CHAPTER 5
LONDON, ENGLAND AWFULLY STRANGE PLACE
Wendy placed a silencing finger upon her lips as she bared the door, gazing through it with a single eye, making sure the way was abandoned. Slowly, she took a diminutive step forwards, grabbing Peter's forearm, leading them both into the chilly corridor.
As she stepped, a single board moaned at her from under her bare foot. The girl cringed visibly, sucking air in through her teeth.
After tarrying a moment only to find herself inclining her ear towards the tedious stillness, she pressed forwards, moving to catch another board under her toes. Wendy's foot, captured nothing but air.
Her eyes widened in surprise, and a warm hand came swiftly upright, trapping the gasp seeping through the girl's lips in its firm embrace.
Regaining herself at once, she turned abruptly, regarding the soul behind her with severity. He simply flashed her an amused smirk that she quickly squelched, pointing her slender finger towards the earth sternly.
"Down!" she mouthed.
Peter Pan or not, he was in her household under her roof. Therefore, she was determined that he would abide by the simple rule that would help mend his wounds, even if she eventually had to nail him to the floor to keep him grounded.
"Peter," she whispered.
The boy rolled his eyes, huffing in his bemusement.
"I know, No Flying."
As much as she didn't want to, she could not help herself as an unmistakable pout crept across his face, dotting his eyes with its flamboyancy. She dissolved in soft giggles that sounded like a cool summer wind. Peter stared at her, his pout only growing at the jeering.
He hadn't gotten his way this time. Oh and how he hated when he wasn't given his way.
"Oh Peter, you haven't changed a bit have you?"
He gazed at her complacently,
"Besides the obvious?!" he snapped, rather indignantly, his demeanor shifting to a somewhat hazy shade of gray and Wendy could only assume he was referring to his physical appearance.
Wendy shook her head lightly, eyes of pity fixed firmly on his face.
"Oh Peter, there is so much out there you can do with your feet on the ground, that you can't do in the air. So much satisfaction to be had by doing things a more complex way then the ordinary so that it becomes extraordinary. You can not live your life by always doing things the easy way." She murmured kindly.
Peter's eyes blinked at this in bewilderment, as if the thought had never crossed his mind before and to this, she did not reserve doubt.
"They can in Neverland."
"Oh Peter, you forget, You are not in Neverland right now and things work very differently here then they do there."
Wendy took a few more creak less steps, gliding her feet across as if she were in the mist of a waltz. Peter watched in fascination as she stepped over panels she knew to moan under her weight, avoiding them all as if she had done this very same dance a hundred times before. She gazed back at him expectantly, waiting for him from the otherside.
"Ok Peter, now its your turn." She encouraged, giving a little nod in his direction. As she had released his arm, Peter, took pain-staking care to mind each step, her foot strived to make, then dared to mimic them all without taking a single foot more then three inches in the air. Half way across, his bare foot slipped, wandering slightly onto a mahogany board that just dared him to come a little further into its layer. He waved his arms to and fro, desperately trying to maintain his balance as well as keep his feet firmly on the ground, not in the air. This had to be one of the most troublesome, thorns in the flesh that he had ever experienced and he almost sunk to the floor in frustration yet, he found this strangely exhilarating. At long last, the boy had crossed the labyrinth of boards, making it to the other side with out so much of a squeak. Silently, Wendy's eyes traveled around the dimly lit passage way, trying to get acquainted with the en-adequacy of light. Once again, her hand wrapped around Peter's forearm, pulling him along with her. Her fingertips grazed the wall, defining her point of origin. She was just scanning the staircase, squinting her eyes for a closer perspective when suddenly the door adjacent to her bed room was tussled open, a figure beginning to emerge from its opening. The girl's eyes grew as big as fine china plates, and with lightening motion, she shoved Peter vigorously into the nursery. The boy went flying, ungracefully and un-purposefully mind you, onto the nursery floor, skidding to a halt with his face imbedded into the carpet. Mr. Darling appeared only mere seconds later, wiping his face with a cool white cloth to clear the excess lather of his shaving soap. At seeing his daughter's expression, he halted, placing a curious eye upon her.
"Why Wendy, are you alright? You look positively piqued."
"Oh no father!" she assured. "I am not. I was just shocked by your sudden appearance, I, I thought everyone was still asleep.
"Child, its 8:00 Wednesday morning, there is work to be done and no time for extra slumber." He mused seriously, regaining his fatherly voice. "I must head to work, have a good day and do try to stay out of mischief. Propriety my dear. You must remember this for you have a societal standing to uphold."
"Yes father." She replied automatically, her eyes drifting down cast to clash with a gray storm cloud and a clap of thunder awaiting at the bottom.
Mr. Darling patted Wendy's head before disappearing down the staircase. She gazed after him, a deep disquiet burning in her soul. It was, in so many words, always the same, Propriety and a sense of duty. This is what was expected out of any respectable and ordinary English woman. The only draw back was, Wendy was not ordinary in the least and whether her father or brother was aware of it or not, they were trying desperately to throw her right along into the mold every other woman was mixed up with. Because of her difference, it was severely bruising her heart.
Moments later, she collected herself once again, striding to the nursery before peeping cautiously inside.
"Peter." She whispered.
Silence lingered through the musty air, until finally, a mass of unruly blonde curls poked their way out from under John's bed. Wendy couldn't help but giggle as she helped him to his feet, pulling him to the ground again when his feet began to jet upwards. The duo continued back into the hall, and down the stairs, finding themselves in the entryway, just a hair-breath from the dining room where Mrs. Darling was longingly peering out the huge bay window as she darned a pair of bright blue socks.
It was about this time that John and George Darling had left for work while, little Michael had trotted off to school, leaving house empty to all but Mrs. Darling, Wendy Darling, a strange boy arrayed in a grouping of what appeared to be fig leaves, the Darling's long time servant, Liza who always busy scurrying to and fro and known for her long hours spent prattling with herself while tinkering about the house, and, then there was Nana, a devote canine who was at one point, the children's nurse and sole protector and caretaker.
Wendy peeked her nose around the corner, while not nearly enough to be conspicuous, though just enough to be able to observe her mother's actions with clarity. Peter's head poked out just above the girl's, he as well, watching the older woman's finger work her knitting needles, with such haste that you almost had to concentrate rigorously, to keep up with them. They reminded him of the motions of fairies and for the first time, since his most recent flight out of Neverland, he thought of Tink. He hadn't really forgotten her, oh no. For despite what people may say, or how the stories have been told, Peter had an outstanding memory, he just chose to forget a great many things, but we shall discuss more on this particular subject later. For no apparent reason, the twin needles stopped their motion, in mid stroke. Mrs. Darling glanced up at that door way, leading out to the drawing room. What she saw, shocked her beyond belief.
"Goodness gracious me!" she exclaimed, gazing in perplexity at the younger teen standing in her presence.
Now Wendy had not expected her companion to make such a boisterous appearance, although she shouldn't have been too terribly surprised, for that was his way. However, she blinked despite it all, returning her attention to the bewildered mother in her front.
"Um...Mother, I am sorry to intrude upon you, I did not at all mean to astonish you! You see, this is Michael's friend from Canterbury."
Mrs. Darling could only stare at the lad, eyes inspecting at great length the leaves and vines wrapping around the body in front of her, leaving him clad in almost nothing, his attire covering mostly from his waist down to his knee caps, every thing else bare to the wind, including a great portion of broading chest.
"His name is Peter, Peter Pan...ing. Peter Panning."
Peter's head turned towards Wendy, just staring at her, the thoughts running through his mind plainly written across the clear crystal glass on the waves of his infernal emerald sea. It was as if they were calling out in a puzzled tone....
'Panning?!'
"How do you do?"
Mrs. Darling, a respectful woman, extended a hand, shaking Peter's politely. However, she was still gazing at her daughter in expectancy. Wendy was thankful that everyone else, especially her father and John, had work to be done for that day. Her mother had a well of patience which seemed to run so deep, you could never find where its roots ended. Knowing well her father would have roused a million and one question towards the current situation for, unlike his wife, he had no equanimity for these sorts of situation and he would have flung off the deep end. As it was, she would have to face his vengeance that very evening, and at least she would be given time to amend things.
Now as we all know, Wendy was very good at story telling, and now, she advantageously used her talent to concoct a brilliantly believable story in which she was sure her mother could or might not resist. Peter proved to be from the Canterbury countryside, born and raised. Mrs. Darling had met his parents at a party six years prior, but only for an instant, they hadn't however met the Panning's son, Peter. Michael, who was about the age of ten or eleven at the time, had gotten acquainted with the boy, and therefore, they had become good friends, staying in contact when they could. Now, Peter was only child, with no family other then his parents and an uncle who lived in Shire. Now his only aunt, who was his mother's dear, dear sister, had most recently passed away at a moments notice, from the flu. His parents had to rush off to the America's where she had once lived. Peter very well couldn't be troubled to come along, after all, there was always his studies to consider and therefore, they dropped him in London at a strict boarding school a few days prior. Here he was expected to stay, until they returned at the end of the week. Mrs. Darling, became quite entranced with his tale, the tender spot in her heart, overflowing for him with gentle kindness. Wendy quickly explained that it was Michael that had accustomed Peter with their address in case the lad should decide to call upon them if he ever got a free moment from the Hillshire boarding school, in which Wendy craftily added, knowing well her mother's venom towards the head mistress, for Wendy herself had once attended that very school and she found herself quite the subject to many of the head mistress' ill placed ridicules. The girl's eyes sparkled deviously, as she could see her mother's skin prickle, antagonized by the smoothly spoken words. Peter had just come from a mask, which was the very reason he was now clad with his current attire. He had ran Hillshire and refused to go back. His reason, which was one among many, was simply this, he had but one satchel, it contents, Three sets of clean clothes, a comb and his costume for the mask. When he had returned that very day, he found all in a smoldering heap at the foot of his bed. Anger rising, he took to the streets of London, in hopes of finding some other form of shelter. Therefore, in this conclusion, it was only proper that he stay as an honored guest in their home, under their roof until his parents returned; that way, he would no longer be subject to this cruelty. At the end of Wendy's masterfully woven story, Mrs. Darling rose from the rocking chair by her fire place, which kindled with golden embers, burning with all the strength of her heart that she was to give to Peter, no question of his innocence in the back of his mind. She was a very generous woman with an incredibly kind heart. The kind of sweet lady, that would give and give, until, she had nothing left for one to take and then, she would give some more...Wendy knew that if she could cleave a piece of her own heart for every child, even though it would mean that she would eventually parish, she would do it without bating an eye, from the goodness deep within her soul and her hidden kiss.
