Shay chuckled at the uncouth joke at the French’s expense. “It pleases me to say that I’ve avoided of reeking of piss most of my life, so I have that going for me.” He said with a slight lift of his lips. “And now you know why the gang took on a seemingly out of place Irishman, we share blood, the Wallis boys and I. It was my fortune that that still means something to people, because otherwise I could have come a long way for nothing. If it weren’t for that, I doubt anyone would have looked at me twice. I had a hard enough time finding work in Ireland, here would have been neigh impossible without connections. We may be blood, but I don’t think they’ll ever look at me as family, not truly. Sam and to a lesser extent Eli have been two of the only lads who’ve really spent any measure of time with me. Otherwise, it’s all business.”

Winking, Shay finished off his glass of whiskey in a quick gulp. Setting the glass down, he closed his eyes for but a moment to enjoy the sensation of the liquor burning its way through his blood. “Trust me, Vera, I’ve had plenty of practice at this drink I know my limits. Last thing I want to do is make a total arse of myself in front of everyone, on account that I have a reputation of being a hard, cold man who doesn’t speak much to uphold… and the whole English hating the Irish thing. If most of the Irishmen you’ve met have been utter tossers, then consider the fact most of them seldom run across an Englishman who doesn’t treat them like a mangy dog.” He replied with an apologetic smile. 

The conversation took an even more serious turn as Vera steered it towards his time in the war, and Shay’s murder of Jepson. He let out a light sigh, eyes downturned as he collected his thoughts. How did he feel about pulling the trigger on that Jepson fellow? He searched himself and came up short; he felt nothing towards the death of that man. He was about to kill a woman for no other crime than being associated with the wrong people. It was cowardly and low, and Jepson now down played the role of tormentor and executioner to a number of other people. Shay knew from experience that a gunman who doesn’t shy from killing has had his fair share of experience in the matter. 

“I was a sniper, trained as an Infantryman with South Irish Horse. By the time I joined the war, the regiment had moved on from cavalry. War changed, and it made little sense to send young men gallantly riding atop horses into machine-guns. I had a natural gift behind a rifle, never shot one in my life, but I as a damn good shot. It just felt right in my hands. After I was familiar with it, it felt hard to miss. Apparently his majesty’s army wanted that sort of skill to be applied extensively. I spent two years shooting down Germany boys my age, most completely unaware that the cigarette they lit would be the thing that killed them, or the desire to stretch after being crammed in a trench for far too long. Maybe it was the movement behind a machine-gun, or the glint of a rifle scope. Know how to look for things, and suddenly the most human of things can end up being what betrays you and sells you out to a bullet.” Shay said softly, looking to meet Vera’s eyes. “I don’t feel anything towards Jepson. Only thing that man every fought for was his own greed. He was going to kill you, so I killed him first. Nothing more than that. Shot wasn’t anything difficult, barely had to steady my breath for the shot, the wind wasn’t driving, rain isn’t such a factor, had to aim higher than usual because I was shooting from a raised elevation and  the sight picture is a few inches higher than the bore axis… you get the picture. It’s the job I was trained to do, and men don’t survive the Great War unless they were exceptional at knowing their trade. Even then, it was a gamble for who made it home or not.”