#Gina gray

[staiyn]

Peaky Sliders?

did someone ask for more peaky blinder memes? Sorry if not accurate or some

Firstly gifs that caught my attention today

Sorry not Sorry for some of these

[thesoldiersminute]

Peaky Blinders Season 6 | Episode 2

[supercalifragipopculturevomit]

Peaky Blinders 6.1 (2022) Cillian Murphy as Tommy Shelby

In memory of the show's top-notch production and that moment Cillian (as Tommy) and Anya (as Gina) faced off.

[thequeenofthedirt]

Michael Gray is the best husband in Peaky Blinders, let me tell you why…

Originally I was going to make this post about how Gina and Michael are the best couple but while they are the most beautiful, she did cheat on him with Mosley.

No matter how much you hate Michael’s character I don’t think you can deny that out of the married men in Peaky Blinders he is the best.

1. He’s loyal. Every other married character has cheated on their s/o at least once.

2. He married Gina for love. Unlike Tommy who married Lizzie because he had to and then treated her like crap.

3. The first person he asked to see when he was leaving prison was his wife. It’s self explanatory why this is good.

4. He listen to his wife. Despite Gina not being the best influence on Michael he does listen to her, and his much less controlling than any other married man in the show.

5. He loves his mum. Despite not remembering Polly when he sees her again in adulthood he accepts her quickly (too quickly imo) and treats her like they had never been apart.

6. He loves horses. That’s just cute.

7. He can do ✨THIS✨

And finally,

8. He killed an evil priest.

If you think I have missed anything do let me know.

(I am aware of the reasons not like Michael tho, don’t get if twisted)

[evita-shelby]

Pls I need more dad!Jack 🙏 Preferably something about him interacting with his girls, being the protective father. I hope you feel inspired to write this bc I’d love to read it!

Omg your request took life on its own and even included Gina dhdhbd

I hope you like it

Cw: mentions of racism, mention violence and ableism

Papa Bear

1929

He barely had a damn clue what it was to be a dad when he was given partial custody to his teenage niece. He didn’t think he’d be doing much when he started looking for a blue-blooded wife to marry and now Jack likes to think he’s doing a good enough job as a father.

Seven fucking kids.

Three daughters, four sons.

He loves all his kids, but he’s got a soft spot for his girls. Rosie, sweet little Rosemary who is a living testament that the fucking quack who said she should be put away like an unwanted decoration didn’t know what he was talking about.

Rosie’s a quiet little thing with big brown eyes with Jack’s brutal honesty and Eva’s attention to detail. Loves the piano most of out of all other instruments she plays, has a collection of dolls from all over the world threatening to swallow the house and does not like big gatherings or foods that touch each other on her plate.

“Was looking for you, kid.” Jack isn’t surprised to find her playing by herself in his home office. The door had been locked, but he’d taught her how to pick locks just like his old man did before he got his brains blown out when Jack was 10.

She hides here when she gets overwhelmed from all the noise and sensations and anything that shifts out of place in her perfect routine. Now that Gina and her husband were back in the States, it happened more often.

Gina had lost some of her teenage shittyness, but now that Michael had been tossed out on his ass and her position in her own family tainted by his failure in England, her bullying had returned. As if it was Rosie’s fault that she backed the wrong horse by marrying Michael.

It wasn’t the only reason Gina picked on who she perceived as the weakest opponent, Jack knows he spoiled the fuck out of her because she was his only niece and him having kids was a blow to her despite being 16.

“You knew I was here, daddy.” She gives a small smile ducking her eyes as always while she puts down the pen with which she writes the notes to the simple solo he taught her on the margins of his notebook.

They could tell her mood by the song she wrote down or played. Jack prided himself on knowing how to read her mood perfectly despite the placid face she tends to have on.

The song his mother used to play for him was when she just needed space: The Last Rose of Summer.

He used to sing it to her as a baby, to all his girls, but she was his first daughter, his little Rosie. Something that Gina has long pretended she’s not bothered by but shows in her irrational jealousy towards Rosie in particular.

“Gina left already, if you want to come back to your piano and finish your duet with Junior. Your mom was looking forward to it, you know how much she likes Clair de Lune.” That was another song she would write or play when she needed Eva more than him.

