For Whom The Clock Tolls...

[bluerose2010]

Cheerful. A feeling he hadn't experienced in quite some time, Lyrael wagered, smiling foolishly into the bag of books he had just purchased. Old and smelling faintly of furniture polish and mildew, they were right up his alley.

One was a copy of the book, 1984, by George Orwell and the other was one that he did not actually have a name for. In fact, the cover was so worn that the letters no longer existed.

A soft sigh of triumph slipped from beneath this literature-lover's lips. Intent on beginning the first tome, he scouted for a bench.

Lyrael had always been a reader. Unimpressed by tales of gore and action, he preferred stories that explored the depths of the mind. Stories that stretched the imagination and forced the reader to put himself or herself in the shoes of the character. Stories such as 1984.

Taming his giddy smile, Lyrael cleared his throat and crossed to the nearest empty bench, grateful for the streetlight not far away. The area was well-lit otherwise, but this light was perfect for reading. Before he settled in for a few chapters, he unzipped his jacket, pushed his unruly jet locks from his forehead, and tightened his striped scarf against the chill of the night wind. Kicking up both feet on the bench, he made himself comfortable, settling the book on his bent knee.

The first page took a bit of coaxing, but he was reassured by the fact that the damp had not infiltrated the rest of the work. A soft light entered his cerulean gaze as he drifted away from the land of the now and was pulled into the dingy apartments of Orwell's masterpiece.

[falanbel]

A faint breeze rustled the ends of the woman's flowing hair. Her eyes were set directly in front of her, her shoulders and head high. She carried a striking white clutch, glittering in the light from shop windows as she confidently strut down the sidewalk. She'd had a long day of shopping, but the stress of long lines, crowds, and walking didn't dampen her radiant smile or breath-taking eyes. She was dressed in clothes that would suit a supermodel more than a shopper, but she firmly believed that you should always look your best. An elegant petal pink dress fell from her shoulders like a water fall, cascading down her body until it reached the middle of her thighs. It ended in a slight poof, almost like a tutu, but much more refined. Long sleeves covered her fragile arms and kept her slightly warmer in this cold winter. At the neckline, it sloped down, down, covering everything but let some skin show, leaving the mind to think for itself.
She thoroughly enjoyed attention, and low-cuts were one way to get them. A silver dove flew in the space in the middle of her chest, it was attached to a silver chain, hanging from around her neck. There was a tiny pink bead and two diamonds dangling over top the silver dove. Dressing like this just to shop might seem overdone but to her, it was a way of showing everyone else just who you were. And in her case, she was Falan Sarita Bel. A rich upperclass nineteen year old beauty who could have whatever she wanted.

Light chocolate eyes landed on a figure sitting on a bench. A dim streetlamp shone above head and in his hands, rest a book that was flipped open. She could see the pages rustling in the slight chill of a winter breeze. An amused smile danced on her lips. How silly of that man to read out here in the night. There are some strange people in this world. As she began to pass him, she flipped her flowing hair. It shimmered in the dull light from the streetlamp. Falan would’ve kept going just like that, walked right past him, and never once looked back, but something happened that she wished never would have. There was a loud snap! as the bottom of her right heel snapped right off her boot. Her eyebrows came together slightly at this misfortunue. She truly loved these boots. They were stark white and lovely. They had a bit of fur on them, white and gray, at the top. They were soe of her favorites, being both wintry and elegant, perfect for most of her outfits. Not that she would wear the same shoes more than once a month.

Being a woman of grace, she could thank the gymnastics classes for that, she didn’t fall when it snapped. Didn’t even trip really. She just pursed her lips and tip-toed her way to the front of the bench. Her doe eyes landed on the reading man, then at the rest of the bench. He seemed to be taking it up with his legs. Falan ran her fingers through her long hair smiled, not really noticing if he was paying attention or not. In a musical voice, not truly that high, yet not low, she politely asked “Would you mind getting my heel for me?” Falan was not independent and if there was a guy around, chances are, she wouldn’t want to do anything herself, not even if that man was a total stranger, much like this one.

[bluerose2010]

Ah, adventure. Lyrael read through the pages at an alarming rate, fully engaged in the now-familiar story. He had read it several times, noting over and over the bits and pieces he had thought he'd missed but had actually discovered multiple times. He loved it. From cover to cover, he loved it. The smell of a light perfume flooded his nostrils, but he chalked it up to the female character in the book. He figured it was simply his mind filling in the blanks.

But...Someone was standing over him, blocking the light just a bit. That startling cerulean gaze lifted from the page of his book, a slightly annoyed look within those lovely eyes. She had interrupted his adventure, brought him back to this hell-hole of a city. Not very considerate, he mused, looking her up and down. "Would you mind getting my heel for me?" she asked, apparently expecting him to put down his book, unfold himself from the bench, and pick up the destroyed heel that was currently trembling on the pavement in the breeze.

