• • •
Thomas Shelby; Married to Elizabeth 'Lizzie' Shelby (maiden name Stark) with a daughter named Ruby, previously married to Grace Shelby (maiden name Burgess) with a son named Charles; leader of the Peaky Blinders.
Lucille River; never married, no children, not a gang leader but just as heartless as one.
When the two crossed paths, both felt a hatred beyond believable for one another and the people who witnessed their encounter feared that one of them would end up dead due to the other; they just never knew who would be gone first.
• • •
"Morning Harry, nice to see you kept all the hard work for me last night." Lucille ignored the whistles of the men in the pub as she walked behind the bar and began setting up.
Harry really should have cleaned the night before and had the empty bottles recycled and the glasses cleaned but when she arrived for work this morning, none of those things were done which meant extra work for herself to do.
"Nice to see you've still not gotten rid of that accent." Lucille's accent was a thing Harry joked about with her.
When she first moved to Birmingham with her family three years prior, all of their Scottish accents were strong but they slowly dwindled away and began sounding like the rest of the cities occupants. Lucille's, however, was still as thick as the day she arrived in Small Heath.
"And I'll never get rid of it either; so get used to it."
Lucille tied her apron around her waist and picked up the bottles to take out back to the bins to start her shift. When she returned, she began cleaning the glasses from the night before.
The door of The Garrison swung open, the chatter she had become acquainted to reduced to silence and an uneasy feeling settled upon the pub; the only sound being heard was that of Lucille River cleaning the glasses behind the bar.
Harry coughed to grab her attention, trying to mentally tell her to stop what she was doing and pay attention to whomever had entered their work place. But, little miss stubborn rolled her eyes and refused to do so.
"You really must teach your bar maids some respect, Harry. I can't be around all the time to keep this place in check." Arthur Shelby spoke, taking a seat at the bar and eyeing his two employees behind it.
Although Arthur Shelby was the owner of The Garrison, Lucille had never met him. He had been in and out of the pub but always on shifts she would have off.
"Yes Mister Shelby, sir." Harry turned to the shorter girl and forced a smile towards her. "Could you serve Mr Shelby please?"
"My pleasure." Came her sarcastic reply and smile which disappeared in to an emotionless look as quickly as you could snap your fingers. "What can I get for you, Mr Shelby?"
Lucille turned to greet whomever Harry was referring to and took note of the man who leaned against the post behind the one she was to serve.
His face was stone cold, no emotion what so ever could be registered on his features and he eyed the Scottish girl before him with icy eyes.
She had a feeling people feared these men, the cold man more so than the one before her. The man she was to serve (whom she knew to be Arthur Shelby) held a lot of anger and hurt in his eyes; he was easy to read. But him? He was as cold as the icy breeze on an early winter morning; much like herself.
