𝐯𝐢. 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 ; lying in a bed of greed

301 16 1
                                    



✵ ──────────────── ✵


vi. thirty-four: ❝ lying in a bed of greed ❞

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: sugar for the pill - slowdive


──────── ✵ ────────


Somewhere in Epsom


── ✵ ──


An eerie anticipation hung in the air as an announcer's voice cut through the Derby crowd, declaring that the race would commence in a mere four minutes.

The previously bustling drinking space of the race is now dispersed, leaving only two distinct figures framed by the bar, each nursing a potent elixir. On the left stood Thomas Shelby, a commanding presence. A cigarette dangled from his lips; his sharp gaze bore into the distance, his eyes reflecting a storm of emotions yet to be unleashed. On the right, Chester Campbell, the formidable antagonist, mirrored Thomas's posture. Tension radiated from every inch of his stout frame.

As the minutes ticked away, the air crackled with the energy of unresolved vendettas and impending decisions that would shape the destiny of both men.

"Shouldn't you be busy?" Campbell derided, his voice laden with the acrimony that defined their relationship.

"When you've planned something well, there's no need to rush." Thomas retorted, his tone devoid of the usual bravado, replaced by a calm assurance that unsettled Campbell.

A tense silence lingered between them, the weight of their olden times hanging in the air like an unspoken truth. It was in this charged moment that Campbell, with a wry twist of his lips, spoke words that cut through the animosity that had defined their interactions.

"Do you know something? I actually trust you to do this." The admission was accompanied by a subtle click of Campbell's tongue, his eyes fixed on Thomas, probing for any flicker of surprise or vulnerability. "Do you think there might be some measure of respect developing between us?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, runners and riders are coming to order; please take your seats." The announcer's voice resonated through the Derby venue, cutting through the murmurs and anticipation.

"Old foes that have grown to admire each other and see each other's professional virtues," Campbell continued with a tone that carried both mockery and acknowledgment. "Personally, I think not."

Thomas, his gaze fixed ahead, responded tersely, "I think not."

The old man reached for his glass, raising it in a disdainful salute. "Well, I drink to that."

"Ladies and gentlemen, please be upstanding for the national anthem." The announcement did not compel a momentary pause in the looming clash between Thomas Shelby and Chester Campbell.

METHOD OF BEDLAM ━ 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ²Where stories live. Discover now