#quite frequently all of this has something to do with solomon which hmmm. i should have a think about that as well

[journey-to-the-attic]

Oh please do elaborate what crimes Mesphisto got up to in the Royal court.

so glad you asked! now first, as always when establishing mephisto's crimes in other universes, i must first establish sonno's crimes

okay so a while back sam (@/whensam, pioneer of the dragon au) proposed that diavolo is half dragon on sonno's side, so i was thinking about that. here's my idea: sonno is an enlightened dragon - his words - i.e. one who has taken human form. now, this is going to start sounding a little catholic, BUT

sonno believes that dragonkind is inherently sinful and that humankind is inherently weak, and thus the ideal society must be place them in the protection of the enlightened - so the unenligthened, who are threats to life, must be hunted down. which is why there's a precedent for the hunting of dragons; in a way, it's out of a very twisted love for humanity

barbatos and mephisto are also enlightened dragons, BUT while barbatos did that on his own - being the dragon ouroboros, hence him being the only one aware of the world's time loop - mephisto was enlightened by sonno, and thus initially follows his beliefs devoutly

mephisto was sonno's preferred instrument of punishment; being imperfect, since he was unable to achieve this humanhood on his own, he still has access to certain aspects of draconic power. hence, his job is to identify and 'eat' those who rebel

sometimes this involves pursuit, sometimes espionage, and sometimes he just poisons em in the middle of a banquet. he's an executioner in all but name, though the unwary in the court mostly think of him as some kind of jester

when he does defect, at first he does it very badly and gets the absolute stuffing beat out of him - he manages to escape and drag himself a good few miles, and then promptly gets mugged, hence why the gang finds him half-dead in a ditch somewhere

i don't think he'd tell any of them what he really is until near the very end of his journey, and yknow it feels like the natural end to his story here would be to die for the greater good (i.e. diavolo's cause) but. let's not think too hard about that for now. i need to define diavolo's cause properly first

[peaky-yamyam]

Twenty-One: Part Three

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | 

I leave Alfie’s office to find Florrie perched just out of view but well within earshot of the office.

“You heard all that then?” I ask once we’re on the street.

“Mhmm,” she sings back. “He was flirting with you.”

“Don't be ridiculous! We didn't really say that much.”

“I think he said enough…”

“Shut up Florrie, he's been sat on his own in there for God knows how long, probably just glad of some company.”

“Well he wouldn't have been there too long,” Florrie corrects, pausing while I struggle to grasp her meaning. “Shabbat. Couldn't have been working before it got dark at least. Come on Cohen you should know this,” she jokes, nudging my arm with her elbow.

“Leave off, it's my dad that's Jewish. Can we just drop the Alfie Solomons subject now please? It's all in your head. Let’s just forget it and enjoy tonight yeah?”

She doesn't need much encouragement, and as soon as we enter the club she’s distracted by some other man who’s taken her fancy, but as hard as I try, I can’t seem to follow my own advice to forget about what’s just happened.

I spend the next two days lounging in bed, trying desperately to avoid bumping into my father for the fear of having to explain where I was Saturday night, so come Tuesday afternoon,  I'm almost glad to be back at work.

When I arrive, Florrie and a few of the other bar staff are already in setting up for the night ahead.

“Afternoon Emilia,” Florrie calls cheerily as I enter.

There's a smug look on her face though that tells me something unsavoury is occurring.

“Afternoon… Why is your face like that?” I ask, pointing at her over the bar.

“Like what?”

“Like… you know something I don't. What's going on?”

“Just go and put your stuff in your office,” she dismisses.

I try to brush off her strange behaviour, but she follows me up the back stairs - smile still plastered across her face - and I see why as I approach my large windowed office; placed in the centre of my desk is a huge bouquet of flowers of all different kinds in a rainbow of colours.

“What the fuck…” I whisper to myself, shoving the key into the lock.

“I wonder who those could be from,” Florrie says, words dripping with sarcasm.

I shoot her a dirty look, which she ignores in favour of pointing excitedly at the card peeking out from the centre of the flowers. I rip it from it’s resting place and scan across the words.

I hope you managed to enjoy yourself and stay upright on Saturday.

This is a thank you for all the hard work you do.

Alfie Solomons

I read the card a few times myself before I pass it to Florrie; it's not a card from a florist, in fact I recognise the paper as some of my own and my typewriter sits slightly askew where he's used it to type the body of the message. His name though, is signed by hand.

“Told you he was flirting,” Florrie comments, handing back the note.

“He wasn't and this isn't anything other than what it says, a thank you.”

