wiggs
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Post by wiggs on Jun 1, 2008 8:32:10 GMT -5
Steam bellowed from the top of a train as it pulled into the station, coating the platform with a thin layer of mist. Several people hopped to their feet. A man in a smart uniform rushed to the several cararges, blowing his whistle as he went.
In no time at all the ,once deserted ,platform came into life. Business men rushing back to their warm cosy homes, tired mothers pulling along whining toddlers, strutting school boys, giggling girls; all mulling their way towards the coaches that awaited them on the opposite side of the platform.
It was here that Eliza waited, her basket full of roses and heather held tightly in her arms. She was by no chance the only one there, oh no. Her cry of 'flowers lov'ly fresh flowers' was hardly heard over the sea of the others. Gritting her teeth, the 15 year old pushed her way forward, elbowing away a woman twice her weight. She scanned the crowd of travelers, each trying to avoid her own eyes. Her sharp little eyes soon singled in on a graying woman, a young girl trailing on the end of her hand, a thumb in her mouth. Pushing her way forward, Eliza fixed on her warmest smile and quickly, though not clumsily, made her way towards them. She caught up with them as they where waiting for a taxi coach to take them away.
She tipped her head as the woman spotted her. "G'd evening 'mam. Lov'ly weather in't it?" She made sure that she held the basket low enough for the girl to see what was inside. Sure enough the girl soon was tugging on her guardians sleeve, pointing at a pink rose. The grey haired woman shook her head angrily, to which the girl's eyes started tearing up. It had been a long day, Eliza could tell by the layer of dust around the hems of both of their dresses.
Determined not to allow there to be a scene, the woman sighed, reaching in her purse for the few coins that she handed over to Eliza. "Thank'y' kindly 'mam'" The 15 year old handed over the rose to the little girl, who's eyes lit up at once. Seeing what had happened several other young girls began to tug on the sleeves of their parents, all wanting a rose of their own. Eliza had to stop herself from smiling as several other coins where passed over to her. A keen eye was all that was needed. It wasn't long before everyone had found a taxi coach and had gone. A slight swing in her step, her brown eyes shining, Eliza made her way back to her post; where she was met with the disapproving glances of the other flower girls as they took in her, now empty, basket.
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Post by Lancet && Jones on Jun 2, 2008 8:02:29 GMT -5
Her head was filled with nothing, and it hurt slightly. She frowned, staring out of the window as the locomotive started to slow, the grey city of London enveloped by the dark interior of the brand new Paddington Station. What a feat of engineering it was. What a blot on the otherwise perfect landscape. A bit like London.
There had always been something about the city that she had detested. A certain light or distinct venomous quality to it that just didn't fit. Well, it was obvious to anyone with eyes and lungs that the place was poisoned, but there were those who understood far more, and Ceridwen Jones was one of them. Trust Lancet to call her back from her visit two weeks early, to search for something. It was, no doubt, some menial, boring little thing that he could have gone out and got himself, but he had felt the need to call his nurse back from the depth of the Brecon hills to fetch it from next door's doorstep for him. So typical. The train had come to a halt, and she got to her feet. Her hair, light blonde and almost luminescent, was bundled at the top of her head behind a light brown bonnet, laced with blue ribbon. Her well-built form was covered with a blue gown, well-fitted and slightly unforgiving of her figure. But it was for travelling in, not for showing off. And in all honesty Ceridwen was the last person who would wish to show off. Around her shoulders hung a grey coloured, heavy cloak, to keep the cold Welsh rain away from her shoulders. Strange to break from the valleys in pouring rain and emerge in almost pleasant weather in the flat and rather boring land that was England.
Pessimism. There was no need for it. Her blue eyes traced the platform as she stepped from the train, pushed about by hurried gentleman whose business was clearly more important than that of a simple nurse. Or a woman of any profession. She frowned, muttering something barely audible in Welsh beforecollecting herself, her carpet bag clutched in her fingers as she made her way along the platform, her ticket firmly save in her other hand. Until she heard the call that assured her this was London.
