the urchin child

[hobbit]

“And so the king was dead, and the river did run red; and joy to the world, cause the big fat man was…” a little boy paused in his walk, looking thoughtfully into the distance. His song had been brilliant in his head, but now that he had gotten to this point, the child could not think of anything else to rhyme with the words dead and red. At least, not for that line, and he didn’t really want to get rid of the entire line. The boy, however, didn’t actually make money or anything from coming up with silly songs, so he simply shrugged his thin shoulders and carried on through the ruins of Ohanzee.

The land was rough, and dark, incredibly close to the king’s castle. People here were little more than skeletons wandering around, or empty shells staring at the world through blank eyes. A child not used to this would have been terrified, but Gavroche had become accustomed to this, and he rather liked it. People could barely afford to feed themselves; they didn’t care about the urchin, and he preferred it when they didn’t care. It made his life easier. The sound of something whining behind the boy caught his attention, and Gavroche turned around, narrowing his eyes as he did so, “Pup!” he glared at the hound for a moment longer before smiling and crouching down. From his pocket, Gavroche pulled out a piece of meat.

The tri colored canine trotted forward, eagerly consuming the piece of pig, and Gavroche petted the animal on its head before standing. Hands on his hips, chin jutting out with confidence, the nine year old looked around at the dark streets he roamed, “Where to, ol’ boy?” he asked. Course, Pup wasn’t old. The dog had just grown into its frame, and therefore couldn’t be more than a year. However, calling a dog young boy just didn’t roll off the tongue. It actually sounded creepy.

As usual, Pup did not reply and Gavroche pointed down an alley, where a fat man was selling bread out of a shop. “C’mon!” the grimy child whispered. He darted forward, slipping into the crowd. The boy was dirty, and wearing clothes far too large for his thin frame, but he slid into the crowd like a knife through butter. He blended in like a crow in the night. Gavroche eyed the bread as he made his way through the crowd, always watching the baker. Pup trailed along behind the urchin, tail wagging wildly.

Gavroche grinned before turning his attention away from the baker, and to the pocket of the man before him. The child’s hand slid into the man’s back pocket, easily removing the coin bag he had seen. There wasn’t much money, but there was enough to buy bread, and that was all the child cared for. Eyes dancing, the little boy dumped all the money onto the counter.

It earned him a single loaf- with butter!

Cackling, Gavroche whistled for the dog, “LET’S GO!” he yelled, taking off through the streets as if he had just committed some atrocious act. He stopped running once they had reached an area where the boy had been sleeping. It was at the end of town, in an incredibly narrow alleyway. Only children could make it down, and Gavroche had set up his blankets in a corner. There, the boy sat down and broke off a quarter of the bread for Pup, before chowing down himself.

[Desperanza]

The day was ranging around late afternoon it seemed. A glance skyward would tell her that as she sat crouched upon the slate tiles of the roof of the church, if it could be called that for no one attended church in this town. Who was ever eager to repent in the town of thieving and depression? She rolled her eyes at the thought. The building was abandoned and had been for years. The windows were shattered, the dirt floor insides was scattered with a few ground ranging animals who had taken residence. The four pews inside were cracked, one broken clear in half and all were notched by swords as teenage boys often wandered here with puny blades to play about with their toy swords. Currently, it was empty and the spire that stretched upwards towards the sky held the dark form of the assassin as she sat perched atop the building, her emerald eyes currently scanning the ground below. The cross that had once adorned the tip of the spire now only held three stretching sides, like a bit of a clover shaped form at this point with her balled feet on either side of the side sweeping stones and her fingers curled at the broken edge at the top where the top stone slab had protruded from now broken off.

The late afternoon sun washed down through the crevices of the sad village. Broken windows, torn down walls, and dark interior shops were briefly lit with golden light that washed down from the sky. Spirals and strips of sun escaped past the trees that lined the edge of the town, leading to the swamp not far off. The stench was faint here, but it existed and yet for those whom lingered here, it was unnoticeable at this distance. She had been perched here for nearly half an hour, seeming a shadow in the coming night as her died ebony cotton blouse as well as her leather pants shadowed her form save for her bare arms and head. Her vibrant auburn hair fell down her back, dancing around the blades at her back. Nothing of interest much had happened until this point and so she was growing rather bored and had indeed slept there for a solid two hours previously in the day and of which now, fully rested and seeking entertainment had considered approaching the castle for the first time in nearly three weeks and yet, here she sat.

Preparing to leave, her limbs shifted, her form gathering energy and movement as it pulled from the position that it had lingered in for a while as she came back to life like a crow preparing to take flight now as she stretched her back and straightened and as she slid lithely along the metal spire, her feet lighting upon the roof moments later she straightened and stepped to the edge with a few short steps, pausing as she glanced down among the stony path of town, pausing as she prepared to turn. There was a shadow that caught her view, that of a child and a hound at his ankles. The pair were trailing through town, some of the only people whom were seeming to actually have a bit of life to themselves just then, the other adults within her view seeming pulled into a lazy din by this time. She inclined her head slightly as she gazed upon the child of about nine to ten years she guessed. His willowy form was making it’s way with ease through the crowd of which someone at first glance would never have noticed but she was an assassin after all. Her skills were unmatched and intricate.

