[center][h1][i]16:30 Hours 
The Tawdry Countess - Southwark, London[/i][/h1]

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[url=https://youtu.be/tIdIqbv7SPo]Where Secrets are Revealed, and Propositions Made[/url]

	The familiar faces that filled the [i]Tawdry[/i], were a sight for sore eyes, whether Vera wished to admit it or not. As soon as she stepped inside the pub, welcoming sights of the green leather barstools, and the thick smoke that blanketed the air like a dense fog were truly a comforting view. She shed her coat, as the jailer had returned her belongings to her, including her revolver as she had a viable certificate to carry and own the weapon in need of self-defense. As she strode across the worn floorboards, she caught the eye of Shay Alden. Her thought reflected back to what he had revealed in the car ride over to the pub. So it was [i]him[/i] that had taken out the vengeful Jepson brother. She understood that were it not for him, she would have endured more than an arrest. However, there was one part that bothered her, [i]how[/i] did he know she would be there? And [i]why[/i] he was ordered to keep her safe? To her, the only practical reason that came to mind, was her brother. Of course, it made perfect sense for Sam to have one of the boys keep an eye on her, she managed to find herself involved in the most unsavory situations from time to time. Sam made straight for an iced-glass door, eliminating anyone lounging in the bar to look inside. This was where Tommy, Clint, Grant or even Jonny received potential prospects or associates in privacy. As he held the carved mahogany door ajar for her, Vera sidled into the room, her lips pursed in a grimace of disdain, she had the feeling that she would receive some type of reproach for garnishing attention to the Roughers with her arrest, as well as the death of Rory Jepson. Seated behind a broad desk that matched the door to the private room, with a cigarette dangling between his lips, was none other than Tommy Wallis. The door clicked softly as Sam joined his sister, a bottle of whiskey baring a black label with white lettering read: Wally Boys Whiskey. The afternoon sunlight filtered in through a tall window behind the boss, casting rainbow glows from the crystalline glasses seated on a respectable coffee table before them. Reclining back, the cold touch of leather against her bare legs raised goosebumps along her skin.

“It’s good to see you again, Frankie has missed your help at night, he says the men tell him they pour him badly mixed drinks.” His lips curled around the butt of the cigarette in his hand, the tip burning with a deep inhale. A long curl of smoke poured from between his lips, his eyes sizing her up as he stared hard at her.

“It’s good to be out. I can’t thank you enough for doing whatever you did to get me out of Holloway.” Vera began, her eyes transfixed to watch as Sam uncorked the bottle of whiskey seated on the table, and proceeded to pour them both a drink. He passed a half full glass to Vera, and retained one for himself. 

“Of course.” Tommy mused, his dark eyes crinkling in a tentative smirk. “I wouldn’t dare let one of my best men’s sister sit behind bars for a petty misunderstanding, if that’s what it is.” His eyes narrowed into menacing slits as he took another long drag from his cigarette again, before flicking the accumulating ash into a ceramic dish. “So, word on the street is that the Adders are raving mad that we had Rory Jepson killed, and wounded two others. All over a half-brick of opium eh?”

	She paused in her drink, drawing the glass away from her lips, and set the glass upon the table, crossing her legs over one another, Vera folded her hands in her lap, the burning of whiskey sank into the pit of her stomach, bringing fire to her cheeks. “Yes.” She retorted, her jaw clenched in respite.

“Care to tell me why, you’re investing in opium? Especially when you ought to know that our own men supply readily in our own territory.” His words were like frost-bite to Vera’s mind, chilling and precise.

	Her eyes turned away from Tommy, staring instead at her glass. She snatched the glass off the table and emptied the sweet liquor down her gullet before setting it back down with a sharp [i]clink[/i]. “I avoided telling my brother why I’ve chosen it as my vice. I have my suspicions that he may know when I’ve begun my habit, but allow me to inform you as well, Mr. Wallis.” Tommy responded with a simple cock of his brow, and another long drag from his cigarette before gesturing with his hand for her to carry on.

“Do you recall a Mr. Billy Bellamy?” 

“’Course I do, he worked as one of our henchmen. Shot dead in an alley, if I remember correctly.”

“That’s because I killed him, Mr. Wallis.” Vera said, pouring herself another glass of whiskey, this time filling it just mere centimeters from the lip of the glass. When she brought her gaze to meet Tommy’s she found him staring back at her in a curious manner, perhaps one mixed with confusion, as his dark brows were furrowed together.

“Pray tell, why did you kill Billy?” Another draw, and another flick of ash. While Sam had remained quiet beside her, she could feel how his body tensed, his muscles coiled like tightly wound springs, ready to explode.

“Well you see, Mr. Wallis, I was on my way home from the Tawdry. I didn’t make it mean two streets down, when someone grabbed me by the arm, hand over my mouth, and dragged me into the darkness. Billy [i]tried[/i] to rape me. I could tell he was drunk by the way he reeked of whiskey. You see, what no one knows, is that Billy put a gun to my head. What he didn’t know, was that I carried my own gun. I tried to dissuade him, but all I was met with were degrading insults, ‘[i]You’re just a chippy, you bim. So why don’t you quit your squirmin’ and let me have a go with you?[/i], those were his last words before I emptied some hot metal into him.” Her voice imitated a male Cockney accent as she recanted her tale of how Billy Bellamy ended up dead in an alley, she kept her cool, the sheer brevity of her words elicited a curt nod from Tommy, while Sam downed his glass in one gulp.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” Sam growled, he couldn’t bring himself to look his sister in the eye. His blood boiled at the thought that he had failed to protect her, something he promised to do since as early as he could remember in his youth.

