kaleidoscopique

Edgepeasant
Original poster
LURKER MEMBER
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. One post per day
  2. 1-3 posts per week
  3. One post per week
Writing Levels
  1. Adept
  2. Advanced
  3. Prestige
  4. Adaptable
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Primarily Prefer Male
Genres
Post-apocalyptic, dystopian, politics, supernatural, historical (1920s, Victorian, Regency, revolutionary eras, WW2, etc), crime, dark themes, splashes of romance

Fandoms: Lore Olympus, Harry Potter, The Walking Dead, Hannibal, Bates Motel, Death Note, Batman verse, Peaky Blinders


  • 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

    peaky-blinders-photo-cillian-murphy-1006148-large.jpg


    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.
    [/fieldbox]

    [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
    [/fieldbox]

  • Beatrice.png


    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.

    4921a29d-7043-45d5-95b7-5f568e9d4e3f-jpeg.160094



    “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

    gP9buk4.png


    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
    latest

    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

    v5mpwj.jpg


    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)

    image.jpg


    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

    travis-fimmel-wyatt-earp-1-jpg.159058

    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
    36541250965b3c4146571abaf68cf46c.jpg

    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
    tt24425602.jpg

    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

    a6f0e8e5994806180999e0f85b1f42ef--joseph-stalin-young-man.jpg


    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
    f1f4f7c0beb670117e40e334892ad468.jpg


    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

    peaky_blinders_arthur.jpg


    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.

    447672.1.jpg


    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

    2fdc1049278805738cc098f6372a3bd5--style-men-my-style.jpg


    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)

    latest


    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

    DZ4lKWzU8AAsXfV.jpg


    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.

    1920s-Children-Kids-Child-CUTE-YOUNG-GIRL-French.jpg


    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
    Live-By-Night-Ben-Affleck-2.jpg

    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

    vhyWEJ.jpg

    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
    rickyboi-jpg.161032

    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.
 
Last edited:
Beatrice Holloway / Tommy Shelby
Location: Old Garment Factory now boxing ring, Birmingham
Mentions: Frank Holloway, Aleksei Petrov, Richard Chapman
___________________________________________________________________________________


The boxing club sat at a stone’s throw from the Cut, squat and unassuming, perched between a set of warehouses. It had once been a garment factory. Now it stood nearly empty during working hours: a boxing ring, a few training mats, dusty sunlight filtering down through age-warped glass. When the whistles blew and the lights went out in the factories, when the bustle of the docks died, the place roared to life. It had belonged to the Italians, until the eldest son had traded it away in a drunken card game. It had nearly gone bankrupt under the ownership of a boxer with managerial ambitions. Now, whatever name was on the deeds, the money made its way back to the Shelbys. And, under the supervision of a recent London transplant, business was booming.

Another night working the books, much like any other for Beatrice, despite her change of employer. The new management, notorious as she heard them to be, had yet to show their faces or give Beatrice any explicit instruction, so she ran the ring as usual. Frank had made himself scarce, thank God, spending his dearly bought money on horses and whiskey, without a doubt. With her requested raise Beatrice was able to afford proper pants and men’s shoes that actually fit. Her new ensemble proved invaluable in sustaining her confidence. Already a little more bold than she would have been in women’s clothing, Beatrice found a properly fitted shirt and trousers marvelous for her mood. She quite liked running the ring on her own, without feeling Frank’s tepid breath on her neck. She made sure all the other employees were paid on time, and was even making a tidy little profit. Frank must have been lifting a few pounds here and there from the ringside register, Beatrice had always suspected, but now she was sure. She had made sure to check Frank’s pockets for any spare keys he might have had the forethought to create. There had been nothing to find, barring a few betting receipts and some loose thread. Beatrice laughed to herself, Frank wouldn’t know forethought if someone beat him senseless with it.

Robert ‘Thumper’ Ponter was smoking a cigar and dreaming about a house, gazing unseeingly at a point somewhere above the doorway. He’d seen the house from the bank as his barge glided past: a garden, a barefoot child, a chicken coop. White shutters and a red door. He couldn’t get the damn house out of his head; somehow, it had reminded him of how small his life was. He’d been born two blocks away from this street in the back of a mule cart. He’d worked on a canal boat, and he’d worked as a bruiser, and now he worked here, keeping himself between the crowds and the office where the cash was sorted. To his disappointment, nobody had yet tried to steal it. He was thinking about a house, and so when the doors burst open, it was a moment before he remembered to look imposing, and another before he thought better of it.

“Wot business?” he asked, puffing out his chest. The new arrival was unmistakable, though he’d never seen him up close; nobody else in Small Heath could afford those clothes, nor look so comfortable wearing them.