Gazing upon the form of the child, she glanced to the hound at his ankles before trickling her gaze forward to the bread seller. Ah, this must be his true location. A curt nod brought her to lean out slightly from the ledge, watching as the boy obtained his money as well as a loaf of buttered bread from the baker. She smiled lightly, her right brow aching slightly from her feminine features for a brief moment. This boy seemed rather intelligent, self sufficient. It was a breath of fresh air among a village scattered with people that seemed to have nothing but depression flooding their veins. It made the killing so much easier and she thought briefly to the horse man of which she had murdered earlier and grinned slightly at the thought before she inhaled slowly. As she gathered herself, she swung out from the ledge into the air as if she would grow wings and begin flying. She seemed to simply glide downward through the wind until her fingers clenched the edge of one of the sills, her feet swinging sharply towards the building as she rotated and her boots clicked and collided sharply to the side of the church as she slid and leaped lithely to her feet finally to the ground of the street below, straightening once more as she glanced around herself now, glancing after the child who was now settled into his little alley but none the less, she smiled. He would be worth something some day if this wicked town presented the chance to him.

Thinking, she breathed deeply before she swiveled and made her way through the town, the boy tucked at the back of her mind as she gazed along the streets of Ohanzee, knowing that she and the boy would meet soon, rather figuring that she would find him in his alley shortly and whether they would truly meet, she doubted but the fact that the boy deserved a proper meal was inevitable, and the situation would be fixed even if only for one night.

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[hobbit]

When one was a growing boy, bread with butter was not enough. He longed for something more, and yet he knew that more was not going to come. There was barely enough food to go around for those that earned the money to pay for it. Gavroche stole only to survive; he had eaten for the night. More food would not make his chances of survival increase. Stealing anything more would simply mean that he was a greedy child; the boy had morals, even at his age. He never took more than he needed, because he was not the only person in this desolate town; other children needed things, other people needed things, and if more than necessary died because of his acts, Gavroche would not be able to carry on. This was why the brown haired urchin leaned back against the wall of the alley, folding his hands on his lap and staring at them. They were quite dirty, and Gavroche wondered if other boys were allowed to go home with hands like his, or did their mothers force them to wash off the dirt, which told all that they had done that day? He could not imagine living such a life, for Gavroche did not mind being dirty. It had never harmed him.

He was about to close his eyes, and lose himself in a land of dreams, when the hound’s whining interrupted him. The boy had grown used to hunger, but the dog was not capable of understanding why it had to go hungry and, with its brown eyes as wide as dinner plates, it looked back at Gavroche, almost pleading for food. Sadly, the child turned out his trouser pockets, shrugging his thin shoulders, “I don’t have any more. Sorry,” he added, patting the hard ground beside him, “C’mon and sleep, Pup. That’ll make you feel better.”

Reason was lost on the dog. With one last whine, it ran. Gavroche cursed and scrambled to his feet; he would always claim that he did not give a rat’s ass about the dog’s welfare, but that didn’t mean he wanted to watch it get trampled or swiped. Not all people here would be kind to Pup. He had seen many tearfully slit the throat of their canines, for the dog was the only thing left for them to eat. A shudder ran down Gavroche’s spine as he ran, but he did not have to go far. The hound dog was stuffing his face with…horse poop.

Gavroche’s nose wrinkled with disgust and he shook his head, pausing just behind the happy animal, “That’s dirty,” he noted simply, shaking his head once more, “Ain’t gonna kiss me tonight.”

[Desperanza]

As the assassin wandered, her eyes scanned the shop fronts as she made her way forward feeling more or less the grumble of her own stomach, the lack of food that she had taken in just yet. Later. For now, she was busy. She had seen the work of the child no doubt the way that he fought for life each and every day on the streets while she in turn had more or less led a rather blessed life. Though her parents had been murdered, she had been brought in by the monk, she had been taught, trained and fed in the temples and when she had emerged with her own murdered teacher at her feet, she had been born anew, a trained killer and very self sufficient. Her feminine features certainly helped for her breasts were no doubt something to flaunt, and won her over many prizes and the killing? Well that was just an added aspect. Her ravishing feminine form slicked her through on more then one occasion as well as the skills that went with. Hunting was scarce among the trees, partially thanks to the dragon that lingered there among the swamp. He certainly didn’t help the fact that there was hardly anything to hunt but when she traveled to Ellsinora, she found plenty. That, however, did not help her here and nor did it help the child.

