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paramoira · 10 months ago

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ariadne had once read a story about a cave in a far off land where time felt disjointed and perceptions of reality were shattered into fractals. she'd thought at the time that it sounded akin to one of those old episodes of the twilight zone that uncle leander used to watch on rerun or that one scene in the dread movie. the garrison feels a bit like that now. her perceptions of seconds passed so few and yet feeling far between were slow, emotions on overdrive and body's awareness heightened. she's seated before she's even fully aware of the fact she's followed tommy's directions. that she had retrieved a glass, as if her body had suddenly shifted upon hearing the stark alteration of his tone. shifted into some other form of state: survival. she'd chosen to stay, thrown another hitch into the cogs of a plan influx. ariadne understood how tommy thought through things, how he calculated, how quick he could be on the fly. it's what he had been doing since he'd walked into the bar and what he was doing now, witnessing the vantage points of the situation. a glass was missing and the mind looked for context clues in everything. perceived without active direction. a meeting for four had to have four glasses otherwise the mind would innately question.

her nails digging into the fabric of her jeans reignite something within her, bring her back to reality, to the moment. to these last few seconds where ariadne still lived in the before of a moment rather than an after; the precipice of a path of which nothing would be the same. somehow she knew that, the significance of this moment in the same way she'd felt dread hanging in the cool air on the way to the bar. she could die moments from now or she should live. yet her life following this night if the latter would be shaded by the shadows of truths she'd always been upon the peripheral vision of.

'don't say a word. let me speak for myself.' he tells her, her dark eyes meeting his ocean hues. so many times within their lives ariadne had argued with tommy shelby. stubbornness meeting stubbornness. like calling to like. she hadn't given him a choice in these final moments. she'd reacted without thought, only fear and care and everything in-between. yet this time ariadne listens. doesn't protest. this was his world.. and her world.. yet one she was wholly unversed within. he's worried about the implications of what comes next. she knows, knows him and yet it's his gaze, only broken when the door is stirred open, that allows her to steel herself now.

she takes a breath, nails digging even deeper for the briefest of moments. it burns, stings, allows her to release the breath she'd been holding. she lets go, allows her hand to come up and shift hair out of her face, an air of indifference as the men enter. she's sitting at a table on a dark night at the side of thomas shelby. whatever comes next, she must bring forth her best show of confidence, of belonging.. a lack of surprise. she needed to be the version of herself when the weight of world wasn't crashing down upon her. she needed to be the goddaughter of nikolaos demetriou even if his name or her connection to him held no revelations to the two irishmen waltzing in. she needed to accept the full weight of it in a way, perhaps, she never had before-- not fully, anyway. then her gaze connects with the men as they chuckle, watches them take their seats and she's unimpressed. or so she appears. it's not quite the word she'd go for if she had to voice it aloud.

her breathing regulates, her back straightens.

ariadne wonders how much they might underestimate tommy. if her presence throws them or they simply think he's brought a fucking conquest to a meeting like a fool. she's known tommy for most of her life and he'd never been a fool. he was a man who had walked into this bar literal minutes prior with a plan, altered his plan because of her, and now sat at a table sliding drinks toward his would-be murders. she thinks, if anyone has the upper hand it was tommy. she's positive these men must be carrying, but they don't know about the blonde in the back. ariadne doesn't know if tommy or her can trust her, but as long as the woman was capable of following simple directions she knew they had a chance. tommy wouldn't have directed grace in such a way if they hadn't. the men refuse their drinks. she listens, though offers no curious glances as if she's aware of what's transpiring.

she gets the feeling someone's else's life is on the line. shovels. money. it brings forth a reality she's always held a deniability of. always been able to know yet not know. she'd never asked uncle nik about oliver's killer, yet she'd accepted the action hadn't she? perhaps there'd always been a darkness creeping within her. a darkness she hadn't been willing to admit. she should be horrified. yet even without the details, did her mind not think those involved in the life before her were not innocent and as such those whom suffered the consequences of that life were thus not innocents either? had that not been in the vein of the same justification that let her sleep at night after oliver was dead and buried and his killer was wiped from the earth? and if so, were the cases she helped solve a penance for her acceptance of the people she loved in all their shades of gray? she believed in justice... she believed in her work... she did it because she cared. and yet, maybe... it was a penance too. penance because she'd known and yet wasn't capable of allowing it to cloud her perceptions of the people she cared for. she was a damned hypocrite.

