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Jan. 1st, 2037 12:00 amContact here for Thomas Shelby
Dimera Apartments #42
Dimera Apartments #42
Permissions
Jan. 1st, 2025 12:00 amOOC
Backtagging: Yes
Threadhopping: Yes
Fourthwalling: With prior discussion
Offensive subjects: Yes
IC
Hugging this character: With prior discussion
Kissing this character: Women only
Flirting with this character: Yes
Fighting with this character: Yes
Injuring this character: Yes
Killing this character: No
Using telepathy/mind reading abilities on this character: Yes
Anything else: Tommy is exclusively heterosexual, though he will flirt with men if they start it.
Warnings: Tommy was born in the late 1890s and is currently from 1924. He has a number of outdated terms in his vocabulary that he's unlikely to change without direct intervention. He refers to himself as a Gypsy and uses the term casually.
Backtagging: Yes
Threadhopping: Yes
Fourthwalling: With prior discussion
Offensive subjects: Yes
IC
Hugging this character: With prior discussion
Kissing this character: Women only
Flirting with this character: Yes
Fighting with this character: Yes
Injuring this character: Yes
Killing this character: No
Using telepathy/mind reading abilities on this character: Yes
Anything else: Tommy is exclusively heterosexual, though he will flirt with men if they start it.
Warnings: Tommy was born in the late 1890s and is currently from 1924. He has a number of outdated terms in his vocabulary that he's unlikely to change without direct intervention. He refers to himself as a Gypsy and uses the term casually.
(no subject)
Jul. 21st, 2019 05:42 pmIt's been a moment. He hasn't been avoiding her deliberately, but there may, possibly, be a bead of guilt that's entered his thoughts. He refuses to let the guilt control him, because he's never been a man controlled by such things. But it has been a moment, especially since he saw her more spontaneously.
Tommy lets himself into the building and up to Nina's floor, and when he reaches her door, he knocks. He's brought her flowers for no other reason than she deserves to have flowers.
Tommy lets himself into the building and up to Nina's floor, and when he reaches her door, he knocks. He's brought her flowers for no other reason than she deserves to have flowers.
(no subject)
Jul. 11th, 2019 02:59 pmWeather had put a damper on things, weather and other things in Tommy's private life, but as the sun returned and warmth came back to Darrow, he found himself calling on Mary Crawley. He knows, precisely, what it is about her that he finds vexing and fixating, though he feels a little bit a scoundrel to admit it to himself: she is every ounce of familiar femininity that he courted and seduced in Birmingham and London, as much Grace Brugess as May Carleton as Lizzie Stark. And she's none of them, as well, a handsome Earl's daughter out of York.
He may have done a bit of snooping on her, though snooping in Darrow is far from what it was back in England.
So there is a part of him that yearns for her merely because she is familiar, because she, as an object of his time, means something to him simply for that. But she also loves horses, he knows from their first meeting the laundry. But she also becomes slightly rigid when teased. Tommy misses, he thinks, the chase of their time. These careful dances of propriety that he could elude because he is a gangster and a bookmaker and a Gypsy.
So, with good weather and the knowledge that this is a terrible mistake waiting to happen, as most of his romantic endeavors tend to be, he catches Mary one day as she's coming out of their complex. He's leaned on a car he's rented, something flashy and far too low to the ground for his tastes, and he smiles slightly to see her.
"I believe I promised you horses, Miss Crawley."
He may have done a bit of snooping on her, though snooping in Darrow is far from what it was back in England.
So there is a part of him that yearns for her merely because she is familiar, because she, as an object of his time, means something to him simply for that. But she also loves horses, he knows from their first meeting the laundry. But she also becomes slightly rigid when teased. Tommy misses, he thinks, the chase of their time. These careful dances of propriety that he could elude because he is a gangster and a bookmaker and a Gypsy.
