CASTLES AND DREAMS -[[ SYLPH

[LYEYDEN MYKELL D'AMORELE]

somewhere in your memory

calling from afar, it's daring you to see

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style,background-image: url('http://i53.tinypic.com/wb98wn.jpg');,true] WHAT IT IS THAT'S WRITTEN IN THE STARS ! The slender gypsy tried to keep as far awa from the train tracks as he could while alternating between playing the violin and singing. In front of him lay the violin case, open and holding a number of coins. Not quite enough to retire for the evening, but he knew he would have to go soon. It was bloody freezing. What he wore was fairly well mended and clean, but he did not have the luxury of wearing furrs or thick coats like the rich who boarded and unboarded the trains. Lyeyden envied them, but he tried not to allow this envy to turn into hatred. He was afraid of the train, and especially those tracks. There was a gypsie back at the caravan who'd had his leg severed when falling onto those tracks in front of an approaching train. It made him shiver from the horror. The pain that man musth ave endured. And now he couldn't walk, couldn't dance... Such a life, would be no life at all. Lyeyden thought that if he were to ever fall... that he would rather the train were to cut off his head in stead. He was being selfish and unthankful toward those who had given him life, but a life like that old gypsie's, was not life at all. He was the shell of the man he'd been before; everyone said so, everyone knew so. Lyeyden shivered from cold and fear combined. Those dark thoughts caused him to feel too uneasy, too supersticious. His gut urged him to pack up and run, and the boy knew to listen. Stopping his song mid-way in, he pocketed the money in the case, gently packed up the violin. He then rolled his blankets into a bundle, pushed them into his bad and strappdd both the bag and his violin case over one shoulder. Then, despite every cell in his body urging him to flee, he forced himself to walk at a normal pace. Lyeyden walked against the flow of a crowd pushing to get onto the train that was just pulling into the station, and he was shoved along, closer and closer to the edge of the platform. Eyes widening with every step that he neared it, Lyeyden tried to push against the crowd. But no one paid him any mind. And if they did, noticing what he was, they only pushed him harder. From an onlooker's point of view, it was then no surprise that the young gypsie finally reached the edge and started tipping over the side, the lights from the train blinding him as they approached. If he didn't fall onto the tracks on his own, the train would push him once it reached him. His face was white, eyes wide with terror. He had lost all control over the situation, his own body betraying him as it allowed gravity to pull him toward his doom.

table by california dreaming @ caution 2.0

[SYLPHEN ELLIOT HARLOW]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 340px; background-image:url(http://i56.tinypic.com/20gfl1v.jpg); padding: 30px; border: #2D2729 solid 30px; ] to live and move only you WORDS 440 | TAGGED OPEN | NOTES LET'S SEE IF IT WILL TEXT WRAP NOW, HUH? HAD TROUBLE WITH THIS LAYOUT. Windshire station was so busy this time of day. It seemed that everyone had somewhere to go. Most of the people were those of the working class and merchants. Nobility would wait until late evening to leave- most of them would, though some rose early in the morning to beat the crowds. So what was Sylph doing there? He was connecting trains. He had just gotten back from his country estate where he had helped direct his staff where to put up some of his latest art purchases. It was really a show home, as he rarely visited it- but that was perhaps because when he was in London, that was where he'd grown up, and even now he couldn't quite face the large manor alone. Now, he was going to be taking a trip to see one of his political friends on the other side of the country. If it wasn't for London's busy station, he wouldn't have had to connect. As it was, his luggage was being loaded aboard, and he was waiting. The crowds seemed to get more anxious, and he could see a boy being pushed back against the crowd. The guards that controlled this sort of thing seemed to be letting it slide. While Sylph normally didn't bother into other's affairs, he really didn't want his train to be delayed just because some idiots decided to murder someone. He pushed his way through the crowd, his clothing speaking for him when it came to an air of importance. Unless these people wanted to be arrested for their behavior, they would let him through- and they did. He had the power and influence against these people, they knew who they shouldn't cross, and anyone who knew His Grace The Duke Harlow, knew how terrible his temper was rumored to be. He caught the boy's wrist just as he was starting to fall back and pulled him into a standing position. The crowd that had been pushing stopped, and there was a quiet murmur among the people within their line of sight. Sylph didn't really much care. He pulled the boy along, out of the crowd. He already had his cabin, and he didn't feel the need to wait with all of the blabbering fools. "Are you alright?" he asked once they had made it to where the crowd had thinned which is where he released his grip on his arm. He felt bad about doing that, but he thought that had he let go, they'd just start again when his back was turned. Looking the boy over, he could see why the spectacle had happened- he was obviously a gypsy. these dry bones cry for you

