#RRH; September 1919

[ourbleakmidwinters]

A Racehorse Named Dangerous (September 1919) - Tommy x Eliza

THOMAS SHELBY

Tommy was going to buy himself a horse. 

The questions raised by Polly that morning were brushed off with ease-- it was one of the simpler interactions Tommy had had to deal with in the past few days. Yes, there was a business purpose behind it. No, it didn’t have anything to do what happened at the Garrison. No, it didn’t solve the issue of their new barmaid or the near dead whore. Yes, a thoroughbred horse did cost that much. 

But most importantly, the question no one uttered but all thought-- no, this wasn’t a distraction from their world caving in again. 

So with a flick of a final cigarette before the road, Tommy and his brothers took off for London. 

                                                                          ****

“All right boys-- remember we’re here to do business.” His eyes meet John’s, and then Arthur’s for a moment longer. They both needed out of Birmingham for a day, for very different reasons. “With what we have left over, we go have a night on the town, eh?” 

                                                                         ****

There had been an uneasiness that settled within him at the propriety of the auction house. All gentlemen in their long coats, and their drivers, and their handlers. The trio with their caps and cuts stood as a dark smear on the day’s proceedings. But the thought left Tommy’s mind as the first of the horses began to be taken around for inspection. He focused himself on the animals shown off before them. The commentary of his brothers went unnoticed, Tommy’s purposes focused in on the pursuit of the day. They were beautiful creatures, and one of them would be his. 

When the time came for his filly, Tommy straightened out, hands gripping the railing of the viewing gallery. “There she is.” He says more to himself than to his brothers. The auctioneer starts the bidding at eight hundred pounds, and Tommy delivers a firm nod at the man, his hand raising two fingers pointed in acceptance of the bid. 

[bewitchingbygones]

Comme Vous Voulez (September 1919) - Lucienne x Elijah

LUCIENNE DUFORT  The weather was shifting from chilling to aching, gusts of winter air threatening to break Lucienne’s heart. If she were home, she’d have André build a fire while Germain played his hands against the floor as if it were a drum, and she’d dance and dance until her feet felt fragile and tender. But here, there was washing to be done, and there were no maids or mothers to do it. Not just her own washing, nor just her uncle’s, but sweet Valentine’s as well. 

It was all too terrible to think about; The man she’d loved and lost in a matter of hours, the monster he was born bonded to, just as she had been born bound to André and Germain. How strange, the stories Valentina had told about the back room to that Tommy Shelby fellow, Lucienne blushing all the while. It would do her no good to think of it. She’d helped Valentine with her washing, and now she had to get to the Garrison before the patrons grew impatient.

She starts to rush towards Watery Lane, but stops when she sees Elijah.

"I...Mr. Mikaelson, I...was told I should not speak to you. So I shall not.” 

[powerfulandlimited]

Bad Moon Rising (1919) – John x Tommy

JOHN SHELBY The brown steed gallops away from the countryside, leaving behind wildflowers and wild mushrooms for paved paths and brick buildings. John Shelby, the rider, had no love in his heart for nature or her bounty; perhaps he might’ve in another version of his life, a version where he had not spent the past few years rotting and killing in France. Whatever was to be said about that other John Shelby, however, was purely speculation; this John Shelby cared only for guns and women, women and guns.

His most recent tryst with Sabina had made him appreciate both even more. The girl, with all of her angles and shade, was worth more than any of his others because of her abilities. She’d seen in that little teacup of hers that there was trouble coming, had told John to warn his brother and to prepare for a war. He was not the type to travel without a weapon or six, but the fear in her eyes made him question his preparedness.

It was no matter, John knew. Everything would be alright. He’d tell Tommy, get some more guns, and keep the girl around. There was nothing in the world the Shelby men couldn’t do, couldn’t have; and there was no threat or danger that they couldn’t send back to hell or wherever it had come from.

John reaches the betting shop and ties his horse up before he enters. Inside is a mess of shouting and screaming—most of which comes from Aunt Polly. Bets are being laid, money is being counted, and numbers are being written down. Even so, it only takes John a moment to find his brother.

“Tom, we need to talk.”

[bewitchingbygones]

Thomas Shelby to Eliza Montgomery (September 2019)

Mrs. Eliza Montgomery,

In contradiction to what you may assume, my horse is not for sale- at present, or in the future. However, if it were, I would find the price being offered rather insulting, particularly as stated.

As such, your invitation won’t be necessary, which is for the best, as I assure you that a woman of your particular nature would not have enjoyed tea with a man such as myself.

Regards, T. Shelby 

P.S. Racing is a dirty business. I’d suggest you don’t involve yourself in it. 

[ourbleakmidwinters]

Eliza Montgomery to Thomas Shelby (September 1919)

Mr. Thomas Shelby,

I am Mrs. Eliza Montgomery, née Wharton of the Ascot Whartons. I received your name and address from a mutual acquaintance upon request. The request was made after I noticed your gelding, Monaghan Boy, at the Chelmsford Races on the second Friday of this month. Though I had so wished to make our introductions in person, you disappeared quite instantly from the racecourse and made that rather impossible.

Your gelding struck me immediately as a beautiful and quiet horse, of good breeding and adequate training. The horse’s success in a number of recent races, I am certain, fills you with a degree of pride. However, I wonder if you would be open to the possibility of selling to provide the creature with the many training opportunities to be had in the Montgomery Stables which, in part, remain under my control here in London.

I have spent a great deal of my life in the company and care of horses, and have taken in two geldings, a mare, and a yearling over the past fourteen months. I do truly believe that my stables would be perfect for your horse as he begins to age and transition out of racing. Based on his breed, age, and previous success in the races, I am willing to offer £200 for the horse—taking into account that he has no value for breeding, of course.

