Concealing a rising blush by raise her glass of whiskey to her lips, Vera let a long draught wash over her tongue as Shay paid her a compliment. She fought the surge of awkwardness bubbling within, and told herself that he meant it in good nature. When the glass lowered, she ventured over to the gas stove, ever since 1900, not that she would remember, but her mother told her, how different the gas stoves were compared to the old cast iron stoves her mother cooked on when she was a little girl, one that required wood or coal. With modern conveniences becoming the norm, Vera wasn't surprised to see the black metal 1905 range in Shay's apartment.

"I'll cook us dinner. You've done enough today for me." She allowed herself to steal a quick glance at Shay as a small smile danced across her lips. "I hope you don't care for my singing, it helps me to focus more while I cook."

As she went about the small kitchen, Vera found a pot, and a knife. She rummaged through his cupboards, looking for any spices, to which she found two. Counting herself lucky he had those, rosemary and thyme, Vera set about filling the pot full of water from the sink, where she set it on the burner to boil. All the while, a soft hum filled the room, and a curious look in her eyes appeared, one that had not arose since before her mother's death. There, a gleam of familiarity, and a kindred nature overcame her, she felt right at home, as if she were cooking for Samuel and mother again.

"In a neat little town they call Belfast
Apprentice to trade I was bound
And the many's the hours sweet happiness
I've spent in that neat little town

but a sad misfortune's come over me
Which caused me to stray from the land
Far away from me friends and companions
Betrayed by the black velvet band

Her eyes they shone like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair, it hair hung over her shoulder
Held up with a black velvet band

I took a stroll down Broadway
Intending not long for to stay
When who should I meet but this pretty fair maid
Come traipsing along the highway

She was both fair and handsome
Her neck it was white like a swan
And her hair, hung down from her shoulders
Held up with a black velvet band"

The song was a familiar one, as she had heard it sang in the Tawdry by many a drunken Rougher. She wasn't certain of the origins, but deemed it to be from Ireland at least at the mention of Belfast. It weren't as if she belted out the song, rather, her voice maintained a soft tone, one that bordered on a whisper at certain points, while that wasn't the entirety of the song that she knew, Vera seemed to lose focus on the song as she began to dice up the potatoes, onion and carrots. What an odd sight it may appear for Shay. A man such as himself, that had no familiarity from women in his life, outside that of family of course, for a woman like Vera to be standing in his kitchenette, preparing him supper while he relaxed from the excitement of the day. Occasionally, she stole a curious glance at him when she nursed her whiskey, the strong bite comforting her in the lack of opium for the night.

With the purchase of a roast, her knife carved away raw pieces, and set them aside. When the water began to boil, she turned it low to simmer; careful not to scald herself, she added the minced vegetables slowly as a languid hum began again. Seasoning the meat accordingly with salt, pepper, and the two spices she found in the cupboard, she added the meat as well, with half a garlic glove. Leaning against the wall, as she kept an eye on the stew, Vera finished off the rest of her whiskey. A reddening of her cheeks from the burn of the alcohol, left Vera feeling a little warm.

"It'll be a little bit before the stew is done," she said abruptly, turning to face Shay before setting the tumbler in the sink. "I'd like to have that bath now, that is, if I can trust you to watch over the stew? If it bubbles, just give it a slow stir so it won't burn or stick to the pot." Vera proceeded over to the bags filled with their purchases from the day, and begun out a pair of clothes to wear to bed from the brown sack.

"I can draw up my own water, too." She mused, Vera wasn't a dainty woman who needed constant guidance, as Sam may have implied. After all, she had shot Billy Bellamy dead in the alley without a second thought, and she had intended to shoot Rory Jepson dead in the street four nights ago.

“Alright, I won’t argue your point.” Shay chuckled, allowing Vera to wander into the kitchen, which he was quietly grateful he kept tidy if for no other reason than being a soldier meant old habits like having everything inspection ready and serviceable died hard. “Some song might be good; affording a radio receiver is a bit out of my affordability at the moment.” He said, curious as to what Vera’s singing voice was like.

To his surprise, Vera broke into an Irish folk song, Black Velvet Band. It was one that came up quite often back in Cork, and from time to time in Belgium and France among the lads. Once or twice, he’d heard it come up in the Tawdy Countess, but it was an Irish song through and through. He drummed his fingers along to the tune, transfixed at this lively side to Vera that made her seem quite so alive and carefree. It was strange having someone staying with him and not having to prepare his own meals, but in an odd sense of things it felt right, like it was the way things ought to be, but had simply gone away for a while. Even the meal brought a delightful scent into the flat, giving volume to an otherwise drab set of accommodations. Shay rested his head back against the back of the couch and let his eyes close, simply taking in the moment and allowing himself to be at ease.

When Vera spoke suddenly, it took him a moment to snap out of his slight trance. Had he begun to drift off? He wasn’t sure, but he gave himself a few moments to compose himself. “Right then. I’ll make sure all your hard work doesn’t go up in hellfire.” He grinned, rising up to his feet and downing the glass. The almost defiant tone in Vera’s voice of being perfectly capable of drawing up her own bath wasn’t lost on Shay, who raised a hand in mock surrender. “Now, I never doubted your ability to turn a couple of valves, I’m just saying I’m the best at it.” He teased with a grin and a wink. With a playful wave of the hand, Shay shooed Vera off. “Go on, I have to finish this most sacred duty in making supper.” He said, heading off to the kitchen.

A song of his own came to mind, one just about every Irish man, woman, and child knew, and it was something that was popular with the regiments in the war… and the Easter Rising.

With light and airy voice that lent well with its melodically quality, Shay sang to himself as he monitored dinner, partially as the mood struck him, and to give Vera a sense of conformity.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wElVCMUEfhI

With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a
With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a

"Ahhhhh, Mrs. McGrath," the sergeant said
"Would you like to make a soldier out of your son Ted
With a scarlett coat and a big cocked hat
Oh, Mrs. McGrath, wouldn't you like that?"

With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a
With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a

Now, Mrs. McGrath lived by the sea shore
For the space of seven long years or more
`till she saw a big ship sailing into the bay
"Here's my son Ted, wisha clear the way"

With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a
With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a

"Oh captain dear, where have you been
Or have you been in the Meditereen
Will you tell me the news of my son Ted
Is the poor boy living or is he dead?"

With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a
With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a

Well up comes Ted without any legs
And in their place, he had two wooden pegs
Well she kissed him a dozen times or two
Sayin`:" Glory by the God, sure it couldn`t be you?"

With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a
With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a

"Ah then were you drunk, or were you blind
When you left your two fine legs behind?
Or was it while walking on the sea
A big fish ate your legs from the knees away?"

With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a
With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a

"No, I wasn't drunk and I wasn't blind
When I left my two fine legs behind
But a big cannon ball on the fifth of May
Tore my two fine legs from the knees away"

With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a
With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a

"Oh, Teddy my boy," the widow cried
"Your two fine legs were your mammy's pride
Them old stumps of a tree wouldn't do at all
Why didn't you run from the big cannon ball?"

With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a
With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a

"Well all foreign wars I do proclaim
Between Don John and the King of Spain
And by herrins I`ll make them rue the time
That they shoot the legs from the child of mine”

With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a
With your too-ri-a, fol-di-diddle-da, too-ri, oor-ri, oor-ri-a

Some time after, his spirits lifted, Shay began to dish out the stew into wooden bowls when he heard Vera stirring in the washroom and the tub beginning to drain. Fetching both of their tumblers, Shay topped another two fingers of whiskey into both glasses. Setting both bowls and the forks alongside the glasses, Shay took a seat at the table, looking out the window at the snow-dusted streets below, curious of how it could feel so warm and cheerful in his quaint abode while it looked positively uninviting out of doors.

The warm water soothed her body, and eased her restless mind. After four tireless days spent in Holloway, dealing with ruthless, crazed women that terrorized other women in the facility when let out for daily exercise or during breakfast and dinner times; it felt good to relax in the privacy of Shay’s bathroom. She found herself smiling at his words, of how he didn’t mean any offense, except that he could turn the valves better. Sinking into the water, with her ears barely above the surface, Vera thought she was mistaken at first, for she thought she heard Shay talking to someone else. As she shifted to rise her body up, she soon understood that it was actually Shay singing. While she did not know the song, she assumed that like the Black Velvet Band, the song was of Irish origin. Nevertheless, she closed her eyes and listened to the sound of his voice. In truth, she wondered if anyone else knew of this side of him, that he could actually sing, or that he even possessed an inkling for singing. Finishing up with her bath, Vera managed to wash away every speck of dirt, from in between her toes, under the pits of her arms, and even behind her ears, just as mother had taught her. With skin rosy-pink from all the scrubbing, Vera’s attitude flourished. A hot bath always improved her mood.