His nine-year-old girl perks up at the magic words and leaves his chair talking his ear off at how she and her brother ---her favorite brother in fact--- tweaked the melody for their mother and asked him if he thinks she’ll love it.

“How could she not, kid?” Jack takes off his coat from the girl’s shoulders and puts it back in the coat hanger before they return to the music room together.

1934

Where Rosie is sweet and quiet, Kitty is all fire and chaos.

A bullheaded girl put on this earth to give him an aneurysm. Loves sports, good at everything she sets her mind to, and nothing is ever enough for her.

But he loves his fiery little girl with his dead mom’s auburn hair and that ring of brown at the center of her eyes just like his. Wouldn’t change her for the world.

She is so much like him that he wonders how the fuck his mother managed raised him by her lonesome.

There’s much of Eva about her too, the pout, her wit and inability to sit still.

“Why’d you hit him?” he asks knowing too well that the school principal had been lying her ass about why Kit was getting expelled.

A student, they would’ve let it fly with the right amount of money. Old Pat had paid two hundred dollars in 1910 to keep him from getting expelled from curb stomping an idiot who called him a a potato-digging charity case. He’d done it because he saw a future for him, and that future was Harvard.

Katherine Drusilla Nelson had kicked a teacher in the balls. Jack had been so proud of her and would find a way to spin it for Eva who could not come in, thank God.

“Fucker called me a spic.” The eleven-year-old girl fumed in the passenger seat unaware that they’ll be stopping for ice cream and candy because Jack thinks kicking a bigot in the nuts merits a reward.

Eva would agree.

Eva would make a whole shitshow for the school because God forbid anyone hurts her babies. He would help her, especially now that they are no longer pretending to be fascist bigots after confirming how deluded Mosley and his ilk are in England.

Shelby had jumped ship too, and without their contract and Gina’s own disgust at having to fuck Mosley for information, Jack could tell the rat faced bastard to go fuck himself.

“Did you kick him like mommy taught you?” Jack asks, knowing his Kitten took Eva’s lessons in self-defense to heart. Jack had once been hit with a baseball bat thinking he was an intruder one night, if she’d gone to England with them, he would’ve loved to set her loose on Mosley.

“Yes.” The girl answered with a sniffle.

The little girl gets home happy as a clam and only half-hears her mother’s disappointment at her behavior knowing her dad agrees Mr. Burke deserved all the pain and embarrassment he got at her hands.

1933

Eunice Jane Nelson was something.

A perfect mix of his two elder daughters but a witch like her mother. Named after his Aunt Euni who had been his godmother and himself.

The four-year-old girl had pointed her toy gun and ‘shot’ Michael right between the eyes. Everyone had laughed thinking it was just Euni, Eddie and Laurie playing cowboys and robbers, but the pig-tailed girl had then said in a sing-song voice, “Tommy’s gonna kill you.”

“A crazy like the other one.” Gina had brushed it off refusing to consider her husband’s been marked for death.

“Don’t push it, Gee.” Jack warns as the children are taken upstairs by Eva and the nanny. “Kid takes after her mother, that’s all.”

Eva had not told him how unsettling she’d been as a kid.

Prophetic night terrors didn’t affect your childhood much, his siblings had all been rather normal beyond that. Junior and his other kids weren’t like this, either.

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one told they’re getting murdered by their fucking cousin by a four-year-old.” Michael said in his wife’s defense. He used to be more tolerant of the kid, said his mom was like that too, but he’d gotten worse after his mother’s death. At any age your mother’s death was guaranteed to fuck you up, Michael Gray and Jack were proof of that.

“You’re under my roof, watch how you talk about my kids, or I’ll do the job myself, Gray.” Jack warned tired of their bullshit.

Michael was desperate to prove himself a big dog. hates knowing he’s still not one of them after five years of pulling his weight in his service.

Thing is, the boy is not a man, his overconfidence always does him in when the shit gets tough. Gina was just as desperate to prove her place here too, only she knew she could get away with worse shit for being the boss’ niece.

“Oh, goodie, now you’re in papa bear mode.” His niece rolled her eyes like she was sixteen again. “So, what are we gonna do about Tommy Shelby? Or are you gonna wait until he comes after your kids because Michael and I are fair game?”

