Brave? Shay hardly felt he was different from any other man, he just took things one day at a time; hell, there wasn’t a day in the war that didn’t terrify him, and it was partially a fear of not finding lasting acceptance back in Ireland that drove him to seek out his extended family in London, and a deep seated discomfort of speaking his mind around others who were none-too-pleased with his heritage. He was a survivor, first and foremost. He was not sure how bravery fit into all of it, but it was a sentiment that brought a genuine smile to his face. It was a strange, but wondrous, feeling to have been spoken to with such lofty praise by someone who had turned out to be so much more than just the brother of a friend.

While Vera cleaned up, Shay set to getting the couch in order, throwing a pillow on the armrest and covering it with one of the few sheets he owned. Before settling down, Shay made sure to conceal the Enfield rifle he had stashed between the wall and the end of the mattress to the top shelf in his closet and against the back so it was out of sight and just barely in reach. Vera likely didn’t need the reminder of what had brought her into Shay’s life like this, the instrument that had smote her assailants like Archangel Michael from the heavens. Satisfied that unless Vera was a dedicated snoop, which she’d have no problem stumbling across the 1895 stashed in the corner of the closet behind a long overcoat, she wouldn’t notice the rifle during her stay. 

Settling himself down on the couch after bidding Vera good night, Shay had begun to drift off when sounds came from his bedroom of Vera either fitfully sleeping or having some form of withdrawal symptoms. He did not want to intrude her privacy in a vulnerable moment, and resisted the urge to knock on the door to check up on his guest. Closing his eyes once more, Shay adjusted to the minute sounds of discomfort and struggle and passed into a dreamless sleep.

What felt like only minutes passed when he heard Vera cry, [I]”NO!”[/I], waking Shay up with a startled jolt. He reached for the Webly he had placed by his side while he slept and listened, ready to spring into action if there was a further disturbance; after the danger she’d been through, he was not going to take chances of enemies not finding his home. When nothing else came from the room, Shay relaxed somewhat, figuring the woman was suffering from a nightmare. He understood all too well; it wasn’t uncommon for him to suffer dreams of machine-guns raking trenches or the horrifying cloud of mustard gas approaching like a grim specter. He wondered what haunted Vera as he drifted back into sleep.

An hour and a half later, dawn’s light roused Shay from his sleep and instead of rolling back over and trying to sleep, which his body ached at the thought due to the far too short couch and uncomfortable armrest, he lifted himself from his makeshift bed with a grunt and made to start his day, setting off to the kitchen to prepare bacon, hashbrowns, and tomato slices. It seemed to have the desired effect of producing Vera from the room, which he offered her a smile as a greeting before she departed for the washroom. She looked almost sickly in the morning, as if the night had not been kind to her. He did not comment, wishing her to feel like she had right to privacy and that she was not going to experience anything but welcome comfort as long as she was under his care. He was concerned, of course, but he trusted her to handle her own affairs- and that she’d ask for help when she needed it. Until then, there was breakfast.

After eating and tidying up, the morning few in words but the atmosphere cordial, the pair headed back to the Tawdy and received their orders for their assignment on behalf of Mr. Tindall. Shay felt out of his element here, pretending to be an art patron, and reading a simple book over a few times simply was not going to cut it. John led them through was what to be expected, and it seemed rather daunting. Still, Shay was a master at keeping a straight face, and he was back to the no-nonsense man of few words Vera had first known until seeing another side to him over the past couple of days. This was the man who would do anything without fail and without comment, simply stating after the briefing that it would be done. 

Back in the car, Shay let out a long sigh and lit a cigarette, and as he pulled out into London’s streets to retrieve his suit, he muttered a curse. “You know, Vera, I think I preferred when my jobs didn’t involve arousing the attention of rice arseholes.” 