"flowers lov'ly fresh flowers"
She smiled. She could do with some colour in the city of monotony. Pushing away from the impatient herd of suited and top-hatted blank faces, she sought out the flower seller, her leather boots clicking quietly on the solid ground. It took her a while for her eyes to peirce the crowds, but the vendor was not too far away. Only a young girl by the looks of things. Yet a frequent occurance in the poorer areas. She made her way across the river of hats, dangereous as it was, the steam locomotive pulling away behind her as she finally emerged, close to the stall. She smiled, walking forwards and letting her eyes fall on the colours. Something almost like home. |
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wiggs
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Post by wiggs on Jun 2, 2008 10:50:13 GMT -5
She could easily imagine the scathing looks of the others behind her, her eyes sparkled for a split second, though they soon died down. Eliza had to remind herself that if she set off any sparks of hatred around here, she would soon have to find a new patch. There was an unspoken rule among the flower girls of London, one did not put oneself out if it meant that her sisters would perish. Basically, as long as she allowed the other girls their fair share of the customers there would be no need for bawl.
Though who was she to turn down a customer? Especially one who had sort her out. "Anythin' that pull 'ya eye 'mam?" She asked, her voice had a sing song quality, common with the everyday folk of old London Town. Her cockney accent was also clear, and why shouldn't it be? Eliza had lived here all her life and, unless some sort of miracle happened, she would end her days there as well. Her eyes darted over the woman in front of her, calculating her selling angle.
"This here Lav'der was fresh cut but this morin'. Said to be a pick me up for even the weariest traveler. Of it that d'nt tickle 'ur fancy, these here are 'thenic lucky 'eather. Guaranteed to bright'n 'ur day." She looked up at the woman again. "Tho' their all 'stremely pre'y dn't 'ya think 'mam?"
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Post by Lancet && Jones on Jun 2, 2008 10:59:32 GMT -5
"Oh very." She agreed. Living in London long enough allowed her to become in tune with the Cockney voice, though some still found it hard to understand her own, accented Welsh vowels. It was the way of the world, she supposed. Her eyes traced over the bundles of Chrysanthemums. They would look so perfect in the surgery window of number thirteen. If Doctor Lancet was in a particularly amiable mood they might even last longer than a few hours, unlike the last bunch which had been customarily fed to the doctor's rarely ridden and finely plump Irish Draught.
Of course, Artemis had been most grateful of a free meal, but Ceridwen would rather they had sat for a bit longer, and made the place more homely, so it was not only the scullery and the kitchen that looked as if someone lived there.
"Those Chrysanthemums are lovely..." She noted, touching the green stems. "They'll go so nicely in the surgery. How much?" She inquired, drawing a small pouch from inside of her carpet bag, made of green velvet with an embroidered red dragon upon the fore. Her trinket. She dug her fingers around the contents, all of her most valuable possessions. A necklace made of silver, several ancient roman coins she had found in the garden of her parents' home and a small, tightly folded letter. She was never paid much. A lot of it was change from fetching items for Doctor Lancet. Otherwise her penance was her living quarters and enough warm food. The currency of a nurse was never particularly much. Doctors tend to be greedy creatures. |
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wiggs
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Post by wiggs on Jun 2, 2008 11:19:15 GMT -5
The 15 year old pretended to think about it. It was usually best to come of to these working types that you where a bit slow. Then, as if the answer had finally appeared in her head, a smile appeared on her dusty face. "T'is three pennies for the one, though 1 shillin' for five. A barg'in' for such pre'y flowers. Plus you'n 'av my word that they'll last a' least a week. Ev'n breathin' in 'is God forsaken air, if 'ya pardon me for sayin' so 'mam." She smiled shyly. She knew more than one person who would box your ears for saying something in the Lords name.
Her good o'le mam for one. She would have your ears ringing in no time for merely muttering it under your breath. Though you would never meet a more blasformus woman in all your life. As she waited for the woman to make her mind up, Eliza shuffled her shoulders a bit. The cold tint of the air was getting at even to her tough skin. Her dress might as well of been made from lace for all the warmth she was getting. She might try to buy some sort of shawl off that old 'bidy that lived next door. Apparently she had been a seamstress in her day and loved to tell anyone who listened how she had made clothes worn by nobles. Now days, she sewed together old rags and sold them wherever she could. If she was feeling generous she might had a few over to Eliza for her to sell while she was on her rounds, which the 15 year old would gladly do, a jar of mixed spices always found it's way to her at Christmas.
