Post by Deniel de Vallée Bleue on Feb 12, 2008 0:23:02 GMT -5
Rain tapped on the window, it ran in wide rivets down the lumpy glass. Deniel could see the street below, a carriage rattled past, lamps tied to the top of the carriage bounced and swayed as the horses trotted quickly through the thin puddles that dotted the cobblestone street.
He leaned against the wood frame of the window, it was neatly painted a sad, beige color. The paint was cheap and it peeled where it came into contact with the glass. Deniel rubbed his fingers over it as he stared out as if pressing hard enough on the paint chips would make them return to an even coat of paint.
His eyes shifted from the dreary weather to the inside of the room, it was supposed to be a sitting room. It was furnished with two chairs and a book case that was built into the wall. Deniel had bought the chairs from a shady dealer in the market who claimed that they had come from a rich noble in Port Caynn, which was far enough away that no one would know that he had bought second hand furniture. However, second hand or not, the furniture cost more than Deniel had wished to spend, just as the apartment they were currently housed in was far too expensive.
Yet, Deniel couldn’t justify spending less, this was a prime chance for Lisette, probably her only chance to escape a life of squalor into a good marriage. He could not bear to see his little sister as a governess for some low ranking Tortallan lord, not if there was a chance that he could hide their financial problems, just long enough for her to find a suitable husband.
He had sent her out in an expensive gown to a dinner party this evening; he had even paid for a servant to fix her hair for the event. She had looked radiant for the party, her dark red hair curled, pressed and pinned up into a wild and natural crown. He had told her that they still had money left over from their escape from Tusaine, a lie, but one that kept her from worry. She had left for the party in the highest of spirits, wondering only slightly what Deniel would do for the evening, but also knowing that he wasn’t particularly fond of social gatherings.
Deniel stepped forward and sank into one of the second hand chairs, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion. The rain was still tapping on the windows, the rain drops were falling fast and hard now. He hoped that Lisette would be careful not to spoil her dress in the rain because Deniel had hopes of selling it once she returned, though without her knowledge. That could prove to be difficult. Did girls pay attention to how many dresses they had? Did they count them? Would she notice? Undoubtedly she would, she was no fool. His eyelids slid closed, thinking of the ways to avoid telling her of their financial problems and still selling the dress. The rain grew stronger, tap taptap tap it sounded on the glass. Wind howled through the trees.
Tap taptap tap taptap
Voices echoed in the night, shouting, calling, shrieking. Orange light fell across faces, it was daylight. But it was night.
Tap taptap taptap
She lay on the ground beside him. Ropes flung over her, but not secured. Her chest raised and lowered. Her eyelids fluttered. The girl beside her was crying, clinging to her nightgown. The girl reached for Deniel, chubby fingers outstretched, begging to be held. He leaned forward, but his hands were tied, knotted with ropes behind his back.
Taptaptaptaptap
Fear churned in his stomach, he leaned away to vomit, it dribbled down his chin. Down his night shirt and on to his knobby, nine year old legs. Lisette cried again. Her howls lost in the fervor of the crowds. His mother stirred. Her head rose, her head fell again. She breathed deeply, as if sleeping. A wooden crib floated by, held in dirty, fire-burned fingers. It had been his. It had been Lisette’s. He had seen her wrinkled red face for the first time in it, now in a memory that was barely whole anymore.
Jeering, taunting, laughing at their good fortune, crowds moved. Crowds gathered and disappeared, only to be replaced others. There was no order. There was no sense. It was like watching a flock of chickens that had just had feed thrown to them. They gobbled and clucked greedily, their insatiable hunger was faster and stronger than their greedy hands could grab. Flames burned. People yelled.
Tap tap tap. “Deniel!” There was the sound of laughter from the doorway, “Denny, what are you doing sleeping in the chair?”
His eyes flipped open; he jumped slightly in the chair.
Lisette laughed, she was standing before him in her present day form. Her red hair, all the wild curls that had sprung from their bonds of pins, framed her flushed face. “Aren’t you going to ask me how the party was?” she asked brightly.
His lips formed a smile, whether he meant it or not he was not sure. “Alright, Lisette, tell me about this party.”
She flopped into the other chair in a most unladylike fashion. “Well, it was better than sitting here all night I would think, but I don’t know even where to begin-”
He smiled and leaned back in his chair, letting Lisette’s voice wash over him. He didn’t need to hear her exact words, nor did he really care all that much about the party, but the sound of the vibrancy in her tone pulled him from the erratic, painful past into a steady, living present.
