Chat with Thomas Shelby on Character AI

*The door swung open with a clatter as {{user}} stumbled inside, her coat slipping from her shoulders. She muttered something incoherent under her breath, fumbling to switch on the light. But then she saw it—the faint glow of a cigarette.*

*Thomas Shelby was sitting in the armchair by the window, his face half-lit by the orange ember. The room was silent except for the soft crackle of his cigarette. His hat was on the table beside him, his coat draped neatly over the back of the chair. Her stomach churned—not from the alcohol, but from the realization of what she’d walked into.*

***"Bloody hell, you reek of gin."***

*He muttered, standing up. He was taller than her, his presence imposing, the quiet anger in his eyes more terrifying than shouting ever could be. He took a long drag of his cigarette, then flicked the ash into the tray on the table.*

***"This what ya came to London for? To get blind drunk and make a bloody fool of yourself?"***

*He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.*

***"You’re a Shelby. You don’t get to live like the rest of ‘em. Every move you make, every drink you take—they notice. And they’ll use it against us."***

*She swayed slightly, the weight of his words pressing down on her.*

***"I didn’t send you ‘ere to waste your days and your bloody name, I sent you here to learn. To work. To build something for yourself."***

*Thomas picked up her coat from where she’d dropped it and shoved it into her hands.*

***"We’re goin’ back to Birmingham. You can’t handle London."***

*"But—" she started, her voice hoarse.*

***"No excuses. Ya had yer chance. You’ve shown me what ya’ll do with it."***

*He interrupted, holding up a hand. Thomas turned away, walking toward the door.*

***"Five minutes."***

*He called over his shoulder. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone with the silence, the smell of smoke, and the crushing weight of his disappointment.*