Chapter 7
The Tooth Fairy
A/N: I recently fixed errors in chapters 1, 3, and 6. My dad was kind enough to read and found a few things I had missed. I know this means nothing to all of you, because you're all the way to chapter 7 (applauds you all) but one of the most important errors, I think, was JMB's address. I just made up a random one - but I found a site that said he lived at 100 Bayswater Road in London. So there ya go.
Sorry this looks so long. I had to write a lot of review replies and the chapter wasn't exactly the shortest one I've written either.
Updates/Thoughts: So while I'm writing the cafe scene in Math the other day, my Math teacher YELLS AT ME...what's up with that? I was paying attention...to my story. GOSH. Anyway, I hope you people don't get mad at all the extra stuff I throw in the stories like the review replies and the long author notes and stuff...if you REALLY want me to, I can just put in little author notes and just the story if you want. (though I think it's all very fascinating) Oh man, I had the worst trouble typing 'Charles.' I put Charkes, Charled, Chaeles. Wow. I tried to type this fast, so I really hope there aren't any typos or anything the spell checker missed. Ari - look for a certain quote in here. You'll know what it is when you read it. The rest of you, read...
Inside: An excerpt and three stories.
BARRIEFACT: J. M. Barrie valued his privacy and was known to react violently when it was invaded. One day, a reporter materialized on his doorstep and, seeing Barrie at the door, said brightly, "Sir James Barrie, I presume?" "You do," Barrie replied, slammed the door, and disappeared.
OoOoO
NARRATOR: (in a whisper) The room is quiet, except for the steady, hypnotic tone of the oak clock on the wall. Zinschiel has strewn himself amidst piles and piles of music paper. Clearly asleep, though as anyone who knows a musician knows, he's not lacking the sweet treasure of a melody in his otherwise drowsy head.
The inn is small, and the walls are thin. A crash is heard from next door. (pot falls backstage) Possibly from a clumsy border in the house, coming home after a night of unsteady celebrating. Zinschiel awakens. (sits in chair in corner, spotlight moves to Zinschiel)
ZINSCHIEL: (pulls himself up from table, groggy, notices he had previously upset his inkwell on a blank pile of music paper, and hastens himself up from his chair, beginning to mop it up with a rag.) (mutters) Waste. (rubs his cheek) hm... (looks at his hand) Sticky. (gradually move front, center stage) What's this? Ink? I must have fallen asleep on my composition! (to table, picks up his music paper, turns it over to blank face of page, presses it to his cheek, and slowly peels it off) Just as I thought. (shakes head) Fool, I am! Lazy, just, I suppose. (sighs at paper) I must play in just two days before Sir del Prince. I most certainly do not wish to humiliate myself in front of he and the guests. I must attempt to get it off! (cross to dresser, soaks a cloth in a bowl of water, rubs face, and looks in mirror. He finds that it refuses to remove itself from his face.)
OoOoO
Monday
The weekend had gone extremely fast for all four of the boys, and for James as well. Saturday was spent setting up the boys' room mostly, making sure that not one thing was missed, or out of place. The walls were plain, and James itched from head to toe to slap some paint over the white, like he had done in Mary's room, every time he went in there. He was sure, though, that Mrs. du Maurier would be far from grateful for the act, and even more less allowing.
James had found Friday night that he had been given Sylvia's old room, which she had slept in when she was still living with her mother. He wondered if this was an act of kindness on Emma's part, or a way of forcing him to mourn more often, and think about the death of her daughter daily. He knew he didn't want to be just dropped into that mentality by the old woman, but didn't protest nonetheless. After all, he did despise her greatly, but she was still elder than he was and deserved respect like any other elder woman, and of course, she was the mother of the one he had loved for such a long time, until her grave departure not long ago.
Sunday morning, the six of them went to church. Emma declared that the boys had gotten out of the habit when moving in with James, who let them sleep in late on Sundays. That had been such a relief for the boys, as they hated sitting on those uncomfortable pews while the priest droned on for an hour. No one ever knew what he was saying, but came to church just to say that they prayed sometime that week. If you were lucky to hear bits of the Gospel, you could try and follow along, and Emma encouraged this. Michael, who sat next to James, kept looking up at him to see what his reaction to all this, but he just remained silent the entire hour, keeping his head down. He didn't mind going to church if he had to, and felt actually somewhat guilty that he hadn't been able to push himself to go every Sunday, but forcing the boys to pray? It was a bit much.
