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bleak_midwinterThomas Shelby knows what people believe in in America, and it's not just what he's picked up from television as a child. They believe in a handsome face, a good suit, and a good story told in confidence.
Thomas has all that, and a British accent that he poshes up considerably. Not that he thinks most people in New Mexico would be able to tell the Queen's English from his pure Brum one, but he'll not take his chances.
Tonight, he's set up in a nice cocktail bar near the office district. Go to a shabby place and you'll never make any money, go *too* nice and people won't be willing to interact with strangers. Lawyers and financial types looking for interesting new people is perfect.
Thomas has all that, and a British accent that he poshes up considerably. Not that he thinks most people in New Mexico would be able to tell the Queen's English from his pure Brum one, but he'll not take his chances.
Tonight, he's set up in a nice cocktail bar near the office district. Go to a shabby place and you'll never make any money, go *too* nice and people won't be willing to interact with strangers. Lawyers and financial types looking for interesting new people is perfect.
jackthelassBefore Ann Walker, before coal pits, before politics, Anne Lister spent about half her (chaotic, busy, vibrant) days outside of England. She first came to Paris and learned the language of aristocratic women who would not marry or who were married merely for show. After those heady years in her twenties, she felt more peace to enjoy life. Or, well, peace - there hasn't been a day in her life spent *peacefully*. But at least she could spend days on end not following the next lovely woman willing to take her on, and nights unmarred by doubt over her own unusual character.
Unbeknownst to her, she left a trail of broken hearts during her travels through Europe, between mountain peaks and glamorous cities. With age came confidence, and confidence looks good on Anne Lister. Just like her clothing looks good on her tonight: in Vienna, the fashion is always *big*, whatever it is, and Anne stands out in her sober attire. She's wearing a slim black suit with a long skirt, a little broad in the shoulders and narrow in the hips. Viennese tailors give generous nods to all things military, and her jacket is adorned with gold floss and big brass buttons. The party is informal enough that she's wearing her top hat instead of ribbons and feathers in her hair, and her boots are sturdy enough that dancing is an easy feat.
Enjoying life also means enjoying women. While talking to the local aristocracy about the quality of the water just outside of Vienna and its purported healing abilities, she catches the eye of a lovely young thing. She catches her eye later, while knocking back a quick glass of wine, and then turns back around to find her when she sees her slipping out into the fresh air.
Unbeknownst to her, she left a trail of broken hearts during her travels through Europe, between mountain peaks and glamorous cities. With age came confidence, and confidence looks good on Anne Lister. Just like her clothing looks good on her tonight: in Vienna, the fashion is always *big*, whatever it is, and Anne stands out in her sober attire. She's wearing a slim black suit with a long skirt, a little broad in the shoulders and narrow in the hips. Viennese tailors give generous nods to all things military, and her jacket is adorned with gold floss and big brass buttons. The party is informal enough that she's wearing her top hat instead of ribbons and feathers in her hair, and her boots are sturdy enough that dancing is an easy feat.
Enjoying life also means enjoying women. While talking to the local aristocracy about the quality of the water just outside of Vienna and its purported healing abilities, she catches the eye of a lovely young thing. She catches her eye later, while knocking back a quick glass of wine, and then turns back around to find her when she sees her slipping out into the fresh air.
poetontheinsideHe's been all over the place for the last year. He came back from a raid with his head scrambled, no longer able to touch a blade, to wield an axe, to pick up a shield. It shames him, but when he tries something inside him screams at him to stop.
It's starting to become a problem big enough that the village is talking about how useless he's become. If he can't do that, can't he at least learn a trade? Brew some mead, cook the meat the hunters bring, fish with a bow and arrow? He could even learn to put ink in the skins of those who can still fight.
But he doesn't. He's stuck in a place he can't get to. And right now, he's on his way to the only thing he thinks might help. The seer is a few days' travel from the village, and they're notoriously unhelpful. But what else can he do?
He's lost. He pounds on the door to the mountain cabin, wrapped in furs, and completely weaponless.
It's starting to become a problem big enough that the village is talking about how useless he's become. If he can't do that, can't he at least learn a trade? Brew some mead, cook the meat the hunters bring, fish with a bow and arrow? He could even learn to put ink in the skins of those who can still fight.
But he doesn't. He's stuck in a place he can't get to. And right now, he's on his way to the only thing he thinks might help. The seer is a few days' travel from the village, and they're notoriously unhelpful. But what else can he do?
He's lost. He pounds on the door to the mountain cabin, wrapped in furs, and completely weaponless.
bleak_midwinterThere is one light on in the office. The city is so quiet that Tommy can hear his cigarette burning in the ashtray. He's tired enough that he can imagine he can see the throbbing of the wound in his shoulder; he has a dozen different reasons for his hand to be shaking.
Still. For all that Polly can say there'll be others, he will need to do this before he might start to accept that. He puts a sheet of paper in the typewriter and starts. The coin is burning away in his pocket.
And then there are fists on the door, breaking through the silence of the night.
Still. For all that Polly can say there'll be others, he will need to do this before he might start to accept that. He puts a sheet of paper in the typewriter and starts. The coin is burning away in his pocket.
And then there are fists on the door, breaking through the silence of the night.