Thomas Shelby regarded him for all of two seconds before taking another step. Though Thumper was a much larger man, he felt a swell of relief when the gangster merely tucked a bank note into his palm. “Anyone asks,” he said, “I en’t been here.”

Thumper blinked, then stepped aside. “Could’ve sworn I heard footsteps,” he said, to nobody in particular. “Must’ve been the rats again. I still says we need a cat.”

“Good man.” Thomas clapped him on the shoulder before sliding past.

He didn’t bother to knock on the bookkeeper’s door. He pushed, and it swung in. He shut it again before turning to examine Frank’s cousin.

Beatrice didn’t bother with the swish of the door as someone entered the office behind her. She was sure Thumper had smoked himself dry and was just in to borrow a cigarette, as was his custom. Smoothing the stack of bills out, Beatrice snapped a band around it and gently placed the bundle in the small intermediary safe before clicking it closed. Absently, her hand went to the pack of cigarettes in her shirt pocket, as her eyes traveled up from the shoes of the gentleman who had entered the office. Nope, definitely not Thumper. Beatrice ran a hand through her hair and proffered a cigarette before lighting her own. “Ter wha’ do I owe the pleasure?” Her Cheshire accent was soft but sure, Beatrice had never been able to shake it, even after several years in London.

Tommy contemplated the bookie for a moment before accepting the cigarette with a slight nod. He leaned against the file cabinet, struck a match, took a long drag. “You’re James,” he said, which didn’t entirely answer the question. The words left his mouth along with a puff of smoke which hung suspended. “Tell me, James: how d’you like Birmingham?”

Beatrice had been mouthy and brash with Frank on most occasions. It was a rare day when they hadn't bickered. Now, this was not the place to flex her bravado. If Beatrice had been barely aware of her patron’s status before she had come to Birmingham, she was now painfully aware of who she owed her paycheck to. That night some weeks ago, the man and his brothers had made waves at the old boxing ring in London. She had never seen her cousin Frank sober up so quick; Tommy Shelby, indeed. “I like it well enough,” Beatrice answered honestly “Less hassle than London was.”

“Less hassle,” he repeated. Though he did not smile, his eyes suggested that he found this mildly amusing. “Well. That’s something, anyway.” His employee’s gaze had shifted as though assessing the situation. That was good; he wanted someone perceptive. “You know, you’ve saved me some hassle yourself; you’ve brains, and a knack for the job. Least that’s what the books tell me.

“I like a bookie what can keep his head down. Thing is, you’ve been very quiet indeed. Word is, you don’t exist.” He fixed her with an even look. “I don’t exist either, officially speaking. Too much paperwork. Too many secrets. But I s’pose you know what that’s like, don’t you?”

The glow she felt from the praise quickly replaced itself with a creeping dread. Beatrice ashed her cigarette distractedly. “It’s better for my kinda business.” She tried to keep a calm demeanor but her mind raced. Was she about to be fired? Turned over to the police? Where would she find another job? Taking a deep drag helped her steady herself. Beatrice exhaled and regarded her employer, hoping to get an idea of his motives. “It’s safer leastways.”

“Mm.” Tommy gave a contemplative nod. “I don’t mind secrets, so long as they en’t bad for business. I’d be more worried if you had none. People without secrets are either terrible liars or very good actors.” ‘James’’ composure remained collected, and his words revealed precious little. That was also good. “Or doss mates,” he added. “Maggots packed in like kippers and no escape ‘cept to spin a dit; it all comes out. The past seemed a dream back then, and dreams can’t hurt a man. Nightmares, mind, play by different rules.” His gaze was a little too perceptive for comfort. “You ever troubled by nightmares, James?”

Beatrice had heard Tommy Shelby was hard to read at the best of times, and right now she might as well have been illiterate. Did he know her secret? Was he perhaps just playing along to see how far her lies would stretch? Or perhaps… he didn’t know. The last thing Beatrice wanted to do was stupidly out herself. How best to play this? The odds better be in her favour.

Nightmares.

She lipped the cigarette. No man that had gone to the front and lived to talk about it slept easy. Ypres, the Somme, Arras and countless other battles littered her memory. The articles in the newspaper were horrific, hundreds of thousands dead in any given battle. The rot and stench of dead men permeating the countryside for miles. Beatrice couldn't lie about that, her conscience wouldn't let her. If this was a game, she was going to play it safe. “Nightmares sir? Bags of em. None that a fellah could remember. Too many living men ter worry about.” Putting out the butt of her cigarette she nodded at the papers on the table. “Books er done.”

Another deflection; he did not mind. He wanted someone without messy political connections, without direct Blinders affiliation, without potentially dangerous hubris. Someone with their wits about them. Holloway fit the bill. He crossed to lean over the desk, giving the papers a cursory glance. “I’ve friends in the war office,” he said. “They never heard of you neither.” He glanced up at Beatrice, with her fine features and steady hands and intelligent eyes. “I’ll keep your secrets, so long as you keep one of mine. I’ve an errand for you.”

