The Lion Heart

Gordon Litwin, Trapeze Artist "Do good and expect nothing in return. It will come back to you, just wait."

[gordonlitwin-blog]

coeurdeliion:

“Watch it, Litwin. You’re not cute enough to knock me on my ass without unleashing my inner Lion,” Milly laughed, barely budging when the man bumped into her. Spending every night behind the scenes and in the midst of many people making their way through, pushing and not paying attention, Milly had grown a solid stature. It was kind of hard not to considering one nudge could cause her to blind someone with glitter or eyelash glue. 

His nose was red, ears almost purple by the time she noticed their color, the warmth of the hotel trickling to meet them as people exited and entered without a care. She had a hot chocolate in hand, but she figured she could go without. After all, he looked like he could use it more than her. “Here, buddy. Have a hot chocolate.” She practically demanded, placing the warm cup in his hand and opening the door for him to finally enter. “So, did Momma Litwin forget to pick out your clothes this morning?”

There's an admiration Gordon holds for all his fellows at the circus, but especially for those doing the less conspicuous work. It's a camaraderie he feels grateful to have in his life, and especially at this very moment.  Milly's playful tone is something that makes his smile grow a little wider, and he chuckles at her comment. 

 Feeling the warmth of the hot chocolate in his hand, Gordon feels his numb fingers tingle and he adjusts his grip on the cup. "God, you're a life saver, aren't you?" he says, nodding his head in gratitude. "Thank you," he says, taking a sip from the cup, "for saving me from my near-imminent death of frostbite." 

He steps toward the door and opens it wide so she can pass, beckoning for her to enter. As he does, he answers her question, "As for my inappropriate choice of clothes today, I'm afraid I have to take full account for the bad decision making. I can hardly blame Aanya for my forgetting to check the weather, can I?"

[aanya-litwin-blog]

“So…it’s not done yet but what do you think?” Aanya looked up as Gordon walked into the living room, currently seated on the floor as she pinned a hem of a gown she’d nearly completed. It was the first version anyway but he’d know she’d been up at odd hours working on it, even though she tried not to make noise whilst she did. 

She stood a moment later, taking off the pincushion bracelet she’d been wearing and tossed it onto the coffee table as she went to his side. “It’s got a few more hours of work to go but you won’t be kept up by me working in here for much longer. At least for now.” The brunette grinned at her husband, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she waited for his thoughts. “How was rehearsal?” @gordonlitwin

[gordonlitwin-blog]

Hanging up his coat, he walked into the living room to find Aanya working intently on one of her projects, a floor-length gown that he had seen once or twice passing through the house. Even with what little he knew about fashion these days—word like avant garde, Bohemian tossed around in an incoherent jumble—he could tell that his wife was more than good with what she did. ( Some would call it biased, but based on how well she was doing with her business, Gordon was more than sure of himself. ) There was always an admiration he harbored for her, the way she wove her beautiful creations out of fabrics and jewels.

"I, as always, am stunned," he said, leaning against the sofa and turning his head to get a better look at the gown. "If anything, I just can't believe it's still in the working process." As she comes closer, planting a warm kiss on his cheek, he felt a giddy warmth spread in his body. He put his arm around her, hand caressing her shoulder gently. "As for work—we're planning something season appropriate, but I'm not going to give away any business secrets." He grins, a twinkle in his eye.

[gordonlitwin-blog]

princepractical:

Piero hiked the guitar strap clear over his head, setting it down beside him as he knelt at the open case at his feet. He rifled with one finger through the subtle little compartments in the shabby velour. “Not to worry,” he said, withdrawing a thin, crumpled packet, bought from an airport. “I’m in luck.” 

He replaced the guitar inside the case and shut it, holding the packet of tissue in his littlest fingers. The clasps snapped shut with a muted, satisfying click.

“In some ways, yes, it is. I’m a good traveler, but this is my first trip to the States,” he said, rising back to standing. Adina would probably have sharp words for him–if she noticed–and possibly it would be wiser to bow out for the evening. “Gordon, is it? I’m guessing, only–am I keeping you? I thought I heard someone call that name.”

Piero turned his head, trying to remember the direction Gordon had been heading.

