There's A Lie Upon [M]y Lips [Ashen & Fanatasia]

Cosette stared in front of her, blindly. She struggled to tie a bit of red cloth over her eyes, before she succeeded, and worked her hands through her hair, to cover the back of the cloth.

"You know what you have to do, yes?"

"I do."

"Good. We're dropping you off in the center of the village. Dance or something. People like dancing." The voice drifted off as Cosette was pulled up into a carriage, sat carefully near the door, where she could be shoved out at a moment's notice.

The girl, with her flowing mahogany hair, her magenta ribbon over her otherwise dead green eyes, certainly stood out. She wore a brilliant red dress, though this dress was not of high-end fabric, and appeared to be home-made, that matched her eye-cover. Her feet were bare, and her skin was a dark olive tone.

She was dressed to appear poor--and she was thin enough to pull that look off. Her hair, while dark--flowing--was tangled in knots, and clearly not cared for. It was all part of an act she had been preparing for weeks.

As the carriage pulled into the town square, Cosette felt herself being shoved out--and she hit the ground hard, with a cry of pain. The carriage was gone, once more. People gathered to stare at the girl, who sat on the ground, listening to the sounds around her for a few more moments, before she stood and began to dance.

There was no music, at first. A musician saw how much of a crowd the woman was drawing, and decided to play a tune that she would be able to match. The music along with the dancing drew more people to watch her--the divide of riches was clear.

To the left of the square, led the slums. The right, the higher-level of towns. The crowd to the right of the dancer, were fine dressed women and men--to the left, the poor folk; the gypsies, rags to riches in one setting. However, the blind woman could not see this--and so, as she danced, she danced for all of them.

She had no idea how she would know the man she was here to find--she knew his name. She had never met him; nor had she heard his voice. For all she knew, she might end up in the wrong man's favor... However, she would have to figure this out as she went.

After all, it was his life or hers. That money or her life.

It was just another day in the town marketplace, and it was the perfect day to cause some trouble. Luuk wandered through town, past various vendors and tourists. Though not born here or anywhere near here, the boy had moved to call this place home. It was the closest he'd get to a home, he figured. He had everything he could want here: food, shelter, enough people traffic to pester for life, and enough money to feed a family of ten for a few generations.

That was Luuk. He was a trouble-making kid of sixteen, with far too much money and free time. He'd been orphaned some five years ago, when some band of assassins had finally offed his parents hoping to acquire their fortune. They'd been trying for years, of course, but his parents had never been foolish enough to fall to them. Except that dreaded day, long ago, when they had to sacrifice themselves for Luuk's sake.

He'd inherited their fortune--and quite the fortune it was. Luuk was the descendant of a nobleman, Lord Bismark, a man more acclaimed than the then-king of his home nation. Bismark, Luuk's grandfather, had been renowned as being a very rich and very kind man. When the man had died from disease, the entire nation mourned.

Years later, Luuk was here, alone, with his fortune far from dwindling. He was the only remaining Bismark, and yet, he wasn't terribly concerned about being killed. True the assassins that had killed his parents were after him, and true he had been captured by them many times, but he all found it in good fun. Perhaps it was a fault of his, but the boy refused to take any of this seriously. He was too witty for them, and letting them catch him was one of his favorite hobbies.

Now, in the marketplace, Luuk looked over the people walking about. His icy grey eyes caught on one woman, a poor dancer who had gathered a crowd around her. There was a cloth over her eyes, and Luuk guessed someone had tied it there so she would be unable to see her audience. She was being exploited, then, forced to dance and earn some coin for whoever claimed her. Luuk sighed. He could not stand people who would so easily manipulate anyone else. After a short time, he turned away in search of something new to do.

Just a few minutes later, screams could be heard around town. They were yelling after the bright-eyed boy, who had a bag of raw meats thrown over his shoulder. He had stolen it, and as he ran away, faster than other man in town, he had a wide grin on his face. He looked over his shoulder, at the overweight butcher chasing after him and yelling. Luuk stopped, turned to him, shouted something in a different language, and took off again chuckling.