He held up a tenner - two week’s salary for the average worker. “I want you to go to lunch. Next Friday, one o’clock.” He slid a map across the desk. “There’s a man, a Communist, what’ll be there.” A photograph joined the map. “You’ve only to listen, and I don’t care how you do it. I want to know who he meets, and what he wants, and who’s behind him. I want to know what he says and when he shits and where he sleeps. You give me anything useful, I’ll double the pay.”

And then he pressed the banknote into her palm, and he leaned in until they were eye-to-eye. “One more thing. You don’t work for me. Not on Friday. Understand?” Sending a Blinders boy into the restaurant would shatter the long-standing truce which governed Birmingham battle lines. He was nearly certain that the Italians didn’t know that a Communist seditionist had made a reservation within their territory; it would be best for everyone if they remained unaware of the fact. Perhaps Chapman had chosen the location to avoid the police, or the Blinders, or simply because it was the last place anyone would look for him.

The chill Beatrice felt from Tommy Shelby’s intense gaze lingered, making her spine tingle. She gently folded the banknote and slipped it into her shirt pocket with the packet of cigarettes. If she and Frank had one thing in common it was their drive for money, though Beatrice liked to think she had a better rein on hers. Eavesdropping and sneak thievery and communism were not things generally covered under the credentials of a regular bookie, but for this kind of money she couldn’t complain, or for that matter, decline. Perhaps, after this, she would be allowed a bit of wiggle room to make herself comfortable.

“Right, Friday I’m just a poor single fellah grabb’n a bevvy. Can’t help if ay hear a thing or two, canna?” Beatrice tapped her breast pocket. “Mum’s the word.” Her heart was hammering a merry little jig in her chest now.

Money was a beautiful thing. So long as you had it, anyhow. “I think,” said Tommy, “that you and I’ll get along just fine. Dress sharp on Friday. I’ll find you after.” He straightened. He was halfway to the door when he added, over his shoulder: “And, for chrissakes, lose the accent. Stands out. If that’s beyond you, keep your focking mouth shut.”

With that, Thomas Shelby departed.
 
The Reason is You
Location: Church > Unknown Bar outside of Birmingham
Mentions: Howard Bell (NPC), Polly Gray (NPC), Tommy Shelby (NPC), John @kaleidoscopique & Lizzie @Kat

Lizzie arrived at Father Hughe’s church five minutes before eight. She didn’t want much to do by way of thinking about why on Earth she agreed to meet John at eight to go somewhere other than Birmingham. His aunt had probably heard their brief conversation and knew they were headed out somewhere. Lizzie wasn’t quite sure what this was either— a talk or a date.

Her mind betrayed her to consider the consequences of her decision. Where were they going? Would John be there if something bad happened at the pub? Her thoughts were muddled and inconsistent. A pair of headlights showed up a few moments later and the car stopped on the side of the road in front of the church. She could faintly see John inside and when he rounded the vehicle itself to greet her, everything seemed to be ‘normal’ until she reminded herself that this was not a game, that their talk was only a discussion and need for closure, nothing more.

“Hello,” she greeted. “You came.”

John took in the sight of her, and the reality of what he was doing sunk in. “‘Course I did,” he said, though the same thought had crossed his mind. He grinned. He felt uncharacteristically nervous; he’d fussed in front of the mirror before leaving to the extent that his aunt must have noticed, as she’d issued an obtuse warning about broken hearts and hormone-fueled decisions as he’d stepped out the door. His brothers, mercifully, were busy elsewhere, Ada was with the kids, and nobody had stopped him.

Lizzie opted to keep her distance the moment John stopped in front of her, in the flesh. Even though she could've made the choice to embrace him, she kept to herself. It was already awkward enough and she didn't want to be more of a burden to the complications their relationship posed.

"Thank you for picking me up. Truly, thank you. I wasn't sure what to expect."

At that, John cracked a broad smile. “No expectations. Just a drink.” Truth be told, his stomach was knotted with tension; usually he ran the opposite direction when someone proposed to ‘talk’. However, that would’ve been both immature and unhelpful; he knew they both needed this. And so, he held open the passenger door for Lizzie - the girl from his past, the girl with whom he couldn’t see a future. The girl he thought he could probably love.

Lizzie cleared her throat, “Right. Of course. No expectations, just a drink. Thank you.”

Her chest hurt as she sat in the vehicle and her fingers threatened to turn ghostly as she clutched her purse. John shut the door behind her, then hopped into the driver’s seat and geared out of neutral. And then they were off.

A part of Lizzie wished it was the day time when there were more cars and more people. It wouldn’t be dead silence then like it was now, driving down the road, both parties wondering what to say.

