise her eyes from her work, and yet Frank blundered on. The cheap whiskey had done its job loosening his tongue and boosting his confidence. "I'm selling the whole gig, this ancient fucking building, all of it." He scuffed his boots again, attempted a nonchalant stance. Beatrice stopped. She slowly laid down the money she had been counting and laced her fingers together. Frank hunched his shoulders against the look she then leveled at him. Her words were icy.

"To whom?"

"Thomas Shelby, him and his brothers paid a visit the other night." If his cousin wasn't aware already, Frank felt little need to mention her new employer's occupation. The cash was plucking a merry little jig on his heartstrings now.

Beatrice unlaced her fingers and rolled up the bills she had just counted, snapping an elastic band around them.

Frank sucked on his teeth, she was livid. You could tell when she got all quiet and acted like you weren't even in the room.

"And what about me?" Beatrice began making notes in her ledger. "I suppose you sold them your bookie too?" Her pen strokes were strong and deliberate.

Frank was sweating now. He fumbled for a cigarette, his hands wobbled as he lit it. "S'up to you. Unless you're too, ah, busy?" The last bit was a purposeful barb. Frank rightly knew his cousin was newly twenty-seven, unmarried and too prideful to run back to her parent's farm. He expected a fight, wanted one in fact, he was confident in his ability to win a shouting match.

Beatrice knew this, could tell he was baiting her. She considered the idea of the type of men she would be working for. The type of men whose presence instantly sobered her alcoholic cousin. Not that she had many options. Not many that pleased her anyways. Frank knew it, she knew it, where else was she going to go? Back to her parents? God no. Or she could go find work as a maid or other laborer, another prospect that she did not bother entertaining.

One thing gave her pause, it was something that had become such an ingrained part of her life here she had nearly forgotten it.

"You didn't happen to mention to Mr. Shelby that his new bookie is a woman who dresses as a man to get work, did you?" The question was rhetorical. Of course, Frank hadn't mentioned it, Beatrice doubted that she would have been offered the job otherwise.

Frank winced. "No. And you won't either, for your own good. Go to work, count yer numbers, take the money and go home. We don't need that kind of trouble, either of us."

"As I don't see that I have much choice in the matter," Beatrice snapped. " I suppose I'll stay on and work the books."

Frank's sigh of relief was cut short.

" - But! I want a raise." Beatrice was quick to take advantage where she could leverage it. "To cover the cost of my inconvenience."

Bubs · Jul 8, 2018

Arthur Shelby Jr.

no-lightbox

Location: Headquaters, Birimingham.

Mentions: Tommy Shelby (@kaleidoscopique ), Dorothy Helen Townley (@Dust Bunnies ), Polly Shelby (NPC), Frederick Townley (NPC), Eugene Townley (NPC)

***

If Arthur knew that his brother would have been a little more forgiving about the business he sought behind his back. The elder Shelby brother would have most definitely come forward sooner, mainly to save the hassle of all the paperwork he had now. Aunt Pol was the least forgiving out of the bloody lot of them, baring a lecture and sigh that the eldest Shelby knew was of disapproval. He was gonna make this right now, and the only way he could get every piece of information that was needed now was to call the two brothers.

Picking up the phone on his desk, connecting with the operator through to the place the two brothers were staying in London. A cough was light and audible into the other end of the line, causing Arthur to lean into his chair a little more.

"Eugene Townley speakin'," Spoke a tired voice accented heavily with the Australian characteristics of the English language.

"Ah Gene, thought the forkin' operator might have put me through to the wrong telephone for a moment 'ere. Is yer brother there? Or is he busy? Kinda need some of your business details for paperwork on the business side of things…" Arthur commented his voice coarse and almost nervous in tone when it came to speaking to the second eldest living Townley brother.

Smoothing back loose strands of red hair back against his skull, Arthur began to wonder what the more mysterious brother of the two Townleys would say. "Fred is currently out, though if its business matters I should be able to assist you in those matters. My sister was the best at these things though, under current matters, I can do my best for ya." Eugene commented over the other end of the line offering a light sigh, before seemingly shuffling through some paperwork of his own as it was rather clear through the receiver end of the telephone.

"What's your business like in Australia?" Arthur asked over the end of the telephone, reaching rather quickly for a pen and paper for him to make quick notes if needed. Roughly uncapping the lid of his ball-point pen, the man fumbled as Eugene began speaking over the other end. Explaining the crime side of the York Cut-Throats as well as, legal business if they had any. The eldest Shelby learnt the brothers had a horse racing business on the side, that was one of the many formal businesses though after the war it was bought out by some rich bastard that came to town.

"Apricot was more than able to manage things on her own in York if the police didn't send her off to the city after the sergeant was shot by her. They tried to keep it quite that a man of the law defiled a young woman, criminal or not… It looked bad for their image." Eugene explained over the telephone to the eldest of the Shelbys, expressing a little more solemn and grief in his tone of voice talking about his sister. Truly, Arthur had never really been able to string a conversation together with Eugene, but at that moment he was grateful to see a little more from the soldier he met in battle.

From Arthur's rattled memory- Eugene Raymond Townley was a strapping and attractive lad from the rural farmlands of Western Australia. Quick with a shot of a gun. He was always the more quiet one out of the two brothers he had the chance of meeting. Vague about most things he held affection for, Gene only smiled when receiving letters from a young woman that Fred called Helen. Apparently, she was a beautiful young woman, with a bit of bad blood between her and Frederick from what Eugene told him through one of those rare chances. Apricot was her nickname because of fondness she had for the jam and stone fruit.

Sisters can be like that… Arthur recalled the brother saying once, and after his personal experiences with his own sister Ada, Arthur Shelby Jr. couldn't agree more. Yet, the more and more he heard of Eugene's fondness for his younger sister, Mister Arthur Shelby couldn't help but want to meet the mystery woman.

Penning down quick notes here and there regarding the matters, soon his questions and all he needed to know was answered. Scribbled messily down on paper ready to be neatened up after being looked over by his Aunt Pol. "'Ight, thanks lad, I'll let you know how things go, aye." Arthur commented in a gruff tone before hanging up. Pushing himself up from the arms of the chair, pouring himself a glass of the devil's drink- good old Irish Whiskey. Raising his glass mockingly in a toast to himself, he downed the glass and grabbed the paperwork to see Polly.

Having her review the information before approving it, and asking that it was to be neatly placed on Tommy's desk for his return after a meeting this morning. "A meetin' yer say? Anything important?" Arthur asked his Aunt in a curious tone of voice, before watching the woman cock a brow procuring a black thin cigarette from her case. At the struck of a match, she had lit the sweetly smelling tobacco stick, shaking the match to extinguish it.

"The results of the meeting will be discussed at the next family meeting, as it had regards to further partnerships with the company and the Peaky Blinders. Arthur, you will also address the Townley brothers at the next family meeting, since you've failed to do so sooner." Polly stated in a firm tone of voice, her brown orbs almost staring into her nephew's very soul. "Count yourself lucky that Tommy was rather busy trying to pull things together for this morning's meeting not to take your punishments a step further. Now go on, and continue with the day." She waved her hand dismissively watching Arthur leave her be.

Bubs · Jul 15, 2018

❧ Dorothy "Dot" Townley ☙

Location:
The Garison, Birmingham.
Mentions:
Lizzie McGowan-Bell (@Kat ), Tommy Shelby (@kaleidoscopique ), John Shelby (@kaleidoscopique ), Arthur Shelby (@Bubbly Potions ), Harry (NPC), Fin Shelby (NPC) & Howard Bell (NPC)

***

Rolling over into the mid-morning, Dorothy couldn't help but admit the shift was rather an odd one. Even the morning itself at the brightness of the sun peeking through her curtains. Greeted by the lonely old woman across the hall wanting to dress Dot in her deceased daughter's clothing.

The fight with Harry the night before regarding giving her personal address to a certain Mister Thomas Shelby, that ended with a black eye and bloodied broken nose for the middle-aged man. Though still weighing heavy on her mind, Miss Townley couldn't help but think of the thrill it gave her to sock the fucking big mouth in the eye and mouth. It was like the good old days before things became sour during the war. Back when she was on the Cut-Throats' payroll, and a feared adolescent, almost regarded as a wild mare by farmer's sons who watched from a safe distance.

