let it rain , lucy

[nathan king]

- - - - -
here i go again
i'm always looking for trouble
'cause i know in the end
i really need the trouble
- - - - -

THE FINAL NOTES wavered unappealingly in the stillness of the dressing room before cracking and shattering to the ground. Nathan kept his face an impassive mask as the young girl auditioned for him. His eyes traveled to the gentle ivory slope of her shoulder that peeked from beneath the velvet cape she had wrapped herself in. A light dusting of freckles covered her delicate bone structure. He could still feel his lips as they pressed against hers, how her warm body had felt against his. The soft sound of her clearing her throat brought his attention back to the present. Anne Funk possessed many talents – several Nathan had only just discovered – but singing was not among them. Her crystalline eyes shone with youthful optimism as she beamed at him. “Well…?” she prodded gently.

“I can truly say I’ve never heard a voice quite like yours,” he hedged skillfully.

Anne skipped lightly back to his side, curling herself tightly against him on the worn chaise. Resting her head against his chest, she sighed with contentment. “You’ve no idea what this means to me,” she babbled as Nathan fingered her mussed blonde hair idly. “When shall rehearsals commence? What part shall I play…?”

Nathan pressed his finger lightly against her lips and gave her a tolerating smile. “Miss Funk, do not presume anything just yet. I shall keep my word and speak to my father about your…extraordinary talents and recommend he cast you in the chorus of his next production.” She was attractive enough to grace the stage, but lacked the talent to command it. He had talked his father into casting lesser girls in the chorus before. After a few shows without promise of ever moving past the shadows of the stage and into the spotlight they moved onto other dreams. He had no doubt that Anne would follow the same course.

“I thought…what I meant to say was…you introduced yourself as Mr. King…” the young girl stammered, pulling the cape closer to her.

Nathan smirked, any premise of modesty lay alongside her dress at the vanity. “I did not mislead you, luv. If my father is Mr. King, it only stands to reason that I, too, would share his name.” He tenderly kissed her forehead, his fingers tracing the soft curve of her jaw before tucking a loose curl behind her ear once more. “And, I can assure you that I will speak very highly of you to him. You needn’t worry. I keep my word, Miss Funk.” He released her with another soft kiss to her cheek, stepping to retrieve his clothing. He paid no mind to her perplexed expression as he hastily redressed, pausing only to check the time on his pocket watch. Scowling, he tucked it away once more. He was late and Lucy would certainly give him an earful for keeping her waiting. “And this, my dear, is where I must bid you adieu.” Nathan bowed to her before stepping toward the door. “I am to meet my father for lunch and if I am late it will put him in a horrible mood. That, of course, could sway his opinion of you. And I wouldn’t want to do that.” As he stepped into the hallway, he could hear her calling desperately after him.

The snaking corridors of the theater were more of a home to him than the dingy boarding room he shared with his father. Here there was a vibrancy that he had yet to see duplicated elsewhere. Pints of ale, beautiful women, a warm meal; these all paled in comparison to the rush that pulsed through his veins when he took the stage. It was there he felt alive, purposeful. Rounding the corner, he plucked a bright carnation from a bouquet delivered to one of the actresses by an admirer. Nathan paused long enough to tuck it into the front pocket of his gray button-down shirt, happy for the joyful splash of red on his otherwise plain attire.

He always looked forward to afternoons spent with Lucy Merriwether, even if he tended to arrive late.

She was waiting for him in their usual spot – amongst the discarded costumes backstage. Before she could voice any of his displeasure, he bowed low with a flourish. “A thousand apologies,” he intoned formally.“ I tried to get away but pirates attacked me – they had mistaken me for another and threatened my very life. If not for my cunning I shudder to think of what might have happened. But I am safe now and at your bidding, m’lady.”

[lucy merriwether]

- - - - -
but I get carried away with every day
and every fantasy
the deeper the wound
the harder I swoon and
wish that that was me
- - - - -

VEXED, Lucy Merriwether clacked the backs of her heels against the large crate she’d propped herself upon. Costumes both new and used, faded and vibrant, surrounded her like confetti. Pale lashes lowered as she idly fingered the white lace of a wrist cuff, a sigh of displeasure clearly emanating from her doll-like lips. Lucy hated to wait for people, hated to wait for anything. She was a delivery girl, after all, and was accustomed to dashing about town at her own quick pace. She waited for no one and left stragglers in her wake. So for whom did she so impatiently bide her time for?