He watched Piero put his instrument back into its case, mind wandering for a moment before registering what he was saying. “I—most likely it’s nothing of immediate importance,” he said, shrugging. It might have been, but Gordon wanted to prolong this conversation a bit. Besides, if the person calling him really did have urgent news, he would have probably known by now; the circus being far from a patient place.

“And yup, Gordon it is,” he said, stepping back a little as Piero rose to his feet. “Not to pry, but you sure you can perform what with that sneeze? You might want to get a little rest, rather sleep it out than let it get worse.”

[gordonlitwin-blog]

Things were definitely not going as planned this morning. 

Although Gordon did like some things about New York winters—the festive spirit, all the hot drinks and thicker clothes—it was definitely not how cold it was. Unfortunately, he had made the bad decision not to check the weather outside and had opted to wear a thinner coat, and his ears and cheeks were now almost numb from the cold outside. On top of that, it was also raining; somehow, the weather was cold enough to make his toes lose feeling, but not enough for it to just snow. (That, at least, would have been lovely to look at.) Shivering as he reached the entrance of the hotel, Gordon pulled his coat closer and walked faster—only to bump into someone also attempting to enter. 

“My apologies,” he said, “I guess my brain is slowly freezing over in the cold as well, I promise you I’m not usually this clumsy.”

[terrormaker-blog]

He sneezed in the middle of a chord. Even he was surprised. 

Piero sat hunched over the body of his father’s guitar–reddish brown, glossy in places, not so much in others, dented and scratched in interesting ways and at odd corners–blinking away the itchy tingling at the back of his sinuses. Until this moment, he had credited his vague “off” feelings to a mild, lingering hangover, even if he had long since should have recovered from just a few cocktails and an indifferent night of sleep. Piero wasn’t often sick, that was all. 

He cast about for something he might use for a tissue. Piero had set himself up in the parlor rooms, just an hour or two before the entertainments began full force. He was in costume–a fantastical, billowy shirtsleeves, striped trousers and an imaginative take on a matching waistcoat, a stripe domino mask cocked on his head to pull down when it was time for a flourish–but it was more serviceable than eye-catching. I am a part of this world–don’t mind me–but if you would direct your attention to the lady on the trapeze … 

Piero stood up, ducking his head under the strap when suddenly he remembered–with a grim jolt, how could anyone forget?–that sneezes usually came in pairs. He had about a second to quickly throw his nose and mouth into the crook of his elbow, just as someone had the misfortune to pass by. 

“I’m sorry–sorry,” he managed to croak, sniffling a little. “Ugh–I must have picked something up somewhere …”

[gordonlitwin-blog]

Gordon had been thinking that the end of the party would bring a sense of peace and calm to the circus, and he would return back to the usual routine of shows. But—there’s a strong taste of tension in the circus, a uncertainty in people’s eyes, with all the rumors circulating around the circus’ newest arrivals and what might change. For Gordon though, he still hasn’t made up his mind what to think about the troupe, but he has to admit that they carry themselves a little differently. ( An air of Venetian charm, as he likes to think, but it’s probably just part of his fascination with foreign places and new people. ) If anything, he can’t begin to imagine how these people are getting along in such a different environment. 

Hence, his excuse for watching Piero from the corner of his eye, when he should have been on the trapeze himself. It was rude to stare—a childhood lesson learned—so Gordon stood a few feet away from him, his arms crossed and leaning slightly on a misplaced stage prop behind him. He had been standing there a few minutes, and when he passes by Piero, in response to someone calling him from across the room, Gordon hears him sneeze.

“Perfectly understandable at this time of year,” he says, responding to Piero’s apology. “If I was a more organized person I would offer you a tissue, but I’m afraid I’m not.” Gordon laughs, a bit sheepishly, and turns to look at Piero better. “I suppose New York’s a bit of a change for you all.”

[gordonlitwin-blog]

ARIA

Answered here!

[gordonlitwin-blog]

cassius, priscilla, aria

CASSIUS: If you were made to wear a maskevery day, what would it look like? Or, who would it look like?

A mask, the illusion of it,Gordon can understand why it would be appealing to so many, but given thechoice, he would always choose to wear his own face, eyes bright, the cornersof his mouth upturned.

PRISCILLA: Do you think that love is worth dying for?