“Um, I’m sorry, you know. I’m sorry I slapped you the other day,” Lizzie spoke up after a while. She turned her head to John. “I was drunk and angry. I didn’t have the right mind then.”

“Yeah. You were completely out of line,” he said. He found, to his surprise, that he’d gained enough distance to find the whole thing comical rather than mortifying. He snorted. “‘Least you’ve got balls though.” Then, “I’m sorry too. Not about that bit. About the things I never said. About the letter I never sent, after the war.”

“It’s alright. I’m certain you had your reasons for keeping it a secret and the letter you never sent. The truth of the matter though, is that we were both dumb and young. We didn’t know what we were doing,” Lizzie responded, forcing herself to hold back emotion. It wouldn’t do them any good if she broke down during their discussion. “I’ve thought a lot about everything, John. I know the past cannot be undone and I’m sorry. I’m not good with words when… when this sort of thing happens. I know you deserve much better than the woman I’ve been. I’ve done terrible things, I’ve kept things from you and I take full responsibility for that. I should’ve told you I was married, who I really was.”

The truth made her chest feel tight. Why did he want to see her anyways? Hadn’t he said before that he didn’t want to see her for a while? Lizzie figured that maybe she really was just some woman hitched to a bloody copper. She turned the other way, her voice low and somber.

“No words can take back what I did and for that, I’m truly sorry.”

John was silent for a long moment, the only sound that of the engine. Then, quite at odds with Lizzie’s heartfelt words, he couldn’t help it: he let out a snort of laughter. “Christ,” he said. “It’s just- we’re quite the pair.” The situation was kind of funny, now that some of his anger had subsided. Either that or humor was his next best coping strategy after violence. He was quiet for another moment, but the right response was nowhere to be found. He still wanted to hate her, to hold her accountable, but then any chance they had would be lost forever.

Instead, he tried a different tact. “How about this?” he suggested. “We can’t undo the past. Fine; let’s give each other a shot at the present. Clear the air, like.”

He cleared his throat, and adopted a narrative tone. “Let’s put aside the past. Just for tonight. Tonight, I’m just a bloke with a motorcar, and you’re the lady who agreed to accompany me for a drink.” He took one hand off the wheel to hold it to his chest. “John Shelby. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Let’s start there, yeah?”

Lizzie glanced over, a small smile spreading over her face. She held back a giggle, “Regina Elizabeth McGowan-Bell. You can call me Lizzie though. I like that name better than my first one. Pleasure to make your acquaintance as well. Thank you for picking me up at church. Late night confessions, though my husband had business to attend to so he couldn’t pick me up. I was growing tired of God ringing in my ears for once.”

The mood had shifted; John was pleased that she was playing along. “Funny,” he said. “In my experience, God says nothing at all. Especially when you want answers. I myself have wrapped up all business for the day; tonight is purely pleasure.”

By now, they had traveled away from the familiar smells and sights of their habitual hauntings. The air was moderately cleaner, and the passing people were unfamiliar. John was in an adventurous mood. He pulled up beside the first unfamiliar drinking establishment which they encountered. It looked friendly enough; warm light spilled onto the street, and as the engine slowed to a halt, a bout of laughter emerged as two men stepped out of the door. Best of all, he was blissfully ignorant of precisely where they were, and between the lines of friendly and enemy territory. He pocketed the keys and bounded out of the vehicle to open Lizzie’s door with a flourish.

“Are you sure this is safe for a woman like me, sir?” Lizzie grinned as she stepped down from the car with John’s help. The door shut behind her and she wrapped her hand his arm when offered. “Seems a bit spontaneous coming all the way out here. I like it. Will you keep me company?”

“So long as you’re with me, you’re plenty safe,” he said with a roguish smile. “I s’pose it’d be only polite to stick around, seeing as how I dragged you out here. And, by the way, I like a woman with a sense of adventure. You might need it to survive the evening.” He held the door open, then followed her inside.

They were greeted with the melodic strains of a jazz crooner accompanied by a slow bass and a wash of vibrant conversation. The clientele was of slightly higher class than that of the Garrison, and they carried a whiff of desperate aspiration. The walls were paneled oak, and the scratched tabletops bore testament to old scrapes and the indelible initials of sweethearts, most of which were to outlast emotion. Nobody paid any notice to the newcomers. It felt unfamiliar. That was precisely the point.

They found a quiet booth in the corner. John shrugged off his overcoat, then turned to his companion. “So, Miss Lizzie, what’s your poison? I’ll fetch us a drink.”

“Irish whiskey please, on the rocks. Thank you, John,” Lizzie responded with a smile and shrugged off her own coat. She settled in the booth a bit and let her shoulders relax.

“What an interesting choice of music.”