the man points a gun at tommy's head, and ariadne's angry even though she'd known it was coming in some fashion. her jaw tenses, but she doesn't move. doesn't dare. tommy makes a toast and then the world explodes into chaos because grace couldn't fucking follow one simple order. was she that incapable?

blood splatter coats the table, metal and smoke hanging in the air. for a moment she's too stunned to react until her shocked gaze leaves the bullet hole in the man across from her and finds a gun pointed at her. there's no time to move, her mind suddenly racing. projectiles were never her area of expertise anymore than geometry was. her brain attempts to judge a likely trajectory should he fire in the split-second of the moment. she can't, not in the time before tommy's suddenly reaching for the weapon, removing her from it's line of sight.

the gun misfires, and she's standing, moving. she has half a plan to attempt to get the gun away from grace. araidne's never properly used one and yet, she thinks perhaps she'd be a hell of a lot more capable than the barmaid in this situation.

her plan fails immediately chairs becoming upended and grace knocked down. ariande's shoved to the side too though she doesn't quite fall, catching herself on a table and given the fact her shoes held tread. she hadn't been making a statement that night, hadn't dressed up. she'd come from visiting a horse. the horse tommy had given her. old now, yet alive. a connection to tommy that was undeniable.

tommy's struggling, he's dying, she sees it as the struggle of the two men plays out. she looks around for whatever she can find. something capable of blunt force trauma or hell the gun that had slid across the floor, anything. there's nothing readily available so she does the only thing she can and uses herself. he's killing tommy. he's killing tommy. she launches herself at the man, hyper-focusing upon a pressure point. he sees her a fraction early, enough to redirect her target. she alters her plan which simply became no plan at all. she scratches at him, throws her weight into him to knock him off tommy, off balance. he's strong. he's already shrugged her off when she'd rounded back and manages a punch because he doesn't expect it to come from her. she may have lived in a nice house with rich grandparents yet she'd been taught how to fight by shelbys.

except, the man's body mass was much greater than hers, his strikes more calculated and honed from years of conflict. she manages for a few seconds. one lucky dodge, one point of contact upon a weak spot her medical knowledge grants her. and then she's losing, badly, had been the whole time really. her head hits the floor before she knows what's happening. weight crashes down upon her she screams out. she doesn't know if tommy is alive or dead and she can feel blood mixing with the radiation of pain that spots her vision. when she tries to move, another weight hits her and her vision blackens for fractions of moments. her eyes open but are unfocused. she tries to shift, to move out of the way of the mass coming toward her. blood moves across her face, from her nose into her mouth. she can feel it falling into the back of her throat as another weight hits her and then the man is gone. pulled away.

tommy. tommy was alive.

she coughs blood. sprays it into the air and feels it as it falls back onto her face. it could be internal bleeding if she was unlucky, but it could be from what dripped into her throat moments before if she was. her body manages to shift, to turn toward the sound of violence unleashed. her eyes refocus upon the horror. she sees it in a way she can't look away from. doesn't look away from. something's taken over tommy. she can see it, the weight of it, the trauma of it as he unleashes wrath upon the man. she sees it, sees him. the disconnect. and she sees what used to be a man, head bashed in until his identity, his humanness had been wiped away. she's seen a lot of brutalized bodies in her career, maybe that's what lets her disconnect herself from it.

metal meets the floor and then there's silence.

she hears his breathing, focuses on it as it comes closer to her. tommy was alive. and so was she. it hurt to breathe. she gasps when his hands come into contact with her. it's been so long.. her skin is tender.. it hurts. she groans because she can't keep it in as he carries her. but she doesn't cry, not yet. she's a live wire. she feels something cover her. she doesn't understand what's happening. it's hard to focus suddenly. she doesn't like it.

'i'll be back." he tells her and weakly she reaches out, tries to catch his arm but doesn't quite manage it. her fingers find his jacket instead. confusion.. fear.. not of him, of losing him again.. what was happening? she's not processing everything. she can feel it. she knows it. understands it on some level. but no, he wasn't leaving. he'd left before. before wasn't now. 'hold on.' he tells her. her mind reels again. there's a dead body on the floor. there's trace evidence everywhere. someone shifts... blonde hair, ariadne refocuses. comes back to the moment. she's angry. it fuels her, gives her the strength to manage to sit up despite the pain she's in and mutter a swear into the air that was tinged with audible pain. she can feel wetness clinging to her clothes, to her face. fuck.