But he hadn't been looking where he was going. Most moved out of his way, but the dancer woman, it was as if she didn't see or hear him coming. He then realized she probably hadn't; there was a cloth over her eyes, and everyone's screaming was probably blending together. He didn't understand why she hadn't lifted the cloth, but he didn't care to ask. "Sorry," he mumbled. His voice was light, and accented with the timbre of a foreign country. He picked himself up, looked at the people following him, and shrugged. He was in no rush. Luuk could easily pick up speed again and get away from them. So he went into his stolen bag, picked up a piece of meat, and held it out to the dancer. "My treat," he said. "Not like I need it, huh?" And with that, he was starting off again in a jog. "Nice dancing there. Maybe you can teach me sometime. See you around!"

Cosette stumbled as a person slammed into her. She had heard screams--but she could not disconcert the screams and where they were happening, from the applause of her crowd--the chatter around her.

She startled at the words he spoke. The accent--they had told her to watch for an accent. She doubted this was the right one. Listen for it, rather. The piece of meat in her hand, she frowned, following the sound of his voice.

"How can I teach you, if I do not know your name?" She called, trying to keep him talking--so she could follow his voice. It was the only real way she could follow him, really. At least, until she could grab hold of him.

"You shouldn't steal! It's wrong." She called, "The people selling it have families!" She didn't expect the boy to listen, though. No, she never expected people to listen to her.

As she tried to catch up to the boy, she'd stumble across the cobblestone, and at one point, lost her balance. The ribbon around her eyes was tightly tied, wound across her eyes two or three times before being tied. Even if she had not been blind, she could not see.

It served a purpose, though. The light from the sun injured her eyes, though she could not see, she could feel the injuries. Most people knew not to look into the sun--to blink to keep the light from over-filtering. She, did not.

To his surprise, the dancer had called after him and was trying to keep up. Even she should have been able to tell it was useless; Luuk was too fast, and pretty soon he'd slip through back alleys and into the overgrowth just outside of town. He'd be gone without a trace, just like he always was.

He stopped again. The men chasing him were close, but he was overconfident. He raised a brow at this dancer. She was concerned about the families of the sellers? He looked to the butcher, to his jolly old belly and his wrinkled skin. His family was well-off, not nearly as wealthy as he of course, but they had enough. "He doesn't deserve it as much as others do," came his simple reply. "Whether it's wrong or right, I think that's a matter of opinion. Though I'm sure the butcher appreciates you standing up for him."

Luuk started off again, just barely making it away from one man's grasp. The woman was still following him, but he had forgotten about her, too concentrated on getting away. That was, until he heard her fall, hard, on the cobblestone beneath her. Luuk turned sharply to her, now on the ground. It had been quite the fall. Was that because of him? Luuk sighed, and he was about to help her, since he knew no one else would spare their time of day, but he was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. One of his pursuers had caught up to him. His face held all the anger of everyone Luuk had ever toyed with, and his hands clutched him as if they would never let go. Luuk shifted awkwardly. He turned to the dancer again, still on the floor, still blindly looking for some form of help. With a sigh, Luuk turned to the one holding him, and he shrugged. "I'm really sorry," he said. And in the next moment, he had a pocket knife to the man's arm, causing him enough pain to flinch, and enough of a distraction for Luuk to get away.

He didn't like hurting people, but when deemed a necessity, Luuk was not afraid to use his weapons. He was skilled with several: knives, swords, bows and arrows, axes; he even knew how to craft his own toxins. He'd learned some techniques from the assassins who sought him, but mostly, Luuk learned through reading and trial and error. He never hurt to kill; rather, he hurt to distract, hurt long enough for him to slip away from whatever trouble he had caused for himself.

He started back to the dancer and pulled her back to her feet. Seeing she was barefoot, he sighed and in one smooth motion he swept her off her feet. "I think you need to get away from the men of town just as much as I do," he said. Luuk started running again. Even though he was now carrying someone, he still ran gracefully through the marketplace. She was light, and he was strong, and so she barely seemed an inconvenience. When they were out of town, Luuk relaxed a bit, though he continued running. "I haven't a name," he said, an answer to a question she had asked minutes ago. "But you, you can call me Luuk. You alright, pigeon?"

