Musical Promenade

By Shahrezad1

Summary: A collection of 'Alternate Universe' and 'Current Universe' drabbles, and one-shots, featuring the Wildcat crew.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. You can prove nothing. When all else fails, deny, deny, deny. These are all a product of a fertile imagination.

Chapter 2: Life

Circa early 1800's, New York.

Kelsi Nielsen was at the end of her tether. In fact, relying upon the vocabulary her deceased mother had bestowed upon her, a former governess, you could say that she was reaching the end of all worldly need in her desire for musical transcendence. (Whatever that meant. Still, it sounded lyrical, so the tiny brunette went with it.)

For it was because of her mother that she was here, spending the last of her rag money for paper. Any kind of paper, really. It seemed like the only hope she had at this point. And if she was going to die, she'd rather do so as a starving artist rather than a penniless flower seller. She may end up in an unmarked grave, like her mother and father before her, he having perished in an accident at the factory he'd worked at, but at least she would go out with a bang.

Or maybe just a whimper. But it was better than disappearing without a sound.

Fingerless gloves couldn't mask the shiver in her hands as a rough piece of coal scratched out notes upon the page, before moving on to staccatos and instrumental flourishes. There it all was on a single piece of paper, front and back, her life's work. And, suddenly drained and terribly exhausted, she felt extreme satisfaction that at least in this one thing she'd done everything right. Even if the price was starving to death.

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Ryan Evans was tired of life. Not in the 'I will go out heroically like Byron, or perhaps will take my life,' romantic way of so many gothic poets, but rather…he was tired of it all. The routine, the hum drumness that surrounded him. After all, there wasn't much one could do when one was about to inherit their father's calling as Lawyer for Evans, Evans, and Danforth. Especially when the one being sent to law school had been more apt toward performing.

But as he well knew, the theater wasn't a respectable position for someone of his status.

The blonde man sighed into the light mustache above his lip, twitching his top hat until it was in a comfortable position upon his head. How he hated the status quo.

At least his father had allowed both him and his sister, the scheming socialite that she was, to go to theatrical performances, even if they couldn't perform in any of them. It was a small consolation for all the pain and regret that seemed to follow in his wake as he walked through life in a daze, wishing against hope that some sign or opportunity would occur, leading him into another life.

Any sign, really, would be wonderful.

Continuing on his way to the opera house from where his carriage had dropped him off, Evans Jr. couldn't help but duck his head against the ferocity of the wind. Until something became plastered to his side. Rather, a piece of paper.

Curiosity got the better of the young gentleman, and carefully making sure the wind wouldn't tear it from his hands, he found his blue eyes perusing what could only be a musical score. About love beyond death, of all things, and the desire for life to continue on past the physical state of this world.

Staring at the composition with eyes beginning to blur, the sound in his ears deafened as his heart began to pound. For this was it. This was what he had been waiting for. This was his sign; what had been calling to him all his life.

Joyous eyes lifted from the page in search of the direction they had come from; the source of the beauty before him. What he found instead shocked him to the bone.

A form lay crumpled in the snow, in an alley beside the opera house. Surrounded by crushed flowers and serene in the darkness of upcoming death, brown curls tangled and scattered like a halo around her head.

Without thinking, the youth rushed to her side, ignoring the filthy state of her skin and the raggedness of her clothing. For this, this was his salvation. And he wasn't going to allow it to get away from him.

Checking for a heartbeat, he found the lightest of pulses. And while she was starting to become paler and paler with the cold and malnutrition, she was still breathing. Thank the heavens for that!

Gathering her up into his arms, after having hastily stuffed the manuscript into his overcoat pocket, he was up and calling a hansom before thought had even entered his mind to wonder why. And as he raced homeward, a tumult of thoughts entering his mind on the care of the woman shivering in his lap, he couldn't help the spearhead of joy that pierced his heart.

The opera, and his sister, would have to wait for another day. He had more important things to take care of. Including both his future, and hers.

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AN: I loved writing this one, truly. And I honestly know too much about the 1800's. It's sad, really. -shakes head and sighs-