Ophelia had always liked winter. She could layer up all she desired to cover up her particular 'condition'. And she always imagined using the cold as an excuse to pull herself into the arms of a dear companion. And her thoughts as of late turned to her friend, Mr. Clare, who skin might have been as cold as winter snow but his heart felt like a warm fireplace which she couldn't help but move towards its flickering light.
Today was a glorious day for her plans, serene new fallen snow layering over the usual gray, bitter streets. It seemed the final touch to the tizzy of cleaning her and her brother Aron, had been doing the last week in preparation for her friend's visit. It was still early morning, when she got out of bed to meet her friend knowing his preference for moving about the city in darkness which she more than understood. Looking outside her window she saw hardly a soul and felt glad. She dressed in her warmest wool dress and cloak knowing the chill as soon as she left the small flat and its smell of burnt maple logs in their small fireplace.
She was glad she liked the mornings, though Aron once he awoke was like a burning sunlight streaming through curtains that couldn't be shut out. He was already stirring as she left to gather her friend from the dank refuge he now stayed in. The closer she moved to her friends location, the less affected by the cold she felt much to her own surprise, and a giddiness started welling within her.
Mr. Clare she could see as she walked closer to the entrance, standing with a book in hand and as always seemingly ignorant of the weather. His bag was heavy on his shoulder, the weight of it making a dent in his coat, though Ophelia doubted he noticed it. As she got closer she couldn't help but notice his tallness and strong limbs noticeable even with all the layers. But she noticed the most right now that he was lost in the words and didn't see her approach and she had a mighty, terrible closer, slightly behind him she slowly reached her arms forward fingers extended and took a breath before rushing forward her fingers pushing into his side as she said,
"Morning!" To her surprise, the man's reaction was not as she expected. As he stiffly recoiled, his head whipping in her direction with pained yet predatory eyes. His hair dragged forward over his face, his eyes met hers and in a flash his expression changed to grief and finally transforming into pleasant surprise. And somehow in all this he managed to not drop his book, swiftly closing it and placing it in his already stuffed bag.
"Good morning Miss Broderick," he replied in recovery, his breaths short and one hand clenched over the strap of his bag. Ophelia found herself taking John's free hand in hers and putting a hand to his cheek.
"I am sorry if I hurt you." He forced a smile it seemed, his hand grasping back at hers.
"You could do no such thing," She felt herself force a smile as well, berating herself for her stupidity, but also feeling curiosity about his reaction. Yet the woman couldn't find it within herself to invade his privacy. He would tell her such things in his own time. So instead she found a more appropriate question.
" You have everything you wish to bring?" The woman moved her hand from her friend's cheek to grasp his arm and lightly tug them back towards the street and he started moving with her. He nodded in response and dropped back into his thought she might try to cheer him up. It was the least she could do.
"Onto tea then! Our grand morning adventure awaits," she started as they made their way down the edge of the street which was rapidly piling with snow. She could feel it crushing into the crook of her heeled boots which meant it would be perfect later for building snowmen if there was such a place to do it. There were few people to pass as they walked the darkened streets, sunlight creeping through the cracks of other buildings up ahead. It took a few moments but her friend's breathing returned to a comforting pace, and she found herself watching the plumes of heated air against the cold air emitting from his lips. He looked forward letting her arm lead him and asked in a low voice,
"Are you sure this is well? I dare not be a burden to you or your kin," he readjusted his heavy bag, filled with things he would be leaving at their flat, mainly books of course. Ophelia used her free hand to swat at his arm.
"How many times have I told you to not say such things? It is an honor, you trusting us with such precious things. Better yet, I get to read all your books." She looked up to see a twitch of a smile lite upon his features. Feeling a bit of pride in such a happy accomplishment, she let her stride lengthen to match even that of her tall friend though she felt just as silly to be happy of such things. She couldn't help herself though, and she had indeed tried in the past. For a bit the two fell into a contented quiet, enjoying one another's company until Ophelia heard John mumbling something,
"Like white dove's brooding wing, a landscape to the aching sight, a vast expanse of dazzling light…" Amused to hear her friend quoting the poet he was seemingly named after she struggled to remember the next line.