Finally, she decided on a place to make her next hit. The area where her next strike would take place. She could win over dinner for herself, or for the child and she pondered whether killing might be necessary but more often then not, she refrained. If she took out everyone in town, then the whole place would perish. She nibbled her lip against a grin at the thought, amusement flowing into her eyes and giving them a gold like glint now as she approached the store front and stepped into the butcher shop, stepping into the open store front and scanning the raunchy meats that hung by chain from the ceiling, a few strange pieces up for sale none the less. Eyeing the pieces, she wrinkled her nose, unsure whether she even really trusted the meat but it would be a meal if nothing else anyways. It was the only thing that the town had to trust so she approached the counter. Rather purposefully, the woman held her breath, her nose wrinkling slightly at the man behind the counter and her eyes taking in a steel grey glint once again instead, her piercing gaze drawing the man’s look as soon as his gaze lifted from the meat that he was pounding with a rather large meat cleaver. He was pudgy, as it seemed that most meat workers were for some reason. His face was round and his eyes a dark brown. Sweat spotted his brow and neck, black hairs curled out of the white shirt that was cut off short along the sleeves and exposed beefy and flabby arms. His stomach peeked out from under the stained white shirt, spotted with sweat stains and animal blood and she rather seriously considered becoming a vegetarian at the sight but the fact that she obtained meat elsewhere was beyond the point. She needed it now. She carefully took a stabilizing breath, and let a smile grace her lips which rather sparked a look in the man’s eyes, something that by now she had grown rather accustomed to seeing. This town was making her sick. The dishonesty, she could handle, the grimy, women hungry handed men, well that was a different thing. ‘Course, what could she think? There were far too many women in town who wore scanty clothing and sold themselves for money anyways, why would they think one out of many actually commanded respect? She rolled her eyes at the thought and pressed her hands at the edge of the counter with purpose as his gaze scanned her curved form and she sighed impatiently, ”You know what I am here for, sir.” her tone was curt, short. She had no reason to be kind to him. His intentions were quick becoming clear.
The man grinned, amused. His eyes scanned his own wares hanging from the ceiling as he thought this over and glanced back to her once again with a chuckle, his stomach bouncing with the effort of laughter and she rocked back on her heels slightly, auburn tresses falling over her shoulder and back along her back once again as he eyed her frame again and her spine stiffened with rage at his leering gaze, ”’Zee price for women is high, missy.” he warned with a slight nod as he folded his arms across his chest and she sighed stiffly. Why did it seem that it was so ridiculously hard to get some business done in this damn town? Greedy, filthy men. A vague thought passed through her mind of whipping out her blades and demanding service but oh, that would not be nearly as much fun. Perhaps if this man had not been quite so revolting, she would engage just a little bit but hell, what was she supposed to do past vomiting with this one? She instead felt like retching. Refraining, she gazed towards the meat on the ceiling and huffed, lifting her right hand to lift her fingers to the edge of her shirt to fan the black cotton a bit, offering the butcher a teasing view of the curves beneath as a taunting, cat like smile touched her lips. She certainly would not be touching him, but she could of course leave him wanting what he couldn’t have, ”It’s a shame then that we can’t seem to, work out some sort of deal.” she extended smoothly, her eyes taking on a slightly pink hue now, her flirtatious color and though she did not mean it one bit, the color came out anyways as she sent a side glance to the man who gazed at her wide eyed and intrigued. At this point however, he was pondering whether she was a magic wielder with her changing eyes and wickedly beautiful body. His grin told her that he was taking the bait and as he climbed onto the stand and tugged free the round of a pig, slicing a few pork slices from it and wrapping it in brown paper he gave a grunt as he lifted his arms to drop the meat back onto the hook, a rather raunchy odor filling the shop briefly as he moved to return the meat and climbed down behind the counter again with a grin, a fat hand reaching out to rest over the wrapped meat but her hands were quicker as she snatched the meat from the counter with a grin, her left hand resting on her hip as red splotches filled his face as he grew flustered, immediately suspicious and not liking her game as she danced back through the front of the shop with a grin, offering a brief salute, ”Thank you good sir. Until we meet again.” she muttered with a rather amused tone before she swiveled to dart from the shop as the butcher leaped out from behind the counter, shouting after her but not nearly fast enough as the assassin swung onto the rooftops and darted off, the glimmer of the emerald studded blades at her back to be seen briefly as she leaped from the top of the butcher shop to the next before she disappeared across the rooftops coming to pause only over top of the alley that she had left the boy, glancing down the narrow way as she inspected the shadows for the young one, sighing softly in contentment as she settled upon the roof, stretching her legs to fold her ankles and wait silently for sign of the boy and his dog once again, lowering the meat into her lap as she waited silently with a slight smile on her face this time.

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[hobbit]

Pup had eaten worse things than horse manure, though this didn’t make watching the dog eat any better. Gavroche wasn’t all that fazed by the smell, for he had grown used to sleeping among animals. If a person was kind enough, the child was more than willing to rest in their barn for the night. One could not be proud when they were living off the streets; pride was the reason why some men wasted away and eventually dropped in narrow crooks and crannies, rotting until someone smelt them and the soldiers took them away. Pride was why the inhabitants of the town went around in a daze, as if they were still living in the past, when this city was grand and something to be proud of. A light sigh escaped the boy before he reached forward, tapping the dog on the bum. The startled canine looked up, licking its chops, though that did not entirely do away with the brown sticking to its white muzzle.

“C’mon, Pup. You had your fill, leave some for the others, eh?” Gavroche grinned crookedly before plunging his hand into his pocket. While he had no food to offer, Pup had become conditioned to this and expected food whenever the boy’s hand went into his pocket. That was why the dog’s floppy ears rose as much as they could. The animal followed Gavroche as he backed up into the shadows. He did not stop until they were far from the manure, and it was clear that the dog had forgotten all about the meal. “Oh. Sorry. Only joking!” Gavroche laughed, taking his hand out of his pocket and showing Pup, who sniffed his hand in disbelief.

Gavroche returned to his “home” and the dog followed, finally curling up with a sigh. The small child did not hesitate to lay down next to the dog, the top of his head pressing up against the animal’s belly. The snow may have melted, and spring may have finally come, but the nights within the city was still cold. Pup would not tolerate cuddling, but this was allowed, and this still managed to assist heating the small child during the night. Brown eyes closed against the world, and shadowy images danced in the mind of the boy, though his monsters were laughing and having a grand time. Gavroche pulled a blanket out from beneath him, rolling over so that the thin layer of fabric covered his body. His eyes opened as he did so, for sleep did not seem to come quickly anymore. A sigh escaped the boy as he pulled one hand out from beneath the blanket and began to stroke Pup’s soft fur. No, he certainly wasn’t tired, and he doubted the dog was, but there was little else for Gavroche to do today.

[Desperanza]

The day was shaping up to a rather sleepy one once again. The mill of the towns people, typical. The din of the noise below, typical. The people trudged along like they had lead attached to their ankles. A small flutter of noise filled the village for a little while over the outraged butcher but she had no intentions of satisfying him with coin or anything else for that matter. She had the meat and that was all that mattered, he could fuss all he wanted. She was settled towards the back of the roof, her legs stretched lithely in front of herself as she stared out across the roof, listening to the slight noises that drifted upwards to her ears and she sighed softly, shifting herself a bit before settling once again as she lowered a hand and slid the dagger from her right hip.

