METHOD OF BEDLAM ━ 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ²

𝐢. 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ; black fog

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i. one: ❝ black fog ❞

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: we have it all - pim stones

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Somewhere around Small Heath's dreary borough

Warm tea cups. Biscuits. A book of Shakespearian sonnet. Paintbrushes and smithereens of papers. Two souls. Smiling. Comfortable. Treacherous.

"For turn sweetest things sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds." Mar's soothing and rather compelling words echoed all through the space. They were along the grassy plain area, where the children of John and Ada could be heard laughing within earshot.

"What exactly does that say?" Thomas inquired, his face uninterested as usual, but both his voice and his eyes misled the visor. He was comforted to be there and to feel normal just once. With her so close, he was relieved to be able to breathe again.

"Huh, it contends that there are people who have enough force to fool those around, for such beauty they wield have that form of influence; they do not however hurt anybody. Why do you think so?" she replied, capturing full view of his progressively displaying smug grin.

He grinned, his gaze having followed the James woman as she chose to stand in front of her painting, holding a book of Shakespearean couplets.

"They do," he replied, hearing a tiny jeer from the woman in front of him. "They wouldn't do it candidly, but they really do, and you know the worst of the worst are those that have magnificent beauty."

"Why can't you maybe, I may not say, ponder optimistically instead of scrutinizing the pessimism with precision?" Marianna mumbled huffily.

He was entertainingly edging closer to her bleating figure. "Why can't you just smile or laugh or appreciate the splendid heat that infrequently sneaks here in Small Heath? Take a gander at the children as well as their merriment, and yet you're all here with your stupid frown." Mar made a point of saying, making faces a tiny bit longer at her half-finished painting, that she had failed to recognize the Shelby man's immediate vicinity.

"I could also laugh, Mar; you dare say I could; I am perhaps notorious as a stunning laugher." He moved another step closer, bringing her hand into his and abandoning the book of sonnets on a corner table. "I could be charming, I could be sweet," the James female's breathing hitches; it's all good, perhaps superb, "just ask, Mar."

She studies his face, examining it. The golden gaze landed on his blue eyes, then on his nose, and finally on his thin lips. A sharp exhalation was interchanged.