A minute later, he returned with two identical glasses of amber liquid, slid one across the table towards her before settling in opposite. He was sharply aware of the distance between their knees. “So,” he said. “You’ve a taste for hard liquor and spontaneity. What else should I know about you?”

“Eager to learn, I see. Curiosity, like a child,” Lizzie observed and leaned in. She took a drink and brought out a silver cigarette case from her purse. “I wish I had more exciting things to share, but I suppose I’ll start with the boring part of me. Married, to the head of police. Have been, but I hate it. He snores and it’s god awful,” she grinned, lighting herself a match. “I was a war nurse during the war. Pretty sure I did the worst of the job and the ladies often giggled around me for some reason when we weren’t treating the worst. I love adventure, especially when it can be found in writing. I’m told that my heart is… wild, something that cannot be tamed, and perhaps it’s true. Nothing is truer than a poet’s words.”

She took another sip of her whiskey.

“So, what do you have to say for yourself, John Shelby? I hear bad things… Perhaps you’d like to disprove the things I’ve heard.”

Five minutes. They’d been at this for five minutes, and already they’d covered more of the basics than the had managed over the course of an entire hospital stay. True, he’d been delirious for the first few days, and she’d been busy the whole time, and neither of them had wanted anything to do with hard truths at a time when hardship was a staple. But still.

John leaned back in his seat, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. Dunno what you’ve heard, but it’s probably true. The things I’ve done’d give you nightmares,” he said, with relish. “I’m from a family what does what it’s got to do, and it’s not always pretty. But family comes first.” He took took a sip. “I can still remember a time before all that. Back then, I wouldn’tve dreamt of growing up to be in a place like this, much less with a woman like you.” He gestured broadly at the surrounding room. “And then there was Tommy. Then, there was war. We brought it home with us. Some more than others I guess. But you can’t teach a man to fight and then expect him to uphold an unjust peace.”

He looked down at his glass, a finger idly tracing the rim. In the spirit of honesty, he decided to spit it out. His tone was nonchalant. “There was a wife, once. Pretty little thing. You think you and I were young? Fuck. She and I must’ve been children. I enlisted two weeks after the wedding. Saw her once or twice after that. When they finally shipped me home for good, I found Pol waiting with four little kids - two of them mine, plus me siblings - all in mourning black.” He looked up, and somehow what had begun as a game was now so real that it burned in his throat. “And that was the end of my marriage. Pestilence got her. Hell. It got closer to her than I ever did.”

“Oh god, John,” Lizzie’s voice was grave. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine. Pol… Does she help with the Shelbys as a whole or just your kids? It seems she plays a big part in caring for everyone. It mustn’t be easy, being a father with two kids.”

It was bizarre to be speaking about these matters head-on after so much skirting around them. And yet it felt right. John liked to talk. He couldn’t simply shut things off, nor did he want to, but it had been a long time since he’d had anyone outside of family to talk to. “Tommy might run the business,” he said, “but Pol runs the family. Dunno what I’dve done without her.” He narrowed his eyes in sudden suspicion. “You talk about her like you know her.” It occurred to him then that he might have said too much.

Lizzie took a short drag on her cigarette, well aware of the mistake she’d made. It seemed assumptions were not the way to go now. “She said hello to me briefly before, but that doesn’t mean I know her. You said she was waiting with kids, John. A family woman. The job of a single parent cannot always be taken on alone. I’m sorry I made that assumption.”

“Right.” John gave himself a mental shake. He fell silent for a moment. He’d run out of words, or at least of the desire to use them. He didn’t want to spoil their time together with suspicion. Then, abruptly, and despite the fact that this was not really the venue, “Want to dance?”

Lizzie was at a loss for words. Had she said something out of line? He danced? She took a deep breath and drank the rest of her whiskey. She really needed more.

“I’d love to.”

She crushed her cigarette in the ashtray, took his hand, and they went out to the middle of the floor where a few other patrons were.

“You surprise me more and yet, no matter how hard I try, I still can’t read you.”

Truth be told, he didn’t dance- at least, not often, nor particularly well, though his confidence made up for a lack of technical prowess. It wasn’t as though the skill was in high demand around Small Heath. But he wanted a respite from words. He wanted the catharsis of action. He wanted this: her hand in his, and their bodies moving in sync. The music was slow enough to permit conversation.

He smiled at her words. “Ada says I’m an open book. Still, she’s known me an awful lot longer than you have.”

“Who’s Ada?” Lizzie spoke to John, her voice low enough that she she was certain he was the only one who could hear her. “Can I ask that question?”

“Oh,” he said, somewhat sheepishly. “Yeah, it’s not a state secret. She’s my sister. Blimey; maybe I’ve gotten too used to spending time with people who know us by reputation. What about you? Any siblings?”

