Realistic or Modern Victorian London

[Syrrus]

"Ah yes, and that gives you all the right to be a mortal, true, and all the right not to be judge, pardon me for my attempt as to understand and give. Perhaps my sisters are right and I should join a orchestra and play my tunes for they who are like me, so you and your people - who have all the right to judge for all the awful things you've been put through - can continue with just that. For no one has problems, troubles or a unfair life unless they are poor, by god it cannot be so!"


Victor folded his arms, glaring at her slightly.

 

[GreyZone]

"Oh, yes, poor Mr. Edwards," she snapped back. "Your father taught you how to read and play two instruments beautifully. You live on your own and buy drinks and drugs at your own disposal. You can buy a train ticket whenever you would like, you can have your pick of women, too. You have been to university and can spend your days at your own leisure and you are still not happy! What gives, Mr. Edwards?!0


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[Syrrus]

"Yes, 'what gives' how can a man, who loves other men, hated by society for doing so, dealing with one single Russian written telegram saying that his lover fell dead to one, one damned bullet made in America. Or with a father so cruel that he punished his three year old with a cane for playing one key too low. Or perhaps a mother, dead in childbirth, who's last words were in love towards that father instead of her living children. With undying hope of a better world beyond this, where a god so cruel can no longer rule. How can he not be happy? How can he not stop the drug abuse, the alcohol and face the cold and unloving world that lay beyond his single point of oblivion, without will to travel beyond."


Taking a deep breath, the man stroke black hair away from his face. "But no, the Lord, Master Edwards has money and education, how in the world could he not smile, or wish not to get up in the morning. We all have reasons, Miss Doyle, not to smile. Born into it, blessed by it, matters little. Unhappiness is given to one and all."

 

[GreyZone]

"Then what will make you happy, dear Mr. Edwards?" She asked in a cold voice, a few moments after he finished speaking. "For you have been given what I cannot even dream of, despite your childhood and the hardships you suffered throughout your life. And do not dare tell me that you are satisfied now because I am not a fool despite the fact that some children of six years of age are better educated than I."


She continued, "If men make you happy and you have no desire to exist intimately with a woman, go for a man. What do you have to lose? You have backed yourself into a corner and I believe that you are staying there either because you subconsciously allow your family to rule you even still, or you are incredibly lazy. And I am sorry if you are accustomed to women bending at the bat of your eye, but I do not possess the temperament for that not do I wish I did.

 

[Syrrus]

"Do you know what happens to a man who loves another? Well, let me tell you. In Russia, they get shot." The poked himself over the heart. "I do not love men more than women, my love had no gender, nor age and no restrictions, I love what I love. You know what would make me happy? Well, I do not. Perhaps to be able to say goodbye, to tip my hat and give my thanks. Perhaps there is no happiness to be had and all that is waiting is the sweet kisses of death."


He leaned back in his seat, watching the young woman silently for only a few moments. "Put your faults to bed." He mumbled. "You've lost your mind in the sand. There is so much more and you can reclaim your crown."


The carriage then stopped and without further notice, Victor opened the door and stepped outside, reaching one hand out for the young lady, the help her down on the street.

 

[GreyZone]

"I am sorry that you only find torment in the world you have been born into, Mr. Edwards," she replied with no infliction of tone. "But I can hardly pity you as you are suffering so and doing nothing about it. Is the definition of insanity not doing the same pattern over and over again and expecting different results? Oh, of course I could never understand your woes, but I find it very difficult to pity a man who simmers in his own bitter juices because that is where he is most comfortable."


She did not accept his hand down from the carriage, nor did she repin her hair up or her hat upon her head. "Thank you for the lovely view of the country. Mr. Edwards, but I do not believe that whatever arrangement we had will continue. As you said earlier, I will be a wife of some disgusting man soon enough and I do not need to waste my time nor cloud my vision."