“Emilia darl, he's saying he hopes you didn't have sex with anyone because he wants to get with you and he doesn't want you sullied by some drunken fool.”

“No… I don't think he's saying that at all. You're reading way too deep into this,” I say, loading up my typewriter with paper and pulling it towards where I'm sitting.

“Well I don't think you're reading deep enough into it. What are you doing?” she asks, flapping at the typewriter.

“Writing a thank you note.”

My fingers clack against the keys and I rip the paper from the machine signing my name.

“You better not just put ‘thank you for the lovely flowers’...” Florrie moans.

“That's exactly what I've put.”

Alfie,

Thank you for the beautiful flowers, they're very much appreciated.

Emilia Cohen

“When the delivery comes in, send them up to me please, they can take this with them.”

“Are we not going to talk about this?” Florrie asks.

“No, there's nothing to talk about,” I reply, tone forceful enough that she knows to drop it.

“Okay, just remember this conversation though, it’ll save me an ‘I told you so’ speech in the future,” she says, already halfway out my office, the same smug look as earlier etched across her features.

“Go!” I order, turning my attention back to Alfie’s note and trying not to dwell on Florrie’s comments.

The week continues without incident and Saturday night soon rolls round. The takings for the week are astronomical, even before the ‘extras’ are counted in, and I give full credit to the array of performers that we now employ throughout the week and the recently refurbished private booths.

I’m not sure the club being this successful was ever part of Alfie’s plan, nor is the hundreds of pounds I’ve funnelled back into the place - but I take solace in the fact the Alfie’s name is behind one of the most successful clubs in London, and that the money that’s been put back in has been pure profit.

I’m too busy musing about the fortunes of the club to notice the dim light still coming from Alfie’s office. It isn’t unusual for the rest of the bakery to be dimly lit, even through the night, but the sliver of light peaking between the closed blinds should have caught my attention before I burst through the door.

“Emilia! Good evening,” Alfie greets, throwing open his arms as I enter.

His presence catches me off guard and I try to disguise my surprise as I close the door.

“Alfie, I’m sorry, I should have knocked. I was in my own little world, didn’t even notice your light.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” he says, moving to the seat on the other side of the desk and gesturing for me to carry on cashing up as normal.

He doesn’t make any other attempt to converse, so, assuming conversation isn’t something that he wants, I force myself to stay quiet. I manage to get most of the cashing up done quickly, efficient now after nearly two years of practice, but the silence, and the weight of Alfie’s eyes on me becomes oppressive as I near the end.

“I never got chance to thank you in person for the flowers,” I say as I get up from my seat to place the cash back in the safe, unable to bear the quiet any longer.

“Yeah, I got your note though… So, you’re welcome I suppose.”

“And you have a key to my office it seems…”

“Yeah well, that’s just good sense ain’t it. You know the code to my safe, I have a key to your office, what’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine - strictly speaking business obviously.”

“Obviously,” I mumble, glancing around his desk, my fingers itching to tidy now that I’ve finished my work.

It’s neat, neater than normal, and despite the fact I assumed he was here to work, there seems to be no papers, accounts or books anywhere in the vicinity. I shift nervously on the spot, debating whether to push for conversation; I know it’s a bad idea, that I should leave now while there’s a break in conversation, but my mouth runs away from me.

“If you don’t mind me asking Alfie, why are you here?”

“Well love, I figured seeing as the club is going so well and all, I better check in more often, peruse these books a bit more. Talk business strategies and the like.”

I want to believe him, but after Florrie’s little insight earlier in the week my mind clouds with thoughts of his possible other intentions. I whizz the account book round to face him and flip it back to the beginning, deciding to play along.

“So this,” I say, tapping my finger against the large hard-backed book,” is everything that’s come in and out of the place this year, including the little extras and the amended outgoings to cover all the sordid stuff. This is the book that’ll be shown if we ever get investigated-” I  pull a smaller less conspicuous book from my bag and place it on the table before continuing, “-this is the actual in-goings and outgoings. In here is where the money’s actually gone, how much, everything. This stays with me.”

Alfie places his glasses on and flicks his eyes over the larger book, leafing through a few pages before pretending to be satisfied and reaching for the smaller book on the table. He spends more time on this one, flicking from front to back.

“What the fuck language is this written in?” he mumbles, trying to figure out the scrawl that litters each page.

“Shorthand. Well shorthand and a sort of coding system that I came up with, just in case it ever fell into the hands of someone who happened to know shorthand. There’s no way it could be used as evidence for anything, I made sure of that… It’s just that I have to know what’s going on…”

He nods slowly and removes his glasses, lounging back in his chair as he points a lazy finger in my direction.

