*****
Not fully appreciated upon first expection, Kuros can't help but utter a low grunt of appreciation when he sees all that is laid out before him. It appears to contain everything he could possibly dream of. Then again, it *is* everything he could possibly dream of.
Nora lets go of his arm to conduct her own inspection. She wonders that the board doesn't groan under the strain of such bounty. _I wonder if dream food has calories..._ she thinks as she tries to decide where to start. Then she chuckles to herself. _Wouldn't be much of a "dream food" if it did, now, would it?_
Picking up a plate, a silk napkin, and a knife and fork from one end of the giant oak table, Kuros quickly surveys the area and picks up, in quick succession, a pair of quince, a tomato, and an iced pastry, with mille-feuille and a thick cream in the middle.
Nora opts, instead, for a slice of rare roast beef, some veggies and a warm, crusty roll with fresh, savory, herb butter. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until she saw and smelled the food.
Kuros nods in approval of Nora's choices.
Kuros then proceeds to carefully cut a slice of the pastry with his knife, spears it lightly with his fork, and offers it to Nora:
"Would you like to try it? It's called a Napoleon - it's my favourite."
Nora blinks. _How does a knight know about a confection named after an 18th Century emperor?_ she wonders. But, then, she's seen so many other weird things here already that she decides she shouldn't be surprised at all.
"Sure," she replies. Then wonders if she's to open her mouth like a hatchling to accept the treat, or take it with her fingers. Neither option is exactly Emily Postish.
Noticing Nora's hesitation, Kuros swiftly takes balances his plate between his middle and ring fingers, takes his knife up with his index and middle fingers on the same hand, and deftly deposits the pastry upon Nora's plate, removed from the other food so that the dessert does not contaminate the main course.
Nora marvels at Kuros' dexterity... but also finds herself a little disappointed he didn't offer to feed her. She's not exactly certain why. She smiles and retrieves the tid-bit. "Let's see if dream food tastes as good as the real kind," she murmurs, popping the sweet into her mouth. "Mmmmmmm..." she approves. "That's very good, isn't it?"
Kuros takes the piece of food up with his fork and probes it carefully with his tongue.
Nora watches this exercise with fascination. For some unaccountable reason, she notices the room seems to be warmer. _Must be because of all the people,_ she decides.
Liking what he feels, he takes first one bite, and then another, until the rogue pastry is all but gone.
"It's absolutely lovely; my cook at home couldn't possibly have made a better sample. I really must obtain the recipe, if one even exists."
She looks up at the knight, and her gaze travels over his armor. On the whole, the prospect of dancing seems very grim. But that's probably for the best, she realizes. _I'm not exactly light on my feet, either._
She smiles at Kuros. "Pity you seem not to have your squire, Sir Knight. I should think you'd be rather uncomfortable in full battle dress." She nods, indicating the rest of the room. "They've all come dressed for a party." She looks up at him again, and a shadow of concern passes over her face as a thought occurs to her. "Or were you expecting trouble, perhaps?"
"Nay, nay. I came as I left. If I had my way, I'd be changed into something different - this suit does not exactly lend itself towards mobility."
"Mm. I can well imagine." _It's a wonder he can even walk._ She cants her head to one side. _I wonder what a knight wears under his armor..._
Kuros gets a slight glimmer in his eye and leans forward until his head is right beside hers, and whispers conspiratorially:
"You're not offering to be my squire now, are you?"
Nora's mouth falls open with a little in-breath of suprise, and once more the flush rises up from her decolletage. And then...
...she laughs. From somewhere deep down inside. A free, delighted laugh. "Sir Kuros!!" she cries, trying overly hard to sound scandalized. It comes out sounding like something from a French Farce. "Why, I could NEVER do such a thing!" She looks up at him, suddenly coy, and affecting a Southern Belle demeanor. "I'm not strong enough!"
She arches an eyebrow. "However...I'm sure _someone_ here must have a can-opener...."
Kuros chortles heartily and glances around the room to see if anyone has overheard his... inelegancy. Noticing that Kuranes is still overlooking the whole spectacle, he calls over:
"Milord! You wouldn't happen to have a... more suitable set of clothes for me to slip into, would you?"
Nora stifles a grin as she pretends to be more interested in the roast beef than his machinations.
He then turns to Nora and makes a vague gesture with his head towards the dance floor:
"Once I *do* get some appropriate attire, Nora, would you care to dance? The first one of the night is always the most meaningful - it sets the stage for all that follows."
"Dance? Me?" The thought appalls her. Into her head flashes a picture of that dancing hippopotamus in the cartoon...
But then a different image appears. One of her on the dance floor... with an arm about her, and a pair of blue-gray eyes looking down into hers... "I... I'd like to give it a try." She smiles shakily. "I'll do my best. I mean... it's been years, but..."
She glances about nervously. _Well, I've already survived my share of the spotlight tonight. How bad can it be to dance with a handsome knight?_ For a moment she lets her imagination summon up suggestions of "what was to come." "Sure. Why not?"
_After all,_ she reminds herself. _It's only a dream..._
Kuranes looks up from his conversation with Grandmother and the magicians. He smiles and nods. His eyes close and his head sags for barely an instant.
When the King's eyes open once more, Kuros finds himself wearing a swallow-tail evening jacket, a white waistcoat and gloves, and patent leather dancing shoes.
He gives Kuros a second knowing nod and grin before returning to his conversation.
The Dark Knight-cum-Dark Escort glances down at the sudden change of attire and a low whistle elicits from his pursed lips. Taking further time to admire the change, Kuros gives himself the once-over by examining his new clothes, from his shoulders down to the backs of his legs, all the while slowly turning around, in order to better appreciate his new garb. He then finishes up the spectacle with a small whirl, testing the traction of his new soles and sending the tails on his jacket fluttering up about him.
Nora gasps, and then grins. "Wow... nice threads, dude!" she cries. Then she looks up into his eyes. "I mean... you look very handsome, thus attired."
Kuros blushes slightly at the compliment.
_Very handsome, indeed,_ she continues to herself. Not all men look good in black. Kuros does. His eyes have taken on more steel than blue. His touseled blond locks give him the look of a fair Byron. In an instant, he has gone from Dark Hero to Dark Lover.
...and she decides she definitely approves of the change!
"Thank you, mila... I mean, Nora. You look radiant - truly, positively, radiant."
Now it is Nora's turn to blush... and she does. Yet again.
"Let us begin, while the night is still young."
Nora purses her lips, takes a deep breath, and tries to relax.
With that, Kuros takes Nora by the arm and together they glide over to the dance floor. Examining the band assembled there (and glancing quite quizzically at the skin-clad man there), Kuros makes his request:
"A mid-tempo waltz, if you will, gentlemen?"
_A waltz?_ thinks Nora. _Well... I know how to waltz... there was that time in Salzburg..._
*****
"Oh, surely it is not as bad as all _that_, friend Marada!" says Rexalc as he walks cloudily over to the tables. "It would seem to have been a misunderstanding, nothing more."
"But it seems to reflect an invasion of the Plane of Dreams by a bunch of weirdos. I have to deal with humans enough--I have no interest in seeing them as I dream."
Rexalc's customary smile falters at this, but only briefly.
"But as to this 'Jolt'," he continues, craning his neck like someone used to a much longer one as he scans the tables, "I really could not say, because I do not know what it might be. But if it is, indeed, something for the prevention of dreams, it would seem to me that partaking in the dreamworld version of such a thing could only prevent one from _dreaming_ of dreams."
"Perhaps so", Marada states, looking for something with bacon in it. "I will have to remember to wake up first before addressing this." He then changes the subject. "So, what have you been doing with yourself lately?"
"Traveling, for the most part," Rexalc replies as he pours himself a cup of hot mulled wine. "I have found Nexus to be the most fascinating of places! To think that one can travel between the planes, merely by stepping through a door or crossing a street! Truly, it makes the head swim.
"Also," he adds, a touch of sadness creeping into his voice, "I have not entirely abandoned all hope of once again finding dear Spitfire."
Marada hrms. "The logistics sound to be a nightmare. Even the Colonies of Draconiat, or the countries of Terra, bear such variations in language that communication is annoying to say the least. And I won't even go into trying to pass note of different colonies-- the same two hundred confed'racies... but imagine the most suspicious look you've ever seen..."
"Still... I should probably get a decent map and have a look about in a few years' time. Perhaps I can make it home..."
Rexalc shakes his head, as much to dislodge unpleasant thoughts as to indicate the negative. "You will not find any maps of Nexus. None of any use, at any rate. The arrangement of realities is ever in flux."
"Then who in their right mind would dare venture there? 'Twould seem that your home-- or any stable base-- could fall away the moment you walked across the row. Or is it akin to the drift of continents... a gradual shift of relatively large segments?"
"A bit of both, actually, and more. It can be quite distressing before one becomes used to it."
Marada develops a mental picture of a man tying a bungee cord to himself to ensure he is not withdrawn from his homeland, and grins daftly, rendering the thought public enough for the stormdrake to enjoy it if he so wishes.
"It is, however, possible to navigate the city through a kind of sense for the place one develops over time. And there are individuals for hire who have developed this sense to a very high degree."
"The more you speak of it, the worse it sounds, comrade. I will stick to my clan--even though THAT's more adventure than I fancy." He realizes with a start that he has revealed something. Last time he spoke to Stormcrest, he had yet to stumble across a mate.
"'To each his own,' as I have heard my human friends say," Rexalc replies, smiling. "For my part, I have taken Nexus as a second chance to experience the cascade of realities through which I slept in despair before my discovery of the Dominance."
"Indeed. I guess it offers little for those of us who want only warmth, security, and predictability."
*****
As the band begins to play, Kuros bows deeply to Nora with a sweep of his arm, and embraces her waist with a strong, supple hand. His remaining free hand clasps Nora's hand.
And they dance. A light, steady dance that swirls and flows in tempo with the blowing snows outside.
Nora hesitates at first, more concerned that she might tread on his feet than anything else. But soon, her attention moves to Kuros, and whether he is regretting his decision to dance with her.
Kuros leads confidently, but remains ever aware of any problems that Nora is having and adjusting his moves accordingly. (A general knows when it's best to lead, and best to listen.)
Before long, Nora has relaxed enough to get into the rhythm of his movements. She actually begins to enjoy the fluidity of moving in time to music. The feeling of his warm hand at her back, gently guiding her, taking control of their direction. Gradually they glide closer. They nearly touch.
Kuros notes that Nora's body has loosened itself up slightly and that she is becoming more accustomed to the pace, so he steps things up slightly. Almost imperceptibly, his movements become more fluid, more... there. The ever-present beat of the band playing behind them, playing for them, slowly worms its way into Kuros's chest and pulses like a phantom heartbeat. Coattails and silk swirl as one as everything falls into concordance, as if the final piece of a puzzle was placed. The dark knight momentarily sidles in closer to Nora, only to fall away at the last moment as the step changes. Again and again the couple come together and fall back, together and back, in a Sisyphean display of wills.
Nora feels the heat from Kuros' body insinuating itself through the thin silk of her gown as they dance. The closeness of him, the scent of him as it envelopes her. The scent of skin, warmed by physical exertion. A clean, earthy scent. The sound of Kuros' quickened breath. The sensation as his thigh just brushes her in a turn, the hard muscles sliding against her, moving under the skin as he navigates her about the floor. His left hand pushes, urges, brings her ever closer but never close enough. The fingers splay to inch down the small of her back, touching her where she has never been touched before.
All the while, Kuros gazes into Nora's eyes, every attentive of anything which would indicate trouble on the horizon.
His eyes... how wonderful they are! Light, yet dark, with the depth of a pool of crystalline water that goes deep into the earth. His eyes, which never wander to see what other women are in the room. Eyes which probe deep into her own, seeking what only Kuros knows. Never has Nora experienced such focussed attention. It at once thrills and disturbs her. Will he see something amiss? Will she fail to fascinate him? Will he lose interest? Or... will he see something for which he has searched his whole life long?
Kuros keeps his gaze locked steadily on Nora, taking in every contour and detail of her beautiful face. She is a woman the likes of which he has never seen before - quiet, with an inner core of strength, and possessing a beauty which seems to have been drawn up from the primeval heart of nature - the virgin forests, the placid glacial lake, the inviting meadows. Kuros revels in what is the quintessential earthly woman - drawing her strength from within, no facades, no airs - just Nora.
She looks up into his beautiful eyes, hoping he cannot see her desperation, but unable to stop him from seeing everything... everything...
As the music segues into the intermezzo Kuros, still dancing as sure as before, whispers in his velvet voice:
"Tell me of your home, Nora. Are you happy there?"
The question catches her off-guard, pulling her from her rapt attention. "My home?" _Why would anyone want to know about my home??_ She swallows. _Think of something clever, Nora!! THINK!_ "My home is... nothing very special. I have a place of my own... a job. It's a good job..." If her tone sounds a bit defensive, she doesn't reveal the reason. "I... live alone."
Here she breaks eye-contact with him. "I guess I'm happy. I never really think about being happy... I guess..." Her face colors as she realizes what she's just revealed. _Oh, that was really clever, Nora. Why don't you just TELL him you're a total failure as a human being?_
Kuros flushes red and a cold prickle creeps up the back of his neck as he realizes that perhaps he has said the wrong, nay, the worst possible thing to say.
