✔️ | 𝐛𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞; peaky blinders

･ ｡ﾟ°• ♔ •°─── 𝒙𝒙𝒙𝒊. 𝒆𝒚𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒚𝒆

soundtrack: sptfy.com/bbf31

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑𝟏
𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞
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"But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream." —Amos 5:24

For every battlefield there is a line drawn in the sand.  Four years ago, General Hopkins had sat the Shelby boys down and handed out their shovels.  You think that you are on one side, and the Germans the other, but no.  For every battlefield there is a line drawn in the sand between life and death.  Approach that line.  Do not be afraid of seeing the other side.  You cannot win if you don't look across.  But never cross—not even a hand, the toe of your boot, your nose.  Nothing. 

    For every battlefield there is a line drawn in the sand.  Tommy Shelby straightened his shoulders, gathered his men, and imagined it tracing the cobblestones of Garrison Court.  Men were only as good as the things that tethered them to their side: he had his family to look out for, Ada's new baby.  Beatrice.  Her name burned in his mouth with hot shame. 

    "Alright, men."  Today was not the day for guilt.  Tommy had returned to exactly where he had fucking always been: surviving by the skin of his teeth.  Just once, he wanted to win something, instead of scraping by.  "You were mostly in the war, so you know that battle plans always change and get fucked up.  Well, here it is. Things have changed.  We fight them here.  Today.  Alone."

    At the edge of the crowd, Tommy's eyes found Beatrice skirting around some of the men.  Christ.  Was that blood on her shirt?  Was it hers?

    "They're gonna come for the pub.  They're gonna try and break us up for good.  We have no help from the law today."   He lifted his hand and gestured at the Garrison over his shoulder with his gun.  In the back of the crowd, someone was handing Beatrice a rifle.  Tommy dropped his arms.  "What the fuck are you doing, Bill?" 

    The man blinked stupidly, as if he had no idea what he was doing.  Trixie smiled at him thinly, like she had enough knowledge for the both of them.  "She asked for a rifle."

    "Give that back, Beatrice," he instructed.  "She has no idea how to handle that."

    "Are you short on men or not?" she hollered back at him.  "John has two rifles.  How the fuck do you suppose he's going to fire both?"

    "Oi!" John shouted. 

    "You don't have time to argue with me," Beatrice insisted.  She looked proud of herself.  Tommy wanted to shut that pretty mouth of hers up, but they had to live to the end of the day first.  "Are you going to carry on, or what?"

    He flattened his mouth into a line.  Fucking Beatrice.  Lifting his gun back up towards the pub, he called out, "That Pub back there is called the Garrison.  Well, now it really is one.  And it belongs to us.  Right?"

    John lifted one of his rifles, and Tommy began to understand Beatrice's criticism of the weapon distribution.  "Right!" shouted his brothers, and soon their other men joined in.  Not his wife, though.  She was toying with the bullets in the chamber of her gun. 

    "How many are there?" Beatrice asked.  Her voice seemed to carry even without her shouting. 

    "Jeremiah says two Riley vans," Tommy replied.  "So I reckon we're outnumbered three to one." He watched her as she did the math on her own, concluding the equations with a shrug.  "Do you disagree?"