Harry Fisher (social_climber) wrote in toujoursliberer, @ 2008-05-21 14:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | harry_fisher, nell_abbot |
Harry Fisher's Afternoon Off
Subject: Harry's Afternoon Off. A Bit of Back Story.
Where: St. Joseph's Church, Lower Pitt Street
Who: Harry Fisher
Warnings: None
Open to: Nell Abbot
Harry didn't have time off. Not at such, not like he gave his employees. The only thing he did have, really, was a afternoon off, once a month, and he was never gone for very long. He left Will in charge of the Theatre, let Marcus look after the gang itself, and Harry simply disappeared for several hours. Sometimes he came back to the Theatre, some times he went straight home. But he never, ever took anyone with him. He didn't think it right, really, to take anyone with him. It wasn't anything to do with them, and he didn't want them there. It was his time to himself, although, he supposed, it wasn't really his time alone at all.
The church had once had proper metal railings surrounding it's yard, painted black, although now the paint had chipped off and the cheap metal was rusting. There once had been a gate too, of the same elegant railings, but he remembered that it's hinges had rusted through years ago, and had either fallen off or being stolen. Considering the area, the later was more probable. But that didn't bother him so much, after all, it was fifteen years since he'd first come here, give or take, and they'd all grown a little worse for wear in that time. He had, of course, and visiting this place didn't make him want to change. It had, once, but not any more.
He walked down the cobbled path, weeds growing up through the stones, little flowering creeping things, with tiny purple buds. The grass was too long, but he doubted the verger had much time to deal with grass in a parish like this. Still, it wasn't all that bad. It seemed remote though, even though he could see the street beyond if he peered hard enough past the trees and over-grown bushes. The plants almost protected the graveyard from the real world, protecting their occupants from the march of time.
Harry finished his familiar walk to the graveside, and flashed a brief smile down at the weathered little angel. "'Ello, Georgie." He murmured, moving to settle on one of the taller headstones, perching on it.