A cackle of grating laughter ruffled Lucy’s feathers as a pair of busty blondes strolled by, eyes stony and mouths curled in catty smirks as they glanced at the petite girl dwarfed among their things. The air turned stiff. Lucy sent a frigid stare in reply, her own gaze sharp and aggressive on the two women until they made their way down the long hallway and into an adjacent room. Upon the crack of their door closing, Lucy’s breath escaped in a puff of relief. She’d be poised for a fight –it wouldn’t have been the first time. The beautiful chorus girls and actresses that slunk around the theatre appeared to unanimously dislike Lucy, and on more than one occasion had made their distaste known.

Releasing the iron grip Lucy had been unaware she had on her innocent dress skirt, the petite damsel smiled ruefully to herself. The girls in this place were catty alright –catty over their men. Or, they were catty over the blind delusion that they actually owned this man. Irony forced a short laugh from Lucy as she pushed her long ginger curls from her face, allowing them to spill haphazardly over her back. She’d had a proper bath last night, and had allowed her hair to dry natural and free. Tomorrow it would be entwined in its usual braid, heavy down her spine and as out of the way as possible.

Expression settling softly into solemn thought, Lucy sat quietly for a long moment, looking the part of lost child. Knowing that would certainly have sent her into a minor rage –the amount of times in a single day she was mistaken for a child was incredibly maddening, as well as detrimental to her self-confidence. Lucy appeared to have plenty of confidence to go around, but she could hardly recall a time a young man had looked at her with appreciation rather than brotherly concern or annoyance. She was beginning to wonder if she would have to strap her small breasts up to her chin to gain any sort of proper suitor. The mere thought had her grimacing.

With that expression plastered on her sweet face, she noted the man in question strutting casually down the hallway, cock of the walk as always. The infamous Nathan King. This time Lucy managed to repress a laugh. She raised her eyebrows in quiet deliberation as she considered his story and the flower he held below her nose. She also considered the flush in his cheeks, and the suspicious muss of his short dark hair. Lucy hardly needed to think on it. Snatching the flower from his hand and batting it playfully away, she scoot off the box and stood before him. She was –as always- aware of how she was forced to look up at Nathan, and how is confidence seemed to outshine everything and everyone. Lucy aside, of course. She liked to think she shone as bright as him, in her own way.

A smile in her voice, Lucy brushed the velvet bloom across her cheek languidly. “Yer cunning salvages many a dire sit’ation, I would assume. Like this one.”

[/b] Considering him with bright eyes, she couldn’t help but laugh. “One day ye might jist get yerself cawt in sum’in ye can’t charm yer way out of, wee devil.”[/b]
[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[nathan king]

- - - - -
here i go again
i'm always looking for trouble
'cause i know in the end
i really need the trouble
- - - - -

A TEASING SMIRK played upon the corners of his lips as Nathan made his way to Lucy’s side. With practiced grace he reached out and cupped the delicate blossom in between his fingers, retrieving it once more. He carelessly twisted it watching as the fragrant bloom bobbed precariously beneath his touch. “When such a day does arrive, I shall surely perish,” he murmured as he moved behind her. He leaned toward her, inhaling the subtle fragrance of freshly milled soap that lingered in her auburn tresses. “And you?” he murmured into her ear as he secured the carnation behind it. “Would you miss me if I was gone?”

He breathed a chuckle as he stepped back, locking eyes with a chorus girl whom he had yet to be acquainted with. A rosy blush spread swiftly across her cheeks as she turned, feigning distaste at what she had just seen. If he knew nothing else, Nathan understood the ways of the theater girl. They all desired attention which was why they were willing to forgo a ‘respectable’ existence for the siren song of the spotlight.

All women, he had concluded long ago, were victims to their own desires. Each held onto one wish that governed their every action and thought. The key was to discover their secrets. While he had figured out the majority of the girls who worked for his father, Nathan had yet to unravel Lucy Merriweather. That was one of the main reasons he continued to return to her time after time. She intrigued him with her candor and displaced haughtiness. She was one of the few – if not only – women in his life that did not bend to his whims. She was willing to call his bluff even stand him down, and for that she had earned his unwavering respect.

