And the whole time while always giving,
Counting your face among the living.
As we walked further into the heart of London City, the clouds began to retreat, leaving in their place a clear, navy-blue sky streaked with purple. Once the shadows crept in Violet's eyes started to glow, the only bright thing in the darkness.
"I don't recognize this part of London," I said softly, my hand sliding from his arm and grabbing his fingers for some support. As well as the unfamiliar surroundings, the buildings had become less dignified, and their occupants less refined - men in shabby overcoats and heavy boots, women in colourful dresses that bore a lot of skin. "Are we close?"
Violet gave a small nod, squeezing my fingertips gently in his. I could feel the callouses, rubbing against my palm. "It's right in the centre of the city. Something that springs up around the end of October, usually. Merchants looking to sell and make a good profit before Christmas. It's a brilliant place for sketching - there's so many different activities going on. Different people from every walk of life. And they light the lanterns at night. It's beautiful. I thought you might like it."
I stopped, and stared for a moment. "That is quite possibly the longest sentence I think I have ever heard you say."
He turned his head away. For a moment, I couldn't see because of the hood, but then I realized - he was blushing. "My apologies."
"Please don't," I pleaded, snagging the side of his hood and pushing it away from his face. It was so nice to hear him actually passionate about something for once, even if it was something that I knew nothing about. "Tell me more about the fair."
"It is just a fair," he shrugged listlessly, shaking a hand through his greying locks at the front of his hair. Was it my imagination, or had the white patch grown? "That's all."
"Okay," I mumbled, staring down at my shoes. Violet had retreated back into his quiet shell again, all because of some stupid comment that I had made.
We walked for a while longer, in the awkward silence. Almost all at once, however, Violet halted outside a shadowed archway, the tunnel hiding behind it paved in cobblestones.
"Down here," he said, gesturing with a black-tipped finger. Taking both of my hands, Violet stepped down and pulled me after him. After a few more inches, we were engulfed in the gloaming.
"Why is it so far away?" I enquired in a very small voice.
"Better business down here," he answered in a monotone. It was quite disconcerting, hearing only the sounds of Violet's low, flat voice and our footsteps echoing around the stairwell. I didn't like it. I didn't like the near-silence.
I pressed myself up closer against Violet, my nose brushing against the curve of his neck. There was a small hitch in his breathing.
"Are you alright?" He asked quietly.
"Fine," I said softly, wrapping both of my arms around one of his. The fruity, mellowed scent hanging from his shirt collar was absolutely delightful. "What sort of things are there in this fair?"
"It's more of a market." I could hear his echoing sigh, the enthusiasm slowly leaching from his voice.
"Well, explain some more." I gave him a little prod in the side. There was a rustle, the sound of Violet shaking his head.
"You are strange."
"I'm strange? I think you'll find that you are the strange one," I replied, my voice slightly disbelieving. Out of all the ways Violet, Violet could have chosen to describe me, he plucked strange from the mix.
"No." I heard the ghost of a smile drifting on his lips. "You have been tarnished by my eccentricities."
"The non-talkative Violet uses such long words, congratulations."
"Your attitude is exactly the type that makes me want to keep my mouth shut." Oh, he was definitely amused now. I had won him back on my side. "Through here. Step ahead of me."
We'd stopped, in front of an apparently extraordinary stretch of wall. However, Violet gave me a gentle prod in the back.
"If you push hard enough, it will open." Violet said hesitantly.
Ah. I saw. So there was a door in front of me. I reached out, warped, aged wood buckling beneath my palms, and gave it a firm push.
The door creaked open, exposing a courtyard in front of us. It was open top, showing us the stars studded in the purple velvet of the sky, frosted with wispy white clouds. The ground was made up of slabs of large grey flagstone, mapped out in an orderly fashion. Ours wasn't the only entrance - there were three more shadowed archways, light reaching beyond the gloom of two of them. Lanterns, tapers burning low in their iron clutches, hung in brackets on the wall. And everywhere, there were stalls - knocked together from different types of wood, canopies created with heavy, rich fabrics to keep the rain from the head of the merchants.
It was alive. Alive with women and men and children, everything imaginable - buying, selling, playing.
I took a soft breath in. "Oh. Violet."
"Do you want to look at everything?" he said quietly, his hesitant hand looping around my waist. "We can see everything and still be back at a reasonable hour."