As she shifted the dagger between her fingers, the gems glittered with the afternoon rays of the sun as it sank further. She grinned slightly, the open fingered gloves on her hand keeping the blade securely within her fingers. She sighed softly, stroking the handle, her finger tips tracing the gems as well as the sharpened blade before returning it to its place once more as she straightened and glanced among the alley way with a slight smile. The boy was returning. The sight of the dark haired nine year old brought a smile to her face, something that was rare when it was genuine. The small soul seemed to speak to her, hence why she had bothered catching him a meal.

As she gathered herself, she hopped to her feet, crouching still as she made her way forward towards the edge and paused, gauging the alleyway below. The area was thin, certainly the butcher would be stuck if he attempted to reach her here. She grinned at the thought and took a slight breath, calming the peel of laughter that threatened to escape from her tongue as she gazed down at the pair below, her expression softer and shifting into a royal purple now as she gazed towards the pair. She tucked an auburn stand of hair behind her ear and pressed her hands to the ledge as she gazed down upon the pair thoughtfully, finally deciding that she would fit. She was slender and built for sneaking and scaling things that a normal person would not. Athletic and slim, her body would slide between the walls and so she did.

Scaling the wall down to the bottom, she lowered her feet to the ground and crouched, her behind pressed to the wall as she arched her back and leaned forward, her hands lifting the small package at her hip as she lowered her left hand to shake the boy gently, ”Come little one.” she murmured softly to him with a slight smile as she looked down at him, glancing at the dog thoughtfully for a moment before her gaze turned back to the boy again instead as she leaned back slightly and waited patiently for him to stir now.

[/size]

[hobbit]

Like most children, the nine year old tried to resist sleep for as long as he could. There was still daylight left, and while he had nothing to do, that didn’t mean Gavroche wanted to sleep. He dressed like an older boy, and tried his best to walk and talk like an adult, but he was still only nine years of age and childish desires were imprinted within his brain. Until the day his voice deepened and the first hair appeared on his scrawny chest, Gavroche would always be prone to fits of being a child. The boy’s hand slowed as it stroked the dog, and ultimately it came to a halt as his eyelids slid down, shielding his eyes from the world. There were no monsters in the blackness of his mind, not this time; instead, he dreamed of nothing. It was as if someone had turned the antenna of his mind, interrupting the usual show, but the child would not be alarmed by this when he woke. He had not dreamed for so long…it would be strange for him to dream now, after such a long break.

There was not much sleep to be had, though, for while the boy slumbered a woman was making her way towards him. Pup’s ears rose once more, and the dog looked over at the stranger, the beginning of a bay building up in his throat; it sounded as if someone was choking a fat man. It was the scent coming from the package that caught the hound’s attention, and the sound died down into a whine. His eyes remained locked on the brown package, and beneath his short pelt the animal’s muscles tensed, as if he would jump forward and snatch the package right out of the woman’s arm. Pup, despite being a dog, was no fool. This person was not to be trusted, and so the animal remained still, simply watching the food while the woman leaned forward and gently shook the child sleeping next to him.

The words falling from the other’s lips made no sense to Pup, and they didn’t make sense to his master either. The words fell into the blackness of his dream, bouncing around like toddlers on a trampoline; they echoed wonderfully in his mind, but soon the noise grew far too loud, and his world seemed to shake. A frown fell across Gavroche’s face and he groaned, before suddenly realizing that the words were not a dream. They were real.

His eyes did not snap open, as author’s often stated in their books; instead, the lids slowly dragged themselves upward until Gavroche found himself staring at a strange. He was noticeably startled, and a bit frightened, but adults didn’t so fear and so neither did the boy, if one ignored the fact that he scrambled up and stared at the woman with wide, deer like eyes. Gavroche’s eyes traveled to the package the woman held, almost as if he, too, possessed a hound’s brilliant nose. He frowned before returning his gaze to the woman, tilting his head to the side in a quizzical manner which children were quite skilled at pulling off, “Hello…I’m Gavroche…w-who are you?”

[Desperanza]

The walls stretched up to either side of her and the mouth of the alley was off to her left. She would easily be able to scale the walls once again if she needed to get out but it was after all, a child and his dog. At first, she eyed the hound, curious whether he had a rather harsh bone in his body to pick with her as she rather figured that slitting the throat of the hound would not exactly put her in the best of respects with the child no matter the reason of why she had come. None the less, she took a breath and offered a smile, offering the fingers of her right hand to the hound for him to smell, to detect that she offered a gesture of friendship and not of a foe. She slid her hand into the package and broke off a small piece of the salted pork before setting it down for the dog to eat before turning her attention to the boy once again with a gentle smile as she waited for him to wake.

As the small form stirred, the eyes to open and the body to sit up rather quickly, she rocked back once again, her head inclining a bit as she watched the boy with a patient look, feeling the metal hidden over her body weigh her a bit at the moment. This child was no threat but had managed to tug at her heart strings and even to endure the raunchy impacts of the butcher to retrieve him a meal. She smiled, if they ever met again. Rolling her shoulders, she took a breath as he spoke, her eyes gazed over the scrawny form of the boy, nothing surprising. Many of the children whom wandered Ohanzee if not all were at least minutely under weight and the package weighed heavily within her hands at the thought, ”It is a pleasure to meet you, Gavroche, my name is Aurora.” she replied thoughtfully to the boy in return with a slight smile as she looked down upon him with a slight incline of her head, ”You must be hungry.” she implied, her tone gentle and inviting to the boy as she looked down at him thoughtfully this time, knowing that he had indeed consumed the bread and butter and yet she was sure that he was accustomed to that each night. For once, the boy would be eating well. The thought brought a smile to her face all over again, ”Will you eat something? I brought you a treat.” she offered, lifting the package into her hold once again as she offered it out to the boy this time, waiting patiently as she figured that he would not be open to trusting her up front.

