1st race

[bleak_midwinter]

[Spam]

[Tommy walks the halls as if they belong ti him- it's not too strange, since they often did, back home. He walks as if's surrounded by hard men with razors stitched into their hats, with guns in their hands. It's easy to take offense to, but he'll be quick to reassure if anyone does.

He visits the Deck first, to smoke and to let it sink in where he is. After that, he makes the rounds, exploring: the dining hall for a good meal, the bar for some whiskey (Irish; always), the engine room. He spends a considerable amount of time in the common rooms, too, trying to figure out the TV's.

At night he's back on the deck, as high as he can go, as different as scene from his dreams as the Barge can provide.]

[Video]

[He's been on the ship for a full day before he announces himself. You might have seen him, or you might not have; for all he moves as if he owns the halls, his suit is drab enough that he can blend in when he wants.

He's in his kitchen now; there are patterned tiles, an old-fashioned wood stove, a china cabinet. It's cozy, if outdated for most of the Barge's inhabitants. Without his hat on, Tommy's eyes are a clear, penetrating blue. His voice is low, with a strong Birmingham accent. He's smoking, and it's obscuring his face in the already low lighting from the oil lamp on the table.]

From what I can tell, this place is all about 'forgiveness'. Not forgetting, but forgiving-- inmates and wardens alike. How long should forgiveness take? Are there things you could never forgive? People you'll always forgive?

Has your opinion changed, since you've been here?

Comments

[bleak_midwinter]

[He hasn't, a fact that he notices only when he smells the scent of the peaches drifting towards him. His stomach growls, loudly, and he raises his eyebrows in a quizzical expression.]

I think that means we ought to have one now.

[He reaches up, takes two peaches off their branches and holds one out for Furiosa.]

There's nothing like this where you're from. [It's a statement, more than a question, but it's still asking her for something.]

[witness_this]

[She takes it from him, and takes a moment to appreciate it with her fingertips. The skin. She punctures it with a fingernail, and lifts it to her mouth quickly, because it's ripe enough that it's already welling up.]

There used to be. [This would be a harder story to tell, if she didn't have fruit in her hand.] I grew up in what was probably the very last of the Green Places. But I left, and when I was able to return, it was long dead. Now the whole world is probably sand.

Eat peaches while you can. [Post-apocalyptic words of wisdom.]

[bleak_midwinter]

[Tommy, in turn, takes a big, indulgent bite of it. He may not be used to gardens, but he's been used to having the money and means to get fruit. Some juice dribbles down his chin, and he uses the back of his hand to wipe it away.]

You've had to fight for things I take for granted.

[witness_this]

[Yes, that's true. Furiosa doesn't exactly nod, but manages to indicate a kind of easy agreement, before biting properly into her peach.

She's still at the stage with these where her eyes have to close at the first real taste. When she's swallowed, she points out;]

Doesn't look like it's made you soft.

[There's something maybe a little sly in there. It's true, but she would never make the mistake of underestimating him, even though she's still standing here with her eyes closed.]

[bleak_midwinter]

Other things have made me hard. [He takes another bite, wipes his mouth again, then stops to savor the taste. The sight of her standing there with her eyes closed makes him feel a little strange, almost like he has to feel guilty for not always enjoying his food like that. The feeling doesn't last long, however-- something else he's used to.]

[witness_this]

Bit of territory fighting in the making of books, then?

[Just a guess, but a shrewd one. She manages to look up, and shifts to lean against one of the tables, a little more casually as she continues to eat.]

[bleak_midwinter]

[The guess earns her a smile, but it's a little sharper than before, more practiced than real. He's not mocking her; this is just what Tommy Shelby, racketeer and leader of the Peaky Blinders, looks like.]

I suppose you could say that, yes. [He finishes the peach with another bite, then licks his fingers clean. He delivers the next words with a blank expression, simply explaining.]

We don't make books. We take bets on horse racing. There's a lot of money involved, and you have to be hard or lose everything.

[witness_this]

[Furiosa remembers money. It faded out of use during her lifetime. They minted a lot of the old coins into bullets, but she knows what it used to represent, so she can guess what this means.

The thing that's missing in her head is any sort of understanding of criminal subculture. She pictures him at the head of a profitable little city with a single tourist attraction, cars circling outside his gates and men wanting to take.

She takes another bite of her peach, then pauses to chase the juice that's dripping down the heel of her hand, considering him closely. There are almost too many questions to ask.]

[bleak_midwinter]

[His eyes flick to the juice, then back to her face. He can see her thinking, trying to fit him into her world- but neither of them know enough about the other to even start.

He can explain his world to her. She can ask her questions, and he will answer them. Tommy isn't ashamed of who he is, or what he does, most of the time, because he knows he has a reason for it. But there's something else; something that says more about him than the racketeering, the razor blades, the suits that are always on the house. He rolls the peach pit in his hand, feels its sharp ridges.]