She looks up at him and tries to salvage what she can. "I guess, with my job, I'm more concerned about whether other people are happy." She laughs. There's a bit of an edge to it. "I never have much time to think about myself." _And no one to think about me..._ She looks off toward the rest of the hall, suddenly uncomfortable under that intense scrutiny of his.
Kuros thinks to himself //What she needs is someone to love and care for her. Someone to *be* with her.//
"You're a lovely woman, Nora, and I apologize from the bottom of my heart for being so base in my question. Forgive me?"
Nora looks up at him in surprise. _Lovely? He thinks I'm lovely?_ "Oh! There is nothing to forgive... truly..."
"I can only hope that this dream goes on forever, because it will rend my heart in two to wake up and not have you by my side."
And the dance continues....
A sudden chill, like the first killing frost in a summer garden, dances up her spine. _He... mocks... me!_ she concludes, her throat constricting in a spasm of anger and grief. _He thinks he can flatter me and I'll swallow every word!_ She stumbles slightly as her foot loses the rhythm of the waltz. _Does he think I am so stupid that I could believe such obvious mockery? So... desperate?_
Kuros glances down nonchalantly, just to make sure that he did, in fact, feel Nora falter slightly. His fear confirmed, he settles back into his rhythm and hopes that nothing happens.
She looks around the room, eyes darting into every corner. _Someone put him up to this! Someone's watching to see what I'll do. It's one of those... dog dances, or whatever they call them. Bring the ugliest date and win a prize! Well, not this time, buster._
Tears pool around her lower lashes. She holds her head very high, refusing to be made the fool. _You can make it through this dance, Nora. You can do it. Stay proud, girl! And when it's over, you can laugh at HIM._ She swallows her tears, refusing to let him see.
_Only... I don't want to laugh..._ More than anything, she wanted to go somewhere quiet and cry until she had no more tears.
//This doesn't look good at *all*// Kuros thinks to himself, noticing that his dance partner has started to come apart, alternately holding back what could only be tears and glancing around paranoically.
"Very pretty words, Sir Knight," she says, trying very hard not to let her voice sound forced. But she cannot keep the chill from her tone. "You flatter me so."
Kuros's face is etched with concern. "Is something the matter, Nora?"
//Good one, guy.// The knight berates himself. //The master of understatement, you are.//
A heaviness so profound it hurts presses in upon her. _It's only a dream, Nora,_ she reminds herself. _Why are you even putting up with this? This is as painful as waking life! Why don't you just wake up and end it?_
And another thought comes to her. _And even if he were sincere... if this is my dream and I'm making him say what I want to hear, it's still only a dream, and I'll wake up, and I'll still be alone._
She looks away from him as tears she can no longer hold back start to moisten her cheeks. She stops dancing. "I'm sorry," she says, unable to bear the warmth of his body any longer. She wipes her face, angry at the betraying streaks. "I guess I don't have the stamina for dancing. I... Thank you... but if you'll forgive me... I can't..." Unable to say more without bursting into sobs, she turns and begins to make her way through the crowd, looking for any place she could be alone.
_Why can't I wake up? Why can't I end this?_
And with that, Kuros's fantasy is shattered, dashed to the floor like a porcelain doll. //Why must nothing *ever* turn out wine and roses on the first try? What have I *done*?//
Kuros quickly peels out of the dance once his partner pulls away, and sets out to pick up the pieces of what could have been.
"Nora, stop! I implore you! Please, just talk to me!"
The last thing Nora wants at the moment is to talk to him. Or, perhaps it's what she wants more than anything. On she stumbles, bumping into dancers and on-lookers, trying to slip through scant open-spaces in the crowd...
With that, he wends his way through the crowd, ignorant of who (or what) he runs by - anything just to keep her in view, still. Always just in the corner of his eye, like a dryad in the forest, Nora is pursued doggedly by Kuros.
//I'm not going to let her get away from me.//
Unmindful of where she's going, only fleeing to a place where she felt safe, she blunders her way into the library and its big fire and friendly chairs and... quiet...
...only to find it is still occupied. "Oh!" she cries, dismayed, "Mr. Lovecraft! I forgot that you would be here!" She looks about, as though she could conjure another refuge from the very walls. But it's no good.
The tears overwhelm her. She moves haltingly forward and sinks to her knees at Lovecraft's feet. "Oh, sir... Why can't I wake up from this horrible nightmare?" she wails, bending forward with her face in her hands. "Why must even my dreams mock me?"
Marius gives a start at the sudden interruption. Ears slightly laid back, the gray cat prepares to flee, until he realizes that the distraught woman is the same whose lap he enjoyed a little while past.
Lovecraft looks up from his conversation with the cat and quirks his head. "A Yuletide celebration in the Dreamlands manor of a benevolent king, a mocking nightmare? That is a fearsome irony indeed. Please explain, and perhaps I may be of some assistance."
Kuros comes skidding to a halt in front of the doorway to the library and realizes that now would *not* be the best time to valiantly barge in and save Nora from her problems. Opting for the better part of valour, he lurks outside and listens.
Nora takes a moment to get her voice under control again, and then launches into her tale of woe, so grateful just to have someone who will listen without having a personal stake in the outcome.
"I don't know how to explain," she confesses. "I'm not even sure what part of this is worst..." She sniffles and blows her nose on a handkerchief she didn't know she had. "You see...I met this man just now..."
For a while, it seems this is all she will say. Indeed, to the discerning person, this is most likely all she needs to say. But eventually she presses on.
"He's handsome and strong and witty and... everything a woman could want, you'd think. He makes me feel..." She dries her eyes. "Well, he makes me feel good. But... _I'm_ not everything a _man_ could want." She hurries on before Lovecraft can interrupt. "I'm not even close. I mean... look at me!" She gets up from her knees and spreads her arms wide before Lovecraft. "I'm fat and I'm old. I might have been thought 'cute' once, but that was 25 years ago! Whatever chance I had at romance is long gone! I've got nothing to offer a man like that! He could have any pretty young thing he wanted." She smiles very grimly. "And God knows there are plenty of them in there!"
Then she shakily takes the chair opposite him before the fire again. "And yet, when we were dancing just now, he started flattering me, telling me I was lovely and that he wished this dream wouldn't end because it would..." She fumbles for the right words. "Oh, that it would break his heart or something to wake up and find me not there."
She sat back sullenly. "He can't have been serious," she said flatly. "He's just 'making fun of the fat girl'." She sniffled one last time. "Or maybe he's just trying to be nice, because he pities me. I mean, I did kind of get him out of an awkward spot." She nods. "Yeah, at best he's just being nice because he feels some kind of obligation."
She takes a deep breath, getting herself fully under control. "I've been there before. Too many times. I don't need his scorn, and I don't need anybody's pity! I can take care of myself. I'm fine."
She twists the handkerchief in her hands, quiet for a moment. "But... If a dream is going to be as painful as real life, what's the point of having it?"
Marius gets up on all fours and licks his shoulder a few times. Looking Nora in the eyes, or at least attempting to, he crosses the short distance between them in a bound. "You look really upset," the cat croons, "May I join you in that chair?"
Awaiting permission to answer the feline calling, Marius thinks on all the times "She" has come Home in great distress, and how he has been able to calm "Her" by lending his unconditional support.
Nora looks at the cat. And for once, she thinks how nice it would be to have something warm and furry and friendly and non-judging sitting in her lap. She reaches out and runs her hand over his back, smiling a little as his hind quarters rise to meet her. "Nice kitty..." She coaxes him.
The gray feline starts quietly imitating a grist mill. Leaning into Nora's caresses, Marius makes his way to the nice lady's lap. He tramples her silk dress into something that vaguely resembling a nest and, laying down, promptly drops off into a deep sleep.
Lovecraft listens with the silent attention of one perusing a favorite book and puzzling over a particularly meaningful passage.
"Well, first of all," he says at last, his aristocratic tones tempered with kindness, "I must reiterate that you are, in fact, in a very real place, albeit one you have entered through your dreams. That being the case, the joys and pains are equally real.
"That aside," he continues, "can I safely assume that you not completely familiar with the world and time of the gentleman in question? If so, I would ask how you can be so certain of that place's standard of beauty. Even in my own world of origin -- which I suspect is a variant of your own -- a thin wife was at one time considered the sign of a poor provider."
Nora mulls this over. It must be obvious to Lovecraft that this idea had not occurred to her. In fact, he had brought up two interesting points she had not considered. Not only had he given her a plausible reason to think that Kuros might actually be sincere, but...
"Wait..." she says, leaning forward unconsciously. "...you're telling me that this place is _real_? It's _not_ 'just a dream'? That people I meet here are real people, not just creations of my over-taxed imagination? That Kuros really... exists somewhere? Out in the Waking World, he's real??" Her brain starts cranking. "And... if that place is connected to Nexus..."
A sardonic smile crawls onto Lovecraft's thin lips. "So I said earlier."
Nora blushes slightly at the gentle reproof. She had been so intent on getting away from the crowds she really hadn't paid enough attention. Either that, or she just wasn't subtle enough to grasp the concept the first time it was posed to her.
"To be fair, however, I can understand why one might dismiss a lecture from a person one thinks to be an errant bit of dream-fancy."
Her blush deepens slightly. She truly had dismssed him. And if this place were real, then she had been extremely rude. Her face turns toward the door. _Rude to everyone..._ she thinks, her heart sinking deeper into hopelessness.
As this is happening, Kuros has posed himself just outside the doorway, making sure that he is not espied. //Why make my presence known when it could cause unease?// Laying his back straight up on the door jamb, Kuros picks one foot up and props it against the wall, his chin bowed to his chest in thought:
//This is not what I expected. This is not what I expected at *all*. Why must everything be so difficult?//
"But yes: the Dreamlands is a real enough place, and since all of Kuranes's guests seem to be from various Waking Worlds, I am quite sure the same holds true for the gentleman in question.
"Now, as to whether his world is connected to _Nexus_..." he shrugs. "_That_ I've no way of knowing. Not all dimensions are linked to Nexus, and for some that are, the link is highly tenuous. But I would consider his presence in a Dreamlands variant frequented by Nexans to be a hopeful sign, at least."
Nora nods her head slowly. She looks at Lovecraft for a moment, and then concentrates on stroking the cat in her lap. "Thank you, sir," she murmurs. "And I'm sorry I didn't pay attention before. I just thought I was having a particularly vivid dream." She scritches Marius behind the ears. "I've had dreams almost this real before. Only..." She keeps herself from turning toward the door again, but her eyes flick that direction for a moment. "...never quite as real." She sighs, all the emotion drained out of her now. "I didn't mean to burden you with my problems. I'm sorry."
Marius rolls over in Nora's lap and stretches out to his full length, exposing his belly for a rub.
"It's no burden, I assure you," Lovecraft replies. "And even if it were, Marius there is doing a fine job of helping me to bear it. Isn't that right, Marius?"
An incomprehensible murmer of assent comes from the jumble of gray fur and blue silk that Nora's lap has become.
Kuros's ears prick up as he hears Nora finish her lament. Pausing to collect his thoughts, Kuros peels himself off of the wall, spins slightly, and cautiously steps out into the library, his back ramrod straight and his eyes expressing deep concern:
"Nora, are you going to be OK? If there's anything, *anything*, you need to talk about, we can talk. I'm a good listener..."
Nora nearly bolts out of the chair. Only the warming weight of Marius in her lap keeps her seated. As it is, she has to fight with herself to know what to do, or what to say, or how to react. How long had he been there? Had he only just found them? That hardly seemed likely, given the time that had passed. Surely she had not lost him in the crowd...
Her confusion silences her.
When Kuros remembers that he and Nora are not the only occupants of the room, he mutters a slight reprimand to himself and turns to regard the man seated in the chair beside Nora, bowing deeply as he does so.
"I don't believe we have met, sir. I am Sir Kuros de Tynswight, though everyone around here calls me Kuros. It is a pleasure to meet you."
Lovecraft remains seated as he answers the knight's bow with a nod and a wry grin, much like a regally decrepit uncle. "Howard Phillips Lovecraft. Likewise, I'm sure, Sir Kuros. Please, won't you have a seat? If you do, indeed, need to talk, this is an excellent place for it."
"Thank you. I believe I will." Kuros then scans the room, and identifies his charge - a high, straight-backed, carved mahogany chair, padded ever so slightly at the back, seat and arms with red plush. Pulling the chair fluidly towards HP and Nora, Kuros takes a seat and sighs audibly as he realizes how weary he is.
Nora keeps her eyes on the cat, scratching his belly. "I apologize, Sir Kuros," she says rather stiffly. "I did not mean to cause you any distress. I suddenly needed to be away from all that crowd of people. I'm not much of a party animal."
Her glance flicks to Lovecraft, and then back to the cat. Would he blow her cover?
"It is of no importance, Nora. I was getting sick of the dancing, anyway." Kuros flashes a brief grin, though the glimmer in his steely eyes shows that he is only partially telling the truth.
If she doubts his words, she does not doubt his motives. He had come after her! He had followed her because he wanted to be with her. No man had ever done that before.