“You are my blood; Shelby wouldn’t kill you ‘cause he doesn’t want to fuck with me. I can give some protection to your husband while he’s in American soil, like a good old papa bear would, but if he can’t handle his own affairs when the time comes, then he’s shit out of luck, kid.” The gangster doesn’t let her taunts get to him, its more of an annoyance than anything, but serves to get his point across.

He protects his family, even Michael. Like a good old papa bear.

[novashelby]

I'm Not Your Wife, I'm Your Daughter-Part III

Pairing: Nothing romantic as of now...Tommy ShelbyxEvie (OC Daughter)

Warning: mention of various abuse and assault, swearing, trauma. Doesn't follow canon much at all.

Word Count: 1,909

Summary: It hits Evie where Jack found all his information leading her to her least favorite person. Please show support by commenting and rebloging!

“You must be so devastated.” Evie inhaled, holding her breath for a second. She was sure when he had said, take her home, that was the end of their conversation. But to her disappointment, Jack Nelson had a knack for enjoying the way his voice sounded. On the exhale, she rolled her eyes and looked over at him, a clear bored expression. Though, she looked more pathetic than anything; eyes puffy, red, and swollen with tears. Jack Nelson knew what he was doing; upsetting the girl and spilling a whole can of her trauma. He had an eerie way of him, Evie thought. Her father was much more blunt with her emotions at times. But this man? So sickly sweet. Artificial was the word, but fuck, he made it convincing to a girl who’d already been so inclined to feel safe by any man who comforted her.

She side glanced at him, tight expression. But he pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, shaking it open. Gently, he cupped her chin and forced her to look at him. He fought through her resistant struggle, wiping away the tears. “You must enjoy researching people, Mr. Nelson.”

“A speciality of all smart men,” he said, tucking away his handkerchief. “Your father, too. He mustn’t have told you about his brain tumor-”

“No,” she said, voice hardly even a whisper. Evelyn shook her head, eyes closed. “No, no he didn’t. But it’ll be okay. Daddy doesn’t die very easily.” Jack’s amused laugh broke her from her thoughts. She kept comments to herself. Disbelief, truly. Out of everything, it couldn’t be a brain tumor. 

“Eleven year old Evie must be so…manic,” he said, and her ears perked. Manic. When she was eleven, she went manic. She remembered it clearly. But why manic. Why say manic? There weren’t many words Evelyn remembered, but she remembered using that word a lot. Writing it on pages for her eyes. She asked God a lot. Wrote to him in a leather bound book tucked under her head. God, why do I feel so manic? This manic…the manic….manic. The driver pulled into the large driveway. 

When the car slowed to a stop, Evelyn looked at him, blinking. “Interesting choice of words, Mr. Nelson.” Her hand gripped the door handle as she made sure her knowing look was imprinted in him. So chatty, but awful at goodbyes he was. His kind facade faded when he no longer had use for it. “Good night. Surely a man like yourself must be so exhausted.” She opened the door, sliding across the leather seats.

“We’ll see each other soon, Miss Shelby-”

“I don’t know, Mr. Nelson,” she sighed. “I’m booked three years out in my calendar.” With that, she slammed the car door and walked up the stone steps, trying to keep her pounding heart contained. She hadn’t an idea of what she felt, but confusion was definitely on the list next to anger. Evelyn couldn’t begin to process any grief or devastation before she beat the pissed off fuel she had towards her father at that moment. Neither he nor Lizzie were home yet, still swimming through their emotions at the hospital. 

Francis greeted her at the door, helping her with her coat. “I’m so sorry, Miss. Shelby-you must be so tired.” 

“Should I quote my father?” she asked, a tinge of humor to lighten the air around her.  She nodded in ‘thanks’ and went straight to her bedroom. There was a target on her mind. 

A satin box of old journals shoved away in her closet. It was the first gift Ada had given her; a brown leather bound journal. Ever since she was eight, she’d write down everything. Even something as small as what she ate, if it was just too good to forget or just so horrible she wanted to remind herself. Still short at twenty-four, she dragged her white vanity stool to the closet edge, and stood on it, the legs shaking. It was then, when the box was shoved just a bit more back than usual, she knew someone had been fishing around. Evelyn could never push it that far back. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” she cursed, grabbing a hanger and dragging it, grunting and groaning. It was definitely lighter, and when she failed to catch it, it tumbled to the ground. The cover came off and inside was a single journal. Evelyn jumped off the stool and picked it up. 

