big shot ➝ peaky blinders

ONE

[excuse the hat in the gif if you will ty]

SEPTEMBER, 1922
CAMDEN TOWN

-

She had promised herself she wouldn't let that memory relive itself ever again - but here she was.

A tear had somehow escaped from the corner of her eye without her noticing, and she swiped it away quickly, staring into thin air. 

There's no point to crying, she told herself silently, it's over. Get a hold on yourself. 

The bottle of amber scotch on her desk was within arms reach, but she decided to hold back. Instead, she fished the pack of cigarettes from her pocket, and lounged back in her chair as she stuck one in between her teeth with slim, elegant fingers. She fished her match box from her other pocket, drew one out and struck it, and held the flame up to the cigarette, shielding it with her free hand. 

It caught quickly, and she was shook the match forcefully to extinguish the flame as she inhaled deeply. As soon as the nicotine coursed through her, she relaxed, pushing her shoulder length, wavy brown hair out of her face, and momentarily forgot that one dreadful memory.

It's over. You never have to do it again. It's over.

She sat there, unmoving, for a moment, the cigarette smoke drifting about her face. It was a pretty face, in a roughly edged way. Pale, oval shaped, with a square jaw and beautiful cheekbones. Her brown eyes were hard and cold, framed with thick, dark eyebrows. Her lips were pale and moderately plump, with little smile marks at either corner. She had wavy, shiny brown hair that reached just above her shoulders, and wore a tailor-made, black pinstripe two-piece suit. 

But even though her eyes were off-putting, when she smiled, they lit up. Her entire face lifted, and she suddenly looked different. You began to notice how pretty she really was, something you couldn't see when she looked as she normally did - cold. Unapproachable. 

But she hardly smiled anymore - not genuinely, anyway. Only around people she was close to, did she smile properly.

So, really, the woman was only truly beautiful when you looked close.

Suddenly, the shouts and laughter from the hall beyond her office filtered in as the door swung open, and the woman winced, drawing the cigarette out from her mouth and glaring at her visitor.

"Good God, Claude, what are you all doing out there? I thought you were meant to be preparing the next delivery, not pre-drinking," she called to him, resting one hand on the arm of her chair and holding her cigarette up with the other.

Claude Foreman, her assistant, gave a half-smile as he closed the door, his blue eyes bright. "We are working, Miss Mercer."

He was an oddly good looking man, with light blonde hair, blue eyes, and high but unremarkable cheekbones. He had lines either side of his mouth that only appeared when he smiled, and dressed exclusively in navy blue suits. He had been her assistant for at least two years, and he'd never once arrived to work late.

Before replacing the cigarette in between her teeth, the woman rolled her eyes. "How many times have I told you to call me Dot? Or just Dorothy, even, if Dot is too informal for you?"