𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ♛ thomas shelby

xᴠɪ | sᴘᴜʀɴ ᴛʜʏ ɴᴀᴍᴇ

     Two sharp knocks broke the lighthearted banter. With a firm stride and quite a lot of hesitance — and a sharp knife from the cupboard tucked into the pocket of her pants - Lizzie opened the front door.

     The tall and lean sillouethe of Thomas Shelby loomed in her doorway. "Hello Lizzie."

     Lizzie narrowed her eyes through the smoky cloud, quick to spit out one singular word.

"No."

     "Excuse me?" Furrowing his eyebrows, the man in front of her exhaled the smoke in his lungs. He hasn't been refused by anyone in a very long time - he failed to count in the beautiful woman that slipped right through his fingers only weeks ago.

     "Not working today, Mr Shelby." She gave him a curt nod, hoping he got the message across. Just as she was about to shut the doors as sharply as she had opened them, his foot lodged between the doors and the doorframe.

     "And when will you be working? Shall I come later?" Thomas questioned, his ire slowly but steadily rising.

     "I won't be working for you." She refused again. It was her every right to do so — she still had her dignity.

     They were engaged in a silent standoff, him on the doormat and she with one hand on the door handle.

     "You need the money, Lizzie." He stressed that vile word, the one that continuously ruined all the joy in her existence.

"I do, but not yours. Good day Mr Shelby."

"Well I can't force you but-"

     "But I can force you out of my flat. Good day. " The doors shut right in the face of the most feared men in Birmingham without hesitation and with a resounding bang.

     Lizzie exhaled the remainder of the oxygen from her lungs in relief. "What a twat."

     Locking thrice behind her, and straightening the brass handle — a silly habit she harboured for years - Lizzie went back to her plans.

     The sound of water splashing against the sides of the iron tub was followed by Caterina's light voice calling out. "Who was that Liz?"

     Lizzie did not look up from rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, in search of the silver sicors she used to cut her own hair.

"Some troublesome idiot dear, nothing to worry about. "

Thomas Shelby was a problem for some other day.

*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*

     She shouldn't have been surprised at Lizzie knowing a huge amount of people.

     It was not necessarily because of her line of work, but because she was — deep down underneath her strict facade — an empathic and warm woman, easy to talk to and progressive in every possible way.

     To help her lay low for a while, she found her a place in one of the only bookstores in Birmingham. Hiding her behind the endless piles of musty books, Lizzie reckoned, was a proper catch.

     Of what use was a bookshop in a poor, illiterate quarter of Birmingham? After two uneventful weeks and only having sold four copies of The Bible before Christmas and some Emily Brontë, Caterina was miserable. The receivers of those gifts would most likely be miserable too.