"Oh you poor dear, sweet boy, you must have gone through such an ordeal. You must stay here, you are more then welcome in our home and you may stay as long as you'd like, we'd be more then blessed to have you! You could sleep in the nursery with John and Michael and Wendy is right down the hall if you need anything. I am sure you can barrow some of Michael or John's clothes, you look about their size. Oh I do insist you stay, I wont allow you to leave with out your answer being yes! Oh please say you'll stay?" she gushed gently, her eyes glowing with the colors of the rainbow on a cloudy day after a spring rain.
For the first time, in a very long time, the boy was rendered genuinely speechless. He blinked his mouth agape. This lady, this woman, so kind...she was a mother. Peter didn't understand it, he had thought all mothers were malevolent things but her, Wendy's mother, she was different, and she would take him in at a seconds notice.
He hadn't wanted it to happen, oh no. For, if it did come about, it would hurt his pride oh how it would hurt his pride, which could be, under just the right circumstances, easily bruised, however Peter was not given that option, and whether he liked it or not, he felt his heart melt inside his chest, old feelings, long since forgotten whispering to him with their tickling yet, taunt tongues. Whispering of a past, whose embers have faded, but may be rekindled if his heart so desired it....she..., she reminded him of someone...long ago.
Suddenly, he didn't feel so cocky, or arrogant, or mischievous for that matter. In fact he felt...rather small. It was because of this perhaps, that he could not say what any prideful one would say, or perhaps it was something else and if that was the case we all know, Peter would never openly admit it. Instead, he took a small, humble, step forwards, eyes gazing upon her beauty innocently.
"Yes...I'll stay."
Peter had returned to himself at the top of the stairs, following Wendy towards the nursery to fit him with a new wardrobe. Wendy turned perplexed, facing the sneer curling the side corner of his mouth, the twinkling roguery hidden amidst his child like eyes, beckoning to her playfully as they always did when they searched for an adventure. Her thoughts rolled back and forth as the mystery of Peter Pan, began to immerse her deeper into its web then she already was. Why, in that splint instance, it was almost as if a certain longing had grabbed a hold of him from somewhere inside, calling out for an answer but to this, he had denied himself and she brooded about it analytically.
"Hey, I forgot how good you were at making up stories." He complimented with a wink.
All previous thoughts fled from the mist clouding her mind and she grinned at him, her eyes lit like a thousand watts. Wendy shut the door behind her so their voices could not drift to the ears of her mother below.
"Thank you Peter."
Then of course came exactly what she expected to hear utter out of his mouth, though it did surprise her that he complimented her first.
"Oh the cleverness of me!"
"Oh and I suppose I did nothing?" she asked, in a mockingly vexed tone.
Peter shrugged, playing along perfectly with each beat for each knew that these had been the exact words exchanged the night they had met, so many moons ago.
"You did a little."
Wendy giggled fully, riffling, first through Michael's possessions, pulling a pair of gray knickers and a clean white shirt from a draw, then through John's pulling another white shirt and a pair of black trousers.
"I have no idea if these will fit you or not but you can try them on. I will wait outside, call me when you are ready." She instructed, laying the garments across the bed.
She ignored his glare, closing the door behind her. Once alone, he tossed the sharp glare at the pile of clothing, peering at them with a look of such disgust. He regarded them as though they were laced with venomous snakes, ready to sink their deadly poisonous fangs into luscious human flesh. Now there is something you must know about the snakes in Neverland, they are evil creatures, not the evil portrayed in the world in which we live, no indeed, they are most wicked of wicked creatures, consumed in every drop of malice and malevolence surrounding the entirety of creation itself. Why, even Peter Pan, the boy who has but one fear, steers clear of their path, taking to flight quickly if he is unluckily spotted by one. For I warn you, if they were to sink their razor daggers into your flesh, it is said, it would unleash its very own form of Pandora's box into your body, ravaging it with its bitter hate through your veins, watching your flesh rot from your bones, before gnashing them to powder! Not the friendliest of creatures, which was the very reason Peter was glaring at the clothing in front of him, baring his pearly whites sinisterly. Michael's shirt cam first, over his leafy tunic but he found the garment frightfully tight in all the wrong places. His shoulders stretched past the seam more then they were suppose to, the arms of the shirt, were much to short and the rode up to his the mid cast of his forearm. The bottom fringe of his shirt, also rode up, slight exposing the base of his stomach. In disgust, he flung the offensive article from his body to where it landed across a dusty cutlass amongst the opposite side of the room. He growled at the second shirt, which was John's, slipping it quickly over his head, musing his curls in the process. This shirt as quite the opposite from the first, it was too big. The shoulders drooped low, sagging to the base of his shoulder blade, the arms extended at least three inches past his finger tips, while the bottom fringe of the shirt hung so low, it hugged his thighs loosely. With his hands defiantly on his hips, his brows furrowed in great annoyance, he strode over to the chest draws lining the wall under the gas lamp. He forcefully pulled one after another open, snatching all the contents out of their safety leaving them to his mercy, which he didn't easily give, and they soon found themselves stroon all across the Victorian carpet. Indignantly, Peter huffed into his hair, causing it to draft upwards. Nothing fit properly. He had removed his own garments, desperately trying, but in vain, to fit into the gray knickers that were at least two sizes too small and while he did try on John's trousers, they proved to be several sizes too big. So, miffed, Peter replaced his pants around his hips, cursing the pile of wretched garments in a tongue that sounded oddly like Latin. Sitting on the bed, hands folded in his lap, he called out to Wendy in quite the peeved tone.
"Wendy!"
The girl's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when she came face to face with the room's disarray which only moments ago had proved positively unblemished. Her eyes fell to Peter who was pouting darkly, hands firmly folded across his chest. She realized he was wearing John's shirt, which was not at all his size, and that both bottom garments had been discarded in mangled heap near his bare feet, noting he was still wearing his woven shorts.
She sighed shaking her head sympathetically, the boy looked utterly and completely helpless.
"Don't worry about the mess, I am sure Liza can tidy it up a bit."
"I'm not worried about it!" he snapped back.
Wendy ignored it, knowing he was frustrated beyond belief and she didn't blame him. This was all so new to him. But it was not just that, it was the very new ground, he swore never to tread again, the stormy layer of the beast called...Man. Peter was unmistakably frightened and Wendy promised herself in that moment that she would do everything in her power to get him safely back to the world he belonged to as soon as she possibly could. However at the moment, neither had the luxury of this option and both knew it. In a short time from that moment Wendy would wishing this same thing a hundred fold, and yet that adventure hasn't yet begun.
"Peter, I am going to take you down town to a fascinating Department store and have you fitted with your very own attire!" Wendy said excitedly, her eyes lighting so bright, they looked as though she had two pixies trapped behind their walls.
While Wendy had very little money, she felt it a noble cause and a wonderful way to help a friend in need...even though he didn't know that he was in need. It mattered not to, that he would only be staying for an abbreviated period. For Wendy, this was the least she could do to help make his stay a little bit more comfortable.
Peter just gazed at her ignorantly.
"Department Store?"
"Why yes Peter, a clothing department." Wendy mused, pulling some of the rumpled clothing from the floor boards.
Peter rose a brow, gazing at her stiffly, a trifle shade of light pink blowing across the tips of his ears as he watched her. While most would be feel a twinge of guilt for the mess littered about, Peter's mouth was drawn into a snarl, a gurgle arising from the base of his throat, the sight of the disheveled garments making him nauseous.
"What is wrong with these?" he snarled, pointing at his shorts.
Wendy, softly laid the material in her fingertips on the brass-bound trunk as she kindly sat down beside him on the bed. She placed a gentle arm across the top of the younger boy's shoulders.
"Peter, in this world, in this place, there are so many things that are not like they are in the Neverlands. There is society, propriety and you must play along by its rules. For you, I know this to be difficult for you are so use to being like the wind. Things are not easy here like they are there for London is the city of..."
"Grown-ups."
Wendy sighed, closing her eyes.
"All children grow up, Peter, all but one. However, while you are in this city, this time, you are at the mercy of its rules, Peter what you don't understand is that if you bend or break one of these rules, you can't get away with it...London wont let you and she is quite harsh to her children at times."
Peter snorted angrily, turning away.
"That is why I hate London!"
Peter abruptly stood, shirking the arm away. He strode to a full length mirror situated in the corner between Michael and John's twin dressers.
A figure stared back him, blue-green pools boiling through the glass sheen, causing his countenance to become dark, casting the handsome youthful vibrancy in the mist of shadows. The glaring at the mirror said: Peter Pan, with hands firmly established upon his slender hips, feet spread firmly apart. However, the reflection in the mirror's reply betrayed his ego, revealing the under lying ground thought running in the back of his mind.
Peter felt his eyes sting, a dull pain throbbing through the back of the retinas. Peter bit his lip hard, squashing the notion arising in his chest. Wendy couldn't help but feel anything but pity for the poor soul, lost, confused and utterly terrified of this big world he had forgotten all about and what it was like to live here. Why, he was no more then a frightened child.
She thought she could hear small sobs, escaping his chest, but his haughty pride got the better of him and his eyes sparkled with the same radiating aura of stubbornness as always, shoving, shoving, shoving until he had buried the spiraling feelings deeper into that well of dormant thoughts and long since forgotten emotions. Wendy silently padded up behind him, encircling her arms around the broad side of his chest. All propriety fled from her thoughts as she hugged him tightly against her body, squeezing her eyes from the miserable world, shedding the tears he could not.