~ ~ ~

It took all of Shay’s conscious willpower not to let his jaw hang loose as Vera and himself entered the White Star, finding himself in a world of impossibly posh surroundings and an obscene amount of barely clad women whose attire left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Embarrassed and trying not to show it, Shay simply didn’t look around and kept his eyes where he was going. The scenery outside of the waitresses and entertainers, however, were enough of a draw to hold his attention, the gold and black colour scheme, low lighting, and black marble accents on the walls gave the establishment an air of opulence Shay felt hopelessly lost in. The haze of arcid smoke at least concealed Vera and Shay somewhat, making them harder to mark by prying eyes, people who would be able to identify them at a glance. Shay wasn’t much worried about other gang members in this place, really who would start something, but to pull off the job it would help if people couldn’t identify them when the art piece went missing. Well, [I]if[/I] they managed to grab it. 

Vera’s voice pulled Shay out of his thought as his throat screamed for whiskey to bring relief in the thick air, which gave him a slight tension as he thought of the Somme. “Hm?” he said, piecing together what he said. He smiled warmly at her compliment. “Why thank you, miss Vera, not much of an excuse for me to look like a man of sophistication these days, but it relieves me to hear I can pull it off when I put my mind to it. Remind me to pay my compliments to the tailor later.” 

His eyes followed Vera’s as they went to the stage where a somehow even more scantily clad woman with an air of erotic mysticism about her performed a rather alluring and provocative dance. “Jesus fuck…” he breathed, turning away suddenly. “I think ‘a lot of money’ is precisely why some women do this, miss Vera. Emory probably trusts his wife or just doesn’t think about it.”

An unfamiliar female voice called Vera and Shay’s names, prompting them to turn in unison towards the source. Shay felt tense; he did not like being called out like this in such a public setting. Eris, a woman Shay was more than familiar with seeing at the Tawdy, made him blink hard in rapid succession; she was wearing a lot less than he was strictly familiar with. He chuckled out a laugh when Eris resumed her usual easy-going personality that broke the façade of the place. “A sheik, I don’t think I’d know what one of those would look like if I’d seen one. Closest I’ve seen was some Indian lads the army called up to fight the Kaiser’s boys. I think tonight’s a night for champagne, don’t you miss Vera? Say, Eris, have you seen the Von Goethes about? They’re our reason for being here.”

In response, Eris nodded to her left towards the Southwest wall where a rather stately and finely garbed middle-aged couple stood, speaking with other attendees of similarly fine sophistication. “See that one with the large mustache and the monocle? That there is Mr. Goethe, make sure if you talk about his nationality you call him Bavarian, he lost his cool when someone asked him what a Prussian was doing here… Mrs. Goethe is the lady in the red dress and the mink scarf and long cigarette holder. I think it’s made of ivory.”

When the pair received their drinks and saw a break in the crowd gathered around the German… Bavarian aristocrat, Shay and Vera approached. “Herr von Goethe?” Shay asked when he approached, smiling at the man. “Pardon my fiancé’s and my interruption, sir. We were in attendance here celebrating our purchase of a new home when we heard word that you were in attendance, as well. We’ve heard quite a lot about you in the art circles we attend, and as I understand you are a patron of Egyptian antiquities. If it pleases you, Herr von Goethe, allow us to make our acquaintance, and perhaps my darling Abigale and I could make your visit to London a most productive one.”

The Bavarian aristocrat regarded Shay with curiosity, his mouth mostly concealed by a rather impressive walrus mustache, black and silver as befitting of his age. Steely blue eyes stared at him inquisitively. “Well, isn’t this quite a surprise, darling? We had intended our visit to be rather low key, as you know anti-German sentiment is rather high at the moment thanks to the folly that was the Great War, but we have lived in London for years; we never had an interest in nationalism or Imperialism, simply enjoying our lives to the fullest.” He said, his accent very faint. Taking Vera’s hand into his own, von Goethe kissed her hand softly and then took Shay’s hand into his own meaty grasp. “And you sir, are…?”

“Conway O’Doyle, sir. I’m an investor in British archeological expeditions in Egypt and Persia, as well as an admirer of Monet. A pleasure.” Shay said with a smile, wondering where his life had taken him that he was trying to make small talk with a man that only a few years ago he was conditioned to hate.