A small chuckle surfaced, “Ah, forgive me if I have too many questions. I’m a curious woman. No siblings, it was a bit lonely at times. I had an older brother but… He passed away during childbirth. That’s what my mother tells me anyways.”

“Can’t imagine life without brothers. It’d be quieter, anyway.” He winced as he caught the toe of her foot. “Shit! Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she chuckled a little.

The song ended, and another began, faster this time. Their movements picked up speed. John was grinning now, an easy boyish smile which revealed no trace of his past. The energy of the music was contagious. Lizzie pulled back a little to keep up with the steady change of pace. Her eyes glanced at the ground briefly before they found his eyes and Lizzie looked away again, her cheeks warming up.

SPLIT IT

Time hung suspended, and John drank it in, desperate to exist only in this single glorious moment. Songs passed. Couples came and went, and still they danced. They danced until their faces were flushed, their hair mussed, their eyes alight with enjoyment. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d taken such pleasure in such a wholesome activity. He felt good. He felt drunk on the room and the rhythm and the woman in his arms.

And then, as the music slowed and the night wore on, he caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the windowpane. He looked happy. He stopped, a lump rising in his throat, oblivious to a pair of dancers who nearly collided with him. His hands fell to his sides.

“Need some air,” he mumbled, before pulling away.

“Oh, okay,” Lizzie’s words were soft.

He made a break for the relative quiet of the street. He reached automatically for a smoke, but his jacket still lay in the booth. Instead, he rested his forehead against the brick wall and tried to resist the urge to hit somebody.

The night had been going so well. Too well. Therein lay the problem.

Lizzie took a deep breath, grabbed her purse, and tried to force her heart to slow down. She ordered another whiskey on the rocks, downed that on the spot, and went to the women’s lavatory. All at once, Lizzie could feel a torrid of emotions rushing through, ones that she’d kept secret from John their entire night. For a time, she was glad he’d gone out, however, she was also ashamed she felt she could not feel what she was feeling in front of him.

Lizzie rubbed her face and with a shaky breath, she left the lavatory. A third drink would calm her nerves. She asked for another Irish and a glass of water then sat down at the bar. The liquid burned inside her mouth and she ran her fingers through her hair. She needed to find John and head home. Her husband was already worried sick about her whereabouts.

When fresh air proved not to solve anything, John re-entered the building. First, he fetched his coat from behind the disgruntled couple who had taken the booth; it had been through enough that he wasn’t eager to lose it again anytime soon. He glanced around, spotted Lizzie at the bar, and made a beeline in her direction.

He tapped the shoulder of the occupant of one of the adjacent bar stools: an older man, who had been staring contemplatively at his mug until the interruption. “Fuck off,” said John. After sizing him up, the man proceeded to do so.

John slid in next to Lizzie. He slammed his palm against the bar. “Another drink.” And, when it came, he downed half the glass. He could feel tension coiling again: not anger this time so much as frustration. He didn’t look at the woman beside him.

“John.”

Lizzie’s voice seemed calm to those who weren’t aware, though there was a considerable amount of shakiness in her breath every time she inhaled and exhaled.

“We’re doing it again. We’re not confronting the real situation at hand. When you’re done, do you have a moment to spare in the backroom?”

She was right. Of course she was right. And so he took another fortifying swallow before clambering to his feet again. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s go.” And he headed for the door at the back of the room, heedless of the handwritten ‘Employees Only’ card.

Lizzie followed immediately. When they’d made it into the room, she shut the door and locked it. Her head leaned against the door and for a moment, she cursed at herself for drinking, and then she pulled back. They couldn’t keep trying to run from each other.

“We’re adults, we’ve got this. I don’t even know where to start, damn it,” she spoke with exhaustion. “John, please tell me what you’re feeling right now. If I told you how I was first, I don’t think you would know how to comprehend it. I don’t want to be a burden any more than I probably already have been and I’m sure we both just want to get this out of the way.”

John snorted. “You want to know how I’m feeling? Fine. I feel like I’ve got a fucking problem, Lizzie. You’re married. Pol’d tell me you’re unstable, and that I’ve two kids what need a mother. Tommy’d say that no woman is worth pissing off the coppers. That I can’t trust you. They’d both be right.” He took a step closer, so close they might still have been dancing. “But you know what the problem is?”

And then he kissed her.

A part of him had hoped she’d push him off; it would have been simpler. Instead, she sank into him, her fingers lingered on the sides of his neck, and her touch was achingly familiar. The kiss was all hard emotion and soft lips and things long-unsaid. One hand twined its way into her hair, and his teeth grazed her lower lip.

Then, at last, he pulled back. He cupped her cheeks, rested his forehead against hers. Their eyes met. “That’s how I feel, Lizzie.” he said. “Dunno what the fuck to do about it, but there it is. I still care about you. Probably always will, so long as you’re within reach. That’s the problem.”