He leaned against the wood frame of the window, it was neatly painted a sad, beige color. The paint was cheap and it peeled where it came into contact with the glass. Deniel rubbed his fingers over it as he stared out as if pressing hard enough on the paint chips would make them return to an even coat of paint.
His eyes shifted from the dreary weather to the inside of the room, it was supposed to be a sitting room. It was furnished with two chairs and a book case that was built into the wall. Deniel had bought the chairs from a shady dealer in the market who claimed that they had come from a rich noble in Port Caynn, which was far enough away that no one would know that he had bought second hand furniture. However, second hand or not, the furniture cost more than Deniel had wished to spend, just as the apartment they were currently housed in was far too expensive.
Yet, Deniel couldn’t justify spending less, this was a prime chance for Lisette, probably her only chance to escape a life of squalor into a good marriage. He could not bear to see his little sister as a governess for some low ranking Tortallan lord, not if there was a chance that he could hide their financial problems, just long enough for her to find a suitable husband.
He had sent her out in an expensive gown to a dinner party this evening; he had even paid for a servant to fix her hair for the event. She had looked radiant for the party, her dark red hair curled, pressed and pinned up into a wild and natural crown. He had told her that they still had money left over from their escape from Tusaine, a lie, but one that kept her from worry. She had left for the party in the highest of spirits, wondering only slightly what Deniel would do for the evening, but also knowing that he wasn’t particularly fond of social gatherings.
Deniel stepped forward and sank into one of the second hand chairs, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion. The rain was still tapping on the windows, the rain drops were falling fast and hard now. He hoped that Lisette would be careful not to spoil her dress in the rain because Deniel had hopes of selling it once she returned, though without her knowledge. That could prove to be difficult. Did girls pay attention to how many dresses they had? Did they count them? Would she notice? Undoubtedly she would, she was no fool. His eyelids slid closed, thinking of the ways to avoid telling her of their financial problems and still selling the dress. The rain grew stronger, tap taptap tap it sounded on the glass. Wind howled through the trees.
Tap taptap tap taptap
Voices echoed in the night, shouting, calling, shrieking. Orange light fell across faces, it was daylight. But it was night.
Tap taptap taptap
She lay on the ground beside him. Ropes flung over her, but not secured. Her chest raised and lowered. Her eyelids fluttered. The girl beside her was crying, clinging to her nightgown. The girl reached for Deniel, chubby fingers outstretched, begging to be held. He leaned forward, but his hands were tied, knotted with ropes behind his back.
Taptaptaptaptap
Fear churned in his stomach, he leaned away to vomit, it dribbled down his chin. Down his night shirt and on to his knobby, nine year old legs. Lisette cried again. Her howls lost in the fervor of the crowds. His mother stirred. Her head rose, her head fell again. She breathed deeply, as if sleeping. A wooden crib floated by, held in dirty, fire-burned fingers. It had been his. It had been Lisette’s. He had seen her wrinkled red face for the first time in it, now in a memory that was barely whole anymore.
Jeering, taunting, laughing at their good fortune, crowds moved. Crowds gathered and disappeared, only to be replaced others. There was no order. There was no sense. It was like watching a flock of chickens that had just had feed thrown to them. They gobbled and clucked greedily, their insatiable hunger was faster and stronger than their greedy hands could grab. Flames burned. People yelled.
Tap tap tap. “Deniel!” There was the sound of laughter from the doorway, “Denny, what are you doing sleeping in the chair?”
His eyes flipped open; he jumped slightly in the chair.
Lisette laughed, she was standing before him in her present day form. Her red hair, all the wild curls that had sprung from their bonds of pins, framed her flushed face. “Aren’t you going to ask me how the party was?” she asked brightly.
His lips formed a smile, whether he meant it or not he was not sure. “Alright, Lisette, tell me about this party.”
She flopped into the other chair in a most unladylike fashion. “Well, it was better than sitting here all night I would think, but I don’t know even where to begin-”
He smiled and leaned back in his chair, letting Lisette’s voice wash over him. He didn’t need to hear her exact words, nor did he really care all that much about the party, but the sound of the vibrancy in her tone pulled him from the erratic, painful past into a steady, living present.
