Post by Ruth Hosker-Thornhill on Nov 7, 2008 23:15:49 GMT
A tall, slender form moved swiftly through the London crowds, her eyes on just one thing. Or rather two; the couple that were standing in the centre before her. Ruth moved with ease through the people. Despite the amount of public, packed tightly so there was hardly room to edge by them, Ruth managed to slip in and out until she could easily see the performance without any irritating kids or teenagers standing in front of her and blocking her view. She made sure not to touch anyone as she meandered between the people, a habit that she always held when out in public. It wasn’t that she disliked people in general but more that she was too wary of everyone to allow them to get too close to her physically. When she finally was able to view the couple in the centre of the crowd clearly Ruth placed one hand protectively over her large patterned canvas bag, the other wrapped around her own waist lightly. She was dressed for the weather in a pair of black jeans tucked into comfortable brown leather boots. Her torso was encased in a fitting white polo and over the top of this she wore a very thick grey cardigan that ended just above her knees and hugged her slender form. Her long hair was up in a careless bun and a brick-red scarf clutched at her neck and hung from her shoulder casually.
Ruth could not feel the cold due to her apparel but the fact that it was freezing was evident- all around her people were shivering and muttering in irritating voices, complaining endlessly. And why? Ruth saw no point in it. She despised the attitude that these people had to the world. The weather was natural and nothing these muggles could do could stop it. It was inevitable that the winter seasons would be cold. It was a given that the winds would blow harshly and the crisp air would be enough to chap your lips and scratch your cheeks. So why complain? Why spend time carping on about something you couldn’t change. Ruth never moaned. She had learnt long ago not to do so. While she might state something in a negative attitude she would never complain. She found it useless and a clear waste of time.
Her eyes turned from a particularly whiney boy a couple of years older than Ruth herself to the performers before her. The first was a tall man dressed in all black. He was slender and athletic, in his mid-thirties, with much facial hair and a crazed expression in his eyes. His partner was female and Ruth took a moment to take in her features. She was beautiful in an odd, ethereal manner. Her hair was white-blonde and very short, her eyes bright blue and almond shaped. She too was dressed in black, in the form of a tight-cat suit. The couple’s performance was interesting and Ruth watched for longer than she normally would have done. It involved fire and lots of it. Normally Ruth would not have bothered to look at the performances that popped up around London constantly. If she did she rarely lingered long. But the general set-up of this certain act was stunning. The blazing orange flames were startlingly bright, roaring from soaked staffs and turners and ropes. It was fairly late- not night, but almost evening. This meant that because of winter the day was short and already the sky was darkening, meaning the fire was ever brighter against the background blue hues.
The performers settled into their act before Ruth’s eyes and were soon spinning, twisting, turning about each other at astonishing speeds. Their figures turned into blurs and Ruth was entranced automatically. With her she felt the crowd calm down and the mutterings and complaints ceased. The couple dipped and wove beneath each other, lifting their legs over each other’s heads, their arms around each other’s waists, even arching their backs over each other’s arms with lithe and swift movements. All the while the woman held two long pieces of white rope, the ends aflame and blazing. The man held a thick staff with both ends lit. As they danced the rope never stopped spinning- how it managed to avoid hitting or burning the man Ruth did not know. The staff was flourished from side-to-side gracefully, now and then allowing the rope to wrap around it before swinging it off just as fast. Ruth had never seen anything so perfectly organised and graceful in the manner of street-performers. It took her a few minutes of watching the couple dance and spin until she realised that she had company. A short figure was beside her, their arms pressing closely as the crowd around them thickened, forcing Ruth to fight the urge to step away and break the contact. Ruth didn’t look directly at the girl- if she had she may have recognised Mikayla and greeted her. The Gryffindor and the Ravenclaw were somewhat friends after seven years at Hogwarts together and Ruth would have been happy to see the smaller girl. But Ruth merely acknowledged her presence with a small smile, oblivious to the fact that she knew the fellow seventh year. A good mood had arrived, resulting from the stunning performance still going on before her eyes. “It’s beautiful.” Ruth muttered softly. She had no doubt that everyone around her was thinking exactly the same thing.
Ruth could not feel the cold due to her apparel but the fact that it was freezing was evident- all around her people were shivering and muttering in irritating voices, complaining endlessly. And why? Ruth saw no point in it. She despised the attitude that these people had to the world. The weather was natural and nothing these muggles could do could stop it. It was inevitable that the winter seasons would be cold. It was a given that the winds would blow harshly and the crisp air would be enough to chap your lips and scratch your cheeks. So why complain? Why spend time carping on about something you couldn’t change. Ruth never moaned. She had learnt long ago not to do so. While she might state something in a negative attitude she would never complain. She found it useless and a clear waste of time.
Her eyes turned from a particularly whiney boy a couple of years older than Ruth herself to the performers before her. The first was a tall man dressed in all black. He was slender and athletic, in his mid-thirties, with much facial hair and a crazed expression in his eyes. His partner was female and Ruth took a moment to take in her features. She was beautiful in an odd, ethereal manner. Her hair was white-blonde and very short, her eyes bright blue and almond shaped. She too was dressed in black, in the form of a tight-cat suit. The couple’s performance was interesting and Ruth watched for longer than she normally would have done. It involved fire and lots of it. Normally Ruth would not have bothered to look at the performances that popped up around London constantly. If she did she rarely lingered long. But the general set-up of this certain act was stunning. The blazing orange flames were startlingly bright, roaring from soaked staffs and turners and ropes. It was fairly late- not night, but almost evening. This meant that because of winter the day was short and already the sky was darkening, meaning the fire was ever brighter against the background blue hues.
The performers settled into their act before Ruth’s eyes and were soon spinning, twisting, turning about each other at astonishing speeds. Their figures turned into blurs and Ruth was entranced automatically. With her she felt the crowd calm down and the mutterings and complaints ceased. The couple dipped and wove beneath each other, lifting their legs over each other’s heads, their arms around each other’s waists, even arching their backs over each other’s arms with lithe and swift movements. All the while the woman held two long pieces of white rope, the ends aflame and blazing. The man held a thick staff with both ends lit. As they danced the rope never stopped spinning- how it managed to avoid hitting or burning the man Ruth did not know. The staff was flourished from side-to-side gracefully, now and then allowing the rope to wrap around it before swinging it off just as fast. Ruth had never seen anything so perfectly organised and graceful in the manner of street-performers. It took her a few minutes of watching the couple dance and spin until she realised that she had company. A short figure was beside her, their arms pressing closely as the crowd around them thickened, forcing Ruth to fight the urge to step away and break the contact. Ruth didn’t look directly at the girl- if she had she may have recognised Mikayla and greeted her. The Gryffindor and the Ravenclaw were somewhat friends after seven years at Hogwarts together and Ruth would have been happy to see the smaller girl. But Ruth merely acknowledged her presence with a small smile, oblivious to the fact that she knew the fellow seventh year. A good mood had arrived, resulting from the stunning performance still going on before her eyes. “It’s beautiful.” Ruth muttered softly. She had no doubt that everyone around her was thinking exactly the same thing.