The war is what made me hard. Everything else just kept me that way.

[witness_this]

Universal.

[She recalls what he'd said, earlier. Some things are universal, and so are the things they do to people. She can see that about him.

At once, she wonders if his war was the one that killed her world. But no, he talks about it in the past-tense, and with a pride that no soldier would ever have, for accomplishing something like that.

It's actually with a fair amount of tenderness that she decides not to be more specific about that. Let him think her world is alien, not inevitable, at least for now. She finishes the last few bites of her peach, and explains;]

Ivy keeps them to plant. Over here-

[A small tray, where you can leave peach, plum and cherry pits, apple seeds and orange pips. Mostly it's just Furiosa who is this diligent about saving them, but all the same.

Facing away from him, the brand is fairly stark.]

[bleak_midwinter]

Yes.

[He steps forward to put his pit in the tray, resisting the urge to pitch it away like he would have if he'd been home. A contest between brothers that's run since before he can remember- but his brothers aren't here.

This close, and with her facing away, he can see the mark. The skull raises his heckles, and he instinctively presses his arm against the holster at his side, reassuring himself that his gun is on him-- Totenkopf, is what the Germans called it. This brand isn't the same one, but it's close enough. Aggressive enough to count.

He doesn't want to embarrass her, but he doesn't want to ignore it, either. They've been honest with each other so far, and he's not sure where the line is, anymore. So he says, voice soft but clear:]

They made sure you'd remember your allegiance.

[witness_this]

It wasn't a pledge.

[Because she hears what he means, and even though this part of a story is a deeply uncomfortable one, she stops, glances back over at him.

Furiosa doesn't know how to get him to understand without sounding like she's inviting pity.]

They take you young. The brands come then. After that, it's whatever you're best for, be it the racks, the ranks, the shelf, the road. You die, you break, or you live like a dog on a chain, and wait the years it takes for them to become complacent.

[Even though she doesn't say it, there is nearly unspeakable violence simmering in her tone, with a healthy amount of warm satiation. Furiosa isn't a sadist, not in most cases. There are one or two exceptions.]

[bleak_midwinter]

[There is not one part of Tommy that feels pity for her. His eyes are angry, because he knows what following orders can do to a soldier- they die the worst deaths imaginable, while the one giving out orders is safe behind stone walls.

But when he takes in her words, and the tone she's speaking them in, he thrums with pride for a woman he's only just met. He should have known that she wouldn't let a brand define her. Satisfaction: he understands that, too.]

Patience is a virtue.

[witness_this]

[She looks at him with a little more surprise, and pleasure. She's been getting used to pity and horror, and she's sure if she wanted to she could provoke those in him, too- but for this much detail, this is a reaction she hadn't known to hope for.

Her satisfaction takes on a slightly different quality. It isn't often she feels so comfortably understood.]

One day I'll tell you the story.

[It'll be a pleasure, when he has enough of the bare bones of her world to grasp it. Furiosa wants to know what he has to be proud of, like this, but decides that'll come.]

We can see the snapdragons next, or we can go get a proper meal.

[bleak_midwinter]

And on that day I'd like to hear it. [When she's ready to tell. It's good to share these things, Tommy knows, and she has no one here who went through this with her. He knows how to be a confidant to soldiers, and he's seen how it can help them.

But all in good time. The peach has stilled his immediate hunger, and her wonder at the plants around them makes him eager to see more, too.]

Think I'd like to see the snapdragons, too.

[witness_this]

I don't know if plants in the real world do this, or if it's because everything here is imposible.

[Furiosa confesses at once, lively, and unsure maybe, but still with a total fascination and intensity of reaction that she reserves usually for things that are growing.

She is practically animated, as she leads him over to the little flowers, and shows him, cautiously, how if you pinch them just right they affect a snap.]

[bleak_midwinter]

[He glances at the trees around them as they walk, hands in his pockets. The air reminds him of the countryside, fresh and warm and growing. He'd grown up around the factories of Birmingham, and they're home, but there's something about the outside that makes a person feel re-invigorated.

When they get to the flowers he kneels down, one knee on the ground and one knee drawn up so he can lean on it as she shows him. Her enthusiasm is catching, and he tries as well.]

I think they do, back home. [He does it again, huffing a little laugh at the motion the plant makes.] I heard there's a library. There must be books in there on plant care.

[witness_this]

Probably. Maybe I'll bring them here to read.

[Because she would like to learn more than what they got from the one or two dusty and dated books back home.

Next, the carnivorous lilies and flytraps, which she can never resist tormenting into a snap with the brush of a blade of grass. She's sure they don't have enough force to actually sting her fingers, but they look so impressive that it feels like it would be an insult not to be cautious.

From there, well- it's a very large greenhouse.]