"Erm...I'll be happy to, but what's wrong with your own two hands?" His eyes glinted strangely. Judging by her overly-done appearance and haughty demeanor, Lyrael pegged her to be a spoiled yuppie. The type of girl who couldn't appreciate the old-leather scent of the books he loved, the type of girl who couldn't appreciate the heady scent of cheap diner fare, the type of girl who couldn't appreciate what he appreciated. Definitely the type of girl he didn't like to indulge.

But out of a sense of chivalry, he leaned up, his form bending to retrieve the heel. Lyrael kicked his feet back up on the bench, balancing the book on his knee and turning the page with one hand while holding the piece of shoe out with the other. Returning to his reading, he began the easily-accomplished process of becoming buried in the work once more.

[falanbel]

Most men would’ve jumped to help a girl like Falan, that is a pretty, young, wealthy girl, but this one, a bookworm for sure, this one crawled at the opportunity. He looked reluctant to help her, too caught up in the pages of a book that he must’ve found quite entertaining to ignore reality. This was surprising, not completely uncommon and unheard of, but still surprising to the maiden with midnight hued locks.To his question, she let her face form a slight pout, allowing him to know that she did feel a little empathy for him, having to get up and all, but she wasn’t sorry she’d asked him to do it. She certainly wouldn’t have done it herself. She was just too exhausted from shopping and besides, she never had to pick up her own things. That was what butlers were for. “It’s not my hands. They work I suppose. It was just so far down, and I’m so tired from all this shopping. ‘

By the time she’d answered, his nose was already buried back into that book of his. She scowled a bit at this, but continued on with a somewhat faked smile. ” Thank you.” She stared at his feet for a second, taking up all that space. Why would he do that? She couldn’t walk anywhere now. She’d have to phone a driver. It could be awhile before anyone showed. With an exaggerated sigh, she looked down at her beautiful, salon-done nails. They were French tips, but done with a striking swirling design of silver jewels, actually not real stones, curving intricately down toward the tip of her nails. Each individual nail was done perfectly. She hadn’t paid all that money for a sloppy job.

Finally peering up from her fingertips, Falan allowed her eyes to slide over to that book-reading man. If she was going to be here for awhile, she might as well try and make some conversation, although she wasn’t quite sure she’d be able to pull him out of that written world of his. Perhaps if she feigned interest in his book, he’d speak to her and cease this infernal silence. ”What a strange title for a book. A year. Is it a history book?” The last actual book the dark haired woman had read, or even picked up, was her required English book, The Golden Notebook for twelfth grade, her senior year, of high school. She hadn’t even liked it all that much, but then, she didn’t really value reading as a skill either. She found it… undeniably boring and a test of her abilities to stay entertained, and that was an atrocious crime. Having to read to be entertained. There are just so many better things to do. Like shop.

[bluerose2010]

At the sound of her voice once more, Lyrael sighed, looking up at her with quiet indignation. By the looks of those wide eyes and the feigned intelligence behind the obviously ludicrous question, Lyrael figured her to be superficial, air-headed, with no value whatsoever for the finer things in life...Like education.

He also figured that her definition of finer meant finer fabrics, nails, hair, makeup, and whatever other silly pastimes and fripperies she could entertain herself with without actually exercising the other 94 percent of her brain cells. The seemingly youthful angel answered her with barely veiled sarcasm.

"Yes, dearling...It is a year. A year that is obviously long-gone. But if you knew anything at all, you would know this particular masterpiece was written well before 1984 and is a work of fiction..." He offered her the most charming of smiles, before adding his own little summary of the work, not to interest her because he was sure it wouldn't, but to perhaps educate her if the words sunk in through her perfectly coiffed locks. "A work of fiction that delves into the human mind, into the question of how much a mind can be inspired before it is crushed by the status quo."

His eyes roved from the top of her head to the tips of her toes as if drinking her in, studying her at his leisure. "But then...you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Of course he meant the opposite. Inspiration seemed to be limited to her choice of color palette in clothing. Lyrael noted that she didn't seem intent upon leaving the area and reluctantly slid his feet from their position at the other end of the bench. There...His act of chivalry was completed for the night. But a bit of curiosity niggled at the back of his mind. Was she really that vapid?

"I don't know you, you don't know me...But I have a question...Are you honestly as silly as you come across?"

As far as he was concerned, it was an honest inquiry. Slightly rude, yes, but he didn't know any other way to phrase it. Lyrael watched to observe her reaction, curious as to how she would respond to him. Perhaps she had a scrap of intellectual individuality within her after all.