Buying Sunshine from Armande: A Street Fantasy

[melusine]

Armande

The humpbacked alleys of the city were silent as Armande passed by. The townspeople were snug behind their doors, gathered around their fires. The light from the dancing flames was golden and magical and she could not help smiling a little as she was bathed momentarily in the lambent glow. She remembered, long years before, the days with her grandmother; her bowl of soup laid out at the table and her narrow, white, curtained bed. Standing before one window that was small and green-shuttered, and looked very much like her window in Ghent, Armande narrowed her eyes a little and imagined she was inside looking out.

Where are you, my Serge? she whispered with a sigh. In the sagging pocket of the painter's old, patched coat, her fingers wrapped around the heel of bread she had saved for Serge. How many days now had it been since she had seen him? How many days of dancing with a smile on her face as her heart grew heavy with sorrow within her breast?

She walked on, and tilted her head backwards, studying the narrow strip of sky between the rooftops. She remembered lying with Serge in the long grass on a summer night, her hand curled in his, and his low, rough voice intoning the names of the constellations as they wheeled so slowly past. He had made stories of the stars, giving them improbable names, and telling of their histories, their loves and families. Serge's stories were better than food. She could fall asleep listening to one, and dream that she had been fed on sweetmeats.

The soles of her shoes were thin and her feet were as cold as stones. Still she walked, down the sloping way towards the docks. It was a place she did not like, a place she was afraid of. But Serge was also part of that world, and she would brave any danger to find him again.

 

[papillon24]

Mina

The Tall man walked on towards the docks flipping a coin down to the blanket where my things lay. I quickly put it my pocket for I knew if someone saw it they would surely take it from me.

I pulled the paper out from under my bag and started to read what I could. It told of more pain in which this city had to offer the ones like me. I knew people were dying. I saw it everyday but the rich never knew of it. They had their fancy parties to attend like the ones I used to in my past for the new year. I could smell the steamed buns and the roasted meats now. I could hear the boiling rice from the pot in the kitchen as my mother made sticky almond cakes.

I was pulled from my little daydream by a man passing by.

"A trinket for you sir?" I asked.

He reached out and held it in his hand. He looked like one of my kind, but I had never seen him on the streets before. I saw his eyes focus on me as he reached into his pocket and handed me a piece of cheese.

"Thank you sir." As I closed his hand around the trinket and put the piece of cheese into my pocket with my copper coin.

"May I ask of your name"

 

[TheOlderGuy]

Pashar

"Pashar," his own shyness was obvious, "I'm Pashar. I wish I could offer you more, but I'm kinda down on my luck myself. Are you ok? You look like you could use some company. I take it you live around here?"

 

[papillon24]

Mina

"Mina" I said as I motioned towards myself. "I'm fine, you look like your the one who should be asked." I smiled up at him and let a little laugh escape my lips.

"You look colder than me, come with me and warm up a bit. do you like rice? I still have a little if you would like some. You shared with me so now it is my turn"

I started to pack up my things and slung the bag over my shoulder. " It's really not far, just over bridge I have a castle of my own where I am free."

He nodded and folled me. I walked over the bride and into the allys of the city where I had a small room in the back of a flower shop. Sometimes the shopkeeper would let me work for her and pay me in flowers which I would sell. I loved it here. I could always smell roses and lillies no matter what time of year it was.

I opened the door to a small room with a irt pit in the middle which I used to cook sometimes. A mat of old balnkets in the corner for my bed and a few scatterd things for my trinkets were all that covered the floor.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

 

[TheOlderGuy]

Pashar

"Mina" she said as she motioned towards herself. "I'm fine, you look like you're the one who should be asked."

A smile, a beautiful smile emerged from her lips along with a small laugh. Beautiful, he thought -- she is really stunning when she smiles. It strips away all the sadness, and she becomes a wealthy woman with the world at her feet.

She offered him shelter at her home nearby, and he nodded and followed. As they walked the streets, he couldn't help but notice the sensual way she moved, the motion of her hips, the determination in each step. Soon he smelled flowers, and she opened a door to a small room behind the flower shop.

The room was quite small, and nearly barren, save for some trinkets, and a bed of blankets in the corner. But it felt like a home that was cared for, beloved, warmed by the soul of someone special.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Mina softly asked.

He paused. "Beautiful. You . . . It's really beautiful." And so are you, he thought, suddenly feeling very shy again.