Digging into the brown sack full of clothes she purchased, containing a new pair of flannel pajamas, while most older women strayed away from the idea of wearing pants altogether, the younger women growing up in this day and age were becoming more accustomed to the idea of pajama pants instead of wearing the traditional nightgowns to bed. Of course, negligées were still popular amongst the female society, but since it was the end of January, and she was a guest in Shay’s house for the time being, Vera opted to pick up a pair of modest, red flannel pajamas. The seams were straight, giving no thought to the body that inhabited the outfit beneath, while the flannel blouse buttoned down the front with opalescent buttons, the thought of slipping back into her clothes from earlier that day made her grimace. With the feeling of a fresh change of clothes now donned, Vera ventured over to the foggy mirror over the sink vanity, and wiped away the accrued steam with the ball of her hand. Taking the time to comb out her tangled locks, Vera poked and tugged at her face before uttering a sigh.

Departing from the tiny bathroom, her old clothes placed inside the brown paper sack, she poked her head around the door in time to see Shay sitting at the table, lost in contemplation as his eyes gazed out the window. “I had no idea you could sing as well, Mr. Alden.” Vera teased playfully as she stepped away from the door, leaving it cracked open so that the steam would escape from the room, and avoid the chance for mold to grow. She set the sack down by the couch, and joined him at the table.
“And why, look at this,” She exclaimed, a smile splitting her face, “your apartment hasn’t been consumed in holy hellfire!” Placing her hands atop the back of the opposing chair, Vera’s smile softened one that emitted gratitude and respect.

“Thank you Shay. For being so hospitable to me.” Here, Vera pulled her chair out to join him now at the table, and settled into the seat as she scooted her chair in. Steaming, as it just came off the stovetop, Vera could smell the stew, almost taste it even. With lingering eyes, she studied Shay closely, lips pursed into a thin, tight line before reaching for her spoon and lifted it to her lips, blowing upon the hot morsel so as not to burn her mouth. She found the stew, when safe to eat, satisfying and full of flavor, feeling a swell of pride blossom in her chest.

“Tell me Shay, because I’m curious to know. Nettie Parish is your cousin, and so are the Wallis’, this much I know. Yet, your last name is Alden… so how is it, that you are kin to them?” This had always confused her, and she never worked up the nerve to ask Nettie, or any of the Wallis’ how Shay figured into the mix. Samuel never mentioned either, not that he would, how Shay was their cousin. Vera knew that some folks claimed others to be their cousins, for example, if their family had done something considerably nice for another family. More importantly, she wanted to know how Shay, as an Irishman could be a cousin to the Wallis, who were English folk.

Shay grinned when Vera emerged, commenting on his singing and competent cooking. “Never had reason to sing, Vera. B’sides, you saw how certain people react to when I speak, imagine how they’d lose their minds should I feel a song in my heart.” Gesturing towards the food, he invited her to sit. “And no, alas, we don’t have to worry about a flaming adventure to cap off our day, I’m afraid.”

He smiled warmly when she thanked him for his hospitality and kindness, for which she was rewarded with a small smile as he turned his stew with his fork. Taking a measured bite, he nodded approvingly. “Pardon my tongue, but damn fine stew, Vera. I should invite you over more often.” He said, breaking into a grin. He continued to eat slowly and steadily as she asked him about how he was related to the Wallis’, something he suspected would come up sooner or later. Setting his fork down on the bowl’s rim, he took a sip of the whiskey and drummed his fingers on the table, gathering his thoughts for a moment.

“My father used to be one of the founding members of the Jolly Roughers, along with Adam Wallis. They shared a mother, whom I know next to nothing about. When times were rough, my father fled England to settle in Ireland to avoid the law, and he abandoned his extended family to their fates, to hell with ‘em.” Shay said, with an irritable handwave. “So, I found a letter in the mail before I shipped off to the war from Clinton, and that’s how I found out our blood ties. I never fit in in Ireland, being from an English family and all that, and here it’s more the same, but worse. The gang treats me right, mostly. That’s all that concerns me. Other than Sam, and now yourself, no one’s really bothered to know me on a social level. Won’t lie, Vera, life can be lonely sometimes. Surrounded by all sorts of people, but they don’t really know me. Just an Irishman with a talent with a rifle. Could be worse, I suppose. I could be French.” He said with a shrug, returning to his bowl of stew. “I trust that clarifies matters a bit? Why the Wallis brothers let a potato eating Mick in their midsts?”

A blush rose to her cheeks at his compliment regarding the stew, it could be worse. It could be black and charred, she’d had that problem earlier in her life when cooking, and on occasion, when she had forgotten she was cooking altogether under the influence of the pipe. She didn’t bother thanking him for it, rather, she simply listened to him speak, it was evident in his voice, his Irish accent that is. Certainly noticeable, and different when she spoke, but hey, in comparison to some Irish folks, at least she could understand him right clear. For her, hearing Shay’s actual blood relations to the Wallis’, indeed, did clear up some questions she had in the beginning when Sam explained briefly the connections between the Wallis’, Nettie Parish and Shay. Even more importantly, his father, was one of the original founding members of the Jolly Roughers. As he spoke, she put off eating her stew, giving it time to properly cool, while her brows knitted together, listening intently. So the Wallis’ father was a half-brother to Shay’s father, she presumed that the mother to them must have remarried along the way, and around came the Alden’s. Interestingly enough, at the mention of times turning for the worse, Shay’s father fled to Ireland in a rash attempt to avoid the consequences of his actions under the scrutinizing eye of the British law, clearly not giving a damn about any of his family that remained behind in England. From furrowed brows, they rose in unison at the letter he intercepted in the mail from Clint. She scoffed quietly under her breath at the encounter with Leonard from the shop earlier that evening, that was an event that would be hard to forget. Something she took for granted really. As a British woman, she never had to worry about insults of her origins, unlike Shay, where just opening his mouth to say a few words would garner the attention of the general public. When he admitted to the loneliness he felt in his life, a commiserating smile touched the corners of her lips, the thick brows lowered in recognition, she understood that, to be sure. What with the death of her mother, no close friends to confide, save for Sam, or even the confirmation of any other living relatives, Vera truly felt alone in the world, if Sam passed away, it would be only her that remained, and then what would she do?

“Even if you were French, I don’t think I would give a damn, unless of course, you smelt like piss.” She bantered, “I have to admit, I find it highly intriguing to know that your father was one of the founders of the Roughers, of course, now I know what Sam means when he says that your kin to them. I suppose that’s a good thing in a way, at least you have a big family.” What she did say of course, is what it felt to hear Shay say that were it not for her brother, or her, for that matter, no one else really had taken the time to know him as a person, and not as a living, breathing hunk of human flesh. So to speak, the honor to know him, when no one else took the time, lifted her spirits, it made her feel like a caring person, or at least a being with a good-natured soul. Mother would be proud, she was certain.

“And come now, you’re one of the nicest Irishmen I’ve encountered in a while, eh?” She hid a smile behind the tumbler full of whiskey, already, her head felt warm, and she could feel the burning in her cheeks, she could feel the numbness in her lips and tongue emerge; she would have to be careful, Vera wasn't one to hold her liquor well. “I’ve not seen you fully blown off the seat either, as I’ve seen a few others in the Tawdry. So, as I’m rather curious to know… If you don’t mind my asking that is, I’m sure you hear this question rather frequently, but, what did you do in the war? Or rather, how did you learn to shoot so well? Blowing the head off that Jepson fellow in the pouring rain surely must’ve been a daunting task, hm?” Sam never spoke directly to her about what he did in the war, hinted at it yes, but never came out in the clear and told her what he had done, how many people he killed, what he suffered through, no, he kept it all bottled up. Sure, he wrote letters to mother and her, before mother’s passing of course, but he never alluded to the travesties he experienced. Hell, she didn’t even know really, where he had traveled to. Most of the letters they received were dotted with black ink blots concealing his location or key information; an obvious attempt by the military to prevent giving away troop locations were those letters to fall into the wrong hands.

Shay chuckled at the uncouth joke at the French’s expense. “It pleases me to say that I’ve avoided of reeking of piss most of my life, so I have that going for me.” He said with a slight lift of his lips. “And now you know why the gang took on a seemingly out of place Irishman, we share blood, the Wallis boys and I. It was my fortune that that still means something to people, because otherwise I could have come a long way for nothing. If it weren’t for that, I doubt anyone would have looked at me twice. I had a hard enough time finding work in Ireland, here would have been neigh impossible without connections. We may be blood, but I don’t think they’ll ever look at me as family, not truly. Sam and to a lesser extent Eli have been two of the only lads who’ve really spent any measure of time with me. Otherwise, it’s all business.”