Standing behind the counter at the Garrison Pub, polishing cleaned the glass with a cloth before gazings down at bruised knuckles with a rather satisfied smile. Prim and proper in appearance, Dorothy rather enjoyed the compliments the change brought her. Scarlet lips were supple, tugged into a light and gentle smile as she greeted and spoke with customers. Light shadow brought the golden flecks in her honey brown eyes. Normally her hair was in a messier wave, but now it was curled and neatly pinned into place.

At the jiggle of the Garrison doorbell, Dorothy didn't expect much but another customer on a busy day, but no. It appeared not the chance when she finished serving drinks to a few men at the bar. "Morning Lizzie, Harry is upstairs in his flat… Currently nursing a newly shiner on his eye, and swollen nose after being socked last night. Don't really think he's in the mood for company, but… Fuck him. I'll let you in there, and be so nice to deliver him some fucking ice." Dorothy piped up, grabbing some ice wrapping it in a piece of cloth, and a pair of keys. Handing them to the woman. "Up the stairs, knock once. If he doesn't answer just go in." Dot shrugged showing little care for her boss at the current moment before going back to work.

Mixing and pouring drinks for a time, the woman cleared tables when the crowds died down a bit. The pace was enough to keep her busy, but not hide the foul mood that she was dealing with. Once more stacking and cleaning glasses. One by one watching them pile up the woman couldn't help but list a number of people that she could really not deal with seeing right then or there if they walked through the door.

Fucking… Harry - fucking traitor, John Shelby - he's a Shelby, Arthur Shelby - no patience for him right now, Howard Bell - the pompous cunt, and last most certainly not least Thomas "Tommy" fucking Shelby - the sexist dipshit. Miss Townley listened one reason for each person, blood set on a high boil when it came to Thomas Shelby. It was so bad that she couldn't even come up with anything creatively insulting for him. Which was utterly disappointing to her.

Sighing softly the young woman continued on with her work, only to smile when the youngest Shelby brother came in. Too short for the barstool he reached out to get onto. Lightly giggling the woman went around and helped the sweet boy onto the stool. Ruffling his hair slightly, causing the smaller boy to laugh. Finn Shelby was the enjoyment she got out of the morning shift, after all, he was the only one of Shelby brothers that still have their innocence about them. Grabbing the little lad a drink of cordial and lemon, she couldn't help but find herself interested in the stories sweet Fin had to tell.

"Dot, canna 'magin' there was a huge group of 'em." The boy explained to the rather moody barmaid, allowing her a chance to mellow out. Smiling at the boy she couldn't help but feel her attention slowly drift into full fixation of what he was telling her. The imagination of some kids always amazed her, more so Fin Shelby after all the crap surrounding him, she saw a lot of her young self in the sweet imaginative troublemaker, smiling fondly.

"I can Finnie. It's quite the story you got there." She smiled fondly in a friendly manner, taking his little cap off careful for the razor-blades, and ruffling his hair. Pressing her painted lips to his forehead. "Dun't ever let them change this about yer," Dot cupped the boy by the back of his head staring into innocent eyes. Allowing a tenderness and protectiveness come over her for the sweet Shelby boy. He had so much they're going for him to turn out alright, and start a good life for himself. Much like his older brother- John from little time spent pouring his drinks at the Garrison, Dorothy had noted him to have a sweetheart and a kind soul. Though like Arthur, Fin wanted approval from someone higher - his second eldest brother Tommy and head of the Shelby family.

A warm coating of blush warmed the sweet boy's cheeks before he waved Dot off causing the woman to laugh, rubbing the lipstick stain from his forehead. "Nah I won't! I has yer know, I'm gonna be eleven next week!" Fin boasted in a proud manner, puffing up his chest on the bar stool.

Holding back a burst of laughter at Fin Shelby's adorable display and proclamation of being so grown since he was going to be a whole year older next year. It was oddly sweet, and nice to think that maybe Tommy used to hold an innocence like this in his grasp. Before, well… The war. It ruined a lot of things for a lot of people, so that wouldn't be too shocking at all.

After all, the war left everyone a myriad of scars, trapped in mental prison cells they all built around those memories to survive. Tears were a sign of weakness, so they drowned themselves in drink or drugs. Clasping her hands together on the bar counter, Dorothy's gaze search amongst the many familiar faces in the Garrison. Most of them were veterans and warriors of their own battles, and now the uprise of communists promised hope for the footmen that were forgotten due to the clash of power and social standing of who has the most coin.

This was what their generation was holding onto now, clinging to hope of winnings from illegal debts with bookkeepers, or men and women with substance in their words and meaning that everyone desired in a time depression and decline in the world.

Dorothy felt her heartache for the children that were left to pick up the pieces after them when all was said and done. Maybe that was the legacy she would also leave if she one day had a child. But she knew one thing. Staring down at the sweet Shelby boy that hadn't yet seen the myriad of scars left within his brothers and the people most important around him. An innocence that she would wish to protect herself if one day she had a child, but for now… Dot could at least offer the sweet child born on the wrong side of the tracks a chance.

junebug · Dec 30, 2018

Lizzie was surprised to learn from one of Harry's bar maids that he'd taken a punch last night with the wrong crowd. She noticed the bruises on Dot's knuckles and frowned. Was it the right time to ask Harry about John and his association with the Peaky Blinders? Lizzie held the cold ice pack to her chest and the keys in her right hand. She could always go in as a nurse instead of a journalist. Lizzie had an inkling Dot had something to do with Harry's shiner, however, she also had the idea that someone else socked Harry and Dot might've saved him. She would never know unless she asked Harry directly about his new facial.
"Thank you, Dot. Get those hands cleaned up. I wouldn't want anyone getting suspicious of you and your tribulations."

Lizzie left Dot promptly and arrived at Harry's door. She knocked on the door once and received no answer. Another knock and nothing.

"It's Lizzie, Harry. I'm coming in with an ice pack whether you like it or not," she joked and unlocked the door. In the corner, sure enough, Harry was there, tending to his poor black eye. It was worse than she'd imagined, though perhaps she'd imagined too big and this was just reality. Lizzie sighed and shook her head. She turned and locked the door before strolling over to Harry and gently removing his current ice pack from his hand. She replaced it with the new one and took a step back.

"You look like..." She stopped mid sentence to gather her thoughts, "–awful. What happened? No beating around the bush. I saw Dot's bruised knuckles. Something going on between you two?"

@Bubbly Potions

Bubs · Dec 30, 2018

Harry

Interactions: Lizzie (@Kat )
Mentions: Dorothy (@Bubbly Potions ) & Tommy (@kaleidoscopique )
***

His head was caning and pained by the well practised punch from the mysterious Dorothy Townley. Sitting in his bed he was in a pretty messy arrangement, blood staining his shirt from now broken nose he nursed thanks to the tempered Australian. It was something that caught him off guard the night before when she came in through the door of his flat and let swing. A unfashionable number words he expected the young woman not to know thrown at him and certainly a number he didn't know where said too.

Lizzie's footsteps and voice broken his concentration on recounting the night before, and a low groan left his lips. "Did somethin' to upset the girl it seems," Harry grumbled in a pitiful state looking at the young woman. "Never imagined her swing to be that good, was like she was a forkin' boxer or somethin'." The barman exclaimed listening carefully to what was going on downstairs.

"Told Tommy where she lived yesterday for business, and he took her mail..." Harry explained an extent of what happened to the journalist not thinking too much about it at that moment. He used the moment to vent. "She's pretty protective over her background, I was meant to be her father-in-law and she won't even open up to me." The man continued in a blubbering tone, holding his new ice-pack to his face.