[/size]

[hobbit]

Most people that woke him in this alley did not do so to offer him anything. They tended to simply glare, and tell him to get out of this place, because they would call the guard if he didn’t. Gavroche did not know much about the guard, or the people in charge, but he did know that the soldiers were not fair beings. They did what they wanted and found excuses to justify it every time. For a moment, Gavroche expected this from the woman before him, despite the manner in which she looked at him. Why was she to be any different, after all? The rude adults, though, had never introduced themselves before and his brown eyes narrowed for a moment before he allowed himself to grin slightly. She had a pretty name, and a pretty face, so maybe she wasn’t completely evil. Heck, maybe she wasn’t evil at all!

The child was noticeably wary when she offered up some food, though, for people usually did not offer food. Food was something to be cherished, and held to one’s breast as they ran through the street. Gavroche, however, was not one to miss up on a chance. He was hungry, as was Pup, and if this Aurora was offering him food, the child would attempt to take it. His hands seemed to shake as he reached out for the package, though in reality they did no such thing. Gavroche hesitated, his fingertips only a few inches away, before snatching the package, as if he believed she would draw it away with a laugh. The boy shrank back against the wall, but he was not afraid. If she didn’t like how he took the package, fine, but in the end…he had the package.

“Thank you, ma’m,” Gavroche muttered, his stomach rumbling as he opened the package. Pup was no his feet in an instant, tail wagging wildly for some food, and the boy tore off a bit of the salted meat before handing it to the pup, “But why’d you give it to me? Aren’t you hungry too?” he asked suddenly, tilting his head to one side. He wanted the food, oh yes, but he didn’t want to take it if she was really hungry.

[Desperanza]

The woman smiled, patient. The sight of the ravished boy stirred emotions within her that she was sure she had never felt. Compassion for the child flooded her veins and she took a steadying breath. This was ridiculous. She was not able to produce compassion, she did not offer compassion for anyone, including herself. She was a killer, an assassin and here she had willingly given her time and work to this child to offer him a meal. Now, as she looked into the gaunt face of the child, his thin limbs shifting and lifting as his hands reached out towards her for the package. Her fingers loosened, her hand extending to bring it closer to the child to make it more readily accessible and for a moment, she read the emotions that passed across his features and again, that patient smile returned to her features as she released her breath slowly and held her silence. When he snatched the package again, she folded her hands together over her knees where she crouched and watched as the small creature eyed her and pressed back against the wall, the dog coming over his heels as he too asked for food and she waited, holding her silence steadily as she read his expression.

As she sat there, staring down at the child, her eyes settled into a serene emerald shade, the natural color of her eyes. The darker gaze of the child himself enticed the strings of her heart that had never been engaged and a sharp pain wrenched through her chest. She gasped, leaning back against the stone of the wall as she gazed down at the nine year old and her mind flashed into hyper drive and a brief image of the blades in her hands, the metal cutting the boy’s throat, the blood spilling over her fingers and she winced, shying away from the child and shimmying clear up the wall half way. The blades clanged ominously at her back and she flinched again, her heart thundering within her chest at the thought of killing the child. Killing was in her blood, it was what she did. Everyone that she had ever been close to, ever had a shred of sanity for, was dead. Her parents had been murdered and in turn, she had murdered the monk whom had taken her in and trained her. Ever since it was all she had done, killing and moving on, killing and moving on. It was like an ever repetitive cycle, a never ending rein of death.

Now, as she clung to the wall, she eyed the boy with wide eyes, staring at him thoughtfully as she gauged the reason why she didn’t string him up by his ankles and bleed him by now. Why he was still breathing and further thriving because of her. She had fed him, it was that shred of sanity that had never existed within her. Swallowing, she offered a wan smile and sighed, feeling much like a poisonous spider on the wall as she gazed upon the scene, shaking her head, her auburn hair spilling past her shoulders now, ”No, for you.” she managed simply as she looked down at him, her fingers clinging to the ranging stones, her form pressed against the wall as she stared down at him, hesitant to bother coming back down the wall and at this point, contemplating whether to leave now. Her kindness was done, he would survive another night and more afterwards because of the food that she had brought him. Now, before she gathered her mind again, she should leave.

[/size]

[hobbit]

Part of him was confused; the other part was filled with awe. In all of his nine years on this wasteland, Gavroche had never seen anyone shimmy up a wall. It was fucking amazing. The awesomness of the woman’s action was reduced by the simple fact that she didn’t seem to do it for fun, but as if she was running from something. The boy’s eyes narrowed as he held his cupped hand before him. He breathed into it, sniffing before lowering his hand and eating some of the pork himself, chewing thoughtfully. His first thought had been that his breath stank, and maybe it had scared the woman away, but a quick breath check had revealed that his breath wasn’t that bad. Granted, it didn’t smell like roses, either, but it had been quite some time since any part of the child had smelt like roses.

Now, Aurora’s reason for bringing him food was no longer his concern. As she spoke, the child stood (picking up the package as well, much to Pup’s disappointment). He approached the wall, pausing only half a foot away, frowning as he looked up at the other. “What’s wrong?” he asked. It was a simple question, but one that people didn’t usually bother to answer; all his times of having this question ignored did not show as he gazed up at the woman. Gavroche didn’t ask questions to be polite; he asked because he wanted to know. Like a scientist, Gavroche recognized his failures, but did not allow them to limit him. Life was already boring enough- why limit one’s self?

While waiting for a reply, Gavroche tore off a piece of meat. With a little grin, the boy held it out. However grown up he tried to think, he was still young, and to him food was quite important. Therefore, his mind jumped to the conclusion that Aurora was hungry, but too proud to admit it. Maybe, if he offered her food, she would come down the wall and they would both be happy.