Winking, Shay finished off his glass of whiskey in a quick gulp. Setting the glass down, he closed his eyes for but a moment to enjoy the sensation of the liquor burning its way through his blood. “Trust me, Vera, I’ve had plenty of practice at this drink I know my limits. Last thing I want to do is make a total arse of myself in front of everyone, on account that I have a reputation of being a hard, cold man who doesn’t speak much to uphold… and the whole English hating the Irish thing. If most of the Irishmen you’ve met have been utter tossers, then consider the fact most of them seldom run across an Englishman who doesn’t treat them like a mangy dog.” He replied with an apologetic smile.

The conversation took an even more serious turn as Vera steered it towards his time in the war, and Shay’s murder of Jepson. He let out a light sigh, eyes downturned as he collected his thoughts. How did he feel about pulling the trigger on that Jepson fellow? He searched himself and came up short; he felt nothing towards the death of that man. He was about to kill a woman for no other crime than being associated with the wrong people. It was cowardly and low, and Jepson now down played the role of tormentor and executioner to a number of other people. Shay knew from experience that a gunman who doesn’t shy from killing has had his fair share of experience in the matter.

“I was a sniper, trained as an Infantryman with South Irish Horse. By the time I joined the war, the regiment had moved on from cavalry. War changed, and it made little sense to send young men gallantly riding atop horses into machine-guns. I had a natural gift behind a rifle, never shot one in my life, but I as a damn good shot. It just felt right in my hands. After I was familiar with it, it felt hard to miss. Apparently his majesty’s army wanted that sort of skill to be applied extensively. I spent two years shooting down Germany boys my age, most completely unaware that the cigarette they lit would be the thing that killed them, or the desire to stretch after being crammed in a trench for far too long. Maybe it was the movement behind a machine-gun, or the glint of a rifle scope. Know how to look for things, and suddenly the most human of things can end up being what betrays you and sells you out to a bullet.” Shay said softly, looking to meet Vera’s eyes. “I don’t feel anything towards Jepson. Only thing that man every fought for was his own greed. He was going to kill you, so I killed him first. Nothing more than that. Shot wasn’t anything difficult, barely had to steady my breath for the shot, the wind wasn’t driving, rain isn’t such a factor, had to aim higher than usual because I was shooting from a raised elevation and the sight picture is a few inches higher than the bore axis… you get the picture. It’s the job I was trained to do, and men don’t survive the Great War unless they were exceptional at knowing their trade. Even then, it was a gamble for who made it home or not.”

As he spoke, his words snaring her mind like a fox caught in the clutches of an iron bear trap, Vera could not break her focus. She nodded accordingly, smiling on occasion, when he winked even more so. His company was a welcome peace to the monotony of her life, and as she sat in her chair, bowl of stew finished, her ghost of a smile waned as he began to describe his life on the front lines. Hearing this, while she overheard many of the Roughers telling their stories of war, she had never heard anything like this before, not a first-hand account, in a personal setting with no other noise to disturb her, no pestering customers, no blundering drunks to curtail. Even the hair on her arms rose when Shay mentioned how he felt nothing for killing the vengeful Jepson that sought to put a bullet in her, keeping her safe was the only thing that he had on his mind. Equally surprising to her, was the way he articulated his words when explaining the difficulty of the shot; simply technical, words that meant nothing to her, yet at the same time, did mean something. Is this why Samuel never broached the topic with her? Because she could not begin to understand what it meant to serve in a war full of sheer brutality, slaughtering men as young as you, yet viewing it with a technical eye, one that masked the underlying feelings of those that served?

“I am proud to know you then, Mr. Alden, for you are a brave man. I cannot begin to understand the suffering you endured on the fields of battle, but allow me to say this, I am most happy that you of all people survived.” She remained seated in her chair, her eyes lingered on him, yet she did not see him, for her thoughts were elsewhere at the time. When she broke her train of faraway thoughts, Vera rose from her chair, and collected the dishes from the table before heading into the tiny kitchen.

“I’ll wash these, get some rest then; we have a long day ahead of us, one that will require us to be sharp in mind.” Her voice stayed soft like velvet, one that a mother would use to soothe a crying babe in the midst of the night.

Whereas Vera kept herself busy with the small load of dishes, Shay readied his bed on the couch for the evening. Her thoughts were in another place, distant, preoccupied with a coagulated mess of incoherent lines. To her surprise, as she must have expected more dishes, Vera found herself reaching for another dish, when there was not one to be had. Red palms clutched the edge of the metal sink, watching as the water drained away, she could feel the distracting tug on the edges of her mind, as if pins and needles were being driven into the base of her skull, as well as into her eyes. Rubbing away the sensation with the back of her hands did little to ease the suffering. Turning out the light in the small living room, Vera tiptoed her way back to the bedroom.

Sleep avoided her like a forlorn ghost wandering the halls of some desolate mansion, but those halls were in her mind. She tossed and turned, her mind calling out to her, taunting her. Strands of dark brown hair clung to her neck and to her temples, her throat felt full of sound, and the pain in her eyes did not abide. Tugging off the flannel pajamas in a desperate attempt to pacify the thoughts that danced feverishly in her mind, and to cool her sweating body, she pressed her face into the pillow, and uttered a pained moan. All she wanted was to hold the brown pipe, press the stem to her lips, and inhale the miraculous smoke of opium. For what felt like hours, Vera’s concentration could not be quelled, rather every sound magnified the agony she felt. When the neighbors across the hall returned from what seemed like a late night party, their stumbling footsteps, drunken grunts, and slamming of doors kept her further awake. She had half the intention to talk some sense into them through a fist being thrown, yet she did not want to disturb Shay. Instead, she found relief by cracking the window, allowing a chilling breeze to fill the room, her brow dried for once. By now, she could hear a gentle snore, what time it was, she still could not determine, for the snowfall outside the solitary bedroom window illuminated the room with an eerie orange glow, white snow reflecting off the street lamps. Eventually, sleep descended on her, and before she knew it, she had fallen asleep. Only to be greeted with twisted, demented dreams, one that felt familiar; a dream that she had dreamt before.

'White vapors rose into the air as the gentle click of mary-jane’s met the surface of the sidewalk, the air was frigid, snow blanketed the benches and formed icicles above the wooden hanging shop signs. A soft mewling drew her attention to a darkened alleyway, one where she spotted a calico kitten shivering in the snow. Her heart dropped, if she could catch the kitten, she knew that she could give the poor creature a warm, loving home. Entering the alleyway, the kitten drew away from her, the mewling echoing off the brick walls.

“Oh come here your poor thing, you’ll die of cold if you don’t come.” She drew her scarf closer around her neck to keep the cold out, even her ears stung from the biting wind.

The alleyway seemed infinite, no matter how fast she raced headlong, she could not close the distance between her and the kitten. Just then, as the light faded from the world, she came to a stop, standing before a tall brick wall. It was then that she heard the menacing chuckle, one that she knew all too well. A hard lump formed in her throat, making it hard to breathe let alone swallow. Something caressed her neck, and she shied away from the potential threat. Tears sprung to her eyes when she felt rough, calloused hands circling her throat. A thought in the back of her mind called out to her, trying to warn her of the coming danger, yet she could find the strength to move, as if she were frozen in place.

“I didn’t e’pect to see yeh agin so soon, mah dearie. Mah, what a pretty young thing yeh are. O’ hush yer crying eyes nah, I ain’t dun a thing to yeh yet.” The voice, hauntingly familiar, whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her neck. Shutting her eyes tight, she made a desperate attempt to block out what would happen next. There it was, the hem of her skirt lifted, where rough, stubby fingers fumbled with the metal clasps of her garter belt. The pungent smell of bile and whiskey filled the air, her own bile rose up in her throat, nearly choking her with fear. The hand remained fastened to her neck like an iron shackle, increased in strength. When the first metal clasp came away, and the sheer black stocking fell down past her knee, she began to struggle, yet it did nothing to aid her in the fight to free herself. Where was her gun?! Hadn’t she put it in her coat pocket? But wait, when she went to fetch the revolver, she found that she wore no coat at all, rather, she was standing stark naked before her phantom attacker. The hand choking her continued its pressure, her eyes bulged out of their very sockets, while her hands clawed urgently at the hand that held her in place, all she needed was to breathe. Then came the second garter clasp, and the tickling sensation as the delicate fabric fell away. Sobs escaped, tears pouring, fear filled her chest. She would die here.