Except in dreams....
"Let's keep away from the crowds for now..." desperately trying to keep his composure, Kuros's eyes dart around, looking for something, anything, that could possibly keep her from bolting again.
//The cat.//
The perfect distraction found, Kuros slowly gets up from his chair and walks over to where Nora and Marius are seated. Getting down on his knees with nary a creak or a groan, Kuros slowly and firmly rubs Marius under his chin with the first knuckle of his index finger.
Marius the lap warmer pulls his head back from Kuros' reach and sniffs the extended hand. His keen senses detect a trace of Nora's scent on the knights appendage, and, exhibiting his approval, the gray cat purrs even louder. Marius raises his nose in the air, exposing his sleek jawline to Kuros for easier access.
"There are fewer pleasures more rewarding than having one's company graced by a cat. Does he have a name?"
She looks down at Marius with a frown. "I... don't know. I suppose he must, but..." She looks over at Lovecraft. "He's not my cat. Mr. Lovecraft? Do you happen to know his name?"
She takes the diversion to glance up into Kuros' face, into his gray eyes, only to look away in embarrassment when he catches her at it.
_What happens when I wake up?_ she wondered. _I don't know how I could bear it!_
"Oh, yes," Lovecraft assures her. "His name is Marius. He -- and his brother Izzy, who is no doubt off enjoying the party after his own fashion -- belongs to no one here but themselves, being both fellow guests and Dreamers in their own rights. As it happens, we were just discussing the fact that they, too, are here for the first time."
Kuros starts slightly at what HPL has just said, and slowly works the repercussions over out loud, both for the benefit of Mr. Lovecraft and for his own:
"You can understand what he says? What do you talk about?"
The gray feline sits upright on Nora's lap and leans closer to Kuros. Marius raises his paws and places them on the knight's shoulders, one on either side of his head. "Of course he understands me--he is a great and venerable Author who writes Books! We have been discussing Love, Truth and Beauty. Would you care to join in?" Marius leans even closer to Kuros. Quick as only a cat can be, he flicks out his bright pink tongue and licks the knight's nose.
Lovecraft laughs like an otherwise staid old uncle amused by a young nephew's antics. "As Marius has just informed you -- or would have, if you happened to speak Cat -- we have discussed a wide variety of subjects this evening, and you are more than welcome to join us."
Kuros chuckles at the thought of being able to communicate, and have an intelligent conversation, with a cat.
"Does Marius speak our language?"
"No, although he understands it. It is I who speaks _his_ language," Lovecraft explains.
"That's splendid! Where did you learn such a tongue?"
"Why, by listening to cats, of course," Lovecraft replies drolly.
"When time permits, of course," he adds, cutting his aristocratic eyes significantly in Nora's direction.
He chuckles and waves off the subject. "My apologies. As you've no doubt noted, I tend to warm overly quickly to my topic, however tangential. Please, continue."
His curiosity further piqued, Kuros ventures further with another tentative stab at grasping just what he's run into.
"You seem to know much about this... Dreaming." Glancing covertly over in Nora's direction, Kuros lowers his voice ever so slightly:
"Is there any way for me to tell whether or not I'm alive in my home... world? If I *am* alive, is there a way my life can be spared? For example, could I maybe head somewhere else through this Dreamland?"
Lovecraft's brow furrows. "You have reason to think you may not be alive in the Waking World?"
Kuros nods sagely. "Before I came here I found myself with a sword at my neck. It does not bode well."
"_Well_, I... No. Not a way of which I'm aware, at any rate. Not in Ooth-Nargai, where time does not pass. If you were to leave this country for another in the Dreamlands that is touched by time, you might guess by whether or not you ever wake up. But leave the Dreamlands themselves? If you dreamed your way here, as you obviously did based upon your question, the only place to which you might travel -- at least, to my limited knowledge -- would be to the Dreamlands of other worlds. But what that would accomplish, I couldn't say."
"So the only way I can confirm whether or not I am alive is to return to the waking world? And if I am dead, then, will I simply not wake up?
Nora's eyes widen to the approximate size of dinner-plates. _Not wake up???_ she thinks, appalled. _If he didn't wake up... But... he could be dead? Oh, God! NO!! Please don't let him be dead!!!_
"Seems a small sacrifice, considering the possible return."
_What is he talking about??_ her brain thunders. _If he were... dead... then he'd be trapped here! Or maybe he'd even DIE here if the tried to wake up!! DIE, right here and now in this place!! And I'd never see him again, not even in my dreams!_
Her hands unconsciously begin to tighten on Marius' fur as and agony of fear siezes her heart.
Marius lets out a little "Peep!" as Nora's grip tightens. Understanding that her reaction is the result of great fear, the cat does not complain furthur. Indeed, the Marius' purring only increases in volume.
"Perhaps," Lovecraft nods reluctantly. "However, another possibility would be to have someone else investigate your current state in the Waking World. Assuming a way might be found from that person's Waking reality to your own, of course. And that said person would be willing to accept the accompanying risks."
Nora's glance flicks from one to the other, darting back and forth as each speaks. Trying to take all this in and process it in some logical manner. Trying to by-pass her panic in favor of rational thought.
"What if I went back at the same time as they did? Perhaps I'd be able to get myself out of the predicament I am in if I had help..."
Nora starts to open her mouth to shout "I'll go! I'll do it!" But Lovecraft forestalls her.
Lovecraft shakes his head and sighs. "That would be a masterstroke of timing, Sir Knight. How would you plan to awaken at the exact moment that your hypothetical companion found your body?"
Nora practically flops back in her chair. He was right, of course. It was hopeless. Useless even to think about such possibilities. Kuros was only real to her in this place. And eventually, she would waken. And then he would be gone. Dead or alive in the Waking World, it didn't really matter. They could never be together. Never.
"Would it be entirely necessary for me to be awake at the moment my body were found? What if it were... removed from the situation at hand, and I occupied my body at a later date?" Kuros shakes his head, sending his hair cascading about him, and chuckles softly to himself,
"To think that I'd be referring to my body as 'it.'"
Unless...
"But what would happen to him, Mr. Lovecraft," she spoke up, "if he _were_ dead in the Waking World? Would it mean that he could stay here forever? Or if... say... _I_ were to die 'out there', while I'm dreaming that I'm in this place, would _I_ be able to stay here? Is that how it works?" _But how could I manage that, without waking up first? And if I woke up, could I ever dream myself back here?_
Kuros glances over to Nora at her sudden exclamation, and his heart floods with a mixture of relief and abject horror. //She would do that... for me?//
"Surely you don't mean that you would kill yourself, Nora! There must be a better way!"
"If he were dead in the Waking World, and if he were capable of Dreaming himself here permanently at the moment of death -- which is no small feat, I should warn you -- then yes, he could stay here eternally, and the same is true for you. Ordinarily, however, if a Dreamer dies in the Waking World, his Dreaming self simply... vanishes.
"Of course, you can stay _here_ eternally, regardless, so long as you remain in the good graces of the King -- 'here' being Ooth-Nargai, where time does not pass. No Dreamer who does not wish to do so ever awakes while in this land."
Glancing down at his hands, Kuros notices that he has been fiddling with the upholstry of his chair for quite some time. The unconscious clenching and unclenching of his fists has begun to wear down the fabric in the arms of the chair, leaving a set of splayed pock-marks upon them.
"If it meant staying with Nora, I'd do it..." The knight's voice trails off in thought. "...But I would prefer that we find ourselves in the physical world, together. Perhaps I'm not asking the right questions.
"What *can* be done, Sir Lovecraft?"
"Why?" Nora interrupted suddenly. "Why bother with the Waking World at all?" She looks from Kuros to Lovecraft. "Why would I want to go back there?" she demands. "I have nothing in the Waking World! No family, a job I hate, no one who... cares for me..."
Kuros sits dumbstruck, his hands dug deep into the chair arms. His mind, however, races as it tries to assemble everything.
//Woman I love.//
//No-one else in the world.//
//Just us... in the place of our dreams.//
That final idea resonates quite nicely in his skull. So nicely that he makes his thoughts vocalized,
"Truly this is the place of our dreams."
She looks over at Kuros. "You said you'd stay with me. Did you mean that?"
"I meant it before, and I mean it more than ever now. I have nothing to gain in trying to recover my body."
"If you did, then why would you go back? You said you have a sword at your neck. Why go back? Why risk that death, which might separate us forever, when we could stay HERE? Why take the chance that we might never find each other, when we've already found each other, HERE??"
She feels her face flushed with excitement, and gets to her feet, Marius clutched against her breast.
"Urk!" Looking like a six-year old's beloved teddybear, Marius puts up with this ignoble treatment with unusual stoicism.
Kuros gets up from his chair quickly thereafter and strides purposefully over to where Nora is standing, his eyes alight and his body tense with excitation. Reaching over in Nora's direction, Kuros quickly, but delicately pulls Marius away from Nora's body. Kuros stares quite purposefully into Marius's surprised eyes and simply says,
"No hard feelings, Marius? You're in the way."
And with that the knight gracefully tosses Marius in the general direction of a large, plush chair. With that obstruction out of the way, Kuros wraps his arms about Nora's waist in a full embrace. Two bodies become as one as Kuros draws Nora ever closer, until he can feel her heartbeat thrumming insistently against his chest. Kuros tilts his head down and forward and whispers softly in her ear, deep and low:
"Nora, I love you. With all I am."
"Oh... Kuros..." is all she can think of to say. She swallows. "I... I love you, too!"
Marius lands in the soft chair with the grace characteristic of all felines. Seeing the two lovers embrace, he begins to groom his long, gray tail. "Finally!" he mutters into his fur, "What is it with human courtship rituals? Ah well, mission accomplished in any case. May they live happily ever after!"
Kuros's eyes quickly brim with tears, leaving his eyes all the more luminous and twinkling. He pulls Nora a bit closer, leans his head down and kisses her once, firmly but fleetingly, on the nape of her neck:
"I've been waiting to hear that."
"We could be together here forever! He said so! Why risk that? Surely the king would give refuge to two desperate souls...?" This, to Lovecraft. "Wouldn't he?"
"I wouldn't know why not," Lovecraft replies, "although I wouldn't want to speak for him, either."
"We mustn't delay in finding out! Where was he last?"
Lovecraft nods toward the door. "In the great hall, unless I'm quite mistaken."
*****
Diami almost joins the conversation when she hears the music being played. Eyes closing, her head swings toward the ballroom, wanting to absorb the sounds without the distraction of mere sight. "What lovely music!" she sighs. Placing her plate on the table, she gives a muted smile and a quiet, "Excuse me, please," before heading toward the ballroom.
Across the room, Tome notices her departure and, making hurried apologies to Cliickitek and Questaor, makes his own way across the room. Inwardly, he smiles. // She always has loved music. I'm surprised she didn't go into the ballroom earlier... with all of those lessons she went to. 'A way to get out and meet the people in the neighborhood' she told me. She was always so happy and tired whenever she came home from the dances. Even showed me the dances in her mind. //A slight frown appears, creasing his forehead a little.// I know how much she loves to dance. It would be the perfect way to talk to her... but I've never danced before!// Nervously, he goes over in his mind all that he could remember from the shared memories of a party long gone.
Diami reaches the ballroom and stands there, watching the couples already out on the floor, their movements graceful, elegant, and free. Looking around, she espies a chair off to the side. Quickly moving over to it, she unties her cloak and places it on the back of the chair. "Don't really think I'm going to be back outside, but it should be safe here anyway," she murmurs. That taken care of, she looks down at her shoes. The entire walk to the ballroom had reminded her that shoes proper for walking out in the snows of the countryside are not the best for dancing in a ballroom. As the music swells with the addition of the heartbeat of a drum, she frantically looks for some butler that would fufill the miracle of a change of shoes, but none appear. Desperately, she says aloud, "A pair of dancing shoes would be _really_ nice about right now." And before her amazed eyes, her shoes do change... into a pair of black flat dancing shoes, just like her favorites at home. She takes a few twirls by the chair, swirling her skirt out away from her body, testing the traction of the new shoes. "They're perfect!" she gasps. Growing thoughtful, she closes her eyes and wistfully asks the air, "How about a dancing partner?"
And a strangely familiar voice behind her replies, "Your wish is granted. Would you honor me with a dance?"
*****
Sidling by people with faint "Excuse me"s, Jin makes it to the banquet table, that grin still creased upon his lips.
He pulls his gaze away from the menagerie surrounding him down to the excess of food piled upon the table. He's a bit surprised at what he sees. He hadn't expected Chinese food at a Christmas party.
The short man says delightedly, "Cha Siu Bao? I hope it's as good as grandma's." Jin pulls off his mittens and stuffs them in a pocket along with his hat, before reaching for one of the doughy balls. The warmth of the steamed bun permeates his hands and without hesitation he takes a big bite. An empty plate is rapidly filled with these rubbery-looking buns and he drizzles a strong soya sauce over top of the white mounds to top them off.
Tasha espies Jin walking up to the far end of the banquet table. Seeing him ogle the room, she's reminded of a rich boy turned loose in a mega-toy store. She chuckles.
