Disclaimer: Wow, I haven't posted in ages…oh well, like anyone cares…heh.
Anyhow, I decided to upload this pretty little piece of junk to see if
anyone had interest in it; it ties in with a fic I've worked and re-worked
many times, but don't have the energy to write unless someone's going to
notice it. In this spirit, I am descending onto my knees and begging for
feedback! …I'll give you a cookie…erm, maybe I should just do the actual
disclaimer: No characters in the Harry Potter books belong to me, though
you won't see any here. In the fic that this goes with, however, you will
see quite a little bunch of them. So…yes…er…oh, right! Don't rip off my
original characters. That's not what nice authors do! (I sound like an
after school special…)
**
A hissing, frigid wind was winding its way across the lamp-lit street, shaking the gas-fueled flames in what was almost an unwitnessed tribute to the ephemeral. In keeping with the theme, the glowing expanse of buildings should have been dramatically silent; however, there was a drunken cache of speech issuing from a dilapidated, one-story building near the middle of the clutch of structures. The place was small and a dirty brown; a warm, sickly odor of alcohol and cigar smoke filtered from the slightly open door. Two figures emerged from it, slowly, throwing more light onto the street. The second was clutched in the first's arms.
She was an emaciated female, holding tightly to a young child. Her large, liquid eyes, deep blue in color, surveyed the ground quickly. She had thick, auburn hair, that ran just past her shoulders, plump, cracked lips in a dark pink hue, and pallid skin. The weight in her long, heavily muscled arms was a small child; a tiny girl, pale-skinned with a short braid of brown-black hair. She was wrapped in a thick burgundy blanket, and was sleeping quietly with her face pressed into the woman's black sweater. The door of the pub creaked to a close behind them, and the woman started on a brisk walk, the heels of her dark boots clicking behind her.
A crash ruffled the night air; the woman lunged forward, quickening her pace to compensate for the motion. The child stirred and lifted her head, making a soft noise of tired disdain. The woman slowed again. "Sorry, pup," she muttered, looking into the girl's gray-green eyes with a slight smile. Her voice was soft and somewhat hoarse, and she spoke with a British accent that sounded of London decent. "I'm just jumpy tonight. Go back to sleep."
They had reached a high, black building with many windows. The woman turned her back to the glass door and pushed it ajar, then stepped quickly inside. She took the liberty of a yawn as she scaled nearby stairs and the adjoining hall. Halting at one of the many doors in the hallway, she removed a hand from the girl to reach into the slender pocket of her gray skirt. She retrieved a set of clinking keys and opened the whitewashed door with one.
A peal of pent-up cold rushed them, rapid in its escape from the small room. The girl let out a sharp, startled cry and drew closer to the woman, to which the woman responded by pulling the dark blanket over the child's head and clutching her more tightly to her breast. Placated, the girl settled herself into the warm darkness around her. The woman pocketed her keys and pushed the door shut with a foot.
The flat soon faded into pitch-black, and the woman stumbled to a nightstand, finally striking a feeble match and bringing flame to the wick of a fresh taper candle. It illuminated the room once more, and the woman blew the match from life and laid it at the candle's base. She took a seat in a rocking chair, bare though created from deep mahogany, and began to look about herself. The luminary rested on the chipped, though beautifully carved nightstand, which was also occupied by a large, dusty book that looked in a state of total disrepair. Its neighbor was a large bed, dressed in a thick white blanket and ornamented with tea-stained pillows.
Rocking the chair unthinkingly, the woman struck the monolithic dresser behind her. She turned slowly; her reflection met her in the mirror that leaned against the wall. A few scattered hairbrushes accompanied the glinting form of a short, silver pistol and the shining black bullets that were to feed it. The woman reached a hand across the breathing weight on her lap to retrieve one of them. Putting it to her lips, she drew breath against the long, dark object. Strings of saliva, heavily beaded, flew down to attach themselves to their metallic guest. Sighing, the woman closed her mouth around the bullet, forcing the cold wetness to her parched lips. She allowed it to linger for a few moments, then took it between two slender fingers and dropped it to the wooden floor. It rolled lazily for a few seconds before surrendering to stillness.
The woman pulled back the blanket from the girl, revealing the top of her thin-haired head. She leaned her cheek against the child's locks, closing her massive eyes. The candle was melted to a half position, wax dripping down onto the silver base. Stirring, the child let out a string of rapid noises, each increasing the measure of panic in their notes. She struggled against her captors, those highlighted in her angry dream and the physical ones emphasizing them. She screamed and fought harder; soon rousing the woman, who took a stronger grip on the girl.