“John,” she whispered, her hands touching his. A few silent tears slid down her cheek. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair that we have to be secretive. Pol is right though. I’m a mess. Tommy, maybe he’s right too. I’m not worth all this trouble. Why do you go to all this trouble for me, John? It breaks my heart."

“Dunno.” He brushed aside her tears with the pad of his thumb. “God knows why, but somehow it feels worth the trouble. I want this to work, Lizzie. You and me, it feels- good. Really good. Just tell me you want to make this work, and I’ll find a way, and everyone else can go fuck themselves.”

“I want this, John. I want to make it work. I want us to be together,” Lizzie murmured, nuzzling her cheek against his hand. “No one is going to get in our way. No one.”

She pressed a kiss against his cheek and embraced him. A part of her thought back to what Harry had said about John being a bad man and the Peaky Blinders being bad people and not people she should mess with. Perhaps Harry was right.

John felt a rush of plunging warmth. “No one,” he repeated. “Anyone tries, I’ll make ‘em wish they hadn’t.” He could hear his heartbeat. He was close enough to feel hers. Suddenly, the small space felt too hot, his jacket confining. The space between them a black hole, tugging him irresistibly closer. Her eyes so bright he couldn’t look away.

He sank into her gravitational pull and she his. His jacket slid to the floor as he pushed her against the door and his lips met the curve of her neck. A sigh of content left Lizzie’s lips at the flesh to flesh contact and her fingers slipped through his hair.

In that moment, no matter what came before or after, the world made a perfect shining sense.
 
  • Bucket of Rainbows
Reactions: kaleidoscopique


richard + alekseixxx

Location: ‘Little Italy’, Digbeth, Birmingham

~ a week later ~

Friday, midday. A sense of anticipation hung over the working classes; the weekend was tantalizingly close. The sky spat and shifted uneasily, a fine drizzle pattering off umbrellas and running in rivulets down the roads.

Aleksei Petrov dashed down the street, mud squelching in his wake, collar turned up against the damp. His pulse galloped, and not only from exertion; today could very well be a turning point. For two whole years, he’d been stagnating in this backwaters city, unwilling to sit still, unable to go home (though he would have tried, if it weren’t for the civil war). Now, wheels were at last turning. Chapman had been his key. The two men shared a vision. They had shared evenings and ideas and tales of near-misses, and by now they were friends.

Today’s meeting was bigger than either of them. Petrov had reached out to the few contacts he still held, casting out messages with all the precision of a stranded sailor chucking bottles into the sea. At last, one of them had washed up on friendly shores.

The closer he drew to the assigned meeting place, the more nervous he grew. This was not the sort of neighborhood which Aleksei frequented. He paused before the door to double-check the scrap of paper in his pocket; this was indeed the place. An unassuming little restaurant in the Italian-run district, with faded cheerful awning and a display of imported foodstuff in the window. He felt for the reassurance of the revolver in his waistband. The venue had been selected by a man he knew only by name, though Richard seemed to trust the guy. Aleksei had shaved his beard, the better to blend in; his accent was unshakable, but his appearance was now utterly unremarkable.

A bell jingled as he opened the door. His every sense was on high alert for a betrayal. When he spotted the unmistakable silhouette of Chapman, he relaxed a hair.

“Signor?”

Aleksei was startled, both by the term of address and by the waiter who had uttered it. Before he could do anything stupid, the man gestured him towards Chapman’s table. Thoroughly bemused, Aleksei sank into one of the seats. “Comrade,” he said, voice low, “I do not understand. Why this place?” It made him uncomfortable to be waited upon, and neither he nor Chapman had a penny to spare; sacrifices were almost a point of pride. More importantly, he did not understand what Birmingham’s Little Italy had to do with revolution.

Chapman let out a snort of laughter. He’d borrowed a suit for the occasion, which sat awkwardly on his wiry frame. “Good fucking question,” he said. “It’s because of the man I wanted you to talk to. Apparently, we’ve got brothers in Italy as well now. Apparently, when one of them comes to Birmingham, the safest place to hide is in a cousin’s restaurant. The coppers know his face, and they want him bad; he doesn’t dare leave the territory.” He cast a look of distaste at their cozy surroundings. The place was certainly not upscale, but it was clean and well-behaved. Many of the patrons were Italian; many were not. Most were on lunch break, and none of them were particularly important people. “Funniest part is, the cousin’s the only one what knows he’s been printing flyers in the basement. This place is practically a safehouse, protected by a protection fee to the bloody mob, right under their noses. Nobody’s dumb enough to start a fight here what has nothing to do with them.”

Petrov raised an incredulous eyebrow. “And the Italian?” He’d started picking hungrily at the complementary bread rolls.

