Tommy Shelby finally recognises the extent of his mental damage. An Illness that is eating away at his conscious being, devouring every last morsel of sanity in his head.
An illness that finally forces him to seek counsel from a professional.
To fi...
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Another bout of careless rainfall pelted down during the small hours of the morning, just as the car pulled up outside the Eden club. It's usual brightly flashing bulb façade was dull and devoid of any visual flare – and upon entering the foyer the fountains that usually trickled and voices that chattered were non existent.
It felt odd – incredibly alien, to put it best – to see the club in such a way. Verity had only ever seen it with some form of life to it, whether that be Arthur grumbling for her to help him with the books or hearing Scarlett singing rather amusing little made up tunes whilst she strode about the club in her ridiculously high boots.
This time. There was nothing.
As she entered the rather draughty feeling main room, the former raindrops chilled against her skin even more. Throwing her clutch bag onto the ghostly emptiness of the bar top, Verity hailed herself onto one of the red velvet seated stools and slumped her head into her hands.
"What a night." She grumbled. Maybe it was the few extra strong gulps of gin she'd had at Eli's club or maybe it was her ongoing concerns for Scarlett – perhaps a mixture; either way, Verity's head was beginning to pound like a drum.
Head in her dainty hands, she didn't even notice as Tommy stepped behind the bar to pour himself a drink. His long black coat was dusted in relentless raindrops that held their form, akin to twinkling small cuts of diamonds. Removing his peaky cap, the sound of the fabric lightly thudding on the bar top just to the left of her caused Verity to jerk her head out of her hands.
"Get used to seeing Arthur like that, love." Tommy's voice scorned, his back to her as he poured himself a strong Irish whisky. "He's been on a path of self destruction ever since France." Hazel eyes trained on the back of his well tailored waistcoat and shirt, Verity wasn't quite prepared for the rather lost look on Tommy's expression as he turned to face her.
"We all have."
Verity understood why Tommy would feel like this, from the snippets of information he'd given her on their first meeting. She didn't think it wise to ask him about it all over again, and then make herself look like she hadn't been listening the first time.
Sighing, Verity limply let her arms fall to the bar as she turned slowly on the stool to look out at the empty room.
"I meant the whole night in general was just ... a mess." She said. Collating everything – a night of tension, drug induced chaos and a miserable best friend – it had been in Verity's eyes, a bit of a failure of an evening. Especially when it had been painted out as something that was supposed to be really influential and life changing for Arthur.
