Thomas Shelby Imagines

The artist

You watched Tommy as he made his round through the Garrison. It had been easy to figure out who he was. The entire pub muttered and whispered about him once he and his brothers moved off into the back room.

He'd noticed you a few times. Harry handed over napkins that you'd left behind at the bar and Tommy couldn't help but feel curious. He hadn't expected someone in the Garrison to be so talented. After that he tried his best to pick you out of the crowed. Often, he'd be leaning against one of the pillars while scanning the crowd for you, he'd never managed to spot you.

Not until tonight. You were staring at him, occasionally glancing at the bar in front of you. The next time you glanced up he was gone. Only for a moment. He'd taken a seat next to you. "Can I help you?" He asked, smiling at the clear surprise that ran through your face.

"I don't see what I could need help with." You answered quickly. "I suppose, another of these." You motioned to your drink as you picked it up, taking a swig.

"Who am I to object, hey." He said with a light chuckle in his tone as he motioned for a drink to be brought over.

The pattern continued for a while, he would stare from across the room, you'd do the same as you drew. Then you would leave and he'd pick up the drawings before Harry could. He'd never been around a woman like you before. You were self reliant like Poll but you looked different.

Your clothes were styled in ways he'd never seen and two glinted piercings ornate your eyebrow and lip. You had ideas that he found fascinating and he would spend the hours you drew him talking, listening to your response. He would spend the next day weighing over what you said before seeing you again and repeating the pattern.

"She here?" He asked hopefully as he stepped out of the cold, into the bar where Harry was trying to clear glasses as fast as he was serving them out.