 

[Syrrus]

"I am not looking for you pity, Miss Doyle, far from it. I would despise to have it. My life is mine, the way it has become is one story out of a million and million stories out there, it is my own. So do not to take my attempt in sharing my view of the world as looking for pity, not from you - nor anyone else. In fact."


He began to look though his pockets, searching and searching until he found a check and a ticket. With his favourite pen, the man wrote down some numbers and handed it her way. "Go home, miss Doyle, for I will not be returning to London with you. Not today. You will not see me again either, do not worry. My view of the world will stay my own and you may find whatever luck you are searching, or is not searching for. It is not up to me, nor anyone else to decide where your life is taking you."

 

[GreyZone]

"I do not want your money, Mr. Edwards," she responded. "Even if you are the one who brought me out here to have your grandmother ridicule me of my stature and you of any pride that you have. I would sooner walk back to London than take a train purchased from the deep pockets of your father whom you loathe so terribly."


At that, she tied the ribbons of her bonnet around her neck and allowed it to hit her back, lifting her dress enough to show her ragged shoes before setting off away from him. "Goodbye, dearest. I thank you much for that C scale."

 

[Syrrus]

Victor could do little but rub his temples in anger and frustration, a feeling he had been dealing with for quite a while now. There was little he could do, once she had started to walk away from her. She was going to walk back to London? That was impossible, she was not only going to get lost but end up going the complete wrong way. At the same time, what else could he do. He had already prepared to take her home by train, given her the ticket which she refused.


With a low growl the man turned, after picking up his hat from the seat in the carriage and paying the cap driver, and began to walk off, ripping his return tickets into small small pieces and watching them get carried away by the light breeze. He also dropped the check down the hat of a lonely beggar, who shocked at the big numbers shouted out in surprise.


Though the Nobleman had already walked too far to hear the man's gasping thanks and repeating 'sirs', Victor had plans to travel elsewhere, by foot or by carriage, he did not quite know.

 

[GreyZone]

A few months later, Margaret was in the exact position that she had been before Victor. She was trapped behind the bar, scrubbing the counters and listening to men's melancholy wails or disgusting flirting with tight nods, tight smiles, and hands rubbed raw and red from plunging glasses into steaming water.


In the time that had elapsed, Margaret's mother who had already born seven children, had died in childbirth with an unexpected eighth at the age of thirty-five. Margaret had served as a quick midwife, for they had had next to no warning when the late Mrs. Doyle had went into labor.


As a result of it, the girl was just on the brink of turning seventeen and hating every day that went with her still being unwed and tied to her family as a new mother figure. She was the eldest girl, so she was bound to her younger siblings and to serve her father with a thick rope the size of the mast of a ship.


For Margaret's younger sister Jane was not yet careful enough to watch a baby while she took care of the two even younger than her, Margaret herself held the red-faced infant while she worked, always howling on her hip as she poured drink after drink after drink. The child was colicky and horrid and hated everyone. So Margaret hated it right back, for it had taken her mother and what little freedom she had and had the audacity to sob day in and day out.

 

[Syrrus]

Through the pubdoors came a dusty looking young man, he couldn't be much older than nineteen years old. He had ashes and dust on his cheeks, coal marks all over his dirty checkered shirt, a pair of grey and broken dungarees and a simple, yet warming jacket in a brown colour. He almost look - except for his golden hair - like a embodiment of London itself. He even had a typical baker boy hat on his head. He was - obviously - a simple chimneysweep.


The young man looked far from a person that the nobleman Victor was. This young boy smiled with his hole face, his eyes big and green - he even had a set of healthy freckled over his nose. He was life incarnate and looked as if he couldn't be happier. "A pint, please, ma'am." He asked the barmaid, smiling at her as he sat down, removing the dust hat and placing it next to him. His hands black with dust.

 

[GreyZone]

"Of course, sir," she replied with an empty smile, dumping the wailing baby into the unsuspecting arms of her sister Jane. She was trying to observe Margaret, so she could take over whenever the older woman moved out.