THOMAS ISN'T SURE WHAT EXACTLY HE had been expecting Ariadne to do. He's known her for the majority of his life, and he has watched her be stubborn as a bull for every single second. She's spent as much time resisting any semblance of the loss of her own authority over herself as Tommy has ( that is to say, a fucking exorbitant amount of time ). He usually finds it to be endearing at the best of times, a mild annoyance at worst. But now, here, he finds it to be completely and totally neutral.

He has no control over anything. Not really.

Part of him tries to protest at himself, to spur himself into action, but there is no point. Why should she take his orders, anyway? There's no time to explain, and if there was, it would be wasted.

He realizes that he's missing a glass on the table for her, and turns around to look at her once more after having paused for what seemed like far too long with his back to her. When he turns and looks at her the fear in his eyes has died entirely, instead replaced with such a cold pool of apathy that it's almost worse to witness than the terror had been. He doesn't say anything, doesn't sigh, doesn't protest, just gestures to the clean glasses lined up next to the sink behind the bar.

"Then hurry. Bring yourself a glass and sit next to me," he says.

He absently reaches to the firearm tucked in a holster beneath his shoulder like it's his security blanket. Technically, it is, though it doesn't offer much warmth. He remembers he's given it to Grace when he does not find its reassuring weight there, and cannot bring himself to react.

When Ari meets him at the table he takes a seat alongside her, and turns one final time to meet her eyes.

"Don't say a word. Let me speak for myself."

Thomas knows the futility in trying to control anyone else with nothing but words, least of all her, but he has to say it out loud to let it be known, otherwise he wouldn't be able to justify his hurt if she does decide to ignore him again. He can't explain to her that it's as much ( if not more ) about her own safety and wellbeing than his own, that his chilly exterior and harsh words to Grace had come from a place of deep fear borne from affection, that the last thing he wants in the world is for her to lose her career, reputation, and quality of life just to be reduced to a casualty of the Shelby narrative.

The unlocked double doors to the Garrison rattle open and Tommy drops Ariadne's gaze, hands balled into tense fists on his lap as two men enter the pub and give pause when they notice the woman sitting to Tommy's right. They look to one another and then chuckle lowly, sounding more like starving dogs than men.

Tommy clears his throat. "My partner," he says firmly, gesturing to Ari but not looking at her. He's afraid that if he takes his eyes off of the Irishmen for a single second that they might somehow vaporize and transpose themselves, leaving him even more powerless than he already is.

The two men seem to get the message, shrugging after another moment and then sauntering lazily over to join Tommy and his partner at the small round table.

Tommy sets the four empty glasses in front of the two visitors, Ari, and himself, pouring some whisky into three glasses and then water into the fourth, to make a point that he remembers their drink orders from their random visit weeks ago, in a desperate attempt to gain leverage of some kind.

The men stare at their drinks and don't touch them. Eventually the one on the right shakes his head with a mean smile and asks, "Do you have what we came for?"

Tommy reaches into his breast pocket and produces a folded piece of paper, holding it up for them to see. "Do you have the cash?"

The man on the left reaches into his own pocket and tosses a thick envelope of cash onto the table between them.

Tommy in turn tosses his map onto the table and doesn't move to pick up the money. "You're going to need a shovel," he says, an air of knowing sarcasm about him.

The two men look to each other and break into those wild grins once more, the man on the left producing a pistol from his pocket and pointing it at Tommy's head. "You thick fucking tinker," he says, cocking the weapon.

Tommy takes an imperceptible breath and reaches for his glass of whisky, raising it in the air in a toast. "To barmaids who don't count."

It's difficult to process what happens next, so unbelievably unlucky as it is. There is such a fury that Thomas has to feel bubble to the surface only for it to vanish instantly when he sees that the man on the left, who had been pointing a gun at his head, is now slumped over the table, and the man on the right is producing his own pistol to point at Ariadne. Grace floats somewhere behind him, also with a loaded gun, and Tommy is grateful that he does not have time to acknowledge his own foolishness, having put any amount of trust into anyone outside of himself.

In a knee-jerk reaction, almost, Thomas blindly grabs the barrel of the pistol and yanks it towards himself, then downwards, the movement so quick that the Irishman doesn't even reactively squeeze the trigger until the muzzle is pointed at the wooden floorboards. Tommy uses the recoil produced by the misfire to bring the butt of the gun and the man's fist into his own face, taking advantage of his disorientation to all but dive into him, bringing them both down onto the floor and sending the gun sliding far into the back corner of the pub and out of reach.

He has no idea how much time passes while he and the Irishman fight for the upper hand on the floor like dogs, both of them clearly ready and able to snuff out the other's life at the first chance they find; unfortunately for Thomas, the Irishman finds his chance first.

