Finn laid a card face down on the table before Isaiah, a playful grin dancing on his lips. "You know, you could put makeup on a pig, but it'll still be a pig." His gaze shifted to Amelia, who sat nearby, visibly vexed after enduring a meticulous seven-hour grooming session. The trip to the lingerie store hadn't been much better, with an overly enthusiastic saleswoman cupping and squeezing her breasts. Isaiah chuckled, his attention briefly diverted from his delt deck.

Ada, her patience waning, tried to steady Amelia as she applied lipstick. "Stay still!"

Amelia couldn't resist interjecting, "Oh yeah? Well, you can take a fucking donkey away from the farm, but it'll still be a stupid ass!"

Ada, exasperated, halted her efforts. "If you keep moving, you'll end up looking like a clown."

Isaiah, never one to miss a beat, added his two cents. "My dad always said red was for whores."

Ada's frustration reached its peak as she tossed the lipstick brush onto the coffee table, leaving a smattering of red across its surface. "If Tommy wants your face painted, he can do it himself," she declared before storming off to tend to her child.

Unfazed, Amelia seized the abandoned lipstick, using the reflection of a wine bottle to guide her. With a mischievous grin, she puckered her lips, applying. Finn watched, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're going to look like a circus act," he remarked, gathering the cards.

Amelia shot him a playful smirk. "Don't be a wee baby cause you lost!"

"A whole fucking shilling," he muttered, scratching the back on his neck, cursing under his breath. "Rematch?" He offered Isaiah, who simply snorted and swiped the money.

"Get ya' next time, Shelby," he said. "I'm off to get me some fags and a bottle." As he slipped out, John Shelby slipped in. "'Ello, John."

"It's fucking pissing out," he greeted, taking off his flat cap, waving it dry. He noticed Finn and nodded, then looked at Amelia, stunned. Her lower half of her face was a bright red. "Jesus fuck, you look like a…Amelia!" He plucked his handkerchief from his pocket and grabbed a bottle of rum from the cabinet. A few flicks of the wrist, he wet the blue cloth that matched his suit. "C'mere." He kneeled, reaching up to grab her face, scrubbing it to a tender red. "This will remove the stain."

Cheekily, she retorted, "and you know that how?"

He grinned. "Not a fella or bird from Birmingham that hasn't had their run in with red lipstick. Can you tell me why you applied it like autopaint?"

"Practice-"

"There you go," he said, in whispered thought, cleaning up the edges. "Gets it out of white clothes, too. That is what they use in the whor-theater. They use it in the theater."

"You go to the theater, John?"

"Not often anymore," he laughed. "Married now!"

"Your wife wouldn't enjoy the theater?" she asked, and Finn went to open his mouth, but John warned him to keep his mouth shut before simply explaining with a light tone that his wife isn't the theater attending kind. John was not knowledgeable about makeup other than birds look nice when they wear it. Sometimes it's so nice that when they take it off, it's a whole new bird. A pretty dove at night and a turkey in the morning, he thought to himself. He reached over for the bag, shuffling his fingers around.

"Now, I'm not exactly a makeup artist," he said, "but I painted here and there back in the day…in school when I was about 5. Can't be that different, huh?" In his hands was a light skin toned powder and sponge. "This, I think, goes on first-"

Amelia held off, her eyes widening, "I think it's very different!"

"Nah!" he argued. "It'll be fine. C'mere!"

"It's my face."

Finn snickered, and John looked back. "C'mere, I'll practice on your face, first."

"Fuck off," he muttered, migrating to the opposite side of the dining table.

"Thought so," John replied before grabbing Amelia's face. "Now, I just pat this all over like this and like that…mmmhm uh huh. I think it's normal lookin'." Amelia leaned over to peek at herself in the empty wine bottle. Through the greenish tint, she could not tell if the complexion matched or if it was even blended. John hummed, scanning the parlor before spotting Polly's hand mirror. "Here," he said, nabbing it from the slightly lopsided bookcase.

Amelia studied her reflection, her puffy bottom lip puffed out. She turned to him, placing the mirror face down on the coffee table. "John," she muttered, giving him a look that said it all. "I look like a Geisha. Literally." He grinned in agreement, and blended out the whitish powder with his fingers which evened it out slightly. She settled for half-satisfactory results, realizing it was the best she was going to get with a 20 something year old bloke. He continued onto her eyes and lips before finishing with her cheeks.