The man hoisted her leg up with his arm, his body pressing into the bare flesh of her body. Struggling in his drunken stupor, he released her throat as his hand wandered to fumble with the buckle of his belt. She could hear him shimmying out of his trousers, the warmth of his skin against her naked skin.

“No!” She cried. Vera bolted upright, her skin plastered with sweat. She found herself not in the darkened alleyway, but in the borrowed bed of Shay Alden. A wary hand ventured to her throat, where she could have sworn that a hand had been there seconds ago. Returning to the mattress, Vera's blue eyes stared at the ceiling, her mind paralyzed with grief, shame, and anxiety. Swearing silently under her breath, all she wanted to do was forget the horrid dream and return to the graces of sleep. Yet, from the glow of the outside world that filtered in through the window, she could tell that it was somewhere near dawn, perhaps four or five o'clock. Sleep did not come, leaving her to remain with her troubled thoughts as she waited for Shay to awake.

When she did hear him stir from sleep, or at least the sound of feet against the wooden floorboards, did she begin to dress herself, her nose detecting the precious smell of cooking bacon which elicited a fierce stomach growl, demanding that she give her body precious sustenance. After making up his bed proper, she discovered Shay standing in front of the wood-burning stove with an array of pans set before him, holding delicious breakfast morsels. She smiled halfheartedly, one that would appear sad yet welcome, as she was happy to find that her nightmare was simply that, a dream that had tormented her. While the thought to ask Shay if she had bothered him during the night emerged, Vera withheld the notion, instead she went to freshen up in the lavatory. The face that reflected back at her, bore a haunted appearance, with dark circles under her eyes. Shortly after, Vera ventured out to set the table proper for two, eager to be of some help to her generous host.

With breakfast over, a rather quiet meal save for the exchange of common pleasantries, the dishes washed and dried, the two of them departed from Couch’s End borough and made their way over to the Tawdry. When they arrived, they would find John Kirby waiting for them. As the Tawdry was nearly empty of occupants, they had the luxury of enjoying the privacy the green painted tavern. Here, Jonny provided more inclusive details precarious to the evening’s task. Mr. Tindall, a man of high-social standing, sought help from the Rougher's. They were to meet with him, and if he believed that Shay and Vera could handle the task, he would agree to compensate them heavily, as well as grant them the use of his moving trucks to use for their moving operations. The task? Meet with Mr. and Mrs. Von Goethe, an eccentric, fashionable couple in the aristocratic class. Mr. Tindall was a man well-known amongst the class members as a luxury art dealer. He provided everything they could ever need, from renaissance marble statues, to early 17th century paintings, even treasures unearthed in Egypt. However, the request for a particular painting arose from one of his closest clients, the painting, as it would be, belonged to the Von Goethe’s. They would need to smuggle the painting out of their estate, and return it to Mr. Tindall. He believed they would not even notice the missing piece, for the Von Goethe's were art collector's themselves. As to what painting it was exactly, Jonny did not know. Mr. Tindall would first determine if they were suitable, and if they were, he would reveal the location of their estate. Now all they had to do, was attend the arranged meeting at the White Star, where Eris Hawkins would see to their every need that evening as their personal waitress. The two departed from the Tawdry shortly after, and made their way to Pollard & Hobbs Threads to retrieve Shay’s suit.



January 28th 16:45p.m. – The White Star - Greenwich, London

Strolling into the White Star left Vera feeling apprehensive, dancing dangerously on the end of her nerves. Truly, this club, was a place of exotic luxury, where scantily clad women in sheer beaded dresses served men and women alike of notable repute. Smoke from cigarettes and cigars blanketed the air, even the occasional reefer could be smelt within the establishment. The hostess, when Vera told her that they were there to meet a Mr. Tindall, she nodded knowingly, and escorted them to a secluded table located in the far corner of the room. She apologized for his absence, saying that his car was giving him troubles, to which she readily accepted, the snow that had fallen during the course of the night, practically blanketed the entire city in a white veil. The streets were treacherous to navigate, with ice hidden under the fresh, powdery snow. In the meantime, as they waited, Vera tugged anxiously on the sheer black lace trim of her silkdress. Paired with a set of black seamed stockings, and pair of Mary Jane's, she fit in with the surrounding club scene, for what women were there so far at this hour, she did not draw any noticeable attention. Then again, through the haze of smoke, it made it difficult to discern who the White Star's patrons were; if there were any rivals of the Rougher's it would be near impossible to tell. Painted in an eerie black, save for hidden alcoves, such as the one in where they sat, painted gold, the walls of the White Star gave the impression of privacy, yet at the very same time, one of claustrophobia. The curtains themselves were made of the finest black velvet, held back with giant golden circle tiebacks. Drumming her fingers against the black marble tabletop in earnest, she glanced at Shay, and forced a smile, one that she hoped would reflect the attitude she wanted to obtain.

“You look rather dashing in that suit, Mr. Alden.” That, she did not force, for he did look quite the gentleman; one that even Samuel would admire, that much was certain. A stout gold candelabra acted as the centerpiece on the table bore two crimson candles, the only color contrast between the blend of black and gold, the flames flickered gently emitting a sense of intimacy. Her eyes fluttered away, distracted by the waitresses in the club. Shimmering beads that caught the light of the candles gave the women an ethereal appearance; creatures that fluttered from patron to patron, table to table, lounge chair to lounge chair, carrying trays full of crystalline champagne glasses, or tiny tea sandwiches. Just then, she watched in astonishment as a woman sporting only a beaded skirt, chest bare, with nipples pierced with pearl studs, sauntered with an air of nonchalance towards a gilded platform positioned on the opposite side of the room across from the bar, there she began to sway her hips, hands held high above her head; a bizarre dance to the erratic rhythm of the jazz band that played on a similar raised dais. Above the dais, a golden chandelier with tiers upon tiers of crystals, maybe even diamonds, sparkled from the candlelight. A part of her felt disgusted, how could these women subject themselves to such humiliating circumstances? Surely, they had enough sense of self-respect? Concealing her nervousness would be hard to do, even if she tried, it wouldn’t hide the way she sat on edge, nor the way she chewed worriedly on her lower lip.

“I wonder if Emory has ever visited here, can’t say that I would be too proud of my lover to be working in a place like this.” She grumbled, more to herself than to Shay; she spoke of course, of Emory's long-time girlfriend, Eris Hawkins, she held a position here at the White Star as a cocktail waitress, yet she never had the chance to actually visit the exclusive night club, popular in all of London, especially in the Greenwich area. “They’d half to pay me an awful lot of money.”

Just then, a woman with dark, reddish-brown hair piled high atop her head, secured with a crown of draping pearls, approached their table. Vera knew her to be Eris, as aforementioned, though she suppressed a wave of surprise on actually seeing the woman in her workplace. Like the other cocktail waitresses, Eris wore an elaborate, albeit, almost nonexistent, beaded dress, if one could even call it a dress. “Shay! Vera!” She slid into the opposing seat that remained open to Mr. Tindall, whenever he did arrive, a cheeky grin plastered on her face. Eris frequented the Tawdry to visit with Emory, and of course, Vera served her countless free drinks. Many ladies of the Rougher's received free drinks from Frankie and Vera, just like their counterparts, they didn't have to sacrifice a single pound.

“Em’ told me that you two would be here on official business.” She began while with one hand, she reached under the table, and from a mysterious compartment removed a carton of cigarettes and a swatch of matches. An ash tray also materialized from the compartment. With the swipe of a match stick, Eris inhaled deeply on her cigarette before emitting a cloud of smoke high above their heads, waving out the flaming match before tossing it into the ashtray.

“Would you like one, Vera?” Eris asked, sliding the carton and matches toward her. Without a word, Vera accepted the cigarettes readily, her lips puckering around the butt as it gave off an orange glow. “I have to say, you both are rather dolled up tonight, like some fancy sheik or sheba going out for a night of incredible escapades. So, before I forget… is there anything I can get for you? Shelton, my boss, told me that you're to be my only table tonight, until business is finished of course."

Brave? Shay hardly felt he was different from any other man, he just took things one day at a time; hell, there wasn’t a day in the war that didn’t terrify him, and it was partially a fear of not finding lasting acceptance back in Ireland that drove him to seek out his extended family in London, and a deep seated discomfort of speaking his mind around others who were none-too-pleased with his heritage. He was a survivor, first and foremost. He was not sure how bravery fit into all of it, but it was a sentiment that brought a genuine smile to his face. It was a strange, but wondrous, feeling to have been spoken to with such lofty praise by someone who had turned out to be so much more than just the brother of a friend.