Wondering what would have been eating away at the Bar Maid... But at another time when she was more relaxed and less defensive he'd try and figure out what happened. The girl had a past and he knew that. "I'll talk to her when she's calmer. What brings you here, Lizzie?" Harry asked in a light tone of interest. Cocking his head up lightly to see her- and what was her reasoning to be up here and talking to him in that moment.

kaleidoscopique · Dec 30, 2018

Alfie + Bettina + Tommy

Collab with: Alfie ( @ZhenyaDup) and Bettina ( @Bubbly Potions )
Mentions: Dorothy (@Bubbly Potions)

Mrs Rosamond with time became aware of how insultingly late Thomas Shelby was. Pushing herself up from the comfortable chair she was sitting in. Holding a glass of whisky in hand, strolling over to the window covered by a lace curtain. Watching the street with a rather beaming interest. "He's never been this late for you has he, Alfie?" Bettina asked the Jew sitting in keeping her company. Hoping to get a stronger understanding of the Peaky Blinder's leader and respective form of business from an inside source, after all, sometimes things aren't what they seem on paperwork. A grunted "Nah" finally came from Alfie with his hands perched on his cane as he sat comfortably on his seat.

Clasping her cigarette case, Bettina procured a black stick and placed it in between her lips. Picking up a match box from the table at her side, she plucked a match out and struck it against the box. Holding it against her lips, before pushing the window open. Watching a horse trot passed modest townhouse she owned. Sticking her head out the window, cocking a brow at the lovely mare by her rather handsome rider. Exhaling smoke that Bettina held in her mouth for a mere moment. Enjoying the calming sensation talking to Alfie, the whiskey and nicotine gave her.

Mrs Rosamond's piercing blue eyes watched as the rather handsome Peaky Blinder, and war hero circle with the excited mare. Flicking some ash outside the window, the woman's lips of deep coral tugged into an amused smirk. He's good… Very good, Bettina thought in an observate manner. Pulling her head back inside, before shutting the window, and strolling towards the door. Followed by her son who watched to see a real Birmingham gangster, and Andras who caught her arm.

"All will be fine just trust me a little, Andras." She told her bodyguard, unlocking the door. Offering a rather calm expression, behind her pearing with an interested expression was Archibald.

"Mister Shelby, a pleasure for you to join us." Bettina spoke in a voice thickened by a High Austrian accent, gazing up at the man. Neat and proper in her style, Mrs Rosamond wore heels to give herself the average height to other women. Stepping out of the way to let him in the house, she turned to look at her son. Cocking a brow to see him so eagerly staring up at the newcomer.

Archibald flinched when he sensed his mother staring down at him with a cocked. "Ma, I think Henri is calling me… Nic-nice to meet you, sir!" Archie commented before zipping through the hallway. Causing his mother to huff out a sigh, shaking her head.

"Please don't mind my son, he's rather curious about the Peaky Blinders. It appears Alfie has told a few stories he's heard, or the Solomon boys." Bettina explained in a rather relaxed tone of voice, strolling down the hallway. The clicking on her heels, and the sway in her walk showed a element sass to the shorter woman. Andras before her opened the door to the sitting room, before Bettina allowed Thomas Shelby to enter first.

Stepping in and looking towards Alfie Solomons, giving a calm nod. Dropping her cigarette in the ashtray closest to her before crossing her arms of her chest. "So down to respective business, thank you for joining us, Mister Shelby." The married woman stated cooly, standing against a chest, allowing Thomas to take the seat she was in beforehand. "On the table are three files for you, regarding three respective parties you've either been acquainted with or haven't met at all. Either way, the more important thing is they know about you, and they've drawn the attention of myself, Mister Alfred Solomons and Mister Darby Sabini, who wasn't invited here today." Bettina's tone was formal, and well versed in English yet the strength of her mother tongue showed a clarity that she spoke mostly Austrian-German.

"For a fact I've read all the files. Two brothers that are rather infamous criminals in Australia, dominating a small rural area which expanded almost to the city itself. They're ambition driven, and extremely family oriented. Last two males surviving from the war, eight of them enlisted… Though by the young woman's file it was that or be hung. Yet, I'm sure you know enough about her, after all, she's been under your nose working at the Garrison for these past few months." Mrs Rosamond explained grabbing Thomas a drink before offering it to him, looking towards Alfie seeing if he wanted to add anything. "Any questions, Mister Shelby?" she asked in a rather calm and well-mannered tone, settling into the last chair in the room comfortably.

Thomas wasn't sure what he had been expecting. For all his bravado, dealing with London gangsters was unfamiliar territory, and a single morning of reading wasn't enough to fill in the blanks in his knowledge. He composed his expression into polite impassiveness. When the door swung away from his fist, raised to knock, the first thing he noticed were Bettina Rosamond's eyes. Cool, and intelligent, and oddly kind. She was immaculately-groomed, and held herself with a regal grace which would have done his aunt proud. He had to catch himself from allowing his gaze to travel lower; this was a business meeting, and she was a professional. He had never dealt with a woman in such a powerful position before, and her gender caused some long-ingrained part of him to bristle. Still, he would treat her with the same respect as any other potential partner. It might just cost him more than usual. "Apologies," he said, "for my tardiness. I left your rather flustered driver behind, somewhere on Watery Lane, with a wheel-less vehicle."

When the kid appeared at her side, his view of her changed. A mother, as well as an intelligent leader. He thought again of Pol, and it helped put him at ease. A smile slipped past his mask as he looked after the boy. "He'd get on well with Finn," he commented wryly. "My brother, but then I'm sure you know that. Mind, they'd like as not egg each other into the worst kind of mischief. Finn's got a family reputation for debauchery to live up to."

Bettina couldn't help but smile lightly at Thomas's comment, a small laugh surpassing her lips. "I seem to remember a young man of your description at the Garrison last night, quite the little sweetheart, though a clear handful." She told Tommy in a light tone of voice allowing him to see a side of her that her children would normally only see. "I'm sure as young boys they'll get into all kinds of trouble, don't really mind though. Children need to be allowed to have that time in their life where they are indeed children. It would be nice if Archie has a friend, maybe even my other boys will try to get involved. Henrietta no doubt will." Mrs Rosamond told Thomas guiding him down the hallway.

Upon stepping into the living room, he received a jolt of surprise which he barely managed to keep off his face. "Alfie Solomons," he said evenly. Alfie fucking Solomons. "Never heard of a telephone, eh?" There had been reports of the Jew coming into town, but he hadn't foreseen this- what, a collaboration? He knew the two Londoners shared a history; he should have considered this possibility. He also made a mental note to fire the kid who was supposed to be watching Rosamond's door. He still didn't know what the man wanted from him, though his recent visit to London likely played into it.

"Trust me, he wasn't invited…" Bettina crossed her arms over her chest, letting a sigh escape her. "He didn't expect me to answer the door, it's rather quiet that have taken over my husband's business. I'll pay for someone to repair the telephone in future, I'm just glad it wasn't the fucking Italian waltzing in. That would have been a lot of cleaning, and blood on my lovely carpet." The woman sighed softly, rolling her eyes showing displeasure.

Andras stood by the door looking at the newer arrival, making sure that he wouldn't try anything funny against the wife of Horace Rosamond. A woman he admired.

Solomons didn't turn his head to look at Thomas entering the room. "Tommy Shelby, yeah?" Alfie remained seated staring forward not even acknowledging someone had entered the room, he simply nodded a greeting and spoke in a baritone slur. "Alright, mate. Yeah figured I pay you a little visit. I've heard a lot about you from Betti, right? Thought I'd come meet you in the flesh, yeah?" He continued gazing intently at something off in the distance, not turning to look at Tommy.

Thomas considered the Jew, head cocked ever so slightly to the side. Alfie Solomons was a bear of a man. There was something wild behind his eyes. "Well," he said, "here I am. In the flesh. Look all you like." Deciding that Solomons would get to the damn point in his own sweet time, he dragged his attention towards the proffered manila folders. He slung himself into the nearest chair, accepted the drink with a nod, and took a long swig before flipping open the nearest file. His eyes grazed over the scribbled labels: Dorothy Helen Townley. "That," he said, "would be Dot." He made a mental note to strangle the girl at the next available opportunity for (successfully) deceiving him. Yes, he knew her little secret. He prudently didn't mention that he had only put the pieces together that morning.