"There you go!" He went to give her the mirror, but she gently declined, knowing just from the wine bottle she looked a mess. Finn took a look, and John could see from the way his lip curled up and his eyes narrowed. "Don't." The young boy rolled his eyes, but ultimately left it alone. Ada, on the other hand, nearly cried when she saw the mess in front her. John practically took Amelia's face as a blank canvas and ran with it.

She put down her cup on the hutch, and grabbed a cloth from the kitchen. "You nearly painted a clown!" Her voice boomed from the small kitchenette. "How did you even," she started, returning to the parlor, nearing the young girl. "Mess it up this bad, Amelia?"

The young girl narrowed her eyes at John. "Wasn't me."

Ada paused, following the girl's gaze. "Practicing for the theater, John?"

Ada fixed the restless girl's make up and pinned her hair rather nicely. When the make up charade was over, Amelia thought to be relieved to her room. However, despite Tommy causing a scene about her invading his precious home office, he called for her. As he led her up the stairs, Finn glanced back once or twice. He could have said something kind. In fact, he wanted to. He wasn't the boy she assumed he was, but it was easier to play into her shenanigans then loose face. There was a deep desire to be stoic and tough like his older brothers. In being kind, perhaps Amelia would lose a sense of respect for the boy. Though, he thought, she probably had little respect for him anyway.

Internally, he could say that she looked…nice. Amelia herself knew that she was not the model type. Although, her rounded cheeks and chubby nose gave her some charm. Finn kind of enjoyed the way her eyes would close completely as she laughed. God, her laugh! He had thought. Fuck, it was an annoying laugh. Not an inch of delicacy. Instead, it was a loud, but strangely silent wheeze. Still, he could not stop thinking about it, strangely. He continually looked over at her as they paraded the hallway. His insides were on fire. All Finn was ever around were men and family, and now, there was a girl. A girl that annoyed him so, but also intrigued every boyish urge within him.

"Fuck," he cursed out loud, annoyed and frustrated. His fist clenched and took a whack at the wall.

"Finn, why are you facing the wall?" she asked cautiously. Embarrassed, he mumbled about needing to use the loo, but he stayed there, facing the wall. Amelia raised her brow, "then go?"

He nodded, "mmhm, I will…just knock on Tommy's door, will ya'?"

"Alright," she said, "geesh." It only took one knock for Tommy to tell her to enter. Typically, he'd sit at his desk, leaned back with just his vest, no sports coat. A cigarette would be between his index and thumb. A completely collected man with a temper boiling on the inside. Though, at that moment, Tommy Shelby was put together and collected wearing his navy sports coat. There was no cigarette and he was sitting straight, not leaned back.

Tommy Shelby was not one for kissing arse. He treated nearly everyone the same and cared little for making a fake impression. One always knew what they got with Tommy Shelby. Without saying much, he always set the rules forth for whatever game it was. Though, he had a soft spot for elderly women. Sitting across, legs crossed under her seat and hands nicely folded on her lap, was a nun who looked about seventy five. "Amelia," Tommy said, a smile curling upon his lips. He outreached his arm, and introduced the nun. "This is Sister Mary Agnes-"

Amelia humored, "I know quite a few of those-"

"And she's come to help you with some things," he continued, ignoring her attempt at funny business. "She's from St. Anne's, the school you will be attending part time in Autumn-"

"School?"

"Yes," he agreed. "You'll need to keep busy when Tennis slows."

Amelia looked at the nun who turned in her seat, and looked up at Amelia. Not much scared Amelia, but nuns were one of them. They were particularly fast with their sticks during Sunday school back in Boston. The nun waited for her greeting first, and Amelia bowed her head, "evening, Sister Mary Agnes." The nun simply nodded.

"Sister Mary will help you with some etiquette," he explained.

"For?"

"Your posture, for one." Tommy had a rap sheet as long as anything. If money was not riding on Amelia's ability to charm, he wouldn't give a shilling. "Secondly, your speech. Thirdly, you sit like a boy…legs open and back slouched." Sister Mary Agnes stood and walked around Amelia, humming to herself in deep thought. Gently she moved back the girl's shoulders and pushed her back in a straight position.