“You think this is easy for me to talk about, Sammy?” Vera snapped, “Why else would I turn to hitting the pipe, eh? I can’t fucking sleep anymore, my sense of safety was robbed from me. If I don’t hit the pipe, I lie awake for hours, thinking of what could’ve been. It’s the only thing nowadays that give me an ease of mind. So you can both criticize for my poor choices, but don’t think I’ll stop anytime soon.” 

“I didn’t ask you stop.” Tommy said, extinguishing the end of his cigarette in the ash tray. “In fact, here.” He opened a drawer in his desk, and tossed an item wrapped in sack-cloth towards Vera. She caught it readily, and as her hands unwrapped the cloth, she looked up immediately at Tommy. “I can supply your need, on one condition. You just tell Silas how much you want, and he’ll get it to you free of charge.”

“What’s the catch?” Her eyes narrowed quizzically at him, there was always a catch.

“You officially come work for me. You have skills that can be of use in the company, and I’ll pay you. You have looks, you know how to fire a gun, and Sam here tells me that you know how to pick locks, is this true?”

	She regarded her brother with a contemplative look, he had relaxed considerably, but his jaw remained clenched. He glanced at her once before turning his gaze back to the coffee table. “Yes. I’ve been picking locks since I was a kid. There’s not anything that can’t be kept from me, if I don’t want it to be. How much?”

“Three quid, plus extra for any jobs you carry out.” Tommy said.

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“I don’t know why you didn’t tell me what happened to you.” Sam protested as he shut the door to the room behind Vera, he kept his voice low, loud enough for her to hear.

“You asked me if I knew anything about Billy’s death, Sammy. You didn’t ask me anything else. I wasn’t going to tell you anything else either, unless you asked, but you never did. And of course I wasn’t going to tell you right straight what happened to me. I took care of it. That’s all you needed to know.”

	With an agitated sigh Sam guided his sister to the bar for another drink, taking her by the elbow. As she took a seat upon the familiar leather seat of the barstool, Vera smiled at Frankie, the man sported a slick black moustache, with a crown of black hair slicked back as well. He looked every image of a proper dandy, black vest waistcoat, armbands, white pinstriped button down, with brown trousers. She admired how he always invested in a well-groomed appearance, just like Sam, then again, Frankie’s image helped bolster the reputation of the Tawdry.

“Miss Vera! I can’t believe my eyes! Oh how happy I am to see you, tell me, what’ll it be? The Bees Knees, or would you prefer a mint julep?” 

“A mint julep, please.” She said with a bright smile, forgetting the events that occurred in Wallis’ room just moments ago. While Frankie busied himself with pouring her drink, Vera turned round in her chair, and scanned the interior, she spotted many familiar faces, in fact, if she weren’t mistaken, all of the Roughers were present. Even some of the women such as Miriam Dorsey, Eli’s girlfriend, Eris Hawkins, Emory’s girlfriend, and even Nettie Parish, cousin to the Wallis’. She knew the women well enough, that was certain, as they frequented the Tawdry just as often as their counterparts. As her eyes swept over the room, she found the man she was looking for, Shay Alden. He kept to himself in a quieter part of the room, she knew it to be so, as she had often seen him disengaged with those in the pub. She knew from Sam that he had served in the war, and assumed just as well, that he had come back a changed man. By then, she had received her mint julep, and with Sam, glass of whiskey in tow, made their way to pay Shay a visit.

“I wanted to thank you for driving me from the prison.” Vera started, she offered him a small smile, as she sank into a chair adjacent to him, while Sam followed suit.

“Before she gets carried away, Mick, let me tell you this. I need you to take Vera to your place for tonight, let the heat die down, Tommy sent out eyes to watch her place, but he hasn’t given me O.K. that it’s clear for her to go home yet. Can you do that for me Shay? Watch after my little sister again, make sure she’s safe from harm?” While Sam used the man’s nickname, he did not mean for it to be a jest, instead, it acted as a gentle gesture of friendship. Vera merely rolled her eyes, did Sam really believe that she couldn’t look after herself? Hadn’t she told him that she shot Billy Bellamy dead? In the meantime, her eyes wandered over Shay, she realized that aside from the occasions he made his way to the bar to order a drink, she really never had the chance to get a good look at him. She had to admit, he was handsome, regardless of the fact that he was an Irishman, as the other Roughers teased him for.

“And… there’s more to it,” Sam sighed, sipping whiskey slowly from his cup, “Tommy wants you both down at the White Star tomorrow, in the early evening. He wants you both to meet a gentleman by the name of Irving Tindall for a prospect opportunity. Get there before 5p.m. so that Eris can fill you in on the situation, and why Mr. Tindall has arranged a meeting to see you both. And look sharp the both of you, the White Star ain’t no Tawdry. We’re talking high-class, rich snobs here, and Mr. Tindall will be expecting to meet someone of a high status as well. You both need to look, and act the part. Tommy says that if you do the job well, there’ll be serious cash in it for you both.” Then, he reclined in his chair, pulled out a handsome stack of cash, pushed it in front of him, and cocked a brow at Shay, curious to hear his response. It wasn’t often that Shay received an assignment like this, Tommy used him for his marksmanship skills, just like how he took at Rory Jepson, and a few other of the boys from the Adders; along with another minute tasks assigned to the street-rats.