Hey there,

So this story wouldn't leave me. Don't know if it works, but I'm very fond of it. Don't know why. Must be all those Peaky Blinders. And the vodka.

I would really, really appreciate your thoughts on this one.

Thank you for reading!


Left jab. Full force, putting her entire body weight behind it. Her opponent loses momentum and she takes advantage, throwing a strong right hook to the side, followed by a knee to the man's groin and a headbutt.

The sickening sound of bones cracking, and the man almost goes down but instead leans against the railing and spits. Blood. She broke his nose. He pants and tries to bring the world back into focus, but the crowd's jeering isn't helping. Tamsin waits patiently, as she always does before the final charge. This man in front of her does not have much fight left in him, she knows it.

"Fockin' cunt, ye fockin' broke me nose," he seethes, finally pulling himself upright. He throws himself at her, handing punches left and right, but none seems to land where it should. She's teasing him, dancing around him without a fucking care in the world. They'd been at it for 20 minutes and he hardly landed any blows, while she pounded on him relentlessly like he was just an inanimate punching bag hanging limply from the ceiling.

He's getting desperate and impatient, which makes it so easy to avoid his blows. Tamsin toys with him for a while, waiting for him to just get too tired to go on and to concede defeat. She didn't want to hurt him any worse than she had to. But they never give up, these stupid men with their stupid inflated egos. She throws another punch that lands squarely on the man's stomach. He automatically bends over to dampen the shock, the perfect opening for her to apply one of her killer uppercuts, but she doesn't. She just stops and pulls back.

The crowd starts booing, they're always out for blood this lot, and she hears Vex yelling at her to go on, to knock out the poor sod and put him out of his misery. "Don't you fucking dare and stop now, Tammy! Knock his fucking teeth out!" he urges her, the thrill of the fight making him yell in a shrilly, almost girly voice.

She turns her head to look at him briefly but before she can complete the movement, her opponent's right fist makes contact with her jaw, sending her tumbling backwards. Typical. Give a man a chance to get out in one piece and he'll fucking let his cock do the thinking and show off. She almost feels sorry for the chap. Before she can get her balance back, the man manages to land a couple of other punches, one to her side and one to her left cheek. The bastard was strong. Well, no matter. She was stronger. And angrier.

He doesn't even see her coming. She rains blow after blow on him, in a rabid mess of punches, jabs, kicks and elbows, while more and more bones crack under her fists. She knows some of these are her knuckles, but she doesn't stop, she keeps hitting until the man's face starts looking like bloody meat gone through the grinder. She's surprised he's still standing really – must be the sheer force of her blows that sends him swinging from side to side, keeping him on his feet. She can hear the crowd's jeering no more, she's not even sure there's anyone left there at all.

It's only when she's pulled back by two or three men that she realizes everybody was still there, just completely silent, shocked and terrified by her rage. They hold her tight and she tries to wrestle herself free from their grip. She roars. Vex steps right in, motioning the men to get her out of the ring. He starts clapping his hands, urging the audience to follow suit and soon enough the crowd begins cheering her name. Her stupid fucking stage name. She wishes she actually had the spikes to go with it.


"Oh dear Lord, you have been fighting again." Her voice sounds worried, yet stern, like a master gently scolding an apprentice. She always used this tone when she disapproved of something Tamsin had done. "You have got to stop doing this, Thomasina."

"Do not call me that." She takes another gulp of whiskey – something cheap, Irish, that she can't remember how she got. She just remembers noticing her bloodied hand clutched tightly around the bottle. Vex must have put it there. 'To calm your nerves, luv.'

"Why not? It is your name, after all." Lauren used the name deliberately, knowing perfectly well how upset it got Tamsin. In a way, as petty as it was, this was her revenge. Her way of expressing how disappointed she was.

"It's not my fucking name, Lauren!" she snaps and feels almost instantly sorry, even before she notices the hurt look on the other woman's face. "Please, never call me that," she almost whispers.

Lauren sighs and nods. "Surely there must be another way," she begins.

