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❝a look.❞ ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
"WHERE IS ARTHUR?"
Tommy looks up from his desk, raising his brows at Eleanor's sudden intrusion. "At the show with some girls,"
Eleanor rolls her eyes, sitting down across from him. "With some whores, you mean." She shakes her head exasperatedly at the thought of the eldest Shelby brother, picking a thread off of her trousers. Sighing, she looks up at Tommy with narrowed eyes. "What've you done?"
Tommy quirks a brow, his face passive. "I'm not sure what you mean."
"Don't play cute, you're horrible at it." She scoffs at the man, pushing her brown hair off of her face. "You and Pol earlier when I walked into the church, you looked when I mentioned the cop from Belfast."
"I looked?" He echoed incredulously, only making Eleanor's eyes flood with irritation.
"Yes, you bastard, you looked at Polly and she gave you a look- a look that said, 'Don't be fuckin' stupid, Tommy', so tell me what you've done this time."
Tommy always told Eleanor that she knew too much for her own good- that her brain was too big for her own safety. She'd always told him in response that she had to have a big brain because his was 'so goddamned small'.
There wasn't a moment he could ever recall where Eleanor hadn't been able to read him like a book, a feat that simultaneously saved his life and took years off of it.
With a sigh, he quickly concedes to her interrogation, knowing full well there was no use in denying her further because he'd just end up in more trouble with Polly if he did. The two women had it out for him.
"You remember how I sent the men to get those bikes with petrol engines?"
Eleanor nods, recalling how she'd insulted their intelligence while sending them on their way.
Tommy wipes a hand over his mouth, frustration seeping into his usually calm tone. "They picked up the wrong fucking crate. Now I've got a crate full of enough fucking guns and ammo to wipe out Birmingham, and a copper sent by Mr. Churchill himself to find 'em."
Eleanor's eyes widen and she stands from her chair, leaning across the desk to slap Tommy's arm repeatedly. "Are you fuckin' mad, Tommy? Did you get dropped on your head as a baby?"
Tommy winces, pulling away from her and grabbing her wrists in his hand to stop her from hitting him again. "Fuck, enough! I've already been beat on by Aunt Pol-"
"She should've given you a bloody lip! You're a fuckin' idiot, Tommy!" She jerks her hands out of his grip, meeting his glare with a steely one of her own.
"Ellie, I've already-"
"Unless you're telling me you've already dumped the guns in the Cut, or you've sent them off to London where the cops can find them, I don't want you to finish that sentence."
