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11 February 2007 @ 03:47 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 165: Question 165  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 526


Night.


The glittering night lights of New York city dripped past as the couple walked, egotistic in their brightness, and created out of shop front displays, nightclubs and stands that hawked unsold copies of yesterday’s newspaper and business magazines. The girl, the young woman walked almost barefoot, the thin sandals cradling her feet, just, with their elegant lengths string like straps wound and tied up around her legs. The young boy, the man, who walked beside her, cradled her hip with his right arm as they walked side by side, ideal and comforted in each other’s company.

Sid disappeared suddenly, dropping out from beside Marianne, and reappearing nimbly, on top of a lion shaped statue, one of the two that sat on each side of a stone stairway that lead up to an important looking front door of some old house turned business residence. He sat there, replete in his Peter Pan like swinging legs and cocky, slanted smiled as she looked up wonderingly at him. The night sky, still inky black as the New York City sky would get, shadowed his face while the ignorant lights glared on other parts, and the myriad of shadows only survived to further the elusive shine in his eyes, the look which spoke of hidden surprises and concrete intentions.

The box that contained the wedding ring hung heavy in his jeans pocket, a small but unnoticeable bulge, and his foot twitched impatiently as he sat upon his vantage point, turning and re-turning an imminent and appealing decision. Eventually, however, the young man, the somewhat Chef, clambered down artistically from the stone lion, and curled his arm around the redhead’s side once more. Smiling, Marianne drew close to his ear, breath silent but warm, rushed, even.

“Do you enjoy those cockamamie silly games you play, Sid? One day they’ll end you up in a spot of trouble.” she said, quiet and reserved, an inkling of a smile painted across her face as she shoved him against a near wall, night lighted eyes gleaming with humorous but malicious intent.

“Like now, for example, let’s say?” the words spoke themselves, and got jumbled against her lips as she pressed them against his. Young as they were, and as inexperienced about life as they were, such an action was performed with absolute fluency and obvious intentional disruptiveness. Soon enough though, the man pushed her away, gently and ever so carefully, and swung his girl by the arm, around and around, a twirl mocking of a pirouette. The girl giggled and they finished their walk home, laughing and playing jokes and walking on the tops of thin stone walls, legs balanced against the impenetrable night.

When she died, he traced back so many of the paths they had once walked on together, and he sat on top of the stone lion for hours one night, wondering if he’d ever find anything that had remained of the life he had once lead, and should have been leading still. New York City held so many secrets, but it felt then, that all of the ones he would ever discover or describe in his life, had run out.
 
 
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