The crushing weight on his trachea, a bag over his head, acrid with the stench of gunpowder and sweat, send him instantly back to somewhere dark and damp, deep underground, where he'd had to slowly drain the life of a young Prussian boy with green eyes. It had taken so much longer than he'd anticipated, his arms aching with lactic acid, trembling with effort before his victim finally went limp. He'd watched the blood vessels in his eyes pop one by one, watched his tongue swell and droop, watched his skin darken to a sickly violet...

Tommy feels his own tongue, heavy in his mouth, and tries to fight the ring of blackness that slowly begins encroaching at the edges of his vision, thrashing as hard as he can with what little precious oxygen is left in his blood, wasting it.

Then suddenly the crushing weight is gone, along with the warmth of the man behind him, and all he can do for several seconds is cough and scramble to yank the bag from over his head to get his bearings, fighting for consciousness and trying to ignore the pounding in his head. Finally he wrenches the bag from over his head and gulps down air, looking around at wholly unfamiliar surroundings until his brain finally has sufficient oxygen once more.

Ariadne hits the ground hard.

The Irishman stomps down hard on her ribcage, her stomach, her shoulder, and then there is the sound of hollow metal against bone and his presence is gone from her altogether. The horrible sound continues like a drumbeat, getting wetter and more irregular as time passes, until finally Tommy can only hear his own panicked breathing and tosses the spittoon aside like it's burning his hands. It might as well have been melted to them seconds ago, for all his inability to control the horrible outburst of violence brought on by a deeply specific trigger and the consequences of his foolish trust in an incompetent ally.

Tommy doesn't let himself actually look at the unrecognizable mass of bone and flesh that used to be the Irishman's face, forcing himself back to his feet and swaying a moment before he is forced into action again, carefully picking Ariadne up and laying her onto a booth in the back, hastily removing his bloodied jacket to drape over her. He is grateful for the dark shadows, knowing that if he could see the state of her he might snap. Again.

"I'll be back," he whispers shakily. "Hold on."

#thread; passed the point of no return #proofwhisky #v; may you be in heaven before the devil knows you're dead

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paramoira · 10 months ago

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Hande Erçel as Müjde Akay in Halka (2019 - … )

requested by @grangears

#visage; ariadne ruya kalkan

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paramoira · 10 months ago

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ind. priv. & sel. tommy shelby of netflix's peaky blinders. by order of gami.

carrd. | prompts. | ask. | mobile info. | promo and all graphics by @villainsrph.

#Go follow the epicness!#promos;

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paramoira · 10 months ago

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#playlist;#Spotify

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paramoira · 10 months ago

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the opposing facets of ariadne's life had always attempted to house a strange kind of separation, though in equal measure had always been magnets attracted to each other, pulled by some invisible force of inevitability. her mother had always maintained a distance from the family she'd married into aside from kadir-- had always encouraged her father to find his base further and further into the light than the shadows. for awhile, he had, and the heavens knew he wasn't as involved in uncle nik's operations as he could have been. and yet, he still was involved; sometimes ariadne wondered if that and her fathers' continued absence was her fault on some level.

would he have been as involved if she hadn't nagged him so many times when he had actually been present to take her on a trip two hours outside of london?

would he still have been as involved if these trips hadn't allowed for an ulterior motive for him to go hence?

the short answer is, her father had always been the person he was and regardless to her irrational wonderments, he was always going to be on the path he'd chosen decades ago.

ariadne thinks, maybe, that was her parents problem before all the other shit came into play. her mother had attempted to change him, to turn him into someone he wasn't without accepting all of him. his choices hadn't made him a bad man, just.. complicated. he'd held his own reasons and perhaps some of those same reasons, even if he hadn't always been as present in her life as others, were what had governed her ability to accept elements of life others would find much more difficulty within. but ariadne understood, perhaps better than most these days, that there was a difference between seeking to bring and inspire light into someone's life and seeking to change them into someone they weren't. and that maybe, just maybe, even as people evolved, it was merely watering the seeds which had always been part of them.

maybe her parents were doomed even had things played out differently.

it's strange how she thinks about that often these days even when ariadne hasn't spoken to her father in sixty-seven days. and there inlaid how ariadne's life stood upon a precipice of magnetic forces attempting to collide so often. maybe in some other world she could maintain the distance. she couldn't imagine her life in any scenario being fully black or white-- family, loyalty.. it was too integral to who she was as a human being. yet she wondered if in another life a boy named tommy hadn't entered her world what that would have looked like because sometimes she considers those strange early mornings years ago when she came to help polly and now with her presence in brimingham so regular despite working with the coppers in london, that from the moment tommy shelby blasted into her life there was an inevitability within; cosmic forces determined to intermingle in the same way like called to like for her father, him always having a foothold in nik's world.