[Desperanza]

Aurora’s eyes watched the boy, wide and glittering emerald as she stared down at the small form. He was so innocent, so young. He had yet to live and yet here he was, scuffing the streets like any orphan would. He deserved better. He deserved more than this and when he ate, she felt the smile threatening to tug at her features again and she winced, swallowing. She turned her head away. Her fingers held tighter and her feet shifted against the wall. Her heart felt heavy, and she felt sick. Her mind was battling with itself. Flashes of saving him, of giving him a home or at least a better life flashed through her mind. Thoughts flashed through her mind of feeding him, of getting him food every night and bringing him home with her to rest. She was no mother. She was an assassin. How dare she let such a child steal away with her heart! But those eyes, those sweet, dark eyes. That sweet, angelic young face peering at her innocently and so full of intelligence, even at such a young age. He had promise. He had so much promise for whatever life gave him, and he was wasting away here in Ohanzee. She imagined him there, in Ellsinora. She imagined women coming forward to whisk him away into their homes and care for him. That would be better than this. But he would have to travel with her, a killer. She flinched, her mind haunting and taunting her all at once as she imagined him with blades in his hands and blood on his fingers. She imagined her own blades at his throat, his limp body held between her hands as the life left his body. The wicked thoughts sent shivers up her spine and she took a trembling breath and closed her eyes tightly against the sight.

She heard the scuffles, heard him moving and shifting below. She heard the crumple of the paper and the thump of the dog’s tail as he begged for food. She could smell the bitter salt on the slices of pork, the smell of the smoked meat and the scents made her stomach rumble. It had been precisely three days until she had eaten properly past eating a handful of berries, three slices of bread and a fistful of dried pork. Her stomach was rumbling once again and she slowly released her breath at the prospect. She was an assassin, slender and sleek. She was built for sneaking around and being quick and her body was well adjusted to the fact that food was not often and she had gone through training to run at full speed with only little food but this smelled good and it encouraged her to look his way, eyeing the pork on his palm, she offered a slight smile to him and allowed herself to slide down the wall a bit, a few inches at least. Finally, she dropped to the ground and sighed, lowering to sit on her knees she reached out slowly, her slender fingers reaching to close his own fingers around the meat and to press it closer to his chest, ”No, it is for you, Gavroche.” she murmured softly, her worry waning a bit as she rocked back on her heels and smiled, breathing a sigh of relief she cast a glance around the modest living style that the boy had taken to. The ragged and torn blanket that belonged to him and his make shift bed. She nibbled her lip before glancing back to the boy, her emerald eyes curious and searching, ”You, live here?” she inquired, her tone gently and questioning as she gazed into the face of the boy once again, curious as to his living style.

For the moment, her mind seemed broken and open, vulnerable almost despite the fact that her intelligence and knowledge remained intact even as she explored feelings and emotions that had never opened up to her before. Now, as she looked upon the face of the boy the images of his dead and broken body began to fade and she to relax now. She outstretched a hand to pup and stroked the top of his head as well as his floppy ears, offering him a gentle scratch before she lowered her hand again and glanced back to Gavroche, curious as to why he was alone, what had made him an orphan and as to why he was out here on his own. She often saw orphan children wandering the streets and she had not cared but this one, fighting for life and caring for himself, it had struck her with interest and now here she sat in a narrow alley with the child, struggling with emotions that had never occurred to her before as she inquired as to the boy’s life, asking him to trust her and in turn for her to trust herself.

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[hobbit]

The woman came down from the wall, like a spider descending from its perch high above a slumbering child. Her fingers closed his own around the meat he offered and she pushed it closer to his chest. Her voice was soft as she replied to his question. Gavroche eyed her for a moment, not quite believing her, before popping the meat into his mouth. If she was hungry, or if she got hungry, she could ask for some meat and he would gladly give it to her. Until then, Gavroche wasn’t going to keep offering. He hated when people did that to him and he certainly didn’t want to “return the favor”. Her eyes drifted away from him and Gavroche followed her gaze, wondering if there was something behind him…but, no, there was nothing but Pup and the hound had stepped closer, doing his best to keep the package within smelling distance.

Puzzled, the boy turned his eyes back on Aurora. Her words brought a light frown to his face and he nodded, “Yeah. My mum didn’t want me, see, so I came here…she’s gone now, so no point in trying to go anywhere else,” he added with a shrug of his small shoulders. A long time ago, mentioning his mother would have made tears run down the boy’s grimy face, but he had long since grown out of that stage. The woman had not wanted him, and he could accept that fact. He did accept that fact. Besides, he had seen her body lying on the street, victim of a protest gone wrong. She was dead and Gavroche didn’t cry for the dead.

There was no point.

The small child sat down where he was, sitting criss-cross-applesauce as he had often been instructed. “Where do you live? Is it nice?” he inquired. While he waited for a reply, Gavroche tore off a generous size of meat and began to nibble on it, pausing only to offer Pup some as well.

He wondered, briefly, if this woman came from a place of good money. That would explain the meat in his hand, but the child somehow doubted that this had been a legal purchase. Not that he cared. It was for him, so that made any unlawful actions alright.

[Desperanza]

Aurora’s eyes trained to the boy once again and she smiled patiently, coming to lower out of her crouch and instead to mimic his movements now as she sat cross legged and settled, her hands folding into her lap as she gazed around his make shift home with a thoughtful nod before meeting his gaze once again with a slight smile, shrugging at his question, ”Where I live is where I choose so yes, it is nice. For where I lay my head is my choice. Last night I slept hanging on to the top of the church.” she replied, motioning skyward to imply the spire that she had attached herself to, the broken cross which had served as her bed for the few hours that she had slept and she smiled at the thought, the fact that they were similar in the aspect that they slept on the street but she had before bought herself a small bar of lavender soap from a skilled woman and had bathed in a river far out in the forest and so her skin still smelled sweet, and not bitter for she kept herself clean none the less, retaining a feminine touch to keep herself smelling feminine and pleasantly clean. She took trips to the forest to die her shirts often as it was for when they came, they were white until she dyed them onyx.