"In-It is the foliage of the trees…woods," and John turned his head with a grin, amused by her lackluster attempts as she struggled to continue on,"That winters bring-the dress, white Easter of the year in bud, that makes the winter's spring." Ophelia felt her brow furrow. There were two more lines, but blast her memory. She gave it one more go," The frost…and snow his- oh what are the flowers?"
"Posies," the man quickly picked up, " The frost and snow his posies bring," The woman felt the last line shine upon her as clear as the sunlight that started to drip through to them,
" Nature's white spurts of the spring!" she blurted out triumphantly,loudly enough to turn a few heads. She quickly covered her mouth and heard her friend laughing under his breath though desperately trying to hold it back whilst pulling his arm from her grasp and pulling it around her shoulders. Her cheeks must have been a deep pink and as if to compound everything she felt her foot slide. The snow must have finished caking over what little traction she had on her shoes and her ankles gave way. Her body was tipping rapidly as she watched John react with the speed of lightning, his hand moving from her shoulders to her arm whilst his free hand flew to her side and pulled her upright and straight into him.
And it felt right. Like she was a snowflake landing on his coat and melting there, in shock of her own clumsiness.
"My dear Mr. Clare, it seems morning has conquered me. I am a poor adventurer indeed," She recovered herself and knocked the offending snow from her shoes before looking down the street, the next intersection being the turn to her flat.
"Up in the morning's no for me; up in the morning early, when a' the hills are cover'd wi' snaw. I'm sure its winter fairly," he responded after a moment, his tone quiet but almost sing-song like. She would have swatted at his arm again if she hadn't already been clutching it in case the white powder decided to play any more tricks.
"Never thought I'd hear Burns used to tease," she stated with a mock pout and then looked to see John's face fall and turn to apology, hanging his head low as if to beg for forgiveness. She smiled at him reassuringly.
"It is true though, Mr. Burns and I don't seem to fare well on certain winter mornings."
"I am sure the afternoons are all the better for it then," he responded sounding a bit better.
"Tis true. Better yet, we are almost there and my brother's breakfast always makes the mornings better."
They stopped along the street at a little bookshop with a faded concrete façade reaching up to the sky above it for five more floors, Grecian dentil molding adorned the lines between floors and little jutting cornices above the windows. It was once much cleaner, but now the stone was a deep gray and cracking, and pieces of the detailing had fallen off, leaving teary lines dripping down the stone. But yes, once it was surely a fine building.
John found himself being pulled towards the shop door by the smell of books, but Ophelia thankfully led him away from temptation and to a thin doorway at the edge of the shop leading to a steep stairwell. They started climbing and unlike the home of his creator was empty of children on the stairs or laundry crossing the halls. It almost seemed eerily empty except for the sounds of the occupants coming through the thin walls.
They moved up and up the thin stairwell till they reached the fifth floor and the man noticed his companion seemed a bit out of breath. Truly she could not have lived here long to be in such a state, and his face must have looked questioning because she was peering over at him from the railing she had leaned on.
"The rent gets cheaper the higher you go, and it's quieter up here. The owner also gave us a discount for helping run the shop downstairs sometimes when he is out." And with that she was up again and went over to one of the doors, knocking on it.
"Just a moment, darling," a cheery male voice called from inside, causing John to turn his head in minor confusion and then the woman to laugh at his expression.
"He always gets like that when he's cooking. Be warned, he might have been referring to you," Ophelia stated while the man nodded, a bit unsure of what to make of such a statement. The sound of locks sliding out of place started and John felt himself straighten, readjusting his bag on his shoulder as nervousness starting creeping back in.
What if this brother decided Ophelia shouldn't be with him? What could be said to convince the man otherwise with how he looked? He couldn't imagine having to separate from Lia, as he allowed himself to call her in the safety of his own head. His rage assured him quickly if anyone should try to take her away, they could be swiftly dealt with.
Such thoughts were brushed aside as the tarnished wood door opened to a bright, blond, young man. Strapping might have been the best initial word to describe him based on his physical body but kind as well considering his overbearingly friendly smile.
"Welcome to our humble abode John, if I may call you that," he said quickly as he ushered the two inside and closed the door behind them.