Now Peter Pan wasn't easily impressed. Why in fact, only a hand full of things had every really truly struck his fancy. The most important, of course, being Wendy, and all the mystery that surrounded her persona. An aura of gentle kindness attached to a heat that sought adventure but chose to live in the cold regiment of London's rules. He supposed the second was his own brood of lost boys, who never questioned a word that he spoke, they just did it regardless. They never threw anything in his face, always agreeing with his back ideas and...he always got his way, no matter what. Now arrogant as he was, Peter had to admit, even to himself that it was the Captain of the Jolly Roger, James Hook, that impressed him with his diligence and determination to do him in. That had always fascinated him, more then frightened him. The captain would never give up, not once, but this was a bad thing for Peter, it only fed his already enormous ego, causing him to feel as though invincible. But Peter was far from it and Hook had taken advantage of this little snag of his personality on more then one occasion. Now, it was something entirely new that had captivated the Never boy's attention so gallantly that Wendy could only watch in amazement as his eyes roamed the tall buildings, his mouth agape in absolute awe at the structures. Observing keenly, their architect and grandeur. The white washed brick aligned so perfectly to create a master piece in one setting, each building being so intricately woven together to bring like two lovers, forming them into a whole city. The carriage pulled to a halt and Peter immediately, jumped out, standing erect in front of quite the tall building, at least five stories high, causing the boy to become dizzy when he glanced all the way up. He hadn't realized how spectacularly enormous everything seemed to be all around him though the dense foggy air, after all, he was so use to the aerial view with feeling of the wind wrapping his entire body in its embrace, him giving him the sense of freedom from all, and invincibility. But now, now, he felt...small, oh so small. Wendy quickly followed her eager companion onto the busy street. She could feel her face flush with anger as she watched a few passer bys glare at the oddly dressed boy scornfully. Though, Wendy couldn't really blame them. Here it was, in the dead of winter, no warmer then 8*C, and here this boy, is standing, in a cream colored tunic, made from a gossamer material that was almost see through. More of a night shirt really, though Wendy hadn't caught that particular detail until just that precise moment. He was wearing, what appeared to be some sort of knickers, but they just didn't make the cut. They were an odd looking material, made from what appeared to be...leaves?! He wore no tights, lest leaving his legs bare to the mercy of the harsh frigid air around them. His feet were bare as well. Wendy had desperately tried, in vain mind you, to persuade Peter to wear a pair of John's shoes, but alas, the lad had almost screamed at the top of his lungs, wishing to let the whole world know just how set he was in his way about all this and that no shoe sole would confine his feet to a leather imprisonment! Of course Peter seemed oblivious to this now as he just stood there like the stone statues lining the way of the slate tiled flooring, gazing up at the building in front of him called.
Marion's
Peter glanced over at Wendy, a finger pointing towards the building.
"What is that place?"
The girl simply smiled, smoothing her emerald cloak with a hand.
"That's Marion's Department Store." She informed, stepping close, looping her arm securely through his elbow.
She leaned closer to his ear whispering that if any one asked, he was Michael's friend Peter Panning from the Canterbury countryside. Peter reluctantly agreed. He was getting sick of playing this part. Now, this should have been first indication of things to come however, at the moment, everything seemed to allude him.
Slowly, the duo mounted the stairs, shuffling inside out of the bitter winter chill. They were greeted by a woman in whom appeared to be middle aged. Wendy roughly guessed about thirty-eight. She was an elegant woman, who wore her hair back in a tight bun. Her black skirts hung loosely around her body, swishing this way and that every time she turned. She had a soft delicate voice and gazed at them curiously through her worn hazel orbs.
"Welcome to Marion's." she acknowledged, striding swiftly up to the duo in her graceful manner, flashing them a compassionate smile.
She introduced herself as Mrs. Gail Whitmore, the curator over most of the store. Wendy was very much pleased to hear this for, her deep feelings were that of a womanly nature and she wished nothing more then to be viewed as an equal to mankind in this society, just as Peter had in Neverland.
Mrs. Whitmore seemed not in the slightest bit troubled over the disheveled appearance of the boy standing in front of her. Instead, she smiled gallantly, inclining her head ever so slightly at her customer.
"Goodness child," she whispered towards the boy, her tone soft like that of which a mother would speak fondly to her own child. "You must be frightfully chilled, let us get you fitted into something more pleasant.
Of course how could the woman know that Peter was comfortable as he was? Well, at least as comfortable as he could be for the moment. That was her first mistake. He had absolutely no desire to slip behind the scarlet curtain the woman was now holding open for him. Her second would be when the words 'Young Man,' rolled across her tongue, striking his ears bitterly and he clenched his teeth together fiercely. But with the kindness of her tone, he found his anger melting into an ambiance and he quickly found he could not bring the protest seeping up into the back of his throat to the surface of air.
He glanced at Wendy, a look of doubt crystal clear with in the depths of his glassy eyes. But she nodded in reassurance, ushering him with a simple gesture to comply. He sighed, glancing at the curtain apprehensively, before mustering courage and taking a step behind it.
Mrs. Whitmore let the curtain drop instantly, turning to face the other woman.
"Alright then, let us see what we can find for the boy. I shall have to alight him with something quite handsome for he is a truly handsome lad." She stated forwardly and Wendy found her cheeks paring a rosy hue at the statement.
Mrs. Whitmore chose a pair of tartan trousers, black in shade. She also chose four pairs of knickers. Two navy, one gray and yet another beige. There were also three tunics, all a desert cream, that almost matched the color of a sparrow's egg exactly. Finally, there were two pairs of stockings, one gray the other cream. Wendy watched in fascination as the older woman carried the armful of garments to the fitting room, placing them one the top of the curtain rod.
Wendy heard a chain of words bellow from Peter's tongue, sounding much like Latin once again, and she was sure they were not pleasant phrases. Her heart churned with in her chest as she held an amused giggle at the boy.
One by one, every stitch of clothing given to the boy, came vaulting back over the rod, landing in a miserable hip on the plushy carpeted floor. All with exception to a few articles which moments later would appear once he pulled the curtain back.
Wendy, who had been holding her cloak slung carelessly over an arm, now dropped it too the floor, her eyes completely focused on the unreal sight before her...Peter Pan was no where to be found except in the sea green eyes which, were at the moment, stony cold.
He wore the pair of gray knickers that had been provided for him. Just under the cuff of the knee, the cream stockings now covered his longer legs, hiding the copper tan from so many summer months flying through the sun. He wore a double breasted woolen gray over coat, hiding the cream shirt beneath, all except for the color white, in which stood emboldened proudly, like it would around the neck of every other English gentleman.
Wendy almost faulted, the image she was so use to seeing being gone from the existence of this world, banished to this society. She adverted her eyes, hiding the tumulus guilt portrayed with in their realm of blue.
"Ah wonderful!" Mrs. Whitmore chortled, clapping her hands excitedly. "Those garments fit you marvelously!"
She turned towards a second rack, pulling a gray chapeau for his head, immersing his nest of beautiful golden curls beneath its stiff brim. And although it did try to snuff out the magic of extraordinary that made Peter's existence a reality, it could not, for the sharp spears of vibrancy shot out from underneath like rays of sunlight. His brilliant eyes, smoldering indignantly at the ordinary all around him.
Wendy smiled realizing, London could never take him in its fetters, he was too wild, and too untamable for the city to even comprehend. A boy on a different level then its majesty was and Wendy had a feeling that it was going to resent him for that. Peter's hands found their solitary place on his hips as Mrs. Whitmore fitted his feet for shoes. He growled at the restrictive black boots being laced at that moment, but said not a word, only holding his smug gaze. When the woman finished, she stood appraising her charge. A smile crept to her face, as she saw her task complete.
"A fine English gentleman indeed." She coed.
Peter's face darkened, eyes becoming masked darts spiraling in twists of thrones and thistles, veining upwards together, meeting in a web of thick brambles, and he silently shot them at the woman. Wendy knew that glare all too well and she quickly paid, tearing Peter from the store before he could think of acting upon the rash actions she knew to be brewing inside his head.
Peter's mood hadn't lightened in the slightest by the time they had found themselves bathed in the sunlight of the pristine out doors. Wendy sighed looping an arm around her childhood friend. A thousand apologies swirling through her mind.
"Peter, it's a nice day, what do you say we walk back to the house?"
Peter glanced at her, his dark eyes falling upon her and she quickly turned from the bitter hate brewing in them.
"I want to go home."
Wendy and Peter walked a few more moments in utter silence. It was a cold icy silence to begin with, one that shattered the air around them, making every living thing run in fear, and hide in its burrows. But as they progressed in their strides, each bringing them closer to the 14th house, so did the air, lifting around them, its denseness growing sparse as the foulness in the aura dissipated, until it became lite and fluffy.
By the time a carriage had spotted them, and pulled to a stop along their side, Peter's eyes were glowing with his boyish spunk, the playfulness and mischief infectiously spreading to Wendy and it was not long before the two were chatting gaily as if they had been doing so from the very beginning. They now looked up to see who it was intruding upon their joyous stroll.
Sydney Wade grinned brilliantly, his chocolate orbs glowing in the amber light bathing the trio. His arms opened, as a gay laughter broke forth from his chest.
"Wendy Darling!" he cried, as if he hadn't at all been expecting to see her roaming about.
The girl's eyes widened gleefully.
"Sydney!"
An astonished hand flew to her chest as she just watched him. When she realized she was gawking, her mouth closed and she smiled. He enveloped her lovingly into his embrace, holding her with in the warm of his body, so that she closed her eyes, relishing it. He pulled back, staring into her eyes softly, a gentle thumb rubbing across the jawbone of her chin. He leaned forwards, kissing her mouth lightly, in the most gentlemen like fashion, finishing his greeting with a lingering sweetness.
Peter's eyes widened in astonishment, his mouth falling a tad, a side of Wendy he had never seen to comprehend now unfolding before his very eyes. Suddenly, the boy felt hot even though the air around him was cool as it was beginning to lightly snow. A discomfort banging in his chest and he tugged restlessly at his restricting collar.
"It is wonderful to see you dear!" he told her, now clasping her hands in his own.
She grinned lightly. She couldn't lie, it was nice to see him to but the presence now, was a trifle thick.
"It is lovely to see you as well." She said pointing in Peter's direction. "This is Michael's friend from Canterbury, Peter Panning. Peter, this is my friend Sydney Wade."
"How do you do Peter?" Sydney asked gallantly, reaching a hand out for the lad to shake and, after a moment, Peter accepted, for Peter could be quite the well mannered boy if he really wanted to, it was just most of the time he felt it an utter waist to expending energy.
However, for Wendy, Peter didn't so much and suddenly, things weren't just a waist of time, they became worth being done."