"Oh, you'll like this guy, Kitty," she assures Izzy, stroking the cat's back gently. "He's a live one."
She raises her arm and waves to get Jin's attention.
Izzy wiggles his head out from the furry woman's comfortable armpit. He looks around to see what Tasha is talking about.
He looks around, curious as whether he should sit somewhere and get out of everyone's way, when he sees Tasha waving to him. He ambles on over to her, weaving his way around people and mythical beings alike, his eyes darting to and fro. As he reaches her, he finishes eating the first of the buns, licking his brown stained fingers with smacking sounds.
"Hey there Tasha. See you've made a friend already." He grins down to the cat, before hefting the plate upwards, offering the pyramid of buns, "Want some Bao? It's some of the best I've ever had. Then again, it would have to be, it's my dream after all." He shrugs a little at the end of that, still in his maitre-de pose.
The black and white cat in Tasha's arms leans out towards the proffered stack of breadstuffs. He sniffs a few times, sampling the delicious aroma wafting from the plate.
Jin grins at the cat, "You may not like the dough, but what's inside is yummy."
"_Your_ dream?" she replies dubiously, reaching out with her free hand to take a bun. "You haven't been paying much attention, have you?"
She munches the Bao, watching his face for any dawning ideas or purchased clues.
He waves a hand in the air, "Yes, yes, I know. This isn't really my dream, I've been invited by the royal decree, blah blah yadda yadda. Sorry Tasha, I've had dreams so real, that I would swear up and down that they really happened. Had a dream a friend of mine got my sister pregnant. When I woke up, in a truely ticked off mood, I immediately called him up (at 3:00 am no less) and told him exactly what I thought about him." He grins at that, chuckling at the memory.
Tasha rolls her eyes. Taking Izzy's hint, she offers the cat a small piece of her bun.
The oriental man shrugs for a moment, "Also had a lot of dreams where I would never believe that it is my mind that comes up with such things. Maybe I'm not and maybe I am. Perhaps the guy with the chainsaw cutting up all my friends was truely from another dimension or that I was flying with no mechanical aid. Doesn't really matter, because eventually I'm going to wake up and find that this was honestly, just a dream. Reality always rears it's ugly head."
//And you will be just a figment of my imagination. Ah well, all the interesting ones are.// He pauses in the act of chewing another bao, staring at Tasha consideringly, before giving off one more shrug and biting into the delicious bun.
"Okay, that does it," Tasha declares. "I'm going to find somebody who can get you into Nexus, and _then_ we'll see what's just a dream and what isn't. Congratulations. You just became my pet project."
He raises an eyebrow, licking off his fingers once more of crumbs and brown, salty liquid. "Pet project? Now that sounds intriguing. And what is this Nexus? Mark mentioned it earlier on. Is it some kind of computer game?" Now he looks really eager, as if the thought of a computer game was a far more exciting thing than the dreamland he was in... if only for a moment.
Tasha chokes on her bun and has to scramble to keep from dropping Izzy. "A _computer game_?? Uh... no."
Izzy grips Tasha's arm tighter as he is being tossed around in the Yeti's grip. An alarmed expression crosses his furry face. "Whoa! I hope she's got thick fur..." the feline mumbles to himself, as he tries not to pierce Tasha's skin with his sharp claws.
"Nexus is... Dammit, I _hate_ this part... " Her hand holding the remainder of the bun makes slow circles before her as she searches for the words. "Nexus is like a great big jigsaw puzzle, with each piece part of a different reality. And it's also the name of the infinite city that's in the center of that mess. Anything and everything can and does happen there, including... well, _this_." She nods her head toward the rest of the great hall.
His eyes watch the bun move in its hypnotic elliptical orbit for a moment, before dragging his eyes from the delicious bao to gaze quizzically at Tasha as she attempts to explain Nexus. "Sooo..." he tastes the word on his tongue, trying it out for a moment, before continuing, "...Nexus is a parallel dimension? Or should I say, a dimensional network with this city at the hub?"
He shakes his head, "That concept has been done several times in movies, books and video games." Then a grin graces his face, "Except you are trying to tell me that this Nexus is real."
A chuckle escapes him as he jokingly says, "It would explain a lot about the people living in L.A."
It is fairly obvious that he isn't buying her explanation.
Tasha sighs. "Yes, Nexus is real, and yes, I guess you could call it something like a dimensional 'network'. And maybe, just maybe, we could find a way to get there from here, since Nexus links up with all _sorts_ of odd places.
"But, of course, you think you're just having an ordinary dream, so I could show you the whole nine yards and you still wouldn't believe it, right?"
He gives Tasha a lopsided smile, "'Fraid so Tasha. Now unless you can suddenly appear to me when I'm awake... and ruling out the chance that I wouldn't be hallucinating you... that's probably the only way."
"Okay, _fine_," she grumps. "Later on, I'm going to quiz you mercilessly about your home reality. If there's a way there from Nexus, I'll find it, and I'll find _you_.
"And then if you _still_ give me this 'I must be dreaming' crap," she adds, "you'll find out firsthand what rickshaw pulling does for leg strength when you feel mine kicking your ass."
*****
Perhaps it is the time Vincent has spent away from the waking world. Perhaps it is the way he has been wandering alone through the snow-laden countryside. Perhaps it is the conversation he remembers having with that girl--Brat--earlier. She annoyed him, yes, but she also reminded him, somehow, that it can actually be FUN to be around people. Strange.
Whatever the reason, Vincent finds himself entering the manor. He comes in quietly, stays away from conversation apart from the odd smile or nod of the head and pauses in a corner, wondering just where to go.
The music from the ballroom makes up his mind; // When did I last hear music? Have I ever since then?// He slips into another corner and watches the twins dance. They seem so carefree, so... well, relaxed. And they aren't even dancing to the music! // Not that there's anything wrong with that,// Vincent thinks, remembering. He watches quietly, and a smile almost touches the corners of his lips. Almost.
Rosalinda, who had been happily watching Kuros and Nora, stands nearby. When her attention is captured by Vincent's entrance, she studies him while he studies the twins' jolly art. Slowly her smile fades and she raises a hand to her own lips, deep in thought.
Vincent, without seeing Rosalinda, knows he is being watched. But he waits to turn, not wanting to alert his watcher to his knowledge.
She approaches a resting violinist and asks, "Do you and your harpists know The Elf King's Tune?"
Vincent allows himself to glance at her once she has turned away. He takes in her appearance, notes her position and voice, and files away her level of threat in his mind, just in case. All this takes but a second, and afterwards he shakes his head. //Not here!//
"And perhaps more importantly, do you know how to end it?"
The violinist starts at the question as if poked.
"'The Elf King's Tune'? Ah, well now... yes, we _know_ it, certainly. And how to end it, too, I suppose. But that's a tricky ditty, that one is. Doesn't hold with a slip of the fingers or a trip of the bow, so to speak. 'The Elf King's Tune'..."
His voice trials off as he looks down, eyeing his instrument like the gold at the bottom of a bucket full of spiders.
Then he takes up his violin and stands, bringing the bow around and down in an arc that cuts off further hesitation. The bow glides across the strings, and the opening note sails high up and over a musical hill, a fey leaper no base gravity might restrain.
A gasp runs through the other three. They bring up their own bows to join the flow of the Tune, lest it sweep them away entirely with its deceptively silken force.
And so the "Elf King's Tune" begins, springing from ear to ear on the gossamer wings of a messenger sprite. And to those ears that taper to a point, its call is doubly strong.
Vincent starts at the sound. // What the--// Then he stops and simply watches and listens.
On her way through the corridors, Aria stops, her long ear points seeming to quiver. "Do you hear that? It has such a pull to it..."
Without another word, her light footsteps turn and carry her in a ballet of motion to the door of the ballroom. Her eyes are almost glazed, her breast rising and falling in rhythm with the melody.
The twins on the dance floor seem to slow, clockwork toys whose coils have run out of propulsion. They slow to a smooth slop, Chris gently holding Merry's hand as she twirls out, their gently locked hands and gazes the only things holding them together. Merry's dress continues the motion, whispering with a flourish of completion as the new music begins.
Samuel, who has remained quiet during the waltz, perks up at the opening strains of the tune. While his are pointed, he is no subject, by birth, race, inclination, or association, of the Fair Folk, but the song still pulls at him. With a cackle, he rises his hands over his head, twirling drumsticks in anticipation of clamourous, crashing cacophony. And then, with a twitch of the wrists, the sticks are gone, and he brings his open hands down onto the cylindrical drum, topped with stretched hide, that rests between his knees. A soft tattoo, counterpointing the strings, begins and as Samuel adds a low, hypnotic chant, the tune changes, combining the finesse and elegance of the courts of the Fey with the raw elemental energy of the people of the Plains. An edge of wildness forms in the song, calling to those who hunt beneath the winter's moon.
In the great hall, Brandymead Willowdew goes rigid as a whimsical scrimshaw when the music tickles her ears.
With a hurried apologetic chime, she launches herself from Daffydd's palm and flits past the banquet tables and into the ballroom. There she weaves a complex aerial ballet around and amongst the dancers with a dreamy smile on her face, pausing now and again to pirouette like a hovering top.
Beethoven, who played along with the waltz, shakes his head at his drummer's manic spirit. He steps down off the stand, snags a cup of something from a passing servant, and downs it thirstily. He tips his hat to the young lady in the blue dress who had requested the jazz. "How do?" he offers. "Shall we step out to the floor, before they get someone to throw in with a syrinx, and we all get loopy?" He motions out towards the floor.
Cere looks over the young man who had been playing the piano. Not bad looking, in her opinion, and he had definately liked her choice in music. Standing up, she takes his hand. With a wicked grin as they move out onto the dance floor, she says, "Have you seen anyone that would be carrying the panpipes?"
"Nope," he replies. "Probably a good thing. Orgies probably offend the King's Victorian sensibilities." He takes her hand in his, places his other one on her hip, and grins.
She grins and gets in a quick snap in mock frustration, as if to say 'Darn.'
"Let's see if those cotillion lessons are still rattling around the old attic." He waits for the count, and then steps into the waltz. The start is a little rough, but it smooths as he gets the count. Not totally suave, but competent enough.
"Folks call me Beethoven," he says, after a moment or two. "I play keys and mind the door at Jack's, down on Fourteenth. You mentioned the Deck? You work there?"
Cere falls in step, mentally counting before getting the hang of it. "Not really. You might call me a regular though." She smiles up at Beethoven. "My name's Cere. I'm a detective but I hang out a bit at the Deck." Tossing her hair back a bit, she continues, "I'm in the middle of a case, trying to keep one of the singers from bowing out too soon." Nodding down at her dress, "That's why I was a bit confused when I showed up in this get-up... thought I was thinking too hard on the case! But it seems to do the job, though the cotillion ladies surely wouldn't approve."
"Mmm," replies Beethoven, leading her through the steps of the dance. He pauses, trying to keep from treading on her feet, but adds after a moment, "Might've influenced your appearance. Kuranes controls the setting, but individual dreamers choose their own wardrobe, I would guess."
Cere smirks a little. "Well, I must commend Kuranes' taste. A bit fancier than what I usually wear, but it goes quite well with such a good-looking partner."
Beethoven smiles, an open expression. "Thank you, Cere," he says sincerely. He looks down at his comfortable jeans and jacket combination, and adds, "I can't say that the outfit complements, though."
She gives him a quick little wink. "Didn't mean your threads, though."
Beethoven's normal skin tone is pale, despite attempts to have it otherwise. And so, the slight blush that rises across his ears is noticeable, where on another it would be hidden by the natural ruddiness of the skin. He chuckles at himself, and says, "Thank you again." He dips her, adding with a rakish grin, "The gentleman's partner is quite a looker, as well. Do you think she's spoken for?"
Now it's Cere's turn to blush. "A looker, me?" //My, he is cute when he blushes. Motbi may be a possiblity but this is definately somone to keep an eye on. I simply _must_ head over to the Jack for some afterhours' relaxation...// Looking up at him with a wide-eyed fake of innocence, she purrs, "I'm the only one that speaks for me..."
Beethoven spins her again as they take a turn around the outside of the circle. He smiles a pleasant smile, refraining from comment for the moment. A small voice in the back of his head (one that generally comes up in occasions like this) seems to ask, "Wouldn't you rather be playing?" He effortlessly folds the voice into a small, metaphysical square and shoves it back into the back corner of his subconscious. He is playing, in a fashion.
He dances quietly for a minute or two, and then asks, "Say, do you sing? I have a number I want to do after this tune, but it's a duet."
Cere blinks a bit at this. "Sing? I... I'd be honored. What song is it?"
"Why, Johnny Mercer, of course," he says, his open smile sliding into a grin. "Can you think of better weather for 'Baby, It's Cold Outside?'" His eyes sparkle with amusement.
Cere laughs out loud. "Why no, I don't think I can!" She sneaks a quick look at the band. "Do you think they would mind?"
*****
Rosalinda closes her eyes, transfixed by the Tune's opening strains. She steps forward and waits as elves from the crowd come out to join her in a circle around the dancers who remain from the previous waltz. She watches Merry and Chris closely, wondering if they hear the call as she does.