"Well, there isn't any. We need the money." She points to the wad of 5 pound notes she'd placed on the table when she got home. "If we're ever to get out of this shithole…"

"But why this? I could talk to Mrs. Bradshaw from next door, you know she has found proper employment for many young women in need. You can do something else, Tamsin, something honest and… decent, just not this anymore…"

"Do what exactly?" she feels her anger rising again. "Cleaning rich folks' chamber pots? Being a proper maid dressed in a proper fuckin' uniform, go answer the door, ma'am has called, may I take your coat, sir? And all that rubbish? Or maybe fuckin' waiting on tables, aye, that would be closer to my calling. Let all fuckin' drunks grope me and maybe, just maybe if I don't break their filthy hands they'll give me a nice fat tip, eh?"

Lauren doesn't say anything, she just looks down at the fresh blood stains Tamsin left on the carpet. That's never going to come out.

"This is the only thing I am good at, Lauren. The only thing I was ever good at, I beg you to not ask me to give it up." She takes another swig from the bottle and squints – that fucking whiskey tasted like piss – then lights up a cigarette. Lauren hates the smoke, but Tamsin doesn't care now, she just wants to annoy her even more. Lauren can bloody well take it for all she cares.

Lauren knows Tamsin is right. They've known each other their whole life after all. Ever since they were abandoned on the stairs of the orphanage on the same night and they miraculously, as the nurses put it, survived the German bombs falling over London. Ever since Tamsin was old enough to throw a punch. Ever since she was old enough to defend both of them. To protect Lauren from other children, the staff, and the whole world in general, no matter the consequences.

"Horses," she says simply, abstaining from making any comments on Tamsin's nasty smoking habit. "You know you have a way with horses, perhaps we can find you employment at the stables, there are many breeders outside the city who I'm certain would pay handsomely for your…"

"Right," Tamsin scoffs. "You forget how that turned out the last time?"

Of course she didn't. How could she forget? Tamsin had almost killed a stable boy. A wicked little lad who took great pleasure in torturing the horses, using unnecessary force to make them obey. The first couple of times Tamsin warned him to stop, he just laughed in her face. The third time there was no warning, she just went at him and beat him to a pulp with his own whip. They'd been lucky the owner didn't involve the police. He just allowed the other stable boys to beat her up until there was not much left, and then kicked her out. Lauren remembered everything, the months she'd spent looking after Tamsin when she could hardly get out of bed, attending to her wounds so they wouldn't become infected.

After that, Tamsin did not take any other position that required her to be around horses. She would bring back money or food every evening, but she never said what she did for employment. Lauren never asked. She had meant to, but the look Tamsin had on her face when she got back home on most evenings made her reconsider.

Then one night, Tamsin showed up full of blood and half drunk, but with a happy grin on her face. She had more money in her pockets than they'd seen in months. That had been her first time in the ring and she had won two fights in a row, along with the crowd's admiration. In spite of Lauren's strong disapproval, she continued and soon became a famous name of sorts in the world of underground fights, not only because she was a woman but also because she was practically undefeated.

It wasn't that hard to understand really. She was getting the recognition she deserved, fighting in front of packed audiences and she relished the thrill of upturning everyone's expectations and always being the victor. She would have made a tremendous gladiator, Lauren thought at times. The ring allowed her to vent all the anger inside her, in what was her own, personal way of seeking justice against a world that had wronged her from the moment she first opened her eyes upon it.

No, it's not that she doesn't understand. It's the thought that regardless of Tamsin's prowess, the day will inevitably come when she will fall out of Lady Luck's graces. And Lauren does not even dare imagine what could happen then.

"Fine," she sighs, deciding to drop the argument, as she knows very well she stands no chance of winning this any time soon. "At least let me take a look at your injuries," she says, already moving towards Tamsin to get her to sit down.

"No, 'sfine, I'm all right," Tamsin mumbles, trying to push Lauren away. "I'm fine, really." She tries to sound as convincing as possible, but Lauren is not easily fooled.

"You most certainly do not look fine," Lauren insists. She knows the ritual all too well: Tamsin always refuses her help and does not want to allow her to look at her wounds at first, but eventually she always gives up. "Why do you always have to be such a nuisance? Stay still and let me clean you up, Tamsin. If you're fine, as you claim, it will only take a minute," she grins, already sensing the other woman's determination wavering. "Go on, sit down," she urges.

