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| Viewing Single Post From: A Chance Meeting | |
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| Fin | Jul 1 2009, 01:39 PM |
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Princess of Thieves
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It was a circus full to bursting with expensive, elaborate costumes, performers spinning their partners around in colorful swirls that seemed to be alternating between rich vivid to smooth pastel. The men were dressed in finery, the woman were dressed even finer with their dresses ranging from large ruffly hoop skirts to sleek long gowns. The tunes the band played ranged from raucous to lazy little tip-toe waltzes. Jewels flashed and young women batted long painted lashes at would-be suitors. It was a gala that would be talked about for ages to be sure. It was befitting of any of the story book princesses she had known as a child, and it was just as grand as the ones she had begged to go to, and eventually attended, with her mother and father. Now, however, she stood further apart from the festivities. Yes, she had once begged to attend these carnivals of pride and gluttony. As a child she had crept from her bed more than once to sneak away and peek in on the parties, listening to the band and dreaming of days when she would be older. In these day dreams, she had always grown up tall and beautiful like her mother. Her many jewels would glint in chandelier light. Her hair would be long, she would wear a lily over her right ear to show she had no sweetheart. Some handsome boy would bow to her, offer her his hand, and they would dance the same steps as everyone else. He would let her be wild and free, he would embrace her headstrong nature and perhaps partake in mischief too- perhaps he was a prince of thieves! Her imagination used to runaway with her, but it always ended the same: They got married and were both happy forever after. When she'd finally been allowed to attend such gatherings, it had been a crushing blow when time after time she stood against the wall and watched the other girls be swept away by first sweethearts and new suitors. Sometimes, she had been the only one left, ears perked, tail hidden under a long skirt. Yes, even in her youth she had stood apart from the rest. She was different, her mother had explained as gently as she could. The older Fin had gotten, the more it ate at her to stand alone. Her father would dance with her, but it was hardly the same. Eventually the parties had become a chore. A chore that she would find excuses to avoid and had even run away from home to escape from attending. After her father had died, her mother would not attend them either. They had spent those nights together, much more like best friends than mother and daughter. They had eaten rich sweets and talk about things, the way girls do when left alone together. Fin would smother to lonely feeling of misfit and they would both cast away the biting grief that kept them locked in their room. Just for the night, the two could be happy. Apparently that had not been enough for mother. Still, for the sake of fleeting, happy memories where her father had waltzed her mother around the dance floor, (It was one of those moments where you could see just how much they had loved one another. His eyes fixed on hers as he spoke softly for only her to hear- sometimes she would just smile and other times she had laughed so hard they couldn't keep step with the music) Fin had attended this gathering. Not more than a day after escaping from prison she had been creeping through Madrid when she'd heard other girls discussing it; What dress they would wear, who they hoped to dance with.. At first Fin didn't care all that much, if at all, but after awhile of hearing talk of nothing else, she had made up her mind to go. So it was she stood near the door, her poison-honey eyes watching as a waiter hurried dutifully towards her with a bottle of imported wine and a delicate looking glass balance on a tray. People whispered as they passed her, but she didn't listen for details. She could guess none of it was friendly. The dress she had stolen had been oriental in style. Made of black, form fitting silk. It had no sleeves, and a high collar. Silver embroidery had been hand sewn in to make little glittering butterflies and cherry blossoms, as well as to make the frog buttons that ran up the front clear to her throat. It had been beautiful, but far too long long for her taste. Not only had it restricted her leg movement but it had dragged on the ground and tripped her. So it was she had torn it off and sloppily hemmed it to an almost indecent shortness. The lacy tops of her black silk stockings (also stolen) showed, as well as a good half inch of one pale leg (the opposite thigh was wrapped in white linen bandages). Her feet were clad in in little oriental style slippers, the material and embroidery matching her dress. It hadn't been at all long since her escape, wanted posters were cropping up all over with a hefty bounty for her head. She would not be dissuaded from attending though. Not even a year in prison could not break her headstrong nature, even if it had paled her skin and starved her to an unhealthy thinness. Her strength, though not eliminated, had ebbed a bit thanks to the confined space and starvation, but it was returning. She had felt it even in the few days of freedom she'd experienced. Still, something inside her was wrong, different, changed or perhaps just missing all together. She had not been broken by prison walls, or by beatings, or weeks of starving. It must've been that other stuff that had messed her insides up, like vipers nestled in the ivory cage of her ribs. The waiter stumbled a little but