With her gaze retrained to the boy, her interest peaked once again and though she felt nothing when he mentioned his mother, she wondered what it was that he felt, surprised that the boy did not wallow or drown himself in tears as most children did. Most children were young and weak and they cried for dead pets and dead family members but it was something that she had little patience for, she knew nothing of. For her parents were killed when she was only a child and she herself had killed the man whom had taken her in afterwards. His death was by her own hands but it was more of a peace and sanctuary, then cold blooded murder. In fact, he had expected it the day that his final hour had come. He had been waiting for her. He had been seated on his knees in the temple, red and gold robes surrounding his frame with a wood beaded cross necklace hung around his neck and modest wooden sandals adorning his feet. His hands were folded in front of himself and his head was bent to his finger tips, his eyes closed and his lips moving as he murmured gently to his chosen gods. At his back there rested a thin leather pocket, a sword shield that now laid empty. The blade was missing, and yet he did not seem to worry and nor did he pray for the blade to return for he no longer needed it. His blade now had a new home. Instead, he prayed for cleansing. He prayed for his sins to be washed clean and for his daughter to be cared for her whole life through.
Let her be protected and let her retain her intelligence. Let her heart never be stolen by fools and let her always wander with the hands and the mind to kill. Let my daughter forever be yours and when her time comes may she be old and wise and may her blades rest at her side.

[/i]

The words were final, the prayer finished and as his words ended, the wooden doors to the chapel swung inward, the gust of wind whipping about the empty room barren of anything but the candles that lined the floor in front of himself and the intricate statue that was carved with multiple gods all merged into one just past the candle line. The flames were extinguished in the wind and a dust devil danced through the corners of the room before dispersing and against the floor came the soft, pattering click of heels as the wood tapped the floor and the blade dragged the ground, the soft grind the only sound that filled his mind now as she approached from behind. As the thirteen year old child approached his back, his eyes were open but when the sounds ceased, his lids slid closed once more.

The lengthy blade was held tight within her left hand, the steel blade glimmering in the sunlight that fell in from the high windows. The space was small, and yet it was peaceful. The dust particles that fluttered through the air were visible through the shafts of light and as they hit the blade, a blazing reflection stroked the walls, but she paid no attention. The blade was heavy. When she lifted it with one hand it felt as if the weight would snap her thin wrist. If the blade was set up on point it was reach her full height including the handle. It was wickedly large and yet the girl yielded the blade that had belonged to her mentor, her adoptive father. The man was bald, his head shaved clean in his faith. He had piercing blue eyes that had always held her attention and when he spoke, she listened. She was his first and only student, his only success and he had prayed that some day she would enter the world a skilled killer and an independent young woman and yet she was only thirteen but here she stood, preparing to enter the world a full grown woman at heart.

As her fingers clenched the handle of the blade wrapped in black leather and studded with rubies and silver, she bent her head. Her own emerald eyes slid closed, her lips pursed and soon began to move. Soft whispers lifted into the air, her own silent prayer as she willed her father to the heavens with his gods and that the passage would be simple, easy. She had no knowledge of her biological father. At two, the child had very little time to attach to her parents before they had been murdered. For eleven years she had studied with the Monk of whose name was lost in history. He was a legend and yet nameless, faceless. Now, as he sat bent over the stone, his hands folded and his finger tips gracing his forehead, she lifted the blade and prepared herself. For the first time in her life, she felt pain. She felt fear. She felt hesitation. This was her father, her teacher. He had taught her everything that she knew. He had taught her to kill and he had taught her life. He had taught her the balance between life and death and he had taught her to take care of herself and not to trust. When she had come to him she had harbored unknown skills in the first place and he had realized and honed her skills to perfection. He had taken her under his wing and watched her blossom into the sun. This was her father, the man whom had brought her into the world and out of the darkness. She knew that there was nothing more to do, it was his time to go. The man was not sick, nor ill, his mind was in good shape and his body was healthy and yet, he would be killed by the hands of his adoptive daughter. He had warned her that a day would come, a day that he would no longer be able to teach her and a day when finally, she could only teach herself. Today was the day. She did not need to tell him and he needed no warning, for as she lifted the blade above her head, her right hand lifting to curl to the handle of the blade, she prepared herself.

The blade was heavy and the steel weighed heavily in her hands. Her fingers curled tightly and the man bent further forward. She could behead him. She could end this quickly and he would not have to suffer. She could sever the life from his shoulders and soon after she could burry his body and his head an inch apart. She could offer him the ultimate peace in moments and yet, as she lifted the blade above her head, tears stung her eyes and stained her cheeks. He did not show fear, he did not encourage her either, he simply waited and she did not end it quickly. She did not offer him an easy escape. He would suffer. The pain that etched her heart was growing until her entire form seemed to rack with the sharp sting and her hands trembled. What If she missed? What if she did not manage to catch his neck and spine as so? He would still suffer.