"Just fine Mr. Wade."
"Peter is staying in London for a few days before returning to Canterbury," Wendy added, looping her arm around Sydney's in the way she had with Peter's. "I wanted to take him to the see the city before he leaves." She explained.
Sydney smiled, nodding towards the girl.
"Very well then. Are you sure you want to be walking alone on the streets Wendy, after all London is not the safest place in the world for a young woman."
She held up a gloved hand.
"I am sure all will be well Sydney." She chided appreciatively. "Thank you though. I do appreciate you concern."
He gazed lovingly at her, shaking his head lightly.
"My adventurous girl...very well. Be sure to stay out of dark alley's." he told her, kissing her cheek lightly again, before tipping his hat at Peter.
He stopped a moment, turning towards the girl one last time.
"Oh Wendy, I have arranged a dinner with you parents for the eve of Friday, I do dreadfully hope this is not an inquisition to you in anyway." He asked, suddenly quite concerned.
She grinned shaking her head ferverently. "Oh not in the least Sydney! You know I would love your company very much as well as I am sure the boys!"
Sydney placed his top hat back a top his head once again, a wash of relief flittering about his face.
"Oh wonderful, then Friday it is." He glanced over at the boy who once again was tossed in stony silence. "It was such a pleasure to meet you Mr. Panning. I do hope our paths cross again and if they do not, I hope your journey back to Canterbury, is a safe one."
Then he was gone, back into the carriage, disappearing down the slick cobblestone street, until he was out of their sight, fleeing around the end corner of Cheery Tree Ln.
Peter's eyes fell upon Wendy as they continued their trek, now passing a grove of trees at the edge of Kensington Gardens. An easterly wind swirled the deadened leaves of the grounds in a ring of motion, scattering them about the cobble stone path, leading to a simple statue of a man playing a pipe, gazing at passer bys with a curious shimmer dusting the amber reflection of light dancing shadows behind his eyes. It was as if he would stare straight through you, to the core of your being, to the well of your soul, noting the pool of sorrow that every human carries with him. Neither could have known then, that this mystical place would become such a pivotal piece in their progressing journey in the near future. But then again how could they have guessed that Peter would have ever lost his way through the stars as well? The thought would have passed through a sift, dying on the tongue of the flame that brought it into the world. So it was, that as they passed, they gave it no further thought, in fact, they didn't even acknowledge the barren place was in their sight at all. In fact, they just continued their like prattling together, as old friends tend to do, catching up on everything. The duo soon found themselves strolling up to a corner street vender, selling Smoked sausage links, wrapped in a breaded bun. Wendy requested the man be so polite to fit her with two and the short, black moustached, hotdog peddler more then happily complied.
"Thar ya be lass."
She hand him three pence before leading Peter across the bustling carriage line street to the courtyard of St. Paul's cathedral, which had been completed in 1711 A.D.. It was a marvelous structure that Wendy had journeyed to several times during her life time. She would play in its courtyards as a child or in the summer months, pick wild blackberries from its hang gardens lining the walkway leading to the main chapel. Now, returning as an adult, she would come every so often to sit on the benches scattered here and there, under the saints and apostles just watching the pigeons and doves roost in the top lofts of its towering spires. On some occasions, she would spy an older woman with a bag of bird seed sitting aloft the top step, tossing hand fulls of grain to any bird circling the masses. Sometimes, she would join her. Presently, Wendy and Peter, sat on a stone bench situated under Saint Peter. Of course Wendy had decided not to discuss this with Peter for she had a feeling he would ask what a Saint was and after she explained, he would crow at the top of his lungs, his ego getting the better of him and he would brag about the dear St. being named after him or some silly nonsense such as that. Wendy reached out towards the lad, handing him the hotdog. He glared at it skeptically.
"What is that thing?!" "That would be a hotdog." She replied, taking a ladylike bite of the wrapped flesh, dabbled with a bit of hot mustard. "Hotdog?"
Wendy nodded, swallowing her bite before going into deeper explanation of what exactly it was, its origin and all that drabble that Peter was concerned not in the least about. Instead, Wendy's voice faded from his ears as he stared curiously at the hunk of meet before his eyes. He blinked once, lifting the log, squinting at it from all angles. He held it to his nose cautiously, before his head shot backwards, away from the vile thing and he almost dropped it. It smelled of rotting flesh. "What is that thing?!" He repeated in disgust.
Wendy laughed, shaking her head.
"Peter, just try it."
The boy gulped, gazing at the miserable meat in his hand again, then back up at Wendy who seemed to be enjoying her meal very much, treating it very much like it were some sort of treat. He tossed her a sharp look before squeezing his eyes closely tightly, as if he was about to under go the most insidious of events in the history of all human kind. He took a fair bite, clamping his teeth onto his victim harshly.
After a second, an eye opened slowly, finding its way over to Wendy. He chewed once. He chewed twice. His other eye opened, as his chewing grew more rapid in pace and Wendy smiled.
"See, its not so bad now is it?"
Peter responded by taking a gigantic bite, chewing with exuberance.
"So, you call this thing a hotdog?"
Wendy recoiled, a beguiled look twisting her features from their usual beautiful glow as she watched the food, became mashed to bits in the realms of Peter's mouth.
"Yes. But these are not real hotdogs you know?" she mused, taking another bite.
"They're not?"
Wendy paused, wishing to kick herself for not committing to memory Peter's ignorance to a great many things. Of course he would not recollect!
"Oh no indeed! These are mere imitations comparatively speaking. Hotdogs originated here in London but it was America that perfected them. There is a place, known as Coney Island, just off the coast of New York, that is an amusement Park. They sell hotdogs that are a foot long and fresh ice cream right out of churning. Oh, I do dream of journeying there some day. T'would be a grand adventure."
Peter rose a brow, delaying in the bite he was currently immersed in.
"Then why don't you just go?" he mused, through the bun and Wendy stifled a giggle.
"Oh Peter," she sighed, her head dropping towards the gray slate bellow their feet. "I wish I could. However, I have a societal position to uphold, and these things are just not allowed to the lady status in our world. Its not par with the status quo." She explained to the best of her ability.
Peter's eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing with a familiar indignency.
"Well that's just not fair!" he snapped, his voice frightfully vengeful.
"But, Peter, nothing in our world, on all scrolls, tablets, manuscripts and documents, does it say that life is fair. This is just the way things are and, well, I have come to accept It." She paused before adding. "I've had to."
The never boy just stared at her blankly. How could she not see the injustice in all of this?! Why was she being so calm?!...Why did she have to grow up?! These questions screamed at him over and over again, and he felt a subtle rage pique through out his veins, coursing through his soul like the tongue of a consuming fire, igniting everything in its path.
"Because of my station, I am expected to marry and become a good house wife for my future husband. Respectful, and submissive. These are my duties as a female."
"Poppy-cock!" Peter spat with passion. "If you go to Neverland then you never have to worry about it again! Not ever!"
Wendy's lips curled into a soft smile as she scooted a little closer to her friend, grabbing his hands in hers.
"If I journeyed to Neverland right now with the intentions of leaving it all behind, then I would be running from it, from life itself, and I...I am tired of running Peter."
The boy immediately tore away from Wendy's grasp, casting his eyes from hers.
"You see Peter, I stopped trying to find ways to shirk the responsibility a long time ago for, as I grew in body, so I did also in my mind. It's ok though. I look forwards to the prospect of being married, I really do. I would love to raise a small family here in London." She admitted genuinely.
Peter's head swiveled sharply, as if it were to fly from his shoulders. His eyes were hard, all the fun loving mischief retreating into the mist of a receding pool through swirling his vision at that moment and a dark cloud filled its spot, settling on the girl in front of him.
"You sound like a grown-up!!" he snapped coldly.
"Peter, that is what I am..." she whispered, her eyes pooling with unshed crystals. "All children grow up in their own due time...I was not then, nor am I now any exception to that rule and I believe you knew that all along, even when you took us along with you for the adventure."
Silence ensued momentarily before Wendy caught a slight nod from the lad, even though she had a suspicious feeling that it was a rare treasure she was not suppose to have seen.
"So was that friend of yours...."
"He was indeed my fiancé. I am to be married to Sydney." Wendy informed, before suddenly gazing at the ground once again, shaking her head sadly. "I just wish I returned his affections for him in the same fashion he bestows them upon Me." she confided.
Peter frowned. As young and as ignorant as the lad seemed, he wasn't at all, at least not in most cases. Naive perhaps, but not in the least ignorant. He understood perfectly what she was saying to him.
"You do not love him?"
She looked at him in astonishment before shaking her head in denial.
"Only as an uncle. He has been a friend of our family's for years. I have never viewed him as anything more nor anything degrading. But, Sidney is a good man and despite this small flaw, I know he will take good care of me, he'll encourage me to be myself and he will love me. I, in time, am sure to reciprocate the feelings."
Peter had to swallow the lump building with in his through, as his thoughts became a spiraling whirlwind of pictures, each painted together to form a mural that just didn't quite make sense, they were swirling too fast.
Her hotdog now finished, she rose, extending her had towards her charge. "Shall we, it is getting rather late in the day."
Peter slowly, took it, following her lead as the pages of this conversation and subject flipped shut, closing the book, the key turning firmly in its lock and the only key hung around Wendy's throat, where she tucked it away out of sight...out of mind.
Once again, the conversation became light and fluffy and the duo reminisced on their adventures together, while Peter told her of others he had experienced before and after she had come to the island. They had been walking so gaily that neither had noticed they entered into a darkened ally way until three boys, one appearing roughly Peter's age while the other two seemed several years older, stood amidst them, directly in their path.
"'ello." The oldest chortled, an unpleasant glimmer etching his cold emerald orbs. "What is that likes of a lady doing back 'ere in the domain of the ally goers? Don't you know there could be trouble?"
Wendy's eyes widened, her heart beating furiously inside her chest at the sense of danger, plummeting itself to a pit of terror and the icy fingers of fear gripped her spine. As the boys advanced, Peter instinctively tossed Wendy behind him protectively, his eyes never parrying with the oldest, whom he knew to be the leader and the most concern out of the bunch.
His dark eyes met Wendy's harshly, capturing them in their harsh radiance so that she could not break free and a hideous grin formed the corners of his mouth.
"And there is no one to hear you scream."