kept both the bottle and the glass upright on his tray. He approached her and his eyes slid over her, the shortness of her dress, the runs in her stockings. There were daggers tucked into them, though she'd placed them on the insides of her thighs for discretions sake. Her hair was hacked short in back, coming to a point at the nape of her neck, but was still a mess of uneven lengths. There was a white lily tucked a soft coal gray vulpine ear. Her bangs hung to her nose, brushed to one side, but through the thin, soft strands he could see the golden orbs were both watching him with keen disinterest. She had no jewels, no signs of wealth, and apparently no lover as she had yet to dance with anyone. Her left arm was bandaged down to the elbow, and the shoulder of the the right was bandaged too. A matter of fact, though he couldn't see it, her whole body was bandaged down to her midsection, covering ax and arrow wounds. Fin took the wine goblet and watched as he poured the wine into it, filling the delicate glass with the deep rich red. He nodded, half tempted to ask the price she would require to spend the night with him. One look at the daggers and the black claws that tipped the fingers of the hand that took the glass, and he decided instantly not to. He turned away but a voice, smooth and cool like the flat side of a knife, said “Leave the bottle.” Hesitantly he held out the tray, and she took the bottle by the neck, holding it next to her as with one hand she held the stem of the goblet and sipped the contents. Her back was against the wall beside the door, one leg lifted, pressing her foot back against the wall. Her tail sway slowly as her eyes turned away from the waiter and back to the dancers. Just like old times. She sighed silently and turned her back on it all, walking out the door. She limped as she walked, cursing the leg she'd been shot in as she did her best to hide it. She moved over to the bridge she'd crossed and sat on the very edge of it where it met land, still visible from the doors to grand establishment. She took the slippers off and set them next to her, along with Ring and Ghash, the bottle, and the delicate glass. Finally she just dangled her feet over the edge. Eyes cast out over the vast expanse of water, listening to the ocean rush and the still audible song the band played. A full moon was casting candlelight beams over the dark water. She looked down at her hand where her ring was supposed to be. Even after a year she felt naked and vulnerable without it. Perhaps if she'd had it she could've escaped the things they'd done, perhaps it would've taken twenty guards to hold her down instead of six. Or, maybe, if she'd never taken it off, she would've never be captured- after all, it had been moment after its removal that the guards had ruined an otherwise wonderful day spent stealing, be chased by mobs, and talking to that boy Patrick. She remembered his sea-salted skin and genuine smile, a single sea foam green eyes. What if he'd changed and she wouldn't recognize him? Say right now he was inside the grandeur building behind her; dancing dizzy circles with his lover or wife, and her ring was some forgotten relic lost long ago into the ocean over the railing of a pirate ship (at least he had very much resembled a pirate, from what she could remember). Beside the obvious alterations to her appearance (her hair had been so matted with tangles and blood she'd had to cut it shorter than before, especially around her ears) she was unchanged. No age had touched her. Maybe he would recognize her, at least. Maybe the ring was safe and he was waiting dutifully to return it for her. A bitter something lurking inside her made the latter harder to believe than the former. She pushed thoughts away and looked up again. The stars, the same who had mocked her escape, now glittered with sadistic humor as they themselves spun their partners out on the dance floor of black and blue oblivion. The moon stood alone, against the wall, waiting for the sun to appear and waltz her out of the gala of the night. What if he never came? She blinked and realized she was crying. She glared at no one, scrubbing them off. Memories were worthless, why had she ventured, wounded, this whole way? Why had she bothered dressing in finery (as fine as Fin could, being herself) when the outcome had been proven countless times before. Why was she crying? She didn't need anyone, she was better off alone. She always had been. The glass flew over the side of the bridge with a sweep of her hand, she watched the waves dash it against a rock. She had always been fascinated by the way things shattered. A thousand million tiny tear-drop shards never again to be reassembled by man or magic. What if thats what had happened to her? She plucked the lily from her hair, spinning it in her fingers. She caressed the soft petals. Lonely? She wasn't lonely... She was Fin Deloth, and she strong and brave and she needed no one. She spun the flower again, her eyes glowing in the dim light as she gazed down at it, now held in the palm of the hand with the finger that should have been adorn with her father's lucky ring. Wishing stars laughed cruelly as she closed her clawed fist tightly, then opened it palm down over the ocean. Her hands rested her hands on either side of herself, looking out into the distance as sea spray licked her heels. Ivory petals drifted slowly though the air, riding the wind too and fro before finally they met gently with the surface of the ocean. They rested there a moment, cradled like hope and sweet dreams, kissing the blue water like a fine, noble lady might, Under the weight of one crushing wave, they were dragged down, devoured whole by the dark expanse. |
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