At the end of the service, Emma spotted a lady friend of hers, and stopped to chat with her. James and the boys waited on the stairs up to the church. Michael planted himself in front of James, and said angrily, "These suits are like cardboard! I can't move! Why didn't grandmother starch yours as well?" James smiled lightly, but otherwise made no response to the comment.
That night, after the boys were put to bed, James went downstairs to find Mrs. du Maurier. The conversation they had was much of loud whispers and occasional outbursts of voice-raising. James had scolded the woman, telling her to try and calm herself down and give the boys at least a chance to be boys, and not have to act like little men all the time. "You told me you wanted to respect your daughter's wishes. If I'm not mistaken, Sylvia cared just as much about her children as you do, and she would have wanted you to be a grandmother to them, and not a...a...a grumpy uncle." He turned on his heel and stomped upstairs. Upon getting there, he fetched Porthos from his room, locked he and the dog in the boys' room, and he slept on the window seat.
The next morning, Mrs. du Maurier stood near the banister, keeping quiet, watching James be a father to her grandchildren; giving them their lunches, making sure they had everything and were bundled up tight. Peter kept just as quiet as his grandmother, and James gave him Porthos's leash so that the dog could walk them to school. He'd be able to find his way home, James had said. Peter just clasped that leash tightly and was the first one to trudge down the snowy walk. The rest of the boys followed him, and Emma and James watched them until they disappeared up the road.
OoOoO
"I love the new ornament, James."
"Yes, well, not all of God's creatures are intelligent, Charles. Everyone else makes mistakes." Charles Frohman smiled, as he walked with James to the theater, swinging his cane at his side.
"No, I'm serious. It could be good for you. I wouldn't try to get it off."
"I've had it for a few days now. I'm surprised you didn't see it on Friday." James rubbed the words on his cheek subconsciously and watched a pair of boys run past him, attempting to catch a pigeon.
"Well, Friday was...it was noisy and dark, and...James?" James looked at Charles, who was gazing ahead of them, his face now serious.
"Why did you run off Friday?" he looked at the playwright, who now was the one to avoid eye contact. He was silent for a very long time, then looked down to watch his own cane hit the cobblestone.
"I'd rather not talk about it, Charles," he said quietly.
"No, I want to know. Why did you walk out on me on Friday?" James looked at Frohman.
"Just as you said, dark and noisy, that's all."
"Mm..."
"Just a wee bit too noisy."
"Right, James. I'll drop the subject for now."
"You won't regret it."
"I'm sure." Charles glanced to the right, and the two walked quietly for a while, listening to the sounds of the village. They walked past the bakery, then the music shop, and when hearing the sweet tune floating out the door into the streets, James smiled.
"I'm writing another play." Charles looked at his pocket watch.
"Are you? That's good, the more money I lose, the happier you'll be. It's always nice to know."
"What makes you think you'll lose on this one? You won't, I promise."
"You've promised me a lot of things. For the past ten years, you've promised me."
"And look at that - great scott, you got a box office hit out of it! I must have done something right."
"Of course you have. Let's hear it."
"You would have lost money getting new costumes for Peter Pan if you had decided to do so..."
"Let's hear it, James."
"Alright. Well, it takes place in Scotland, and this man comes to town who's a traveling musician. And he is to play for the birthday party of the most powerful tyrant in the town. And in the town, he meets this boy, who turns out to be a musician as well, and they just...bond together and become friends and the boy becomes the musician's inspiration, and they end up - "
"How many actors?" James paused.
"Well...there's Zinschiel Barber the fiddler - the traveling musician, and Sir George del Prince, the tyrant, and the boy, Jacob Bins, and the woman Zinschiel falls in love with, Harriet Laudsel, and she - "
"That's four. Anyone else?"
"Yes, a few more. And the narrator. Now at first I thought we'd need another actor for that part, but I later decided that I could act the part, and it would be like the playwright telling the story, and being actually a part of it."
"So you'll be up on stage." James nodded. "Interesting." Charles rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as James watched him with eager eyes, awaiting his producer's approval.
"Do you have a script?"
"It's not quite finished yet. But by the time Easter rolls around and Peter Pan is performed and cleaned up, I'm sure it'll be done by then.