"Puppy…wake up…." The woman muttered, drowsy. The girl seemingly forced her eyes open, with a visible effort; breathing heavily, her eyes darted across the apartment, to the shadows lining the walls. They bared their fangs and reached their claws to her, reviving the tormentors of the sleep she was brought from. Whimpering softly, she buried herself in the woman's chest. "Pup…" the woman crooned, her bottomless eyes alight with pity. Tucking her arms gently under the child, she forced her long legs to stand. She crossed the room and extinguished the taper's flame, slaying the shadow beasts of the girl's mind. Settling finally onto the bed, both figures relaxed into the dark.
**
A hissing, frigid wind was winding its way across the lamp-lit street, shaking the gas-fueled flames in what was almost an unwitnessed tribute to the ephemeral. In keeping with the theme, the glowing expanse of buildings should have been dramatically silent; however, there was a drunken cache of speech issuing from a dilapidated, one-story building near the middle of the clutch of structures. The place was small and a dirty brown; a warm, sickly odor of alcohol and cigar smoke filtered from the slightly open door. Two figures emerged from it, slowly, throwing more light onto the street. The second was clutched in the first's arms.
She was an emaciated female, holding tightly to a young child. Her large, liquid eyes, deep blue in color, surveyed the ground quickly. She had thick, auburn hair, that ran just past her shoulders, plump, cracked lips in a dark pink hue, and pallid skin. The weight in her long, heavily muscled arms was a small child; a tiny girl, pale-skinned with a short braid of brown-black hair. She was wrapped in a thick burgundy blanket, and was sleeping quietly with her face pressed into the woman's black sweater. The door of the pub creaked to a close behind them, and the woman started on a brisk walk, the heels of her dark boots clicking behind her.
A crash ruffled the night air; the woman lunged forward, quickening her pace to compensate for the motion. The child stirred and lifted her head, making a soft noise of tired disdain. The woman slowed again. "Sorry, pup," she muttered, looking into the girl's gray-green eyes with a slight smile. Her voice was soft and somewhat hoarse, and she spoke with a British accent that sounded of London decent. "I'm just jumpy tonight. Go back to sleep."
They had reached a high, black building with many windows. The woman turned her back to the glass door and pushed it ajar, then stepped quickly inside. She took the liberty of a yawn as she scaled nearby stairs and the adjoining hall. Halting at one of the many doors in the hallway, she removed a hand from the girl to reach into the slender pocket of her gray skirt. She retrieved a set of clinking keys and opened the whitewashed door with one.
A peal of pent-up cold rushed them, rapid in its escape from the small room. The girl let out a sharp, startled cry and drew closer to the woman, to which the woman responded by pulling the dark blanket over the child's head and clutching her more tightly to her breast. Placated, the girl settled herself into the warm darkness around her. The woman pocketed her keys and pushed the door shut with a foot.
The flat soon faded into pitch-black, and the woman stumbled to a nightstand, finally striking a feeble match and bringing flame to the wick of a fresh taper candle. It illuminated the room once more, and the woman blew the match from life and laid it at the candle's base. She took a seat in a rocking chair, bare though created from deep mahogany, and began to look about herself. The luminary rested on the chipped, though beautifully carved nightstand, which was also occupied by a large, dusty book that looked in a state of total disrepair. Its neighbor was a large bed, dressed in a thick white blanket and ornamented with tea-stained pillows.
Rocking the chair unthinkingly, the woman struck the monolithic dresser behind her. She turned slowly; her reflection met her in the mirror that leaned against the wall. A few scattered hairbrushes accompanied the glinting form of a short, silver pistol and the shining black bullets that were to feed it. The woman reached a hand across the breathing weight on her lap to retrieve one of them. Putting it to her lips, she drew breath against the long, dark object. Strings of saliva, heavily beaded, flew down to attach themselves to their metallic guest. Sighing, the woman closed her mouth around the bullet, forcing the cold wetness to her parched lips. She allowed it to linger for a few moments, then took it between two slender fingers and dropped it to the wooden floor. It rolled lazily for a few seconds before surrendering to stillness.
The woman pulled back the blanket from the girl, revealing the top of her thin-haired head. She leaned her cheek against the child's locks, closing her massive eyes. The candle was melted to a half position, wax dripping down onto the silver base. Stirring, the child let out a string of rapid noises, each increasing the measure of panic in their notes. She struggled against her captors, those highlighted in her angry dream and the physical ones emphasizing them. She screamed and fought harder; soon rousing the woman, who took a stronger grip on the girl.
"Puppy…wake up…." The woman muttered, drowsy. The girl seemingly forced her eyes open, with a visible effort; breathing heavily, her eyes darted across the apartment, to the shadows lining the walls. They bared their fangs and reached their claws to her, reviving the tormentors of the sleep she was brought from. Whimpering softly, she buried herself in the woman's chest. "Pup…" the woman crooned, her bottomless eyes alight with pity. Tucking her arms gently under the child, she forced her long legs to stand. She crossed the room and extinguished the taper's flame, slaying the shadow beasts of the girl's mind. Settling finally onto the bed, both figures relaxed into the dark.