She had told herself that she would flirt mercilessly with anyone who came along, in hopes that she could escape from the hellhole that had become her home. And yet, she could hardly think of anyone besides the young and bitter nobleman that had almost taught her one of the most basic human needs.


"There you are, sir," she told him as she placed her drink in front of him. "Is there anything else that I can do for you?" She leaned against the counter in front of him, offering him a smile that she hoped looked friendly.


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[Syrrus]

"Awh, doll, why de sad face?" He smiled up at her and brushed blond hair out of his face with his arm, causing a long line of ash to paint over his forehead, without much care. He picked the beer up and took a quick swing, exhaling heavily once he placed the glass back down. He also shook his head, quickly and made a face of disgust. "Oh whee, blime' it tastes worse and worse for each bloody time. Ya' know, sometimes I simply think dat I'm not cut out for the whole drinkin' and fightin' business. Don't take me wrong, I'd fight anyone to protect ma' honor, a honor is all a man haves eh?"


He laughed heartily. "But what's wrong hun'? Life got ya down?"

 

[GreyZone]

Margaret leaned closer to him, teasingly wiping the line of soot of his forehead with a wink. "Oh, do not worry about me for a minute, sir."


She straightened and poured a tall drink for another customer before returning to the chimney sweep.


"Are you trying to gain a taste for it? It is an acquired one, I will give you that." She took the baby from Jane, wincing when it beat her with its tiny fists. "Please excuse my brother here. He has a chronic disease of being horrid."


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[Syrrus]

"Short falls and little sins, god calls when no one wins! I'm wearin' thin. Gods, why are we keepin' score? If ya not laughing who's laughing now? Sometimes I wonder if we all stops sinkin' would we be able to stand on da' ground? Hah. I'm not leavin' without a fight. I got my holster around ma' side, just cause I'm wrong doesn't make ya right, cause you ain't right." He winked her way. "If ya'r not laughing who's laughing, eh? Cheer up doll, don't let God think he's won. Ya still got ya pretty face, eh. So laugh! Be happy with what ya got, life I mean. See dis here? All dis dirt, I promise by God, I bathe every night and I still end up looking like filth after a day's work, but ya gotta smile. Can't be angry with life just because it's life, ya know?"


He peered at the baby that she carried and leaned back, one arm on the back of his seat. "Excuses and exuses, don't have ta' apologize around me, no ma'am. I wasn't even here." He placed both his hands over his face, like you do to children to make them think you've vanished and removed them, with a grin playing on his lips.

 

[GreyZone]

She forced a laugh as he spoke, wiping down the counter for the hundredth time simply for something to do. "I am not troubled at all," she lied. "Simply upset that I have to watch men drink all day and have none myself for it is not ladylike." Again, a lie. Margaret had never had a drink in her life.


The child's roars of protests only got louder at that. Margaret tried not to shudder as she shoved him back into Jane's arms. "Take it upstairs." They still didn't name the boy, or call him anything other than 'it.' If he was to ever roll out of the drawer that served as his crib, Margaret would feel nothing but relief. It deserved it, after all. The child already had a body count.


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[Syrrus]

The man took another swing, and made the same face he had done earlier. Clearly not liking the taste of beer. "Bright life, no one seems to know though, I swear I put my feet down and run for miles. Ya should come with me tonight, ya could be my darlin' and I could be your pride. I know who I am out there, I am a wanted man. The world I see looks good from here, right from where I stand, no matter how far down that is. Together you and I could just disappear, right from where we stand. We're so alive that even if they kill us we'll never die!" He laughed and shook his head while looking down his drink.


"I know exactly who I am, I'm a nobody ta' dem, a wanted man - someone who does da hard work just like ya' self. Though they can try and come and get me! For I'll keep on smilin' until the day I die. No one can rob me of that, eh? I'm Jack, by the way; if 'Wanted man' is too much of a toungtwister." He chuckled again.

