Gold. Silver. Frankincense. Myrrh. Gifts fit for a God, but what is fit for the King of Birmingham?
What is fit for a man that already has everything a man could possibly want?
A little bit of Gold created Chaos, perhaps?
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Beneath a melancholy grey flooded the sky's, clouds as angry as screaming children- stood a widow and her children, next to them stood the family of the recently deceased. The silence that had once felt suffocating, was refreshing and well needed. It wasn't forced, but natural in all meanings of the word. The children remained somber, with sad little smiles as they tried to remember their father in the best of ways, and the brothers forced small smiles across their faces. It was hard to remember the good times when surrounded by those in mourning, around those who had cried a thousand tears.
Johnathan Shelby had been gunned down by the Italian Mafia, Changretta and his posse had guns that were no match to manually pumped shot guns. Their automatic weapons brought down a Shelby and almost destroyed the life of a Gray.
The four female Golds were stood, attempting to blend into the background, with their heads hung low.
Milly hated sad things. Funerals, crying children, no more wool on the basket- the important things. She hated feeling like she had to portray an emotion that wasn't really hers, too. She didn't feel sad for the man who had died, she didn't know him. She didn't have an emotional bond with him or his soul— she knew of his name and legacy, not his personality or humour.
Attempting to blend in was easy for three of them. Adorned in black, blues and dark greens, hair neatly tucked behind their ears. But then there was Milly, with yellows and golds scattered throughout her attire, she always had been one to stick out like a sore thumb.
"Milly, put your head down." Josette scolded her older sister, driving an elbow between her ribs.
With no desire to start an argument mid service, Milly forced her eyes to the ground. An awkward and tense atmosphere clogged the once easily breathable air. Something was about to happen, Milly just didn't know what.
"So— you're saying that Thomas Shelby predicted a funeral, so he hired us months in advance?" Nicolette asked Esmeralda in a hushed tone, the eldest Gold's response was a simple glare, followed by a soft nod.
It wasn't an uncommon occurrence that the Golds and their services would be required months in advance. Oftentimes, they'd work with groups that are between turf wars, or are inches away from being in one. But between the Italian mafia and a little group from Birmingham? Now that wasn't something anyone would've expected.
No one, except Thomas Shelby.
A few hundred feet in front of the Gold girls, stood a red headed boy with a curious outlook on life. Turning his head slightly to the right, revealed four people he hadn't ever noticed before. It wouldn't have surprised him if they were all married to one of the lesser members of the Peaky Blinders. However, one girl seemed to hold his gaze for longer than the others.
His aunt, stood by his right, pinched the skin on his hand to draw his attention back to the forefront. But his eyes- they kept wandering back. Again and again.