He raised his head to meet Bettina's gaze. "I do indeed have questions. First off: why bring these out?" He gestured at the folders. "I assume your proposition has something to do with the Aussies. If you're simply trying to impress me with your diligence, you're wasting your breath. If you've a plan, please, do share. And, while you're at it, I'm curious as to what brought Alfie Solomons to this little get-together." Tommy removed a set of papers from his coat pocket. Unfortunately, the corners were bent from his whirlwind ride. He slid them towards his hostess. "I read your letter. I think a partnership could be mutually beneficial, and I've taken it upon myself to hash out a list of terms."

"The barmaid came to my attention when I visited the Garrison last night, I just so happened to remember seeing a photograph of her in the other files." Bettina stated getting a cigarette out of her case, placing it between her lips and lighting it. "Happened to be the sibling of the two brothers in London sniffing around things. A frequent at one of the many Rosamond establishments." She commented after exhaling the intoxicating nicotine. "A establishment I'm more than happy to sign over into your family name, as a manner of gratitude. After all, the Rosamonds are in your debt." Bettina commented in a clear manner, her word solemn as she picked up the list that he slid over to her. Bright blue eyes skimmed over the conditions, before raising the paper to her bodyguard.

"Andras please make sure that Thomas Shelby gets these conditions, and it's drawn up in a effective contract. A copy for the both of us." Bettina spoke in rich Hungarian, the practiced language rolled off the tip her tone. Her accent intermingling with the words. Releasing the paper when the taller man grabbed it, giving her a curt nod. "Yes, madam," Andras stated in a formal tone of voice. Before leaving the room to get what she wished organised.

"The reason I bought the file is because she was a former owner of a pub you've been interested in for quite some time, and the brothers well they've had communication between our eldest brother. Something that doesn't appear discussed properly with you." Bettina tugged lightly at the gossips she heard, resting her head into her hand. Holding her cigarette in the other. "I have no interest impressing a man like yourself, Mister Shelby. Merely here to repay a debt. My children would have been fatherless if you didn't save him in the war, though he a cripple now, Horace is still their father. Unlike my idiot husband, I see merit in those actions of saving a follow officer." The woman explained, her tone never changing from a tone of sincerity.

Much like Polly Shelby, the Austro-Hungarian woman regarded all debts should be best paid off. In good favour of the people they owed those debts to. Why was it such an important thing to her? Because of her children, of course. A prime example had to be made. They needed to know that she would expect them to do the same if anyone ever saved their life or another family member's life. "Your actions were noble, and allowed the rise of my position within the ranks of the Rosamond family business. Though I had to do some Spring cleaning with certain in-laws that threatened my family." The attractive woman shrugged not holding much regard to some of the members of her extended family.

Thomas stiffened imperceptibly at the mention of his miscommunication where the Australians were concerned. He couldn't justifiably pin the full blame on Arthur; he had let valuable information slip through the cracks. He neither confirmed nor denied the allegation. "I can handle the Townleys," he said. "I know they're on your turf, but I've the barmaid, and I can use that. From what I hear, they don't want London anyhow. This is a family matter."

At the mention of his wartime heroics, something behind his eyes darkened. It didn't matter that Rosamond was being gracious, that this was about debts. Her word choice set something off inside of him. "Noble," he repeated, swirling the dregs of his drink. He let out a snort. "That's me alright. A right fucking gentleman." He took a swig. "How about you, Solomons? You see a lot of knights in shining armour on the battlefield? I sure as hell didn't. No matter how you came in, the mud got you same as anyone else. Ingrained in your skin. Maybe I saved a few lives. I've taken more than my fair share, and my reasons were never chivalrous. Don't turn me into something I'm not." He looked into his cup before pulling himself together. Meeting her eyes again. "You agree to my list of terms, work with me as an ally, and you can consider your debt paid, if it'll help you rest easy."

Alfie shook his head, keeping his gaze fixed on something far-off that only he seemed to see, eyes wide and haunted. "Nah, mate. Only some breast-plates and sniper's masks. Breast-plates as the name suggests are slabs of metal which you do strap onto your tit. Meant to stop bullets, yeah? Well, they don't. Sniper's masks are big slabs of metal what they used to hide behind when lookin' through a scope, yeah? Not much good either, right? None of it shone, see. So nah, mate. No shining knights." His tone was a calm and deep drone as he spoke and explained the often makeshift and roped-in ceremonial armour he had encountered. He finally turned his burning gaze onto Tommy, eyes aflame with the memory of some skirmish, a wolfish grin on his lips. "Plenty of fuckin' heroics though." He loudly announced.

"I understand it was the wrong choice of wording." Bettina showed a sense of dismay at Thomas's commented, holding her drink in hand before pressing to her lips. "The fact of the matter was you saved my husband's life, and for a time there that was only parent my children has. Because of the fucking glorious Mister Churchill himself, decided to place me in Austria as a spy, conditions were that my children survived if I did the right thing." She hissed in dismay, causing partly under High German. Placing the glass on the table in front of her. Calming herself down, by pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment. "They planned it much like they did with your Aunt Polly's children," Bettina told him. "You know firsthand how much that wounded her." She explained offering him a cigarette, before taking one of her own.

"Andras has taken your conditions to the contractor upstairs. Where it can be formally written up as we speak here right now. Not one for lazing around, business is important and should be sharp, struck while the iron is still hot." The woman pointed out in a clear demonstration. "So as for the the Townleys, there's not just family affairs that have brought them here." She stated lighting the cigarette in her hands, holding it between her lips. "But an intercontinental trade agreement for the Peaky Blinders if their sister is found by your brother. Alive and unharmed, possibly not with child considering one of them got charged with hitting her in a compound to cause miscarriage once before." Bettina commented what she had learnt from her prostitutes in the establishment the two Townley brothers often visited in London.

"Men talk a lot when it seems a whore will listen, and pretend they care." Her blue eyes remained cool and collected. "Add whiskey into the mix and it's the best truth syrup a person could ask for. Frederick Townley is the oldest and sits in the position that you do with the Blinders, and Eugene is more the quieter businessman, though don't expect the contract to be the best written, apparently their sister used to do those jobs as well as clean up. Rather impressed, for a barmaid she has quite the resume." Bettina smirked lightly wondering if she should make a move on employing Dorothy herself. The world needed more women like them out there.

Though Thomas observed Bettina's barely-restrained anger without a hitch in his impassive expression, he felt a twinge of sympathy; he was certainly no mother, but he had indeed witnessed his aunt's suffering. He'd seen her scream, and he's seen her cry; he'd seen her lean on the oldest Shelby child for support, which was a sure sign of madness. These days, she didn't speak of it at all; they all carried their losses as best they could. He raised his empty glass in a mocking salute. "That's the government for you," he said. "At least you and I don't pretend our work is done in the name of common good."

He listened attentively to this new information on his resident barmaid/ex-gang member/whatever the hell she was. He still couldn't quite make sense of Dorothy Townley, and like all things he didn't understand, he regarded her with a mixture of wariness, distaste, and reluctant interest.

"It'd seem," he said at last, "that my business is about to get its arse kicked into high gear."

Bubs · Dec 31, 2018

❧ Dorothy "Dot" Townley ☙

Location:
The Garison, Birmingham --> Charlie Strong's Yard
Mentions:
Lizzie McGowan-Bell (@Kat ), Tommy Shelby (@kaleidoscopique ), John Shelby (@kaleidoscopique ), Arthur Shelby (@Bubbly Potions ), Harry (NPC), Fin Shelby (NPC)

***

Dorothy held a rather protective front against Regina, the sight of orders slipping passed the normally drunk woman made the Australian roll her eyes. She wasn't in the mood for the reminder of her burning knuckles, or the wavering ache that came and went with the brush of cold that morning bought. "Thank ya for the concern, but my tribulations are much to be suspicious about anyway," Miss Townley addressed in a darker tone of voice watching the other woman wander up the stairs.