They hover for a moment as that instant of time stretches for heartbeats, then as one they move towards Rosalinda. Merry sways slightly in her step, humming, eyes half closed. Her movements cease to be individual, but an extension of Chris' own body, so the two flow together.
She twirls once under his extended arm, then he places her like a poised doll next to Rosalinda with the crimson skirt still in motion. He assumes a spot next to her, but the unspoken connection hovers between the two regal figures simmers like a wave of heat off hot earth.
Ducking the small sprite zipping past her ear, Aria's figure starts to sparkle. She shimmers as if shedding tiny stars with every motion, working her her way towards the center. Her robes shed their dull white hue as these raindrops of silver, instead growing transparent and silvery like gossamer. Under the flowing material, her long underdress shimmers as brightly as her platinum scales had from a halter neckline and the puddling fabric around her feet.
The fabric shimmers like dew on spider webs as Aria continues to cradle Squamous. A feather on unseen wind, she advances to the circle, echoing the fairy's pirouette with her own in a swirl of silver.
Launching himself from her arm, the tiny dragon orbits Aria as she spins. All seven inches of his length change to the appearance of flashing quicksilver. With a flourish of his wings, he pulls up to hover before her, throws back his head and breathes a white hot flame; adding the windy roar of a just-lit furnace to the tune.
Her lips part as she sways to the melody, and a sound unlike any other issues forth. Though unfamiliar, the sound has a haunting beauty, like the tone of a a thousand hollow tube bells. Hollow, as if emitted from a crystalline reed pipe organ, Aria's voice sings out in a gentle harmony. For a moment, her eyes gaze at Squamous as she sings, continuing her soft motions in a shadow of a dance. Then her eyes close and she executes a delicate turn with one arm outstretched and voice growing to a waterfall crescendo.
Soaring around her, Squamous closes his own eyes in silent ecstasy when, suddenly, he is snatched from the air.
"Mrrf!" He finds himself swiftly carried away in the firm grip of Malody's hand as she pursues the end of the silver ribbon which defines the circle of elves. She catches the ribbon and, laughing aloud, uses her other hand to toss Squamous high in the air.
The circle moves like a stately carousel propelled by an unseen wind. Gravity loses its grip and the dancers' feet leave the floor. Spiralling upward and free, the dance takes on the three dimensional quality of moving sculpture.
*****
Malody sits on the floor, in the light of the fire, and pauses in her stitchery. Her lip trembles and her voice falters. "So you see? I'm trying to stay out of trouble. I'm just not doing a very good job of it."
"And how!" Paulie heartily agrees, sitting on the edge of his chair with his elbows on his knees. "I mean, jeez," he hastens to add more gently, "you _saw_ Ma in action. Just imagine what she'd've done if she'd caught you vamping on Pop!"
"But I only --," Malody stops herself in mid-protest.
She shakes her head bitterly then reaches to bite the thread from her sewing. "Ow," she cries, "Oh, no. Now I've dropped the needle." She searches through the folds of the red velvet dress she was repairing. Setting the dress aside, she runs her fingers cautiously through the fur of the bearskin rug.
"Heh. See there?" Paulie grins. "Back in trouble again already. Guess I better bail you out again, huh?"
She ducks her head so that he won't see the flush rising in her cheeks.
He kneels down by the rug to join her in the search.
And in the course of that search, his questing hand runs across hers in an inadvertent gentle caress.
Malody looks at his hand and considers withdrawing her own. Instead she studies his face, her eyes filled with an unspoken query.
"Oh... uh, sorry," Paulie stammers.
But his lingering gaze leeches the sincerity from his words.
"It's okay. I ...," once again she stops herself. A look of surprise dawns on her face and all thoughts of what she might have said are scattered. She hurriedly gathers the repaired dress into her arms as the muted strains of the Elf King's Tune waft from the ballroom below. "I've got to go!" she says apologetically.
Paulie's surprised blink scatters any hopefully gathering Cupids. "But-"
She ducks behind a carved screen to ditch her dressing gown and whip the red velvet over her head and back into place. "It's the Tune! You'll love this!" She emerges to grab Paulie's hand and haul him to the door.
"'The Tune'? Wha-? Whoa!"
Paulie only just manages to keep his feet, stumbling after the girl to keep from being dragged.
Flinging the door open, Malody stops short. Looking intently at the hand that grips Paulie's, she resolutely loosens her grip and stares for a moment at her open and empty hand.
Paulie's freed hand closes slowly over nothing. It droops to his side like a wilted rose.
Unable to meet his gaze, she says, "You'll like this. It's lovely. But I have _got_ to go!"
"I'll like _what_??" Paulie demands hopelessly, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. "_What's_ lovely?? Go _where_??"
Just as surely as strokes of a midnight chime drove Cinderella away from one royal ballroom, the Elf King's Tune drives Malody headlong toward another.
Paulie shakes his head as he watches the girl flee down the staircase and around the corner toward the ballroom.
"'Heeeeeey, we gonna have a nice, quiet Christmas party this year!'" he says to no one, sticking out his belly and affecting a thick Italian accent. "'Maybe you gonna meet a nice, quiet _girl_ there, too, eh? Ha-HA!'...
"Right, Pop. Swell."
With a final shake of his head, he rushes down the stairs after Malody.
*****
Squamous, like Willowdew, weaves his own way around and through, above and beneath the dancers, punctuating flamboyant steps with small blasts of his white flamed breath.
The dance catches Paulie like a slap as huffs through the ballroom door, carrying his slack-jawed face spiraling up along with it.
"Holy Toledo," he mutters.
"Cool, isn't it?"
With some difficulty, Paulie pulls his vision from the dance to regard the speaker, a smiling youth apparently of his own age dressed in Dickensian attire and holding a plateful of mismatched foods.
"Ah... yeah," Paulie agrees dubiously. "'Cool'. You, ah, got a girl dancin' in that thing?"
"Me? Nah. I showed up with a couple of girls," he adds with a touch of pride, "but neither of'em are elves." His brow furrows. "I _think_ one might be a yeti...
"Oh! Sorry," the youth apologizes, offering his free hand. "My name's Mark. Mark Kessler."
Paulie grins in spite of himself. "Paulie," he says, accepting the handshake. "Paulie Cabrini."
No longer strangers in the technical sense, their gazes turn as one back to the dance.
Suddenly she puts her hand to her mouth, laughing at her own absent-mindedness. ~Siri! Iris!~ she calls with her mind, ~The dance is on! Won't you join me?~
Siri starts as she hears her mother's voice and recognizes the music for what it is. ~Oh!~ She stands hurriedly and says, "Sorry I gotta go they're playing the dance come if you want it's really fun and stuff see 'ya!" and she leaves the company of Eathan and Crow at a run, somehow managing not to run into anyone on her way to the ballroom.
Iris, too, gives a start, but she has no need to excuse herself as she is only watching the interplay of people in the hall. She begins to run, trips over the edge of her robes, and falls flat on her face.
She scrambles up, half annoyed, half giggling at herself, and wholy not caring since the dance is on. She almost rams into Siri on the way in, and the two of them join the other gathered elves. Iris rubs her nose, then completely forgets her little mishap in lieu of the dance.
With laughter still on her lips, Rosalinda turns to Merry and executes a deep curtsey as the entire circle of elves and friends bow to one another on all sides. With both hands Rosalinda pulls a silver ribbon from a fold of her robe, a broad band of gossamer filigree. Raising it high, she claps smartly and the ribbon unfurls in two directions, undulating around the circle of dancers to meet its own ends on the far side.
Merry claps her hands in delight, figure swaying in mimicry of the ribbon. At once, Chris' left hand and her right as a mirror image reach for the fluttering silver.
As each dancer takes hold of the silver band, his movements blend fluidly with the others'. They move as one -- not in the sense of stepping the same, (In fact, each dancer's steps are unique) but as one supple figure made of a hundred sparkling, complementary parts. Like the shards of a mosaic, and the notes of a concerto, the dancers produce a vision that is oh-so-much greater than the sum of its parts.
Their hands meet; brother and sister exchange indecipherable smiles as their palms come together, the ribbon between. Without losing the harmony of individual parts, the twins circle slowly with the ribbon wrapping around their hands. Merry's free hand reaches up, running her delicate fingertips along the streaming thread. Her brother's hand folds gently over hers, and she twirls. The ribbon flutters as the motion unbinds the twins' hands, but remains half encircling their wrists.
Gently, they part with the ribbon still embracing each wrist. Merry moves to her own tune, arms folding in an x over her breast and draping loosely on her shoulders. For a moment she dips down with her eyes closed, half curled in a ball. With the ribbon still entangled and the music ever luring, she stretches up, gradually untangling her own crumpled body. First one arm lifts, curling and waving like a delicate tree limb, then the other joins it, until the seed has sprouted into a blossom, twirling and entwined with the ribbon...
Chris remains at one level, manipulating the silver thread through his fingers and around his arm. His smile fades slowly. Though his body sways with the dance, he seems transfixed on the ribbon with his head slowly tilting to one side. His lips purse, feet moving the slender form forward, then back in a smooth motion, rocking and yet more than that. The movement carries him forward and under the ribbon and from then on, like the flow an ebb of a tide, his footfalls are quiet and rhythmic.
*****
Eathan shrugs as he looks after the girl. He sits back, and sighs. /Nice music,/ he thinks absent-mindedly. He turns to Crow and takes a breath to speak - but instead is drawn back into a time when he could see the stars, and name them all, when he looked up at the night sky; a time when sleep was dreamless; a time when he had understood that life was meant to be lived.
Crow blinks as it seems Siri is there talking about fish one moment, and the next she is but a residual blur by the doorway.
"Hm."
"Palash Resinia - " he says to Crow, then, hearing himself, breaks off in suprise. /Where'd that come from? How long has it been since I've spoken Elvish? Gods, I don't believe I still remember it./
Her browns eyes flick back to Eathan, wide as a doe's.
He hurridely smiles at Crow. "Sorry about that. I wasn't - I mean, I was - I - what I meant was, let's dance." He grabs Crow's slender hand and pulls her gently out into the other room, onto the perimeter of the dance floor.
"Oh!" she gasps as he seizes her hand. Her traitorous feet follow meekly as he leads, though her upper body language speaks universally of uncertainly. "Oh. Um.. I really don't know how to dance... not like this..." She trails off, distracted by the dancers weaving to their own songs.
"Don't worry about it," he says quietly. "The Dance leads you."
"I thought the man was supposed to lead...." Crow's look suddenly appears like that of a five year old child confronted with the idea of multiplication.
Eathan only chuckles.
He and his brother were not really raised as elves. Their father was a human, and knew little of the ways. But elf-blood needed to know nothing of the ways to know the song, because the song knew you, and called and claimed its own. And what is song without dance?
The elf-dances Eathan had read about in paperback novels were always described as 'slow and stately.' Obviously, the authors had never actually seen an elf dance.
Eathan wraps one arm about Crow's waist, takes her left hand in the other, and whispers, "Don't worry. I won't let you fall during the dips."
"Dips?" she manages to eek out. "Fall? _Dips_?!" Then her voice is cut short as...
He grins and twirls the pair of them out onto the dance floor proper. His feet slide back into the familiar steps almost instantly. The pair move about the room with an ease that belies the complexity of the steps, and the energy and spirit which radiates from the two trails after them like a comet's tail. They are not the most elegant dancers, these misfits, this half-elf and winged girl, nor are they the most perfectly attuned to each other. But they appear to be having the most fun.
Eathan smiles, and realizes with a shock that this is the first time in a long while that he has allowed himself to be happy. /You should try this more often!/ he thinks to himself.
At first, Crow's reaction seems mostly shock combined with some innate impulse to play possum. Then, slowly, she relaxes with the acceptance that Eathan is neither trying to embarrass her nor kill her. A smile blossoms on her face, and her eyes - ah, her eyes - seem to smolder with a flame all their own.
Eathan looks down at Crow, and his smile answers her own.
Deep in her memory, she remembers the power of music. The hours she would spend, alone, in the middle of nowhere with a fire blazing beside her. How she would listen to the rhythm of her heart, steady though broken from abandonment. How this pulsing beat lifted her to her feet where she would dance and twirl, all alone, to that internal drum, letting the pounding of her soles ease the throbbing of her soul. Tears mingled with sweat, until it all dripped ot the earth, nourishing the barren ground with her pain.
Though he does not know her thoughts exactly, he understands what she is feeling. The music swirls around the pair, and they move past the other dancers as dolphins move through the sea.
Crow closes her eyes as if to block out the memories threatening to overwhelm her. Pain. Blood from a wing broken by a thrown stone. Ache from a heart broken by actions and a fate not chosen by her. But she listens to her heartbeat, feels the soft pulse in time with the music, and simply allows the music its free reign over her. Her eyes open partially, and it is unclear if tears or starlight are the cause of their glow.
The half-elf looks down, and a frown creases his face. "Are you okay?" he asks. "Don't cry."
Crow shakes her head slowly, focusing in again. "Oh.. oh, no. I'm ok." Her smile is sad, however. "Just.. memories.. of a bad time and a bad place.." Without knowing it, Crow leans a little on Eathan, comforted by the body heat of another.