and yet, how strange it was that ariadne could walk these streets and feel at home among people her coworkers never would. people that perhaps most people wouldn't. their worlds to outsiders shouldn't make sense together. but for children that hadn't mattered. it did, but it didn't. she liked tommy because he was tommy and she thinks he liked her the same. perhaps in ariadne's mind there was a kind of separation of some things, an ability to accept both sides of the coin of life. being connected to the shelby family didn't correlate to an inability for her to help the coppers bring justice to a murder victim. they were all facets of her life and she was okay with that in a way her mother never had been able to be with her father. in a way her mother had never been with ariadne's relationship with the shelbys either-- but she hadn't been around enough to prevent it and perhaps, even as a child, araidne had held enough sense when her mother or grandparents were around to not push in the same ways she did with others she knew would accept such dynamics in her life.

again, strange, the fashion in which her mind makes these parallels.

tommy shelby was.. her friend for nearly as long as she can remember. even if the weight he brought upon her heart these days was nearly unbearable. even if sometimes she wanted to hate him for the words he let come out of his mouth since his return and the harsh tone to her own at times. 'i didn't come here to see you. john called me.' she'd said once, a few weeks ago after the disaster of his words toward her the visit before. but had she meant it? in her heart? perhaps not and she thinks he knew that. didn't that make it all the worse? that even when they were so distant, when he was pushing her away from him over and over again she was positive he still knew her? understood her? could read her? it was infuriating. it'd have been so much easier if she could have hated him. but in what world could ariadne ever do that? in what world would she not see the weight of sadness, of trauma in his eyes? the confliction he always attempted to hide from her?

there was more too this. more to everything. she knows it in every cell within her body even if she doesn't understand the specifics. she knows him more than she thinks he wants to accept. maybe it's why she keeps showing up. sure she'd usually come there for polly or arthur or john or even others but there was something more. like calling to like, even if she hadn't fully come to realize just how true such was. furthermore, ariadne had never given up on anything that mattered within her life and she certainly wasn't willing to give up on tommy fucking shelby even if half the time he made her want to push him into the canal. and yet, perhaps, this was at the forefront of a strength within her that her mother never held. ariadne, even in her lack of true understanding of the details which governed so many people within her life, had never sought to change those people. she'd accepted them in the same fashion they had accepted her.

loyalty, understanding, respect. it's something that strikes her lacks when she's there at the garrison, watching interactions between people and the blonde women behind the bar. she's not entirely sure why she notices, except she'd seen the woman, grace, and tommy talking and perhaps that'd caused her to pay attention. she rarely allows herself to allow her thoughts to wonder upon it. but it was these concepts, respect at the forefront, which were why uncle nik was so proud when she went into forensics, even when she'd gotten her placement when by all accounts it should horrify a crime boss because she wasn't on the take. she was in the work because she cared. because she believed in it. it was also why ariadne had been able to walk into the garrison for years and feel safe that any of patrons saw her as simply ariadne and not as some narc or enemy. because she'd never judged them. they lived the lives they'd chosen and she did the job she'd chosen. it didn't have to be opposing, it just had to not be related to each other in a professional manner. maybe she was naïve for that mentality but it was who she'd always been and ariadne saw it as a strength and her mother's lack of an ability to adapt as a weakness. life had never been black and white. wasn't in any world or scenario. there was little benefit in attempting to force it to be. perhaps that was unkind to her mother's memory but it was the truth.

it was reality.

an inevitability in the same way that ariadne's destination now, on this cold night, was inevitable. because she didn't know who this random woman who'd shown up one day was really. she was willing to allow her the benefit of the doubt, to see the good in people, but grace was asking questions. too many questions and ariadne wanted to understand why. tommy shelby was being a god awful human being to her lately, but she was going to be damned if she wasn't going to show up when something felt.. unsettling about this woman's interest. maybe grace likes him, she'd considered with a kind of shift of her mood she'd managed to ignore. that'd have been an innocent enough thing and one perhaps she allows to be at the forefront of her mind because she wants to trust people even if she's faced half-truths so often in the past. but the fact remained. grace was asking about tommy and ariadne needed to know why. she could push tommy shelby into the canal tomorrow for being a dick. tonight, she was going to make sure he was.. what? protected? as if she held any real power in his world?