" I have heard enough about you I think for it to be well, seeing as Lia talks about her dearest poet friend all the time," The blond haired man said as he scurried across the room, while Lia threw off her shoes and cloak quickly making chase and leaving their bewildered guest at the door. The woman, seeming to have forgotten the hike up the stairs, grabbed a wooden spoon off a small counter in a small kitchen area and hit her brother over the head with it as he tried to get away.
"I was using that," he pouted at her, a hand going up to his head in defense, while Lia hit him again over the shoulder.
"And now I'm using it. You promised you wouldn't!" Somehow the man managed to get around her from the small living area and back around to John, his smile apologetic.
" Name's Aron. Aron Winters. Pleased to meet the man who makes my sister this excitable in the morning. She's usually such a mouse reading and such, trying so hard to memorize poems these days instead of just enjoying them," as he finished Lia caught up with him, and hit him again on the back wielding the spoon formidably with an angry, flushed face.
" You twit," she declared poised to strike again as Aron ducked down, leaving her face to face with her friend. Suddenly her expression became mortified drooping her arms in defeat. It seems Aron had won, no matter how times she hit him. With a huff, she quickly thrust the implement back into her brother's hand and pushed him towards the little stove.
"Weren't you cooking?" But Aron just grinned back over at John,
"Indeed I was, but you left our guest at the door." The woman scrambled back over, nearly tripping again and straightened her dress quickly before saying,
"May I take your coat and bag, Mr. Clare?" Her voice still maintained a hint of mischief to it which he didn't think he had ever seen quite so clearly before, but he did as asked taking off his bag and putting it on the ground, and then coat handing it to Lia. The woman, her face still flushed,hung the coat then picked up the bag with a bit of effort and carried it over next to a small couch while John took off his shoes. He took a few steps into the flat with only socks, this place perhaps having been the first place he had done so. He felt in a way, like he had arrived home.
The woman had come back over and hung his coat, as well as arranging the shoes by the door determinedly as Aron cleaned off the offending weapon and went back to stirring a small pot and cutting a loaf of bread. While they worked John looked over to see a small worn table set before two windows with haphazardly different chairs, all proudly unique in their designs and mismatching cups of steaming tea set on the table.
The man admitted to feeling a bit dumbfounded to what had just occurred. If anything, Lia's embarrassment had seemed to lesson enough to take his hand and lead him to the small table where she motioned for him to sit as she herself flopped into a chair.
Never before had he seen such an exchange, certainly never seen siblings interact in such a way, his mind going to his own unfortunate experiences with "siblings". If anything he supposed he should be grateful to Mr. Winters noble sacrifice of information about his sister, which indeed warmed John's heart. And it seemed his little angel could bear the horns as well as her wings if it suited her. And john did admit feeling twinges of jealousy at their closeness, but pushed such feelings away as best as he could for Aron had not flinched looking upon him or had yet bore him any ill will. It seemed a possible union with Lia had been blessed indeed.
Though he also did wonder which parent Aron and Lia shared, considering how vastly different they looked. Perhaps he was the son of some mistress, and a poor one based on his clothes compared to that of his sister. Not that it mattered in the end. They seemed happy and Aron certainly was caring and a good cook based on the smell coming from the small cooking area.
His thoughts finally settled a bit, the man carefully picked up the cup of tea set before him and took a sip. He felt his body relax against the warmth as Aron soon came over brandishing two plates covered with wrapped paper which he then removed after he placed them down showing bits of bacon, eggs, and toast. Then as he left again, John found himself admiring the kind offering before him. He looked over to Ophelia who had once again taken the angel's visage and was content with the sun bathing her silhouette.
Did he once again dream, so soon after having given up on dreams? Or perhaps he had lived in one long nightmare and now finally awoke to life, a woman who he scarcely admit he may love and her family who accepted him. He dared to imagine himself as human, drinking tea and about to eat breakfast with those unlike him. He almost felt he had betrayed his desolate shore or even his dear friend Vanessa. A happy betrayal at the least.
Aron returned with his own plate and the loaf of bread now neatly cut, crowding the small table and seeming grateful to sit at last. He took a sip from his cup, smiling over at Lia, perhaps even smirking at his earlier victory. Then they took hands and John felt the two each motioning to take one of his hands which he did with a moment of confusion. Lia spoke,
"Bless us, 'O lord, and these are your gifts, which we are about to receive from your bounty. Through Christ our lord, Amen," and Aron quickly echoed her with a calm satisfaction while John felt his silence resound throughout the small room.