Eathan smiles, a bit sadly himself, though he does his best to hide it. He resists an urge to draw closer to her. /If she knew what I was... what I've done... she'd run screaming. Enjoy it while it lasts, Gyrfalcon./
The notes - high, low, each painfully bittersweet - all call up one memory.
He did not know the language, but understood the words to the Dance. They found something deep inside of himself, and awakened it.
In his hiding-space in the bushes, he turned to his brother. Ruiai looked up at him, eyes dark like pebbles in a stream, saw the pleading question in Eathan's eyes, and frowned, holding a finger to his lips.
Eathan gritted his teeth. /The Dance, the song... it's so beautiful.... I want to sing - I *need* at least to sing!/ He blinked away a tear and turned back to the dance. The dancers, gold and silver and russet in the moonlight, smiled and laughed. It sounded loud in the clearing. /Surely,/ he thought, /surely they will not be able to hear me if I whisper.../
He licked his lips, opened his mouth, and joined in on the chorus. "Oreshin, oreshin kanasha lei, lei oreshin sisan lakfa no lakfi...."
Ru turned to his brother, eyes wide, and made a desperate chopping motion with his hand.
But the dance had already stopped. All the eyes, cat-slit, green as moss, black as death, turned to the bushes.
Eathan stopped singing. Ruiai looked at him, fear in his face.
The tallest elf, a male clad in blue and stars, stepped forward, and drew a sword that shone dark. "Who interrups our Dance?" He frowned. "Let them step forward, and pay."
Eathan looked at his brother, nodded. They stood up. The soft rustle of the bushes was too loud.
The elf looked at them for a long moment. "Why, human children, did you come?"
"The d-dance, sir, we heard it. From our home. We had to come," Ruiai said.
"You had to come?" The elf frowned. "You know the Laws. No uninvited human can watch the Dance. You both now have to die." He raised the sword, and brought it down.
Eathan grabbed Ruiai's hand, and closed his eyes. /By anything that is... if I must die, I would rather it be here and now than anywhere else./
There was a yelp, then a collective gasp from the watchers.
Eathan opened an eye, and looked at Ruiai. Ruiai looked at Eathan, then they both looked to the elf.
He stood there, sucking a bleeding gash on the tip of his thumb, and looking with some trepidation at the sword, which was now laying on the ground. The golden gryphon-heads sculpted on the sword-hilt were snarling at him, and had bloody beaks. The king looked up at the brothers, and smiled embarassedly. "The sword..." he explained, "has a built-in safeguard."
"Safeguard? Against what?" Ruiai asked suspiciously.
"To ensure we do not kill our own." The elf-king bowed to the two, and the entire court nodded. He frowned. "I should have known you were Sadania's children... you even speak like her. Would you be so good as to join in the Dance?"
In the end, Eathan is not sure whether it is he who is dancing to the music, or the music that is dancing in him.
Her smile grows brighter as she raises her eyes to meet Eathan's. Those black as night wings relax and flutter behind her, the feathers as fluid and glossy as the train of any lady's gown.
Eathan smiles. /Her wings really are quite beautiful,/ he thinks, and resists an urge to touch the shining feathers.
Silently, she mouths a thank you up at her partner.
The half-elf nods and bends down to whisper in her ear. "You're welcome."
The soft touch of breath on her ear causes the back of her neck to prickle. Fighting down a tiny shiver, her high boned cheeks flush a soft pink.
"Er." Eathan pulls back. /Oh...I've made her uncomforable. That wasn't what I meant at all... damn./
Crow blinks up as he pulls away, a faint hint of disappointment glinting for a microsecond in her eyes. She lowers her gaze quickly to hide it, however.
/And she'd...been hoping, too. Like I'd been once./
A tiny silver and white dream catcher made of a thin thread and dotted with turquoise glows at her neck, where it had only been a piece of jewelry before. Crow smiles and touches it, looking down. "I wonder if it's reacting to the dreamlands... fancy, " she murmurs, very softly as the desert wind over the sands, " a dream dream catcher."
Eathan smiles gently. "That's - interesting," he says hesitatingly, hoping not to scare her further. "What's a dream catcher?"
"Oh!" She blushes again. "I'm sorry. I should've explained. This, " she pulls the small webbed hoop from her neck and holds it up to him, "is a dream catcher. It's a legend, " she half smiles."You see... you hang them over your bed at night. Some even wear them... like me. "
Crow hands it to him for examination. "See, the small stone in the middle is said to attract dreams of all kinds. But the bad dreams get tangled in the web, while the good dreams pass through the web and climb down the feather, here, to the dreamer. When the sun hits the web first thing in the morning, the bad dreams shatter, leaving only the good ones to inhabit the dreamer."
"Appropriate, I guess." The dark skinned woman looks up at him and smiles.
Eathan wonders how he has not heard of a dream-catcher before. He peers closely at the circle in his hand as the song winds to a close. "It's beautiful." He presses it back into her hand. "Like you," he says - then realizes, with some suprise, that he meant it. He smiles slowly down at her.
Crow looks at him blankly for a few seconds before her skin takes on a deep reddish undertone. Her wings tuck tightly against her back as if she's trying to hide them. "Aw. Now I know you're teasing me, " she chuckles.
Eathan frowns slightly, and shakes his head. "No," he says. /Gods, you do have a way with words, don't you, you idiot!/
"It's ok, " she smiles up at him, honestly. A pause, then she impulsively reaches out and squeezes his hand. "I know I'm not the pick of the litter." Her grin turns a bit impish.
Eathan smiles. "Don't be silly," he says. "You're intriguing."
"I suppose that's one way to put it, " Crow grins, stretching her wings with a flutter.
Eathan grins, glad she hadn't taken the last comment too seriously.
But she fold her hand back into his, curling his fingers around the silver dreamcatcher. "Keep it. Everyone can use good dreams. Maybe this one will bring them to you." Her other hand sneaks up to tuck a small braid tipped in a feather behind her ear.
The corners of his mouth twitch upwards. "Thank you." He looks for a moment as if he is debating saying something more, then quickly says, "I hope so... I need good dreams more than most. You don't have any idea how much you've helped me."
"Well, I hope it works for you. Of course, I could always make you a personalized one if we should ever meet."
Eathan swallows. "I don't know about that. Not that I'm not hoping that it wouldn't happen, mind you - just that I have a feeling you wouldn't like to live in my reality. I don't, myself."
"Aren't you connected to the Nexus?"
Eathan nods, an automatic reaction. He is thinking about other things.
"I thought maybe you'd like to come see my homeland sometime..." She offers tentatively, then cocks her head. "There are always choices... you're never truly stuck in one place..." Her eyes lower to the ground. "Never mind - it was just a suggestion."
"I'd love to..." he smiles, but his eyes are full of pain. "I don't know... I doubt you'd like m - I don't know if we'd - Outside of this place, this magic - " he gestures to the smiling people and gallant halls.
"Point taken. You might wake up and realize you've been talking with a monster." She folds her wings at her attempt at humor which hits her a little too close to home.
"Yeah." Eathan looks away for a moment, before he realizes what impact that action would have on Crow. /Oh, great... now she thinks you're embarassed at being seen with her. Damned./
Crow doesn't say anything and doesn't meet his eyes.
"That's - that's not what I meant," he says, finally.
"It's ok. Really."
Eathan nods. "You know how sometimes you say things and it doesn't work right? I'm having one of those nights."
Crow smiles. "This is why I rarely speak, " she teases him, softly.
"Would I even know you, remember you, when I woke up?"
"Maybe. If you really wanted to enough...."
He brushes a strand of loose hair out of his eyes. "I want to. Believe me. This is the happiest I've been in a long while."
Slowly, she looks up and her face blossoms into a smile. Warm. Touched. "I'm glad."
He says nothing, laughs gently with delight.
His voice drops to a whisper. "If I woke up."
Dark eyes glance up at him, then down again. She doesn't dare ask.
/Oh crap,/ he thinks as he notices her nervous glance. /She heard that. It was bound to happen sooner or later, you fool./ He can't think of anything to say except: "You heard that, didn't you?"
"It's ok, " she says softly. "It's none of my business.."
Eathan sighs. The thoughts in his mind screaming, "tell her!" are just as strong as the ones screaming, "you idiot." So he says nothing. And wishes he didn't have to.
She nods slowly in understanding and says nothing more.
"Er." He smiles at her. "I'll promise to think about it."
"That's all I can ask, " she smiles back.
He nods. "I'll be thinking about it a lot."
Crow chuckles again, absently plucking a loose feather from her sleek wings. Running it thrugh her fingers, she shares in the moment of uncomfortable silence.
He looks down at the feather, held delicately in her delicate hands.
He looks away from her for a moment, nervously, then turns his face towards hers once more, and smiles. "Do you... want some punch, or something?"
"Actually..." Crow glances at the floor sheepishly, then back up, "you know what I'd really like to do? I'd love to take a walk... I've never seen snow. I only got the briefest glimpse on the way in. Would you like to?"
"You've never seen snow?" Eathan grins. "I'd love to." He takes her hand and leads her toward the coat-rack. "Which is yours?" he asks.
"I've got it, " she beams, reaching out with her free hand and snagging a leather wrap trimmed with fur. It tucks comfortably around her shoulders and over her wings, hiding them from view.
Eathan puts on a cloak, heavy black fabric embroidered with vines aroud the hem that seem to shimmer, and delicate knotwork clasps. He grins to Crow.
"That's beautiful, " she grins back, pausing to finger the fabric in wonder.
Eathan nods. "It's - an ancestral pattern, if you will." He chuckles slightly. "I certainly don't wear anything like this when I'm not dreaming. Think of the cleaning bills!"
Forgetting her shyness for a moment, her second hand joins her first in his, leading him to front door towards the steps. She peeks out, blinking. Her steps are hesitant until she reaches the beginning of the staircase. Now stopped, she gazes out over the snow drifted landscape, just blinking as flakes of snow catch on her dark hair and lashes.
Crow bites her lip, then closes her eyes, lifting her face to the sky. Soft flakes dance across her face and she laughs. "It's so soft... like.. like a butterfly."
Eathan stands and stares at the winged woman. A tiny down-feather from her wings is snatched by the wind, and falls gently to the ground, black against white. He looks up, and blinks - once, twice. He turns, and taps her on the shoulder. "Look." He points up.
"Hmm?" She lifts here eyes as if in a sleepy daze. "Oh!"
Eathan grins. "This is the best I've ever seen them."
Lights, blue and green and gold-purple, dance across the black sky. They fade and grow again, twist and sparkle in the sky, recombine in swirls of light and motion and color. There is no sound except the wind, and far off, pine-trees rustling.
"Kishen," Eathan says softly. "Northern Lights."
He reaches out an arm and draws Crow close, warmth against the cold.
The woman nestles into Eathan's side, gazing up at the shimmering lights. "Like a winter rainbow...."
Eathan nods.
Crow leans her head against Eathan and sighs inaudibly. A soft breeze floats strands of her hair against her high cheekbones. Her silence speaks volumes through nothing; her face shows utter contentment.
Eathan sighs and nestles his head against her own. Slowly, he reaches up a shaking hand and begins stroking her smooth black hair. It slips through his fingers like water and the deep black catches the light from the glittering blue ribbons in the sky and tints it with a beautiful sheen.
Almost without thinking, Crow slips her arms around Eathan and hugs him. A shy blush creeps over her cheeks as her arms retreat once more, but her hand dangles close enough to his to brush her fingers to his.
Eathan is slightly suprised, but squeezes her back with a gentle caress.
Her face lights with a smile.
Eathan smiles slowly back at her.
"I think, " she beings softly, "the best thing about witnessing a beautiful site is having someone to see it with. What do you think?"
"I agree," he says honestly, simply, looking down at the stars reflected in her dark eyes.
The smile grows as she gazes back a him. She seeks out his hand, holding it gently. "C'mon... I've never walked in snow either...." She giggles, sounding like a small girl as she leads him down the steps, carefully placing her moccasins amid the snow.
"It never falls in the mountains?" he sounds amazed, and lets himself be led down the stairs.
"We don't have any mountains where I come from. Just mesas and small plateaus. There's a small forest a couple miles from Grandmother's house, too, where the river meets. But no mountains." She smiles. "I imagine those are very impressive."
Eathan nods. "It's cold up there, most of the time. No trees to block the wind. But the views are amazing."
Crow smiles up at him.
One step, then another, and suddenly she yelps and clings to Eathan as her feet sink in up to the ankles in the snow drift.
Eathan starts as Crow falls, and catches her under the arms. "Oof." He chuckles gently as he pulls her out of the snow.
"Ai!" she gasps. "That's _cold_!!"
He grins, then the chuckle turns into a laugh. "Yes," he agrees good-humoredly, eyes sparkling. "Snow most often is."
Crow covers her mouth at just how stupid that sounded, then bursts into giggles.
Eathan grins and bends down to wipe snow from the hem of her coat and her shoes. "You know," he says slowly, "moccasins aren't the best footwear for cold climates. Be glad the snow isn't up to here." He puts a hand at Crow's eyes level for demonstration purposes. "You'd be stuck with bad shoes." He smiles.