Before long the twenty-four year old was back doing her own thing. Trapped in the thought of freedom that the letter spoke from officals. Her service had spent her time and crimes. Yet, what was freedom if she hadn't anywhere or wish to return the red dusty plains of home?

Honey brown eyes swept along the floor of the empty Garrison, grateful once more for the quiet. Death almost seemed to make the bar his friend in the early hours of the morning, or tracked through to mid-morning. Not a man, nor woman wight sight for a pint, mitty or flagon. Only Regina was the guest of the Garrison and all its glory that morning, but Dorothy was more interested in when the mail boy stepped through and onto the polished floors— leaving muddy boot-prints in his wake.

"Mornin' Bluey," Dorothy called to the redhead mail boy looking over the bar, not paying too much to the effect the youngest Shelby had on the nervous child. Stepping out around the counter, the woman patted the nervous boy on his head. "Got some letters, aye?" Dorothy asked in a lulled and more gentle tone of voice, procuring him a few coins for his troubles. She knew the boy would have been paid by the post, but it was always nice to see a child rewarded for their hard work and efforts. "That's a little tip for you always delivering the letters to us. Maybe put it towards a little treat, Blue." She spoke in a lightness, almost maternal like mother would her child. If fact were kind, she would have had one his age anyway...

Dorothy didn't take much time to read the addresses on other letters. One letter alone stood out to her. Mainly by the handwriting, and way she was addressed unlike other letters normally. Dot Townley, was scribbled beautifully against the parchment envelope. "I can't be..." Dorothy said aloud, causing a look of confusion from Finn Shelby who was still sitting so proudly at the bar.

Shaking hands tossed the other letters on the counter, not caring much for the display or mess being made. Her heart pounding in her chest, almost ached from how loud and hard it hammered away. It had been some years since she saw such penman ship. Scanning her eyes over the first few words, and sentences Dorothy felt a vulnerability sweep over her. So many raw emotions and old wounds opened with the knowledge of whom wrote her this letter.

"Dot, you alright?" Finn asked in a bout of confusion before watching the woman dash from the Garrison, letter tight in hand.

Cold mid-morning winds burnt her exposed skin, since she was dressed for more Australian weather. Tugging uncomfortably at her cardigain the young woman fought back tears and all need for such emotions to be expressed. Finally. She had found herself a safe place to continue reading everything, the warmth of her tears burnt her cool flesh.

She had found herself in a yard, by the water banks. Sat upon a shipping box reading away, taking little care of splinters that stabbed at her legs through the old stockings so wore.

"Gene and Fred are alive?" Dot finally asked herself at the closing of the letter, looking up to the almost bright sky. The oddest sense of grief struck her, before she noticed Finn Shelby had followed her planting himself down beside her. His hand patting her back absently, trying to show a sense of support and gentleness his brothers no doubt never taught him. "Thank you, Finn." Dot said to him with tear rimmed eyes, reaching down kissing the body on the head and wrapping her arms around him comfortingly.

Trigger Warning: Letter Contains brief topic of Rape

Dearest Dorothy,
With returning home to find you not there was deeply saddening to Fred and I. Disheartening to see that mother and father had treated you in such a manner, when they thought us no more. You're still blood and what was done is unforgivable, but we got to the bottom of father being responsible of that burnt bridge. I hope that you haven't been alone and have managed to marry the man you loved and found due to the war's terror. Some of our men have married their nurse's from England and have since come home. I only wish the same happiness for my little sister, since the hardship you faced before the war left you so torn and bitter.
A child of seventeen should have never faced what you did— I apologise that we failed to protect you. Frederick thought her was doing the right thing about the child bore from that scum. His way of being protective, he didn't want your reputation to be harmed by a child outside of wedlock and in such circumstances. Enough of that painful past...
Through one of the boys we've heard that you're now living in England. By the time that you get this letter, hopefully, we've made it there safely with a few men to find you. A friend from the war has offered to help us, and in exchange we were going to open an international trade with the mate's family. He's a good soul and a man went met during the war.
We're not going to force you back, we just want to see you again. Seven years has been too long, and its just the three of us now. You, Me and Fred.
God I hope that fate has been kind to you with this bloke, and that you've been able to marry and settle done. Find a happier life— Life has been most cruel to you little Dot.
Promises might seem bold coming from a brother you thought was long dead and rotting in the ground somewhere in France. But, I promise you. You'll no longer be alone, we're coming for you. Stay put for a little while. Don't run or hide. We want you safe and well, if they find you the promise is that you weren't to be harmed.
Many years I have prayed that we'd be able to see you again away from the eyes of noose and shackles bonding you at your seat. Free and wandering.
Love you little Dot,
See you soon.
~ Gene Townley.

Dearest Dorothy,

With returning home to find you not there was deeply saddening to Fred and I. Disheartening to see that mother and father had treated you in such a manner, when they thought us no more. You're still blood and what was done is unforgivable, but we got to the bottom of father being responsible of that burnt bridge. I hope that you haven't been alone and have managed to marry the man you loved and found due to the war's terror. Some of our men have married their nurse's from England and have since come home. I only wish the same happiness for my little sister, since the hardship you faced before the war left you so torn and bitter.

A child of seventeen should have never faced what you did— I apologise that we failed to protect you. Frederick thought her was doing the right thing about the child bore from that scum. His way of being protective, he didn't want your reputation to be harmed by a child outside of wedlock and in such circumstances. Enough of that painful past...

Through one of the boys we've heard that you're now living in England. By the time that you get this letter, hopefully, we've made it there safely with a few men to find you. A friend from the war has offered to help us, and in exchange we were going to open an international trade with the mate's family. He's a good soul and a man went met during the war.

We're not going to force you back, we just want to see you again. Seven years has been too long, and its just the three of us now. You, Me and Fred.

God I hope that fate has been kind to you with this bloke, and that you've been able to marry and settle done. Find a happier life— Life has been most cruel to you little Dot.

Promises might seem bold coming from a brother you thought was long dead and rotting in the ground somewhere in France. But, I promise you. You'll no longer be alone, we're coming for you. Stay put for a little while. Don't run or hide. We want you safe and well, if they find you the promise is that you weren't to be harmed.

Many years I have prayed that we'd be able to see you again away from the eyes of noose and shackles bonding you at your seat. Free and wandering.

Love you little Dot,
See you soon.
~ Gene Townley.

junebug · Jan 1, 2019

"I just wanted see if you were alright," Lizzie blurted out. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the complete truth either. "Tommy... The name sounds familiar. Isn't he part of the Peaky Blinders? What does he do and why on Earth would he take Dot's mail? Dot's just a bar maid... presumably, unless the professional boxer part is true," she laughed, and walked over to one of Harry's drawers and set her pen and notepad on top.

The man needed a new shirt, she'd wash the one he was wearing and take care of him for a bit while she tried to obtain information. Perhaps Tommy had a thing for Dot or Harry wanted Tommy and Dot to be together. Lizzie wasn't quite sure where the correlation was, though given Tommy was a Peaky Blinder, him and John were likely brothers or simply friends from different families. Lizzie handed Harry a clean shirt.

"I suggest you change your shirt. You'd not want to be seen with blood on there when you get your nose checked out by a doctor. I can only do so much as a nurse. She's got quite the swing. If the doctor asks about an altercation, don't lie to them. Here's a glass."

Lizzie poured Harry some water from a pitcher nearby and listened intently to him, if he decided to offer any sort of information for her to latch onto and continue with their conversation, which was technically an interview more so than a simple friendly gesture. If asked, the notes she wrote down were for grocery shopping.

Lizzie prayed it wasn't too obvious, though with Harry, he had an idea about her. She was a regular in his bar, he understood how she went about some things and her general behavior. There were probably also times where her drunken self let slip some details she didn't want anyone knowing about and Harry retained that information. Nevertheless, Lizzie tried to be casual and not so upfront about her genuine reason for approaching him.

