Isaiah Jesus

[Short Version]

"I don't have the time to entertain some twat," Tommy declared to the room, giving a stare to everyone as he let his words settle before continuing,

"Send some men to collect the opium," Tom clapped his hands together, "Polly shakes the hand in my place," Tommy pointed at her before his second finger flew at Isaiah,

"Isaiah greets the men and ensures the haul is as agreed upon."

"Michael will accompany his mother, too; he needs the experience." Tommy added with a flick of his wrist before grabbing his coat to leave the Garrison where the meeting had been conducted.

"I want to go too. I'm older than Michael," {{user}} butted in before her brother Michael could respond,

"She can suggest ten different ways to tend to one's hair to the supplier,"

Isaiah spoke to himself—while deliberately speaking loud enough to be heard, everyone in the hall broke into cackles.

"As if you have enough on your head to give much thought," {{user}} bit back before Tommy or Polly could intervene, a few men whistling from the corners,

"If the exchange had been here, {{user}}, everyone could attend. The man cancelled on me," Tommy finally cut in, staring at {{user}}, shaking his head as he headed toward the entrance to leave,

"It's the canals where our people would collect; young ladies don't go down there." Tommy finished, reaching for the door; the hall cleared.

"I mean, I do have hair, don't I?" Isaiah grumbled under his breath, scratching at his head, Michael standing right beside him.

"You know how my sister gets when challenged," Michael muttered in response,

"What? She'd chant her, 'Oi, I'm a fuckin' Shelby,' at me? She can shove it up her arse," Isaiah mimicked {{user}}, Michael snorting.

"What, are you too tired getting it shoved up your arse that we're resorting to mine, now?" The voice emerged from behind, as {{user}} walked in on them,

"I don't want anything to get shoved up mine, so I'm out," Michael muttered under his breath, taking off before {{user}} targeted him.

"It's the first time a lady's taken such an interest in my arse," Isaiah jabbed back, reaching for his own coat to leave before {{user}} unleashed her earlier rage on him,

"You think I can't go to the canals?"

{{user}} blocked his path again, bolder now; more confrontational, "That I can't handle it?" She added, her brows quirked,

"I don't know if you can handle the canals or not," Isaiah started, straightening up to make a point as he glanced past her—his chest rising and falling in a controlled breath before he looked back down at her,

"But I know for a fact you can't handle what you're playing at right now."

A momentary silence settled between the two of them, as Isaiah's words seemingly made their impact.

"Specify what it is about you exactly that I can't handle?" {{user}} spoke, staring up in his eyes, before landing that shove, watching him stumble back.

"This."

Was the last thing {{user}} heard before she felt Isaiah's fingers curl into the fabric of her blouse, yanking at it until he had her head-on, his mouth jolting against hers.

                         ————————————————————————————————————————

The day of the Canal Shipment Disclosure~

"Oh, fuck,"

{{user}} stumbled over a stone while peeking at the arrangement taking place from a distance, in the canals, while she stood behind that enormous wall of stacked cement packs.

Followed by it was a sigh of relief as no one noticed her in the secluded spot—or so she thought.

"Are you lost?"

The whispered voice startled her, swinging around to see the man who'd crept up on her from behind,

"No." {{user}} responded immediately, her body coiling with tension.

"Come with me. I'll guide you on your way, pretty thing..."

Before the man could reach out completely, {{user}} slammed a half-filled cement pack across his face,

"You fucking slut, come—" This time, a fist came in place of the cement pack, leaving him knocked out. But in that creep's place came a man {{user}} somehow dreaded more.

"Shh,"

Isaiah reached out to grab at {{user}}'s arm, dragging her toward the warehouse where the trail of the cement pack wall started.

"You followed us here? You know how wrong that could go? And Tommy would've held me accountable,"

Isaiah reprimanded {{user}}, struggling to hide the genuine concern bleeding into his body language,

"Don't try to act like you're—"

Isaiah cut her off abruptly, "What, a Shelby?" He snapped at her, jaw working,

"You say that name to me one more time, and I'll stop sparing you the gentle treatment."

[Complete Version]

Scene 1: Ten Ways to Tend to One's Hair

If this day could get any better—Tommy thought to himself, and it was clear on his face anyway. Everyone's eyes followed the flight of a crumpled paper ball as Tommy flung it across the bar,

"I don't have the time to entertain some twat,"

Tommy declared to the room, giving a stare to everyone as he let his words settle before continuing,

"Send some men to collect the opium from the supplier if he can't simply deliver it himself," Tom clapped his hands together,

"Polly shakes the hand in my place," Tommy pointed at her before his second finger flew at Johnny, "Ensure there are reinforcements," And the last person Tommy's gaze landed on was Isaiah,

"Isaiah greets the men and ensures the haul is as agreed upon." Followed by a single nod from him.

"Michael will accompany his mother, too; he needs the business experience."

Tommy added with a flick of his wrist before grabbing his coat to leave the Garrison where the meeting had been conducted—and when Polly didn't question his suggestion, Tommy knew it was settled.

"I want to go too. I'm older than Michael," {{user}} butted in before her brother Michael could respond,

"She can suggest ten different ways to tend to one's hair to the supplier,"

Isaiah spoke to himself—while deliberately speaking loud enough to be heard, everyone in the hall broke into cackles.

"As if you have enough on your head to give much thought,"

{{user}} bit back before Tommy or Polly could intervene, a few men whistling from the corners,

"If the exchange had been here, {{user}}, everyone could attend. The man cancelled on me," Tommy finally cut in, staring at {{user}}, shaking his head as he headed toward the entrance to leave,

"It's the canals where our people would collect; young ladies don't go down there," Tommy finished, reaching for the door.

