There was a reflection, staring straight back at you in the golden gleam of the Garrison's bar top. But even as you knew you should have, you didn't recognize the woman who's eyes burned with strained vacancy. As though the orbs that were once saturated in a hue that emboldened her irises, had simply been drained of it's life, of it's shade, of it's very soul.
For they stared back at you, with an emptiness that was all-consuming. For not a single wave swirled within their gaze, not a tinge of depth or shimmer of light. They were simply embers that had been snuffed out on the side of the cobblestone, their exuberance and precious illumination extinguished, as if there had never been anything within their crevices to begin with.
Blinking your lashes wildly, as though it might just be able to swipe the image from the reflected surface, you looked away from the woman, for you knew the truth. You knew exactly what had been in her eyes, you knew what had been there and with it, you knew exactly what had been lost. Ripped from your clutches before you ever had the strength to retrieve it.
Your fingertips, painted a sleek burgundy red that nearly matched the shade that stained your lips, dug through your emerald embroidered coin purse. Brushing skin that had been frozen by the unforgiving Birmingham cold, against soft and silky fabric that nearly erased any trace of the lingering chill. But as your fingers danced along the bottom of your purse, searching for coins to pay the good barkeep for the whiskey coming your way, the cold that had just about been banished from your flesh, returned ten fold in a vicious gust of a spine tingling breath.
For as the frosted doors to the Garrison opened, letting the blow of winter's ever present icy wind seep along the hardwood, in walked along the trail of frigid air and ruthless Birmingham smog, a presence even more piercing than that of the falling November season.
Perhaps, you should have known immediately that he was there, felt his presence looming in the atmosphere like the threat of an impending storm and yet, your fingers abruptly paused in their pursuits and your breath hitched ever so faintly, as you felt the profound shadow of Small Heath's king cast across your shoulders. For his aura stole breath from lungs as though every inhale was up for the taking, but perhaps, for Thomas Shelby, there was nothing he couldn't have if he so desired it.
The sharp clatter of two coins hitting the bar top resounded beside you, drawing you back down to reality as Thomas stood to your right. His sudden company overwhelming, even as he'd yet to venture a word spoken into the shared air. One on top of another, Thomas placed the money down and as you peered over out of your peripheral view, you watched as his left middle finger pushed the coins forward for the barman to take. His hand vanished from your view as you watched his right hand dig into the pocket of his jacket, slipping out a worn pack of cigarettes and you watched as he pulled a single stick from the pack along with a box of matches.
"I thought all your drinks were on the house." Your voice was the first to break through the nearly impenetrable feeling void, that had settled with an intimidating presence between the two of you.
For even as the Garrison echoed with the inebriated voices of those who inhabited it, there was something about being in Thomas's company that nearly felt as though he had the very power to stop the world from turning. As though the gold pocket watch he always adorned, controlled time itself, leaving all of you up to his will.
For all of the men, nearing the edge of belligerency and the point where more beer and whiskey ran in their veins than blood, suddenly did not feel as boisterous or distracting. As though the noise, the mere atmosphere of the pub that reminded you in each and every crevice of it's wooden interior, of your roots here in Small Heath, faded to the background. Leaving you engulfed in a bubble, one that was dense and nearly suffocating as Thomas had the effortless ability to attract all of the focus, all of the air the room could provide.