LONDON, ENGLAND AWFULLY STRANGE PLACE
Wendy placed a silencing finger upon her lips as she bared the door, gazing through it with a single eye, making sure the way was abandoned. Slowly, she took a diminutive step forwards, grabbing Peter's forearm, leading them both into the chilly corridor.
As she stepped, a single board moaned at her from under her bare foot. The girl cringed visibly, sucking air in through her teeth.
After tarrying a moment only to find herself inclining her ear towards the tedious stillness, she pressed forwards, moving to catch another board under her toes. Wendy's foot, captured nothing but air.
Her eyes widened in surprise, and a warm hand came swiftly upright, trapping the gasp seeping through the girl's lips in its firm embrace.
Regaining herself at once, she turned abruptly, regarding the soul behind her with severity. He simply flashed her an amused smirk that she quickly squelched, pointing her slender finger towards the earth sternly.
"Down!" she mouthed.
Peter Pan or not, he was in her household under her roof. Therefore, she was determined that he would abide by the simple rule that would help mend his wounds, even if she eventually had to nail him to the floor to keep him grounded.
"Peter," she whispered.
The boy rolled his eyes, huffing in his bemusement.
"I know, No Flying."
As much as she didn't want to, she could not help herself as an unmistakable pout crept across his face, dotting his eyes with its flamboyancy. She dissolved in soft giggles that sounded like a cool summer wind. Peter stared at her, his pout only growing at the jeering.
He hadn't gotten his way this time. Oh and how he hated when he wasn't given his way.
"Oh Peter, you haven't changed a bit have you?"
He gazed at her complacently,
"Besides the obvious?!" he snapped, rather indignantly, his demeanor shifting to a somewhat hazy shade of gray and Wendy could only assume he was referring to his physical appearance.
Wendy shook her head lightly, eyes of pity fixed firmly on his face.
"Oh Peter, there is so much out there you can do with your feet on the ground, that you can't do in the air. So much satisfaction to be had by doing things a more complex way then the ordinary so that it becomes extraordinary. You can not live your life by always doing things the easy way." She murmured kindly.
Peter's eyes blinked at this in bewilderment, as if the thought had never crossed his mind before and to this, she did not reserve doubt.
"They can in Neverland."
"Oh Peter, you forget, You are not in Neverland right now and things work very differently here then they do there."
Wendy took a few more creak less steps, gliding her feet across as if she were in the mist of a waltz. Peter watched in fascination as she stepped over panels she knew to moan under her weight, avoiding them all as if she had done this very same dance a hundred times before. She gazed back at him expectantly, waiting for him from the otherside.
"Ok Peter, now its your turn." She encouraged, giving a little nod in his direction. As she had released his arm, Peter, took pain-staking care to mind each step, her foot strived to make, then dared to mimic them all without taking a single foot more then three inches in the air. Half way across, his bare foot slipped, wandering slightly onto a mahogany board that just dared him to come a little further into its layer. He waved his arms to and fro, desperately trying to maintain his balance as well as keep his feet firmly on the ground, not in the air. This had to be one of the most troublesome, thorns in the flesh that he had ever experienced and he almost sunk to the floor in frustration yet, he found this strangely exhilarating. At long last, the boy had crossed the labyrinth of boards, making it to the other side with out so much of a squeak. Silently, Wendy's eyes traveled around the dimly lit passage way, trying to get acquainted with the en-adequacy of light. Once again, her hand wrapped around Peter's forearm, pulling him along with her. Her fingertips grazed the wall, defining her point of origin. She was just scanning the staircase, squinting her eyes for a closer perspective when suddenly the door adjacent to her bed room was tussled open, a figure beginning to emerge from its opening. The girl's eyes grew as big as fine china plates, and with lightening motion, she shoved Peter vigorously into the nursery. The boy went flying, ungracefully and un-purposefully mind you, onto the nursery floor, skidding to a halt with his face imbedded into the carpet. Mr. Darling appeared only mere seconds later, wiping his face with a cool white cloth to clear the excess lather of his shaving soap. At seeing his daughter's expression, he halted, placing a curious eye upon her.
"Why Wendy, are you alright? You look positively piqued."
"Oh no father!" she assured. "I am not. I was just shocked by your sudden appearance, I, I thought everyone was still asleep.
"Child, its 8:00 Wednesday morning, there is work to be done and no time for extra slumber." He mused seriously, regaining his fatherly voice. "I must head to work, have a good day and do try to stay out of mischief. Propriety my dear. You must remember this for you have a societal standing to uphold."
"Yes father." She replied automatically, her eyes drifting down cast to clash with a gray storm cloud and a clap of thunder awaiting at the bottom.
Mr. Darling patted Wendy's head before disappearing down the staircase. She gazed after him, a deep disquiet burning in her soul. It was, in so many words, always the same, Propriety and a sense of duty. This is what was expected out of any respectable and ordinary English woman. The only draw back was, Wendy was not ordinary in the least and whether her father or brother was aware of it or not, they were trying desperately to throw her right along into the mold every other woman was mixed up with. Because of her difference, it was severely bruising her heart.
Moments later, she collected herself once again, striding to the nursery before peeping cautiously inside.
"Peter." She whispered.
Silence lingered through the musty air, until finally, a mass of unruly blonde curls poked their way out from under John's bed. Wendy couldn't help but giggle as she helped him to his feet, pulling him to the ground again when his feet began to jet upwards. The duo continued back into the hall, and down the stairs, finding themselves in the entryway, just a hair-breath from the dining room where Mrs. Darling was longingly peering out the huge bay window as she darned a pair of bright blue socks.
It was about this time that John and George Darling had left for work while, little Michael had trotted off to school, leaving house empty to all but Mrs. Darling, Wendy Darling, a strange boy arrayed in a grouping of what appeared to be fig leaves, the Darling's long time servant, Liza who always busy scurrying to and fro and known for her long hours spent prattling with herself while tinkering about the house, and, then there was Nana, a devote canine who was at one point, the children's nurse and sole protector and caretaker.
Wendy peeked her nose around the corner, while not nearly enough to be conspicuous, though just enough to be able to observe her mother's actions with clarity. Peter's head poked out just above the girl's, he as well, watching the older woman's finger work her knitting needles, with such haste that you almost had to concentrate rigorously, to keep up with them. They reminded him of the motions of fairies and for the first time, since his most recent flight out of Neverland, he thought of Tink. He hadn't really forgotten her, oh no. For despite what people may say, or how the stories have been told, Peter had an outstanding memory, he just chose to forget a great many things, but we shall discuss more on this particular subject later. For no apparent reason, the twin needles stopped their motion, in mid stroke. Mrs. Darling glanced up at that door way, leading out to the drawing room. What she saw, shocked her beyond belief.
"Goodness gracious me!" she exclaimed, gazing in perplexity at the younger teen standing in her presence.
Now Wendy had not expected her companion to make such a boisterous appearance, although she shouldn't have been too terribly surprised, for that was his way. However, she blinked despite it all, returning her attention to the bewildered mother in her front.
"Um...Mother, I am sorry to intrude upon you, I did not at all mean to astonish you! You see, this is Michael's friend from Canterbury."
Mrs. Darling could only stare at the lad, eyes inspecting at great length the leaves and vines wrapping around the body in front of her, leaving him clad in almost nothing, his attire covering mostly from his waist down to his knee caps, every thing else bare to the wind, including a great portion of broading chest.
"His name is Peter, Peter Pan...ing. Peter Panning."
Peter's head turned towards Wendy, just staring at her, the thoughts running through his mind plainly written across the clear crystal glass on the waves of his infernal emerald sea. It was as if they were calling out in a puzzled tone....
'Panning?!'
"How do you do?"
Mrs. Darling, a respectful woman, extended a hand, shaking Peter's politely. However, she was still gazing at her daughter in expectancy. Wendy was thankful that everyone else, especially her father and John, had work to be done for that day. Her mother had a well of patience which seemed to run so deep, you could never find where its roots ended. Knowing well her father would have roused a million and one question towards the current situation for, unlike his wife, he had no equanimity for these sorts of situation and he would have flung off the deep end. As it was, she would have to face his vengeance that very evening, and at least she would be given time to amend things.
Now as we all know, Wendy was very good at story telling, and now, she advantageously used her talent to concoct a brilliantly believable story in which she was sure her mother could or might not resist. Peter proved to be from the Canterbury countryside, born and raised. Mrs. Darling had met his parents at a party six years prior, but only for an instant, they hadn't however met the Panning's son, Peter. Michael, who was about the age of ten or eleven at the time, had gotten acquainted with the boy, and therefore, they had become good friends, staying in contact when they could. Now, Peter was only child, with no family other then his parents and an uncle who lived in Shire. Now his only aunt, who was his mother's dear, dear sister, had most recently passed away at a moments notice, from the flu. His parents had to rush off to the America's where she had once lived. Peter very well couldn't be troubled to come along, after all, there was always his studies to consider and therefore, they dropped him in London at a strict boarding school a few days prior. Here he was expected to stay, until they returned at the end of the week. Mrs. Darling, became quite entranced with his tale, the tender spot in her heart, overflowing for him with gentle kindness. Wendy quickly explained that it was Michael that had accustomed Peter with their address in case the lad should decide to call upon them if he ever got a free moment from the Hillshire boarding school, in which Wendy craftily added, knowing well her mother's venom towards the head mistress, for Wendy herself had once attended that very school and she found herself quite the subject to many of the head mistress' ill placed ridicules. The girl's eyes sparkled deviously, as she could see her mother's skin prickle, antagonized by the smoothly spoken words. Peter had just come from a mask, which was the very reason he was now clad with his current attire. He had ran Hillshire and refused to go back. His reason, which was one among many, was simply this, he had but one satchel, it contents, Three sets of clean clothes, a comb and his costume for the mask. When he had returned that very day, he found all in a smoldering heap at the foot of his bed. Anger rising, he took to the streets of London, in hopes of finding some other form of shelter. Therefore, in this conclusion, it was only proper that he stay as an honored guest in their home, under their roof until his parents returned; that way, he would no longer be subject to this cruelty. At the end of Wendy's masterfully woven story, Mrs. Darling rose from the rocking chair by her fire place, which kindled with golden embers, burning with all the strength of her heart that she was to give to Peter, no question of his innocence in the back of his mind. She was a very generous woman with an incredibly kind heart. The kind of sweet lady, that would give and give, until, she had nothing left for one to take and then, she would give some more...Wendy knew that if she could cleave a piece of her own heart for every child, even though it would mean that she would eventually parish, she would do it without bating an eye, from the goodness deep within her soul and her hidden kiss.