 

[ariosto]

Around midnight the swirling sleet and snow gave up and a heavy silver moon hung above the breaking clouds.
Jules sat on a bench in the park and stared up at it.
It was cold and hard and seemed to mock him. The night wind was bitter. He shivered and drew the great coat tighter around him. His feet ached from walking...walking...walking. For what? He didn't know.
To find the girl...perhaps. To escape himself...surely.

They'd stopped him once near Karl Siemens Square and asked for papers. He had fumbled some old sketches from his pocket and thrust them into the policemans hand, then run away into the dark.
Now he was cold. If he stayed on the bench much longer he might freeze.
In the distance the soul lonely sound of a ships foghorn drifted up to him.
The docks. He had not been there yet and they were on his way back to his room.
He stood up, looked again at the clearing sky, took great comfort in seeing Orion in its familiar place and began to walk rapidly down to the river.

 

[Shadowsoul]

A Snake Within The Shadowed Streets

Daniel moved quickly toward M. Béroul's bakery. As he crossed the street he took a quick glance to where Armande usually was. As expected she still had not returned. Giving a silent prayer for her safety Daniel moved on to the shadowed doorway of the bakery.

It was not long before the girl arrived. Daniel looked to her with a smile. "Ready then? Let's go to the docks before the city awakes."

Daniel moved cautiously through the streets guiding the girl past the minor threats of truly inept patrolling officers. As they neared the docks the soft scent of the sea breeze assaulted them. Moving into a doorway daniel looked toward the pier. Pointing to a tall silhouette looking out toward the sea, Daniel whispered. "I don't know if you have met him yet, but the man's name is Wallace. Word on the street is that he is a mercenary, I do not know him, nor do I know what he would think about our "appraisal of the dock's stores." Daniel said with a grin as he continued. "I just stay clear of him. I usually do that until I know enough about people. I have made some friends, and some enemies, but you can never tell out here who is what." Daniel turned into an alley lined with broken crates. The sharp smell of fish greeted them as they neared a broken window seen though them.

"Ok, you will go in through this one, the crates are not sturdy enough for me, but I think you'll be fine. Keep that knife close to you, there are sometimes others here that would rather not see us come out of the warehouses vertically, if you know what I mean." Daniel looked about cautiously. "I'll go in the other side. We'll meet in the center of the warehouse, and don't move about in there without me. I wouldn't want to find the stores empty when I get in." Daniel said with a wink.

"But if you run into trouble, head to the right of the tall crates, there is a hole in the wall that will bring you outside. It takes you close to the pier though so be careful."

Daniel began to move to the other side of the warehouse. Turning back to the girl he said. "Forgive me, but I do not believe that I know your name, perhaps you did say it, but in the beauty of...the night sky, I think I may have missed what it is that you said."

After receiving her response he wished her good luck and steathily moved into the shadows toward the other side of the building.

Just as he was beginning to climb the metal crates to the window he caught a figure out of the corner of his eye. The shadow moved with gentle grace, but was shivering within the cold. Squinting his eyes he attempted to focus his vision on the form. Instantly he felt his heart rise into his throat. "Christ!! Étoile?!! What the hell is she doing here?!" As Armande stepped into the light of the docks, Daniel heard another sound...A pipe falling and the quick movement of feet.

Damn it! Of all the nights why did he choose to show up now?"

Daniel stepped back into the shadows as he unsheathed his knife.

Don't be afraid Daniel..Heroes are best remembered for dying for a cause. Protecting two women against who could possibly be your worst enemy should be cause enough."

Gripping the knife tightly and taking measured breaths. Daniel began to move closer to Armande. As he neared her he whispered a prayer to the gods for protection and strength and to allow the three of them to live past this night."

 

[melusine]

Armande

As long as the starlight touched her, Armande knew she was safe.

She walked along the docks, in and out of the guttering flames of so many smoking lamps, in and out of the fields of vision of desperate men. In dark corners, transactions of money and flesh went on as they went on every night. Women cried and women laughed and sometimes, women screamed. And Armande walked.

In her heart, she knew Serge was dead.

She had pried the loose stone from the churchyard wall and seen there the mouldering cheese, the withered apple, which so many days ago she had left for him to find.

Maybe he had just abandoned her, tired of her poor offerings, and found for himself a woman who could provide him with a real room, a real bed. Maybe he invented his stories for other ears now.