Cosette flinched as she was scooped up, squeaking softly. Then, she could tell he was running, and she hid her face against the side of his neck. She squeaked when he said he did not have a name; this caused her head to tip to one side.

"Luuk? Wouldn't that be your name then?" He was her target. Ah, luck was on her side, wasn't it? She shifted in his arms, furrowing her brow as he called her pigeon. The name was strange--though she found she liked it. She had always heard tell of pigeons; though nobody could describe it in enough detail for the girl to understand.

"I'm okay." She chirped, shifting in his hold. "Are we safe now? Can I walk?" She inquired, wriggling in his grasp. "Where did you take me?" She asked, suddenly worried of how she would find her way around uncharted territory.

They ran outside of town, away from the calamity the boy had caused, and into the protection of a small area in a forest. Trees surrounded them, and a small river was several yards away. Luuk looked around, then sighed again. Perhaps now they would be safe. He made sure the men had lost him, and he set the lady on her feet.

Her question made him smirk. "You'd think," he responded with a shrug. "No one cares enough about me anymore for me to care to use a name. I'm mostly just that devilishly handsome kid or that charming scholar or that dashing runner. Some call me annoying, too, and a nuisance, so you can pick whatever name you want, really." He spoke nonchalantly, unperturbed by the fact that no one seemed to care enough to learn his name. The boy leaned against one of the trees and closed his eyes, concentrating on his breaths. "I took you to... a sanctuary." He didn't have a name for this place. "Have a look for yourself. I can't imagine the whole cloth thing is comfortable."

He turned his back to her then, concentrated on the overgrowth. "You got a name, pidge?" he asked. "What's your story? The hubby at home is making you earn some money for him? He can't make enough for himself?" He turned back to her. "I'd tell you not to put up with that, but maybe I shouldn't be sticking my nose in other people's business. Then again, that's what I live for."

Cosette furrowed her brow as she tugged the cloth from her eyes, revealing the smoky-colored green orbs, "The cloth helps me keep light out." She explained, before pulling the cloth back over her eyes. "I can't see."

Then, he assumed she had a husband, and she snorted. "I'm not married." She'd shrug. "I don't have a home so I dance. It's the only thing I know how to do." She chirped, having forgone offering her name, she paused.

"Cosette." She'd give a little nod. "Are you really dashing?" She inquired, reaching out with a hand to find the man, her intention was to trace her fingers across the man's face, should he let her.

He wasn't looking at her when she'd taken the cloth off, so Luuk hadn't the chance to see her clouded eyes. He was confused by her wanting to keep the light out, but didn't question it. Then her three words landed so softly, and he turned to face her. She couldn't see? Luuk looked her over. "You're... blind?" he said, as if this were some grave thing. He was about to apologize but stopped himself. She didn't seem especially bothered by that. So Luuk cleared his throat and accepted it. There was nothing more for him to do. Save for the fall she'd made earlier, she seemed to get by fine without her sight.

He was surprised to hear she was not married, either. A woman as powerless as herself, he was surprised she had not been forced upon someone. A homeless blind woman, who only dances... He had to admit, it sounded poetic. Terribly sad, perhaps, but poetic nonetheless. He would not pity her. So Luuk shrugged it off. They were in the same boat, perhaps; two directionless souls who hadn't much to do in life at all.

"Cosette," he repeated, trying the name on his own tongue. "It's a pretty name. So if you're so--ah." He saw her extended hand, and for a moment didn't realize what she was asking of him. Then, realization struck. She wanted to feel how he looked. Awkwardly, Luuk took her hand in his and let it to his face. Luuk was still as her fingers brushed his smooth skin. He was quite dashing. His beard had started to grow out again. His platinum hair fell messily over his face, and most of it was outside of the tail like a messy frame for his boyish face. If her hand fell to any other part of him, she'd be able to feel the firm muscles he had worked so hard for. The was a man most women would die for, and yet, besides the jokes he often told, he displayed his features with grace and humility.

