Title - Love Is For Thieves
Chapter Title - What is love?
Author - OblivionsGarden
Genre - Romance/Adventure
Disclaimer - I do not own The Thief Lord in any way, shape or form. I only own my original characters and the plot for this fic. (Based off the film not the book.)
C.10
Scip's Pov
When I awoke, still sprawled sideways across Ida's chair, I yawned and sat up with a stretch. By the looks of the unconscious bodies around me, I was the first up. Hornet was lay on the floor beside Prosper, her head resting on his chest and his arms around her waist. Riccio was curled up on the floor by the fire and Mosca was upside down in the chair opposite my own. Bo was curled up against Autumn on the sofa, who had a soft smile on her face.
"Are you going to come and have some breakfast or just sit and stare at her?" Came a whisper in the doorway, I looked up and saw Victor leant on the door frame. Blushing, I followed him through to the empty kitchen. "Ida's still asleep." He commented as he started to make us both some coffee.
As I stared at the grains in the table before me, I contemplated asking Victor's advice. He and Ida were the only adults who didn't treat me like some know-nothing child. Even when he thought I was a spoilt rich boy Victor spoke to me as an equal.
"Victor?"
"Yes?" He placed a mug in front of me and sat down at the table.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"You won't tell anybody?"
He shook his head with a smile. "Not if you don't want me to."
I nodded, taking a deep breath. "It's a little bit...odd." He waited for me to continue. "How do you know when you're...when you're...in love?"
He chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. "That's a very hard question to answer Scip. I think it's different for everybody and the only person who can tell you if you're in love is yourself. You just know." His eyes took on a faraway look as he looked into his coffee.
"Victor?"
"Mm?"
"You love Ida, don't you?"
He smiled again. "You're smarter than you look."
"Well...how does it feel?"
"Indescribable."
I stared blankly at him. "You're not very helpful, are you?"
"I told you, if you are, then you'll know."
"But how will I know, if I don't know how it feels?"
"Fine, alright. I knew I loved Ida when I was helping her tend her garden. The sun was out, lovely day, music from the radio and she on a lovely summer dress and a straw hat. You might remember, you were there as I recall. Teaching Bo how to properly handle a sling-shot." He looked pointedly at me over his cup as he took another sip. "She was knelt in the mud, slightly sweaty from the heat and her hair was sticking out at odd angles from under her hat and she knelt up and smiled at me, over the top of her rose bush,"
He went quite, his eyes staring at nothing. "And?" I urged him.
"And I got this strange feeling, right in the pit of my stomach."
"Like butterflies, you mean?"
"A swarm of them more like. But it wasn't a bad feeling, it was brilliant." He paused. "And I'm afraid that's all I can tell you. Anything else you want to know about love you can find in a film. Although they do tend to go a little overboard."
"Who goes overboard?" I jumped, spilt my coffee and turned to see who was in the doorway. Hornet giggled and moved over to sit at the table. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."
"It's OK." I mumbled as Victor grabbed some kitchen roll and started to clean up my coffee.
"Anyway, who goes overboard?" Repeated Hornet.
"The movies." Said Victor.
"About what?"
Victor glanced at me before speaking. "Everything. Have you ever seen a modest movie?"
Hornet frowned, but seemingly agreed as she didn't question it again. Instead she went to make herself some toast.
An hour or so later and everybody was awake and sat around the kitchen table eating their breakfast. I was on my second cup of coffee which wasn't helping my mind calm down. Since Victor had told me how he felt when Ida looked at him, my brain had been working overtime, trying to remember if I'd ever felt a swarm in my stomach when Autumn looked at me.
"I don't think anybody should go out today." Commented Ida, leaning her head on Victor's shoulder, her eyes still half closed from sleep.
"No, definitely not. Let everything calm down today and I'll go out early in the morning, see if the Savage's are still on the hunt." He agreed, stealing a bite of Bo's toast to which the young boy poked his tongue out.