“My dear, Miss Merriweather,” he continued in his formal tone as he flopped unceremoniously onto a pile of discarded costumes, allowing them to swallow him whole. “You simply must tell me what adventures you have been up to in recent weeks. Which of the distinguished homes in London have the sweetest scandals?” He shifted his weight as he felt something press uncomfortably against his thigh. He reached beneath himself and retrieved an oversized hat festooned with a large feather. Grinning, he perched it on his head and posed in what he assumed could pass for a haughty member of aristocratic society. “Does it suit me? I simply must have the most ostentatious hat in all of London so that I may court all of the eligible maidens and woo them with my feathery prowess. When, may I ask, shall you allow me to woo you?”

Footsteps sounded urgently down the hallway, Anne’s shrill voice calling his name. With a half-apologetic look, Nathan held his finger to his lips before motioning for Lucy to follow him further into the catacombs of the theater. “Hold that thought,” he whispered. “I fear the pirates have returned. Follow me if you value your life.”

[/color] [/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[lucy merriwether]

- - - - -
but I get carried away
with every day
and every fantasy
the deeper the wound
the harder I swoon and
wish that that was me
- - - - -

BUTTERFLIES fluttered in Lucy’s chest. Fingers deft and sure as his speech, Nathan lingered at her ear, warming her pale skin. Unused to such intimate and careless contact, the girl aimed a guarded look to her side, though it remained unseen by the perpetrator behind her. Lucy was used to the playful bum-swatting of drunkards at the pub, or a wee squeeze of the knee if the lad was feeling altogether too friendly. The Merriwether girl normally allowed such ungentle behaviour, as she knew she was likely to get something out of it in the end. Something for her purse, to be sure. A touch out of kinship or kindness, in the way Nathan often did as it was so much a part of his disposition, was foreign to Lucy and unnerving to boot. Her mind was blank as to how she was meant to react, so she could only muster bewildered curiosity in the presence of such actions.

“Would you miss me if I was gone?” Nathan asked candidly, in jest of course. Lucy’s mind was a quick one; her mouth was luckily a bit slower. She’d been given a good many lashes from her father simply for that quick wit of hers. Too many times she found herself speaking the truth because she had not the control to take pause before speech. For whatever reason, Lucy meant to answer her friend in earnest. That was until she noted with quirked eyebrow the look exchanged with a passing buxom lassie. A dry, breathy cough of a laugh escaped her throat as Lucy shook her head, a bemused smile on her face. Honestly, was she in her right mind? She’d taken Nathan exactly as he was –a boyishly mischievous harlot. The fact about Nathan was that Lucy could always have faith in two things. That he would always be exactly who he was, and that he would accept Lucy exactly as she was. Lucy felt more than obligated to extend the courtesy. It was the basis of their friendship.

A smirk in place, Lucy rounded on Nathan, hands on her hips. “Mr. King, ‘ow can I miss you if yer never really ‘ere in the first place?” She inquired, reaching on her toes to poke his forehead none too gently. “In the clouds, you are. With pirates an’ naked women. Nay.” She shook her head in correction, her grin pulling into a dimpled smile. “Naked pirate women.”

Rather than following Nathan’s lead and burying herself in costumes, Lucy remained standing, one arm hugging her waist, the other absently playing with the bloom at her ear. She preferred not to fall into the carton of garbs once more –it was deceptively simple for her tiny frame to become lost and buried among the heavy clothing. She wouldn’t risk looking that much a fool in front of Nathan or anybody. It certainly was not that Lucy’s mind was constantly on the playful man sprawled before her, but when he did happen to cross her thoughts, she wondered if he was constantly ‘on’ or if the Nathan she knew was the true man behind the mask. Perhaps he had no mask. No, everyone did. All the same, Lucy knew that she was ‘on’ most of the time. She wouldn’t survive the harsh backstreets of London without that shell. The veneer she wore was thin, but durable enough to get her through most scrapes with heart intact.

