𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ♛ thomas shelby

xxɪx | ʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴀ ᴍᴀᴛᴄʜ, ᴇɴᴅ ᴀ ʟɪғᴇ

John, closest to his cousin, clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome to the business, Michael," he announced grandly, almost far too loudly and shut up only when Esme pulled him down.

    "Welcome to the family," Cat stressed immediately, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

     Polly shone with indescribable pride, heart filled with love to the point of bursting.

With a clap of his hands, and then slamming one on the table, Arthur signalled for something stronger than the basin-brewed beer. "Right, come on, let's get him drunk."

"Whiskey!"

     "No whiskey. He's got work tomorrow. Give him only dark mild," Tommy ordered, making the rest of the booth groan.

"One whiskey," Cat pouted, trying to sway their leader with a flutter of her lashes.  "It's his birthday." There was not much he could do in retaliation. The fierce Tommy Shelby gave an exasperated sigh, the snug exploding in cheers again.

     "A toast," he grabbed one of the glasses, raising it in the boy's direction. "To Michael."

     The family echoed his toast, content to wash away their worries of the day with a hearty dose of Scottish brown gold.

*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*

     John dealt the cards again, for the third time that evening.

     "It's easy as that, John boy. London, you wouldn't believe it," with a content sigh on his lips, Arthur took another drag of his smoke. One might assume he was reminiscing something much profound than a libertine encounter with a lady of ambiguous morale.

     They'd been teaching Finn how to play poker for the last few hours, but the boy was a lost cause. Instead, Arthur decided to grace them with scandalous tales from London, or more precisely, his escapades with southern ladies.

"The women, John boy, the women. I've got this one, she's a dancer, right? She can do things with her-" he made a few abstract motions with his hands, trying to depict the curvaceous figure of the 'saucy London girl' — Arthur's words — that entertained him at the Eden Club and all her wonderful virtues.

Caterina threw a sharp glare over her cards, making sure to kick Arthur's shin under the table for a good measure.

"Finn, cover your ears," she told him. He was the last of the brothers still untainted by the horrors of the streets, rebellious but still a bright-eyed lad that deserved much more than any of them could give him.

"Let him listen Cat, might even learn a thing or two," he disregarded her worries, giving a wink to the rascal who soaked up his every word, like a sponge far too eager to grow up.

"He should be learning his sums and history, not how to fuck two girls at the same time," she rolled her eyes. Spying a lit cigarette between the fourteen-year-old's fingers, she reached over the table and plucked it straight out, his protests falling on deaf ears. "Shouldn't smoke this shit either."

     Arthur grunted underneath his breath, turning back to the cards in his hand. "Well, that's a knowledge he might actually use in life, unlike the bloody French Revolution."

Just as she was about to launch into a full blown discussion they were timely interrupted by Michael and Isaiaah walking through the door, slightly disheveled but smiling widely, carrying a pint each.