Tamsin grumbles in protest, but obeys eventually. She sits down, closes her eyes and tries to even her breath, waiting for Lauren's gentle hands on her face. There's a very good reason why she always refuses the help. She is afraid that she'll do something stupid, that if she keeps her eyes open Lauren will know. She is afraid that one day, she will not be able to pretend anymore and will reach out and reveal herself. She's afraid the whole world will come tumbling down if she does.

She doesn't remember when she started feeling this way about Lauren. Maybe she always did. They'd been like sisters their whole life, being thrown together by fate and sticking together through thick and thin, trying to make the best of what they had. Yes, maybe she did always feel this way. It made her feel like she was pining for the forbidden fruit. If there was one thing that had been clear to Tamsin her whole life, it was that Lauren was destined for great things, and she wasn't. So the only thing she could do was keep her safe as long and as far as she could. This was her destiny.

They had been abandoned on the stairs of the orphanage on the same night, and as the universe has a very strange, cruel sense of humor at times, that was one of the few nights the Germans rained fire and brim over London. They survived, both of them, and Tamsin wasn't sure if that was the punchline or if there was more to come.

Tamsin was a bit older, probably around two already when abandoned. Malnourished and dirty, she was covered only with some old rags, with no note or possessions on her other than a small pocket knife with an ivory hilt. She had no name, so one was given to her by one of the doctors: a slimy fellow who'd just finished reading a book on Aramaic culture apparently, and decided to baptize her Thomasina. The twin. The nameless twin. She hated the name and decided for the shorter, more modern version a long time ago. She didn't hate it because of what it meant, but because of who had given it to her – the doctor who had tried to molest Lauren soon after she turned 13. Tamsin, about 15 or 16 at the time and soon to be released, attacked him with a pencil and managed to injure him quite seriously before the guards pulled her away. She was in solitary for a month. Luckily, the orphanage came under new management in the meantime and no criminal charges were pursued against her. The doctor was retired early and the whole incident was overlooked.

The other twin had a proper name and that was Lauren Lewis. The fruit of forbidden love between a noble family's girl and a British soldier, Lauren was abandoned soon after birth, next to a small suitcase with clean clothing, money, a note explaining her story and a storybook by the Brothers Grimm. But in there it didn't matter much who you were. They'd started their new life on the same day and grew up together, inseparable, yet so different. The nurses often wondered how come the two girls had bonded when they had so little in common. Tamsin was wild and fierce – most people though she was part Gypsy despite her Nordic appearance. Lauren on the other hand was quiet and polite, always following the rules, and burying herself in her books since a very early age. When apart, each of them stood out, either by attitude or by their overall awkwardness which made it very difficult for them to fit in, but when they were together, everything made sense all of a sudden; it was like they were speaking a secret language only they knew and understood, shutting out the rest of the world.

And things were pretty much the same between them even now, more than 20 years later. And in all this time, they'd never had an argument that would last longer than 10 minutes, no matter how fiery. They always found their shared ground pretty quickly and were able to easily move past their differences without any grudge.

"Tamsin," Lauren says, while cleaning the blood off the other woman's face. Her voice sounds calm and reassuring.

"Hmm?" Tamsin hums, eyes still closed.

"I could take on some sewing work. It would not pay much, I know, but it would be better..."

Tamsin cracks one eye open and looks at Lauren. "Absolutely not. You, young lady, are studying to become a doctor. That's more than a job already, so you just do that and let me worry about the finances."

"But, Tamsin, you know they will never allow me to be a doctor. A nurse, certainly, but I shall never get accepted as a doctor." There is so much sadness in her voice that Tamsin barely stops herself from wrapping her arms around her to offer comfort.

"You will, I'm sure of it. You're too good at this to be only a nurse, Doctor Lewis," she smiles.

"Oh stop it, you think too highly of me," Lauren retorts, playfully slapping Tamsin's knee. Tamsin is pretty sure her heart just stopped, so she takes a while to compose herself before she replies.