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Post by Lancet && Jones on Jun 2, 2008 11:33:02 GMT -5
"Oh, his God Forsaken air needs more than flowers, tell you now." She said, smiling slightly. "It's full of sharp words in our house." She rolled her eyes, handing over the money, drawing the pouch closed and replacing it in her carpet bag, just beneath the ball of wool and progressive knitting she'd been getting along with. She snapped the bag closed, her fingers reassuring themselves about the handle. She was always wary of having her bag pick pocketed. Especially around such small independent stalls. She hated to admit it, but most had accomplices hidden close by to take from bags and pockets while the vendor was selling to the poor victimised customer.
"I can think of cleaner places to sell." She said, batting away a cloud of steam that poured from the next engine to call a halt close by the platform. "But I suppose you get the naive country folk like me to buy as they come straight from the train if you're here." She said with a subtle grin. She had always liked the market sellers, the street merchants. They were so full of stories and plagued with life. |
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wiggs
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Post by wiggs on Jun 2, 2008 13:25:50 GMT -5
"Oh, I don't know about that 'mam. I cou'd think of worse place than 'ere." She gently removed the flowers from her basket, pulling them into one large bundle. "There's a constant stream of people, 'n you d'n't need ta worry about pickpockets when the 'ol'e bill makes an appearance every 'our on the toll." She held out the flowers, a kind and understanding smile on her face. "People think that just 'c'os 'ya d'n't work in a fancy buildin' t'at those sorts will just let 'ya be. Though, if you 'dn't mind me sayin' 'mam I'd be plenty careful 'bout carryin' that fancy lookin' bag with 'ya." She nodded her head towards a seedy looking man some way behind her. "It'd be a right shame to see such a t'ing be taken rig't out from under 'ya."
Her eyes sparkled as a 'fond' memory resurrected itself from her memory. "Our Tim, 'an he shou'd know what's what 'mam with workin' in the meat business an' all, came home one day, 'is belt gone! He 'ad 'ad to hold up his trousers all the way 'ome! Silly blighter! Though, you see 'mam, he 'ad only gone down the frog and toad. Still you 'ave to laugh dn't 'ya 'mam?"
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Post by Lancet && Jones on Jun 6, 2008 10:52:57 GMT -5
She grinned, casting a glance over her shoulder. The man was watching her, and she glowered back, Being accustomed to living with a rather miserable and regularly irritable vampire had made her just a little too over-confident, yet still she clutched her carpet bag closer to her arm.
"I'll keep watch see." She said kindly, with a rosiet smile. She watched the girl bundling the flowers with such nimble fingers, and considered for a moment.
"Your lungs must take a battering" She said, gritting her teeth slightly. "Around all this steam all day." She tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear, gathering dust and soot from the air slowly. |
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wiggs
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Post by wiggs on Jun 9, 2008 13:32:45 GMT -5
"I don't really like t' think 'bout it 'mam." She shifted her basket further up her arm, it left behind a red welt where it had began to dig into her flesh. She looked down at it, watching as it slowly returned to a pale tan. "Tho' Better 'ere than at the devil's domain." She hopped from one foot too the other, trying to dislodge the sharp pin's that came from standing about in the cold.
"D'nno what I'd do if I wasn't 'round 'nd some'hing 'appened." She smiled sweetly, for the first time showing Ceridwen how young she really was. For all her big talk and tough exterior, she was just a 15 year old girl doing all she could to keep her family out of the workhouse.
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Post by Lancet && Jones on Jun 18, 2008 9:33:36 GMT -5
Ceridwen smiled. She always held great respect for young girls who went to work for the sake of their families, as she had done. Her own smile slightly gave away that she herself was still little more than a child. She softly tucked a strand of blonde hair, the same strand, as a matter of fact, behind her ear again, into her bonnet. The strand that had a bad habit of creeping across her face.
"If you ever worry about it, you can come and find me. I'm a nurse." She said kindly, smiling still. "If you know of Harley Street, that's where I live." She nodded. If she could help the girl she would, in any way. She shifted the bundle of flowers from one hand to the other.
-unfinished- |
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