So, with good weather and the knowledge that this is a terrible mistake waiting to happen, as most of his romantic endeavors tend to be, he catches Mary one day as she's coming out of their complex. He's leaned on a car he's rented, something flashy and far too low to the ground for his tastes, and he smiles slightly to see her.
"I believe I promised you horses, Miss Crawley."
(no subject)
Feb. 7th, 2019 10:36 pmIt's been a while since Thomas has checked in on Nina. The odd schedule has made it difficult to say hello to much anyone except for some of the convenience store clerks. But he has a couple days off, and he's finished his morning check on Roach, so he thinks it's a perfect time to go and see her.
There's no fancy, fast car this time, no question of going out for a drive. He does have coffees, one for each of them. Thomas shows up at her building and lets himself in, heading up to her door. He knocks and then, rather casually, tries the doorknob. Unlocked. He lets himself in, already speaking.
"Nina, are you decent?" He rather hopes not. "I brought coffee."
There's no fancy, fast car this time, no question of going out for a drive. He does have coffees, one for each of them. Thomas shows up at her building and lets himself in, heading up to her door. He knocks and then, rather casually, tries the doorknob. Unlocked. He lets himself in, already speaking.
"Nina, are you decent?" He rather hopes not. "I brought coffee."
After Christmas and the New Year, Thomas takes Guy's chatty advice and looks into renting a motor car. The modern things are sleek, ridiculous things. They make him miss his long-lined Aston Martin and Rolls Royce, but they are remarkable little American--or Darrow-merican, he supposes--machines.
The car lot is a curious place. The men working there gaze at Thomas suspiciously, but he's quite used to that. He remembers returning from the war and buying his first one with Arthur and John, the looks from those men selling the cars, their suspicion as these war-rough Gypsy boys had caroused about the fine machines. The suspicion on the sellers' faces is not so dissimilar today as it was then.
When it comes to it, he drives off the lot with the agreement to bring the car back in one piece. He drives off the lot, and nearly as soon as he's away, he lets the engine purr through its paces.
When he pulls up outside Candlewood, he feels a little silly. It's hardly the first time he's come calling on a woman, but it has been a while. He approaches the door and buzzes up to Nina's flat, smiling slightly when she buzzes back after a moment.
"Step out with me," he says. It's a lovely, unseasonably warm day, and he wants to subject her to his boyish impulse. "You have a horse to show me."
The car lot is a curious place. The men working there gaze at Thomas suspiciously, but he's quite used to that. He remembers returning from the war and buying his first one with Arthur and John, the looks from those men selling the cars, their suspicion as these war-rough Gypsy boys had caroused about the fine machines. The suspicion on the sellers' faces is not so dissimilar today as it was then.
When it comes to it, he drives off the lot with the agreement to bring the car back in one piece. He drives off the lot, and nearly as soon as he's away, he lets the engine purr through its paces.
When he pulls up outside Candlewood, he feels a little silly. It's hardly the first time he's come calling on a woman, but it has been a while. He approaches the door and buzzes up to Nina's flat, smiling slightly when she buzzes back after a moment.
"Step out with me," he says. It's a lovely, unseasonably warm day, and he wants to subject her to his boyish impulse. "You have a horse to show me."
(no subject)
Dec. 2nd, 2018 07:40 pmWhat proof do you have that the priest is a spy, Tatiana asked him, three times, and three times Tommy answered, I give you my word. This was the way things were done. Tommy loaded the marked bullet into his revolver and spent the day looking for Hughes and felt no remorse when he tracked him down. He’d killed better men for worse reasons.
What proof do you have that the priest is a spy sang in his skull, as Hughes loomed over Tommy in the back of his car and told him to come with a formal apology. He had, but not before warning Arthur and John that the mission was bust, watched, sabotaged, cursed. Cursed, like he was. Cursed like that bloody sapphire necklace. Not before asking Ada a favor she could only give for the love in her heart for a dead man.
They were all dead men.
What proof do you have that the priest is a spy?