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TEMPLATE BY KHRISTIAN @ CAUTION 2.0, LYRICS BY GUNGOR

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[LYEYDEN MYKELL D'AMORELE]

somewhere in your memory

calling from afar, it's daring you to see

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style,background-image: url('http://i53.tinypic.com/wb98wn.jpg');,true] WHAT IT IS THAT'S WRITTEN IN THE STARS ! This was it. He was done for. It took all of his effort to keep from squeezing his eyes shut. He wanted to be a coward. Lyeyden had put on a brave face his entire life, and therefore thought he had the right to be a coward just this once and hide from his own death. Before his lashes would drop however, he felt a strong grip on his arm and he was pulled...to safety? He certainly hadn't predicted that to come out of this situation. Knowing his place in this world, knowing his worth to these people, it only made sense that they would have let him fall. One less pickpocket to worry about. As he was pulled through the crowd, his heart beating frantically, eyes wide with shock, all Lyeyden saw was a hint of fancy clothes and golden hair. And once they were out of mass of people, he had to catch his breath a little before he could look at his saviour. And when he did, Lyeyden experienced yet another shock, though this one was considerably more pleasant. The man who'd saved him was beautiful. Lyeyden did nothing but stare at him, stunned, for a few moments. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins, and he was still breathing fast, "Yes. Thank you." He sounded friendly, almost enthusiastic, but was too stunned to show much else. It had all happened so fast. After his saviour had taken hold of his arm, it'd all been a blur until they were out of the crowd. Lyeyden was starting to come back to himself, and worry bloomed in his gut. This man was important, very important. He could tell from his clothes. And he'd touched him, a dirty gypsy. Oh, Lyeyden would get in trouble for this, he would most certainly get in trouble. And, how should he address the man? He wasn't familiar with telling the ranks of nobility just from their clothes alone. He didn't want to insult the other and have himself thrown in jail for it. Therefore, he came to the conclusion that it was better to assume the other held the highest possible title...It was the safest way. Lyeyden bowed his head, "Thank you...your Grace."

table by california dreaming @ caution 2.0

[SYLPHEN ELLIOT HARLOW]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 340px; background-image:url(http://i56.tinypic.com/20gfl1v.jpg); padding: 30px; border: #2D2729 solid 30px; ] to live and move only you WORDS 440 | TAGGED OPEN | NOTES WROTE WHILE SICK. YAY? "Good," he said in response to the boy not being hurt. He would have to have a word with the staff about safety measures. Certainly, no place around machinery was going to be safe, but they could at least ensure that a person's entrails didn't end up splattered on the boarding passengers.With his status, he was certain he could pull a few strings, but he doubted that any policy would be enforced, even if it was put into place. Still, what was having a title and fortune if you couldn't throw it around to intimidate others. Had he been addressed as "Lord", he would have let it slide once. He couldn't expect the entirety of the poor population to recognize him. They had more important concerns to be tending to such as how they would get their next meal. The crowd was still whispering, but Sylph could hardly be bothered to care with such petty matters. Taking his pocket-watch out, he glanced at the time. He wouldn't be boarding for a few more minutes yet. He decided that, once in, he'd get a nice cup of brandy and light up a cigar. After this, he was going to need to relax. He sighed as he watched the shock leave the boys features as he came to understand just who he was talking to. "Listen, I have nothing against you, but I cannot speak for my fellow countrymen. You should be more careful and stay away from the machines." Was Sylph showing compassion? In a sense, yes, but he didn't think it to be an intelligent idea to put oneself in harm's way when it could easily be avoided. Still, he didn't think that the gypsies should be blamed for their deaths- one could not murder a child and justify killing it because it was a gypsy. And yet, sadly, they did. Prolonging the engagement could be disastrous for his reputation, so he didn't dare stay for too long. "Are you sure you are all right?" he asked, once more, just to make sure that the boy's mental state was going to be in the right space. The last thing he wanted to leave him only to find out the boy had taken his own life or something after being so mentally scarred. Well, that was highly unlikely to happen, but Sylph often imagined situations far worse than they truly were. He noticed the boy's instruments but didn't say anything. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder how well the boy played. At least, even if he was a gypsy, he would have food and shelter for the night. Not ideal food and shelter, but more than many of the poor had within the confines of London. these dry bones cry for you