While Vera cleaned up, Shay set to getting the couch in order, throwing a pillow on the armrest and covering it with one of the few sheets he owned. Before settling down, Shay made sure to conceal the Enfield rifle he had stashed between the wall and the end of the mattress to the top shelf in his closet and against the back so it was out of sight and just barely in reach. Vera likely didn’t need the reminder of what had brought her into Shay’s life like this, the instrument that had smote her assailants like Archangel Michael from the heavens. Satisfied that unless Vera was a dedicated snoop, which she’d have no problem stumbling across the 1895 stashed in the corner of the closet behind a long overcoat, she wouldn’t notice the rifle during her stay.

Settling himself down on the couch after bidding Vera good night, Shay had begun to drift off when sounds came from his bedroom of Vera either fitfully sleeping or having some form of withdrawal symptoms. He did not want to intrude her privacy in a vulnerable moment, and resisted the urge to knock on the door to check up on his guest. Closing his eyes once more, Shay adjusted to the minute sounds of discomfort and struggle and passed into a dreamless sleep.

What felt like only minutes passed when he heard Vera cry, ”NO!”, waking Shay up with a startled jolt. He reached for the Webly he had placed by his side while he slept and listened, ready to spring into action if there was a further disturbance; after the danger she’d been through, he was not going to take chances of enemies not finding his home. When nothing else came from the room, Shay relaxed somewhat, figuring the woman was suffering from a nightmare. He understood all too well; it wasn’t uncommon for him to suffer dreams of machine-guns raking trenches or the horrifying cloud of mustard gas approaching like a grim specter. He wondered what haunted Vera as he drifted back into sleep.

An hour and a half later, dawn’s light roused Shay from his sleep and instead of rolling back over and trying to sleep, which his body ached at the thought due to the far too short couch and uncomfortable armrest, he lifted himself from his makeshift bed with a grunt and made to start his day, setting off to the kitchen to prepare bacon, hashbrowns, and tomato slices. It seemed to have the desired effect of producing Vera from the room, which he offered her a smile as a greeting before she departed for the washroom. She looked almost sickly in the morning, as if the night had not been kind to her. He did not comment, wishing her to feel like she had right to privacy and that she was not going to experience anything but welcome comfort as long as she was under his care. He was concerned, of course, but he trusted her to handle her own affairs- and that she’d ask for help when she needed it. Until then, there was breakfast.

After eating and tidying up, the morning few in words but the atmosphere cordial, the pair headed back to the Tawdy and received their orders for their assignment on behalf of Mr. Tindall. Shay felt out of his element here, pretending to be an art patron, and reading a simple book over a few times simply was not going to cut it. John led them through was what to be expected, and it seemed rather daunting. Still, Shay was a master at keeping a straight face, and he was back to the no-nonsense man of few words Vera had first known until seeing another side to him over the past couple of days. This was the man who would do anything without fail and without comment, simply stating after the briefing that it would be done.

Back in the car, Shay let out a long sigh and lit a cigarette, and as he pulled out into London’s streets to retrieve his suit, he muttered a curse. “You know, Vera, I think I preferred when my jobs didn’t involve arousing the attention of rice arseholes.”

~ ~ ~

It took all of Shay’s conscious willpower not to let his jaw hang loose as Vera and himself entered the White Star, finding himself in a world of impossibly posh surroundings and an obscene amount of barely clad women whose attire left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Embarrassed and trying not to show it, Shay simply didn’t look around and kept his eyes where he was going. The scenery outside of the waitresses and entertainers, however, were enough of a draw to hold his attention, the gold and black colour scheme, low lighting, and black marble accents on the walls gave the establishment an air of opulence Shay felt hopelessly lost in. The haze of arcid smoke at least concealed Vera and Shay somewhat, making them harder to mark by prying eyes, people who would be able to identify them at a glance. Shay wasn’t much worried about other gang members in this place, really who would start something, but to pull off the job it would help if people couldn’t identify them when the art piece went missing. Well, if they managed to grab it.

Vera’s voice pulled Shay out of his thought as his throat screamed for whiskey to bring relief in the thick air, which gave him a slight tension as he thought of the Somme. “Hm?” he said, piecing together what he said. He smiled warmly at her compliment. “Why thank you, miss Vera, not much of an excuse for me to look like a man of sophistication these days, but it relieves me to hear I can pull it off when I put my mind to it. Remind me to pay my compliments to the tailor later.”

His eyes followed Vera’s as they went to the stage where a somehow even more scantily clad woman with an air of erotic mysticism about her performed a rather alluring and provocative dance. “Jesus fuck…” he breathed, turning away suddenly. “I think ‘a lot of money’ is precisely why some women do this, miss Vera. Emory probably trusts his wife or just doesn’t think about it.”

An unfamiliar female voice called Vera and Shay’s names, prompting them to turn in unison towards the source. Shay felt tense; he did not like being called out like this in such a public setting. Eris, a woman Shay was more than familiar with seeing at the Tawdy, made him blink hard in rapid succession; she was wearing a lot less than he was strictly familiar with. He chuckled out a laugh when Eris resumed her usual easy-going personality that broke the façade of the place. “A sheik, I don’t think I’d know what one of those would look like if I’d seen one. Closest I’ve seen was some Indian lads the army called up to fight the Kaiser’s boys. I think tonight’s a night for champagne, don’t you miss Vera? Say, Eris, have you seen the Von Goethes about? They’re our reason for being here.”

In response, Eris nodded to her left towards the Southwest wall where a rather stately and finely garbed middle-aged couple stood, speaking with other attendees of similarly fine sophistication. “See that one with the large mustache and the monocle? That there is Mr. Goethe, make sure if you talk about his nationality you call him Bavarian, he lost his cool when someone asked him what a Prussian was doing here… Mrs. Goethe is the lady in the red dress and the mink scarf and long cigarette holder. I think it’s made of ivory.”

When the pair received their drinks and saw a break in the crowd gathered around the German… Bavarian aristocrat, Shay and Vera approached. “Herr von Goethe?” Shay asked when he approached, smiling at the man. “Pardon my fiancé’s and my interruption, sir. We were in attendance here celebrating our purchase of a new home when we heard word that you were in attendance, as well. We’ve heard quite a lot about you in the art circles we attend, and as I understand you are a patron of Egyptian antiquities. If it pleases you, Herr von Goethe, allow us to make our acquaintance, and perhaps my darling Abigale and I could make your visit to London a most productive one.”

The Bavarian aristocrat regarded Shay with curiosity, his mouth mostly concealed by a rather impressive walrus mustache, black and silver as befitting of his age. Steely blue eyes stared at him inquisitively. “Well, isn’t this quite a surprise, darling? We had intended our visit to be rather low key, as you know anti-German sentiment is rather high at the moment thanks to the folly that was the Great War, but we have lived in London for years; we never had an interest in nationalism or Imperialism, simply enjoying our lives to the fullest.” He said, his accent very faint. Taking Vera’s hand into his own, von Goethe kissed her hand softly and then took Shay’s hand into his own meaty grasp. “And you sir, are…?”

“Conway O’Doyle, sir. I’m an investor in British archeological expeditions in Egypt and Persia, as well as an admirer of Monet. A pleasure.” Shay said with a smile, wondering where his life had taken him that he was trying to make small talk with a man that only a few years ago he was conditioned to hate.

Protruding off the upper lip of Herr von Goethe, nearly concealing his entire mouth, a waxed pepper-grey moustache remained immovable with every word uttered. Like any fat cat, the monocle came in tow, finding an easy perch between his fleshy cheek and sagging brows. When his lips brushed against hers, she cringed in disgust, forcing every fiber in her body to remain stationary. Fraulein von Goethe on the other hand, an exquisitely dressed woman in a stunning, satin-red dress, a minx draped gingerly over her shoulder, just like Eris had said. She suppressed a wave of surprise as Shay conjured up a fitting occupation, an investor for British archaelogical expeditions to Egypt and Persia, while she displaced the feeling of wishing him to choose something less attention-grabbing, it would suit their needs for the time being, after all this job should last no more than a few days time. Secured with a net of diamonds and pearls arranged in a fashionable lotus, the Fraulein's hair perfectly emitted the sense of higher-class nobility, with each finger-curl wave held firmly in place without any hint of a bobby pin, something Vera envied to a certain degree. Conway O'Doyle, right, best not forget the name, and she, Abigale, his fiancee. Cradling the long-necked champagne glass, she tried to concentrate on her outward, emotional appearance, one that hopefully exuded a sense of worth.