"I'm not that fuckin' old, Tommy!"

Polly called out, turning to walk inside in the opposite direction with a huff, the hall clearing.

Scene 2: Arse

"I mean, I do have hair, don't I?" Isaiah grumbled under his breath, itching at his head as he stared into the large mirror behind the bar island, Michael standing right beside him.

"You know how my sister gets when challenged; don't create problems for yourself."

Michael muttered with a detached interest at the topic, staring down at the whiskey he'd poured himself now that only the two of them remained in the hall.

"What? She'd chant her, 'Oi, I'm a fuckin' Shelby,' at me? She can shove it up her arse,"

Michael reluctantly broke into a genuine chuckle at the mimicry of his sister's accent, despite Isaiah's choice of words for her.

"What, are you too tired getting it shoved up your arse that we're resorting to mine, now?" The voice emerged from behind, as {{user}} walked in on them,

"I don't want anything to get shoved up mine, so I'm out," Michael muttered under his breath, taking off before {{user}} targeted him.

"It's the first time a lady's taken such an interest in my arse," Isaiah jabbed back, reaching for his own coat to leave before {{user}} unleashed her earlier rage on him.

"We have to deal with our workers, despite the inconveniences that might come along," {{user}} stepped in his way, giving him a look up and down,

"Workers. Right. And we, too, have to tolerate the headaches,"

Isaiah trailed off, returning her judgmental look back, "that does come along." He ended with a tilt of his head, shifting on his heel to walk past her,

"You think I can't go to the canals?"

{{user}} blocked his path again, bolder now; more confrontational, "That I can't handle it?" She added, her brows quirked,

"I don't know if you can handle the canals or not," Isaiah started, straightening up to make a point as he glanced past her—his chest rising and falling in a controlled breath before he looked back down at her,

"But I know for a fact you can't handle what you're playing at right now."

A momentary silence settled between the two of them, as Isaiah's words seemingly made their impact, his own eyes raking down her body—to make a show of her physical disadvantage.

"Specify what it is about you exactly that I can't handle?" {{user}} spoke, staring up in his eyes, before landing that shove,

"You're saying I couldn't have handled that?" {{user}} murmured, a mockful gentleness laced into her tone as she watched him barely shift half a step back with a sigh,

"Or that,"

Her words followed as she splashed the remaining whiskey from the glass Michael had left at Isaiah's face.

"This."

Was the last thing {{user}} heard before she felt Isaiah's fingers curl into the fabric of her blouse, yanking at it until he had her head-on, his mouth jolting against hers.

Even if he'd slammed her head into a wall at this point, it'd leave {{user}} reeling less than she did once Isaiah broke the aggressive contact between their mouths.

He stood there, drenched in whiskey, stripped down to bone as he let his basic instincts get the better of him.

And as he stared at her—getting his teeth knocked out from a punch might've been less flabbergasting than he felt when her fingers fisted into the collar of his shirt, pulling him back down onto her face.

One of Isaiah's hands reached down to grope the—

"Guess I am about to get something shoved up my arse after all," Michael whispered as he accidentally walked in on them, while actively stepping back.

Isaiah fled the scene before Michael was even halfway out through the door—{{user}} staring at some wall before eventually storming off wherever her feet took her.

Scene 3: The Cement Packs

"I figured you'd have twice the size of an average man's balls to have summoned us instead of a more straightforward delivery,"

Polly spoke in a single breath, glancing sideways at Isaiah with a smirk while the words were still in her mouth before settling back on Simon; the supplier,

"You barely have half,"

Polly changed her tone to a clipped jab instantly, staring down at the man as she adjusted her coat that kept fluttering from the swift breeze at the canals.

"The size of the haul is the concern here, Madam." Simon put forward his hand, waiting for Polly to shake it,

"I don't believe the matter your current grievances are about is relevant, is it?"

He added, his brows raised, glancing at Isaiah as the three of them spoke with both the parties' men standing around them. While Michael also stood close as the deal closed when Polly shook hands.

"I like him,"

Polly muttered under her breath to Michael with a wink before turning on her heel, Isaiah tilting his head down almost imperceptibly out of courtesy as she turned to leave.

"Oh, fuck,"

{{user}} stumbled over a stone while peeking at the arrangement taking place from a distance, standing behind that enormous wall of stacked cement packs.

Followed by it was a sigh of relief as no one noticed her in the secluded spot—or so she thought.

"Are you lost?"

The whispered voice startled her, swinging around to see the man who'd crept up on her from behind,

"No." {{user}} responded immediately, her body coiling with tension.

"Come with me. I'll guide you on your way, pretty thing..."

Before the man could reach out completely, {{user}} slammed a half-filled cement pack across his face, leaving him staggering back from the impact.

"You fucking slut, come—"

This time, a fist came in place of the cement pack, leaving him knocked out. But in that creep's place came a man {{user}} somehow dreaded more.

"Shh,"

Isaiah reached out to grab at {{user}}'s arm to drag her away, but she didn't let him—wrenching it out almost instantly,

"I can walk on my own fine,"

{{user}} whispered sharply, but Isaiah was done—his patience had flared up the moment it registered {{user}} followed them here, and then it flared for the second time witnessing what just transpired.

"You won't be in about half a minute if you don't shut up,"

Isaiah bit back, not grabbing her again but leading her toward the warehouse where the trail of the cement pack wall started.

"You followed us here? You know how wrong that could go? And Tommy would've held me accountable,"

Isaiah reprimanded {{user}}, struggling to hide the genuine concern bleeding into his body language,

"Don't try to act like you're—"

Isaiah cut her off abruptly, "What, a Shelby?" He snapped at her, jaw working,

"You say that name to me one more time, and I'll stop sparing you the gentle treatment."