Without a doubt, yes, he wouldwillingly give himself whole to love and that particular warmth. It’s theultimate cause for sacrifice, one of the many things he appreciates in life.

ARIA: What’s the worst lie you’ve ever told?

Till this day, Gordon hides themore ugly details—though he can’t bring himself to associate anything ugly withhis beloved—of his marriage from his parents. He doesn’t regret any part ofwhat he did, pursuing Aanya, holding his breath near Parker. It was the mostwrong thing he’d ever done, but simultaneously the most right thing he’d done.But he knows this is something his parents with their honest-to-god moralswould never understand, and so he holds his tongue about the specifics. It’sfor the best, he says to himself, trying to calm the guilt of lying aboutsomething so big in his life.

[pestilcnts]

– ** CIRQUE ASK MEME

THEO: If you could change one thing about your past, what would it be?

ORLA: Do you believe in life after death?

FIERA: What does family mean to you?

LILY: If you could be anyone else for a whole week, who would you be and why?

BRETT: Do you think it’s better to be feared or loved?

KRISTOF: If you could instantly learn one skill, without needing any practice, what would it be?

ZARA: What would you like to be most well known for?

ELLA: Are you happy with where you are in life right at this moment?

ARIES: Would you rather stand alone in an immovable spotlight, or share the spotlight with people you could call family?

ADINA: If life were a fairy tale, would you be the damsel or the monster?

GEMMA: How do you feel about your family?

CRYSTAL: If you could start over in a new city, with a new identity, and a completely clean slate, would you?

BELLA: If you could bring any one of your dreams to life, which would it be?

CALEB: How would you, if given the chance, satiate your appetite for adventure?

THOMAS: How easy is it for you to say ‘I love you’? Have you ever said it without meaning it?

LILING: What would you consider to be your worst memory?

SOLEDAD: Do you believe in the idea that behind every great man is an even greater woman?

BROOKLYN: How do you normally deal with confrontation?

THANE: What are your vices?

ROLF: Do you believe that pleasure and pain go hand in hand?

PRIYA: What does ‘beauty’ mean to you?

CLARA: What would you say to your parents, should they appear before you now? Would you speak to them at all?

ROSE: How far would you go to get whatever your heart desires?

PRISCILLA: Do you think that love is worth dying for?

ARIA: What’s the worst lie you’ve ever told?

MILLY: Do you consider yourself an idealist, or a cynic?

LUCIEN: Do you believe in predestination? Or do you believe we create our own fates?

AANYA: What would you consider to be the most pivotal moment in your life?

BRIE: If you could relive any period of your life, forever or only once, which date would you return to?

AMBER: How d you think you are regarded by your peers?

GORDON: What is your proudest memory?

HADES: Do you believe, in theory, that you belong in Heaven or Hell? Why?

ALICE: If you could become a character in any piece of literature, who would you choose, and why?

CASSIUS: If you were made to wear a mask every day, what would it look like? Or, who would it look like?

BRADLEY: What’s the worst, or best, secret you’ve ever kept?

ISABELLA: What do you think makes you great? Were you born this way?

[gordonlitwin-blog]

zarabishop:

“No need to apologize, I’ve made it my personal mission to make sure people don’t recognize me these days.” Zara didn’t explain herself any further, but she suspected the man wouldn’t exactly care, either. The best part about Cirque was that the people here weren’t too concerned with the outside world. “But yes, I am. Or at least, I’m trying to be one.” she added after a pause, her shoulders lifting into a shrug. A smile spread on her lips when he extended a hand towards her. “Zara Bishop, pleasure to meet you Gordon.” she said as she shook his hand, her grip gentle but bold nonetheless. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe I’ve seen you on stage as…an aerialist? Or perhaps trapeze?”

He isn’t used to being noticed, recognized off the stage. It’s not that Gordon looks any different, it’s more that people didn’t seem to expect the man flying in the air to be so utterly, for lack of a better word, average. ( A word repeated over and over to him, especially during Julliard years. ) There’s zero resentment though, he is more than content with his more modest take on life, surrounded with wild, booming and bright personalities. The circus is an underground jungle of wild animals, and Gordon was more than glad to just be here, flying through the air. Zara recognizing him, though, is a pleasant surprise, and it makes him perk up a bit more. 