She grins back at him. "Usually I go barefoot! These are those special occasion shoes.." Crow levels an appraising eye at her feet. "Good thing this isn't reality, or it'd take months to hand make another pair."
Eathan grins, then sobers. /Oh, yeah,/ he remembers. /This isn't reality. Hell./
"You should laugh more often," he says, and stands back up. "It suits you."
"As it does you, " she points out as she laughs again, her breath forming light trails of condensation.
"Does it really?" He faces her and raises his eyebrows. There is snow caught in his fine blond hair.
She smiles up at him, eyes sparkling. "Laughter suits everyone. I get the feeling you don't laugh much."
He looks down at her, slightly suprised. "You're very perceptive," he says quietly. "It - feels good."
"Yeah, it does." She smiles at him again.
He puts out a hand for her to hold. "Here," he says. "You walk like this...." he himself breaks through the snow crust and stumbles. "Jeez," he mutters, lying flat on his back, staring up at the glittering sky. "This is amazing." He is half-serious.
Attached to his hand, Crow eeps and stumbles when he does. Landing in a snowbank and now nearly covered in snow, she can only blink before she collapses in giggles. "Oh dear. We must be one heck of a sight!"
"No one's watching, I hope," he chuckles as he gets up and grins.
From her perch in the snow, the woman can only shake her head, eyes aglow with amusement. Snowflakes adorn her hair like tiny feathers, children of the larger feathers braided in.
Her slender hands scoop up a small packet of snow, rolling it into a ball. "Eathan?" she grins at him, sweetly. "Is this how you make a snowball?"
And she tosses it at him.
Eathan only sees the snowball out of the corner of his eye, but old instincts take over. He dives to the floor as quickly as a cat, then hrumhps to himself when he realizes it was only a snowball. /Idiot./ It is obvious that the behavior was second-nature to him.
"Yes," he says slowly, picking himself up off the ground. "It is..." He sighs, then bends down and offers a hand to Crow." C'mon."
The dark skinned woman mock pouts. "I guess my aim leaves something to be desired." She makes a face, then slides her hand into Eathan's. "But you're quite graceful at dodging."
"Er." Eathan shifts uncomfortably in the snow. His boots make little crunching noises. "Thank you..."
With his other hand, he unobtrusively reaches behind him and forms a snowball.
Crow clambers up from the snow, brushing off her skirt and wrap, giggling. "Ugh. I look like I fell in a puddle. So much for the crisp fluffy snow motif." She beams at Eathan, almost wickedly. "Might as well have company looking like a drowned rat!"
Eathan looks down at himself. /I look like a drowned otter/, he thinks. He grins. He draws the snowball out from behind his back, and enjoys Crow's wide-eyed look of suprise for a moment. Then, he tosses the snowball at Crow. It hits her on her arm, and explodes into millions of tiny flakes with a "shft." He chuckles. "Got you."
Crow looses an ungraceful squeak and jumps about a foot.
Eathan laughs. "C'mon! Turnabout's fair play!"
She leaps at him from a distance of barely a foot away, tackling him into a particularly deep snow drift.
Eathan sees her readying herself for the leap, and knows he could move himself out of her way without even thinking about it.
He doesn't. "Oof!" He grins as she lands on top of him, cold snow at his back, melting water dripping from her hair onto his face.
Sitting up, she splutters with a mouthful of snow, her loose hair now wet and half plastered to the side of her face.
"You know," he says, "if you're hungry, there are much better things to eat inside." He winks at her.
Her nose wrinkles at him and with her most haughty look, she sticks her tongue out at him. She swipes a hand in the snow, splashing him with a wave of snow.
"Hey!" he shouts, through a layer of snowflakes. He brushes the snow off of his face as best he can. The snowflakes freeze into his eyebrows, melt, and drip cold water onto his nose and eyelids.
Her eyes widen in innocence, even as her own hair drips into her eyes.
"Snow is fun, " she giggles. "But wet. And cold." She grins so widely at Eathan that her eyes seem to glow.
"You're cold, hmm?" He puts his arm around her, and draws her face close to his. He strokes her cheek, and lifts the wet hair away from the side of her face.
Crow smiles and leans against him, despite the fact they're both now wet from the snow.
Eathan lets her snuggle against him, and savors the feeling of being close to someone, so close you could feel them breathe....
And then, tentatively, almost as if he has forgotten how, he kisses her.
Warm brown eyes grow wide with the contact and she draws a breath inwards in shock.
Eathan tenses as he feels her hesitation. /Oh dammit, I've done something wrong after all.../
Then her lashes, adorned with diamond snowflakes, dip to lay against her cheek, a quiet signal of her relaxation into the embrace.
Then, slowly, he smiles. He reaches a hand up to her hair and begins to twist two of her braids together.
As he draws back, her cheeks grow rose in color, and her smile is shy.
"Your eyes look like they're rimmed with stars," he whispers into her ear; then leans back against the snow and watches his breath puff out in small white blotches that dissolve into the sky.
Crow's smile lights her face and eyes, and she chuckles. Realizing suddenly that her hand is pressed to his chest, moving lightly as if to caress him, she draws it back, startled. Again, she blushes, looking at him sheepishly.
"Mmph...that's not bothering me, you know," he says quietly, and looks up at her, smiling. The wrinkles in his face fall into patterns like an old browned map. "If that's what you're worried about."
At this, she turns positively crimson. Crow stammers a bit, then simply decides to not look at Eathan and look at the snow as if her life depended on it. Her wings tremble slightly, knocking the acquired snow off. The shyness building in her is almost painful.
"Er." /Whoops. You'd do better just to shut up most times, Gyrfalcon./
"We'd better head back inside to dry off, " she giggles softly. Absently, she reaches over and shifts Eathan's wet hair from his eyes.
Eathan sighs softly. "Yeah," he admits. "I suppose we must. I would," he says, eyes sparkling, "offer you my hand like a gentleman, but since you are on top of me, I fear you've got to get up first." He laughs. "If you prefer, you could fall back into the snow again once you'd gotten up, and I could help you up then."
Crow giggles softly again, standing up unsteadily. She offers both her hands down to Eathan to help him up.
Eathan takes her soft hands in hers, and gets up with a flurry of snowflakes.
"Little late to be gentlemanly, " she grins up at him, her voice a whisper. "Since we've been rolling in the snow like a couple of wild wolves." Seeming to find this funny, Crow dissolves into a flurry of giggles. The snow begins to fall faster and thicker, catching in her hair but not melting.
Eathan grins. "And who was the one who fell on top of whom, m'lady?" He begins to chuckle. "Wild wolves. Huh." /Never heard it described quite like that before!/
"I tripped, " she retorts elegantly, holding herself as upright and ladylike as she can.. despite the wet clothing and hair and the gathering of snowflakes on top of it all.
"Of course you did, m'lady."
"Lady? I sure looks like a lady... or a half drowned rat. Either one." She grins.
"A half-drowned rat lady?" Eathan grins. "I have seen rat ladies-in-waiting... you don't look anything at all like them."
"Seems like a good time to curl up with a blanket and a hot drink. Maybe His Highness has a balcony or covered porch where we can sit and watch the snow fall...?"
The half-elf nods. "A blanket, some cider, and thou..." he says. "Ok, so it's not quite an exact quote." He begins walking back towards the mansion, which casts a warm yellow glow on the snow around, leading Crow behind him. "Let's go find that porch."
Crow beams, shyly hooking the fingers of both her hands around one of his and following behind Upon entering the mansion, she shakes the snow free of her hair and removes her cloak. Her wings glisten with snow and water drops, like dew.
"They're beautiful, you know. Your wings. You shouldn't be ashamed of them." He takes off his own cloak and hangs it on a peg, then runs a cursory hand through his hair.
She look momentarily startled, then gives a small smile, almost sad. "Yeah. I do like them, if only because they give me the ability to fly. They've just caused so much pain to everyone... but I don't think I've ever give them up."
Eathan nods. /I know something of how you feel... and wish I didn't./
Her smile brightens and, just to show off, she flares her wings, giving her the momentary appearance of an angel, albeit one with black wings. She tosses her hair roguishly, then muffles her giggle with her hand.
Eathan stares at Crow for a few brief moments.
Then, he coughs, and looks away, hoping he han't been caught. /As if you haven't embarassed that beautiful woman enough tonight./
Crow doesn't appear to notice, more intent on figuring out just where she's going to acquire a blanket. Her smile doesn't fade, even as to once more pulls a wet lock of hair from her eyes.
"I don't know the first place to look for a blanket... or a porch. But I know where we could find some cider..." Crow throws a grin at Eathan, eyes shining.
"Really? And where would that be?" He studiously ignores the table, looking intently at some holiday greenery. "Oh my... look at the table," he says after a moment, with mock astonishment. "Let's go get some cider, then."
He walks over to the table, and hands Crow a mug full of cider before taking one of the sturdy earthware pottery pieces for himself and filling it up with the dipper. The cider is a clear brown color, and smells like cinnamon and oranges.
"Mmm.." Crow holds the mug up to her face, warming her hands around the ceramic surface. "Smells wonderful. Come, let's go looking for a room with a view of the snow, " she smiles, leading the way out. Her eye catches on a passing housekeeper, who leaves a basket of folded laundry as she turns to retie her apron.
Crow grins at Eathan, snagging a blanket off the top of the pile and hustling the both of them away before the housekeeper turns around again.
Eathan grins, and hurries down the corridor behind Crow.
"Your turn to find the room, " she whispers at him, laughing.
He chuckles, and begins to look inside the rooms as they pass. "A powder room," he whispers, so Crow can hear. "A servant's room... a broom closet... h'm, that one's locked." He walks up to the next room, and looks in. There is indeed a balcony, but it is next to a large and stately sleigh-bed, adorned with red curtains and holly garland. He guesses it is the King's own room, and would not want to intrude. "Not in there," he says, and moves on.
A few rooms later, he finds the place, and opens the door wide. He bows to Crow as she passes through.
She gasps softly, hugging the blanket as so wonders at the room.
Eathan grins.
The floor and walls are made of polished slate, and the ceiling is covered in brightly-painted tin tiles. All around the room, there are plants of various shapes and sizes, all in fantastic colors. Some are glowing softly, and one is making a quiet jingling noise, like the clear ting of horse harness-bells on a winter sleigh ride.
On the right wall, there is a truly enormous fireplace, with room enough for three or four people to sit inside next to the merrily-blazing fire, and still not get burned. Indeed, there is a bench carved out of flat rock inside for what appears to be this very purpose. The fireplace mantel is fronted with fossils captured in sandstone.
The fireplace, however, is not the largest, most impressive thing in the room.
The room, apparently, is in one of the many towers of King Kuranes' manor, for a giant window takes up most of what would usually have been the outer wall. It curves outward to show a truly spectacular view of the forest, the plains beyond, and, on the right-hand side, a bit of ocean, until it ends at the fireplace. The snow falls softly, gently, and is tinted green, blue, and yellow by the stained-glass ornaments around the edge of the huge window.
There is a small, carved wooden bench placed directly in the window, in the center of the room, as if it has simply been waiting for someone to come and sit on it.
"Will this do, m'lady?"
"Oh, it's beautiful!" Crow moves over to the bench and just stares at the snow falling around her, through the stained glass. "Wow."
"I'll take that as a 'yes'."
She grins and simply nods.
With a quick snap of her wrists, she unfurls the soft, cozy blanket. Demurely - and a bit shyly - she seats herself on the bench, leaving room for Eathan beside her. She wonders a moment or two more, then sneaks in a sip of the cider still clutched between her hands.
Eathan comes over and sits on the bench, holding his mug in his right hand. He turns to Crow and smiles. "You know," he says quietly, "before I'd fallen asleep, I hadn't even noticed it was the Yule season. There was snow, and lights, but all I was thinking of was how cold it was, and how the lonely wind howled and rattled the windows." He puts an arm around her shoulders. "I'm glad I've found you." He takes another sip of the cider.
Crow blushes again, but leans into Eathan's embrace. She tucks one end of the blanket around his shoulders, then snuggles into the other half herself.
Eathan sighs in contentment.
"You must be awfully lonely, " she says softly. "This season is about being together with people you care about - if only to sit by a fire and talk." Crow offers him a smile. "I'm glad I could help, even if it's only in a little way."
He smiles. "Yeah," he slowly admits. "I've been lonely for a long time. I don't remember the last time I even talked to someone--anyone--like this. But when all the people you've ever cared about di-"
He stops, and suddenely goes pale.
"Eathan? What's wrong?" Her brow furrows with concern and alarm.
He says nothing. /Everything,/ he thinks with anguish.
/What the *hell* are you doing? What the *hell* compelled you to do this to her? You ass, you complete and utter gutter slime! You're bringing this woman into your life simply because you're lonely, with no concern for her... if she knew who you really were, she'd hate you. It's always you, you, you, even when it's not really *you*. She's in love with the person you want to be and never will. Dammit./ He closes his eyes for a moment, and turns away.
"Eathan...?" Crow's voice is barely audible, and her warm features have taken on a frightened mask.