"I think you've got something here, James. I'll go for it. Now remember, I'll need a list of characters, and I'll begin an open casting call in a week or so."
"An open casting call? What's wrong with our actors here?"
"Well...Nina is planning on moving East this summer. She'll be able to be in the production this Spring, but...And the boy, we'll need - now, is he younger or older?"
"An open casting call, Charles. We haven't resorted to that in years. What about Hilda? She can easily portray Harriet."
"She's retiring after this. And we're not resorting, James, we're - "
"But she's 32!" Charles stopped in front of the theater doors, giving the playwright a stern look.
"James," he said critically. "Trust me."
"Alright, open casting call."
"Good then." Frohman pushed open the door with his cane.
"Charles," James said, putting a hand on the producer's shoulder. He turned.
"Hm?"
"It has to be perfect."
"We'll make it perfect, James."
"Completely and utterly...perfect. It has to be."
"Alright, James. It will be. It'll have to be somewhat perfect anyway." Charles entered the theater. "As good as Peter Pan - or we'll lose money!" He wagged a finger in the air over his shoulder.
"I know, Charles, always the money," James said, a smile playing on his lips.
OoOoO
Rehearsal went slow. James, though, knew for a fact that the first one always did. He had handed out scripts after the first fifteen minutes, as many of the actors and actresses had forgotten lines and cues. Naturally, Charles sat in the back row almost the entire time, with his head resting on his arms, which he had folded on top of the chair in front of him.
James willed himself to be patient with the actors. "It hasn't been a long time," he had said, "but it hasn't been a short time either." And that was completely true.
He spent breaks in the green room, making marks in his script, and gulping down as much water as he could, while Charles watched and supervised the men moving the sets around up on stage, or paced the aisles, muttering to himself and figuring in his head. He left afterwards, leaving James alone with the actors and his play. It was much easier then, without listening to the producer's commentary fourteen rows back.
James spent the walk home thinking, and sitting down occasionally to make notes, or write down thoughts. When it got colder, he sped up and walked the last stretch to Mrs. du Maurier's with but one pause. He had found himself in front of his own house. Instinct, was it? Or had he passed it on the way to the theater, and had not been paying attention?
James slid his hand into his coat pocket, and fingered the key, one of which he had kept, (he had made two - one for him, and one for Mary) that unlocked the gate. After a few moments, he removed it, looked at it, and jammed it into the tiny keyhole. A familiar creaking sound was heard as it swung open. He passed through it, and made his way up the walk. But before he even reached the stoop, the door was already being opened. He lifted his head to see a rather older woman, whose gray curls were pinned up carefully onto her scalp.
"May I help you?"
"Er - yes. I was wondering - " Her face suddenly alighted.
"Oh! Mr. Barrie! Pardon me, I didn't recognize you!"
"Oh, yes - Elisa, is it?"
"It is."
"Yes, I thought you looked a bit familiar. Are you renting the house?" Elisa smiled.
"Yes, I am. And I'm sure I don't need to ask you to enter your own home." She moved aside. "Unless of course you're in a hurry to get somewhere." James looked down the street, though really not having to think much about his answer.
"No, not at all. But I do have to be home in about a half an hour.""Oh, that's good. Well, come on in. We wouldn't want to leave you out in the cold." James smiled and stepped over the threshold onto the rug in the foyer. The interior of the house hadn't changed much, he noticed. Even the umbrella holder remained in its place in the corner near the door.
"I was actually hoping you'd come by. I did find a few things that may be yours."
"Alright, that's fine. We'll go in the parlor, then, and we'll see what I left behind."
"Hello, Mr. Barrie," Emma greeted her former master cheerfully, as she helped him with his coat. Just like old times, James thought.
"Hello, Emma," he responded, just as cheerfully, and entered the parlor. Elisa Babcock followed.
"Would you care for something to drink?"
"No, I had about three bottles of water at rehearsal," James said, chuckling at the thought.
"Oh, for Peter Pan?"
"Aye, you've heard already?"
"Yes! I'll be getting tickets for my daughter and I. My husband will be out of town. It's a shame, really. He and I were at the opening." she sat down in a chair across from James and smiled, the wrinkles in her face digging deeper into her aged face. "I'm sorry. I imagine I'm talking too much."