“On his way. And Sellers should be here any minute.” Ollie Sellers was another member of the Birmingham Communist Party.

“You are certain that nobody will disturb us? Notice us?” He thought it more prudent to meet in a back room, away from prying eyes, but their partner had insisted that meeting for a drink would attract fewer curious ears in this quarter than any amount of sneaking about.

Chapman glanced at their fellow patrons. “These people aren’t interested in external politics. They’ve got their own lives to worry about. Anyway, nobody this part of town knows who we are. Our conversation won’t leave this room.”​
 
  • Bucket of Rainbows
Reactions: junebug
Later that night, as Lizzie returned to the street she called home, her fingers coiled around John’s hand. They sat in silence on the edge of a street one block down. Her hair was decent at best, body hot from the intimate moment she’d shared with John. Lizzie tried to clean up as best as she could, in case Howard was awake. Her husband hadn’t had quality sleep lately.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Lizzie murmured, already missing the feel of John’s chest against hers. Her brown eyes met John’s blue ones. There were still so many things left unsaid, so many things they didn’t know about each other. Perhaps it would take a while to warm up to the idea of falling in love with someone you didn’t think you’d have a chance with.

“I had a wonderful night and I’d do it all over again,” she said. “I… Mm, just… Just stay with me like this for a while longer.”

Lizzie crawled over onto John’s lap with his permission and her left hand rested at the back of his neck. She closed her eyes, leaned her forehead against his, and listened to John’s steady breathing. She placed her right hand on his chest and felt his heartbeat in sync with her own. The world was beautiful again, and nothing was more beautiful than them.

“John…”

Her voice was soft, gentle.

“John, I… I should probably go now. I don’t want to keep you too long.”

She smiled a little and the two shared a deep, heartfelt kiss before Lizzie departed and John watched her walk down the street and up the steps to the place where she lived. Lizzie swallowed hard, mind blank as she pulled her coat to her chest and unlocked the door. It was dark, a sign that hopefully, Howard was asleep, or at the very least, he tried to sleep.

Lizzie shut the door behind her quietly and took off her shoes. Her body felt wild and amazing from what John had done to her. She wasn’t sure if she could sit still or fall asleep in the same bed with Howard anymore, not when she wanted John, not when she needed him.

“Liz?”

The lights flickered on and Lizzie’s heart stopped at the familiar voice.

“I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about you and where you were. I kept thinking about how wrong everything’s been between us. What happened?”

“I went out to drink,” Lizzie responded nonchalantly. “I had three whiskeys, less than before.”

“That’s good. You’re trying, aren’t you?”

“I suppose so. You should be in bed, Howard. It’s late at night.”

Lizzie’s back was still turned as Howard approached her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She didn’t look towards him and the man immediately noticed she felt… warmer than usual.

“Your skin… it’s flushed. You had more than three,” Howard assumed, disappointment lingering in his tone as he turned to face her. “Look at me, Lizzie.”

Briefly, their eyes made contact.

“How do you think I walked home? If I had a lot more, I’d be vomiting, right?”

Lizzie looked away again and tried to walk away. Howard caught her by the arm.

“Wait. What the hell were you doing? You look like you were a fight. Your hair is all messed up, makeup’s all fucked over. Regina...”

His voice was stern and Lizzie immediately tore her arm away from her husband, tears threatening to burst. She had to put on a front. Maybe he would back off for now at least and let her doze off in peace. Lizzie didn’t want her night ruined by suspicion.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m tired and I just want to sleep.”

“What did you do?” Howard reached out and his fingers touched her collarbone. Sweat. Howard instinctively pulled back, shocked at his revelation.

“You…”

“Don’t say it.”

“Where’s that coat you had? Is it his? Is that who you saw?” Howard’s voice rose a decibel, frustration and dejection laced in.

“Howard, please, not right now,” Lizzie sighed, exasperated. She ran her hand through her hair.

“No, you better tell me what the fuck happened! Regina, I’ve tried so hard to give you what you want and this is what you do?! Fuck… What do you want from me? What does he have that I don’t?! I’ve given you safety, shelter, love… everything a woman could—!”

“Just shut up!” Lizzie’s voice rose sharp. Silence.

“Shut up, Howard. You…” Her eyes blurred and she felt tears come down her cheek. “You’re scaring me. You’re yelling at me like something’s wrong with me, like you always have, and maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe I’m just some stupid wife who has a problem drinking. I don’t love you, I never have. I don’t want to talk about this after I’ve just had one of the most amazing nights of my life. Please… don’t get angry with me right now… Please. You can beat me later mid morning. It’s okay, I can take it.”

Lizzie left Howard promptly, the man speechless, and that early morning, she slept in a cold guest bed.
 
  • Like
Reactions: kaleidoscopique