But Serge -- who would take him? Ill-humoured and scrawny as an alley cat, who would want him but herself, Armande?

No, he was certainly dead. Armande knew this with the same fatalistic certainty with which she had one day known that the only way to get on was to lift her skirts and let strange men press her body against the wall.

It was very cold, even in the painter's borrowed coat. The snow caught in her hair and did not melt, but collected in crystalline filaments, falling down on either side of her face like the veil of cheap lace her grandmother Marguerite had worn to the village church so long ago.

In the pale starlight, Armande walked along the chattering river. She came to the end of the town. On the bridge, a tall stone angel stood.

Armande settled herself at the feet of the angel, drawing up her knees and letting her face slip down into the oversized, patched and threadbare coat. The heel of bread, which she held between her fingers, had turned to ice.

But she was warm. As once when, long ago, she had lain beneath the wings of sheltering swans, on the lip of a summer lake, she was warm and content.

Her heart slowed until it matched the stately tread of the constellations.

And it seemed to her that Serge, from somewhere, was calling.

Through the darkness. And then the light.

 

[Mistress Jorja]

Tempeste

Mounting the first crate with the firm grip of his hand, Tempeste perched there for a moment, eye level with Daniel. The soft lines of his face showed a world weary young man, but the moonlight healed many of the scars that would be revealed so harshly by the light of day.

"Tempeste. It suits me, really..."

Rising from her folded form, she offered him a half-smile at his wishes of luck for she believe that one made their own luck. Balancing on the narrow edge of the wooden crate, she tested her footholds before taking them, ascending to the top of the wide scattered pile with her uncanny grace. Reaching above her head, she found the window unlatched. Peering into the darkness, she could at first see nothing, for her warm breath clouded the grimy pane with a milky whiteness. Shifting shadows caught her eye, but it was nothing more than the clouds racing across the moon as if being chased by the Devil himself. Or perhaps running not away from something, but towards an Angel, for that was the only thing that could be worthy of such unearthly speed.

Pressing open the glass with splayed fingers, Tempeste hoisted her lithe body through the small space, listening to Daniel's receding footfalls as she wormed her way through with a small gasp of exertion. Landing neatly and on all fours as a cat would have in the crumpled newspapers and piles of cardboard shipping boxes, she paused to appraise her surroundings. Threading her way carefully through the obstacles of the dark warehouse, she slowly adjusted to the faint light allowed by the stately squares of glass, some cracked and other chipped but still managing to keep out the cold. In the relative warmth, she made her way on softly pattering feet, past the cloaked stalls of merchants who's festive signs painted in rich colors were drained to a stark beauty of black and white by the night. Pausing at the scrabble of a tiny rodent's stride on the concrete, Tempeste waited for a sign of Daniel's presence.

 

[ariosto]

Armande...Armande...
The girl dreamed somewhere far away a smile on her pale lips all that was left of life in the still body. Even in his great coat she seemed to frail for this world.
The Painter bent close to her, until his breath warmed her skin. His hand was on her thin chest...no movement. He held his lips to hers...no breath.

Armande!...wake up Armande!

She shouldn't die. Not this poor child. Cold and alone, transfixed by the icy stars. A stray like me, he thought.
He shook her and the smile did not move. Ice crystals flew from her hair. Something dropped from her hand. He picked it up. It was the bread he'd given her, the piece she'd put away for Serge.
It broke when it hit the ground.

The sound of a siren wailed away in the City above them. Jules stared at her face...looking for anything...anything.
He lay down next to her then in the shelter of the angel. He reached out and drew her close to him, to his warmth, to his heart and decided that it was now beyond him to effect either her life or his own. The struggle and the pain might indeed have been too much. He would bring her to him and they would live or she would reach out and draw him into the place she had gone. It did not matter anymore.
The Painter looked up past the stone robes of the angel saint, looked up into the endless black night, felt the wind bite into his face and turned his mind desperately back to the warm days and the good times that were fading fast in his mind like old color photographs left in the sun.

Armande...
He whispered,
...if only you could have been there...
If only you could have felt the light and the colors...

 

[ariosto]

OOC....This is a beautiful thread.
Mistress Jorja and I would like to see it stay alive.
Are there any other of the players who posted here interested in continuing?