“Trapeze, yes,” he says, eyes sparkling, “with two of my good friends.” Gordon pauses for a moment, recalling that rush of air past his body, the closest to a high he gets. “I didn’t expect myself to be utilizing my dance school education like this, but it sure is something.

[gordonlitwin-blog]

calebtheicarus:

He’s taken to calling Gordon ‘daddy’. It started as a playful joke, a glib, off the cuff remark characteristic of Caleb. But it’s stuck around, like an internet meme. With his perfect hair, the beginnings of lines around his eyes that only help distinguish him, and the manicured beard with but a touch of grey amidst the blonde, it’s a fitting nickname.

And the body beneath the suit doesn’t hurt either.

He’s not entirely joking about the idea that he’d make a run at Gordon if Gordon was single. He’s a handsome man, and not only that, but a kind man as well. Probably an exceptionally considerate and gentle lover. Of course, they’d have to make sure it wouldn’t make their act awkward, but worse things have happened.

But that’s not the important thing tonight, because Gordon is most definitely taken, which limits Caleb’s affection for him to friendship and passive attraction. He’s something of a mentor, a man who helped Caleb find his wings, or at least helped him get them back. “The sixties can be remembered for political activism and Beatlemania, but not for fashion. And there’s nothing wrong with a good Gatsby aesthetic. Tut tut. It won’t kill you to leave your jeans at home for a night. You look excellent in a suit.”

It’s something that might have happened, in an alternate universe, or even at a different period in his life. Caleb doesn’t look too bad either ( massive understatement ), but what really draws Gordon in, is how seamless their partnership is, how open with his affection is. He’s always been a sucker for people with big hearts. 

But now, here, he is indeed a taken man, and if Caleb has ever let it show, Gordon has never noticed. There is the fact that he is so clearly besotted with his wife, but also, there are few boundaries that the three of them have, it’s like they’re naturally conjoined and it wouldn’t be odd for Caleb to show that affection openly.

“You, my friend,” he says, “are either extremely biased, or have an agenda to flatter me.” He slings his arm over Caleb’s shoulder, giving him a wink. “Either way, it’s working, so I have no complaints.” Leaning back on his chair, he drains his glass and puts it down. 

“Seen Alice yet? You two should be having fun in place of me, what with my being an old, rickety man and such,” he teases, a twinkle in his eyes. “Thanks for the company though, it’s nice to feel young again.” 

[gordonlitwin-blog]

infernofiera:

“I quite agree.” It would have been easy for her to turn to drugs, the little white powder to get you through the night. Perhaps, if not for Terra, she might have. There would have been nothing else for her to do - and the idea of forgetting was so much more tempting. Instead, she found emancipation within herself. Instead, she became addicted to the thrill of control. Why lose yourself when you could find so much more? After all, they said that life was what you made it. 

Fuck that saying. 

“None of it is real. I prefer to get my thrills from all that is tangible.” Her eyes danced as she turned to face him, the implication behind her words clear. He, of course, was a married man - and even she was not so foolish as to play with a man so obviously besotted with his wife. Rejection hurt more than anything else, even if, in the eyes of the world, she had never felt it.

He’d seen all the fun that people had here, the decadence and the debauchery, popping pills and powder and what not. They breathed highs like they did air, and Gordon had watched from a distance, wondering what they were so desperately trying to forget. He wants to understand, but he’s always been that average boy from an average family, little strife in his life. That never was his world, still isn’t. He finds it odd, yet amusing that Fiera gets what he’s talking about. ( Or is she? He’s never been good at figuring out people’s intentions. )

“I’m glad you’re getting your thrills....somewhere.” He means it unironically, he really does. Gordon doesn’t understand Fiera, or her way of living, but she’s survived through her personal hell and he feels like she deserves what much she can get of happiness. His voice cracks slightly, as adds on, “I mean, we all have our own preferences.” 

[gordonlitwin-blog]

priyaduchovny:

She likes the gentle and fierce camaraderie that comes out of the circus - friendship wasn’t always the right word. It wasn’t strong enough. It was trust, belief (or suspension of), respect. It was I will throw myself fifty feet above the abyss and know you will catch me. It was I won’t take a bet against you because I won’t win. Priya watches Gordon and smiles.