“Hmmm… I’m impressed. Genuinely impressed love, and I’ll tell you what, that don’t happen all that frequently.” He snaps the small book shut and I take it with a quiet thank you, unsure how to take the compliment. “You seem to have everything running like a fine oiled machine, you do. So, I mean, I’m quite happy to leave you to it, if that’s agreeable with you?” Alfie says, still pretending to read through the accounts in the larger book.

“That’s fine Alfie. I’ve just got to write up a couple more things, if you want to go, I can lock everything up?”

I feel obliged to extend to him the chance to leave, to fulfil the facade that this is about business, but for some reason my stomach churns slightly at the thought he might take me up on the offer. I drop my eyes to the book in front of me, busying my hands with finding the right page in the hopes I can avoid his piercing stare.

The dead-air hangs for a moment until Alfie stands.

“No, I’ll wait. What do you drink?”

“Excuse me?”

His question catches me off guard, so casual against the harsh silence that it followed.

“Drink. Booze. What’s your poison?” he elaborates, moving to the side of the desk I’m sitting at.

“I’ll have whatever’s going.”

He nods and rummages in the top draw, pulling out a bottle of rum that I recognise all too well, and two glasses. He sets a glass down in front of me, standing just a little too close so that his arm brushes mine as he leans forwards, and I feel goosebumps flurry across my skin.

“Thank you,” I almost whisper, wrapping my fingers around the glass as if it’ll stable me and keeping my eyes firmly forward.

Alfie uncorks the bottle and leans forward again to pour, only this time he makes sure to brush my hand as he passes, and, despite running the many reasons why this is inappropriate through my mind, I can’t suppress the excited flip in my stomach at the feel of his breath dancing fleetingly across my skin.

He sits back in the chair opposite me without a word and I take a hearty swig of my drink in the hopes it’ll calm my festering nerves.

“Are you not having any?” I ask, slamming my glass back on the table harder than I intended.

“No. Don’t touch the stuff.”

“So... You’re just trying to get me drunk?”

He smiles and shakes his head, stroking his thumb across his bottom lip.

“It’s not like that love, not unless you want it to be… No, my intentions are pure and honest… mostly.”

I don’t know how to answer, all I can see is Florrie’s smug face when I tell her about this and the triumphant “I told you so” she’s going to take great pleasure in throwing in my face. I take another shaky sip of my drink and set it back down, carefully this time. I know that Alfie’s watching, waiting for my reaction so he knows how to play this, so I keep my eyes on my glass, gripped tightly in both hands, as I try to make sense of things.

Even though I’ve been unable to admit it to Florrie, or myself, there’s always been something about Alfie that’s attracted me to him. Before, I would have put money on the fact it’s because he was the only person to give me a chance with employment, but deep down I know it was there before he even offered me the job. He’s intelligent and charismatic, with an air around him that draws me to him. But he’s also dangerous and unpredictable, and the life he leads isn't one I want to be more entangled in than I already am.

But still, there's no denying the thrill of the improper visions I have of him, walking back round here and kissing me, running a hand through my hair as the other pulls me up onto the desk.

“Emilia, love. I-”

“I umm… I'm actually all done here, so I should be going Alfie,” I hurry, embarrassed with the direction of my thoughts have taken.

“Let me walk you home,” Alfie says, standing and following me as I bustle towards the door.

“I'm fine, thank you,” I protest, a little more sharply than I intended.

“I insist, I'll get someone to drive if don't want to walk with me.”

I feel bad that that's the impression I've given off, but at the same time, it's exactly the message I wanted Alfie to get. My head swims with confusing thoughts and feelings, and I fumble for an answer as Alfie heads towards the telephone on his desk.

“Alfie, it's not that. I just, I - look I've been doing this for two years with no problems. I promise I'll be fine, but if a strange man drops me off at my house at this time of night, it may actually kill off my father. So thank you for your kind offer, but I have to decline.”

Alfie pops the receiver back onto the phone and nods.

“Okay, okay...Alright, I'll back off,” he says.

“No Alfie that's not what I meant,” although it is, “I just, I don't know what's happening,” I mumble to myself.

Alfie nods and as I allow our gaze to meet, there’s a brief flash that says he knows exactly what I mean. There’s a silence that’s swings between us again, freezing me to the spot while Alfie takes his seat back behind his desk. 

“Stay safe Emilia. I’ll see you next week...”

The silence broken, I can finally move again and I give him a feeble wave before hurrying out of the office, trying desperately to suppress the smile that stubbornly pulls at the corners of my mouth.