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Post by Lord Byron Hastings on May 22, 2009 16:40:09 GMT -5
Feeling someone looking at him, Lord Byron looked up from his journal and glanced around. At first he didn't see anyone, then out of the corner of his eye he saw movement beside him. He saw a young woman leaning against the railing. When she glanced at him, he gave her a polite smile. She must have thought she was bothering him so she looked away. People always seemed to do that when he was writing. He always wondered if sometimes what he thought was him concentrating people mistook as him being cold and intense... At that thought, he chuckled to himself. Byron glanced at the woman one more time before smiling and asking in his most English gentleman manner, "Would you like to sit down, Ma'am?"
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Post by sarahjacobs on May 22, 2009 17:44:23 GMT -5
Sarah looked at the man, returning his polite smile and moved to sit on the bench next to him. Upon sitting, she saw some of what he was writing, but still could not make what it was. The words flowed beautifully, but she had known people who spoke with a smoothness that was only read instead of heard. He could be no different. After all, was poetry not just someone's thoughts? Instead of trying to guess, she simply asked, "What are you writing?"
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Post by Lord Byron Hastings on May 22, 2009 21:15:50 GMT -5
Byron fidgeted nervously when he caught her glancing at his book.
"What are you writing?"
Byron shifted slightly before replying in his English accent, quietly, "Um... It's just some poems, Ma'am. Nothin' special." He saw her glance at his book again, and seriously debated whether to show her them and be embarrassed, or not and seem rude. The only other person, besides his mother (when he was young), that he had ever shown them to was his best friend, Pallet. Byron began to nervously fiddle with the pages...
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Post by sarahjacobs on May 22, 2009 21:34:30 GMT -5
Sarah noticed her looking at his notebook make him nervous, so she decided to sit back a little. She smiled, tucking a strand of her brown hair behind her ear. She loved reading poetry. She loved the way the sentences flowed. She was sure whatever he was writing was good, but said nothing. That was Sarah. Never really acting on her thoughts or instincts, which she regretted. Maybe if she had done that earlier, she would not have lost someone special to her. Shaking the thought from her head she smiled again, looking down and playing with a loose string in her skirt.
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Post by Lord Byron Hastings on May 23, 2009 10:57:12 GMT -5
When Byron noticed her sit back, he began to relax a little and sat back as well. He noticed her start to play with the loose strings on her skirt. "Um... If you want to, you can read one?", he told her nervously. Byron turned to one of his earlier poems and offered her his journal. On the page was messily scribbled a poem entitled, How Do You Say I Love You?. How Do You Say I Love You?
How do you say I love you?
You say it with the way you look at me,
Your eyes full of hope and trust.
How do you say I love you?
You say I love you by the way you smile at me,
Your mouth full of joy and courage.
How do you say I love you?
You say it with the way you touch me.
A touch of care and compassion.
How do say I love you?
You say I love you by the way you listen,
Ready to understand and comfort.
How do you say I love you?
You say it with the words you speak,
You say, "I love you." (Note: this poem is property of this character's creator) |
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Post by sarahjacobs on May 23, 2009 13:03:08 GMT -5
Sarah took the book gingerly and set it in her lap as she read the words that seemed to float off the page as she did so. When she finished, she looked at him with wonderful eyes and handed him back his journal. "This is rather good." In fact it was better than good. It was so simple and yet, it said so much. "How did you learn to write so beautifully?"
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Post by Lord Byron Hastings on May 23, 2009 13:33:18 GMT -5
"How did you learn to write so beautifully?"
Byron took his book back and set it in his lap. He blushed slightly at her compliment. "Um... when I was a toddler, my mother used to read to me, poems she had written when she was young and some of her favorite poems of her favorite poets. Then when I was about 5 or 6, I just started writing my own. Sometimes about horses my father worked with, and sometimes I wrote them about my parents love for each other and for me. I've been writing ever since..." Byron began to shift nervously in his seat. That was more words than he had ever spoken to anyone in this city, besides Pallet and Shamrock.
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Post by sarahjacobs on May 24, 2009 4:45:18 GMT -5
"I think it's awfully wonderful the way you speak of love," Sarah smiled. Sarah read poems from Edgar Allen Poe and Samuel Coleridge, but her favorite poems came from John Keats. His love poems were quiet sad, but beautiful at the same time. She always admired her parents love for one another and hoped to one day be able to share the emotion with her own husband, whenever that time came.
