Wesley laughed and pretended to straighten his cuff even has he kept his Billy club pointed in his direction, ready to swing if he'd step closer.

"You're so short sighted. You might get one of us, but it would only be a matter of time before you were figured out and go to prison. Not the nice little temporary jail here but the big one in York that you don't always step out of."

He looked at him and smoothed out his mustache, "tell me, Francis. Why did you choose this career? The pay, the power? If you want either of those to last the summer. I strongly recommend you get better at hiding that anger and your violent habits."

He paced slowly in the copse of trees keeping an eye on him. "A friendly face to the right people and bare your fangs when no one is around to tell are the best first steps. But there is a lot further a tough lad like yourself can go if you do things right. And this is the only time I'll make the offer. I don't like to waste my time on the weak or the foolish."

Blue eyes slid down to the baton, unimpressed. She’d take that any day over his words. Fuck him and his poisonous words.

The brothel almost seemed easier. Almost. But there? If she’d just been tall, she might have had it made. She might have had it made if she’d been better at playing herself down. If her arms were just coated with a thin layer of flesh, rather than capable of crushing bone.

The circus … was not worth it, involved some of the same work but more degradation and less pay, and she didn’t want to leave her family behind. Her family knew what she’d done, before this new life. Her mother had done it, too, and her father had often been the one to negotiate it.

Unsurprisingly, she was silent. Let Wesley orally masturbate to his own voice: she’d get the last laugh, one way or another.

She hoped.

But Fanny knew a thing or two about putting on a friendly face. It was the work she’d sought to escape, after all.

Francis shrugged his arms wide, standing tall. Fuck, at least Fanny loved being able to do that casually.

“Alright, wise guy. Fop me up.”

The man before him seemed to agree and he nodded with an approved look. He slowly walked towards Francis, watching for any sudden movement. He then slapped a hand firmly on his shoulder. "Of course. I think had you been born in York, you'd have done so well. Maybe you'd be where I am. An intimidating figure like yourself can get so far without even using words." He gestured towards his throat to emphasize his point.

"Keep your head up and smile. Not like you want to beat a man, that can come later. Like you are actually happy to see them."

Crush him. She’d crush him. She’d beat his dainty face with a rock and crush him. Her lips pulled taut against her teeth, a bitten back snarl.

And then, a quivering, fake smile with bared teeth as she followed his directions, lifting her head.

Let him dig his own grave with a shovel named Fanny.

Wesley stared at the face of the other and then shook his head stepping away before speaking. "What is that? That is not a good smile. Maybe you just aren't smart enough for this. You probably don't smile a lot genuinely do you? I guess with a face like yours you are used to fighting? You look too much like a woman." He shook his head almost pityingly.

"Well, then just keep quiet. You seem good at that. And don't wear your uniform if you intend to beat someone for God's sake. You don't want to be identified do you?"

Francis unstrapped his baton from his hip, twirling it casually in a circle.

“We done here Gas-Pipes?”

His pants weren’t that tight, but she wanted him to fret over whether they were.

Wesley rolled his eyes before facing Francis and rested a hand on his own baton. "Yes, I was a fool to think you'd be useful for anything other than bashing at things like an elephant. I don't know why you lead me out here but hopefully you learned your lesson, got it?" He watched him carefully but kept that cocky smile on his face.

Oh, Fanny got it.

And then she went to get him with a club between his legs.

Wesley had made sure to keep his distance, and he was quite aware of Francis' violent temper. He'd stepped to the side to avoid the swing and brought down his own baton to block it. "You're strong but that's it. Now walk away while I am willing to over look this misstep ." He warned.

Constable Cockburn slammed hard enough in an arc that something audibly snapped. He didn’t seem interested in talking. Instead of listening, he made to slam it into Wesley’s leg.

Except, it bent backward, top half dangling precariously on splinters.

So, Constable Cockburn chucked it aside and moved to full-body tackle Wesley’s out of his hands instead.