"How quaint," the Fraulein began, bringing the ivory holder away from her lips, and blew out a gentle curl of smoke from the side of her mouth, "I find the Egyptians to be a rather... primal people. Who would think that placing key organs into jars would grant them passage into "their" afterlife. Now, tell me, Abigale, yes?" Even though the Fraulein was older in age compared to Vera, this did not stop her from delving into the fashionable make-up styles of the day; smoky eyes, and a dark wine-red cupid's bow lingered on her, the corners of her mouth on one side twitched upwards, was she trying to conceal a smirk?

"Yes, that's right." Vera replied.

"What is it you do?"

"I paint, and write poetry. My father says I waste his time, and his money for my artistic pursuits, but I share a deep interest in many painters, even more so when it comes to poetry. We have a lavish study where Conway promised me the room for my hobbies."

"And you said that you two were engaged, correct?" Fraulein asked, instead of her mouth, a twitch in her brow warranted a suspicious gleam in her eyes, or at least one that was coy.

"That's right."

"If you will beg my pardon, where is your engagement ring? I'm certain that a woman such as yourself would not want to leave it behind in any circumstance."

"Ah yes, no need to worry over such a petty matter. We had it sent back to the jeweler, one of the diamonds fell out, I rather miss it myself." Vera countered, slipping her arm around Shay's, so as to link them at the elbow, and perhaps even to seek a degree of encouragement. Suddenly, the Herr laughed aloud, and placed a tentative hand upon his wife's shoulder.

"You must forgive me, my wife can be a bit inquisitive, more than she means to be at times. Her curious nature is what drew me to her in the first place. I hope you can understand," Here he turned his attention to Shay.

"I dare say, I am curious to know more over your expeditions. Clara and I managed to acquire several pieces of Egyptian works. My personal favorite is a peculiar piece, a canopic jar depicting Duamutef. I would love to acquire the other three jars for a complete collection, perhaps you could help me in that endeavour."

"Where is it you purchased your new home?" Clara interjected.

"Clara-"

"Oh Albert please." His wife turned to face him, batting her long, dark lashes at him as her lips puckered into a pertinent frown. He could only sigh, and nodded, offering Shay and Vera both a sympathetic look.

"In Liverpool, that's where my Aunt lives, such a pleasant woman she is. we enjoy frequenting London however, the city offers more exotic entertainment that we find exciting." While Clara's questions would have irked, or forced other women to feel anxious, Vera rose to meet each question with a desire to prove herself.

"Now then, you said you have an inkling for Monet, is that right?" Albert piped up, eager to quiet his wife's overeager attitude. "I have an impressive art collection, Clara says I spend my money frivolously on such luxuries, but it is a collection that I am proud of. I would be more than happy to invite you both over for a luncheon sometime this week, perhaps this is a piece art that you will find tasteful to hang in your new abode. And perhaps I can have you authenticate that jar as well? One must be careful of fraudulent sellers on the market nowadays, what a downright shame it is."

“There is nothing to forgive, Herr Goethe.” Shay responded with a polite smile. Turning to the cantankerous older woman, Shay’s disposition didn’t flap and he affectionately cradled Vera’s arm within his own. “They might have been primitive, perhaps, but they certainly knew how to build a legacy. Simply cracking open a tomb and seeing their art and culture preserved for literally thousands of years is simply astonishing. It is like stepping back through time, a prospect I am sure everyone’s dreamt about on at least one occasion.” He said before Vera took the brunt of Frau Goethe’s venom. The Irishman greatly preferred the gentleman over his wife; she would be someone he felt only satisfaction from having robbed.

The German aristocrat’s invitation came suddenly, and Shay took a moment to compose himself; he was expecting a much harder time of having the man even entertain the idea. “I don’t know what to say, truly, it would be an honour.” Shay said, surprising himself with how genuine the sentiment felt. It would also give him a time to dig up some resources on both Monet and Egyptian art; he had to sell to the man he knew what the fuck he was talking about. “It would be our genuine pleasure, and I must admit a selfish desire on my own part to see your accumulated collection, Herr Goethe. Shall we set a date, then?”

A few moments later, and with a note with both the address and time written down with Herr Goethe’s exquisite penmanship, Vera and Shay parted from the German couple and returned to the bar counter where Eris had first greeted them. Shay ordered himself a glass of champagne as they waited for Eris to return. He chuckled nervously, the tension of the moment finally wearing down on him. “My Lord, Vera, I never thought I had it in me. He seemed to buy our act, aye?” he asked, smiling in thanks as the bartender returned with his drink. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you were damned brilliant in handling that miserable hag. I had half a mind to throw a drink at her face.”

"My Lord, Vera, I never thought I had it in me. He seemed to buy our act, aye? If you don’t mind my saying so, you were damned brilliant in handling that miserable hag. I had half a mind to throw a drink at her face.” As she lingered next to him at the bar, she couldn't help but share in the success of their mission so far.

"I couldn't agree more, I think she'll be the one to prove most difficult to maneuver around. She reminds me of my aunt, in a way, very inquisitive. I just pray that she doesn't ask too many questions at the luncheon, hm?" Vera returned as she raised her own glass of champagne to Shay. With Herr von Goethe, she determined that he would be easy to manipulate, but the Fraulein... she would be a difficult adversary. More importantly, she found herself concerned with obtaining the painting, what if Albert would not release the painting they sought?

Just then, like an ethereal vapor, Eris sidled up to them, and slid into a chair alongside Shay. "Well that looked like it went well!" She exclaimed, only loud enough for the two of them to hear. "Vera, your brother called me a few minutes ago, and he told me that he wants you back at the Tawdry, says it's important news."

"He never seems to give me the chance to enjoy myself." Vera muttered, in truth, she never had the opportunity to visit establishments such as the White Star, much less enjoy a drink in the company of good people like Shay.

"Whenever you're ready, I suppose, we ought to take a gander back to the Tawdry, and let'em know that things went smoothly." She said with a nod to Shay, "After our drinks of course." There, a devilish smile played on her lips as she waved down the bartender.

"Bring me one more glass of champagne, good sir." She said.

"But miss, you're already holding a glass..."

"Don't patronize her," Eris started in, she wouldn't let a lady of the Roughers to be denied any request, not while she was on the job that is, "Now run along Harry." With a wave of her hand, she sent the bartender off to retrieve another glass, while Vera happily sipped on the bubbling alcohol. A sombre atmosphere had settled over the White Star, the jazz music turned into a softer melody, one where many couples took to the dance floor in front of the live band to slow-step to the tantalizing sound of piano keys, and the husky voice of a saxophone.

"Who says we can't stay and enjoy a drink before sauntering back to the Tawdy?" Shay asked with a smile, unhurriedly taking a sip from his own glass. It basically tasted like what he imagined liquid wealth would be. It was such a strange window into a world he'd never be a part of, and while he couldn't say he exactly was comfortable with it, it was a more comfortable existence than the one he led. A part of him resented the patrons of this place, with their wealth, furs, and no concept of what the normal person endured on a daily basis. These people did not know hardship, and they leeched off of the labours of the poor to keep themselves fat and ignorant.

Still, the music was pleasant and the immediate company was fantastic. He couldn't ask for more.

"Besides, it might look somewhat suspicious if we up and left so shortly after speaking to our... clients. Nothing in this place is hurried, and if anyone's been paying us any mind, they'd know we only arrived but a few minutes ago." Shay said, looking to the dance floor. Suddenly, he asked, "Vera, were you ever a dancer? I never quite learned the steps, but I meant to learn one day. They look like they're having a spot of fun, don't they?"

Rising to her feet, Eris winked at Vera before giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Let me know when you're ready to leave, and I'll fetch the valet to bring your car around, eh? You two enjoy yourselves." With that, Eris sauntered away with a shit-eating grin, which in return, only made her cheeks turn the very shade of her red lips. She tried in vain to hide her blush behind the narrow rim of the slender, crystal glass, letting the sweet taste of the alcohol give her much needed encouragement.

"And raising suspicions is something we ought to avoid." She replied, springing off the black leather barstool with a pep in her step, "Of course I dance, Mr. Alden. Any well-mannered woman knows a dance or two, or at least she should in circumstances like this." Here, she extended her hand for him to take, so as he could lead her out to the dance floor.

"I hope you do as well, so as not to embarrass either of us." Red lips parted in a teasing smile, the spirits had certainly given her encouragement after all, and soothed her strained nerves from having to put up with the Fraulein. As for standing so close to Shay, let alone dancing with his hand touching the small of her back made her heart flutter. Never in her life had she danced with a man that she didn't know, meaning, anyone that wasn't Samuel, as she subjected him to learn to dance for her sake, as well as his own, when they were children. She begged for her beating heart to still, and in the crevices of her mind, wondered if Shay could even see beneath the thin satin fabric of the dress she wore, her pounding heart, for it surely felt as if it would burst free from beneath cage of bones that held it in place.