Hughes’s penance felt like poison in Tommy’s mouth when he spoke it, but he had. Tatiana watched in confusion, but her face was a blur, a mess of color and shape that Tommy knew only because he’d watched it so closely two nights ago. And when he left, it was with poison in his mouth, poison and bile—but the bile was real. He wretched three time in the street on the way from the dinner with Hughes and the Russians to Ada’s house.
Everything was a blur by then, everything heavy and throbbing and wrecked. Tatiana’s voice was no longer hers in his head. It was May’s. It was Grace’s. It was his mother’s
Halfway through telling the Special Adviser to the Soviet Consul the plan that Hughes and the Odd Fellows had concocted, Tommy lost his sight entirely. The world went all dim and black and awful. The last time it was so dim and black and awful was in the tunnel. But Ada was there. Ada was there for him to warn, to explain, to tell—
“Drive me to the hospital, Ada,” he told her, and remembered nothing else of what he said. He could feel the words, but he couldn’t recall them. Everything was a throbbing, messy blur in the dim and black and awful pain of it all. He could hear Grace, his mother, every friend he ever lost in the war. He could see his father, standing there, and the scars on his face. He could—
I told you, I give you my word.
Thomas Shelby was not conscious when he arrived in Darrow, but he was far from dead. This was a state of things that he was intimately familiar with, a war hero and gangster. He’d been beaten within an inch of his life more than once in the last three years he’d been running the Peaky Blinders. He’d been shot at and maimed. He’d been nearly crushed to death in mine collapses back in France, breathed in the gases on those killing fields and lived to see the next day. Father Hughes and his thugs from the Kings’ army in India would not be the end of him.
The mad gypsy bastard was too stubborn to know when to lay down and die. Even when the ghost of his father came to give him the advice for a moment.
What proof do you have that the priest is a spy sang in his skull, as Hughes loomed over Tommy in the back of his car and told him to come with a formal apology. He had, but not before warning Arthur and John that the mission was bust, watched, sabotaged, cursed. Cursed, like he was. Cursed like that bloody sapphire necklace. Not before asking Ada a favor she could only give for the love in her heart for a dead man.
They were all dead men.
What proof do you have that the priest is a spy?
Hughes’s penance felt like poison in Tommy’s mouth when he spoke it, but he had. Tatiana watched in confusion, but her face was a blur, a mess of color and shape that Tommy knew only because he’d watched it so closely two nights ago. And when he left, it was with poison in his mouth, poison and bile—but the bile was real. He wretched three time in the street on the way from the dinner with Hughes and the Russians to Ada’s house.
Everything was a blur by then, everything heavy and throbbing and wrecked. Tatiana’s voice was no longer hers in his head. It was May’s. It was Grace’s. It was his mother’s
Halfway through telling the Special Adviser to the Soviet Consul the plan that Hughes and the Odd Fellows had concocted, Tommy lost his sight entirely. The world went all dim and black and awful. The last time it was so dim and black and awful was in the tunnel. But Ada was there. Ada was there for him to warn, to explain, to tell—
“Drive me to the hospital, Ada,” he told her, and remembered nothing else of what he said. He could feel the words, but he couldn’t recall them. Everything was a throbbing, messy blur in the dim and black and awful pain of it all. He could hear Grace, his mother, every friend he ever lost in the war. He could see his father, standing there, and the scars on his face. He could—
I told you, I give you my word.
Thomas Shelby was not conscious when he arrived in Darrow, but he was far from dead. This was a state of things that he was intimately familiar with, a war hero and gangster. He’d been beaten within an inch of his life more than once in the last three years he’d been running the Peaky Blinders. He’d been shot at and maimed. He’d been nearly crushed to death in mine collapses back in France, breathed in the gases on those killing fields and lived to see the next day. Father Hughes and his thugs from the Kings’ army in India would not be the end of him.
The mad gypsy bastard was too stubborn to know when to lay down and die. Even when the ghost of his father came to give him the advice for a moment.