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TEMPLATE BY KHRISTIAN @ CAUTION 2.0, LYRICS BY GUNGOR

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[LYEYDEN MYKELL D'AMORELE]

somewhere in your memory

calling from afar, it's daring you to see

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=style,background-image: url('http://i53.tinypic.com/wb98wn.jpg');,true] WHAT IT IS THAT'S WRITTEN IN THE STARS ! Why was this man of obvious high stature helping him, of all people? Lyeyden had believed that all of the people in that social class would consider those like himself to be garbage. Did this Lord, of whatever title, want something from him? And as his mind darted from possibility to possibility, he found himself thinking that he wouldn't mind going back to this man's home and... Cutting the thought short, his eyes went wide again and color entered his slightly dirtied cheeks. Lyeyden had never had such thoughts. Not really. And if he had, they'd never been tempting enough for him to go through with it. It was probably due to this noble having saved him, as well as his being painfully handsome. The effects the other had on him now would wear off once they parted ways. They would. Certainly. Even so, Lyeyden absently arranged his clothes a little, dusting himself off. None of his efforts would make much difference however; no matter how clean his clothes would be, they would still be old, worn, and sometimes moth-eaten. Even the wardrobe of the richest gypsy in their caravan could not compare to what this noble was wearing. Lyeyden wondered what it would feel like, but didn't have the nerve to reach across the space between them to find out. "Yes...I should have known better..." He gave the shrinking crowd a sideway glance. The boy wanted to glare, but didn't want to offend this man somehow and lose the sympathy he'd somehow gained from the other. At least, that's what he thought this was about. The gypsy pushed some of his loose hair behind one ear, the strands tickling his nose. He hoped he didn't look too unwashed. He did try to keep his hair brushed and as clean as possible, but his struggle with the crowd had caused it to tangle. He probably looked like a filthy beggar... Bringing his eyes fully to his saviour again, he was in time to spot a pick-pocket snatching the other's purse while pretending to bump into the noble. Lyeyden blinked and reacted instinctively. Moving lithely, he turned, jogged after the thief, stepped across his path and snatched the purse back with nimble fingers. Knowing the thief to be greater than him in size and strength, he then hurried back to Sylph's side, before the pick-pocket could do him any harm. With a slightly mischevious expression, his lips twitching into a small smile, Lyeyden held the retrieved money purse out to his handsome hero. It wasn't quite enough to pay back his debt, but it was all he could do for now.

table by california dreaming @ caution 2.0

[SYLPHEN ELLIOT HARLOW]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 340px; background-image:url(http://i56.tinypic.com/20gfl1v.jpg); padding: 30px; border: #2D2729 solid 30px; ] to live and move only you WORDS 440 | TAGGED OPEN | NOTES WROTE WHILE SICK. YAY? Sylph was about to say goodbye to the boy when all of the sudden, the other darted away from him. He mentally cursed himself when he saw that someone had just tried to make off with his change pocket. How had he let his guard down? Had Lyeyden not seen this happen and went to retrieve it for him, he would have thought that they were working together, and any sympathy he felt would have been lost. "You have my thanks," Sylph said, taking the coin purse back from the gypsy boy and studied him carefully. He didn't look gypsy born, not with that hair and those eyes. Something about him seemed oddly familiar, yet he couldn't place his finger on it. Perhaps he was over-thinking the situation, but he couldn't help but feel as if he had met this boy before somewhere. No, it was likely just his own exhaustion from travel. "What is your name?" he asked, his butler coming to his side and whispering in his ear, informing that he needed to board the train immediately. He gave the boy an apologetic smile. "My apologies. It seems that it is time for me to take my leave. You can leave your name here with my butler. I would like to properly thank you for your assistance when I return from my travels," he wasn't sure what he would do just yet, but he would have time to think on it. Taking off his top hat, he tipped it in bids of farewell and made his way to the train. He did not much look forward to the traveling. Too much sitting alone in a small compartment. Just because he had comfortable accommodations did not mean that he enjoyed the noisy tracks or the paranoia that came with any machinery. Still, this was the fastest way, and he didn't want any further delays. He did wonder if the boy would give him a real name... some of the poor could be quite skittish, and he wasn't entirely trusting of them either. He'd be careful around the boy, make sure he was truly trustworthy, but he didn't see what, say, a nice dinner could hurt. these dry bones cry for you

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TEMPLATE BY KHRISTIAN @ CAUTION 2.0, LYRICS BY GUNGOR

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