"I do not, little mouse. You are the most amazing being I know and will probably ever know. If anything, I don't think highly enough of you," she says, eyes shut tightly because she's sure they'd betray her if she kept them open.

Lauren remains silent, not sure how to react. She sighs and decides to change the subject. "These are some nasty cuts, Tamsin. Why on earth did they let the fight go on for so long? Why didn't you just give up?"

Tamsin scoffs. "And break my lucky winning streak? Nah... I managed it. You should have seen the other guy," she grins. She feels awful about the lie, but she'd be damned in hell if she's going to tell Lauren she got into a street fight.


She was half drunk already, bottle of whiskey still in hand, trying to steady herself enough to be able to walk home. Vex hadn't allowed her to go through another fight after nearly killing her opponent, despite her protests. "Is he still alive," she asked once she'd cooled down enough to show signs of rational thought.

"Aye, don't you worry your pretty little 'ead with that nonsense. He's gonna be peachy, he is," Vex smiled reassuringly, but she knew he was lying. As she was dragged away from the ring, she noticed the man on the floor barely had a face left anymore. And she'd done that to him. "Here, take this," Vex shoved some notes in her hand, and the bottle of whiskey she was still drinking from. "To calm your nerves, luv. Next week will be better, you'll see. You just head on home and sleep it off, alright?"

So she left, or rather staggered out of the old warehouse, leaving behind the maddening cheers and cries of exhilaration caused by the new meat punching show staged for the crowd's pleasure and delirium.

"Beastly little pricks," she mumbled on and on, letting her feet carry her where they would, and stopping now and then to take another gulp from the already half empty bottle. Eventually she stumbled to a halt and leaned against a lamp post, trying to figure out her location. She was almost out of the whore district, she noticed, so she still had about 20-30 minutes left to walk. There weren't a lot of people walking around this part of the town this late at night, only two sullen looking women who were probably trying to get one more paying customer before calling it a night. She considered giving them the money she'd just won but snapped out of it pretty quickly, remembering how bloody expensive all of those medical books for Lauren were. "Sorry, ladies, maybe next time," she whispered, ready to restart her journey home.

"Oi," the shout tore through the silence like a heavy bell dropped on a crystal plate. Tamsin stopped but didn't turn around just yet.

"Oi, you boy over there! Mind sharing that bottle with a couple of thirsty mates?"

She turned slowly, clutching the whiskey bottle even tighter. There were three of them – the source of the voice was most likely the man in the middle, a tall, bulky fellow carrying a club. The other two did not have any weapons, or at least none in the open.

"As a matter of fact, I do mind. Mate," she added after a brief pause in which she carefully measured her opponent for dramatic effect.

The group's leader and one of the other two started laughing loudly and menacingly. The third one remained silent and was watching her closely, a brief flash of recognition washing over his face. Out of the corner of her eye, Tamsin saw the two harlots hurrying back inside.

"Oooh, hooo," the tall man was laughing so hard he had bended over, left hand clutched over his stomach. "Would ya look at that? Can't believe me fuckin' eyes, lads! Now you really made me thirsty, girlie. Hand over that bottle and piss the fuck off before I change me mind and ask for a little somethin' else," he grinned maliciously.

"I have a better proposal for ye lads," she shouted back in the most threatening, arrogant tone she could muster. "Why don't you and your mates turn around nicely and just go your merry way? Before I change me mind and tear you to fuckin' pieces, eh?"

The man stopped laughing for a second, surprised and a bit confused. He obviously didn't expect that response. "'Sthat so, little girl?" He started laughing again. "Well, I'd like to see ya try."

"Mickey, just leave it, mate, it's not worth it," the third man finally spoke. There was a hint of fear in his voice, Tamsin noticed.

"What? Are you fuckin with me?" the group leader turned his head to the man who'd just spoken. "And miss out on the evening's entertainment?"

"Don't you fuckin' know who this is, Mickey? It's the bloody Iron Maiden, undefeated champion of the slum fights, never been taken down, never! Listen to me, Mickey, let's just drop it. Look, there's a brothel across the street, we can go there and drink and fuck and drink some more, alright?"

