METHOD OF BEDLAM ━ 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ²

𝐢. 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ; a fear I have

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i. eight: ❝ a fear I have ❞

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: like real people do - hozier

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Somewhere in Small Heath, Birmingham

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It took only a few hours to get the gypsy James out of her high horse, with Diego, who's got to deal with her and see that annoying side of her. Once back in Birmingham, all trace of Marianna, the magnificent artist, was gone. She's back to being the all-round working orphan of the infamous James family.

Shuffling through the papers she needed to manage, Marianna's eyes were caught by the rushing figure of an elderly lady sauntering into her office.

"Aunt Pol, how have you been?" She asked nonchalantly, bringing her eyes back to the papers in her hand.

The elder lady narrowed her eyes at her and hissed. "Not well."

"I could perceive that." Marianna shrugged. She saw the paper Pol was holding. "You brought trouble, didn't you?"

"Is Arthur and John back?" Pol asked, ignoring her specific question.

Marianna tilted her head slightly, letting go of the papers. If the great Polly Grey is looking for the two troublemakers, it only means one thing.

Shaking her head, she answered. "No, why?"

"You know why." Aunt Pol susurrated, stepping closer to the table and exposing the patch of furtive distress they'll be facing. "Marianna, look. Here."

Mar needn't try to cover her apparent reassured expression. The exact expression the elder lady will see once she faces Thomas about the same predicament.

"That's an anonymous mail. Was gonna burn it, but the voices told me to show it to you."

Nodding, Marianna pursed her lips. "So, you're fighting, Thomas."

Instead of answering, the elder woman stared at her. As if she's an egg trying to be broken under the pressure of the heat of her gaze.

The younger woman bites her lower lip. The matter is not for her to bring out; yes, maybe she knew a portion of it and she's a bystander to the decision, but the overall matter was Thomas' idea. Lastly, she's not about to be a leeway for the anger the woman was feeling at that moment. She's merely a general manager, after all.

"Let's break bread together." She murmured after a long pause, acting coyly. "Sounds nice."

"This is war, Mar. Suicide," Aunt Pol said, clearly pissed off. "You should talk sense to Thomas."