1 First Movement

"Alright." He sat down on the piano bench, a creaking sound was heard as his weight came down the old woodwork. He leaned forward with his elbows planted upon his knees, his fingers intertwined at the same level of his scarred lips. His steel-gray eyes looked at every child as he surveyed their reactions, heads of greasy and matted hair hung low, as they prepared for whatever scolding they'll receive.

The children fumbled with their fingers, shifted their weight onto the other leg, kicked the dust, and cast each other side glances. The sun was setting like a ball of fire in defiance through the thick fog of industry. They could even see some particles of dust floating around the room, even appearing like welding sparks through the sun's rays.

He took in a deep breath, before exhaling and talking once again, his deep voice piercing through the room. "Now, who had the bright idea of trying to steal from a copper?" He asked, which caused differing reactions from the children. The children swallowed, looking down at their leather shoes, and not uttering a word.

He inhaled, "Was it you, Fionn?" He looked at the small fair-headed boy, who quickly shook his head no while sucking his fingers. "Please stop sucking youor fingers." He said softly, and the child quickly followed as he was told. He looked at the rest, watching the children throw glances at each other and jerking their heads slightly, nodding yes and shaking their heads no, even mouthing words so he won't hear them. Sitting straight, "Show me who suggested the revolutionary idea and who laid out the flawless plan, or else there would be no supper for each and every one of you." "Not even Fionn?" A feminine voice rose, coming from a ginger-haired girl with her green eyes shyly trying to look back at him. "No, not even Fionn. You wouldn't want him to starve, would you?" "N-No, Sir," "Then answer me."

Murmurs rose, and he watched the children argue who got all of them into trouble, and Fionn walked over to a brown-haired boy, pulling his suspender straps back and letting go, earning an "Oi!" from the older boy. Fionn quickly ran to him for protection, pointing his little index finger at the boy with corkscrew chocolate hair. He took Fionn to sit on his lap and held him securely. "Chandler," He spoke, and the brunet boy looked at him. "Was it you?" "I only had the idea but it was Travis who said that the plan will be perfect and running away would be easy, Sir..." "Chandler." "Yes, Sir?" "To the Bryne's. NOW." The boy was about to speak again, but held his tongue, nodding his head obediently as he opened the door and it fell down with its hinges all rusted up. "S-Sorry..." "Take Travis with you," He ordered, and a raven-haired boy walked up to Chandler, smiling excitedly as the adult spoke up again, "Travis." This caused the boy look at him and then suddenly dipped his head apologetically.

"Alright, now you two, go to the Bryne's, and give this letter to Aislinn. Tell her to meet me at the bridge within..." He set Fionn down gently from his lap, stood up straight and took out his silver pocket watch from his basil-colored waistcoat, pressing the crown until the hunter case opened, revealing the crystal and the movement of the dials. He consulted the watch, and then his eyes flickered towards the windows, seeing the sun lay down bleeding and to have the moon starts its reign of night triumphant. "Thirty minutes," He closed the watch and placed it back inside the pocket, watching the rest of the orphans huddle closely to one another, talking enthusiastically and laughing. He smiled softly, and looked at the two troublemakers who were already standing on the fallen door like it was some sort of stage, and the acted like leaders of two opposing gangs. Acting cocky, tilting their caps and pretending to have guns.

"What are you waiting for? Go! Can't afford to lose time now and you better not do anything stupid,"

"But you said earlier that my idea was brilliant and that Travis' plan was revolutionary!" "You really are a master of the language of irony. Now, go!" "But you didn't tell us the name of the bridge! You wouldn't want Aislinn to be lost!" "There is only one bridge within our area, only one bridge where you could get to within more or less thirty minutes by foot."

Chandler was silent, nodding as the two boys left the old house, racing down the steps, as Chandler laughed and Travis grinned from ear to ear. The other orphans scrambled to the window, looking at the two boys go down the muddy streets. "You're going down the wrong way, you know?" Yelled a dark-skinned boy, all of them grinning, trying to keep their laughter from escaping their lips. "YOUR TRICKS ARE ROTTEN, JACKSON!!" Chandler yelled back, and every child by the window burst into laughter, Chandler was about to come back and give Jackson a piece of his mind (yes, he does have a mind, just... barely functioning. Not very uncommon, if I say so myself.), but Travis grabbed his arm and led him down the street.

"What, a letter? From whom?"

"From the man who loves you," Chandler winked, and Travis only leaned back the door. "Doesn't look like a letter from one of those ridiculously rich nobles looking for wives!" Said an older woman, who paused from her reading of what she said to be a hilariously satirical novel written by a lady. Aislinn laughed, tucking a stray lock of red behind her ear. "Oh, Mother! Rich men aren't that bad! I mean, do you still Robyn O'Sullivan? He escorted me back home when I lost my way, I could have been dead if it were not for him, or else I could have been gutted in a dark alleyway with my corpse only to be found tomorrow morning being feasted upon by flies, if not thrown into the Thames!" "You could have been sitting still with nothing much to do but listen to that twat whenever his little snout should say something, and I hope you could even bear with how boring he is! And I don't think you would even want to be near him, did you even see how many blisters are taking over his arms? I don't want to risk you getting infected by the clap!" "Mother, he does have great looks! That should keep me entertained for as long as I survive through our marriage. I only need his face and a secure future, and I have no need for his body," "And do you think that those 'handsome' features of his compensate for his dull wit and lack of courage?" "Mother!!" Aislinn laughed, covering her mouth as she held the letter in her hand.

"He wants you to meet him at the bridge," Chandler spoke casually, and Aislinn looked back at him. "Oh, how much time do I have left?" "Well, he gave you thirty minutes. We just had to walk all the way here, maybe ten, and then your time chatting with your mom, perhaps five, plus you will need more time so you can put on your best dress." Chandler took off his cap, using it like a fan. "And you only told me that just now? How great of you." "I know, right? He just likes to scold us, that's all!" Aislinn sighed, and took her cloak from one of the hooks, draping it over her shoulders and tying the laces into a ribbon, putting her hair into one shoulder as she pulled up the hood of her smokey cloak. "Well, off I go to meet the man who loves me, Mother," "Accept it, dearie, you fell for him first." The mother said, while sipping from a cup. "Can we also know about the story, Mrs. Bryne, so that when we get back home we have a story to tell to our brothers and sisters?" "Ah, certainly. This book is very nice, it tells us of how inconsistent the human behavior is, how fickle our minds are..." "That sounds easy and interesting, come on, Travis, let's listen." Chandler invited Travis to sit beside him, and Travis did so, also removing his cap.

Aislinn left and fled down the streets, the tall tower of the Big Ben not far from sight. The skies were of copper, and carriages with clockwork horses passed by, she began to run all the way to the bridge, smelling the smoke and feeling the gush of wind breeze through, it pushed down the cowl of her cloak, blowing her fiery hair wild. As she reached the bridge, she looked around for him, and when she found no sign, leaned into the railings of the Westminster bridge, seeing the murky waters reflect the copper glow of the bleeding sun, and listening to the various sounds reaching her ears. She took the letter from the pocket of her cloak, gently removing the wax seal of forest green with a symbol of a stag's head. She unfolded the parchment, and her mind was to register everything, a gunshot was heard and the people resorted to panic (like in every pandemic, you know what I'm saying?) rather than to process what's happening with a focused mind.

She was about to look at the crime scene, until the clock rang its bell six times, and the rooks swept down from the skies into the crowd.