"even when she was lying, there was a certain truth she always told"
A pretty girl, a deal gone wrong, an ultimatum, and a death...
Another average week for the Peaky Blinders.
[T. Shelby]
[Under Editing]
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Run away.
It was a powerful instinct. The adrenaline that poisoned her mind hadn't taken full effect—it had no real need—but she was the cornered animal in this arrangement, helpless to the eyes on her that lingered too long and the words thrown around over her, no matter how much she wanted to lash out or speak up. She was frozen in this world of fight and flight, wishing to abandon the plan and save herself. Unfortunately, Thalia Vidal could not allow for instinct to get the better of her this particular afternoon, no matter the uneasiness churning within her stomach or the weightlessness within her chest. The rule of the world had always been take or be taken, and today she needed to take. She would be the calm in the storm, immovable and unyielding. She balled her hands into fists behind her back, her fingernails digging into her palms, as she attempted to maintain a facade of apathy. Still, those two words whispered on repeat in the back of her mind like a faint warning; run away.
Never had a man made Thalia so nervous as Thomas Shelby, that level headed bastard with a quick wit and a quicker draw, and that was truly saying something. She was no stranger to terrifying men; the warfront had been littered with a myriad of them. But Shelby's reputation for being both a ruthless businessman and a respectable gangster had preceded him, and no amount of preparation could have kept her steady when those ice blue eyes found their way across the room to meet hers. It made her skin crawl, the way he watched her as if seeing her very soul, silently undoing her and observing what lay beneath the surface of pale freckled skin and a cold expression. She shifted her weight from one leg to the other, uncomfortable under those knowing eyes.
Her nerves were swiftly quashed, shoved down and converted to cold reservation as she fought to keep her face neutral. She knew this type of man very well, and weakness was like an invitation to them. He'd latch onto it, and he'd eat her alive. She would not run. She was in the business of taking, and she was familiar with this style of confrontation and this type of violent man. She breathed in the scent of cigarettes and alcohol, pursing her lips as she let the bar scents of the Garrison ground her in reality.
The war of words and subtle glances was her preferred battlefield, and she'd developed a fucking armory over the years. She could take on Shelby, of that she was certain.
Théo needs to make this deal, and then we're done with him, she told herself. The thought comforted her on some level, and she jutted her chin out a little more in a silent defiance, her posture relaxing. The stiffness to her shoulders melted away, leaving behind a subtle tension that kept her prepared should any physical conflict arise.
Shelby noticed the subtle difference, she realized. His eyes followed her curiously as he observed her change of posture. She drew her hands tighter behind her back, one hand settling atop the sheath of her knife, running along her belt and hidden beneath her shirt. She wondered, for a moment, if perhaps she had been picturing the devil wrong her whole life because those ice blue eyes, not red as she'd imagined, were giving her hell.