Reaching out to take the offered hand, Shay felt his pulse quicken, trying to come to terms with how fast things were moving along. "Well, I'm certainly glad one of us knows, apologies in advance if I step on your toes, miss Vera... never been known for my graceful footwork." He said, perhaps speaking a bit too quickly than he meant to. Good lord, am I nervous? he thought, glancing back, eyes transfixed on the crimson lips that spread into a warm smile, her blue eyes inviting like a pool of water. Shay definitely felt bashful; he wasn't expecting things to turn out this way, and Sam would likely be infuriated.

But to hell with caution, he wanted this. After so long of following others' lead without complaint, he deserved some measure of enjoyment.

Guiding her to the dance floor, Vera took the lead and positioned herself before him, so close he felt her warmth radiate from her. Shay felt his neck flush, he was rather unaccustomed to being this close with a woman before, and the past twenty-four hours, despite how they came about, were something he had begun to cherish and feel a happiness he forgot he had. No gangs, no war, no English hatred... just her. His hand found the small of her back, and he committed her touch to memory. Following her step, and losing himself in the moment, the music, the crowd, all of it faded until his world was directly in front of him, looking him in the eyes. "I..." he began, finding himself at a loss for words. He smiled softly, shaking his head slowly, as if he couldn't believed he were here. "I needed this. Thank you."

Miraculously, Vera found the ability to lead the both of them in a slow dance, much like an easy two-step, and he managed to avoid stepping on her toes, and she his. While her nerves were strained to their maximum limit, and her heart pounded like a war-drum, she couldn't help but notice how Shay hardly ever broke his gaze, in most cases, she would have felt...anxious, or nervous, but there was something different about him, one that allowed her to feel more at ease in his presence. Was it the fact that he was everything she had imagined in a gentleman? Good-natured, courteous, witty, humble, and kind? Or was it the fact that he had practically saved her life that night almost a week ago now? Whatever it was that made her feel that way inside, she had to admit, that as they moved across the dance floor in a fluid manner, she didn't want this feeling to end. Sam's need to speak with her could wait, because for once, she wasn't serving the rowdy patrons of the Tawdry, and as a rare opportune moment such as this, she wouldn't let it go so easily.

Soft vibrations from the saxophones, and the even softer notes of the piano keys lulled her into a romantic mood, or at least the atmosphere certainly denoted one of such nature. When Shay spoke, she snapped out of the reverie that had ensnared her, and listened to his words. Unlike before they had taken to the dance floor, Shay's words were not hurried, though perhaps a bit hesitant this time around.

Her eyes widened in surprise, to hear him thanking her sounded odd. Then again, they had thanked one another quite frequently during the past days. Yet as she gazed back at him, searching his own cool blue eyes for a sign of deceit, she found none, it was a genuine statement. A warm smile came over her as she replied, "There's no need to thank me." Moving so close together, provided with the solace of the gentle music, she hadn't need to raise her voice higher than a whisper.

"I think... I needed this too."

Rather unexpectedly, the arm she had curled around the exterior of his suit jacket, tightened, or rather, unseemingly pulled him in a little closer to her. While Vera did not notice right away, she became aware of his scent, whether he wore cologne, or the smell of his aftershave, perhaps even the smell of the suit, she could not tell which, lured her in. Like Hades to Peresphone. Now, instead of holding his hand in hers, her fingers wound themselves in between each of his, until their hands were clasped together.

When Vera stepped in closer to Shay, the reaction to hold her closer yet was only natural, and it felt almost protective. Even through his suit, he felt the warmth of her body against his, and their entwined fingers were an intimidate gesture that went far beyond simply playing the role. Fate had brought them together, first as her distant protector, then as her protector, and now her… what, exactly? This definitely was something, although the words escaped him. Vera’s perfume rose from her like a flower, and closing his eyes, Shay could almost imagine he were in the fields around Cork as a young lad again, a more innocent time. He felt at ease in a way he had not felt in quite some time, and he did not want the moment to pass.

The band, however, concluded their piece and a silence came over the dance floor. Both Shay and Vera did not break their embrace immediately, finding solace amongst each other, a desperate attempt to let the moment linger but a bit longer as if resisting the setting sun. Eventually, they pulled away from each other, but their fingers were still entwined, as Vera smiled back at Shay, he felt his heart lift. There was something here, with her, that filled him with hope. He didn’t want to return to the Tawdy, to let reality come back. He wanted to be here, with her, for as long as they dared. Masters of their own fate, not answering to anyone else, even if it was family.

Still, there was an obligation to be fulfilled, and their expensive clothes and admission to this place was because the gang had made the arrangements. As pleasurable as it was, there was still a duty to fulfill. With a regretful sigh, Shay said after a spell, “I suppose we made our appearance convincing.” He said with a sad smile. “Shall we head back to see what Sam has for us?”

Departing the White Star and returning to the drab winter London streets, Shay opened the passenger door of the car as the valet brought it around and helped Vera climb into the cab before moving around to the driver’s side. Handing off a two pound note to the valet, Shay climbed into the driver’s seat and took off, following the streets to the familiar neighbourhoods where the gang resided. Before long, they pulled up to the Tawdy and Shay turned the car off, not in a hurry to head inside. “I didn’t want to leave… I don’t know what that was back there, but I felt something. I feel like I’m overstepping my station here, Vera, but there is something wonderful about spending this time with you I never want to let go of. This is a cruel, hard city, but you make me forget all of that.” He said softly, looking down, slightly abashed.

To bring their time at the White Star to an end crushed Vera's heart. She had so badly wanted to say and dance another song or two with Shay, yet, he was right. They were here to keep up appearances for as long as necessary, and they had done just that. If the Von Goethe's were watching the pair, their intimate dance would certainly quell the Fraulein's nosy nature as to whether or not they were engaged. For Vera, she had no desire to leave, but as Shay mentioned in a rather sorrowful tone, Sam did await for their return back at the Tawdry. Surrounded by such grandeur of the extravagant club would be a lasting memory in her mind for many years to come, and especially the dance she shared with Shay.

After the valet was fetched, and the car brought around, she relished in the warmth of her wool coat, and found herself sitting slightly closer to Shay on the ride to the pub. Albeit, the ride itself held little conversation, nothing more than a comment on the weather. As the Peugeot slowed to a halt outside the pub, Shay switched off the engine, and neither of them seemingly made any move to exit the vehicle. The silence that hung between them, like a veil of sorrow as to the evening's end was interrupted when he broke the awkward tension. His words were heartfelt, she could hear every feeling of empathy in his words, and yet, she remained still, gazing at him steadily, studying his behavior, how his head hung, his blue eyes cast downward. Did he anticipate rejection? More importantly, all matters aside, how did she feel?

"Shay...," She shifted nervously on the bench, and positioned herself at an angle so that she could look at him directly, "this is hard for me to say, so you must try and understand."

"In all my life, I have never loved any man. I simply never had the time to, nor felt any connection with any one person," she searched desperately for the right words to say, for there were many things she wanted to say. "I see what love looks like on the folks at the Tawdry, I see how they hold one another close, how they stare longedly into each other's eyes, and I often thought them foolish for their actions."

"Perhaps I've held a high standard for a peculiar man, unbeknownst to myself, of what constitutes as a proper partner, but...," here her words softened, and she raised her hand to gently caress Shay's cheek, only to let it fall away again after a moment, "I will say this. I've watched you, being the barmaid and whatnot, for a long while, as I watch everyone. There is something in your nature, your very essence of a human being, that has made me... trust in you. Even just last night, I did not think for one moment that any harm would befall me in your care. And that just goes to show, your values as a human being. You make me feel safe, for once in my life. I needn't have the notion to look over my shoulder every few seconds, for you have shown me, since I learned it was you on that rooftop, nigh upon a week ago now that you saved my life from imminent danger, that you are a man I can trust." As she spoke, there was a curious gleam in her eyes, one of a genteel nature, and certain softness.

"Tonight was wonderful. Please know, that I too, share these same emotions. I am glad that I can bring you some peace to a world like this."

WHAM!

Starting with a cry, Vera turned to look out the window, and noted a rather large snowball had been lobbed at the car. Up came strolling Silas and Matthew grinning from ear-to-ear. The juveniles had many more snowballs ready in their hands when Silas knocked the passenger window. "Oi, lovebirds, Sam's been waiting for you both." With a devilish grin and a mocking wink, Silas and Matthew bolted after three other children close to their age, also armed with snowballs despite the approaching darkness.