@Bubbly Potions

Bubs · Jan 5, 2019

Business Arrangements

Arthur and Eugene

London, England.
Time:
TOO BLOODY EARLY

It had been some hours since the train from Birmingham into London, the whole purpose was business. Arthur wasn't quite sure what shook him more: The chilling temper his brother had about his foreign correspondence or the chilling manner his old war friend had towards business discussions at such a time. Walking through the cool streets of London, he saw a flock of all types and classes of people. Yet, no motion or movement slicked over to him unlike in Birmingham where people avoided the very path he walked. It was strange not being in his area of comfortable quivering in fear and weeping.

"Right, time to find those bastards." The eldest Shelby brother proclaimed in a regular gruff tone. Lips eagerly scratched by his moustache when he spoke loudly to himself. He wasn't about to jump for joy, nor exclaim his excitement towards seeing the old pals he found during the war. It made the business side of things awkward and almost hard to think about.

Mid-morning sun was warm on the back of his neck as he walked, but it didn't seem to bring a comfort to the dwelling nerves. These men had two different stations and a background completely unknown to the Shelby that came home to an almost normal life.

Their little sister was missing when they came home, and their other brothers were now long buried and rotted away. Arthur thought grimly continuing on his way towards the distinct address given to him the night before over the telephone in the betting shop. It wasn't too far from the station, nor entirely close at all. Somewhere in the middle of everything, but discreetly placed.

After a good ten minutes walk he found himself there by the doors of the establishment. A brothel, and a fancy one at that: which caused Arthur to question the fortune of these Australians. In a swift little knock a petite young beauty opened the door, and swept him inside by the arm.The woman no more than twenty spoke with an accent so fine it made him think of a French woman, or even another country that had words almost lacy when spoken. Although well grasped at the English language, Arthur fell short of understanding her and what she was trying to stay. So, instead he simply followed her to a library with wary eyes.

Eugene Townley sat quietly listening to the gramophone and reading the morning's paper when the sweet speaking courtsean led Arthur Shelby through the nicely polished doors. The third Cut-Throat brother stood promptly at his arrival and straightened his suit upon walking over to him.

"Long time Arthur, almost a year mate. Seems longer." Eugene expressed with the extension of his hand which was met with another gruff hand. A strong shake, then pat on the shoulder caused both men to laugh in a manner of shock. Neither expected to see one another again. It was a moment for Eugene to collect himself, before the discussion of business and matters between their two respective gangs. Sitting back down at a table where a number of manilla folders were collected and compiled in a respective order. Each file had their respective topic, and one was for Arthur about their missing sister.

Arthur settled in his seat and graciously accepted a drink from the decanter, and into a glass on the nicely organised table. His trademark Shelby blue eyes scraping over names on files before finding the one with a name of a young woman scribbled into it. Something made the man pity his friend before him, he wouldn't have known how to react if he came home to find Ada nowhere to be found. Giving a gruff look of sympathy, Arthur reached for the millna folder hoping for a photograph or anything to go on about the mystery girl lost somewhere in England. But, before he could even let his brain to put the pieces together from the dated photograph on the front page, Gene spoke up.

"We've located her to an address in Birmingham, with further research its a bar named the Garrison. Her name that she often goes by now is: Dorothy Edward." Eugene spoke in a low yet stern tone of voice.

"Dot, she's young in this one." Arthur spoke absentmindedly looking at the recognizable part of the Garrison staff. It had appeared right then and there that there was so much more to the young woman's story.

Dorothy was much younger, holding a gaze of gentleness instead of the eyes of someone protecting themselves from pain. Her hair was long and in a braid down her shoulder. A small of a proper troublemaker, and dressed in a farm like attire: flannel shirt, worn work pants, slouch hat and gruff looking boots. She was sitting on a beautiful mare, that even the photograph caught the gleam of health in its coat.

The Australian counterpart caught a glimmer of interest in his eyes while sorting through files and contracts as the eldest Shelby's eyes draped over the detailed report. A gruff curse of disbelief catching him by surprise of the detail the apparently meek barmaid had been and done.

In a throat clearing cough Eugene indicated he wanted to go down to business. The topic of interest: Alliance Building, International Tobacco and Liquor Trade, and lastly the interests of Dorothy Helen Townley his only sister and pride. With detail Eugene explained things, sometimes too tactfully for Arthur to merely understand. In which things were further broken down into steps of easier understanding, it wasn't rudely done either because Eugene Townley considered his work and business arrangements of the utmost of seriousness thus. Everything had to be in a nature of understanding.

"A'light I think I understand everything now," Arthur huffed in an exhausted and almost drunk manner. His mind and body actively affected by the recent intake of so much information. But it appeared that Gene was gladly giving him a break.

"Arthur, you're exhausted now. I understand such arrangements are organised by your brother. Don't worry, you've got all the information that is needed for now. Various proposals are here for your brother to see and get an insight to the family business, and offers we wish to grant." Taking a swift pause in his words and speech allowed himself to catch his own breath about another proposal not made by him but the eldest brother Frederick. Lightly reaching up and pinching his nose, Eugene collected his thoughts about what Fred wanted for Dot if she wasn't married. "The final proposal left in the file regards the marital status of my sister when found, if she's not married my elder brother would like to propose that one of you Shelbys marry her in form of a firmer alliance." He spoke Frederick's wishes in a restricted tone, not allowing his words to filter through and pass any emotions.

Arthur Shelby, though had surprisingly read the man's feels pretty impressively. Even in a drunken haze he saw the irritation in the Aussie's words. "S'pose you're not thrilled on the idea? Goin' against somethin' or do ya not think us Shelbys good enough?" Arthur spoke in a more aggressive tone, standing from his seat slamming palms down roughly against the table. Yet, is sparked nothing, not even a reaction from the man before him.

"Nothing of the sort, just my sister has always been rather a tough shell..Incidences happened and I still feel a guilt towards it. She was forced to join the war effort, and forced to do so many things in the past. I don't want to force her with this." Eugene admitted. "Though, I won't offer myself if you have a sister because I know, I could never make a woman happy. Because of a little no understanding of them, and strict displeasure at the thought of being stuck in a marriage." Eugene spoke in a composed tone, reaching to pour himself a drink. His swig was rough and he felt the burn from the high-class whiskey. "Take my opinions how you wish it Arthur, just know this that I have spoken them in confidence as you a former conrade."

With that the air was left in a stale manner, and Eugene excused himself quietly. Arthur left not long after collecting his things, and stuffing the old photo of the barmaid into his suit pocket. It was going to be one of the many things he showed Tommy upon coming home for reports on the meeting. All alone he walked down the road in a slightly confused manner, rather taken aback by the last of Eugene's interactions with him. He was so quick to shut down anything that would cause an issue, yet the topic of the final proposal truly caused an internal issue.

It sparked the question: What the hell happened the last time they saw her? Arthur thought with a manner of confliction. But, he wasn't about to ask the bar maid outright, maybe it was something that Tommy could use, whatever it was. For now, it was time to get on the next train out of London. His job was done, and now the vivid memories of the Australian soldiers or ANZACs as they affectionately called themselves lived within memory. A war torn family was left in the place of their normal larrikin personality, chasing after whatever lead for a sister that very clearly didn't want to be found.

Boarding the train once more around lunch time, Arthur found himself staring down at the stolen photograph.It was of a young woman that saw so much before a war that destroyed so much, and gave so little. Then, happened to find herself in Birmingham of all places as if it was the only place left to go. So sitting back in his cabin, the eldest Shelby listened to the calling of the train's whistle. Something about it and the train's roar remind him of the hellish war and fields of corpses he came back from. Even when an unsettled sleep came over him and was taken away so wicked by the roaring of the whistle once more. Arthur grumbled kicking the seat in front of him. "Fork," he cursed in a grimacing tone before looking back out the window. Waiting stubbornly for the familiar sight of Birmingham

junebug · Jan 6, 2019

A Confession
collab between @Bubbly Potions & @Kat

Harry almost was taken aback by the sudden bombardment of questions. But, he was at the very least grateful for the new shirt Lizzie dug out from his draws. "Aye, he's a Peaky Blinders. The worst of them actually," the man sniffed roughly and spoke with a gruff. "He needed her to sign some papers, her part of it anyway…" the middle-aged man groaned slightly working on his shirt, and changing into the fresh one. Offering the curious woman a curt and polite word of 'thanks'.