“Keep it around your neck and lose it later tonight than, Gordon. Would you perhaps count down for us, to keep things fair?” 

She looks back to her audience.

And this is the trick of it all, her act: there is none. Not in this instance. When it hits 3, 2, 1, it’s all cleverness of mind – the likelihood of which knots these blue-jacketed, silver-tongued, platinum-tinged men know, the feel of them against her wrist, memory against intuition. And when it’s over and the boys have drained their drinks, they look at her with smug smiles, thinking they have won it all - until she steps aside, displaying a pile of silk already on the floor.

Theatrics, that is, the flair for drama, it’s what every circus member knows about. The moment when people in the audience hold their breath, hands sweating, wanting that release that comes from danger. This, isn’t half as exhilarating as that, but it reminds Gordon of why he loves being part of the circus. An invisible bond tying all of them together. 

His smile wide, bright blue eyes sparkling, he nods yes to her request. “I would be honored to,” he says, turning to look once at Priya, and then at the men around her. 

Three, two, one.

Gordon looks away for one second, and there Priya stands, hands free, a disarray of ties at her feet. He claps along with the audience, and the men hand over their money and start babbling amongst themselves.  “Amazing work you do,” he says, genuine intrigue coloring his tone. “I don’t mean to be a prying spy, but just out of pure personal curiosity, how do you do it?” he inquires, his eyebrows raised. 

[gordonlitwin-blog]

alice-fraiser:

“Don’t we all have a little thing for nostalgia?” Warm brown eyes settled first on his outfit, then his face, comfort lining her features. She sat close, almost as if personal space wasn’t a thing. With her and Gordon and Caleb, it wasn’t. It was unneeded, and the lack of it didn’t bring about any notions of awkwardness. He (and Caleb), were simply her second and third pair of arms, limbs, unconsciously a whole. 

“I think…this is the most fun I’ve had without having to have alcohol decide that for me.” She smiled at him and then tapped the rim of his boater. “Nice hat.”

Gordon gives Alice a smile, eyes looking directly into hers, and is relieved to see the genuine spark of happiness there. He doesn't mean to be like an overly nosy parent, but it's become part of his nature, to look out for the two of them. Caleb and Alice are part of his extended family, and hasn't he learned so many times from his own parents that that's just what family does for you?

Taking off the hat, Gordon plunks it on Alice's head, and returns her smile, "Thanks for the compliment, but for one I think it looks better on you," he says. "In all honesty, the party is great, but the costumes are definitely not the best part of it." Leaning back against his chair, he turns his head to get a better look of her.

"Glad to hear you're having fun, by the way. We all need a little break from normal routine, don't we?"

[gordonlitwin-blog]

briekingsley:

Brie smirks ( not the devious kind; the self-satisfied smirk, the cat ate the canary smirk, the my-plans-in-motion-smirk ) and reclines back in her chair. Piece of cake. “Gordon.” Brie practices the syllables in her mouth, flashing him a smile. “I like it.” It’s just a name, but what’s in a name? Litwin—He’s Aanya’s husband then. It’s an interesting twist to the night. But then again, Brie has always loved a good scandal.

Parties, parties, parties. Her mind trills happily. It’s a lullaby for the rich and depraved, the goodnight song for devious swans. Brie throws her head back slightly, lips parted in an open whole-heartedly laugh, her hand coming to rest on Gordon’s bicep. “You poor thing.” Brie giggles. “A real party…” Brie starts, lips curling upwards in a grin, “Well. I can’t spoil it, can I? Why tell you about it, when I can show you instead.” Brie leant back, her hand lingering on his arm for a beat longer than necessary before she extracted it and grabbed her drink. 

The most fun you’ve ever had. Brie ignores the question. Ignores how her bones ache when she can’t recall a single memory: it’s a power-slide of blacked out nights, hopelessly trying to reapply her makeup in the back of a limo as they speed to the next destination, her arm looped with a presently quasi-estranged brother, another flute, another drink, another tab, another line—it’s all the same. How can Brie extract one memory that differs from the rest? Fleeting moments of slivers of happiness, of fulfillment that leaves her empty and craving the next fix. 