"Better listen to your friend there, Mickey," she offered helpfully. She didn't want to fight, not really, but she was ready if it came to it. She just wanted to get home and watch Lauren study and that lovely way her brow creased when trying to solve a particularly challenging problem.

"You must be fuckin' joking, you fuckin' coward. This little girl, a fighter? I can take her with one hand tied behind my back." The dumb brute was not going to give up. Tamsin sighed and placed the bottle of whiskey gently next to the lamp post, then started rolling her sleeves very slowly.

"She cannae take on all of us," the other man, who had laughed alongside Mickey, said in a thick Scottish accent. "Don't be a feckin pussy, Paulie."

Paulie lowered his eyes and shrugged. "Count me out."

"Fine, I don't fuckin need you to whip this little girl's arse anyway," Mickey seethed and came at her, club swinging. Although her reflexes were dampened by the alcohol and the weariness seeping through her veins, she was still a hell of a lot faster than her opponent. While he was swinging her club at her, she easily landed a couple of blows on the man's right side and chest, and just as he was preparing to hit her back, she threw a heavy punch in his face, once again feeling bones crack under her fist.

Mickey dropped the club, tried to take a couple of steps but faltered, and eventually collapsed on the ground. He tried to get up and Tamsin moved immediately to deliver a decisive blow, but the other man, the Scot, was already on her, punching and kicking with all his might. She tried to shield herself but couldn't stop all the blows. Mickey had got up in the meantime and managed to hit her hard over the back with his club, bringing her down. They kicked her relentlessly, cursing out loudly, until Tamsin finally decided she'd had enough. Her retaliation was swift and brutal, and when she finished, both men were down on the ground, bloodied, bruised and with several ribs broken.

She stood above them, keeping her eyes on them until she was sure they weren't a threat anymore, and then finally walked back to the lamp post to recover her whisky. She took a long gulp, unaware of how her blood was already making its way into the bottle, forming thin, elegant swirls of red in the amber liquid.

Paulie was still there, his eyes darting from her to his fallen mates, not knowing whether to speak or move. She looked at him and smiled reassuringly. "Make sure you get the poor sods home safe." Paulie smiled back and tipped his hat.


"Stay still, just a couple more and we're done," Lauren warns her when she has had enough of Tamsin's fidgeting in the chair. "I'll need to check your chest and abdomen as well, to make sure there's no unnatural bruising or any signs of internal bleeding."

"I'm fine, Lauren, no need," she says desperately. The prospect of having Lauren's hands on her torso is scaring the hell out of her.

"Tamsin, just for once, can you please let me do this? Why on earth am I studying medicine if I can't help the people I love?" Lauren sounds mildly annoyed, so Tamsin just nods and starts unbuttoning her shirt, eyes still closed. She knows what Lauren means by 'people I love,' but her heart still stops for a second when hearing the words.

"Enough about me. How was your day?" she asks, determined to change the subject as quickly as possible.

"Oh, you know," Lauren replies after a long pause. "The usual. I went to class and then to the library to catch up on my reading." She pauses again. "Oh and I made a new friend, I must say, quite a remarkable woman. I don't believe I've ever met anyone like her."

Tamsin feels her heart sag, but does her best to ignore it. "Oh really?" she asks, casually.

"Yes, she's really quite something. American, well actually born here in London, but raised in New York. She came back to visit her family. She told me about what it's like over there and Tamsin, really, I still can't believe it, it sounds like a wonderful place!"

"A Yank, eh?" Tamsin finally asks, an unknown feeling punching her in the guts for the first time. This is what jealousy feels like but she doesn't know it yet.

"I know! How unusual…" Lauren replies dreamily. "Oh, Tamsin, I'm sure you'd like her a lot! She's invited me over for tea the day after tomorrow, says she finds it commendable that I want to be a doctor, and she'd like us to be friends and…"

"And what is this wonder Yank's name, if I may ask?" Tamsin feels the need to cut in and stop Lauren's gushing over her new acquaintance.

"Ysabeau Dennis. But everybody calls her Bo."