Her hands lowered, the blade falling to her left hand. Her movements were slow, deliberate and yet her soft hands were inviting to the man who even now as the girl turned thirteen showed an intricate and undeniable beauty that she would forever carry with her. He could do naught but relax at her touch as her right hand fluttered forward from behind to lift his chin upwards, tilting his head back as the blade crept forward to be pressed at his throat. The steel was heavy, the trusted blade that he had carried with him throughout his life. The blade that he had hand made himself. His trusty assassin’s blade. His ultimate weapon of which he had created solely for the purpose of killing. Now, it belonged to her and his own extension of himself would be ending his life. Her hands had stopped trembling by this point, and her fingers were tight at the blade’s handle, the other hand cupping the back of his head before the blade began to drag, the steel to cut into his skin and he tried with his might to make no sound, and succeeded. As blood flooded his throat and choked his airway, his flesh sliced apart and blood spilling over her fingers, his blue eyes gazed upon the sight of his daughter. The last and ultimate connection between them, a moment’s notice, and then death.

Dried tears stained her cheeks, she no longer cried. As his throat was torn apart, his hot blood staining her hands, her soul seemed to chill into the steel that took his life. It ended the pain, the fear, the anxiety. She felt nothing. His death would not be mourned. He had no family, and now neither did she. The blade was set aside, the silver and gems stained with crimson as she knelt at his back and lowered his head into her lap, her fingers clenched at his throat just beneath the clean gash. His heart rate was slowing rapidly. The tattered race of the organ struggled and was swift, panicked and finally, nonexistent. His eyes were empty and she stroked them closed with a sigh, her own emerald eyes drifting closed for a moment before she glanced to the body once again. Now, there was nothing. This man whom had named her Aurora, Aurora Borealis now was gone. For even he had not know her as her true name, Esperanza Diaoux. This man whom had granted her life she had now granted death, and everything that she knew and had a connection to was now gone.

The late afternoon sun peaked on the horizon as she finished filling the hole. About ten feet behind her rested the stone arched grave that she had earlier that day created and here, rested Nashok, the monk’s blade. Forever would both be hidden from view, from history for she would not share his story with any who would listen and nor would she share much of anything. Her insides were built with steel just as her own precious extensions were. As she finished the final grave of Nashok, she covered this too with a mountain of stones until finally, with beads of sweat glittering at her brow, she stood. Making her way back into the chapel, the flames were beginning to blaze in the hearth, the block of untamed steel to her right. As she approached, her fingers played with the emeralds and silver stacked to the side. And so it begins. Late into the midnight, at the peak of the night, her soul extensions would be born, and her life would truly begin.

Aurora once again returned to the present, taking a sudden breath. She felt very much as if she had been meditating quite a bit. Her emerald eyes flashed between royal purple, gold, steel grey and finally, back to emerald once again as her eyes trained to the face of the boy, her eyes narrowing slightly for a moment as she studied his features. If only he knew her story and yet, would he even understand? She shook her head slightly and sighed, this child was something of interest and yet, not something to share her story with. At least not yet. He was still innocent and his hands were clean, technically speaking not so much. However, as she looked down upon the child, a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she leaned forward with her elbows against her knees, ”You have led quite the quiet life, child. What will you do with yourself?” she inquired, curious as to what this boy’s life would bring the older that he got for surely he had thought of this by now, right? At nine years old she was poised in the fields battling her father with swords and poison tipped daggers and she knew nothing other then the fact that for certain she was destined to be an assassin and to trust no one but herself and her father and when the day came, she would end him and then there would only be her. It did not occur to her what normal human children though of and yet, she was curious so now, as she sat cross legged, she stared down at the child with her piercing emerald eyes as she awaited his reply.
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[hobbit]

Vampire.

That was the first word that popped to the child’s mind, floating above all the other words he had accumulated to describe the female before him. To some, being called a vampire would be among their top ten worst things, but Gavroche did not think this to insult Aurora. Her sleeping habit, as she had explained it, had simply struck him as vampirish. And, in a world where Minotaurs, fairies, and magic existed, who was to say a vampire could not be among the people of Murate, or Ellsinora? For a moment, the child entertained the idea, his eyes shining, but he gradually released it. If there were vampires alive, surely someone would have noticed them? No, this woman was not a vampire; she was simply a human. Gavroche would be a liar if he said that he was not upset for a moment upon realizing this, as it would have been wonderful to have a vampire as a friend. Everyone would be afraid of him, and no one would dare to mess with him…not unless they wanted sharp, white fangs digging into their neck.

Gavroche opened his mouth to ask Aurora another question (like most children, he was full of them), but the look on her face made his mouth promptly shut. She did not appear angry or anything, she simply appeared to be lost. Gavroche knew the look well; it was one his mother had worn whenever someone mentioned his lost sister, Mary Ann. A light sigh escaped the boy as he looked down at his right sleeve; the child’s eyes caught a thin string and he began to toy with it, a habit he had picked up from his father. Perhaps, when he was an adult, he would receive his mother’s patience, but for now the amount the boy had was equivalent to what his father had. As he waited for the woman to emerge from her secret world, Gavroche recalled a usual dinner at his old home, when his family had been together. Then six, the boy had been picking at his sleeve, just as he was now. His mother, a plump woman with cardboard features and angry eyes barely noticeable beneath layers of fat, had leaned across the dinner table and swatted him. Her hand had left a red mark. She had then turned to her husband, and the thin man merely picked at his own sleeve while his child cried and his wife hollered.

That was the day Gavroche had lost all respect for his father.

That was, perhaps, the saddest day of the boy’s short life. A boy was to look at his father with awe, not with disgust. Gavroche did not have time to dive into any more memories, for the woman’s voice reached him. The dark headed youth looked up as Aurora finished her question, leaning forward like an officer waiting to hear a comical reply from an inmate. His mouth turned down in a frown. He had never thought about what he would do with himself. For some reason, he had never imagined himself growing older than twelve.

“I dunno…” Gavroche murmured, his frown turning into a more thoughtful expression, “Maybe…maybe I’ll do what my father did. He was a clerk.”