Lucy blinked back her roaming thoughts, concentrating on the question at hand. Lips parting to gush all of the tasty tid-bits of heresy she’d gathered recently, the girl could only sputter a laugh and shake her head in horror as Nathan donned and flamboyant feathered hat. “Oh, you are a joker Nathan King, you are! I think I would look far better in a gentlewoman’s garb than you.” Launching toward him all flush-faced and playful smiles, Lucy dropped a hand to his knee in which to balance on as she leaned forward and plucked the hat off his silly head.

“When, may I ask, shall you allow me to woo you?” Nathan laughed, his eyes meeting hers in such close proximity. Lucy’s eyes widen, cornflower blue darkening with that confused and distrustful expression. She didn’t know who she trusted less –Nathan or herself. Before she could muster a half-hearted answer, Nathan was springing up like a jack rabbit. Lucy created distance as inconspicuously as possible, heaving a sigh that she dearly hoped Nathan took as disappointment over the female voice squawking down the hallway. Putting all of her mind to manoeuvring the catacombs of the building, she silently tailed her friend. “Just as I thought,” Lucy muttered with good-natured irony, “Naked lady pirates indeed! What d’you intend t’do now that our dress-up party ‘as been cut short so abruptly?”

[nathan king]

- - - - -
here i go again
i'm always looking for trouble
'cause i know in the end
i really need the trouble
- - - - -

THE BACKSTAGE of the theater was a labyrinth of darkened spaces stocked with discarded costumes and sets. Around one corner laid Egypt with the Artic lingering at the next. As a boy Nathan had believed that the entire world existed within these dusty spaces. His days were spent traversing the globe on imagined adventures, his every whim catered to by the glittering apparitions of women who glided between the dressing areas and the stage. Dusting powder sparkled upon the roughly constructed dressing tables. There were no polished oak tables with silver-leafed mirrors. Instead there were old crates that had been sanded to protect dainty skin and delicate fabrics from slivers. Colored glass jars of rose water and musky perfumes lay in fanciful patterns across the top. There were linen handkerchiefs stained with bright rouge. With the soft overture wafting through the desolate space Nathan King had been certain there was no place more magical. It was then that he would play his favorite game. Creeping along the tables he would pluck a near-empty bottle from one, a handful of powder from another, glitter from a third, continuing around the room until he had all the makings of a magic potion.

The purposes he devised for his concoctions always varied. Some he imagined would make the ally cats talk, others would age him, some would bring a true friend. Their intent varied with his mood but each ended in the same place. Winding deep through the theater he had discovered a narrow hall that led to a warped door. The handle was nothing more than a wooden lever that required manipulation to open. Until he had gained access to the workmen’s tools, Nathan had relied upon a rusted tin can that he would hook over the end of the lever to manage the handle. When he was twelve he repaired the door himself. Inside was a narrow storage room. The dusty, crooked shelves were line with the bottled potions of his childhood. A narrow skylight filtered murky light, dust motes slowly waltzing to the earth. Yellowed newspaper clippings were pressed against the exposed and rusted nails. Ripped and stained velvet curtains were draped over a broken chaise. Gripping Lucy’s hand he steered her into his sanctuary.

“We’ll be safe here,” he breathed as he closed the door behind them. Leaning against it he chuckled as he combed his hair back from his eyes. “And to answer your earlier question, we merely play another game.” He held a finger to his lips as Anne screeched his name past the door. There was no worry that she would find them; no one ever found them there. “And once the Harpy has vanished we can continue if you wish. Perhaps we can even make the entire charade more interesting.”

Reaching into his back pocket he retrieved an embossed envelope. With a sly smile he slowly turned it between his fingers, watching Lucy to gauge her level of intrigue. He had happened upon the Kensingtons’ invitation by accident – as accidental as retrieving that envelope rather than a billfold from a gentleman’s pocket could be. His initial instinct had been to burn the useless piece of paper and be done with it. While he had no qualms playing a role, society parties often proved to be dull. Had it not been the discussion about how fair the Miss Emaline Dawson was he would have relished watching the expensive paper brown and curl in upon itself until it was as meaningless as the party. Nathan, however, never turned down an opportunity to appreciate the fairer sex. If he had not made a prior engagement with Lucy, he would have been attending the party that evening. “I wonder,” he said slowly as he made his way to her side, “do you know of the Kensington family? And, if you do, for you know everyone of importance my dear Miss Merriwether, perhaps you can divulge whether or not a party of theirs is worth attending.”

