bookmaker_boss | (no subject)

Weather 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."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Only if I don't know what they want," Tommy says, smiling a little for the pure echo. He asked not quite the same question with Grace as well, when they met up again, her married and mad at him for implying she might still be a spy, him silently resentful and furious when she told him why was was in London, though she never knew, not even when she told him of the pregnancy.

"And only if it's working. Otherwise it's a lovely afternoon with some horses and the country air."

"Do you want to- sleep with me?"

She turns the question back onto him, curious now what his answer is. Mary can assume that it's yes, but that's fairly standard and typical of most men. Of course they want to have sex. A better question probably would have been if he had any intentions on more than sex, or if he just wanted to bed her.

The idea of it just being sex isn't one that repels her, admittedly. They could do that here and get away with it.

"I may have thought about it."

He's more than thought about it, actually, but there's no reason to make it sound like he thinks she's fast. He doesn't, after all. But he does think she's interested in him, and he's interested in her. There's a certain freedom to all of this as well, that they both understand and appreciate in their own ways.

Tommy looks at Mary, smile soft and small.

"Now you're going to be coy?" she asks with a sniff. That smile is cute and predatory at the same time. He's right though. She's interested in him. He's managed to draw her in, whether with gypsy wiles or not. Now she's curious and attracted to him. Perhaps it's danger or perhaps it's loneliness.

"It doesn't seem to suit you, Mr. Shelby."

"Who is? Hardly." He laughs a little bit. Not coy, but cautious maybe. He's had rather terrible luck with women in his past, of finding love and then losing it through his own design or others. Well, fucking isn't love so he's not so concerned about that. But he does have a bit of an unlucky streak.

"I'm giving you something to think about." He's quiet a moment, and nods. "And it will be your decision."

Mary hums in her throat, looking down at her sandwich. "Certainly. Though I must say... I may be a modern woman, but I still enjoy when a man makes the first move." Her gaze turns back up to his, meeting his beautiful but icy eyes. "What if I give you some sort of sign?"

A sign that she's ready to advance what they have to the next level.

Tommy's more than happy to make the first move, but there must be a move to make. Every woman is different, what she likes, what she's willing to do or deal with. Mary is a lady, some of the gentry, and Tommy thinks there might be slightly different rules afoot than there even were with May.

He hums and nods, a barely brief consideration.

"I tend to be quite good with subtlety."

"Good. Women are, in general, quite subtle."

Or men are quite obtuse. She thinks it's probably more the latter, but she's being kind today and not mentioning it. Maybe Tommy's bold pronunciation that he'd like to have sex with her had thrown her off a bit. Mary wouldn't be surprised.

Tommy lets her have that one, because she isn't wrong. His brothers, for example, are fantastical idiots. He likes to think he isn't one, but he has been known to be swayed too far by some feminine wiles. The fact that women even have wiles probably proves that men are idiots.