"Oh you poor dear, sweet boy, you must have gone through such an ordeal. You must stay here, you are more then welcome in our home and you may stay as long as you'd like, we'd be more then blessed to have you! You could sleep in the nursery with John and Michael and Wendy is right down the hall if you need anything. I am sure you can barrow some of Michael or John's clothes, you look about their size. Oh I do insist you stay, I wont allow you to leave with out your answer being yes! Oh please say you'll stay?" she gushed gently, her eyes glowing with the colors of the rainbow on a cloudy day after a spring rain.
For the first time, in a very long time, the boy was rendered genuinely speechless. He blinked his mouth agape. This lady, this woman, so kind...she was a mother. Peter didn't understand it, he had thought all mothers were malevolent things but her, Wendy's mother, she was different, and she would take him in at a seconds notice.
He hadn't wanted it to happen, oh no. For, if it did come about, it would hurt his pride oh how it would hurt his pride, which could be, under just the right circumstances, easily bruised, however Peter was not given that option, and whether he liked it or not, he felt his heart melt inside his chest, old feelings, long since forgotten whispering to him with their tickling yet, taunt tongues. Whispering of a past, whose embers have faded, but may be rekindled if his heart so desired it....she..., she reminded him of someone...long ago.
Suddenly, he didn't feel so cocky, or arrogant, or mischievous for that matter. In fact he felt...rather small. It was because of this perhaps, that he could not say what any prideful one would say, or perhaps it was something else and if that was the case we all know, Peter would never openly admit it. Instead, he took a small, humble, step forwards, eyes gazing upon her beauty innocently.
"Yes...I'll stay."
Peter had returned to himself at the top of the stairs, following Wendy towards the nursery to fit him with a new wardrobe. Wendy turned perplexed, facing the sneer curling the side corner of his mouth, the twinkling roguery hidden amidst his child like eyes, beckoning to her playfully as they always did when they searched for an adventure. Her thoughts rolled back and forth as the mystery of Peter Pan, began to immerse her deeper into its web then she already was. Why, in that splint instance, it was almost as if a certain longing had grabbed a hold of him from somewhere inside, calling out for an answer but to this, he had denied himself and she brooded about it analytically.
"Hey, I forgot how good you were at making up stories." He complimented with a wink.
All previous thoughts fled from the mist clouding her mind and she grinned at him, her eyes lit like a thousand watts. Wendy shut the door behind her so their voices could not drift to the ears of her mother below.
"Thank you Peter."
Then of course came exactly what she expected to hear utter out of his mouth, though it did surprise her that he complimented her first.
"Oh the cleverness of me!"
"Oh and I suppose I did nothing?" she asked, in a mockingly vexed tone.
Peter shrugged, playing along perfectly with each beat for each knew that these had been the exact words exchanged the night they had met, so many moons ago.
"You did a little."
Wendy giggled fully, riffling, first through Michael's possessions, pulling a pair of gray knickers and a clean white shirt from a draw, then through John's pulling another white shirt and a pair of black trousers.
"I have no idea if these will fit you or not but you can try them on. I will wait outside, call me when you are ready." She instructed, laying the garments across the bed.
She ignored his glare, closing the door behind her. Once alone, he tossed the sharp glare at the pile of clothing, peering at them with a look of such disgust. He regarded them as though they were laced with venomous snakes, ready to sink their deadly poisonous fangs into luscious human flesh. Now there is something you must know about the snakes in Neverland, they are evil creatures, not the evil portrayed in the world in which we live, no indeed, they are most wicked of wicked creatures, consumed in every drop of malice and malevolence surrounding the entirety of creation itself. Why, even Peter Pan, the boy who has but one fear, steers clear of their path, taking to flight quickly if he is unluckily spotted by one. For I warn you, if they were to sink their razor daggers into your flesh, it is said, it would unleash its very own form of Pandora's box into your body, ravaging it with its bitter hate through your veins, watching your flesh rot from your bones, before gnashing them to powder! Not the friendliest of creatures, which was the very reason Peter was glaring at the clothing in front of him, baring his pearly whites sinisterly. Michael's shirt cam first, over his leafy tunic but he found the garment frightfully tight in all the wrong places. His shoulders stretched past the seam more then they were suppose to, the arms of the shirt, were much to short and the rode up to his the mid cast of his forearm. The bottom fringe of his shirt, also rode up, slight exposing the base of his stomach. In disgust, he flung the offensive article from his body to where it landed across a dusty cutlass amongst the opposite side of the room. He growled at the second shirt, which was John's, slipping it quickly over his head, musing his curls in the process. This shirt as quite the opposite from the first, it was too big. The shoulders drooped low, sagging to the base of his shoulder blade, the arms extended at least three inches past his finger tips, while the bottom fringe of the shirt hung so low, it hugged his thighs loosely. With his hands defiantly on his hips, his brows furrowed in great annoyance, he strode over to the chest draws lining the wall under the gas lamp. He forcefully pulled one after another open, snatching all the contents out of their safety leaving them to his mercy, which he didn't easily give, and they soon found themselves stroon all across the Victorian carpet. Indignantly, Peter huffed into his hair, causing it to draft upwards. Nothing fit properly. He had removed his own garments, desperately trying, but in vain, to fit into the gray knickers that were at least two sizes too small and while he did try on John's trousers, they proved to be several sizes too big. So, miffed, Peter replaced his pants around his hips, cursing the pile of wretched garments in a tongue that sounded oddly like Latin. Sitting on the bed, hands folded in his lap, he called out to Wendy in quite the peeved tone.
"Wendy!"
The girl's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when she came face to face with the room's disarray which only moments ago had proved positively unblemished. Her eyes fell to Peter who was pouting darkly, hands firmly folded across his chest. She realized he was wearing John's shirt, which was not at all his size, and that both bottom garments had been discarded in mangled heap near his bare feet, noting he was still wearing his woven shorts.
She sighed shaking her head sympathetically, the boy looked utterly and completely helpless.
"Don't worry about the mess, I am sure Liza can tidy it up a bit."
"I'm not worried about it!" he snapped back.
Wendy ignored it, knowing he was frustrated beyond belief and she didn't blame him. This was all so new to him. But it was not just that, it was the very new ground, he swore never to tread again, the stormy layer of the beast called...Man. Peter was unmistakably frightened and Wendy promised herself in that moment that she would do everything in her power to get him safely back to the world he belonged to as soon as she possibly could. However at the moment, neither had the luxury of this option and both knew it. In a short time from that moment Wendy would wishing this same thing a hundred fold, and yet that adventure hasn't yet begun.
"Peter, I am going to take you down town to a fascinating Department store and have you fitted with your very own attire!" Wendy said excitedly, her eyes lighting so bright, they looked as though she had two pixies trapped behind their walls.
While Wendy had very little money, she felt it a noble cause and a wonderful way to help a friend in need...even though he didn't know that he was in need. It mattered not to, that he would only be staying for an abbreviated period. For Wendy, this was the least she could do to help make his stay a little bit more comfortable.
Peter just gazed at her ignorantly.
"Department Store?"
"Why yes Peter, a clothing department." Wendy mused, pulling some of the rumpled clothing from the floor boards.
Peter rose a brow, gazing at her stiffly, a trifle shade of light pink blowing across the tips of his ears as he watched her. While most would be feel a twinge of guilt for the mess littered about, Peter's mouth was drawn into a snarl, a gurgle arising from the base of his throat, the sight of the disheveled garments making him nauseous.
"What is wrong with these?" he snarled, pointing at his shorts.
Wendy, softly laid the material in her fingertips on the brass-bound trunk as she kindly sat down beside him on the bed. She placed a gentle arm across the top of the younger boy's shoulders.
"Peter, in this world, in this place, there are so many things that are not like they are in the Neverlands. There is society, propriety and you must play along by its rules. For you, I know this to be difficult for you are so use to being like the wind. Things are not easy here like they are there for London is the city of..."
"Grown-ups."
Wendy sighed, closing her eyes.
"All children grow up, Peter, all but one. However, while you are in this city, this time, you are at the mercy of its rules, Peter what you don't understand is that if you bend or break one of these rules, you can't get away with it...London wont let you and she is quite harsh to her children at times."
Peter snorted angrily, turning away.
"That is why I hate London!"
Peter abruptly stood, shirking the arm away. He strode to a full length mirror situated in the corner between Michael and John's twin dressers.
A figure stared back him, blue-green pools boiling through the glass sheen, causing his countenance to become dark, casting the handsome youthful vibrancy in the mist of shadows. The glaring at the mirror said: Peter Pan, with hands firmly established upon his slender hips, feet spread firmly apart. However, the reflection in the mirror's reply betrayed his ego, revealing the under lying ground thought running in the back of his mind.
Peter felt his eyes sting, a dull pain throbbing through the back of the retinas. Peter bit his lip hard, squashing the notion arising in his chest. Wendy couldn't help but feel anything but pity for the poor soul, lost, confused and utterly terrified of this big world he had forgotten all about and what it was like to live here. Why, he was no more then a frightened child.
She thought she could hear small sobs, escaping his chest, but his haughty pride got the better of him and his eyes sparkled with the same radiating aura of stubbornness as always, shoving, shoving, shoving until he had buried the spiraling feelings deeper into that well of dormant thoughts and long since forgotten emotions. Wendy silently padded up behind him, encircling her arms around the broad side of his chest. All propriety fled from her thoughts as she hugged him tightly against her body, squeezing her eyes from the miserable world, shedding the tears he could not.
