At the Liberty’s Blood, Valentine held court in the back area as usual, beyond the crowded booths and the benches and the dozens of giddily filthy American flags, sprawled on a divan with his shirt half open and his gnarled chest visible, sipping something toxic with a stranger draped over his lap.
Typical picture. I’ll confess to shock, however, at the gender of the stranger.
“Tim!” Val exclaimed. “Jimmy, that’s Tim. He’s my brother. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he’s a right spit.”
The dark-haired, artistically slender fellow with arresting blue eyes glanced my way from the region of Val’s lap and remarked with a cultured London accent, “Of course he’s your brother. Look, he’s delightful. Hullo, Tim”.
-The Gods of Gotham, Chapter 9, by Lyndsay Faye
This was supposed to be a “quick doodle” to get this image out of my brain, because I’ve sketched out this scene at least four or five times while reading/rereading the Timothy Wilde novels over the last few years and instead I tripped and fell into a hole and came up like 15+ hours later very confused and having to physically restrain myself from drawing the waistcoat embroidery by hand.