Brie smiles, “Free tomorrow night?” Wouldn’t it be fun to tarnish such an innocent.

He listens to Brie, watches the girl chirp happily about parties, and the excitement is growing on him. Though, the way her hand rests on his arm, that alerts a dim warning sign in his head that he disregards as his own misjudgment. She's just being nice, being sociable, like you would expect someone to be at a party, Gordon thinks. Besides, he hasn't been known for being able to read people's intentions very well, it's definitely a trick of his own mind.

It's odd, though, for a moment there he was about to say yes, definitely. He doesn't want to deflate Brie's good mood,  but there's something a little disturbing about the way she giggles, she smiles, that he hadn't noticed initially. It must be the alcohol getting to his brain, he thinks. He can't deny the offer is tempting, a glimpse at a world he's never known, so he avoids giving her a direct answer. "I'm not following you into the dark without even a preview," he says, "I happen to be one of those boring people who love spoilers."

Boring. He hasn't meant the word with any deep meaning, just a light statement, but as soon the word escapes his lips, Gordon recognizes it. Boring, is a word that he's heard so often in association to his name, in and out of this particular climate. It's not just that the circus is filled with so many wild personalities and stories, he has led a life of exceptional mediocrity ( quite the anticlimatic oxymoron ) compared to anyone around him. It's this thought that sells him on Brie's offer, something he usually wouldn't consider at all. He's more than happy with that peaceful life, he knows that it's a blessing, but her evident excitement makes him wonder.

[gordonlitwin-blog]

aanya-litwin:

Aanya wasn’t usually so relaxed in situations like this, not anymore. Things had changed since she married Gordon and if her own parents were reluctant to talk with her, then it was no wonder others were as well. She’d done the unthinkable. She’d danced with the king of hell and had managed to dance, dance away into the arms of another. Still, in moments like these, Aanya found it hard to regret her decision, all notions of resentment vanishing instantaneously as he grinned in return and those eyes lit up the entire damn room. 

When he offered his hand, she laughed, shrugging as if she were weighing her options playfully. “I wouldn’t call it settling,” she corrected after a moment, eyes bright as she slipped her hand into his, “but you may.” She stood with him now and walked toward where others were in the midst of dancing, the music lively and bustling, an homage to the 20s if there ever was one. “You know,” she began as she kept her hand in his, “for someone who spends their days flying through the air, your lack of nimbleness on your toes is surprising,” she teased, knowing how he didn’t prefer dancing but was making an exception for her. This wasn’t his sort of event but they existed in a world that bordered this one so they were unavoidable. 

The lightness, the happiness in her eyes, that thing he adored so deeply, it didn't always used to be there. Gordon lingers on a shadow of a memory, young Aanya's rigid facial expressions and all that graveness. He was besotted with her nonetheless, but seeing her smile genuine and her eyes alive, this is the best wish ever granted. For a moment he loses himself in a silent reverie, taking a long pause before regaining his breath to answer her. "Well, that just invalidates my career at dance school," he says, "I should have majored in something more ballroom-appropriate in preparation for this moment."

He tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear, and clears his throat before continuing, "Apart from the dancing, if there's anything else I can learn for your particular pleasure, now would be the time to mention it." Gordon spins her around as if to make a point, feet just in time to the beat of the music. "I can't guarantee anything, but I'll make an effort as your personal genie to make some of your wishes come true," he jokes, pulling her a little closer.

[gordonlitwin-blog]

calebtheicarus:

He and Alice were the dashing, excitable youths, objects who could scarcely stand still. Gordon was the ever-fixed mark. He was the father figure, in spite of not being all that much older than them. He was the one without tragedy in his life, anger in his heart, and he was filled with a warm kindness that Caleb couldn’t help but adore, even if he did tease the older man about being boring.

Gordon was the kind of person you wouldn’t expect to be drinking anything more than a light beer, who you expected to see in simple jeans and t-shirts when he wasn’t performing.  Now that Gordon was dressed - as they said in America - to the nines, it was hard not to look.

“My man,” Caleb greeted with an arm thrown around Gordon’s shoulder, touching their drinks together. “If you weren’t wearing a wedding ring I might just jump you myself. Looking good. Cheers.” He helped himself to a sip of his own drink (rum and diet coke), and straightened again.