Now Peter Pan wasn't easily impressed. Why in fact, only a hand full of things had every really truly struck his fancy. The most important, of course, being Wendy, and all the mystery that surrounded her persona. An aura of gentle kindness attached to a heat that sought adventure but chose to live in the cold regiment of London's rules. He supposed the second was his own brood of lost boys, who never questioned a word that he spoke, they just did it regardless. They never threw anything in his face, always agreeing with his back ideas and...he always got his way, no matter what. Now arrogant as he was, Peter had to admit, even to himself that it was the Captain of the Jolly Roger, James Hook, that impressed him with his diligence and determination to do him in. That had always fascinated him, more then frightened him. The captain would never give up, not once, but this was a bad thing for Peter, it only fed his already enormous ego, causing him to feel as though invincible. But Peter was far from it and Hook had taken advantage of this little snag of his personality on more then one occasion. Now, it was something entirely new that had captivated the Never boy's attention so gallantly that Wendy could only watch in amazement as his eyes roamed the tall buildings, his mouth agape in absolute awe at the structures. Observing keenly, their architect and grandeur. The white washed brick aligned so perfectly to create a master piece in one setting, each building being so intricately woven together to bring like two lovers, forming them into a whole city. The carriage pulled to a halt and Peter immediately, jumped out, standing erect in front of quite the tall building, at least five stories high, causing the boy to become dizzy when he glanced all the way up. He hadn't realized how spectacularly enormous everything seemed to be all around him though the dense foggy air, after all, he was so use to the aerial view with feeling of the wind wrapping his entire body in its embrace, him giving him the sense of freedom from all, and invincibility. But now, now, he felt...small, oh so small. Wendy quickly followed her eager companion onto the busy street. She could feel her face flush with anger as she watched a few passer bys glare at the oddly dressed boy scornfully. Though, Wendy couldn't really blame them. Here it was, in the dead of winter, no warmer then 8*C, and here this boy, is standing, in a cream colored tunic, made from a gossamer material that was almost see through. More of a night shirt really, though Wendy hadn't caught that particular detail until just that precise moment. He was wearing, what appeared to be some sort of knickers, but they just didn't make the cut. They were an odd looking material, made from what appeared to be...leaves?! He wore no tights, lest leaving his legs bare to the mercy of the harsh frigid air around them. His feet were bare as well. Wendy had desperately tried, in vain mind you, to persuade Peter to wear a pair of John's shoes, but alas, the lad had almost screamed at the top of his lungs, wishing to let the whole world know just how set he was in his way about all this and that no shoe sole would confine his feet to a leather imprisonment! Of course Peter seemed oblivious to this now as he just stood there like the stone statues lining the way of the slate tiled flooring, gazing up at the building in front of him called.
Marion's
Peter glanced over at Wendy, a finger pointing towards the building.
"What is that place?"
The girl simply smiled, smoothing her emerald cloak with a hand.
"That's Marion's Department Store." She informed, stepping close, looping her arm securely through his elbow.
She leaned closer to his ear whispering that if any one asked, he was Michael's friend Peter Panning from the Canterbury countryside. Peter reluctantly agreed. He was getting sick of playing this part. Now, this should have been first indication of things to come however, at the moment, everything seemed to allude him.
Slowly, the duo mounted the stairs, shuffling inside out of the bitter winter chill. They were greeted by a woman in whom appeared to be middle aged. Wendy roughly guessed about thirty-eight. She was an elegant woman, who wore her hair back in a tight bun. Her black skirts hung loosely around her body, swishing this way and that every time she turned. She had a soft delicate voice and gazed at them curiously through her worn hazel orbs.
"Welcome to Marion's." she acknowledged, striding swiftly up to the duo in her graceful manner, flashing them a compassionate smile.
She introduced herself as Mrs. Gail Whitmore, the curator over most of the store. Wendy was very much pleased to hear this for, her deep feelings were that of a womanly nature and she wished nothing more then to be viewed as an equal to mankind in this society, just as Peter had in Neverland.
Mrs. Whitmore seemed not in the slightest bit troubled over the disheveled appearance of the boy standing in front of her. Instead, she smiled gallantly, inclining her head ever so slightly at her customer.
"Goodness child," she whispered towards the boy, her tone soft like that of which a mother would speak fondly to her own child. "You must be frightfully chilled, let us get you fitted into something more pleasant.
Of course how could the woman know that Peter was comfortable as he was? Well, at least as comfortable as he could be for the moment. That was her first mistake. He had absolutely no desire to slip behind the scarlet curtain the woman was now holding open for him. Her second would be when the words 'Young Man,' rolled across her tongue, striking his ears bitterly and he clenched his teeth together fiercely. But with the kindness of her tone, he found his anger melting into an ambiance and he quickly found he could not bring the protest seeping up into the back of his throat to the surface of air.
He glanced at Wendy, a look of doubt crystal clear with in the depths of his glassy eyes. But she nodded in reassurance, ushering him with a simple gesture to comply. He sighed, glancing at the curtain apprehensively, before mustering courage and taking a step behind it.
Mrs. Whitmore let the curtain drop instantly, turning to face the other woman.
"Alright then, let us see what we can find for the boy. I shall have to alight him with something quite handsome for he is a truly handsome lad." She stated forwardly and Wendy found her cheeks paring a rosy hue at the statement.
Mrs. Whitmore chose a pair of tartan trousers, black in shade. She also chose four pairs of knickers. Two navy, one gray and yet another beige. There were also three tunics, all a desert cream, that almost matched the color of a sparrow's egg exactly. Finally, there were two pairs of stockings, one gray the other cream. Wendy watched in fascination as the older woman carried the armful of garments to the fitting room, placing them one the top of the curtain rod.
Wendy heard a chain of words bellow from Peter's tongue, sounding much like Latin once again, and she was sure they were not pleasant phrases. Her heart churned with in her chest as she held an amused giggle at the boy.
One by one, every stitch of clothing given to the boy, came vaulting back over the rod, landing in a miserable hip on the plushy carpeted floor. All with exception to a few articles which moments later would appear once he pulled the curtain back.
Wendy, who had been holding her cloak slung carelessly over an arm, now dropped it too the floor, her eyes completely focused on the unreal sight before her...Peter Pan was no where to be found except in the sea green eyes which, were at the moment, stony cold.
He wore the pair of gray knickers that had been provided for him. Just under the cuff of the knee, the cream stockings now covered his longer legs, hiding the copper tan from so many summer months flying through the sun. He wore a double breasted woolen gray over coat, hiding the cream shirt beneath, all except for the color white, in which stood emboldened proudly, like it would around the neck of every other English gentleman.
Wendy almost faulted, the image she was so use to seeing being gone from the existence of this world, banished to this society. She adverted her eyes, hiding the tumulus guilt portrayed with in their realm of blue.
"Ah wonderful!" Mrs. Whitmore chortled, clapping her hands excitedly. "Those garments fit you marvelously!"
She turned towards a second rack, pulling a gray chapeau for his head, immersing his nest of beautiful golden curls beneath its stiff brim. And although it did try to snuff out the magic of extraordinary that made Peter's existence a reality, it could not, for the sharp spears of vibrancy shot out from underneath like rays of sunlight. His brilliant eyes, smoldering indignantly at the ordinary all around him.
Wendy smiled realizing, London could never take him in its fetters, he was too wild, and too untamable for the city to even comprehend. A boy on a different level then its majesty was and Wendy had a feeling that it was going to resent him for that. Peter's hands found their solitary place on his hips as Mrs. Whitmore fitted his feet for shoes. He growled at the restrictive black boots being laced at that moment, but said not a word, only holding his smug gaze. When the woman finished, she stood appraising her charge. A smile crept to her face, as she saw her task complete.
"A fine English gentleman indeed." She coed.
Peter's face darkened, eyes becoming masked darts spiraling in twists of thrones and thistles, veining upwards together, meeting in a web of thick brambles, and he silently shot them at the woman. Wendy knew that glare all too well and she quickly paid, tearing Peter from the store before he could think of acting upon the rash actions she knew to be brewing inside his head.
Peter's mood hadn't lightened in the slightest by the time they had found themselves bathed in the sunlight of the pristine out doors. Wendy sighed looping an arm around her childhood friend. A thousand apologies swirling through her mind.
"Peter, it's a nice day, what do you say we walk back to the house?"
Peter glanced at her, his dark eyes falling upon her and she quickly turned from the bitter hate brewing in them.
"I want to go home."
Wendy and Peter walked a few more moments in utter silence. It was a cold icy silence to begin with, one that shattered the air around them, making every living thing run in fear, and hide in its burrows. But as they progressed in their strides, each bringing them closer to the 14th house, so did the air, lifting around them, its denseness growing sparse as the foulness in the aura dissipated, until it became lite and fluffy.
By the time a carriage had spotted them, and pulled to a stop along their side, Peter's eyes were glowing with his boyish spunk, the playfulness and mischief infectiously spreading to Wendy and it was not long before the two were chatting gaily as if they had been doing so from the very beginning. They now looked up to see who it was intruding upon their joyous stroll.
Sydney Wade grinned brilliantly, his chocolate orbs glowing in the amber light bathing the trio. His arms opened, as a gay laughter broke forth from his chest.
"Wendy Darling!" he cried, as if he hadn't at all been expecting to see her roaming about.
The girl's eyes widened gleefully.
"Sydney!"
An astonished hand flew to her chest as she just watched him. When she realized she was gawking, her mouth closed and she smiled. He enveloped her lovingly into his embrace, holding her with in the warm of his body, so that she closed her eyes, relishing it. He pulled back, staring into her eyes softly, a gentle thumb rubbing across the jawbone of her chin. He leaned forwards, kissing her mouth lightly, in the most gentlemen like fashion, finishing his greeting with a lingering sweetness.
Peter's eyes widened in astonishment, his mouth falling a tad, a side of Wendy he had never seen to comprehend now unfolding before his very eyes. Suddenly, the boy felt hot even though the air around him was cool as it was beginning to lightly snow. A discomfort banging in his chest and he tugged restlessly at his restricting collar.
"It is wonderful to see you dear!" he told her, now clasping her hands in his own.
She grinned lightly. She couldn't lie, it was nice to see him to but the presence now, was a trifle thick.
"It is lovely to see you as well." She said pointing in Peter's direction. "This is Michael's friend from Canterbury, Peter Panning. Peter, this is my friend Sydney Wade."
"How do you do Peter?" Sydney asked gallantly, reaching a hand out for the lad to shake and, after a moment, Peter accepted, for Peter could be quite the well mannered boy if he really wanted to, it was just most of the time he felt it an utter waist to expending energy.
However, for Wendy, Peter didn't so much and suddenly, things weren't just a waist of time, they became worth being done."
