It's the roaring twenties in Birmingham, the Peaky Blinders exist alongside God but they were much, much closer at hand than Him. Mercedes de Silva, thornless withered rose, petals filled with sorrow. Thomas Shelby, ruthlessly ambitious, conflicted...
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MERCEDES WANTED TO CLEAR THE AIR BETWEEN HER AND THOMAS but it seems like he really is pushing her buttons. After the "attack" at the Shelby's carport, Mercy went home that very minute. She had mixed emotions about everything that is happening around her. First, those fuckers who kept avoiding her like she has a fucking clap. Second, she just got fucking laid off of her job. And now, she could've died from that explosion. There's no way in hell she'd love the possibility of being grounded meat. All of this happened because of Thomas fucking Shelby. Mercy wanted to scream and get mad or scared or lash out at something.
So she did.
The flat was now a mess, it looked like a tornado passed through the house and thrashed everything upside-down. This was her coping strategy when she's ballistic, to release her emotions without hurting someone, well, except herself. When she was worn out from destroying and throwing things she can get her hands on, she slumped on the wooden floor and pulled her knees closer to her.
She watched how blood trickled down from a cut in her fist, "You're okay, Mercy. You'll be okay..." she whispered to herself and took a ragged breath. By the time her mind was free from disturbance, Mercy gathered her remaining strength and stood up. Before she can even start cleaning the mess she made, the door unlocked itself, revealing a Thomas Shelby on her front door.
With a creased forehead, Thomas glanced at her thrashed house before landing his eyes to Mercy, down to her wounded fist. "What happened?" he made his way to her and grabbed her hand, making Mercy flinch.