“You can’t fault someone for nostalgia. Everyone loves the Gatsby era. Mobsters and excess and illegal alcohol. At least it wasn’t the sixties. Nobody looks good in bell bottoms.”

There's an almost parent-like affection he holds for both Alice and Caleb, and he admires them for having so much integrity, despite all the scars of past lives. They're positively what make the circus a more enjoyable experience for him, and he can't help but feel a little sentimental at the sight of Caleb.

Gordon clinks his glass to Caleb's, swallows a bit of whiskey and savors the burning feeling in his throat. "Mm, I did make something of an effort today to look a little more presentable, though you seem to be the only one who's noticed," he says. "Anywhere else, this would be a statement, here it's just standard attire." He adjusts his position, settling into a more comfortable position, crossing his legs. Gordon finds it funny how, just a few years back, he would have laughed in disbelief if anyone told him he would be sitting at an actual themed costume party near Christmas. How events have taken an unexpected turn.

"As for your disapproval of sixties fashion, I agree with you—may we never have an event where anyone is expected to wear bell bottoms. Makes me completely shudder." He emphasizes the last word , pretending to grimace. He chuckles and continues, "I'm not positively sure this is so much better, but I'm glad to see you're having the time of your life.”

[gordonlitwin-blog]

lilingliu:

She was frail. She was weak. She was descending to a loop with nowhere to end. She ran far from her hometown with only a luggage, and she was riding out the country in hope for a calling, yet every sign was just another mile and never a home. The train station became her temporary lodging, and the comfort she built within the cushions of the waiting seats because of another late arrival had her concerned. There was a time when someone gave her a burger believing she was a homeless. Funny to think that she was. Seventeen months of travel. Motel to motel. Street to street. Another falling to the ground begging for an answer. 

Then she met Gordon. She was standing straight with crossed arms as she examined the timetable for her next ride. She did not plan to stay in New York City for it was a residence of bustling liveliness, and she was far from the definition. She caught him from the corner of her eye, and she rolled the thought of yet another man trying to escort her into a night of pleasure. What began as an instigation of fleeing him off with her silence demeanor turned into a tale in which a gratitude could never be returned. He gave her a home. He gave her an opportunity. He gave her a new life. She is forever thankful toward Gordon.

Noticing his disposition in the glimmering lights of the 1920s, she seized a smile with his presence as he was few who earned her honesty. Although she hardly told him a truth, she would not mind proffering a part of her account with him. His light comments only added to the nonexistent tension. Taking his hand, she got into the groove of the song so effortlessly as the apparel had her sucked into the time as a reality. She was a liberal female in bliss with the booze and highlight of soundtracks. Play the next one, mister. There goes the strumming and trumpets. Blow another tune. “A dancer. Please do impress me.” She insists, as she is not certain she has seen him dance. She’s heard his tales, and that’s final. “I cannot match, but I can attempt to follow.”

His memory of their first encounter is pronounced in his mind, though he doesn't recall all of the specific details. He doesn't recall why he was at the train station that day—he wasprobably waiting to greet a friend coming into the area—but what he does clearly remember is just how…lost the girl looked. She was standing a few feet away from him, arms crossed, a tired, worn out look in her eyes and how even the air surrounding her seemed to be a heavy burden on her frail body. It was something Gordon just couldn't walk past and forget, and a moment later he found himself trying to initiate conversation with her.

Liling was extremely guarded at first, and understandably so, since he was the creepy stranger who had just walked up to her and asking where she was headed. He was careful not to pry, not to cross certain boundaries, but when she reluctantly revealed she had no particular destination, he wasn't about to leave her behind at the train station. So, he had brought her into the circus, somehow convinced Parker to take here in, and here she was, looking much better than she had before. Gordon hadn't actively sought her out after that particular incident, but he kept a friendly eye out for her, offering small bits of assistance when she seemed to need it.

"I've seen you on the stage, so I'm more than certain this attempt of yours won't be a complete disaster, but if it does, I'll try to catch you." With that, he leads her gently by the hand, taking careful steps as not to catch her off guard, her hand placed lightly in his. “Dancing isn’t too hard, compared to all other things, it’s a breeze, no?”