"Just fine Mr. Wade."
"Peter is staying in London for a few days before returning to Canterbury," Wendy added, looping her arm around Sydney's in the way she had with Peter's. "I wanted to take him to the see the city before he leaves." She explained.
Sydney smiled, nodding towards the girl.
"Very well then. Are you sure you want to be walking alone on the streets Wendy, after all London is not the safest place in the world for a young woman."
She held up a gloved hand.
"I am sure all will be well Sydney." She chided appreciatively. "Thank you though. I do appreciate you concern."
He gazed lovingly at her, shaking his head lightly.
"My adventurous girl...very well. Be sure to stay out of dark alley's." he told her, kissing her cheek lightly again, before tipping his hat at Peter.
He stopped a moment, turning towards the girl one last time.
"Oh Wendy, I have arranged a dinner with you parents for the eve of Friday, I do dreadfully hope this is not an inquisition to you in anyway." He asked, suddenly quite concerned.
She grinned shaking her head ferverently. "Oh not in the least Sydney! You know I would love your company very much as well as I am sure the boys!"
Sydney placed his top hat back a top his head once again, a wash of relief flittering about his face.
"Oh wonderful, then Friday it is." He glanced over at the boy who once again was tossed in stony silence. "It was such a pleasure to meet you Mr. Panning. I do hope our paths cross again and if they do not, I hope your journey back to Canterbury, is a safe one."
Then he was gone, back into the carriage, disappearing down the slick cobblestone street, until he was out of their sight, fleeing around the end corner of Cheery Tree Ln.
Peter's eyes fell upon Wendy as they continued their trek, now passing a grove of trees at the edge of Kensington Gardens. An easterly wind swirled the deadened leaves of the grounds in a ring of motion, scattering them about the cobble stone path, leading to a simple statue of a man playing a pipe, gazing at passer bys with a curious shimmer dusting the amber reflection of light dancing shadows behind his eyes. It was as if he would stare straight through you, to the core of your being, to the well of your soul, noting the pool of sorrow that every human carries with him. Neither could have known then, that this mystical place would become such a pivotal piece in their progressing journey in the near future. But then again how could they have guessed that Peter would have ever lost his way through the stars as well? The thought would have passed through a sift, dying on the tongue of the flame that brought it into the world. So it was, that as they passed, they gave it no further thought, in fact, they didn't even acknowledge the barren place was in their sight at all. In fact, they just continued their like prattling together, as old friends tend to do, catching up on everything. The duo soon found themselves strolling up to a corner street vender, selling Smoked sausage links, wrapped in a breaded bun. Wendy requested the man be so polite to fit her with two and the short, black moustached, hotdog peddler more then happily complied.
"Thar ya be lass."
She hand him three pence before leading Peter across the bustling carriage line street to the courtyard of St. Paul's cathedral, which had been completed in 1711 A.D.. It was a marvelous structure that Wendy had journeyed to several times during her life time. She would play in its courtyards as a child or in the summer months, pick wild blackberries from its hang gardens lining the walkway leading to the main chapel. Now, returning as an adult, she would come every so often to sit on the benches scattered here and there, under the saints and apostles just watching the pigeons and doves roost in the top lofts of its towering spires. On some occasions, she would spy an older woman with a bag of bird seed sitting aloft the top step, tossing hand fulls of grain to any bird circling the masses. Sometimes, she would join her. Presently, Wendy and Peter, sat on a stone bench situated under Saint Peter. Of course Wendy had decided not to discuss this with Peter for she had a feeling he would ask what a Saint was and after she explained, he would crow at the top of his lungs, his ego getting the better of him and he would brag about the dear St. being named after him or some silly nonsense such as that. Wendy reached out towards the lad, handing him the hotdog. He glared at it skeptically.
"What is that thing?!" "That would be a hotdog." She replied, taking a ladylike bite of the wrapped flesh, dabbled with a bit of hot mustard. "Hotdog?"
Wendy nodded, swallowing her bite before going into deeper explanation of what exactly it was, its origin and all that drabble that Peter was concerned not in the least about. Instead, Wendy's voice faded from his ears as he stared curiously at the hunk of meet before his eyes. He blinked once, lifting the log, squinting at it from all angles. He held it to his nose cautiously, before his head shot backwards, away from the vile thing and he almost dropped it. It smelled of rotting flesh. "What is that thing?!" He repeated in disgust.
Wendy laughed, shaking her head.
"Peter, just try it."
The boy gulped, gazing at the miserable meat in his hand again, then back up at Wendy who seemed to be enjoying her meal very much, treating it very much like it were some sort of treat. He tossed her a sharp look before squeezing his eyes closely tightly, as if he was about to under go the most insidious of events in the history of all human kind. He took a fair bite, clamping his teeth onto his victim harshly.
After a second, an eye opened slowly, finding its way over to Wendy. He chewed once. He chewed twice. His other eye opened, as his chewing grew more rapid in pace and Wendy smiled.
"See, its not so bad now is it?"
Peter responded by taking a gigantic bite, chewing with exuberance.
"So, you call this thing a hotdog?"
Wendy recoiled, a beguiled look twisting her features from their usual beautiful glow as she watched the food, became mashed to bits in the realms of Peter's mouth.
"Yes. But these are not real hotdogs you know?" she mused, taking another bite.
"They're not?"
Wendy paused, wishing to kick herself for not committing to memory Peter's ignorance to a great many things. Of course he would not recollect!
"Oh no indeed! These are mere imitations comparatively speaking. Hotdogs originated here in London but it was America that perfected them. There is a place, known as Coney Island, just off the coast of New York, that is an amusement Park. They sell hotdogs that are a foot long and fresh ice cream right out of churning. Oh, I do dream of journeying there some day. T'would be a grand adventure."
Peter rose a brow, delaying in the bite he was currently immersed in.
"Then why don't you just go?" he mused, through the bun and Wendy stifled a giggle.
"Oh Peter," she sighed, her head dropping towards the gray slate bellow their feet. "I wish I could. However, I have a societal position to uphold, and these things are just not allowed to the lady status in our world. Its not par with the status quo." She explained to the best of her ability.
Peter's eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing with a familiar indignency.
"Well that's just not fair!" he snapped, his voice frightfully vengeful.
"But, Peter, nothing in our world, on all scrolls, tablets, manuscripts and documents, does it say that life is fair. This is just the way things are and, well, I have come to accept It." She paused before adding. "I've had to."
The never boy just stared at her blankly. How could she not see the injustice in all of this?! Why was she being so calm?!...Why did she have to grow up?! These questions screamed at him over and over again, and he felt a subtle rage pique through out his veins, coursing through his soul like the tongue of a consuming fire, igniting everything in its path.
"Because of my station, I am expected to marry and become a good house wife for my future husband. Respectful, and submissive. These are my duties as a female."
"Poppy-cock!" Peter spat with passion. "If you go to Neverland then you never have to worry about it again! Not ever!"
Wendy's lips curled into a soft smile as she scooted a little closer to her friend, grabbing his hands in hers.
"If I journeyed to Neverland right now with the intentions of leaving it all behind, then I would be running from it, from life itself, and I...I am tired of running Peter."
The boy immediately tore away from Wendy's grasp, casting his eyes from hers.
"You see Peter, I stopped trying to find ways to shirk the responsibility a long time ago for, as I grew in body, so I did also in my mind. It's ok though. I look forwards to the prospect of being married, I really do. I would love to raise a small family here in London." She admitted genuinely.
Peter's head swiveled sharply, as if it were to fly from his shoulders. His eyes were hard, all the fun loving mischief retreating into the mist of a receding pool through swirling his vision at that moment and a dark cloud filled its spot, settling on the girl in front of him.
"You sound like a grown-up!!" he snapped coldly.
"Peter, that is what I am..." she whispered, her eyes pooling with unshed crystals. "All children grow up in their own due time...I was not then, nor am I now any exception to that rule and I believe you knew that all along, even when you took us along with you for the adventure."
Silence ensued momentarily before Wendy caught a slight nod from the lad, even though she had a suspicious feeling that it was a rare treasure she was not suppose to have seen.
"So was that friend of yours...."
"He was indeed my fiancé. I am to be married to Sydney." Wendy informed, before suddenly gazing at the ground once again, shaking her head sadly. "I just wish I returned his affections for him in the same fashion he bestows them upon Me." she confided.
Peter frowned. As young and as ignorant as the lad seemed, he wasn't at all, at least not in most cases. Naive perhaps, but not in the least ignorant. He understood perfectly what she was saying to him.
"You do not love him?"
She looked at him in astonishment before shaking her head in denial.
"Only as an uncle. He has been a friend of our family's for years. I have never viewed him as anything more nor anything degrading. But, Sidney is a good man and despite this small flaw, I know he will take good care of me, he'll encourage me to be myself and he will love me. I, in time, am sure to reciprocate the feelings."
Peter had to swallow the lump building with in his through, as his thoughts became a spiraling whirlwind of pictures, each painted together to form a mural that just didn't quite make sense, they were swirling too fast.
Her hotdog now finished, she rose, extending her had towards her charge. "Shall we, it is getting rather late in the day."
Peter slowly, took it, following her lead as the pages of this conversation and subject flipped shut, closing the book, the key turning firmly in its lock and the only key hung around Wendy's throat, where she tucked it away out of sight...out of mind.
Once again, the conversation became light and fluffy and the duo reminisced on their adventures together, while Peter told her of others he had experienced before and after she had come to the island. They had been walking so gaily that neither had noticed they entered into a darkened ally way until three boys, one appearing roughly Peter's age while the other two seemed several years older, stood amidst them, directly in their path.
"'ello." The oldest chortled, an unpleasant glimmer etching his cold emerald orbs. "What is that likes of a lady doing back 'ere in the domain of the ally goers? Don't you know there could be trouble?"
Wendy's eyes widened, her heart beating furiously inside her chest at the sense of danger, plummeting itself to a pit of terror and the icy fingers of fear gripped her spine. As the boys advanced, Peter instinctively tossed Wendy behind him protectively, his eyes never parrying with the oldest, whom he knew to be the leader and the most concern out of the bunch.
His dark eyes met Wendy's harshly, capturing them in their harsh radiance so that she could not break free and a hideous grin formed the corners of his mouth.
"And there is no one to hear you scream."