"Walk," Sister Mary Agnes demanded. It took quite some time for Amelia to master a 'satisfactory' stride. At most, satisfactory, but not at all a proper lady strut. It took long enough for Tommy to form a pain in his temple and Sister Mary Agnes to break her five year sobriety with a shot of whiskey.

"I won't tell the clergy if you don't," Tommy sighed, pouring her a second one as Amelia practiced in circles. Her foot caught on a chair, causing her to take a slight lunge forward. It was a simple shit that caused the woman of God to snap her fingers quickly for a pronto refill.

"We all could use a confession, Mr. Shelby," she said, and shot it down like a man. "Now, Amelia, sit on the chair-oh, heavens! No, dear, no. Like a lady." She motioned to the girl's legs that still swung off the chair. Amelia cursed in her head, but did as she was told. With her back straight, she folded her legs and hands, and smiled.

"We'll have dinner now," Tommy said, having enough of the hour-long song and dance. "You may join us, Sister Mary Agnes. Please, Amelia, show Sister down the stairs and to the table." As soon as Amelia left the office, the rehearsal flew out of her little brained head as she skipped and ran down the stairs, not in fact showing the nun where to go or where to sit. Tired herself, Sister Mary Agnes let it slide, making a mental note to bring her wooden stick next week.

Sister Mary Agnes sat next to Amelia, prompting her to cover her lap like a lady does with her napkin, but her nagging was interrupted with one slightly intoxicated Arthur stumbling in. "For fucks sake," he said, kicking water off his leather shoes. "It's fucking pissin' outside…like a whore's mother. Nearly slipped on me fucking arse walking up the alley. Just about fell into a fucking-Sister!" Arthur quickly took off his flat cap and bowed his head. "Forgive me, I hadn't known. I don't usually swear-"

"Save it, Arthur Shelby," the nun said, raising her hand. "We all know your colorful language, now wash your hands and sit down."

John quickly followed in behind his brother. "Fuck Britain and her fucking weather…every fucking day this fucking week. All I did was walk to the pub and back and I look like a whore's mot-Sister Mary, holy shit." John's eyes widened, face gone pale, as if five generations of trauma flushed through him. He cleared his voice. "Sister Mary Agnes, how lovely it is for you to join us-I will go wash my hands, too…I'm a very good boy." His voice was strained and he quickly went to the sink and whispered to Arthur, "you think she has the stick-"

"How the fuck would I know?" Both grown men leaned back to look at the nun.

"Just because she's possessed," Finn grumbled, squeezing between his brothers to wash his hands. "Why do we all have to suffer?" The Shelbys were in fact Catholic, but non-practicing. However, like many, they got their primary school teaching at the small Catholic owned school. Sister Mary Agnes taught a few generations of Shelby boys bible studies…regrettably.

Dinner was awkward as it was silent, everyone making sure they ate with top manners and did not speak out. Usually not peculiar on how they held their silverware, they had to remember the proper way to hold a knife and fork. The quite observant nun, looked over at John, "you have married again…into that other Gypsy family, have you non, John?"

"Yes, Sister," he nodded, wiping his mouth.

"And you are not home with your wife and children?" She narrowed his eyes before tisking. "And why not? Does she not cook well? You look like you've been eating well enough!"

Under his breath, he said, "fuckin' 'ell, she just call me fat? Have I gotten fat, Arthur?"

"Hm?" She raised her brow.

"Oh, yes, sister," he nodded. "She's a good cook, good mother, and a good wife."

"And you're not home," she commented, a hint of judgment. "Why not?"

John went to the pub for an afternoon pint. Well, three afternoon pints which showed in his reddish tinted cheeks. "I went to the pub," he mumbled.

"Hm, I see," she noted. "And you, too, Arthur?"

"Yes, Sister."

She tisked, shaking her head in disappointment. "Well, I will have to remember to ask Father O'Donal to check the plots in the cemetery. For when you die from Cirrhosis of the liver, of course. It will be such a shame-Thomas Shelby, put that cigarette away. You are at a bloody dinner table, not the track! In which, are you still gambling?"

"I never gamble, Sister-"

She gave the man a look. "Lying and gambling are both sins. I will pray for you. Us British don't do well with the heat." Amelia chuckled to herself thinking about how the nun had just concealed a sneaky drink in Tommy's office, but she hadn't dared to say anything.