"Please." I nodded, still awestruck at the fantastical sight in front of my dull eyes. "Show me around. Tell me what you like to see."
"Well... this first one here, the merchant is from Saudi Arabia. He's incredibly wealthy." Violet kept his voice low as we advanced on the stall, manned by a tubby little man in a turban, a beaming smile on his face. "He sells the most beautiful fabrics - silks and satins and the like."
The merchant himself said something in a language that I couldn't understand, holding out his hands. I reached out, stroking my fingers along a length of bright pink fabric - it felt like melting butter in my hands.
We moved on, then - to dark, bold incense, flavouring the air with its sharp smell. Then jewellery, pendants spinning from stands, their crystals and silver chains grabbing the extra light from the walls.
I'd insisted on buying Violet a present from one of the stalls - a fabric covered notebook, stitched with flowers, and a sharp-nibbed pen. He'd accepted it with scarlet cheeks and a mumbled 'thank you', but I didn't mind; he was near silent for most of our walk around, only making the occasional comment to let me know what was going on.
The real centrepiece of the market was the glassworks stall - the tall, scraping sculptures of melted glass screaming through the air, dripping and swirling and spiralling. I didn't know that glass could be so many colours - smooth red and spiky yellow, violent blues and calm oranges.
"I want to take a closer look." I squeezed his fingers. "You can sit somewhere, if you want to. I don't want to bore you."
He gave a microscopic nod; notebooks still tucked away neatly underneath his arm, and in a second had dissolved into the shadows - like they were a part of him.
I stood for a while longer, transfixed by the beautiful glass spirals, the delicate flowers and the elegant wine goblets. It had managed to get even darker while I appraised the wares, but even so the square became livelier - as if their lives truly did start at night.
I picked up my skirts, peering into one of the darkened archways. This was where some of the lulls were concentrated; all I could hear was quiet murmurs, from consumers passing in and out. Dare I explore down that route?
Possibly. I might even find Violet.
I prowled ahead, keeping my head down. A couple of times I could have sworn that there were couples passing me, but when I twisted my head, the darkness had swallowed them up again.
I emerged eventually in a second, smaller courtyard - this time, completely shrouded by canopies. There was an amazing smell in the air, some sort of meaty broth, and I quickly found the source of it - a large pot bubbling over a flickering flame.
There were a few people seated on benches, sipping from bowls and talking animatedly. Violet, however, was tucked away in the corner, hunched over his sketchbook.
I padded over, sitting down opposite him. "Gregory," I said brightly.
"Oh!" He jumped, snapping his book shut; he'd been completely absorbed in his drawings. "What is it?"
I blinked, resisting the natural urge to raise a brow; it was his usual blunt manner. "I'm finished with the glasswork," I said, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.
"Are you hungry? They're serving soup." Eyeliner was smudged down his pale face, streaking across his white skin. He looked so lost, so small all of a sudden.
I leaned across, fisting the sleeve of my coat in my hand, and wiped the marks gently away. He stared at me as I dabbed his face clean.
"What's wrong?"
"You have make up on your face." I paused. "Why do you wear it?"
"The make up?" He chewed on the edge of a black thumbnail. "It was traditional to my house. In Weston College, tradition is absolute."
"And your hair?" I took a lock of his white hair between my finger tips, studying it carefully. "That is surely not natural."
"It is," he clarified, his wide violet eyes still focused on me. "I've been through significant trauma. It bleached my hair."
"Really?" I said, slightly disbelieving. "You are not being serious, surely."
"Why would I lie about something so trivial as my hair?" He arched an eyebrow. "You really think I have that much of a flair for the dramatic?"
I blushed. "No - I - Can we eat, please?"
"Of course." A small smile twisted his lips upwards but he said nothing after that, opting instead to raise his hand and call over a man to serve us.
We sat eating our supper in relative silence, possibly because I was too involved in scraping out every last morsel from my crude wooden bowl. The stew was absolutely delicious - I'd never tasted anything like it before.
"'Ungry, gal?" Someone chuckled, leaning over from the next table. An older gentleman of about seventy, in a heavy over-coat and patched pants. As he smiled in a friendly manner, I could see that most of his teeth were missing.
"This is really good," I mumbled, my mouth still full, before grinning at him as soon as I could talk properly. "It's absolutely delicious - do you know what sort of stew this is?"
"Fox, sweetheart," he said, giving me a nod; laughing when he saw the colour drain from my face. "It's alright. It'd bin killed in an 'umane way."