That was when she knew who took them. It made sense. She flipped through the pages of her journal when she was just thirteen, her fingertips burning with regretful memories. Michael. It was Michael who took them…how he had managed a visit with Tommy was incredible. She thought her father must really have a brain tumor if he was slipping that much. She gathered the last journal and tucked it in her handbag before strapping it over her shoulder. It was about four in the morning at that point.

In the little bowl near the door was a set of car keys. They were the cars that Evelyn was allowed to drive; the older ones that were dented and scratched. Specifically the one that she learned how to drive in roughly ten years ago. Francis peeked around the door leading into the dining room. “Are you off again? It is so late-”

“I’m thinking it’s quite early, Francis,” she said, winking, lying that she was off to her friend, Martha's home. “I don’t want to stay home right now, Francis.”

As a woman who was once little with no home, she found it obnoxious how some had more than one. Instead, having three or four. It was so bloody obnoxious. And for that, she hated Gina even more. It wasn’t Michael, it was Gina…. The over zealous bitch from Boston. Evelyn never thought her roots would follow her. Especially not in the form of a tall lady who didn’t know how to properly put on cheek rouge. You don’t know how to put on cheek rouge, she reminded herself. Sure, but I don’t pretend I do. 

How hard is it for everyone to be humble? 

It was quite a drive to London, and if Evelyn was honest, it was intimidating. Never having to drive that far. Most of her journeys were to Martha’s. Just a quick thirty minutes at most. But going to London was a whole day adventure. Hours, not including the fact she missed her exits and turns a couple of dozen times, ending up in some other city where the people clearly hated her. All I need are my journals. That was the driving factor. If she had nothing, she’d have fallen asleep, car sliding off a cliff. Surly. 

When she made it to the row of overly posh town houses, Evelyn wanted to drive back home. She was not her father. It was not her. Evelyn didn’t play tough. Evelyn didn’t confront people. But Michael played dirty in a way that was unforgivable. To steal a young girl’s mind. To invade her, violate her, and to completely expose her. 

After everything else he did. 

She slammed the car door, hearing her father in the back of her head. Fuckin’ ‘ell, Evelyn. 

Evelyn gave a few good knocks with the iron knocker. From the little clicks from the other side, she predicted that Gina would answer the door. But she didn’t expect the woman would be in her silk nightie, covered by a robe. She leaned on the door frame, the tight fake smile. Evelyn did a scan over her, pausing at her heels. “Evie-”

“Evelyn,” she corrected. “You call me Evelyn…where’s Michael?” 

Gina was always so sickly nice. Fake nice. Walked around like the princess of something, something. She tilted her head, amused. “It’s not often he lets you out. Must be a special occasion.” Her robe flowed behind her as she turned. “He’s in here!” she called. “Close the door, click the latch.” Evelyn looked around, thinking how simple their London home was compared to their other home. They almost seemed normal. Through the narrow entryway and to a parlor, Michael was sitting on a pink sofa. 

“Nice decor, Gina,” she complimented. “Did you decide on that, too?” Michael looked over at her, wiping the sleep from his eyes. They’d both still been in their night clothing. “Can I get you something to-”

“I want my shit, Michael.” Michael closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

“What shit?” he asked, tiredly. 

Evelyn snorted. “You’re a pathetic liar just as you’re a pathetic gangster-I want my shit. You know what shit. I know it was you, Michael. I want my fuckin’ shit!”

Michael looked up at her, brow cocked. “Evelyn, did Tommy stop your medication again? You know what happens when you stop the..the little…um…the drops or something.” He was referring to the few times Tommy gave Evelyn a secret dose of something to calm her anxiety. Just anxiety. And it’d make her sleepy and calm. But Michael was being so incredibly condescending.

Evelyn did not entertain it. “I’ll rip this fuckin’ house apart, Michael-”

“What the fuck are you talking-”

“My journals, Michael!” She screamed. “My fucking thoughts! My fucking life! You took them and I fuckin’ know it was you. You fucking took them to exploit me…again. Because once wasn’t fucking-”

“Are you done?”

Gina came over, sitting on the arm of the sofa, arm draped around Michael’s shoulders. She was already sipping a whiskey. “What is wrong?” she asked, looking down at him. 

