I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.


    **Trouser's Very Cool Thing

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    Fabien

    Posts : 165
    Join date : 2012-05-14

    **Trouser's Very Cool Thing

    Post  Fabien on Tue Sep 13, 2016 4:40 pm

    The crowd had merged into a small sea of clapping hands, of chaotic hooting and gurgling approval. From his position, they were a singular being. A stinking monster of flesh and colour composed of a thousand eyes and mouths, and all for him.

    Drunk on their joy, the boy on the stage seized the wrist of his companion, and hauled her in their direction like a sacrifice. The girl graced their audience with a curtsey fit for Versailles, and then straightened and turned her face towards the boy. Sweat bled rivers through the white, red and black of her gaudy makeup, and her lips were but a smear of colour.  The mob bayed and whistled enthusiastically, and their excitement plucked at the downy hairs at the back of the boy’s neck.

    A young child with a filthy face fought his way through the crowd, and presented the girl with a single red rose. With hands joined they offered their audience one last bow, and then slipped behind the set backdrop out of sight.

    The makeshift stage was dissembled with haste. Items were folded into sacks and wheeled off on small carts. Posters were removed, tables with hinged legs folded, their backdrop unhooked and furled away by the girl’s swift hands. She had sewn the curtain herself, glittering silver stars and a golden sun carefully stitched onto roughly dyed purple cloth. The boy entertainer mopped his brow with his sleeve, his golden hair damp upon his skin. Tools were swiftly packed away, a gilt cage, cards, and some coins.  The girl threw a scarf over the birdcage and carried it delicately in her hand like a lantern.

    The child with the dirty face snuck behind the sheet to assist, carrying whatever he could fit within his small limbs.  

    “How did we do?” The golden haired youth enquired, as they briskly made their way from the square.

    “At least four purses this time, some watches too. And fine handkerchiefs! Much better than yesterday.” The child replied, his movements as sharp and swift as a ferret.

    “The sun helps. No one cares to watch a magic show in the rain.”

    The trio continued briskly towards their destination, eventually arriving at dingy and derelict apartment in a dangerous part of the city. The cluster of buildings on the street resembled a dovecot, squalid and poorly structured. They whispered of despair and ceaseless destitution. A crowd of children in an assortment of ages haunted the steps. As soon they saw the pale haired boy and his companions approach, they flocked towards them like sooty sparrows. An older boy was last to join the fray, his skin darkened from the sun, and the first dark splinters of facial hair emerging on his chin.

    “Better today then, Fabien?” He asked, and stepped forward to help carry props inside.

    “Oui. And even after he takes his cut, we will eat well this week.”

    “Then tonight we should celebrate. Have wine, and cheese, and music.” The girl sighed, twirling upon her toe in a way that caused her ragged skirts to sway and the bells upon her wrists to chime. The bird inside the cage, startled by her actions, began to sing frantically. She was older than her stage mate, but only by a few years. She had a sharp, pretty face which was only delicately pock-marked by illness as a child. She pulled a dark pin from the back of her skull to allow her hair to fall in heavy waves.

    “I should practise. I nearly slipped this time.”  Fabien murmured, flexing his hand before him. His features were pinched in frustration.

    “I can think of better uses for those fingers.” The girl cooed, and brushed the soft petals of the rose against the back of his raised hand. There was a jovial familiarity in it that made the boy’s lips twitch into a smile.

    “Maybe later.” He plucked the rose from her fingers with light swiftness, and disappeared beyond the doorway of building.

    The interior of this place, his home for several years now, was a den. A single large room full of scavenged furniture, the sturdiest of which comprised a leather armchair likely infested with mice. The wooden frame was gnawed, its cushions split and vomiting wool as though they were open wounds. Makeshift beds bundled in every corner, some partitioned with sheets to offer privacy. The dark stain of a recently lit fire graced the centre, surrounded by filthy cooking pots and neglected spoons.

    The boy slipped towards a window to collect a tin bowl full of fresh rain water, which he cupped and brought towards his eager lips. He then moved toward the centre of the room, where a corner was sectioned off behind white gauzy curtains- prettier than the others. Here was a bed, a sea of rich cushions, surrounded by flowers in various states of decay. In the centre of this regal suite lay a girl, her skin a sickly yellow – eyes all but sunken into her skull. Her hair perhaps had once been a thick and gleaming auburn, but disease had wasted it thin as straw. She had but weeks, maybe days left to live.

    “They talk of you, you know. How differently you act, how focused you are.”The girl croaked as he approached, and a thick cough erupted from her fragile chest. The boy gave her a startled look, and bent to draw water to her lips. She drank with relish, her lungs rattling against her wasted ribs.

    “They do not mind, Fabien. You provide for us more than any of them.”

    “They think I look down on them?”

    The dying girl offered him a shy, tired smile and attempted to roll her shoulders.

    “I only wish not to rot here, that is all. Est-ce que Jehan ici?

    Girl gestured towards the door with a skeletal finger. “Perhaps an hour or so ago, but then left. Outside somewhere, maybe.” Weariness suddenly seemed to weigh down her entire body, and she closed her eyes. The boy set the rose upon her lap, and slipped back through the pale netting.

    The little crook with the dirty face who had accompanied him now haunted their rotten throne. He had seated himself sideways, with thin legs dangling over the arm. He had already begun the process of un-plucking initials from his hoard of handkerchiefs. Fabien repeated his question to the grubby urchin.

    “He went that way, to find a new client again. He goes often now.” The child shrugged, and displayed his blackening teeth in a knowing grin.

    “But we have a job tonight. He gets reckless. He will get us both killed.”

    Fabien slipped out into the street again, moving barefoot onto the cobbled roads as if they were a mere extension of his home. The thick summer heat had already begun to break, tense and electric on the air. Soon the thunder would roll in, and the first drops of rain would begin to bless the filthy streets.

      Current date/time is Fri Jul 21, 2017 2:28 pm