 

[GreyZone]

Margaret slid a much sweeter drink toward him at his second look of distaste. "Here. Try this, dear."


She was so tempted to just go with him, to marry him like he has jokingly suggested. But then her eyes glanced down, the gold band that Victor had given her glinting on her right hand.


Could she really marry someone like him, like she had originally wanted. "Well, it's nice to meet you. My name is Margaret.@


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[Syrrus]

"Margaret, pretty name. Ya'r from Ireland then? I can hear da pretty accent in your voice." He smiled at her and then noticed her glance towards her finger and spotted the ring. "Pretty ring ya got there, how's da lucky man?"


Jack continued to smile at her, certainly not being let down to know that the pretty lady was being wed. He was just talking gibberish, while trying the sweeter drink she put before him. "Much better, though I can't say I much like da taste of alcohol, I'm too much of a child, me thinks."

 

[GreyZone]

She smiled when he recognized her accent. "Yes. I used to try to stifle it but gave up. My hair gives me away quickly enough. Where are you from?"


She glanced down at the ring Victor had given her. "It's actually a funny story. A man I served here once asked me to play his bride when he was meeting his grandmother. So I went along on a train, and turns out she was the queen of Scandinavia! Beat him with her cane the whole evening."


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[Syrrus]

Jack began to laugh. "Serves 'im right! No matter if it's a Queen or nothin' ya gotta' stand up for yer self. Geez." The man waved with his hand in the air. "Besides, makin' a pretty little gal' like yourself to pretend to be a wife sounds shameful, atleast marry ya' properly. Though maybe he didn't want to share his money? Bah. Money, who needs it!"


Jack shook his head and sipped his new drink. "I'm from eh-- The slums. Heh, nah, I dunno' from somewhere probably, born in da slums and is now livin' of cleaning peoples pipes for them, the smoky one not the wet one. Ew, water, can't stand it."

 

[GreyZone]

Margaret could not even force a laugh at that. "It is a bit of a sore subject," she told Jack honestly, tucking a scarlet curl back behind her ear. "For I am afraid I fell in love with him in an hour-long train ride. Or maybe I am just a delusional and sappy girl who feels sympathy pains for any creature as miserable as that one."


She let out a sigh, taking change from the man she had serviced while talking to Jack. She made Jane count out what the man needed back and deposit what was theirs for the drinks. "I have not seen him in months, though. And why do you not like water?"

 

[Syrrus]

"Then I apologize, ma'am." He bowed his head and continued to drink. "I simply said somethin' I should have not." He continued to smile though, as he always did. Jack was a positive fella, who tried not to get beaten down by anything. "Sounds like a mighty complicated fella, that one. Maybe ya' could go and talk to 'im, or ask someone else to deliver a message." Jack shrugged and drank his drink.


"I can't swim. Never could, never will be able to, one dip in the thames and I am as good as gone! Yes ma'am."

 

[GreyZone]

"Oh, it truly is not that big of a deal. I am just embarrassed of my own silliness, is all," she responded vaguely as she refilled his drink. "He is. We got into a large argument about the classes and if the upperclass's struggles could be weighted against the lower's because, in my opinion, if anything happens to them that is tragic, they still have their money and name and education. If anything happens to us, we are just over with. He did not see my point of view."


She nodded slowly as he spoke about the swimming. "I have never even tried. Is it frightening?"

 

[Syrrus]

"A nobleman talkin' about how it is to be hardworkin' and humble? Huh, blime' I did not know anyone actually had dat' type of conversation' with em'." Jack shrugged and peered at his drink. It seemed as if it kept on coming. "Well, except this one fella, though he talkes so much gibberish I dunno' if he's for real." Jack chuckled and peered up at the young barmaid who asked him about swimming.


"I dunno, never swum' or nothin' though lookin' down at the dark water below is a bit terrifyin'."