 

[Mistress Jorja]

Tempeste waited for what seemed like hours, her ragged breathing from the furtive movements eventually quieting in the prescient silence of the concrete and wood tomb. She stayed crouched, the stone floor cold and hard beneath her splayed fingers. For a moment, there was the restless shift of a roosting bird trying to escape the harsh weather of the streets, a haunting cry tainting the still air before fading away and letting the pressing nothingness seep between the cracks in the sound like water pushing through the faults in a dam.

Where was he? She felt abandoned at Daniel’s disappearance. Instead of feeling worry at his failure to meet her, she could only think of how he had left her. Tempeste seldom placed her coveted trust in anyone, and she felt irrationally taken advantage of. Standing and stretching her cramped muscles, she stepped boldly out of the shadows, sliding open the wooden door along the side wall. Greeted with the brisk gusts that settled into the narrow streets and siphoned along their course, she caught another note of the mournful cooing, letting it echo in her ears as she stepped out into a deeper shade of darkness.

Fumbling in the pockets of her coat, she searched out her remaining two cigarettes, slipping one between her lips. Lighting it with a cheap cardboard match, she let the flame burn almost to her fingers before dropping it to the street and watching it gutter out as it consumed itself. Tempeste glanced rapidly around for any sign of trouble, no longer concerned with the whereabouts of Daniel, although she was tempted to return to the warehouse at his promise of a meal.

Sighing, she exhaled, taking long strides as she quickened the pace of her step. Walking, with no real sense of where she was going, she came up short as she saw two bodies huddled together in front of her. Pressing her back to the brick of the building that formed a side of the alley, she watched them intently from a distance, the glowing tip of her cigarette the only sign of her presence.

 

[unit555]

My character fell out when the character he was to interact with took up with another. If you want to write him back in send me a PM bringing me up to speed and I will be happy to help keep the thread going.

 

[ariosto]

When he awoke it was near dawn and Jules thought at first he had died. He could not move, could not open his eyes.
Frost. He was covered in it.
With great effort he began to break free and became aware of the still form beside him. She was as he had found her last night. All that had changed was the acceptance of the finality of her death.
He knelt beside her but could not weep. The free thing of wind and color that she had been was gone. Perhaps now she danced in the warm plaza of his dreams far away...another time... another place. He reached down and rummaged in her rags to find the pendant. It was still there. He slid it into his pocket...

"Worth anything?"
The voice came from the shadows. A woman's voice.
He spun around.

A cigarette butt fell like a shooting star in the predawn light.
The woman who followed it was still in shadows.
"Tempeste"
she said, stopping 10 feet away.
"Can I help?"

He looked back down at the girl who now seemed like a statue in the grave yard, slowly being covered by snow.

"There's nothing to do here anymore... Will you buy me some food?
I'm very hungry."

They walked away together.

Bundled around Armande's still body was the painters warm thick coat and in it the last money he had in the world.

 

[Mistress Jorja]

Tempeste

Tempeste had a tendency to use people only for what they were worth as a short-term investment. It wasn’t out of the coldness of her heart nor was it a rough childhood that brought this out in her, but the mere fact of survival. Burdened with this unwanted trait, she had made a home for herself on the streets.

The man had the saddest eyes she had ever seen. They weren’t unfeeling, dark pools, rather, compassionate yet deeply scarred golden orbs. Fingering the few coins she had found in the pocket of Daniel’s duster, Tempeste made up her mind.

Wait, stranger. Come with me…

Following a shorter route than the one she and Daniel had waltzed down earlier, Tempeste came to Monsieur Béroul’s bakery, with it’s lights still blazing brightly.

Stepping boldly into the warmth of a shop where their kind seldom set foot, Tempeste looked over the older woman behind the counter with distaste. A cruel sneer over yellowed teeth, the few layers of fat put on by living on rich pastries and desserts – so unlike Tempeste’s lean and tight frame – all dwarfed by a snarl of red hair that hung grimly onto her scalp.

Her gnarled fingers closed fiercely around two of the sweet buns thickly spread with apricot preserves, like a dragon hording it’s gold. The Bérouls never trusted anyone but themselves, and the fiery lady took a great deal of time suspiciously counting and recounting the coins Tempeste paid with.

Sighing at having to leave the welcome warmth, despite how cold it's inhabitants were, Tempeste remained silent in Jules’s presence, for after only a brief introduction on their walk through the maze of streets, they had both slipped into their own thoughts.

Tucking a leg beneath her, Tempeste lounged on the empty wooden crates backed by a brick wall, licking the apricot hungrily from her slender, spidery fingers as she offered one of the treats to her companion as a sign of wanted friendship, if not complete trust.

