The Vagabond

Sylvie Ciel · 05-09-2010, 09:04 PM

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CAILLEN. <3

Also, I'm not sure if this should be marked Mature for the poem she's singing- some people might be offended by calling a "Pussy Cat" just "Pussy"... so, just in case, would you do so? O:

WC: 812

Twilight was trickling away around their world, the light and colors slowly fading into the blackness Sylvie was so used to. A night child, one might say, continuously following her vagrant's path throughout the Miracles' land. But as of late, violet eyes sang for the end of their heart's wander-lust, the slowing of gypsy caravans in lieu of a great show, the settling of her vagabond's soul. Ebony roof swam into view, familiar turrets and tresses glinting in what was left of the battered heaven's glow, and the Chien Hotel brought a strange sense of nostalgia to the longing teen, the heavy humidity of the air pressing her to find shelter before a storm.

Alas, a dancing breeze ruffled the lupine Lilac collie's soft tresses, caressing her child-like will and whispering stories of adventure. Not tonight, thought she, muzzle raising to the wind's touch as if savoring a love's embrace. Another night, perhaps, the tiring teen would wander again, but lo, her heart sang for something more solid than the skies above her-- the reason she had begun to lift soft white paws from the firm earth and soar in worlds beyond the corporeal. A scent drifted over cream maw and milk chocolate nose, one familiar, yet new... unmistakably that which she sought.

Violet gems covered the hill beside her with soft candy kisses and sparkling stars, those which had been hidden for so long within the months of winter. Spring was coming, and with it, fireflies and blue skies, warmth and soft green things, and the companionship of a close friend. Finally, the terrible world of winter was leaving them, and with it, her will to remember those horrific events of nights past... and instead a will for nights to come burned hot within the elegant collie-dog. At last, there, upon the heights, was Caillen.

Giddy feelings of gaily sung stories and woven dreams welled up, spilling out of the lovely young teen in the form of a story, a bouncing song she had heard from the passersby.

"The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
'O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!'"

Lean muscles carried their owner softly up the rolling pasture, between trees and over rocks. Time had changed the vagabond into a dreamer. Slender, shapely limbs carried a gypsy's flex to their curved shape, long, lovely body dancing always with a grace not before seen. Violet gems offered volumes, able to lose their world in the scenery with naught more than a starry gaze o'er the colors.

"Pussy said to the Owl, 'You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?'
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose."

Melancholy lapses were lost to the winds of winter while she had been away, and though her feet often firmly stuck in the mud, her heart had found a way to soar far past her head. All this time Sylvie had been gone, hidden in a world of solitude before thought lost, Caillen's words and stories had continued to impress her, no matter how many times she played them over in her head.

"'Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?' Said the Piggy, 'I will.'
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon."

With a flourish, the gypsy bowed to her audience, lilting french accent slipping away with the last syllable. Recovering, the once ball of fluff with pained past times looked up at her knight in shining cobalt, remembering each change and whorl in his beautiful slate coat. He was older now, this was certain, and his sheer height was a glorious testament to that. But for all that seemed to have changed the slightly haggard looking hybrid, Sylvie could still see traces of the clumsy partner in crime she had known so well. And so came her most beautiful smile in months.

"Hello Caillen."

Oh how she had missed that gorgeous name.

Talk. Think. Walk.

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