When Cosette was finished, he shifted away from her. "It's been a while since I was felt up by a woman," he said, another joke. "Anyway. I'm sure you're not as talentless as you say. Where are your parents, then? Your friends? Surely someone takes care of you. You shouldn't be out there dancing for people who don't appreciate you, pidge. You deserve better than that."

Cosette was quiet as she ran her hands across his face, and she spoke softly, "You're very well-toned. You have a beard?" She inquired, tipping her head to one side, as she rested her hands against his chest; up until the moment he shifted away from her.

The young woman furrowed her brow, grinning wryly. "Well, I guess you can call yourself lucky. I don't feel up men often." She responded, with a snicker. Then he spoke again, and she was quiet, thinking how to respond. Then, softly, she spoke, "I don't have parents. Or friends. Nobody takes care of me but me." And she was not doing a very good job of it, from the looks of her--her cheeks were hollowed, her eyes bore dark bags beneath them; though he couldn't see that while the cloth was on.

"But dancing for the people makes them smile and laugh." She stated, hands resting against her sides. "Why should I dance if not for laughter and the smiles that laughter brings?" She inquired. She thought that was appreciative. The small, flighty woman shifted her weight; repeatedly, "Why do you steal, but take good care of your skin?" She inquired, her head cocking to one side.

She did not understand how the man kept good care of his skin if he lived on the streets, like she did. Her own skin was broken, dry--painful to the touch; sandpaper-like. She scrunched her nose gently as she danced from foot to foot, whispering, "I can sing."

It was weird to hear that he was well-toned. Luuk just shrugged his shoulders, not wanting to talk about his own features. His beard was the result of his own laziness with shaving, but he wasn't about to tell that to Cosette. He accepted her words with a smile and a bow, then wondered if she knew he was doing either. She told him she didn't have friends or family, and Luuk looked away. Neither did he, of course, but they were still completely different. He had been granted the shiny side of the coin, more money than he knew what to do with, while she had been given nothing but two blind eyes. He cleared his throat. He wasn't going to feel sorry for this stranger. She was managing on her own.

He snapped out of his thoughts at her question, then chuckled aloud. "I steal because it's fun," he said softly. "Because people can use that which I take. So I can give it to them, give them the foods and cloths of which society deems them unworthy. The wealthy don't need those things, they have so much of it, so I give it to those who do. Not to mention the chase that follows is a good workout, yeah?" Luuk laughed again. "You can consider me... a Robin Hood of sorts. You would not discount his actions because the gods blessed him with fair skin, would you?"

Luuk did live on the streets, more or less. He preferred the starry skies to the plain ceilings of the mansions he'd owned. He liked running about, getting dirty, playing as if he didn't truly have a home. But then, did he? The houses he'd owned in his life; were they ever large enough to hold his spirit? Luuk didn't know. He did know that his living on the streets was different than hers; when he got tired, or when things got dangerous, he could easily go home, fix some food, bathe, and sleep in a bed more comfortable than anything this girl had probably ever touched. He wasn't quite Robin Hood then, but he couldn't give all his fortune away. He would have, in a heartbeat, but then the assassins would have no reason to chase him, and he wasn't going to let their game end so easily.

Luuk looked back to Cosette. "We all can sing," he said flatly. "Ah, sorry. Singing and dancing go well together. I am sure you would be able to find some kind of professional work, continuing to make people laugh and smile. It would help you, too, I should think." Luuk slid to the ground, back rested against a tree, and looked at her, watched her. She was a curious little thing. She wasn't the first homeless woman he had seen, not by a long shot, but there was something about her. "Describe a typical day for you," he said. "Do you wake with the sun? Do you dance all day? Forgive me, I have not seen you dancing in that town before. You come from somewhere. Where?" Luuk was curious about her, and like every other day of his life, he had no important plans. He wanted to learn about her, and he had all the time in the world to do so.