The sky is blue and clear and deep. Trent feels as if he could rise up, sink into its depth. In this vast pane of blue, the sun lies in a corner, pale and whitewashed. Today the sun offers no warmth.
No tingling warmth in his palms. No people out in this park (save for him), which means there won't be crumpled one dollar bills and coins sticky with jelly and anything else in people's pocket won't find their way to the bottom of his guitar case.
There is no one to play for, no one to he plays for himself.
"Going Back to the corner where I first saw you
Gonna camp in my sleeping bag I'm not gonna move
Got some words on cardboard, got your picture in my hand
Saying, "If you see this girl can you tell her where I am? "
Some try to hand me money, they don't understand
I'm not broke, I'm just a broken hearted man
I know it makes no sense but what else can I do
How can I move on when I'm still in love with you?"
Soft clapping breaks his concentration. Gwen is standing before him, leaning close into him, hands on her knees. She's glamorous again, all at once sober and elegant and innocent. Ebony curls are piled high, soft as sugar, pinned with a blue rose that is real for she smells of roses and softness. Velvet ribbons cinch around her dainty wrists, the thin one clasped at her neck. A trembling thing. Her skirt climbs down past her knees, cerulean lacings embroidered at the edges and in-between the pleats, silk stocking outlining the shape of her thigh.
A gentle wind blows in there direction, and he smells it stronger, that ghastly scent of roses.
It doesn't suit her, that fragrance.
In his mind, she isn't fragile, like that rose. She's strong, cool, confident. Elusive like water.
"Are you impervious to the cold?" She asks, without preamble, with a hint of a smile curls on her lips.
"Slowly building up a tolerance to it. Best to be prepared for any weather." Trent laughs, running a hand through his sable locks. Gwen shakes her head in mock display, displacing a curl. She tucks it behind her ear, saying softly-
"You'll die of hypothermia."
"I won't. I can't die yet." He must have said it too fast, or with an odd tone because she gives him a strange look, fingering the bow at her neck, nails manicured with a hint of clear polish. Her whole aura borders on over-extravagance, at least next to him with his green woolen scarf pulled over his neck, pale green beanies over his ears. Underneath the scarf, a simple, black long sleeved shirt with the green imprint of a hand over his heart. His calloused (musicians) fingers are exposed and cold, tips numb from cold.
But, he is oblivious to discomfort; she is transfixed him.
You overwhelm me.
"God you're so beautiful." He can't help but whisper. The metal in her eyes today is kind. Soft, almost. She kneels down, resting her hands over his and it feels so natural, so right even though his is average and she is extraordinary.
"19 days is too long without seeing you." The side of her lip pulls up in an awkward smile, accentuated with a shrug of her shoulders. Not apology is offered, and he doesn't want one. Apologizes wouldn't bring her to him.
"It can't be helped." She mutters, stands clasping her fingers with his.
"Maybe not to you." It comes out as an accusation, but he softens his words, squeezing her fingertips.
"I have something for you. But not here." She glances over her shoulders, as if afraid someone might appear.
"I don't have much time." She adds, pushing out the words quickly from her pretty lips. But a man is already walking towards them, eyes paler than the sky, irises almost white.
There is a sense of inborn refinement in this man, in his straight shoulders, high head, carefully measured steps. Dressed to kill in a black tie tuxedo, he leans on a cane with the head of a wolf on his head.
"Who are you?" Trent's grip tightens on Gwen, not to the point of being uncomfortable. Just overprotective.
"Don't play games, little boy." The man's voice is rasping, husky. The voice of high breeding.
"You're in the wrong part of town. Sir." He could have killed himself for the sir, but the damage is done. The park and is bare limbed trees, it's broken pieces of metal and mechanics and robots echo with unkind laughter.
"The peasant has a backbone." He roars, too loud, voice grating on both Trent and Gwen's ears.
"Shut up Duncan." Trent feels Gwen step closer, her front so close to his back. She isn't a afraid of him, Trent realizes. So neither should he.
"Leave us alone." The man ignores him, blank eyes searching for Gwen.
"It's time to go Gwen." A warning, undisclosed. Unavoidable.
"No I still have-"
"Now." This man, Duncan, leaves no room for argument
She walks away with this man of an iceberg, soft hands slipping from his, guiding her brother? Cousin? Fiancée? away from him.
"Gwen?" Sinister foreboding fills him. She says nothing, making as if she does not here him.
"Gwen, wait!" Trent starts to hobble towards them, legs tired with cold.
She doesn't look back, one arm laced through that cold man's. And, with his heart falling, Trent understands.
He understands it perfectly: she is not for him.
And this was never meant to be.
...
..
.
Dear rabbit my legs are getting weak chasing you
The snow fields wouldn't seem so big if you knew
That this blood on my teeth it is far beyond dry
And I've captured you once but I wasn't quite right
So I'm telling you that you'll be safe with me.
Rabbit, my claws are dull now so don't be afraid
I could keep you warm as long as you can just try to be brave
Yes I know I'm a wolf and I've been known to bite
But the rest of my pack I have left them behind
And my teeth may be sharp and I've been raised to kill
But the thought of fresh meat it is making me I'll
So I'm telling you that you'll be safe with me.
A/N: I have a problem with making Duncan an antagonist in my stories. I admit. Beware of incoming angst. Maybe. We'll see. Today the song is I know I'm a Wolf, sung by the Young Heretics. Another favourite of mine.