"I've never had this meat before," I said, swallowing again gingerly even though there was no more food in my mouth. "How is the animal... hunted?"
"Ah, theys - them over at the fur stall - theys catch the things in the woods with them fur traps, and then they take the skin and the 'ang em up. Butcher the meat and 'and em over to Chef."
"Oh." I relaxed slightly, and he laughed louder.
"What, afraid they just gets mowed down by an 'ansom?"
"Well, that's what I thought. People do not normally hunt foxes for meat," I replied.
I felt a small tug at the back of my head, causing me to jump in surprise. Locks of hair begin to fall around my face, brushing against my neck.
"Stay still," Violet murmured quietly, and I knew that it was his fingers working on my hair, untying ribbons and pulling out pins. "Your hair catches the light better when it's down."
"Oh, I - right. Okay." I felt myself blush slightly, but turned my attention back to the old man, who was wheezing with laughter again.
"Sure got yerself a strange 'un, miss." He gave me a wink, his dark eye sparkling in its socket. "Or maybe this fellow just likes goin' around and touching random ladies? The Bow Street Runners might just be makin' an appearance, sir."
Violet stared at him blankly for a moment, before resuming the grooming and pulling of my hair. Eventually he had my curls settled around my face, bumping untidily on my shoulders.
"Pink," he said quietly, winding a strand around his fingertip and giving it a gentle pull. "Like champagne."
"They do seem to like my food, don't they?"
I'd found a small collection of ducks clustered in the corner of the market, looking for a way to cross the busy courtyard. Knowing that I wouldn't be able to do much for the animals for quite some time, I'd purchased a loaf of bread and was tearing off little chunks to scatter on the ground.
After a while, I'd attracted a following of urchin children, in baggy, dirty clothes and peaked caps, clamouring to give the ducks a feed as well. Violet had long since made himself scarce; one thing I'd learned is that he did not have a fondness for any sort of animals, wild or non. I had no idea what he'd run off to do, but it seemed that if we were to spend time together, I'd have to get used to that.
Hm. Spending more time with Violet? I hadn't really thought about that. I was enjoying myself, certainly (albeit is a rather strange way) but there was something curious about the feeling of it all. Like this whole process wouldn't be repeated. He was probably bored of me; of my constant chatter and generally happy demeanour.
"Here, tear the crusts up a little more. They don't like those as much. A little bit harder to chew, I would think?"
One of the younger boys was sitting with his legs splayed out, gnawing away on crusts of the bread and staring up at me with large blue eyes. "I like 'em," he mumbled in a small voice, blinking.
"Well - You can... you can have some if you want," I said hesitantly, breaking off the end of the loaf and holding it out to the little boy. He grabbed it from me with both hands and bit into it, delighted. The other children crowded around him and tried to get him to share; but he wasn't having any of it.
"If you don't be careful, ma'am, these kids'll be 'aving your petticoats out from underneath ya before you can say ducks."
I twisted around on my knees, coming face-to-fabric with a leg in navy-blue uniform pants. Looking up and feeling incredibly bashful, I saw that the owner of this leg was a member of the police force, clean-shaven and helmeted. He offered me a gloved hand and I took it, clambering to my feet.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked, brushing down my skirts and trying to look as dignified as possible. "We were, ah.... having fun."
"That's all well and good, ma'am, but by the expensive cut of that dress, I would assume that you're carryin' other items of value on your person?"
I pressed my hand to the purse inside my jacket and nodded. "That is true."
"I would be careful if I were you, then, " he said, using the edge of his finger to tip his helmet. "Forgive me for asking, but where is your escort? It's getting to be a little late, and we've had some concerning reports in the Yard lately."
"He - well, uhm. He... is currently indisposed?" I tried, resisting the urge to chew nervously on my lip.
"Right." The policeman gave a short nod, resting his hand on the end of his truncheon. "I would consider getting along 'ome soon. D'you need someone to come along with ya?"
"I'm afraid that won't be necessary," A soft, mellowed out voice spoke from behind us. Violet had suddenly materialized, his cloak drawn around his waxy features, tall and intimidating above both of us. His sketchbook was gripped tightly in one of his hands, so much so that his knuckles had turned white underneath the skin. "Grace," he murmured, placing the other hand on my lower back, "Are you ready to leave?"