That made Evelyn laugh. “Michael, you took my journals and gave them to her fucking uncle-”

“Stupid-”

“Stop rolling your eyes! I know it was you, because.” She paused, digging into her bag and taking out the one journal that was left behind. “Because of this, Michael, the one journal you wouldn’t want your in-laws to read.” Michael stiffened a bit, leaning on his fist, looking away from her. She tossed it on the couch. “There you go.” She looked at Gina, and said, “halfway is where it gets good…you’ll learn a whole-”

“Evelyn! Shut up,” Michael groaned. “Would you? I was fucking twenty-”

“And I was thirteen.” Evelyn swallowed. “I was thirteen, Michael.”

Gina looked down at her husband, hand on her belly. Michael sighed, “what are you trying to say? I raped you? God, Evie, you just love being a victim. It’s like you crave it. You’re fucking sick and Tommy should have put you in a home years ago-”

“You’re deflecting-”

“Evelyn, I was fucking drunk, it was New Years Eve.” Michael stood, walking to her, looking down. “I kissed you-”

“I was thirteen-”

“It was a fucking kiss that meant nothing-”

“That isn’t your decision to make, Michael. I was thirteen and it made me uncomfortable…you were twenty-”

“Jesus fucking Christ…”

“I want my journals back, Michael,” she said. “Where are they?” When he didn’t answer, she made the ultimatum for him. “Michael, you have twelve hours to get those journals back to me…twelve.”

“And if I don’t?”

Evie walked over, grabbing her journal back and fixing her bag on her shoulder. “Michael, you should have stayed in the countryside. You’re a bloody shite accountant, businessman, and a really fucking pathetic gangster. Use your imagination.” She started to excuse herself out before pausing at the door. “Oh, and Michael.” She turned, pointing to her upper lip. “Shave that fucking pube trail…it looks disgusting.”

[anyataylors-joy]

future oscar winner 🫶🫶🫶

[thepeakygirl]

Some of my top favourite Peaky Blinders looks from the Peaky women

Wish I had better quality photos of Grace’s peacock dress and Lizzie’s black dress from s6e5 because they’re stunning and deserved to be shown in better light

[overhatedcharacterspoll]

OVERHATED CHARACTERS POLL: Gina Gray (Peaky Blinders)

Feel free to explain your position in the comments or tags, but any harassment, over-the-top fighting, or personal attacks will result in you being blocked. Do not attack real people, be they fans or creators, over fictional characters.

Mod note: I know nothing about this character, but Anya is so beautiful I think I might black out.

[fuckwallpapers]

[weavingshop]

michael & gina gray + textposts

[thesoldiersminute]

Peaky Blinders Season 6 | Episode 6

[dream-this-nightmare-over]

This looks like they are looking and silently judging each other across the room.

But nothing will ever be the same nor come close to first three seasons.

[thequeenofthedirt]

They hate when you don’t let the men in your life control you👠

(sorry to Lizzie and May but they let Tommy treat them like dirt)

[alicent-targaryen]

ANYA TAYLOR-JOY ▸ 2022 Filmography: ▸Peaky Blinders ▸The Menu ▸Amsterdam ▸The Northman

[novashelby]

Evie Meets Gina

"I keep it classy, but I'm not afraid to slap a bitch." Summary: Evie hates confrontation. So, when Evie meets Gina and it doesn't go well...she sort of just...snaps? Word count: 978...this was suppose to be 100...whoops Warning: Swearing, childhood trauma Thank you @tea-atfive for participating in my drabble request thing. Flor requested how Evie would interact with Gina...and oh, boy....yikes. Not well.

“I hate her,” Martha said, leaning against the doorframe; the threshold that separated the dining room and parlor. Evie was behind her, rearranging the table set. On her heels, Martha twirled around, lips pursed. “Doesn’t she know that if she bleaches her hair enough, it starts to make you bald-”

“Martha!” Evie scolded, hitting her hands to her side. “Now you’re just being ridiculously catty, you know that?” Evie popped an olive in her mouth and walked over to her best friend. “And you only hate her because I don't like her.” She pinched her best friend’s nose, their mouths breaking into a wave of school girl giggles. 

“Who don’t you like?” Aunty Polly came from the other door behind them. She wiped her hand on the white apron, looking around tirelessly. She mumbled under her breath as she counted, humming. 

Martha lost her snarky smile, and sang, “Hi, Ms. Gray!” 

“Martha,” she greeted back. 

