Bloodsport ; tommy shelby

𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓 - bless me father

The prayer book felt cold and useless in Iris' hands. She hadn't been to Church for years, apart from funerals and the odd wedding, but she had somehow found herself there one Thursday afternoon when she had nothing better to do. It wasn't the most spectacular church to say the least, but it was empty enough that Iris could attempt to clear her head. Small Heath had grown on her quickly, but it was becoming more and more difficult living in a place that reminded her so much of home. Her past felt like a pot of water, and this town was the flame under it, causing its secrets and darkness to bubble up and boil over. She had taken too big of a risk setting somewhere so close to home, but she couldn't seem to bring herself to leave.

Iris had been hiding something, a big something from her past that was beginning to drag her backwards. If anyone was to find out who she really was... Iris stopped herself. They wouldn't find out. She had kept her mouth shut for years now, going back to Birmingham wasn't going to change that.

She sighed, letting her mind wander to more trivial worries. She wondered if Betty had put the brooch back, or whether Iris had made a terrible mistake in trusting her. To make matters worse, iris was growing fonder by the day of her oddball of a friend.

Iris silently prayed for her secret to disappear into her mind, and that Betty wouldn't get caught. She shut her eyes, waiting for some sort of sign that didn't appear. With a sigh, Iris opened her eyes again, feeling no absolution or satisfaction. She got up, gulping back tears of frustration as she marched back down the aisle and out onto the street. She shakily lit a cigarette.

"Are you a religious woman, Iris Hancock?" The all-too familiar voice of Thomas Shelby spoke behind her.

The girl turned and sized him up. He stood next to a tall black horse, and wore a tailored three-piece suit with his coat and flat peak hat.

"Depends what day you ask me," Iris replied.

"How about today?" Thomas asked.

She shook her head.

"Walk with me," he offered, and Iris obliged. "I'm taking her to the stables," he said after noticing Iris sizing up his horse. "Training her to race."

"You like horses?" Iris asked. She held out a cigarette for him as she smoked her own, and he took it.

"I do." He said as she struck a match for him. "What about you?"

"I haven't ridden one for a long time," she admitted. "But my father used to bet on them, and my grandmother taught me and my siblings how to ride when we were young." Iris almost winced with the bitter sting that came with talking about them. She trailed off, wishing for a moment that she'd never bumped into Tommy in the first place.

"You miss them," Tommy stated.

"Sometimes." Iris shrugged in feigned nonchalance.

"Now." Tommy said in an oddly soft tone. "You miss them now."

Iris held back a gulp. For a girl who's guard had been stiffly up for years, there was something so utterly disarming about speaking to Thomas that stunned her. She barely knew him, and yet he seemed to catch her in the smallest falsehoods, perhaps without even realising it.

Iris caught his eye for a moment, then shook her head. "I'm just... tired."

"Would you like me to buy you a whiskey, Miss Hancock?" He offered stiffly.

"Actually, I'd better be going home." She said a little coldly. "I have washing to do."

"Alright," he nodded. "You do that."

"Good luck with your horse, Tommy," she said.

"Good luck with your washing."