"No, go on. I enjoy being the quiet one in at least one conversation." Mrs. Babcock laughed.
"Well, in that case, I'll continue. Anyway, I heard about your house being put up for rent a few days prior to meeting you in the park. My house is as good as any other, but since I had some money saved for a rainy day, I decided it was worth it and contacted the man renting it out."
"Yes, my friend, Maxwell and I settled a bit of a heavy price for it. Even if it will be owned for just a few years."
"I completely understand. It's not the house you sell when you move from one place to another, it's the home you sell."
"Yes ma'am," James said, looking down at the carpet for a moment.
"I'm friendly with Emma du Maurier; I understand you know her well." He looked up now, a bit surprised, though he didn't know why. This woman obviously had money, and Mrs. du Maurier knew anyone with even just a few guineas in their pocket.
"Yes, I do."
"She encouraged me to move in. Of course, I was already glad to rent it, but - "
"So that's why it sold so fast."
"Pardon?" James paused, wondering where to begin. "Her daughter, Sylvia, when she died, she requested a co-guardianship, her mother and me, over her four young boys.
"Oh yes, I read about her death in the paper. I'm so sorry." James only shook his head, not willing to talk about that now.
"She and I - Mrs. du Maurier and I - after a fair amount of arguing, decided that the boys could live with me...but only until she felt that she was needed. A bit too soon, though, did she feel that.
"So I called a friend, and he found a buyer - you, of course. But I had no idea that Emma was that determined to move the five of us out." This seemed to get Mrs. Babcock a bit nervous, and she hurried to repond.
"Well, she just mentioned it, was all - and she only told me I should do it, I had already had my mind made up - " James smiled, and held up a hand.
"It's fine. Now, where are those things you were going to ask me about?"
"Oh yes. Yes, I'll be right back." Elisa stood, and shuffled off into the other room. James was glad to be alone in his home again, sitting in the parlor, like he always used to. He looked into the cold hearth, and remembered a certain night when he suffered from a horrible case of Writer's Block. He smiled, thinking that the next morning he had woken up with those words on his face. He looked around the room, looking for any more changes, and tapped his cane on the carpet in front of him. When Elisa came back in the room, she smiled.
"I hadn't noticed when you came in," she said, looking at his face. James knew immediately what she was referring to, as it had been on his mind as well just a few moments ago. "Have you tried getting it off since Thursday?"
"Every morning, in fact." But he wasn't sure now that he wanted to continue his efforts in getting it off now after one of his last memories of his house, and Charles's simple words.
"Mm," was her response as she too her seat and set four things on the coffee table. She let him look over the objects for a minute, then said, "I would think that the photograph of Mrs. Barrie was meant to stay here."
"It was more meant to be thrown in the fireplace, actually." Mrs. Babcock smiled.
"I'll take the rest. Thank you." James stood, gathering up the odds and ends that the woman so generously set aside for him, and she walked him to the door.
"Not at all, Mr. Barrie. Although I'd really hoped that my husband would be home when you came. He's quite a fan of yours. Read everything you've written." She laughed a bit in spite of herself. "I'm sure you hear that quite frequently."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Here you are, Mr. Barrie."
"Thank you, Sarah." James replaced his coat fairly quickly, and gathered up his cane again as he had just leant it against the wall for two free hands. He was sure that he would be criticized by Mrs. du Maurier if he was back just a few minutes late, and didn't want to waste time standing around.
"Oh, please call me Elisa, Mr. Barrie."
"If I were to call you by your first name, I'd be reducing my respect for you."
"Don't you worry about respect, Mr. Barrie." James shrugged and opened the door.
"I'll see you later, Mrs. Babcock."
OoOoO
"I'm coming, Porthos. Yes, I hear you. I hear you, I'm coming. Alright, shh - quiet. Stop yawpin', dog! Ye'll wake the dead, ye' will!" James hurried across the icy lawn to find his enormous Landseer Newfoundland tied to a tall tree as far from the house as he could possibly be.
"Who put you out here?" He kneeled down in the snow, ruffling the fluffy thing's fur, and Porthos ceased his barking fit of a minute while he hung his tongue out of his mouth happily, absorbing the affection from his master.
"Hm? Was it the horse? Was it? Did she throw ye' out here in the snow? I bet she did." James nuzzled noses with the dog, and turned his head toward the house to see Mrs. du Maurier herself, standing by the window with her arms crossed, and shaking her head. He smiled with false enthusiasm and waved his hand flamboyantly; she just continued shaking her head.
