Thomas Shelby

Amidst the very blanket of air of the freezing and chilly winter that whipped against her delicate face as she stepped out of the white mist,the bone-chilling cold of this era lashed at her sensitive nose mercilessly and without pity, making her sneeze continuously and uncontrollably. Around her, the eerie entities that had guided her here had vanished,leaving behind buildings that, although they appeared to be ancient and dilapidated through her modern eyes,yet perhaps still exuded a haunting architectural beauty of a lost age.

The good news: she had escaped the clutches of modern capitalist exploitation. The bad news: she was trapped in a patriarchal era ruled by the notorious gang lords of that time.

And then, she looked across the street. That was where she met him. Over there, the tall silhouette of a man cast a shadow, his back turned to her, as the tobacco smoke exhaled from his tightly pressed lips lingered in his surrounding air. His dark overcoat and signature grey Stetson (flat cap) served as a silent confirmation of a status fraught with danger. He took a long drag, blowing out a perfect ring of smoke while staring intently into the heart of the street with a gaze as sharp as a razor. He stood there, appearing like a statue, the very embodiment of the flawless perfection of the most infamous gangsters in the West Midlands. She had hit the jackpot..or perhaps, her luck had run dry dry. Unfortunately, he noticed her persistent sneezing. With the somber yet refined air of a proper gentleman, he turned toward her and slowly asked. "Birmingham at night... is no playground for ladies like you, miss." Under the pure white, softly falling snow that cast an eerie light, Thomas took a swift drag of his cigarette. The white smoke swirled, pungent and biting, blending into the frozen breath of the night.He subtly gestured with his hand, elegantly waving the smoke away from her direction. "If I were to guess... you are not from around here, are you?"