𝐆𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐎𝐖𝐃𝐄𝐑 » thomas shelby

one

The smell of Whisky, sweat and smoke sourrounds Dorothy Harris when she enters the Garrison. She ignores the drunk people around her and walkes straight to the bar. Dorothy nods at the Barkeeper, Harry, one time in greeting before she leans against the counter. "Whisky, scottish."

The older man nods at her once before grabbing a bottle and a glass, filing it up and putting it in front of her. "Here you go, Dora."

Dorothy nods at him thankful. She takes the glass from the counter and turns around, her eyes searching for a calmer table, which seems to be almost impossible to find. Sighning she walks to an empty table, and sat down. The brunette woman leans back in the chair and lets out a heavy breath, closed her eyes in exhaustion. The noises around her seem to blend together until Dorothy can't seem to hear any voices in paticiular. Her head pumps. The woman groanes and wipes a hand over her face. She feels like somebody has put cotton in her ears, she doesn't realise anything that is happening around her.

Dorothy groans once more, a hand pressing on the side of her head, when the throbbing of her head becomes worse. Dora leans forward and grabs with her free hand the whisky before drowning it.

"A little lady like you shoudn't drown whisey like that." Laughs a voice from behind Dora. Leaning on her forearms she turns her head to looks at a slimey bloke. His brown greesy hair sat messily on top his head, a strong smell of alcohol and smoke came from him. Dorothy scroffs and looks at her empty whisky glass. "Fuck off."

"A little lady like you shouldn't be alone in a place like this." Continues the man. Dorothy puts a hand on her forehead, groaning, before she turns to look at the man. "Stop calling me that, and leave me the fuck alone."

Any other day, Dorothy would have just ignored the man, but not today, today is a bad day. The greasy man doesn't seem to realise the foul mood of the woman and put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't you think, going somewhere more private would be more fun for the both of us, little lady?"

Dorothy throws the man's hand off her shoulder and gets up. She pointed a finger at him, an angry look on her face. The people at the tables sourrounding them become quiet and look at the pair in interest. "Fuck. Off. You slimey old bastard!"

The man's smile slowly fades. "What did you just call me, whore?"

Dorothy's face fills with more anger, her headache already forgotten. "I told you, you slimy old bastard, to leave me the fuck alone, do you understand those fucking words or are you too daft."

The next thing Dorothy feels is pain on her right cheek. Her hand moves to touch the sore spot, and then back in front of her face to look at the hand, for no paticular reason. Her eyes moves from her hand to the greasy haired man, whose eyes are fill with rage. Dorothy's glares hardens.

"Did you just slap me? Did you just slap me like a little girl?" Laughs the woman. She purses her lips before looking around the Garrison, they caught the attention of the whole bar. All eyes are placed on the two, silence sorrounds the bar.