"Look at him. Now he'll come in, covered in snow and dog hair, shedding water and mites all over the place," she said.
"He's definitely an odd little man. Brilliant - "
"Brilliant, yes. But odd. Here he comes." And sure enough, he did. James walked in the door, holding Porthos's leash tightly, dragging him up onto the rub. Both Mrs. du Maurier and the woman she was standing next to looked at the two, and Porthos, as if on cue, gave a great shake, sending water all over the foyer. Emma lifted a finger and stiffly flicked a drop off of her face.
"There was really no reason to bring him outside, Mrs. du Maurier."
"There was really no reason to bring him back inside, James!" Porthos growled, and James held back a smile.
"Yes, but he's said that he's grateful I have." Emma stared at the strange little man, and cringed as the dog licked his nose and sat down. She quickly turned her attention back to James.
"Mr. Barrie, I would like you to meet Madame Eva Dickonson. Eva," she sighed. "James Barrie."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Dicksonson," James said, bowing slightly.
"Mrs. Dickonson is head of the committee for City Replenishment," Emma said, as though it was the most important position in the entire world. James knit his eyebrows and nodded seriously.
"I see. Well, every time I see a new building, or a new coat of paint, I'll say," he did an exaggerated double-take at the mirror on the wall, "'Well, blow me down - I imagine this was the work of Eva Dickonson!'" A mocking smile came to his face, but Mrs. du Maurier, beginning to think he had gone out drinking after rehearsal, paid no mind to it. James, seeing her expression, put on a rather serious one and cleared his throat.
"Where are the boys?"
"They're upstairs reading," Emma answered.
"Ye' don't say? Well, I'll bring him up to my room then." James vaguely gestured to Porthos.
"If he goes in your room, James, he stays in your room."
"Of course. Come on, Porthos," he said, clicking his tongue to move him along, and began his ascent up the stairs.
"Oh, Mr. Barrie." he turned. "You received a call from the orphanage. It seems that a child has...lost a tooth." This brightened James a bit.
"Has she? Well, good. I'll be leaving later tonight, then."
"Where are you going, James?" Emma said, inching toward the bottom of the staircase.
"I just have to deliver something to a friend of mine. Don't wait up for me." He smiled, and entered his room. Emma stared at the door.
"I won't, Mr. Barrie."
OoOoO
"I hate being here," Peter said, fiddling with a tassel on the blanket covering his bed. "I'd rather be back home."
"Oh really," Jack chimed in, crawling into his own bed. "You didn't express much joy being there either."
"Mind your own business, Jack," Peter muttered back. James sighed and sat on Michael's bed.
"We all wish we were back home, Peter," he said simply, putting an arm around the small boy and looking out the window, lost completely in his thoughts. Two heavy minutes passed before anyone said anything.
"Do you have to go, Uncle Jim?" James looked at Michael, a weary smile on his face.
"Aye," he said, and ruffled Michael's hair. "You'll all be asleep before I get back, though. I'll say goodnight now." He stood, and gathered up, from Michael's night table, the pile of paper he had tied in a ribbon for Gretchen. Actually, calling it a pile of paper would be taking away from its importance. In truth it was a story. A story James had put the finishing touches on just after saying 'hello' to the boys when he got home. After reading it over to himself, he thought that it was good. He hoped that the girl Gretchen would think the same of it, if not, better.
James said his goodnights to the boys, pulled on a coat, topped himself with a hat, and removed his cane from the side of his bed. He then proceeded downstairs very slowly, so that Emma du Maurier's keen ears had no chance of hearing the whines of the staircase. He made for the door, continuing to keep his footsteps quiet, removed the dead bolt, and let himself outside. he found, after closing the door, that it had gotten much colder outside. The walk wouldn't be so horrible, though. The orphanage wasn't too far away from Mrs. du Maurier's house.
The town wasn't as ghost-like as James had so often seen of it when going out walking after sundown. Once he reached the village, he noticed that horses were still clopping down the streets, pulling the great black carriages along the frozen cobblestone, carrying people who were possible just returning from dinner or a performance of some sort away from their homes.