[lucy merriwether]

- - - - -
but I get carried away
with every day
and every fantasy
the deeper the wound
the harder I swoon and
wish that that was me
- - - - -

WHIRLWINDS of colour and shape spun dizzyingly past Lucy’s consciousness as she trailed clumsily behind Nathan, hand grasped firmly with his. The rough skin of his palm pulsed with warmth; in turn she felt all the more cold. The sound of their excited, shallow breathing buzzed in her ears, the smell of face powder and ripe perfume fading in their wake as they fell deeper into the building’s labyrinth. Lucy braved a look at the man leading her on, confident that he’d be unaware as is his back was to hers. The nape of his neck was strong and tanned, and at the slight turn of his head she discovered a childish smile lighting his face. The smile was for no one at all; merely himself. Lucy wondered fleetingly how often she smiled for herself. She could not pinpoint a particular memory.

A door stood before them suddenly, small and gnarled, seemingly forgotten by the rest of the world. For a glittering moment Lucy had suspected she’d fallen into a fairy tale, the illusion rocketing further with the discovery of the treasures within. The door squealed on rusted hinges as Nathan led her in hastily, quickly shutting the door behind them. Lucy stumbled into the room, her back to Nathan. Her face was a mask of wonder, confusion. “…we merely play another game.”

For a moment Lucy had forgotten her company. She turned to him with a wry twist of lips, “Do ye e’er tire o’ games, Nathan?” The playful lilt in her question masked uncertainty. They both knew the world was a heartless place, and yet Nathan took that all with a grain of salt and continued to live in a world of dreams and magic. This charmed and endeared Lucy to Mr King, and also needled her. He hadn’t experienced the life she had –not by any extension of his vast imagination. Lucy so wished she could have his life, be in his life. She had dreams as well, but rather than living in them, she clawed desperately just to hold onto the bloodiest scraps of hope. Her nail-beds were raw from their grip, her young heart tired.

All the same, at this moment she could not hold Nathan any dearer in her heart than at this moment. She would never forget; this room, this place in time in which she was a princess in a magic castle with her prince. The reality of the situation slapped at her mercilessly, though. With half an ear to Nathan’s speech, Lucy slid a finger along one dusty shelf of potions –she knew they were potions, of course, as Nathan and herself were somehow cut from the same sheet and it seemed perfectly natural to assume this. Her finger trailed a clean line along it’s path, her fingertip caking with grey soot before it paused at one particular bottle. The bottle was curvaceous as a woman’s body, the liquid softly pink. At the bottom had sunk all the magic. A layer of glitter, fake pearls, and an entire miniature closed bud of a rose had managed to be stuffed through the small opening. Cautiously Lucy reached for the glass, held it delicately in her hand and tipped it upside-down once. The colours spun to life, sparked in the dim light, then floated to the bottom once more, at peace.

She glanced up shyly at Nathan, a thick rosy wave of hair partially veiling her face. “An’ will this’n make me beautiful, then?” Lucy was ashamed at the sudden crack in her voice. Disgusted with her weakness, the girl shook her head with a bittersweet smile and placed the glass neatly upon its shelf once more. Things like that only belonged in dreams. Dusting her hands off on her dress with a moment of composure, welcoming the change of topic and the advancement of Nathan with a curious envelope.

Glancing up first at Nathan and then quickly to the envelope, she snatched it from his fingers and quickly opened it. She was no stranger to reading the mail of others. How else would you discover the most important things? Lucy made no look as if she struggled to read the invite –and she didn’t. Her growing literacy was something she was extremely proud of, and rightly so. She and her father were the only who could read in the Merriwether homestead.

A slow smile graced her sweet lips, her eyes lit with blue flame as she grinned at her friend. Slapping the envelope against his chest with a playful thud, Lucy handed back the invitation. “I know ‘em, ma dear gent. I know ‘em real good.” She leaned in conspiratorially, “No ‘un misses a Kens’in’ton pardy, if they got a pence o’ wit in their ‘eads.”

