A Deal To Be Made

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March 8th, 1918 Birmingham, England

The 3 days following Blythe's disastrous day at the shop proceeded smoothly. She was able to maintain a timely lunch and avoid any further altercations with the haughty Addington. After the impressionable man and his entourage left, Addington was over the moon with himself saying how much this could lift his shop's status, mainly to himself as he never willingly engaged in conversation with Blythe. There must have been something very influential about our towering guest, but what it was she had no guesses.

The cash register chimed as Blythe closed out for the weekend. As much as Addington didn't seem to enjoy her working in his shop he did trust her with their finances. Maybe because there were no other employees and he was far too lazy to bother himself with menial tasks like counting cash. As soon as that was done, Blythe grabbed her pea coat and nearly ran out of the shop before turning and immediately locking the front door with the key she had been entrusted with. She gripped the door handle and pulled on it with slight force to make sure that it was properly secured. It was finally the weekend and the last thing she wanted was a ring from her boss chewing her arse about being irresponsible and leaving the shop unsecured.

Once she felt sure that there was nothing to worry about with the shop, she began to make her way down the brightly lit street to her flat. The further she went the less frequent the lighting on the street got. While her flat wasn't necessarily in the most upscale part of the city, it certainly wasn't in the worst either. She lived in a quiet neighborhood. Most of the time everyone would leave one another to their own but it still wasn't safe to walk the streets alone at night. Blythe tried her best to scurry along the street to quietly slip her way into her apartment after hastily unlocking the bolt on her front door. After flipping on the switch for the lights, she let a sigh pass through her lips. Tomorrow she would wake up early and head to her fathers' house to check on him and the horses. But for now, she would reach for the bottle of cheap rum she kept in her cabinet and enjoy a glass while soaking her weekly frustrations away in a nice hot bathtub.


Early Saturday morning, Blythe rose with the rising sun and began her preparations to make her way to the countryside. After quickly brushing her teeth and brushing her hair into submission, leaving it loose and wavy, she dressed and gathered her supplies she had been collecting during the week to take to her father. Some produce she had managed to barter the merchant in the Union market for, two bags of flour, and a few bars of soaps she found particularly well made completed the basket of goodies.

Making her way to the countryside every weekend was a large part of the reason why she hadn't had many coins to live on. It wasn't cheap hiring a driver to take her to her father's. But every week she dipped into her coin purse at home to afford the large expense because to her it was more than worth it to see the only kin she had left.

Moments after stepping out of the transportation she had hired, she sucked in a huge breath of the countryside air. She was thankful to have her own means of affording her own space but the smog of the city tended to clog one's airways and peace of mind. Blythe began to make her way down the short cobblestone pathway that led to her father's front door. With two soft knocks, she waited patiently for him to open the door. Arthur Davies had the most gentle of smiles plastered on his withered face as he pulled open the old door. Every Saturday without fail, his daughter would visit him bringing along with her any little items she felt would comfort him in his life of solitude. Even though her gifts were not necessary, he had everything he needed to live, he appreciated them none the less.

"Come on in, Sweetpea." He murmured soothingly in the calm demeanor he always carried. Blythe smiled at the childhood nickname her father summoned her with, It brought back memories of simpler times. She glanced around at the old brick home. Not much has changed since she had left this house 6 years ago. The same picture frames adorn the walls along with the same awful floral print mother had insisted on using in the living room. Old worn chairs and couches remain where they have for years with crocheted blankets thrown over them to cover the patches where the material had frayed apart.

"I've brought you some items I've picked from the market. I hope you'll enjoy them. Surprisingly they had turnips this time and I was able to get my hands on them before they flew out of the baskets!" Blythe exclaimed excitedly, looking like she had just won a golden championship cup. Her father laughed softly, small wrinkles creasing around his eyes from the years.

"Thank you, but you'd better put those down and go greet your horses before they truly believe you've abandoned them this time." He chuckles, patting Blythe on the shoulder lightly. In the same motion, he pulls her in for a quick side hug before ushering her towards the direction of their back door.
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