For a moment, he felt compelled to say the word of his religious friends, but wasn't sure if it would be a mere courtesy or a betrayal of his own beliefs. He felt himself curl forward, head bowed as he tried to retract his hands but Lia kept a firm grip on his hand and within a second Aron did the same.
"You don't have to say it," she said, understanding his dilemma immediately, even taking her now free hand and lifting his chin, encouraging him to straighten from his moment of question. They released his hands finally as Aron laughed a bit,
"Most of our friends don't understand it either, a catholic tradition this country for the most part thinks odd. No worries friend." And with that, John let out his held sigh as the siblings started to eat, both looking very amused if anything. Perhaps this was indeed a common thing for them, being odd in their own ways as well as him. With that bit of comforting though, he started to eat savoring the taste of the fine morning.
After a few blissful moments of quiet with the first bites, Aron piped up again,
"So then John, what brought you to this black heart of a city?" The man felt himself choke on a bit of egg at the sudden question, but quickly swallowed and replied,
"Family." He tried not to think about the anger that likely crept into his voice but thankfully the blond-haired man seemed unaffected.
"Same. I came with Lia to this god-forsaken place when she decided to bring some of the almighty back to the needy. And like a dog on the leash of fate, I followed her." The woman had stopped eating, somewhat amused by her brother's words. Aron leaned in towards John,
"But yet, see how the lady abuses me, hitting me when I was so well behaved today as if I were her puppy who had peed on the carpet." The dark haired man now had to stop eating as well looking up to see his angel's eyes narrow at her brother, but taking a heavy breath and picking her fork back up trying hard to not play Aron's game.
"Let us hope she treats all her pets better in the future then," he said quickly, giving a go at the banter and trying not to think about the small woman trying to chase him around the flat with some other kitchen implement.
"If you're referring to yerself mate, I don't think the little lady could pull you to heel if she tried." Both looked back at Lia whose blush was somehow even fiercer now, and felt himself put a hand to his forehead, glad he could hardly blush himself. Aron laughed in victory and then put his hand on john's shoulder, winking at him,
"That's what I'm for." The woman slammed her fork onto the table with exasperation now it seemed,
"Dear lord above, Aron let the man eat," and with that the hand retreated, the blond haired man putting his hands up in defense while making a face at his sister as she crossed her arms. John swore Aron would have whined like a puppy if she didn't look legitimately annoyed.
"You'll have to excuse my brother. He makes such wonderful things, but then is determined that guests shouldn't enjoy them," to which the accused made a silent but grand gesture of being shot by an arrow, getting a smile from her and John as well. The woman then retreated to a look reminiscent of a mother scolding her child and Aron playing his part, pouting before starting to quietly eat again.
So many new sides of Miss Ophelia he had seen today, just within the short time of visiting her home compared to the refuge and temporary home in which he lived. Before today most of their conversations had been philosophical if anything, but now she played both the parent and child, angel and devil, and he found such rapt fascination with it all.
The three somehow finished eating in quiet, besides the sounds of the fireplace crackling and the white winter sun beaming through the windows. This time is was Ophelia who spoke,
"Would it be impolite to ask if you needed employment?" John flicked his head up, the poignant image of the Putney's' lying dead next to the cage they had tried to keep him in and the sound of Lavinia's screams as he left her with the bodies.
"Not at all, "he said gruffly, trying to push the memories from his head. He watched the woman's face twist into concern but she continued,
"As I may have mentioned, but the owner of the flat owns the book shop below. His name is Mr. Jenkins," Aron butted in,
"But yet he keeps asking that you call him Ernest. He would be insulted to hear you call him something so formal." Lia went on, somewhat ignoring him,
"As I was about to say, he prefers to be called Ernest once you are at ease with him. I sometimes help out in the shop, but there is only so much I can do. And Aron is busy at the ports most of the time. My point is, if you needed the work, I could introduce you. I think you simply being yourself would be more than enough to convince him," And though she looked like she would ramble on a bit more, looking down at her hands nervously her brother interrupted nicely this time,
"Old Jenkins doesn't let anyone work the shop who isn't at least a bibliophile. I don't think he'd let me touch his books without reading the "classics" in his opinion. It would take months and honestly is a bore," the man said with an over-exaggerated sigh. With the proposition John felt both excited and nervous at the prospect. But nervous was perhaps not the correct word….more like terrified. Just thinking about Oscar Putney's face satisfactorily grinning at him through bars after he had worked with the man for so long made him cringe. How could he have been so blind? Even Lavinia, Lily all sat scheming, luring him to their own ends. Part of him still wondered, and perhaps always would, if Lia would do the same. He felt his fists clenching in pain and then dared to look up to see his angel's hand move over his.