[/color]

She frowned then and picked at her natty dress skirts. “I’ll be needin’ more’n even yer potion to get’n such a place, good sir. Might’n it be a lost cause?”[/size]
[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[nathan king]

- - - - -
here i go again
i'm always looking for trouble
'cause i know in the end
i really need the trouble
- - - - -

“DO YOU E’ER TIRE O’ GAMES, NATHAN?”

Yes, he longed to confide. His childhood was a tale of a boy unwanted; of someone who never found their place. In many ways he envied Lucy this. Though she despised her lot in life, at least she had a place that was her own. If you knew who you were you could change who you would become. He had never experience that luxury. What he had gleaned about his birth mother was that her ambition didn’t leave time for a son. The woman he had thought of as his mother had been kind in her accounts and he suspected that Kit had been incapable of thinking ill toward anyone. Despite the love she had provided him as a boy there was a hole in his heart – one he knew was created because the woman who had given him life hadn’t wanted him.

If he allowed himself the luxury of self-examination, Nathan knew that his dissatisfied state had started long before he discovered the truth of his heritage. He had always been terrified that he would vanish and not realize that he was no longer visible until much later. His dreams were plagued with the same nightmare: He was walking through the crowded backstage while Kit performed on stage. Everyone he said hello to refused to acknowledge him, but Nathan found solace in the fact that they were busy preparing for their turn on stage. It was not until he sat down at Kit’s dressing table and began fiddling with the various potions and lotions that fear ever truly took hold of him. As he looked up his world stopped for where his reflection was meant to be in the mirror only the rest of the room appeared before him. It was then that he would reach for something on the table, his hand passing through it like air. He would awake screaming then, knowing that he had vanished and no one noticed. People didn’t pay attention to shadows but to whatever cast them. And though Nathan couldn’t recall the moment he consciously made the decision not to disappear, it was a promise he still guarded.

Of course Lucy didn’t know any of this. He had never seen a reason to tell her, nor would he now. She might question him but the truth remained that if he didn’t play this part she wouldn’t be here. It was this side of Nathan that she liked, not the scared boy he hid from the world. “Never,” he replied a moment too late. “All the world’s a stage, m’dear. And I intend to be one of its most noted players.” Turning, his voice died upon his lips as he watched her reach tentatively for one of his potions. In the hazy glow of the overhead light her skin appeared to glow. A soft wave of auburn hair brushed against the delicate camber of her cheek, curving itself around her slender shoulders. Slender fingers turned the bottle upside down, bringing life to the contents once more. Something darkened her face as she turned to face him. “An’ will this’n make me beautiful, then?”

Dropping his gaze, Nathan knew she didn’t want nor expect an answer. Still, the nagging question which pressed itself firmly against his consciousness remained: perhaps she was as much of a stranger to him as he was to her.

In that moment they remained true in the face of the other. Each of their insecurities laid bare for the other. Their truths pressed heavily upon them, weighting the silence. Shuffling his feet uncomfortably, Nathan reached into his pocket for the invite. When he met Lucy’s eyes once more the only person that existed was the one he created. He was an actor after all, and all he knew was how to play a part. Whether or not Lucy had seen that rare piece of self remained unknown. Instead she sank back into the role he had cast for her as willing accomplice and friend, leaning forward conspiratorially. “No ‘un misses a Kens’in’ton pardy, if they got a pence o’ wit in their ‘eads.”

“I reckon between the two of us we have a shilling or two’s worth of sense. It would be a travesty for us to miss such an affair! Especially given that we’ve been invited.”

A worried frown traced her lips, sadness filling her eyes as she picked at her tattered dress skirts. A knowing smirk teased his lips as she raised the muddied hem to reveal her scuffed boots. Her eyes didn’t meet his as she spoke softly. “I’ll be needin’ more’n even your potion to get’n such a place, good sir. Might’n it be a lost cause?”

“You insult me!” he scoffed. “There is nothing good about me. Didn’t you know the theater is not a place for respectable folks? We entertain them but certainly do not house them!” Flicking his hand as if to dismiss the thought he beckoned her closer. “Your first mistake, my dear Miss Merriweather is assuming that you cannot reinvent yourself. The theater is the creator of dreams and illusions. People believe what they see and I shape what appears before their eyes.” He held his hand toward her with a reassuring smile. “If you’ll permit yourself to trust me, Lucy, I can make them believe that you’re the lady we both know you are.”