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Post by Lord Byron Hastings on May 24, 2009 22:39:26 GMT -5
"I think it's awfully wonderful the way you speak of love,"
Byron blushed a bit. Sometimes he felt that if people ever read the poetry he wrote, that they would laugh at him and that he'd probably find himself in a few fights... But this girl reminded him of Pallet, and had just told him the same thing she had said the first time she read his poems. "Thanks but if any of the guys ever heard these I'd probably get 'soaked' as they say..." Byron looked at her and gave her a half smile before remembering that he didn't know this girls name. Byron offered his hand, "Excuse my manners, ma'am. My name is Ja-- Lord Byron, but most just call me Byron." He was still trying to get used to this nickname thing, but some of the guys told him and Pallet that it was for their own safety not to use their real names; although he wasn't real sure why, something about the refuge and the 'bulls'...
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Post by sarahjacobs on May 25, 2009 16:14:12 GMT -5
It was probably true about the fights he might have to deal with from the other guys. With two brothers of her own, though neither particularly macho, she could see how some of them might think poetry effeminate. She took his hand and smiled also. "Sarah."
Lord Byron. She remembered reading a few things from him. She'd read a few cantos of Don Juan that were...entertaining, if not a bit immoral. She breathed a small laugh, thinking of this. "Like the poet? Your name suits you."
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Post by Lord Byron Hastings on May 25, 2009 21:35:54 GMT -5
"Like the poet? Your name suits you."
Byron listened to her laugh. It made him smile, "Yes, like the poet. Although, most of the guys around here aren't well read enough to know he's a poet. They just know 'he's some famous guy who writes'. They see me writing all the time, so that's how I got it... They only call me Byron most of the time, though." Byron began to study her... She definitely wasn't a newsie, like some of the girls, but she also wasn't wealthy... "So Miss Sarah, tell me a bit about you."
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Post by sarahjacobs on May 26, 2009 19:25:53 GMT -5
"You want to know about me?" Sarah wasn't one to talk about herself often, if at all. Especially in detail. She didn't think herself much of an interesting person that someone would want to know about her. "Well, I..." her brows furrowed as she thought. "I am 19, now. I work as a telephone exchange operator, but I'm studying to become a teacher. I would say I come from a nice family -- two brothers, mama, papa. I like to read. I've been doing a lot of that lately, but I think it's taking me too far from reality, making me think or wish impossible things."
Sarah looked up at Byron, giving him a coy smile. She wasn't expecting to offer so much information. She was a quiet person by nature and was brought up to not offend others with what she says. As a result, she never spoke much leading people to believe she was dull and maybe even a bit imperturbable.
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Post by Lord Byron Hastings on May 26, 2009 20:16:48 GMT -5
"I am 19, now. I work as a telephone exchange operator, but I'm studying to become a teacher. I would say I come from a nice family -- two brothers, mama, papa. I like to read. I've been doing a lot of that lately, but I think it's taking me too far from reality, making me think or wish impossible things."
Byron smiled politely, "A teacher, huh. That's a great thing to want to be. Hope it works out for you. As for the reading and making you wish for impossible things, there's nothing wrong with wishing for good things to happen or for things you THINK are impossible. As long as you're not wishing for things such as a unicorn or something fantastical like that, how do you know it's impossible; that it'll never happen...?"
Byron watched her as she took in what he said. She was young still and it sounded like she still had her family and a good life, she was still allowed to dream and wish (even if they never come true). Whoever told her differently or that they were impossible, was wrong. Sometimes he wished he could still be like that. But, when his father died and he watched as Pallet and Shamrock lost everything they had and used to be, reality hit him. He had to be a grown up, and dreaming and wishing for things were long gone... But, who said they had to be for her too...?
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Post by sarahjacobs on May 26, 2009 23:46:37 GMT -5
She smiled at his unicorn joke, though she figured she had a better chance of seeing such a magical creature than actually going through what it took to make her dreams a reality. She was a safe person in that respect. "Well, what about you? I can tell from the way you talk you're not from around here. What brings you to New York?"
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Post by Lord Byron Hastings on May 27, 2009 21:36:14 GMT -5
"Well, what about you? I can tell from the way you talk you're not from around here. What brings you to New York?"
Byron caught her subtle way of changing the subject and smiled. "I'm originally from Sussex, England. Had a mum and dad, after mum died my dad and I moved to Ireland with my mum's parents for a bit. Then dad and i moved in with some friends, the O'Shea's in a different part of Ireland, helped them out a bit, then tragedy caused me to move here with my friend Pallet O'Shea and her lil brother, Shamrock. And here we are, trying to start a new life... Though, it's a big change from what we're used to; going from the country to the city, from having everything to nothing..." Byron tried to tell her what he could while still being vague about their past status in society and the details about his father and Mr. O'Shea's death. He didn't like talking about it and even though it's been a couple years, it's sometimes still hard...
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