With a relieved sigh, Vera grinned, all color washed from her face save for the stark red of her lips, she had received a good fright from the two street rats. "Well... Whenever you're ready then?" She offered, nodding her head to the welcoming glow of the pubs entrance, though she remained where she was in case he had anything to add further.

"Shay..., this is hard for me to say, so you must try and understand."

The words immediately made Shay tense up and flush with embarrassment. Had he read the situation wrong? Was he being foolish in allowing personal feelings get in the way of his responsibilities? He stared back at Vera, uncertain and apprehensive. He feared what she was going to say, and it was shaping up to look like she was trying to let him down easy from a crippling blow, how she thought lovers were foolish and how no man had ever won her heart. He wasn’t sure if he were quite at that point himself, but she seemed to be preparing to cut the head off the snake before it had the chance to strike.

Words like these… it’s probably why there’s no snakes in Ireland. Shay thought jokingly to cushion the blow.

And then she caressed his face. It was electrifying, and he was enraptured by the gentle warmth. He looked searchingly into Vera’s eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening. Her words turned to praise, separating him from so many others, that she actually trusted him, something he knew came very hard to Vera. The barbed words he had expected instead turned into a confidential warmth, something she offered him in confidence. His heart raced, realizing that even in the past week, he actually was someone important to Vera that she had no intention of discarding.

"Tonight was wonderful. Please know, that I too, share these same emotions. I am glad that I can bring you some peace to a world like this."

Before Shay could let the implication of these words sink into his heart, a loud bang against the window startled him, thinking someone was furiously trying to interrupt the moment, which all but evaporated like water on a stovetop. A cheeky, grinning face appeared. Silas.

If Shay had access to snow at that moment, he would have tossed it in the youth’s face for scaring him half to death, even if he had a point. They’d dawdled for long enough, he supposed. Sam had been waiting in the Tawdy for probably hours now, waiting for their return. The realization made Shay feel guilty as he rubbed his temples with his forefinger and thumb. “As soon as my bloody heart steadies its tempo. Damn Silas scared the life out of me.” He said, before breaking out into a nervous laugh.

“Before we head in… I just want to say that I appreciate all you just said. You had me mighty worried I made a grand fool out of myself, but I suppose there’s worse things if it means you smile at me like that.” Shay said, returning the warm expression as he reached for the door handle and stepped outside into the street. Walking around to get the door for Vera and help her out, the pair headed into the familiar doors of the Tawdy and the familiar, friendly air was intact and it was not as deserted as the last time they were in. Sam was sitting at a round table with four chairs. Looking up, he watched his sister and friend approach and he offered them a gesture to sit, which was taken.

“I’ll be damned, you dress up mighty respectable, if I do say so myself, Shay.” Sam said with a grin, turning his attention to Vera. “And I’ve never seen you look anything less than stunning in a dress. You certainly got that from mom’s side. So, how did it all work out? Do you have your in?”

"That's an easy way to put it. Fräulein Von Goethe might give us some trouble at the luncheon. She's awfully nosy for a woman. Her husband on the other hand is more lax, and openly invited us after Shay here, told him that he specialized in Egyptian expeditions." said Vera. She placed her elbows on the table and crossed her forearms, and leaning forward in her seat, narrowed her eyes at her brother, like a dog smelling a corpse.

"What's with the queer look, eh?" Sam asked. He could hardly tell what his sister had in mind nowadays.

"Silas is up to no good. Lobbing snow balls at unsuspecting people having a nice chat in their car." She said.

"What? Did he give you a good spook or something?"

"Nearly gave us both a heart attack. Maybe you should tell the little bugger to skip out on packing ice in those snowballs, almost broke the bloody windshield." She relaxed her posture, and reclined back in her chair. "So what was so urgent that you felt the need to call Shay and I away from the White Star so early? We were having a grand ol' time, time we needed to make our appearances look truthful. Deception is a hard game to play when you're being whisked away at the drop of a hat."

"Two things. First, Shay, thought I'd let you know that old man Leonard down at the Stitchery, has apologized for his insincere words to you and my sister. He'll be paying us dues. I've spoken with Kirby, and the boys. They say, that if things go well with this mark, they'll give you a percentage from his payments, for your trouble at having to put up with such an unsavory fellow. Second, Vera, I put in your word of resignation with that jeweler of yours."

"What?! What do you mean you put in my letter of resignation?" She demanded as she rose out of her chair in anger.

"Like I said, I put in your letter of resignation. Now sit down," here he waved his hand for her to cool her fiery disposition. She reluctantly sat down, but some would say they could see steam pouring out of her ears. "It's not safe. The Adders, they know you're out of prison, and they want your head, and mine. I've taken the liberty of finding you a new place. Last night, there were four Adders waiting around the block, each were packing guns, couldn't say what kind in the darkness, maybe shotguns. Point being," Sam turned his calculated gaze towards Shay, "I cannot thank you enough for looking after my sister. Had she gone home last night, she probably wouldn't be sitting here before us right this very second. Whenever you're ready," Sam pushed a slip of paper towards Shay and Vera, on it, scrawled in cursive writing bore the address for Vera's new accomodations.

"How am I suppose to pay for this, eh?" She protested angrily. Vera liked her little attic flat, and despised the idea of having to move elsewhere just because a few bloody Adders thought they could scare her away.

"Vera... You're with the Roughers now, Tommy has taken the courtesy of paying up for 4 months in advance. You'll make more money than you can dream working for us, especially the jobs we'll need you for. There's already talk of another job, if you succeed in the case of the Von Goethe's." He reached for a carton of cigarettes in the pocket of his jacket, and lit one in his mouth with a strike match. Thick white smoke filled the air as he reclined in his chair eyeing the two of them. Something had changed, but he couldn't place it.

"Fine." She sniffed, as if pained by the idea still.

"Right, so Shay, whenever you can, take my sister to her new place. Make sure no one is lurking about that looks like the unsavory type, hm?" Here he took a rather long drag of his cigarette, the ash growing with the deep inhale, before the smoke blew out of his nostrils like a bull.

"When is your luncheon with the Von Goethe's?" He had almost forgotten the most important thing.

"Today's the 28th? On the 1st, it's this Friday."

"Good. Keep the car until then, Mick. If there's anything you need, let me or the fellas know, we'll make sure everything is done proper. And remember, this luncheon, is for gathering information only, so no plundering until they are out of the house. Can't risk having you both identified."

“I’ve survived mustard gas attacks. Silas’ snowballs are a more terrifying encounter.” Shay chuckled as they breached upon the topic, reaching for his pack of cigarettes in his blazer pocket. When Sam explained that Leonard had been addressed, a sense of smug satisfaction filled the Irishman. It felt like vindication when the racist old bastards found out the hard way that Shay had exactly the kind of friends he didn’t want to meet. You could never be too sure in these uncertain years who was associated with who. “I be sure to give Kirby and the lads my regards and gratitude. Old man Leonard was a miserable old crab… but, resignation?” He asked, surprised, looking between Sam and Vera. The news hit like a load of bricks, and the effect was not a good one with Vera.

Things began to make more sense as Sam explained the Adders’ recent actions, and how badly they had it out for Vera. The marksman side of Shay wanted to volunteer to “clean up” the streets at night, sending one hot round after another into unsuspecting marks more deserving of death than the Kaiser’s lads ever deserved. The man that precious few people really got to know wanted nothing more than to take Vera and get the hell out of town, wanting to keep her far from harm. His fist clenched around his lighter before he realized he was acting uncharacteristically tense around Sam at the news. Normally, he’d remain unmoved and pragmatic. He finished the motion, lighting his cigarette and nodding once when Sam thanked Shay for his involvement in keeping her safe already.

“Miss Vera and I work pretty well together,” Shay put in after Sam spoke of future work. “We’ll be sure to act only when the lions leave their dens to go on the hunt, so to speak. If the Von Goethes aren’t home, we’ll be in and out before they realize they’d been burgled.” It was strange using that word, but it had an amusing ring to it that Shay enjoyed. Looking over to Vera, seeing how seething she was, he didn’t want to overstep himself. It was an odd power struggle between the two siblings he didn’t want to interrupt. “My schedule’s clear. My charge in keeping watch over miss Vera has been my only concern, apart from pretending to be dapper to rob a pair of Jerry snobs blind.” He smiled.

Sam nodded quickly, although he seemed distracted and like he had a thousand things on his mind. Between his sister’s life being in peril and all the other things going on with the gang, Sam looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “And I appreciate that Mick, I really do. I think you’ll like the new flat, Vera.” He said, taking a long sip of the gin he had in front of him. It was accompanied by two empty glasses.

This felt like a cue to leave. “So, miss Vera, shall we go see if your new accommodations are acceptable?”