Shops were open as well, and some closing. Lights still shone through many of the front windows, and James saw customers bustling about inside, and upon passing the shoe shop, the cobbler finishing up on one last person's broken and worn pair of street shoes.
The orphanage windows were dark. James stopped before the stone angels, thinking if he should go in through the front entrance or not. He took a step to the right to look in the foyer windows, and saw that a light was on over a large empty desk. So he took a chance. James went up the stairs, opened the door, and went inside as quietly as he could. It was completely silent in the enormous room, save for the grandfather clock in one of the corners. James called out quietly a few times, and when no one answered, he made his way up to the second floor where the bedrooms were, and searched for Room Number 5. Once he spotted it, he turned the handle, finding it was open, and tiptoed in. He then began going up and down the aisles, looking at every child's sleeping face to find the one that he knew he would recognize at first glance.
They all looked so peaceful, laying there. Without parents, they were; with no close friend or relative to take them in; no one to care for them but those sweet, understanding nuns. James suddenly felt proud of himself for taking in the boys. He had spared them life here, and provided the care for them that they needed; care that was so like their mother had given to them when she was still alive, but that, James knew, would never be identical.
James stopped finally, at the foot of one bed, and smiled. He had found the little girl, and saw the shadow of a smile on her face, as she lay there dreaming. He hoped that she was off somewhere deep into her dreams, sleeping heavily and content, without a care in the world. He hoped that she was off in Neverland.
He moved to the side of her bed and slid his precious story underneath her pillow, taking her tiny tooth and putting it in his pocket.
"Goodnight, angel," he whispered, and pat her still hand gently. He took one last look around, and walked silently from the bedroom. You would never have known he was there.
OoOoO
James ran a hand down his face in front of the mirror. The meaningless jumble of words still hadn't gotten off of his cheek, but he didn't try to get it off this time. Instead, he smiled at it, and crawled into his bed, closing his eyes almost instantly. He frowned. Something was interrupting his sleep attempt. Something was jabbing into his back. He moved around trying to get at an angle where it wouldn't pain him, but without succession. The old mattress had probably popped a spring, and that's what was hurting him, James thought. But it was getting rather annoying, and he was getting curious, so he flung himself out of bed, ripped at the blankets covering the mattress, and, to his great surprise, found something that was very much unlike a broken mattress spring. It was a small blue diary.
A/N: Yes, you will hear more about the diary...stick around...
Updates/Thoughts: I didn't like this chapter or the one before it as much as the ones I've written in the past. I don't think they flow as nice and I'm so afraid of losing James's character, that it shows a bit that I'm desperate to keep it. I really hope you don't see the same thing, though; you're always your own worst critic. Yeah, so I hope YOU liked these last two, and I've still got ideas all up to Chapter 10 (and I wrote some of that one too) and these look like really good ones. I can't wait to start Chapter 8 because it gets kind of sad again...but it's going to be great. And Chapter 9 will be great too, I hope! And Chapter 10 - so I encourage you to stay with me. Please - for the sake of my sanity. I'm tired of getting JUST five reviews, or getting four and having to search for people to read. Gah! Okay, well, I'm talking too much...so...review and make it a long one. Hahaha. J/k. Luv you all!
ATTENTION: I posted today also, a poem! My first poem on here, and I'm so happy! It's a Neverland poem and it's called "With A Daisy In Her Hair." It's not super long, and I want to hear what everyone thinks of it! Please take a few more minutes to read it! Thank you very much! I love you all!REVIEW REPLIES FOR CHAPTER 6:
(and 1 and 5)
oi-oi-oi: And that George died in World War I. lol - had to add my WEE BIT of knowledge. Anyh00, it's ok if you haven't reviewed in a while...I haven't posted in a while. This vacation...I wrote in my Black Notebook (which is decorated front and back with Neverland pictures...ask my best friend, who's Ari in the reviews, about it) up to when he goes out the door to go to the orphanage at night. And that was 21 pages in my notebook! Plus, I wrote a bit of Chapter 10 because I had an idea for part of it. That one should be good. I have good stuff planned, don't worry! I really need to be James more in my roleplays so I don't lose his character, because this story is going to be really good when I finish it - I hope! My dad - the sap he is - cried during Chapter 3...and he cried BEFORE the dance...I was like: "wow, dad..." haha...well anyway, thanks for the compliments and such! You'll get credit at the end for staying with me from the beginning if you do! ;-) And just as a note, I've seen the movie about 10 times in all...and I still cried the last time I saw it. haha! Thank you so much for reading as always!
