Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Note: This is my first Finding Neverland Story. Includes an OC, but trust me, you'll like him...maybe. Hopefully you will give me some reviews and criticism? It's an experiment, to say the least. It's a short first chapter, but it's to get my brainjuices flowing and to see if you really want to read this or not. Enjoy.
A sinuous wind hissed and whispered among the trees, teasing the thin branches into releasing their fragile hold on their crisp clothing and revealing the pale nakedness beneath. Golden hues caressed and curried favor with the eye as they scattered, one by one and two by two to the painted sidewalk. Vines stretched like gossamer streamers, displaying pin-sized fragrant flowers triumphantly.
James watched the beauty of the season half-heartedly, not quite interested in the change around him for a change. Besides taking care of Peter and the other children, it seemed his mind had little room for other things these days.
But that was nothing new, he reasoned. He never was interested in anything on these days. Not on the days The Boy came.
For those days were like no other, with no comparison to days of petty noblemen and women. These were the days that James itched to have his journal, the one object his fingers craved for. But he never brought it, because he knew The Boy would not like it.
"Mr. Barrie," interrupted a cool, stern voice. James stiffened against the cool wood of the bench; his muscles relaxed, and he turned with a soft smile.
The Boy stood at the far side of the bench. His brown body was straight as an arrow beneath his common clothing. Shadowed by a hat, his dour face peeked out from underneath, framed by two short curls that had managed to escape from the tight bun their owner kept them in.
"Good evening, Basil," James responded pleasantly, inviting him to take a seat with a wave of his hand. The Boy hopped up, and for a brief moment his serious face broke into that of severe concentration, and James could not help but laugh. Basil, awkwardly rooted in his seat, glared and repositioned his hat with growl.
"Didn't anyone tell you it was rude to laugh at someone?" he snapped, forget-me-not eyes boring into James' own.
"Didn't anyone tell you it was rude to snap at someone like that?" James teased from his side of the bench. Basil turned away from him and glared, obviously frustrated.
James watched him from the corner of his eye with intense fascination. Ever since he'd met him one evening at the park, he'd been ensnared by him. He didn't know why. Perhaps it was the way he held himself, like an adult trapped in a child's body, or the way he desperately flung away the joy of childhood.
Or perhaps it was simply the way he inspired James. This boy held an essence that called James to him, something that sent electricity down his spine and required him to wet his hair down for fear it would poof.
Basil's face screwed up, the tip of his pink tongue poking between his lips. James laughed.
"What're you thinking about?" James asked. Basil shot a glance at him, tugging at his hat to pull it further down his face.
"How'd- how did you know I was thinking about something?" he corrected himself quickly, struggling to bury his commoner accent. He glared at James suspiciously. James pretended not to hear it. Instead, he grinned playfully, and tapped his tongue, sticking it out of his mouth like a rod.
"Yourth twongue stpick out when youth speakth." he said, mockingly tapping his nose with his tongue. Basil glared, but James saw the faint twinkle in his eye, the dim spark of childhood he could never quite get to surface.
"...are you ready or not?" Basil mumbled, clamping his hands on top of his round, exposed knees. He wondered vaguely how he managed to not be cold.
"Go ahead, Basil. Start. Tell me about your dreamland." James coaxed softly. The laughter in his voice dimmed. Basil cast one last cautionary glance at him before looking straight forward and taking a deep, sweet breath.
" So, a little girl named Alice is sitting along the riverbank…"