If you would like to meet for tea to discuss the matter further, do not hesitate to make such a request.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Eliza Montgomery

[powerfulandlimited]

Burning From Both Ends (1919) - John x Sabina

JOHN SHELBY

The moon hung low in the sky that night, a yellow orb of mischief that must have accompanied the evening’s festivities and helped put them into motion. John did not consider himself especially superstitious, but the full face of the moon staring at him as he rides across the countryside gives him chills along the curve of his spine, goosepimples decorating the nape of his neck.

John was a man of reality; flesh, blood, bone. He feared no God, not after France, and he believed in charms and potions about as much as he ought to, considering he had seen them in action more than once. But in the grand scheme of things, John Shelby did not put much weight on the words of gypsies and soothsayers– no matter who it was he liked to take to bed.

His brother was different, had always been different. Tommy Shelby, it seemed, had more of their mother’s blood running through their veins then he, Arthur, and Finn combined. He would liken Tommy’s superstitions to Aunt Polly’s, only Tommy wasn’t full of shit, tossing three or four bob at the nearest Charlatan with a crystal ball and a pendant. Tommy was careful because that’s how Tommy was; and being worried about whatever Sabina had said was just another way to be careful.

But the men who’d come tonight, the Mikaelsons, had made John a believer of sorts. Though they hadn’t quite gotten the story straight, a few things had been made painfully clear. For one thing, the little French flower was certain that whatever terrible thing had happened to Miss Rossini was Klaus’ fault, and that her Elijah had nothing to do with it. For another,  Klaus had threatened the love of John’s life on his way out. And finally, when John, burning red hot with fury, had reached the door to confront the arrogant bastard, there had been no sign of the brothers Mikaelson.

It troubled John to think about what the Mikaelsons could want with Sabina almost as much as it troubled him to think about what they could do. He could not explain to himself how they’d disappeared so quickly, nor how they knew Sabina’s surname, nor how they had harmed Miss Rossini. In fact, John could not explain any of it at all. And the thought of her, with her wild, brown tresses tumbling over her bare shoulders, wide hazel eyes hot and infuriated...the thought of harm coming to her was enough to make him believe in whatever Tommy believed, whatever she had seen.

He’d collected the items she’d requested through Tommy; Ada’s hairbrush, One of Polly’s hairpins, Arthur’s old watch, Finn’s shoes with the right sole almost run through, and Tommy’s handkerchief– the last item being lifted almost without its host’s knowledge. He’d made a trip back to his house, afterwards, and procured Martha’s looking glass, Sarah’s favourite dress, Ivy’s favourite hat, and Katie’s favourite doll. John would have the house from hell on his hands when he went back, but that was a problem for another John, another day.

He ties up his horse, stroking the smooth mane absently.

John had to see her, feel her, be in the warmth of her gaze, else lose his mind completely. When the threat had been made against her, the harshness of the War seemed to flood back tenfold; there was a hopelessness in his heart, a frenzy of grief and panic that only she could cure. And yet he could not bear to say out loud that what he feared most was that maybe he could not protect her; maybe guns and blades would not be enough, and maybe he would die before he could save her.

But he pushes those thoughts as far back as he can, and enters calling her name.

He didn’t need to be a man who thought too hard, not now.

He didn’t want her to see him broken.

[powerfulandlimited]

Devils and Dames

KLAUS MIKAELSON Klaus enters the pub with his brother, the look of abject disgust on his face slowly contorting into something more playfully malicious. He hated this town, loathed it with his entire being; but there was going to be some fun to be had with the lower rung of society. 

“Good Lord these women are foul,” he mutters loudly enough for a few to hear him and furrow their brows in contempt. “Elijah, do make sure to count your silver before we take our leave.”

He sits down at a table with Elijah beside him, pulling out a cigar and lighting it straight away. “Now I suppose the real work to be done here is get some bloody service.”

[powerfulandlimited]

Perhaps Vampires is a Bit Strong But... (1919) – Elijah x Klaus

KLAUS MIKAELSON There was something to be said for how low a society could live and still call itself ‘civilized’. There were places in Asia with the sweetest, richest teas one could imagine. The fruit grown in parts of Africa rivalled and bested the fruit in every other part of the world. Even slums in the New World could pique the interest of the most well-to-do individuals through fast music and comical artwork. That all these spots were, in some regard, considered lower than this chamber pot of a city was unspeakable.

Birmingham, with its stench of rubbish and waste in the streets, its citizens all ruddy and repulsive paupers, and its girls of the day looking just the same as its girls of the night; this spot could scarcely be classified a civilization. Yet Klaus and Elijah, lovers of music and art, of culture, of wine and fine dining—the original vampires, for God sake—had ended up here to waste away.

“Of all the evils we’ve endured at the hands of that man,” Klaus starts, not mentioning their father by name. “Of all the cruel and foul things he’s done, I believe this is the worst.” 

Klaus watches a dirty, young boy stomp about in the muck. His sister, by the looks of it, joins him in his pointless game and before long the two of them have coated their feet and ankles in thick mud. They behave as if they belong to no one, as if they are under no one’s care, and when a woman attempts to scold them from a shop window they shout a scathing “Bugger off” in unison.

“That we could have been in Spain, or France, or any charming corner of Italy, but for this inane crusade of his,” Klaus gripes, looking up into the sky with longing. With his eyes back on the filthy children, he mutters, “Instead, we must enter the new decade in the very armpit of England. With the most despicable and disagreeable specimens of human life among us.”

Klaus looks to his brother for validation. “Elijah, don’t tell me a half hour here hasn’t vanquished your appetite as it has mine? How will we survive this?”