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At thirteen and three quarters, Polly-Anna trusted very few people and Thomas Shelby had barely been one of them.
So, when she saw a startled Thomas banging his fists against the tailors door at eight fifty three, she was perplexed. She was almost certain she said she'd be there for nine at the latest, and she still gad time to make the five minute journey back to their house on Watery Lane.
Having already put away most of her equipment, minus the big heavy fabric scissors and her own orange thread, she apprehensively approached the door, a pair of duller scissors behind her back- in case it was all a rouse to get her out into the open.
Forgive me father, for I am scared of what could happen and I don't want to be held accountable for my actions created from panic and fear. She had every right to be fearful, especially of the unknown.
The unknown was where secrets lie, it's where the things that people want hidden come to life— it's where every single insecurity that Polly-Anna had ever had lingers, trying to find the next person to latch onto.
Thomas all but burst into the tailors, blood dripping from his nose- which wasn't exactly what she wanted to see. The usually levelheaded and calm Thomas Shelby was anything but that. He looked like a mess, his shirt untucked at the front, his once semi-kept hair now as messy as what she thought it would be in the mornings...
Not that she thought about what he looked like in the mornings—
As she watched the tears begin to well up in his eyes, she handed him a tissue, forcing his head backwards slightly- simply to examine the damage that had been done by what she hoped was an unsuspecting doorframe.
"I'm sorry— I just, didn't know who to go to, but now-" Thomas took a deep breath, sucking in as much air as his lungs allowed, "now I feel like I've scared you from here to Timbuktu."
Having no idea where this Timbuktu was, all she could do was nod with hesitance.
Using one hand to keep his head upright, no matter how much he tried to fight it, she got in closer. To a point where one wrong move and their noses would collide and surely cause the male in the room more pain than necessary. From her quick observation- an observation made from someone who didn't have a medical license or know anything about the medical field, she determined it to not be broken.
"Dare I—"
"Ambers fine, conked out in Johns room. Reading and spelling done for the weekend too. She's fine, unscathed— perfectly fine." His words sounded like he was trying to convince himself rather than her but she took it with hands wide open.
She was fine, and Polly-Anna didn't have to worry anymore about her... just the bleeding boy sat in her sewing chair.
"Then, dare I—?" She pointed towards the nose, finger wiggling from side to side.