"Don't think about it, if it pains you. We can talk of such things later," her gentle voice eased his heart and gave him hope but still it beat in fear, his head hanging low. Aron got up and gathered the now empty plates,
"No need to be ashamed of it," he called as he walked to a small wash basin and dumped the plates in,
"We've all done work that wasn't so friendly to us, if that's what happened. I've wanted to wring a few necks of pompous employers a few times I will admit," John heard himself scoff. If only they knew the foulness of his past deeds. Ophelia broke into his thoughts before he went any further,
"Our point is, the offer stands whenever you wish to explore it." Her hand had not left his, now unclenched her fingers had lightly entwined with his.
"And if anything, we could always use an extra strong pair of hands for certain things at nights on the docks: quick jobs with good pay if you know what I mean, "Aron said as he started washing the dishes. John laced his fingers more tightly against the woman's smaller, delicate ones but turned to look at the blond-haired man.
"I am more grateful than words can express. I have some money saved for now, but I might be willing to take up any of the said offers I needed. I am…contented for now." He turned back, looking once more at his friend's hand, his ashen paleness compared to her lively peach tone. She had never made any adverse comments on the coldness of his skin or the scars on his face. Yet again, she had her own "condition" as she called it, and had described the bleached patch of skin over the bridge of her nose as naught but a small portion of what covered most of her body. When initially given such a description he felt a sameness to his own scar littered body, but sometimes his mind would betray him and he wondered what these hidden marks of hers looked like.
He tried once more to shake off the thought like a horse shaking off flies, bound to return to buzz at its ear. He listened to Aron washing the dishes and to the winter wind creaking against the windows threatening to breech the well-warmed room.
"Then, at least let us extend the offer to stay here, should you decide to take up either opportunity. Aron has been leaving often as it is to his newest friend's house," the woman offering, her hand steadily holding his, though he shook at such an offer of kindness as casually masked at it was. The other man seemed to not notice his state as he responded to what seemed an accusation,
"Only 'cause he had lost his lady love. The man's place is a mess, and he needs someone to take care of him whether or not he admits it." Lia laughed at her brother's concerned tone.
"I'm sure he will forget about her soon enough if you have your way."
"One can hope," Aron responded reflectively as he now started the drying process.
"You going back today?" the woman asked.
"I plan to, but not before I hear the poem you've been composing under your breath for the last few days." John whipped his head around to see a most mischievous grin on Aron's face as Lia's hand gripped tightly onto his. But when he turned back, instead of seeing a glare as expected she was smiling nervously looking down, her free hand gripping lightly at a napkin on the table.
"Thought I'd let you get away with that one little dove, eh?" and he laughed merrily being done with his work and moving to the couch. He looked over at the two and patted the seat beside him.
"Let's make it a proper performance, John and let her stand before us." The dark haired man looked over to Lia who took a deep breath and suddenly stood, pulling him up with her.
"If it will get some peace before you leave, let it be done then," she said John following her as she led him to the couch and sat him down next to her ever-grinning brother and stood before the fireplace, it's light warming her figure. Her eyes met with his and didn't leave as she started.
"I am a hatchling crawled from my shell looking forever hungrily at the sky,
wanting to lift my words from a page scattering its threads as I rise and seek my home,
I search high and low, through the filtering light of works past
and deep into the depths of my own soul to find a branch,
its bark made of bits of phrases here and there to protect against others discontent.
I find pieces of this and that, shiny trinkets, tidbits of old memories for my nest,
a small refuge of my own imagination,
though supplies may sometimes be scarce without a parentage of proper punctuation or grammar somehow I pull through,
plucking my own wings to make my pillow.