After breakfast everybody disappeared into various rooms of the house, leaving me alone in the kitchen, I placed my empty coffee mug in the sink and went to find someone to sit with. Riccio was in the garden practicing his new hand-stand skill, Mosca and Bo playing tag around him. Prosper and Hornet, who thought nobody knew where they were, were sitting by a pond in Ida's vast garden surrounded by overgrows grass, were cuddling and kissing, making the most of being alone. Ida was in her darkroom developing some new photos and Victor was in the living room reading the newspaper. That only left Autumn, who I still hadn't found. I made my way up the stairs that lead into Ida's attic, which she'd now converted into a study, only to hear music. I continued silently up the stairs and sat down on the top step, from which I could see Autumn, sat with her guitar, humming softly along with her strumming. Soon after, she started to sing along.
"The art of suicide, nightgowns and hair, curls flying every which way. The pain too pure to hide. Ridges of size, meant to conceal lover's lies." She shifted in her chair so I moved down one step, ensuring I was completely out of sight. "Under the arches of moonlight and sky, suddenly easy to contemplate why, why. Why live a life, that's painted with pity and sadness and strife? Why dream a dream, that's tainted with trouble and less than it seems? Why bother bothering, just for a poem or another sad song to sing? Why live a lie? Why live a lie?" I listened intently to her lyrics, hoping to god that this was a song she'd written back in England with the Savages. Surely she didn't feel the same now. "The art of suicide, gritty and clean, conveys a theatrical scene. Alas, 'I've gone' she cried, ankles displayed, melodramatically laid. Under the arches of moonlight and sky Suddenly easy to contemplate why, why. Why live a life, that's painted with pity and sadness and strife? Why dream a dream, that's tainted with trouble and less than it seems? Why bother bothering, just for a poem or another sad song to sing? Why live a lie? Why live a lie? Why live a life. that's painted with pity and sadness and strife? Why dream a dream, that's tainted with trouble and less than it seems? Why bother bothering, just for a poem or another sad song to sing? Why live a lie? Why live a lie? Why live a lie? Why live a lie?" I snuck a peek around the top of the stairs but she had her back to me. I moved back to my original place at the top. "Life is not like gloomy Sunday, with a second ending when the people are disturbed. Well they should be disturbed, because there's a story that ought to be heard. Life is not like gloomy Sunday, with a second ending when the people are disturbed. Well they should be disturbed, because there's a lesson that really ought to be learned. The world is full of poets we don't need world is full of singers we don't need world is full of lovers we don't need anymore." She finished her song but didn't move. "You can come in you know." She said, quietly.
"Sorry." I mumbled, standing up and starting to walk over to her. "I shouldn't have stayed."
"It's fine." I sat down in a chair beside her, drumming my fingers on the arm in the awkward silence. "I wrote it back in England. After I'd been living with the Savages for half a year."
"So...you thought about suicide?" I looked up at her as she looked down at her feet.
"Sometimes. When things were really bad."
"Did you ever..."
"No, I never tried. But the thought that I could if I wanted to made it easier for me to cope with Jackson."
There was another silence. I thought about what would happen if she decided to try it now. What would Bo and Prop, who'd only just got their friend back, do? My stomach dropped and I felt like I was going to be sick. What would I do, after all she's helped me with? "Do you still think about it?"
"Not since I arrived at the Stellar." A small smile played on her lips and her stormy eyes flicked up to mine. And that's when everything Victor had said, suddenly made sense to me. My stomach still had the queasy feeling but not of something bad, more as if I'd just got off an amazing roller coaster and was still slightly dizzy from the loop-the-loop. I smiled back, unable to stop myself.
"Shall we go see what everyone's up to, then?" She said, placing her guitar down and heading for the stairs.
"Yeah, sure." I followed her into the garden still in a slight daze, knowing now that I love her.
A/n - The song is 'The Art Of Suicide' by Emilie Autumn.