"The mail, Dorothy gets delivered her for some reason— that girl has a lot of secrets. I pushed her by giving Tommy the letters, something official there. Coat of arms an' everythin'," he commented smoothing over the fabric of his clean shirt. Accepting the glass of water gratefully, from the woman. "Aye, she has a swing on her… I guess, nurses know how to hit to saver the worst injury without killing a man." He grumbled before taking a swig of his water, like it was some kind of hard liquor or so he had wished.

He saw the notepad fall on his drawers, but never questions the young woman. He didn't want to cause an issue, but nor did he want to give too much away. "The Peaky Blinders are people to stay away from Lizzie, they're not good people. They're bad men, for your safety you should stay away. Yer too nice," he finally spoke up on the matter getting himself up and about, wiping his broken nose with the back of his hand. "Not the type to write a story about," he said honestly.

He'd caught her.

Lizzie shifted her weight to one side and flipped the page. She scribbled down eggs and milk, as if she could hide from the reality that she was getting caught up in a mess.

"You're right about nurses hitting," she chuckled and recalled last night when she'd slapped John, the man who ended up being one of the Peaky Blinders. It was sad. "I hear the Peaky Blinders are a notorious gang. They know what they're doing. Tommy's the worst? Who's next? John?" she joked.

"Arthur and John, all are pretty bad." Harry said stiffly at the woman's joke. It seemed very much apparent she didn't know what she was dealing with and no matter how hard she tried to hide the fact of writing the notes. Harry knew—trouble when he saw it. "The whole bloody lot of them, even mine and Dot's focking pub." He slammed the glass down on bedside table in his little makeshift apartment. Wandering over to Lizzie and casting his gaze to her "shopping list".

"What would you want milk and eggs from the likes of Thomas Shelby," he asked with a cocked swollen brow.

Lizzie immediately pulled back, notepad to her chest. She looked at her list and wrote down butter too, just to be safe… sort of, not really.

"Well, being a gang and all, maybe he imports milk and eggs," she replied, dumbfounded. "Or some kind of food… right?"

"Of course, the import of certain foods." Harry couldn't help but bit a little sarcastic about the comment that left his mouth in response to her rather stupid excuse.

"Such as?" She looked over at him and there was a dead beat of silence. "Oh, tobacco. I bet they import that!"

"Enough, Lizzie. You're making it dangerous for yourself and others around you." Harry warned with a serious glint in his eyes.

A sigh left Lizzie as she clicked her pen closed. Another beat of silence.

"I slapped John last night."

"And? You wouldn't be the first." Harry commented in a full bluntness now, his eyes growing cold and stern. Pushing back all his worry behind heavy expression.

"Do you know what happened after that? I'll tell you. I stole the jacket off of his girl and he pulled me out into an alleyway to talk. Do you know why he did that? Because we hadn't seen each other in years. I never knew he was a Peaky Blinder until last night when my friend practically spoke out against him. She said he was a "Mr. Shelby" and then, then she told me that tending to gunshot wounds and knowing someone for a few weeks doesn't equate to love… She said, maybe a few hours was all I needed, but that's simply not true. I can't stay away from him. It won't happen, even if he told me he didn't want to see me for a while."

Harry reached for the emotional woman, clapping his hands on her arms. "War brings so much out of us all, I lose my boy and gained a woman he loved that I see as family. But this… it's toxic Regina," the barman told her in a very strong tone of voice. "You're a married woman, and to Howard Bell above all." He admitted in a shocked tone of voice, wondering what ran through the woman's mind and how it apparently made sense to her. "You cross the Shelby's, you'd end up in the river or cut a new smile." The man continued.

Her fingers gripped the pen, knuckles turning white as she considered Harry's words. Her breath shook a bit.

"Please don't tell my husband. It's a delicate situation. I don't know what to do. Howard's been distant, I don't think he loves me anymore. He'd be angry if he heard what happened, even if it's just an implication. I'm scared."

"I'm not getting anywhere near the copper, but you need to stop this or he will find out." Harry watched the panic ease into the questionably stable woman.

"I suppose I'll just ignore John and Howard, if I can," she offered, her teeth biting at her bottom lip. "I– He already knows I met a John last night. I don't think he knows who. I didn't say John's last name. He says John's not gonna be welcome anyways, rightfully so. He keeps babying me and says I have a drinking problem. He still puts up with me. Why does he even care? I'm sorry, I'm going off again."

Lizzie ran her hand through her hair.

"I'll just ignore them both, if I can help it."

"You do have a problem, but that's normal. You've been something traumatic— years of trauma with the war…" Harry said to the frantic woman, cupping her face in his hands. "He's a proud man, maybe he does love you. But in a way you can't see it…" He said in a sad tone of voice thinking back to his wife, and when he never saw the pain that festered in her heart. The whirlwind of confusion that was in Lizzie's eyes made him think of the drunk Australian he found at the bar of the Garrison some months before.

"He needs to make me see it before I make another mistake. I can't stop thinking about John. I already feel bad enough that I made the wrong decision and I don't even love Howard. It's complicated."

"That's not my place, but I don't think you should be making those decisions in a pub. But you need to lay off the drink, and find somewhere quiet to think." Harry told her looking deep into her eyes with a worried gaze. "John Shelby isn't the best answer you can come to though."

"You're right," Lizzie sighed and pondered the idea of church. She hadn't been in a while over the last few weeks. "I hope that thinking does me good, perhaps, allow me to understand Howard and confront him."

"Perhaps, love. Now, you best be off with ya." Harry spoke carefully to the lady before him, lightly touching her cheek before withdrawing. "Yer, need tot are care of yourself and keep yourself safe. It's dangerous— the waters your trending in." He admitted, "I have to make my peace too, with Dorothy."

"Please go to the doctor's today and have your nose looked at," Lizzie responded and shoved her notepad in her pocket. There was little she could do at this point. "I'll be fine, hopefully. Church always helps a bit. Thank you, Harry. Have a good day."

Harry watched the young woman, and opened the door for her as she left. One thing that came to his mind was nipping downstairs to check on a Dorothy Townley and speaking to her about what transpired that night before. "Dot broke me nose back into place, it's as good as it can get now…" he said in a rather casual tone tucking his hands into his pockets and wandering down the stairs himself.

kaleidoscopique · Jan 6, 2019

john + lizziexxx

Location: All Saints Church, Birmingham

Collab with the lovely @Kat

John loved the guttural kick of the engine, the machine juddering beneath him, alive and powerful. He loved the second glances which the motorcar garnered as they passed through working-class neighborhoods. He loved the freedom, the speed, the way horses and pedestrians leaped out of his path.

"For the love of Christ, John!" Polly snapped as he swerved out of the way of an oncoming vehicle, a stream of vociferous swearing emanating from a would-be victim as he flipped him off. "When I asked if you wanted to drive, I weren't looking for a near-death experience." She was clutching her newly-purchased bonnet to keep it in place.

John did not have much patience for traffic.

It was with some relief that they left behind the more affluent shopping district ('though nothing on London,' said Pol) for the familiarity of Small Heath. Even the bone-rattling jolt of uneven road surfaces couldn't shake his cheerful mood. He was headed for home when his aunt gestured to a sidestreet. "This way," she said.

Her nephew's brow furrowed, though he readily complied, the car swinging wildly into the turn. "Wot, you want to go to church? Again?"

"That is the way it generally works," she said dryly. "Or were you under the impression that spirituality's like shopping?"

Soon after, they pulled up beside All Saints. Polly waited expectantly for John to open her door. Once he did so, he hesitated. "Think I'll wait here," he said. "Need a smoke." Churches didn't agree with him. He thought that God must have given up on him entirely at this point, which alleviated the weight of expectation, and that the most prudent course of action was to enjoy himself while he could.

At one point, driven by a flirtation with renewed faith, his aunt had roped all of her resident family members into regular Sunday visits. Tommy had been the one to bring an end to the scheme. "Look," he'd said, addressing his words both to his aunt and to the rafters. "I'm about to walk out that door. If God decides to smite me down or summit, I'll reconsider." When nothing had happened, looking rather disappointed, he'd left. And because Tommy was Tommy, and John was John, he'd followed suit some weeks later.