still, ariadne had always liked a challenge.

there's something in the air tonight, as if the wind has agendas of it's own-- a wraith in the night. unsettling... dreaded. ariadne feels the weight of it in her bones, the chill as she'd walked upon old streets.. echoes. echoes of a time when blood seeped into layers underfoot. down deep into the ground, through eras buried by time. perhaps blood still seeped, the reaper taking. she reads the news, the settings upon her phone tending to cause notifications to steer toward the places she frequents. (and when was the last time she hadn't frequented this city? even in tommy's absence-- especially because of tommy's absence. she still remembers those weekends when she'd helped polly with a young child and a group of kids reeling from loss and then tommy wasn't there. he wasn't there and she hadn't fully known why.) troubles found this place, then, now, in the moments it takes her trainers to crunch the ground of an area of turned up stone.

why is she there?

she'd asked herself when she'd entered some time ago now. of course, ariadne had known why she was in brimingham again-- john this time, polly last time. yet was it not truly because of thomas shelby in the end? hadn't it always come back to the boy who'd taught her to throw her first punch? there's little talk at first, a strange kind of awkwardness in the stifling air of the bar. ariadne allows it, doesn't push first, waits, wants to see where grace begins. the women's lips part and then the door rattles nearly off it's hinges. at least that's what it feels like and it sets ariadne on edge. makes her heart jump because it's unexpected. because she remembers a door, a shaking door that her mother had been trying to open when she'd run away from her and then the silence which had followed. it takes her a moment, held breath released as grace moves away from the bar and toward the door. ariadne watches, regaining control of her senses as tommy enters and she knows, gods she knows before he even speaks that something is terribly wrong.

she almost speaks, wants to ask what's happened before he even sees her there and yet grace speaks first, trying to tell him the place is god damned closed. who the fuck tells thomas shelby the garrison is closed? can't she see the creases in his features? can't she see the built up tension radiating off him? maybe she can't. because grace doesn't see him in the same way she does. danger. danger. they mean to kill him. her breath begins to catch again when he sees her, when she watches the way panic starts to rise in him and maybe, maybe in some strange way there's a truth in his anger and the way he points at her. there isn't indifference toward her. he's scared because she's there and there's people coming to kill him. he's scared because he cares. there's more to it. she remembers her own thoughts. all the swirling questions she's had since he'd gone and since he'd come back. yet none of it mattered now when there were men coming to kill him in moments.

grace fumbles for answers. ariadne gives her none.

then there's a gun and edicts given and it should shake ariadne more than it does. the whole of this situation. yes, there's fear rising within her. there's a kind of panic that's making her palms sweaty and her skin to turn a shade lighter. yet she's forcing her breaths in and out, forcing herself to remain in the moment because there was danger and people were coming to kill tommy and ariadne couldn't imagine a world where he wasn't in it. she'd known what it was like to lose him, but this was different. absence wasn't death. she watches grace take the gun. she sees tommy's fear so clearly laid before her that she takes a step forward because she wants to reach out but there's no time. there's no time. there's no time. and then comes the anger, building within her as he speaks of back doors and upstairs. she's shaking her head without even realizing it. as if her body is physically revolted at the notion.

why would she leave him? how could she leave him? she should. it was the safer option. it's what the panic and fear within her was telling her to do.

he steps closer and she can feel him even without touching. the way their energies sparked with fear of loss. he speaks in her native tongue and it takes her the infinity of a second to understand his meaning. cops would come. cops. she worked with cops but these cops... the were on the take. it didn't matter. it did, but it didn't now. no. he's worried about her, about perceptions. about implications even when he's about to stare death in the fucking face and it makes her want to shove him for his stupidity. for the ridiculousness of it. she'd maintained a separation in her life for so long but what the fuck did it matter if a cop saw her now, in this moment? what the fuck did it matter when tommy was staring at her with such fear in his eyes that she could literally feel it?

and then he's moving. out of her space. time is moving again, too fast. she feels the weight of years of loss and she's scared. what she should do and what she does are contradictory. her voice rebels against her body. against her fears. because even if her life's conclusion was within the infinity of a few moments, perhaps especially because of it, she refused to allow fear to take over. ariadne had never had any issues saying no to tommy before. not like other people did. she'd also never abandoned him before. she wasn't about to start now.

