Title: Sound of Silence
Author: Thomas Marrow
Chapter: Prologue, Sound of Silence
Disclaimer: If I owned this, I'd be rich. I am not rich, and therefore, do not own this.
I stared forward silently, letting my vision blur around the edges. I had been on the street corner for four nights now. My fingers shook slightly with the cold, but I tried to ignore it. I had no time to be cold- plus, it was still early in the season.
Perhaps it wasn't cold. I hadn't eaten since that morning, and had been working the street corner for several hours- and a different street corner before that. I had been in a rush to get out of the house before my step-father awoke, and didn't want to waste money on one of the hundreds of coffee shops that seemed to grow as naturally here as tourists.
Luckily, I had made a fair amount of money today. The tourists were ending their trips, and seemed more likely to throw a bigger note my way than they were in the begining of their trips, where they were still trying to figure out how much everything would cost.
I would not go to school poor again. I had been down that road before, with second hand robes and no pocket money, and it was torture. I was teased for it, and the fact that I couldn't afford anything outside of my incredibly small means meant that I was constantly left out of things. It would be different at this new school, I had promised myself.
Whether for good or for bad, my stepfather had moved to England for a new job, and had absolutely refused to continue paying for my tuition at Durmstrang- nor would he pay for any transportation to get to the school either.
He was not what anyone would call supportive- never had been. The black ring surrounding my left eye, in honor of my raising enough money to go to Hogwarts, the local wizarding school, was testament to that. I wore it as a badge of honor, however. I had managed, despite a slowing economy, to raise enough money to get to school, and from there, out from under my father's thumb.
It had been hard work. I spent the majority of my time on this street corner, pimping out Bach, Beethoven, Verdi, and Mozart for money.
I blinked a little and gave a fake smile to the small audience I had gained. A fat man stood with two small children who looked distinctly bored. Another girl, whose long red hair looked familiar (I think she had been here the day before, or perhaps the day before that to listen to me) moved forward pointedly to place a few bills into my battered violin case. I bowed, and the fat man, not wanting his cheapness to be revealed to the pretty redhead, moved forward and placed a twenty in my case. I curtsied deeply, and he huffed a little before his attention turned back to the redhead.
I looked away from the sloppy man trying to hit on the girl to put away my violin and bow. It was an old, battered violin that I had picked up in a second hand shop two years ago, in a somewhat desperate attempt to make some money. I had saved all the change I could find for months to afford it, and even then had to go on a payment plan to afford the violin, but it had paid for itself.
I didn't have money for lessons of course, but that had been a small obstacle- in fact, one of the good things about being a dirty, mongrel half-breed.
The best and worst of both worlds, I supposed. Fae were known for picking up instruments easily, music coming naturally to them, and I had not disappointed whatever heritage I had. I couldn't read music to save my life, but if I heard a song, I could repeat it. If I listened to it twice, I could play it perfectly- it was just the way I was wired.
At the beginning, this was an amazing discovery, and all the money I made went straight back into the investment, buying muggle cd's and tapes, whatever I could get my hands onto to try and break the rule.
But, breeding won out. It always did.
I grabbed my brown leather gloves, pulling them on carefully over my long, skinny fingers. Breeding always won out, and London was full of iron. My Stepfather didn't care about that though. Vladivostok had been full of iron as well. Who cared if it burned me? I was just a mongrel, and a murderer at that.
I made my way into the nearby pub, careful to keep my hands close to me and the other people away.
It was a dirty place, loud and filled with drunk tourists and drunker locals. I moved over to the bar, not bothering to look at the menu.
"And what can I get for you?" The woman behind the bar asked. She was a nice looking woman, busty and tall- built for hard work. She was a blonde, with bright blue eyes.
"An order of chips, please." I asked softly, but the woman had no problem hearing me. Must be used to it, I supposed.
"Of course. Why don't you go sit in that corner booth and I'll bring it right over." She suggested, motioning to an empty booth in the corner that seemed to be a little quieter than the pub around it.
I slid into the booth, looking up at the mirror that was decorating one of the walls.
Full lips, luckily, and a small nose. Pale though- even for a Russian, I was pale, with the exception of the dark bruises around my right eye. My eyes were mismatched, right green, and left blue- weird, but something I had come to use at school against the bullies, letting them think I was blind in the blue one. I gently touched the bruise, examining it. Thankfully, the swelling had gone down, and it was just purple, with the edges having faded to yellow.
The chips were brought, the women behind the bar holding up her hand before I could dig into my pocket to pay.
"On the house. I saw you playing outside- you're really good." She said, sliding the chips over. I stuffed one in my mouth and nodded, swallowing quickly.
"Thanks." I said, unsure of what the woman wanted.
"I was thinking- usually, we have someone playing some rock music or something, you know, entertaining the customers. They make pretty good tips." I nodded, my eyes going to the slightly elevated platform that was against one of the walls. No one was playing.
"Do you know any rock music?" She asked, seeming tired of beating around the bush.
"Yeah- a bit. Mostly acoustic stuff- Dylan, things like that. I don't have a guitar... I know how to play one though." I added quickly. One of my cousins had a guitar, and had lent it to me for a couple of weeks while he was fishing.
"You can use mine!" She said brightly, smiling. "I keep my guitar in the back, but I'm just beginning lessons, so I'm not good enough. Just hop on the stage and start whenever you want- I'll go grab my guitar."
"Why are you doing this?" I asked. It was a question out of the blue, I knew, but it seemed so odd to offer a job to some random girl you had seen on the street. My greed and pride seemed to be warring as I stood. I didn't need her pity- I had enough to live pretty well at school, especially if I got another black-market potions business going. You'd be surprised how many people would pay to not have to report to the nurse.
"Music makes people happy. Bored people leave, and happy people stay," she shrugged, looking to me with a raised eyebrow. "You don't have to play if you don't want to."
I shook my head. No. Better ingredients meant a better product- and from there, a better following and I could charge more.
"No- thanks. I'll do it." I said, taking a deep breath and moving to the stage.
Sleep was for those who had nothing better to do, anyway.