Polly shot him a look. "Might help to talk to someone," she said. "Helps to sort out all the thinking. And it looks to me like you've got some thinking to do. But suit yourself." And so, posture erect and chin held high, she left him behind.

She crossed herself, and then she paused. The chapel was nearly deserted, and so it was easy enough to recognize the kneeling figure of a young woman in the back row of pews. Polly thought she could be forgiven for eavesdropping.
"Lord, forgive me for the terrible things I've done," Lizzie murmured, hands clasped and head down. "I can't say things out loud but you can hear me, right? I don't know what to do. I went about everything the wrong way."

Her beads pressed against the small of her hand as she glanced up at the altar. The candles glowed with warmth, one that she'd certainly not felt since the war. After her talk with Harry, she'd decided to move onto another source of information— John himself, the man she'd gotten tangled up with because of some stupid belief that he'd loved her. She was desperate and doe-eyed because things didn't work out with her husband.

"I didn't even know his last name and I didn't think about telling him I was married. I don't know how to confront him or my husband, it seems I cannot do most things right except look pretty on the sidelines or drunk and uncharacteristic in Harry's pub. I want to quit too, everyone's worried about my health, but I come with a lot of baggage… And I wasn't taught how to manage it."

Up until the now-infamous confrontation with her nephew, Polly had never heard of a Lizzie, but as she made it her business to know what was what, she'd soon dug around. Now, circumstance had brought the two women together. It seemed a sign. And so, she made her way down the aisle before slipping in beside the young woman.

For a moment, she said nothing at all. Then, "You're Regina." It wasn't a question. "I s'pose you know who I am."

Lizzie's brows narrowed at the unexpected greeting. She turned her head and her brows softened at the middle aged woman. The lady was intimidating and not one she would mess with off the bat. Lizzie's hands went down to her lap.

"God's not ringing a bell. Who are you?"

Polly considered her for any sign of disrespect, before judging the question to be genuine. "I'm Polly Gray," she said. "My late husband was a Shelby. You're the girl who slapped my nephew." After a beat, she said, "Not that he didn't have it coming."

Lizzie's eyes widened as she immediately took into account who'd approached her. This was not good. She swallowed back the lump in her throat as her blood pressure soared, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize… What would you prefer I call you?"

Pol allowed her companion a moment of fear before offering a reassurance, of sorts. She turned to look forwards again. "Like as not, we won't meet again, and you won't have a chance to call me much of anything. I'm not here for you. But I couldn't help overhearing." She fixed Lizzie with a steady gaze. "John does care about you, you know. If he weren't one of mine, I'd say different. But he is, and so here's what I've got to say: he's got enough going on without carrying somebody else's troubles. He needs someone he can rely on. His kids need a mum; Lord knows I've enough on my plate. So. You'd best look after yourself, and do him the courtesy of giving him the same freedom. You owe him that much."

She patted Lizzie's shoulder, then turned to face forwards again. Her eyelids fluttered shut in a posture of prayer, indicating that she was finished with the conversation.

Lizzie's mouth ran dry at Polly's words. She wanted to say her piece, but it seemed that John's Aunt was done conversing and she was best left alone. Lizzie turned back to the altar without another word, uncertain if she should voice gratitude at least.

"Lord, forgive me. Amen," she whispered and took her leave.

Meanwhile, outside, John was growing restless. Even the nicotine couldn't calm his thoughts; his aunt's words now rattled around along with his doubts and questions. He'd done some thinking these past days: about Lizzie, about himself, about what he wanted. He hadn't come to many firm conclusions. The first was that he couldn't think about any other girl until the matter was resolved for good; he couldn't seem to get her smile out of his head. Couldn't even properly focus on business. The second was that he was still angry with her, and justifiably so. The third was that Tommy would not take kindly to him messing around with the wife of the the Chief of Police.

Helps to sort out the thinking, Pol had said. By the time he'd finished half the cigarette, he decided that he needed all the help he could get. And so, with dubious expectations, he chucked the butt over his shoulder and made for the church.

The door shut behind him. His eyes had not yet adjusted to the low light when he nearly collided with an oncoming figure. "Watch it," he muttered automatically. Then, as the shadow resolved itself into a person, "That's- that's my coat." Then, "Lizzie?"

Neither had probably expected the other to be at church. Lizzie definitely didn't expect John to be a church goer. She pulled John's coat closer to her body, unable to find the right words to say to him, especially after her brief… well, perhaps not a talk, more like a warning, given to her by Polly. It was something she'd uphold, hopefully. Lizzie tried to say something decent, however, all she could muster in the moment was, "Sorry, I didn't see you there."

John, too, fumbled for words. It seemed as though she'd been summoned from his very thoughts. If she didn't keep turning up at the most inconvenient moments, he might have assigned the meeting to divine intervention. Maybe God had a sense of humor. "Didn't expect to see you here." He buried his hands in his pockets. "Didn't expect to be here myself, mind."

Maybe it had something to do with the flicker of candlelight and the reverence which hung between the dust motes, but John couldn't summon his earlier anger with any real force. He stared at Lizzie, at the curve of her lips and the gloss of her hair and, quite suddenly, he came to his fourth realization: he couldn't give up on her. He'd regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't make some attempt to talk to her on the other side of misunderstanding, to give her the sliver of a chance at forgiveness. Fuck the police. "I think we should go for a drink," he said abruptly. "I think we should talk. At least once. There's been too much what's gone unsaid."

Lizzie prayed John could not see how red her cheeks were. She was certain he'd know she was embarrassed anyhow, with how her eyes darted across the room and towards the ground. She could barely glance his way, ashamed of herself for staying. Harry's words rang in her ears. She needed to stop this. Startled, she cleared her throat a little.

"Uh, yes. I mean, I'll try not to keep you too long. You probably want your jacket back," she fumbled and hurriedly took it off before shoving it at John. "I washed it… a lot."

There was a few beats of silence.

"What- what brought you here? You don't seem to be a churchgoer…"

John took the proffered coat, then shrugged it on. It smelled unfamiliar: detergent and...Lizzie. Her perfume, or soap, or something. "I guess I'm a lapsed Catholic," he said. "For a moment, I was reconsidering the stance." He glanced towards the second set of doors, beyond which lay the chapel. "Came with my aunt. I think...it's best if we talk later. Meet me back here, at eight? I can pick you up. Drive somewhere new." Subtext: somewhere with fewer Shelbys around.

"Um, I— Uh, actually yes. That would be nice. You're not too busy? I don't want to keep you if you've got more pressing matters."

John cracked a smile. "If I did, I wouldn'tve asked you, would I?" Now that he'd reached a course of action, he felt better. Maybe church had been a good idea after all.

Lizzie felt a small spark of hope in her chest. He was willing to make time for her… well, no, not in that way, but at least to talk and get closure before they both moved on from this mess they made. She smiled a little, "I'll see you back at eight then."

"Right," said John, and he grinned. "Right. Eight it is."

From within the inner sanctum of the church, Polly rose. She had thought about a great many things. As usual, she ended the one-sided conversation in routine prayer: for her family, for those of the dead. For herself. She rose, adjusted her skirt, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Then, as she made to leave, the scene which greeted her elicited one final prayer from her lips. She stopped just out of sight of the man and woman who stood in the entryway until the slighter figure had departed.

Lord, she thought in exasperation, give me the patience to deal with my bloody idiot nephews.

1919: A Family Affair (IC)

Edgepeasant

twinkle twinkle little bat

lets weave soulless threads

Edgepeasant

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Too W E I R D to live

twinkle twinkle little bat

twinkle twinkle little bat

Edgepeasant

lets weave soulless threads

Ghost from the Ages

twinkle twinkle little bat

twinkle twinkle little bat

lets weave soulless threads

twinkle twinkle little bat

Edgepeasant

twinkle twinkle little bat

lets weave soulless threads

twinkle twinkle little bat

lets weave soulless threads

Edgepeasant