"no." she replies, simply, as if it's the easiest and most sure answer she's ever given him. she speaks it in the language he taught her and then she moves. let him be angry. let him hate her even if it's the last thing they'd share. but neither of them would be alone. maybe that mattered more. she pulls out the chair and sits next to him forcing her facial features to appear less terrified than she is. she's digging her nails into her thigh so hard that it's bound to leave marks. because she is terrified. she's terrified of so many things and she has no idea what the fuck she's doing. this wasn't her world. it wasn't her world. it wasn't. and yet, maybe it had been, a part of it, all along. a part she'd been sheltered from, but still a part of it all the same. she didn't know what to do what that. but it didn't matter. it didn't matter. because all that mattered was that when those entered the bar she was sitting at a table next to the first boy that'd she'd ever felt truly comfortable with. the first boy that she'd loved in the the most pure and innocent way. he'd been her first true friend and... simply, because he was him and she was her. and, well, he had taught her how to throw a pretty epic punch.

NEVER IN HIS LIFE HAS THE TICKING of the stopwatch in Tommy's waistcoat so thunderously resounded through the cavity of his skull, the imperceptible scratch of thinned metal against gears grinding away in the background of each movement of the second hand. It sounds as though Death himself approaches, growing close enough to let his victim hear the last seconds of their own life through some strange spell. He has three minutes and forty-two seconds to get inside the Garrison and explain five-minute plan to the only person he could expect to be there, and even that is a long shot, this late in the evening. Part of him is mortified when he tries the door to find it locked, his knuckles white as he grips the door handle and shakes the entryway door hard enough to hear the glass warping with the wooden frames.

His rising panic is quenched at the sight of Grace's silhouette filling the lace-covered windows, and she bends to unlock the bolt in the ground barring him from entry. As soon as the lock is undone, Thomas shoves his way inside, too focused to roll his eyes at the attempted protests from Grace.

" W-We're closed, Mr. Shelb- "

Thomas cuts the barmaid off with a dizzying sort of intensity, almost manic in a sharp gesture with his flat hand. " Leave the door unlocked. I don't have much time and I need a favor. When the clock at St. Andrews' chimes at midnight, two men will come through that door. They plan to kill me. Are you alone.. ? "

His voice fades to something that sounds much more like panic than he'd have liked when he turns and sees Ariadne standing awkwardly like a bad thief caught with her hand in a safe. He freezes completely, the cold blue of his eyes darkening to something frenzied and angry as he turns sharply back to the barmaid with a demand. He points a long, calloused finger at Ari.

" What the fuck is she doing in here ? "

Grace, stricken, looks to Ariadne as if she expects the woman she'd invited ( convinced, rather ) to stay to have access to her own reasons as to why she'd done it. Her shoulders jump and her gaze returns to the man in the entryway when he barks at her again.

" Don't fucking look at her. I'm asking you, Grace. "

She opens her mouth to respond but the second hand of Tommy's pocket watch begins to quiet down in his head, and a cold flash of dread returns him to reality just in time. He has less than ninety seconds left.

Thomas presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and heaves a sigh that sounds so exhausted you'd think he'd been up for days. Perhaps he has. He's... looked better.

It takes him a moment to compose himself, but he withdraws a pistol from the inner pocket of his overcoat, checks to ensure that it is loaded, and turns back to the barmaid. She seems as unsure as anyone as to his intentions with the weapon, and could not appear more shocked when he offers it to her, grip-first, to carry for herself.

" When the church bell strikes midnight, two men will come in through the front door. I will be sitting there. You will be hiding back there. When I make a toast, you come out with that thing cocked and loaded. You just point it. Don't shoot. "

He uses his finger to point out each location and the weight of their significance with seconds left to enact a shaky plan that has been thrown off entirely by the presence of Ariadne, through no fault of her own. That makes it worse.

Another victim to being attached in any way to Thomas Shelby, through no fault of their own.

" Fuck, " he hisses, doubling over with his head in his hands, hiding a face twisted with sorrow. His breath hitches once, as if he is about to cry ; but as if nothing had happened, he quickly rights himself again to look at Ariadne with eyes so full of fear and guilt that it hurts to see. " You need to leave, Ari. There's a back entrance some ways past the stock of new kegs in the cellar... "

You don't have enough time. The cellar door is probably already being covered by IRA snipers.

" ... But... it isn't safe. " Fifty seconds left before the bell. " Upstairs, or behind the bar, or into the snug... "

Cogs turn in his head and he cannot bear to imagine the consequence of choosing the wrong order to give, to have her be caught up in all of this shit of which he's been so determined to keep her out.

Tommy has had his suspicions about Grace for a while. She asks too many pointed questions, asks for too many specifics. She doesn't mind her own business. She seems intent on getting Thomas to speak to her like he trusts her. None of it had been anything even close to damning, easy to write off as a mixture of her curiosity and his paranoia. But this...

