𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 ; tommy shelby

05 - 𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧

05.

               Small Heath was just as Emma had expected it would be, a small, industrial town filled with smoke and dirt. The woman glided through the streets in a long black trench coat. Underneath, she wore an emerald green suit, but instead of trousers that she usually wore, the suit went with a knee length skirt. Her long, blonde hair was tied in a low bun held together by a pin that had a rose cut onyx on the end. It had belonged to her mother

It had been almost a week since she'd seen Tommy, but Emma was going stir crazy, holed up in her hotel room with nothing to do. So here she was, in Small Heath.

Garrison lane was a mix of sparks flying and smoke rising up into the cold air. The sounds of clanging metal and shouts of working men filled the street, and children ran like feral little things around under no supervision, soot and dirt on their young faces. It was almost midday, but no noise escaped from the doors of the Garrison pub. Of course that would be odd for such a bustling little town, but Emma knew a thing or two about the Shelby family, and the Peaky Blinders, and how everyone in Small Heath answered to them. So if Thomas Shelby said the pub was off limits, the pub was off limits.

Emma reached a gloved hand out and pushed the door. It was open, so she walked in, scanning the room with her stormy blue eyes. It was completely empty, and the floor appeared to have been mopped recently. She stepped in, shutting the door behind her. She took her coat off as she walked over to the bar, lighting a cigarette. There were no stools, so she leaned on the gold surface.

Emma looked down at her reflection in the gold, and she looked like the beautiful figurehead of a ship at sea. She smiled at herself coyly, looking up at the bottles and taking a drag of her cigarette.

As she surveyed the numerous gin bottles, Emma wondered if Thomas Shelby was the sort of man who would be able to fix her a good gin martini. She decided it was unlikely, and besides, things were always better when she did them herself. Emma got up and walked around the bar, picking up a bottle of gin, vermouth and a glass. The vermouth was unopened and covered in dust.

Emma was twirling the gin and vermouth around in her glass with her pinky when the sound of a door closing caught her attention.

Thomas was stood in the doorway to the back room of the Garrison, and was staring at her intently, like he'd seen a ghost.

"I was wondering where you were," she said, licking the liquor off her little finger and smiling.

"Have you come to answer my questions then?" Tommy asked, heading over to the bar.

"What's happened to your manners?" Emma joked, turning around and picking up a whiskey bottle. She poured him a glass. "You aren't even going to ask how I am?"

There was a long pause. "How are you?"

"Bored," Emma said. "At least I was until I walked into your little pub. It's nice, what you've done with the place."

"Bored?" Tommy asked, sipping his whiskey.

"Yes," Emma responded. "I don't know that I'll stay in Birmingham much longer." A lie, of course.

"Is that so?" Tommy asked, clearly not convinced. "What happened to indefinitely?"

"I say a lot of things, Thomas," she said. "I don't always mean them."

"Right," Tommy finished the last of his drink and set it down onto the counter. "Before you leave, come to my house. We can talk, and you can give me those promised answers, eh?"

Emma pursed her lips. She couldn't give up so easily, but then again, who said she was going to give up.

"You know, I've heard stories about you, Mister Shelby," Emma said. "I think you know a friend of mine, actually. Or used to."

Tommy said nothing.

"Major Campbell," Emma said with a smirk. She knew all about how Thomas hated him, and how her sister had shot him in the leg.

Tommy's face stayed very still, but there was a flicker of hatred in his ice-blue eyes. Whether it was directed at her or the memory of Major Campbell, Emma wasn't sure, but she liked watching him squirm.

"I met him once, in Ireland," she went on. "You know my poor father, Grace's father was killed by one of those ruthless IRA men. Well Campbell and my father were friends before he died."

Tommy stayed silent and unflinching.

"I know your aunt killed him, I know he was going to kill you, and I know he made you kill a soldier," Emma smirked. "I know a lot of things about you, Thomas Shelby."

There was a long pause, while Emma waited for Thomas to retort. She loved how he responded to her when she provoked him like this. Usually people reacted to Emma's challenges with anger, but he never rose to it. Of course this only made her want to make him angry more, in that twisted way of hers.

"In five nights, come to mine at nine," Tommy said, stubbing his cigarette out in an ashtray on the bar.

Emma watched him walk towards the door to the back room and smiled when he turned to meet her eye.

"I look forward to it," she said as she walked around to pick up her coat on her way out of the pub.