THE SUN HAS LONG SINCE SET, AND AS USUAL, THE STREETS ARE TEEMING WITH NOCTURNAL FILTH. Whores in the streets, and the bars and beds of men and women alike, drunken soldiers drinking to forget their pain that followed them from the battlefield, and in the middle of it all is Eleanor Price.
It is her natural place in the order of things. Though she knows she is not filth, and every bit of said filth knows it, too, it has never taken away from the fact that she camouflages beautifully.
She nods at the men who step out of her way, because even if they're both wearing the same flat caps, it does not make them equals in any sense of the word. Eleanor takes her time, making her way to the quieter streets of her hometown before she finds herself standing before a black door, identical to the other buildings connected to it.
Strolling up to the door, she raps her knuckles on it three times, stiff and sure of her actions. If she smoked, this would perhaps be the time for a cigarette, but she hates the foul things.
The door opens slowly, and she smirks. Her brown eyes flicker upwards, her naturally short state giving her a disadvantage that people like to think they can take precedence over. Eleanor would only laugh.
"Michael, is it?" The man seems to retreat into himself at the sound of his name coming from her. Eleanor doesn't give him a chance to answer before she's pushing forward, her hands twisting into the fabric of his pajama shirt as she shoves him backwards into his home.
She hits the nearest wall, holding him against it as he pants out heavy, panicked breaths. "Tomorrow morning, there will be a prisoner transfer. You'll volunteer to escort a man, a prisoner by the name of Freddie Thorne with you to Brixton. There, you'll be intercepted by my men. You'll let Freddie Thorne go with them."
The man seems to regain some confidence and he looks down at her angrily. "Freddie Thorne's a communist. I've got no business working for a communist or his whore."
Eleanor gritted her teeth, tightening her grip on the man's clothes before taking a step away. "You have such nice eyes, Officer. I would hate to see them go."
The man's breathing stops for a moment, and Eleanor continues with a smug smirk.
"You will do as I've told you to do, Michael." She reaches up and slides the cap off of her head and flips it, the glint of the razor blades hitting his gaze immediately. "By order of the Peaky Blinders."
He nods, furiously, and Eleanor smiles, the tension leaving her body in a moment's time. She turns and walks back to the front door, swinging it wider as she steps out onto the street again. She glances over her shoulder and quirks a brow at the man. "For your sake, I hope we don't meet again, Officer. Sleep well."