This is a bit different.

" Hide somewhere, and stay quiet," he says, then steps forward and lowers his voice, switching instead to Turkish to keep Grace in the dark.

" The police are due at the sixth chime of the bell, and I do not want you seen here when they arrive. "

Like he's cast a spell the second hand of his watch stands eerily still, and he seems to spring to action, loading his own gun only to tuck it away again and rushing to carry a bottle of whisky and a pitcher of water with three glasses to a nearby table. In English again, he shouts over his shoulder at the woman standing in front of the bar, no doubt consumed with confusion and fear.

" Ari, go. Now. Now. "

@paramoira

#thread; passed the point of no return #proofwhisky #v; may you be in heaven before the devil knows you're dead

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paramoira · 10 months ago

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@proofwhisky

there's an eerie sort of mist in the air, water sprung up from the canals mixing with skyward grayness. fog rolls through, the mixing of atmosphere conditions melding dream into reality. there'd been fog in her nightmares too. water and blood, a myriad of memories creating a network of chaos in her sleepy mind. it was sort of like the waterways here, she thinks. this city she's visited so many times now, so much more as a young adult than she'd been allowed as a child. was it strange that it felt more like a kind of home than the house her grandparents held when alive? that somewhere with so much less felt safer than halls filled with too much she'd spend her youth? funny how even when ariadne had gone to the states, it was memories of this place which so often colored her thoughts. or maybe it was merely the words of a boy come alive upon the page. letters filled with secrets they could only share with one another.

strange still, that such a place had never been her home, had only been a place visited, glimpses seen with so much hidden behind a veil. cities didn't make a home, she reminds herself. it was the people. and the people here, or at least the ones whom mattered really, she'd felt safe with. maybe that was an odd sort of thing too. she wasn't ignorant of the things she didn't see. but she still remembers the look upon polly's face when she'd all of twelve years-old and hair in pig-tails managed to navigate the train stations and traveled two hours without telling a soul that was actually in a thousand miles of england what she was doing. or well, it was a rare bit of rebellion upon her part and technically speaking she'd texted her father. told him. merely hadn't informed her grandparents who'd said they wouldn't be taking her there to see her friend. (they never did, only her father did or sometimes some of uncle nik's friends when they were on this side of the pond.) so the girl had taken it upon herself, determination upon her features. she'd packed her back pack for the weekend. somehow thought it was the most logical thing in the world.

sometimes she can't believe she'd done that, yet was it any stranger than the fact she'd once given arthur an accidental black eye? still, ariadne remembers the mixture of worry and relief upon polly's face and the chastising about how many things could have happened along her way. she didn't know back then, maybe in a way, didn't fully allow herself to accept how true such a reality could be even now as a college student. but she felt safe here, now upon this weekend visit. she'd been coming there more often these days. more often than she had even when she'd first moved. it'd been months since tommy's mum and ariadne was still juggling school yet she'd always been adaptable and resourceful.

didn't her train escapade show that at least?

regardless, none of that was here nor there in this moment, dark hues watching fog roll over the nearby canal and at an early morning hour. the sound of the water laps against stone, one of the few sounds on this weekend morning when night melded into day. she'd gotten in from her train late the evening before, it organized for her to say there until she'd have to go back to classes on monday. she'd already done her assignments in advance, hadn't even bothered to bring her laptop. yet her night's sleep had been restless and filled with shifting memories of things she'd once spoken of in letters. she'd been restless awhile when it came to sleep. perhaps it was the stirring of memories her friend's mother's death brought forth for her, then again, perhaps it was a bit of everything.

a sigh escapes her, chilly air making her shiver since she hadn't brought out a sweater when her words pierce the silence. "my dad once spoke of going to this old house in america. it was on an island in the middle of a lake built by people who'd come to there a long time ago. tragic family history filled with death and cursed land and failed expeditions. they'd asked for his help to try to find something. he wasn't very forthcoming with the details. i just remember him saying the house had held a weight to it. that it was sinking back into the depths it was built upon. echoes of the past trying to pull it back." she's not sure why she brings it up really. maybe it was simply because the house on the other side of the canal, a bit dilapidated and vacant, so close to the water recalled the scattered memory. she's also not sure how she'd even known tommy had come outside since he'd been so silent or how he'd known she'd come outside. or was he just restless too?

#proofwhisky #v; may you be in heaven before the devil knows you're dead #sv; flashbacks #thread; restless mornings

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