Martha gave Evie a grin, adding a mocking wink. “I’m gonna go mingle with the handsome folk in the other room.” Evie whined as Martha landed a big, obnoxious kiss on her cheek and waltzed off. 

“Fuckin’ ell,” she mumbled, wiping the spit off her cheek as she continued to help her aunt. “Why do you still do this if we have maids?” Polly looked over, clothing napkins in her hand.

“It’s good to keep some humanity left in you.” She folded one neatly and placed it over the plate. “And in this family, we need every last bit of it that we can get-rearrange the spoons and knives!” Evie nodded, silently working at her task when Polly asked again, “and who were you and Martha chatting about?”

“Just school girl gossip, Aunty.” She smiled over. “No one important, really.” Evie put down her last knife, and exited the kitchen. Sneaking from the festivities, Evie went upstairs to her room. Her room was her space that even her father respected to an extent. One could imagine when Evie walked around the door frame and spotted her, Evie was quite upset. “Hello?” she questioned, tilting her head. 

Gina had been at her desk, looking over each and every picture frame. With each one, she picked up, her fingers would caress over the glass. She was holding the one of Evie and Tommy…It was the day Evie turned sixteen and they had a party. It was a beautiful photo, truly, because despite all of Tommy’s pain at the time, he looked happy. Evie wanted to rip it from her hands. Gina took a moment to answer, and when she did, she didn’t care to show a single ounce of shame. “Your room is quite,” she paused, looking around. “Sweet.” She put the picture down and picked up her school portrait when she was ten; chubby and toothless. It was her father’s favorite. 

“What are you doing in here?” Evie asked, a bit curt in her tone. She moved aside, motioning to the door. “The party is downstairs. There’s also a loo downstairs-”

Gina held up the photo, smirking. “Cute. Fat cheeks, round face…tooth gap.” 

“I was ten there.”

Gina nodded, humming to herself, looking the girl up and down. “Not much has changed.” With a rather loud clunk Gina put down the wooden framed picture and walked over to Evie, smiling. It was as genuine as her. Never knowing how to navigate the cattiness, Evie wasn’t like her Aunt Ada and Aunty Pol’. Despite the woman being tiny, she felt smaller and unmatched. Her breath hitched as Gina said, “Michael told me about you…about your mom. She comes from Boston?”

Evie nodded. 

“She was a, um, a…whore?” 

Evie closed her eyes. “Gina, I’d like to join my family back downstairs. I think you should find what you want and leave my room-”

“I think she’s back in Boston,” Gina said, offering a smile that held no true genuineness. “My uncle knows her, actually.” Evie snapped, eyes wide. “Isn’t that funny?”

“W-what-”

“That how tiny this world is. Her name is Cindy, right?” Gina nodded. “Cindy…that was it. Maybe a reunion would be in the works-”

“Gina, get out of my room.” Evie’s fists clenched. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a wine glass on her dresser off to her right. The rim was spotted with the same shade of red that laid on Gina’s lips. 

Gina dared to say one more thing. “It’s funny how you haven’t seen her in ten years, yet, you are so much alike. Mooching off men and taking them for what they have. Tell me, Evelyn, because Michael is convinced you’ll live here with Tommy until he dies….Do you have any ambitions? Or will you eventually lay on your back like your mother?” She let Gina’s words sink in before her hand reached for the glass stem. Before Evie could compose herself, the red-almost purple wine was painted on Gina’s crisp, white cocktail dress. “Shit!” she cursed out loud, jumping back. The bit of wine that got on her chin, dripped.

Evie lost all facial expressions, placing the sticky glass back down and wiping her hands on her skirt. “I thought your dress needed some color.” Evie grinned. “You’re welcome.” Gina shook off her hands, mouth agape, glaring at the girl. Before she could get the last word, Evie walked out and down the stairs. Her anger brewed from the top stair to the bottom. Michael ambushed her at the stairs.

“Have you seen-”

Slap. The crack was so loud, everyone turned around. The air went dead silent except for Isaiah’s whistle. Michael was holding his cheek. “Stay out of my fucking business, Michael!” Evie said, pushing by. Martha ran up to her side, trying to ask what happened. Not answering, she said, “let’s go-”

“What happened?”

“Martha! I said let’s go!”

“Alright, alright,” Martha agreed. “I guess we are leaving!”