I gave a muted nod. The policeman had also been near-silenced by his presence.
"Sir Gregory," he said, giving Violet a small nod.
"Peterson." A small nod in return. He drew me closer, our hips brushing, and began to walk away abruptly without so much as a 'goodbye'.
"You're well acquainted with the police force?" I mumbled as Violet pulled the door open for me.
"You could say that," he replied, tugging his hood down lower. We crept out past the doorway again, the temperamental air blackening once more. "I sketch for them."
"Oh!" I was delightfully surprised. "I've seen some of those. They're excellent, even if quite... well. Detailed."
"Thank you." We were walking faster than I would have thought possible, linked together by our arms. It was even colder than it had been before we'd arrived, and I silently found myself wishing for a cushy cloak like Violet's.
He didn't really register any more of my conversational starters, only tossing me the occasional bone with a one word answer or soft grunt.
When we emerged into the light again, I found myself studying Violet's face carefully. His black brows were knotted together in a frown, as if he were deep in thought about something. I decided not to push him any further.
Until, that is, we were a mere seven doors away from my house.
"Violet, are you okay?" I asked softly, all the time wondering if it was the right thing to do. It seemed Violet's moods switched as often as the wind changed - one moment, he could be soft and kind, the next, bored and cold.
"Fine," he answered, coming to a slow stop. "Why? Am I being unsociable again?"
I didn't exactly want to reply with yes, so I went for a different approach. "You seem to be thinking of something."
"My drawings. Forgive me. I obtained some excellent subjects today." His usually-colourless face had taken on a slightly pink tone around his cheekbones. "I had started to illustrate them in colour."
I'd never seen one of his colour portraits before. My interest was aroused; I tried another smile on him. "Can I see? Please?"
"Oh - I don't know if we have time. It's quite late."
"Don't dodge the question, Violet, please let me see," I begged, desperate to get some sort of positive response out of him before I left. He seemed to like it when I complimented his skill.
"I am afraid... that you may take them up the wrong way," he muttered, withdrawing the large black book from underneath his cloak. He was still holding onto it firmly. "Keep an open mind."
I smoothed the front cover with my hand once, before flipping it open.
As I examined the art on the first page, my eyes widened, my mouth falling open.
It was me.
More accurately, me and the fabric merchant, the shorter man looking on while I examined the rolls of silk in front of me carefully. The deep shade of pink was absolutely perfect; as was the shocking scarlet of my dress.
I moved on, to see more and more pictures of myself - examining the crystals on the glass stall, trying on jewellery, speaking animatedly to the old gentleman I had sat beside, feeding ducks with the street children. As I began to explore further, in absolute silence, I noticed something that pulled on my heart; in each picture, everything was black and white bar my form, and whatever I was touching. As if I was giving colour to the world.
"This is quite possibly the longest time I have ever heard you gone without speaking. " Violet echoed my words from earlier. His voice was quiet, anxious. "Don't you like them?"
"I'm so beautiful," I whispered, my finger tracing the edge of my dress. "You've made me so beautiful, Violet."
"You can keep them if you want." He was speaking faster now, running his words together. "Of course, there are other drawings in there, if those don't please you -"
I folded the sketchbook underneath my coat and threw my arms around his neck, holding him as tightly to myself as I possibly could. "You stupid man."
It appeared that Violet was unsure of what to do; he placed a hand between my shoulders, another on my waist. His pointed chin brushed the top of my hair. "You just have so much life in you," he said softly. "It's hard to resist."
I squeezed tighter, the ache of tears pronouncing itself in my throat and my eyes. "I wish you could draw yourself the same way," I croaked in his ear. "Not like the picture you sent me." The picture of him that was magnificent in a terrible way.
"I can settle for your words, if you'll give them to me." There was an undercurrent of something in his tone that I couldn't pick up. "May I see you again?"
_____
The response I've gotten for this story is absolutely immense o.o Thank you thank you thank you so much!!! I'm absolutely delighted :')
On a more serious note, and PLEASE comment with your opinion down below: Should I enter In This Hell in the Kuro Watty Awards this year? I tried entering with Patient of Eternity last year, and I came third in the Undertaker category, but I would really love to come first. I'm going to try with that again, but the question is: Do you think Violet can top the Other Category? And would you be willing to lend me your support and vote when the time comes?
Thank you so much again for reading! I hope the wait wasn't too long, this is like 3500 words xD
Aoife cx