𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

                                    

                                          
𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐦, 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟐
                          
Disaster blankets the Shelby family, like the morning fog that surrounds them as they make their way down to the cut.
                          
There, stood on the edge of the canal, was the fifth youngest Shelby sibling. Her light blue dress stained with dots of crimson, head looking up towards the gloomy sky as her fingertips dripped blood. The air was tense, nobody but the eldest Shelby taking a few hesitant steps towards the girl.
                          
"Eve," he reluctantly spoke, voice teetering on the edge of a whisper. From his position he could see the lifeless body of a man floating in the water in front of the girl, tears falling freely down her flushed cheeks. "Charlie came and got us from the Garrison, said he saw you shoot some lad."
                          
Evelyn didn't respond, but she did turn around to face Arthur; it was then that he caught sight of the barrel of a gun between her fingers – she noticed his eyes dart to her hand and dropped the weapon. Her legs were trembling, so much so that she wasn't sure how she was still standing upright.
                          
The hoarse voice of Tommy Shelby echoed throughout the area around them, his glamorous blue eyes staring directly at his sister. "Who was he?" Straight to the point.
                          
"A traitor," was all the girl spoke, her brown curls now fallen from the pins that previous held them away from her face; the wind causing strands to get stuck to her damp tears.
                          
"What'd he do?" 
                          
There was no hidden questions behind Thomas' words; he just wanted a straight, honest answer from her. With a sigh, Evelyn wiped her face before wrapping her arms around herself – the air suddenly becoming cooler; chills coating her body.
                          
"Back when you were in France," she started, eyes briefly meeting Tom's piercing gaze before they settled to staring at her shoes. "This group of wanna be Peaky's tried to betray Polly and I and take over the business. We took most of 'em out before you came home, didn't get all of 'em though. Found that fucker creeping around Charlie's yard. I did what we always do."
                          
With a nod Tommy walked over to his sister, shrugging his coat off before placing it around her shoulders. His thumbs found her wet cheeks, gently brushing away the tracks that were left behind by her salty tears; his knees bending slightly so he could meet her blue eyes with his.
                          
"Did he hurt you?" Tommy muttered, referring to the scuffle Evelyn had recently got herself in – voice so soft that nobody else could hear his question. Evelyn briefly smiled at his concern before it dropped off her face.
                          
"He got a few hits in," she confirmed, pointing to a bruise forming on her neck. "You should see his face though."
                          
The Shelby siblings shared a collective laugh at Evelyn's ability to remain witty under such a circumstance. Pulling his sister into his side by her shoulders, Tommy held his other arm wide open – turning them to face a crooked smiling John Shelby, an awkward Finn Shelby and a sheepish Charlie Strong.
                          
"Let's go get drunk and plan to take over the Derby, eh," Tommy chuffed, everyone cracking a smile when Evelyn buried her head in her brothers chest. "Charlie will take care of the mess and then join us."
                          
~~~~~~~
                          
The war had done a number on the soldiers who had returned, their only escape being through the alcohol that coursed through their veins. Therefore, no matter the hour, when the Garrison pub was open it was sure to be buzzing with laughter, booze and the occasional fight. 
                          
The regular pub goers were always the most lively, their loud voices chanting random songs that they had put together while raising their liquor filled glasses in the air. Newcomers enjoyed the atmosphere, often staying until the early hours of the morning until the barman, Harry, decided to lock the place up – kicking them out.