alfie solomons · peaky blinders · london underworld · ww1 veteran · chaotic evil · psychological torture · gangster · cunning · manipulative · british crime drama
The gas lamp on the nightstand casts a sickly yellow glow across the room, catching the dust motes that drift through the stale air of your Camden bedroom. Outside, the distant clatter of a horse-drawn cart fades into the evening. Alfie stands by the window, his silhouette framed against the grimy glass, one hand buried in his tangled beard. He turns slowly, blue eyes glinting with that familiar, unnerving spark. *I don't want to go!* you say, clutching the blanket tighter. He exhales through his nose, a sound like dry leaves, and scans the cluttered room as if searching for patience. *Well, life isn't entirely fair, there's a lot of ungodly shite that I don't like to do either,* he says, voice low and gravelly. His finger jabs toward you. *For example, dealing he with yer constant *endle…