I build an egg of the thoughts I find, the shiny relics and forgotten souls,
all our pain and elation making the shell and heartbeat of a poem,
I may always wish to keep it safe,
Unhatched within my nest
But like me, it too must be free to look towards the sky."
John realized he must have been grinning like a fool because Lia was too by the end, as Aron started clapping loudly.
"Brava, Brava miss Ophelia. You barely bored me. Such a rarity for such works." The woman pretended to look offended as the dark haired man looked over at Aron incredulously,
" I know you mean, I brought you to the edges of eternity and back,eh?" she snapped back before motioning for the two to move over so she could sit down. But it seemed the poor couch hadn't been designed for three people and when Lia sat beside him he could feel the whole of her body leaning against his not that she seemed heartily aware of it. She turned to him saying,
"Aron thinks poetry is unmanly to openly enjoyor some such nonsense his friends in the bars say. But he secretly likes it, and I bet my ability to burn tea he knows more than I do,"
"Only 'cause you can't manage to remember them once you've read them. But I suppose I peek at books of poetry every once and a while only when boredom overtakes me," Aron spoke in his defense before standing up, " Maybe one day I'll regale you with my favorite form of poetry, sailor songs, when I've had enough drink that is." The woman snickered,
"Thank heavens he can actually sing well. One night he wouldn't shut up till the cock crowed," she said laughing as Aron coughed and slid away towards the door after grabbing a bag from behind the couch.
"I will have to hear it then, one day," John found himself saying, the promise of such adventures with a friend seeming its own impossible dream. The blond haired man started to put on his coat and looked back to the two looking somehow more cheerful than ever,
"As I promised I'm off. There's stew in the pot and a note on the counter on how long to warm it up," he said turning his attention more towards his sister, "That means not destroying my hard work this time," to which the woman stuck her tongue out at him.
"Well go on then, if you plan to actually go. I'll faint if you embarrass me anymore." But Aron scoffed putting a pair of well-worn boots,
"You've never fainted before from it. I will demand an award if I can achieve such a thing, and lord knows I've tried," and he grabbed a scarf before throwing his bag over his shoulder, "If Mr. Clare stays, dear sister I want my bed to take no part in it," before quickly opening the door and practically running out. John looked over at Lia feeling confused again as she appeared to want to get up and chase her brother down the five flights of stairs. Did Aron mean that he should sleep on the couch then? That is if it was proper in any sense that he should remain the night, which he shouldn't do though he wished to with all his heart. Lia must have seen his expression,
" To think I lived in a convent and know what he meant. You poor innocent lamb," she said leaning against him, pulling his hand to her lips. And with that said, he suddenly understood what had been intended and gulped heavily, leaning back against the couch in disbelief at such implications. Not that he hadn't thought about them but to have heard them from her brother…
"My dear Mr. Clare, I never thought I'd see you look faint. Would you like to lie down?" Still in a bit of shock he simply nodded moving his body down to the end of the couch, expecting the woman to get up but she didn't move.
"It's fine to use my lap. Aron isn't here to tease us about it," and before he could stutter an opposition he watched Lia's hand snake over and land on his shoulder pulling him to lean over. And how could he disobey her?
If he had felt faint before, he was indeed more so now. The feeling of the warmth of his angel's legs even through her woolen skirts, and her pulse which he didn't know could be felt in such a place, and a faint smell of voice seemed robbed by his angel's kindness. He could only see the fire now from the new position but felt Lia's amusement.
"To think we hath made you speechless. It is a rare occasion indeed. We shall have to drink to it later," she said with a jingle in her tone which for a moment John considered rectifying but he let her have her victory. He could see the corner of his eye her arm reaching out and grabbing a blanket from off the back of the couch and laying it over him before grabbing a book from the small nearby table. With one hand she propped it open and laid her free arm across his back comfortingly,
"For now, let us rest and enjoy the day."
Very important authors note: this story was created from the mind of a good friend who has drawn wonderful pieces with Ophelia, Aron, as well as Ophelia/John together. Her name is Redpassion on Deviantart so please please, if you like this story go check out the artwork, cause it's what spawned this. ^^
Redpassion(aka Clarice) is my best editor and co-author for this story and I just want it on record that she is such a wonderful, creative, and kind person for taking on this endeavor with me.