Ari: Thank you, love, I'm glad you liked it. But I wish your little brain had more capacity so you weren't confused. NAH JUST KIDDIN. Actually that chapter wasn't too good...I liked Frohman and James at the café at the end though...so anyway...yes, I did use a tiny part of our RP in there. Again, not remembering what else you were going to comment about is the result of lack of brain capacity. I'M KIDDING I love you lol. And thank you very much for making sure I keep James's character because I'm sure all of my readers will agree that if I lost his character...they would have my hide for not finishing this story. And so would you. And I won't get into what else you would have...er...yes I shall go now. Ta!
Lizella: I come back from my holidays to find a review, how very nice THAT is! hahaha...and yes, I might kill you off. MWHAHAHAHA. Chapter 10 is planned too. As long as that section of my document where I put all my ideas stays super long, there will be more of the story. ;-) Hahaha Emmaeeevil. She won't be super evil witchy ALL THE TIME...sometimes she'll be fairly nice...but ya kno. Gotta stay in character. Anyway, thank you so much for continuing to read!
H.M. Chandler: Thank you so much, I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! And I am getting edgy about finishing your story...I don't want to not read it or take too long in doing so...and I'll try hard to give you a good review to make up for the many awesome you've given to me! Thank you, thank you! And you saw how my vacation went...
KatrinaKaiba: Haha I had to put the convo in there it was great. I should write a fake chapter where he gets captured by Nazis...hahaha no I'm kidding. And you're welcome for the review and yes I did cry...especially when he hit Peter! I was like: gasp:'-( And yes you rock cause you're Scottish. The cafe scene was great in the last chapter, I couldn't stop writing it, I was having too much fun being Frohman. He is so much fun to write, because he's just so sarcastic and funny and it's great. Anyway, thanks for reading and all that and I hope you liked this chapter too! hee REVIEW NOW..i know you will. ;-)
and I must add this to your review now because I've just finished reading Neverland. Again, thank you thank you thank you. If I could add your story to my "Favorite Stories Of All Time List," I definitely would. I have only cried one other time when reading a story on this website, but not even nearly as much as I did when reading yours. Again, I applaud you.
Salutarisy: (for chapter 5) This review made me VERY happy, thank you! All the comments - just - guh! Thank you SO much for reading! If you ever get a Neverland fic out, be sure to alert me and I'll make a point of reading it! I hope to see more of your reviews in the future, and I hope you read Chapter 6 as well...?
Sam's Cotton Socks: (snort) Yes, my airport experience did suck very much. Did you read chapter 6! lol.
piratingelvenpyro: (for chapter 1) Thank you! I'm glad you got a lot from the first chapter - that's what I was aiming for - to keep you hooked. I hope you finish it, though, I look forward to your reviews!
Alone Dreaming: (for chapter 1) Congratulations, you have just given me the longest review I have ever gotten on lol. Now to address your concern - when I said: "he boys could do the work. We could just relax and maybe get to the point where we could actually talk to each other without getting in each other's hair..." I wasn't implying that the boys could work while they sit around, though I can understand how you could think that. And now that I think about it, with Madame du Maurier being a woman with money as well, she'd have maids to do work too...and now I think I should rephrase that line. hahaha. And the other part about them chatting, I meant that they should get to know each other. Again, I'll try and rephrase that part. I do understand that I need to work harder on her character. I think she's ok in this chapter (meaning chapter 7) and I have to work even harder for her in chapter 9 because it's mostly about she and James...and it should be rather humorous. I hope you stick around to read it! I would love it if you did. To address your romance concern, you'll be glad to hear that there will be no such romance in this story. I hope you didn't mind it in chapter 3 - you shouldn't have lol. Thank you for all the other nice comments! I hope to hear from you again soon!
Fire Spirit: (for chapter 1) Short, sweet, and to the point. lol, thank you though for taking time out of your day to read, I really appreciate it! And if you get up to this chapter, you'll see this reply! lol
Strange-Torpedo: Yay! Thank you for getting the time to read and reviewing with all your nice comments! I'm really glad you got a mental image of the story from my writing, that's another thing I'm aiming for! Thank you very much - I hope you keep reading!