 

[ariosto]

Dawn light was beginning to fill the alley behind the bakery but it brought no real warmth with it. Jules was able to see his benefactor better though. She was nearly as thin as Armande but whereas Armande had been a girl this one was a woman. Whereas Armande's showed a timeless innocense, Tempeste exuded a jaded thorough knowledge of the workings of the world.

Thank you. he said.
She nodded.

That was Armande the little street dancer...

...and whore.
Tempeste added lighting a cigarette.

Yes. That too, I guess.

You guess!...come on you were with her, no?....here have a cigarette.

The Painter took it from her, inhaled and coughed. It was very different than the sweet smoke of the South... the smoke of ease and dreams.

She had turned and was walking away into the street.

Wait!...I... I'm new to the City. I have a room...it's in the Old Town on Prinz Fischer Strasse. Can you tell me how to get back there?

 

[Mistress Jorja]

Tempeste

“Beware of this city, Jules. It will kill you if it gets half a chance. Like it did that little whore of yours.”

Tempeste pocketed the cigarettes and leaving hers unlit, she led the painter through the silent streets. When she saw the building where he lived, Tempeste turned to him questioningly.

“You live in a house?”

”Yes, don’t you?”

Letting out a low laugh, she flung her arms open, gesturing towards the expanse of sky visible between the overhangs of the bordering buildings.

“Four walls are a cage to me. I’d pace like a trapped circus animal.”

Gnawing at the white paper, she pulled it from her thin lips, twirling it between fingers that looked as if they could be a world class pianist’s most valuable possessions.

“Why would I want to fall asleep looking at a cracked plaster ceiling, when I could have the stars sing my nightmares?”

 

[papillon24]

Mina

I lit the meager fire in the middle of the room. My grand fireplace I called it. But it was like the one mother used to cook with.
I turned to my guest.

"Pasher, would you like to join me in my feast?" giggling slightly at myself.

He nodded as I cooked up a small amount of soupy rice.
I handed him the tin cup with the little I had to offer in it and sat down in the corner on an old blanket to start my meal.

"What is you story? We all have one."

We, you mean is a group of you?

"There is. We are like a distant family. We all help each other out. Maybe you will see the others and they will tell you how sometimes Mina share a meal with them if she can. Tell them to stop by sometime to warm up as well."

I looked through the crack in the wall hoping to see little Serge peeking back through. I hoped he was doing well for I hadn't seen him for over two weeks. My heart saddened at the thought of what could of happened to him.

 

[TheOlderGuy]

Pashar

Mina built a small fire, warming the place considerably, and brought me a tin cup of rice. Her movements were intoxicating to me. I had been many places, and seen many people, most of them clearly out for themselves and full of pretense. But she was different in every way, and I couldn't take my eyes off her.

"What is you story? We all have one." she asked, certain that I must have one.

"I don't much talk about it," was all that I could offer. She looked disappointed, even annoyed. "Well, it's not a very nice story. I lost my parents in the war. The soldiers came. I was only about five years old. At the time I didn't understand much about what was happening, it was only later that I was able to put words to those feelings." I stopped, thinking perhaps I had satisfied her. But she was waiting for me to go on.

"They tied up my parents. I hid in a crate behind the firewood, but I could see everything. My father was tortured for hours, and my mother was raped in front of him, over and over again. At one point I cried out and I thought that they would kill me, too. But papa was able to distract them by cursing their mothers. With that they slit his throat and left him to die. They worked my mother for many more hours before beating her to death. I stayed in the crate for a day and a half, until my uncle came to check on us, and found the bodies, cold and unrecognizable. He took me with him, after we had buried my mama and papa. But he was old, much older than papa, and by the time I was eight, he, too, had died, and I've been wandering the streets ever since, from town to town, trouble to trouble." The tale had brought tears to my eyes, and I hid my face in shame.

"I told you it wasn't pretty," I cried out, trying to sound much tougher than the little boy I suddenly felt like.

 

[ariosto]

OOC...Hi Older Guy, Papillon...
When Jorja and began reposting Armande I talked to melusine who has been very ill. She told me that she wasn't sure how she felt abouth the thread continuing on without her. In deference to that Jorja and I stopped posting here.
She did go on to say that we could continue it if we wished to.

Anyway for what it's worth...

 

[melusine]

Please feel free

to continue writing here if you so desire.