Trying this whole listening to classical music as I write business… got to say, it does give you emotions to work with. And after watching the season finale of Doctor Who season 4… I’m already a bit emotional (so don’t mind all the crying.. sorry about that). Anyways, let me know!
Description: Louis deals with the impact of gifts, in his own way, and meets someone along the way
The poor boy. Really. The poor boy. He stood there stock-still as though someone had frozen him in place. And it wasn’t just his body, it was his mind as well. The words repeating over and over again, his gifts. As though having something that would get you killed on sight or enslaved was a gift. Like… like he was an oddity, a strange creature in a circus tent that passersby stare at unabashedly. He had always wished he was different, special even. But now that it had happened, now that he felt he was a case study, the feeling that gave him shivers up and down his spine wasn’t welcomed at all.
“What” he paused a stutter threatened to escape his speech, “What gifts?”
Bernard cocked an eyebrow down at the boy, a child really. And Louis stared back, stared back desperately. He wished beyond hope it was a trick, that he could blend in with the crowd. It was a shame, Bernard thought, that the boy could never do that.
“We cannot speak of this here, the walls have ears. We will speak tomorrow when we travel”
The boy had to be led forward. He shook lightly as Bernard led him to a cot on the floor and he lay down. Comatose almost, he lay there unmoving until he realized his eyes hurt from being open from so long, his mouth dry from not speaking. It was the middle of the night, or early morning perhaps, but he could not be in the room any longer. Desperately scrambling, he grabbed nothing of importance, but plunged out the window into the awaiting darkness. Hoping he had not woken Bernard, the catapulted boy brushed stray hair off of himself before wandering.
His paths took him everywhere and nowhere. Alleys where there was no one but himself and the moon. Pubs crowded with not-so-friendly strangers and filled with odd dialects that caught his ear. It seemed hours maybe, days or a second, but he found himself sitting on a hillside right outside the town, watching the sun rise. Alone at last, he began to cry. Small sniffles turning to great heaving sobs that shook his frame, so strong his dismay that he did not notice a girl his same age approach him and sit nearby.
Only after he had begun to stop crying did he notice her.
“Don’t go” she said softly as he made to rise, “I sat with you while you cried, will you sit with me?”
Her voice cracked and he sat down again. They sat together, two strangers on a hilltop outside a disgusting city. One crying and one comforting. As he made to go, she pulled him down again and laughed, a strange sound after the crying,
“I don’t even know your name” she said, “All this time and we didn’t even speak.”
“Words aren’t needed sometimes” he said wisely, “Comfort is enough. But, if you do want to know. It’s Louis. my name that is” he smiled, giving her a glimpse of something happy after a night full of tears.
“And I’m Sophie” she conceded, “Do you live here, in Driscoll?”
“No” he sighed, “I lived on a farm, and now… well now I’m not really sure”
“Another time?” she inquired quietly, gripping his hand tightly,
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world” he laughed and hugged her. But before he could turn away,
“Wait” she implored, and she reached into her pocket, drawing out a necklace with a charm of a iron leaf, “For luck in whatever life brings you”
He gifted her again with another smile and the two hugged. As they said before, words did not need to be spoken, their eyes and their actions were enough. As he walked away, feeling better than the night before, he glanced at the charm. Smiling to himself, he placed it over his head, making sure to hide it under his tunic, trying to shake the feeling of unease coursing through his veins.
As he walked away, Sophie watched him go tearfully. He rounded the corner so she turned back, intent on returning to the shop she worked at before the owner awoke. Unfortunately, she would never make it there. A gloved hand covered her mouth and she smelt the wafting fumes of spices. Her last thoughts were with the boy she met. I would have gone with you wherever, she cried, before her eyes rolled back and she was lost to the world.
“For insurance” a voice whispered from under a hood