/You've found the best thing you ever will, Eathan Gyrfalcon, and you've gone and fucked up your life so much that you can't even do anything about it anymore when you decide that maybe - maybe you don't like it anymore and never really did./
He grits his teeth and slowly stands up. He puts his mug down on the bench. "I - I'm sorry, Crow... I love you. But I can't drag you into my life. You'd end up hating me for it. I hate myself for it. For even thinking of putting you in it." He begins to cry. "Dammit." He runs a sleeve over his eyes, and the delicate fabric stains with the tears. "I really... maybe I'll see you sometime. I hope - I hope I do." /And I sure as hell hope it isn't on a comission./
She has only an instant to gaze at him, mouth opening in the beginning of a plea, eyes full of shock and the new beginnings of an old pain.
/Oh gods... I've really hurt her.../
He bends down, and kisses her once more, gently. His hands, holding her close, are shaking.
And then, he runs out of the room, as silently as a gust of air.
The mug of cider sits, steaming, on the empty bench.
"But... I..."
//I don't understand...//
She shakes, left alone with a blanket half wrapped around her shoulders. Soft flakes against the window give off soft sounds as if to speak to her. Her eyes seek the floor mutely.
Snow is cold. And wet. Not so much a contrast as a comparison to the streams running over her high boned cheeks, hot yet a product of the cold pit sitting where her stomach used to be.
And Eathan Gyrfalcon wakes up.
He is cold. He is cyring.
And he is so alone.
Crow's legs curl up against her chest, heels hooked up on the bench. She buries her face in her knees, hugging her legs with tight wrapped arms. Her ebony wings flare, shaking off the soft blanket, and hang in a semi circle around her crumpled body. The glistening feathers tremble as the firelight flickers over their glossy surface, and the wings extend around the woman, as if they were a shield to hold out the world.
Softly, she hiccups, pressing her cheek tightly to her knee. "Grandmother, " she whispers to the empty room, "I want to go home."
Downstairs, the elderly woman pulls herself upright. She lays a gentle hand on Kuranes arm and whispers in his ear. To the others, she nods and gracefully excuses herself in a quiet tone of voice.
Kuranes smiles regretfully, but nods. "Of course, Grandmother. And I will tell her."
Rickety with age, she exits the room silently with only the whisper of her feathered mantle accompanying her. Grandmother makes her way to the stairs, only her ability to dream making the climb easier on her bones. She makes no hesitation in seeking a particular room, creaking open the door.
The fire in the fireplace crackles a few times in a morose harmony to the soft sound of sobbing. It stifles as the door opens, and two red rimmed brown eyes level at Grandmother. Crow begins ot look sheepish and ashamed.
"Tsk, child, " Grandmother soothes, her hand resting comfortingly between Crow's shoulder blades. As a mother with a babe, she massages the young woman's shoulders in a calming motion.
"I'm sorry, " the younger woman whispers. "I didn't mean to disturb your fun."
"Nonsense. These are dreams, and you are real. You will always be more important to me."
Crow hiccups again, closing her eyes and resting her head on her knees. There is no need for words, as the undercurrent of understanding flows strongly between them, like rain flowing over thirsty desert rocks. Grandmother runs her fingers through the other's wind-tousled, damp hair.
Softly, in a melody with the snowflakes pressing to the panes of the window, the richly aged voice of Grandmother reaches Crow's ears in an old lullaby.
"See the eagle rise above the open plain, golden in the morning air... weaving and soaring, watchful and protecting. I am your shelter. I will enfold you."
"Let's go home."
The cape of feathers swirls as Grandmother tosses it around Crow, and there is only the whisper of a bird's wings on the air which heralds their vanishing.
[This part is continued in Life the Wings.]
*****
Having meandered out of the banquet room in a sort of half daydreaming cloud, Molly finds herself with her toes at the very edge of the dance floor. The far away look in her sky blue eyes fades as she blinks. Comprehension bursts onto her features, coloring them pink, when she realizes how close to the action she is. Furtively, she glances around, hoping no one has noticed her brazenness, then slips back onto the sidelines.
But she can't help but marvel at the vision of these dancers. Without even realizing it, she raises up onto her tip toes, the hem of velvet swaying against the floor like a lover's caress. A sigh falls from her which seems to echo from her toes to her golden ringlets, as she sinks back down to a normal standing position.
Such things are not for me, she carefully reminds herself, pink glossed lips slightly parted as she can't help but stare.
Molly sways a little as she rolls back from her tip toe standing, elbow lightly brushing against Paulie. She startles and turns as if caught trespassing. Blushing an even deeper shade of rose, she smiles in a sudden burst of embarrassment.
"Oh! Excuse me!" she pardons herself hastily. Molly carefully tucks her elbows into her sides, folding her hands serenely in front of herself as her eyes flit back to the dancers.
"Huh??" Paulie yelps, momentarily startled out from under the dance's spell. "Oh! Hiya. Uh... S'okay."
As he truly gets a look at the offender, her pretty face earns her a reflexive Cabrini grin.
Molly glances out of the corner of her eye, beaming a shy smile at Paulie and Mark, directing her attention on to the dance.
Neither shows any sign of noticing her glance. Mark seems completely absorbed in the dance, and Paulie in one dancer in particular...
"It's beautiful, " she breaths, hands rising again to cover her mouth, wondering at the dance like a child wonders at piles of Christmas presents.
"Mm, " she sighs, a distinct undertone of wistfulness resonating through her. "Like the stars... the stars over the midnight range..." Her voice is far away, absent, neither speaking to herself alone, nor to the men beside her.
Paulie's eyes cut her way briefly, accompanied by an "Oh, one a' _them_" arch of his eyebrows.
Mark continues to happily munch on his snacks as he watches the dance. "Oh, yeah," he agrees, quickly choking down a bite to answer. "It really is cool."
She bites her lip, rapt. For the moment, if only just this moment, she has her dream cupped in her palms.
Wide eyes blinking slowly, she absently turns to Paulie and Mark. "Oh, I s'pose I should introduce myself right quickly, " she says in her softly accented voice. "I'm Molly. Molly Farrell. Pleasure ta meet ya." With a curtsey, she retuns her gaze to the dance.
"Paulie Cabrini," Paulie replies with a sideways smile. "Likewise."
"I'm Mark," Mark says, turning to look her way but watching the dance from the corner of his eyes. "It's great to meet you, too.
"You said 'range' a minute ago." he notes, a twist of fascination flavoring the statement. "Are you, like, a cowgirl?"
Molly cocks her head and purses her lips in thought. "Well, I s'pose ya could say that." She grins. "Speakin of which, " she murmurs to herself, a gloved hand moving to her lips, "it ought be mornin' soon. Cinderella's true midnight is the dawn."
She sighs to herself, watching the dance till its end and smiling sadly. For a moment, her light blue eyes sparkle brightly, before a solitary tear escapes and traces the line of her high cheeks.
"Oh... hey!" Mark exclaims, seeing the tear. "Uh... don't cry. This is King Kuranes's place. It's not like the rest of the Dreamlands: You can stay as long as you like! I mean, if you _want_ to stay. Aren't you having a good time?"
Flustered at having the moment of weakness exposed, Molly hastily wipes her eyes and assumes a brave smile. "Oh, I'm havin' a wonderful time. Too much so. It's going to be hard to go back..." she trails off.
"But all dreams end, right? One can't be Cinderella forever, or there'd be no ending. Happy or not..."
She looks down, silent as she traces over the lines and beading of her gown with one finger.
There Malody twirls merrily from the lowest point of the dance. She pauses, allowing the current to pull her along with her slippers dangling a yard above the polished floor. She searches the crowd, hoping to spot Paulie.
Instead, her eye falls on a man unknown to her. Something in his dark countenance captivates, and something in his eye compels. Without thinking, she holds out one long, bare arm and beckons to Vincent. "Won't you join the dance?" she whispers inaudibly.
Malody smiles and returns to her search for the young Cabrini.
Catching Malody's questing gaze out of the corner of his eye, Paulie turns from Molly back to the dance. He offers Malody a wave as she goes spinning by, accompanied by a silent, smiling "Heya."
Smiling even brighter, Malody blows him a kiss. Her dance becomes more studied and more agile in response to his attention. It is good to have an audience.
Up until now, Vincent has simply been watching, despite the pull he feels from the music. He watched as the dance began, as Malody joined it, as she turned to invite him in, and as she turned away.
He sighs. He had wanted to stay away from people. He wanted to get a break, to rest, to warm up. He wanted to sit and enjoy the music from afar. He didn't want to talk to anyone. That leaves him with no choice.
Vincent stepps forward awkwardly. He runs a hand through his hair and taps his shoes against each other to dislodge any snow that hasn't melted yet. He takes a deep breath and steps onto the dance floor. At first, his dance is hesitant. But then it grows. He slowly dances as if to a waltz, his arms just so but empty, and his eyes closed.
A white ribbon swirls out of nothing and his dance changes; he still dances seperately from everyone else, but now the ribbon joins him. It contrasts sharply with his unmarred black clothes and hair but swirls around him in a way that seems... right. His clothes seem to become looser and now, rather than looking like a man on a mission, his clothes resemble more a suit (still black).
Finally, Vincent joins the group. His own ribbon hangs back, then swirls away into nothingness as Vincent joins the elves' dance, coming up through the air to take his place in the circle.
And for once, a true smile plays across his face.
And for now, a true circle has been formed by the dance.
The ribbon gleams like a wire hoop, spinning gracefully, just below the ballroom ceiling. Holding her end of the ribbon in one hand, Malody reaches out with the other toward the elf next to her -- a dark and sparkling young man who holds the ribbon's opposite end. As they bring the ends together, the elf smiles devilishly. Diving quickly over the top, to the inner side of the circle, he gives the ribbon a half twist. Only then do the two dancers press the ends of the ribbon together; where it joins with no visible seam.
The twist introduced by the one elf travels the length of the ribbon. As it moves along, some dancers follow the curve and find themselves inside the circle. Others let it slip through their fingers and stay as they are, outside the loop. But the loop has changed. And gradually it takes on the figure eight form of the moebius strip it has become. Each dancer who holds his place moves inside and outside, diving over and ducking under, as the dance makes it endless circuit. And it whirls faster and faster.
Rosalinda flings her spangled robes to watch them flutter in the rushing air.
Squamous rockets round a figure eight of his own making, given over to speed and determined to out-fly the pace of the advancing dancers.
Malody attempts nothing more than to yield to the spirit of the Elf King's Tune. Head thrown back and laughing, she clings with both hands to the silver ribbon.
As the dance slows, the form of the figure eight twists,or untwists, itself back into a circle. Malody and the young elf once again join hands, this time across the ribbon; because he is inside, and she is outside, and in his hand is that part of the ribbon with the half-twist. He ducks beneath to join all the other dancers outside the circle. And with a cheer, he and Malody part the ribbon where they had joined it.
And now the dance, which had progressed clockwise beneath the ballroom ceiling, is obviously moving counter-clockwise. And the music has taken on a most unusual tone.
Unusual because there are but two ways in which to end the Elf King's Tune: either the musicians must play the entire piece backwards, or else someone must step up behind them and snip the strings of their instruments. And as a matter of both pride and convenience, these musicians have no intention of restringing their instruments.
Sweat dewing their foreheads, the quartet furiously fiddles a deep musical inhalation that draws back note after spritely note back into the chaotic oblivion from which it sprang. Such wildness is not easily stilled, and the strain that creases the faces of the quartet speaks more of athletics than of music.
Yet still they play on.
As the pair turns so that Beethoven faces the center of the dance floor, he spies the circle over Cere's shoulder. "Well," he comments, "it seems like we won't be needing Old Goat-Legs after all. The Fey seem well on their way to making some magic of their own."
Cere looks over her own shoulder. A shimmery sparkle seems to collect around the dancing ring, spreading out to the other dancers in the room like a ripple in a pond. "It's amazing..." she breathes.
Up on stage, Samuel cackles as he thrums the drum between his knees. It hums and pops at his command, counterpointing the furious melody put forth by the fiddler and his quartet. He spies Diami dancing with her tall partner. A rather bookish fellow, he says to himself, and then cackles again, not knowing (nor particularly caring) the reason why. The alchemist seems rather enraptured. Ah, he thinks, you're in for a disappointment, Sam. But don't let me stop you from trying, sister mine. With a fluttering of fingertips on the skin of the drum, he makes it speak in a rattling five-toned note, adding another layer of complexity to the song.
Vincent cocks his head and hesitates at the change in the music. His mind works quickly and translates the effect: they're playing backwards! And it actually sounds good! He shakes his head in amazement before rejoining the dance, though this time he seems more aware, less purely happy, more remeniscent. The music seems to have triggered a memory.
Backwards, is it? Have at you then!
Samuel pauses for a full beat, before realizing the intent of the quartet. Cackling again, he cries, "!neht uoy ta evaH ?ti si, sdrawkcaB" and, with a jarring tumble of beats, reverses his own accompanyment and plays the notes that he had just rapped out on the drum.
Beethoven stops, and looks down at Cere. "I don't think I can reverse directions. I'm not that good a dancer. Shall we be cads, and just continue as we go?"
Cere smiles up at him. "Sounds like a good idea to me! Though I guess if they get finicky about reversing, I could try leading." She winks at him. "But I'm not that snazzy of a dancer myself." She nods her head toward the stage. "Your drumming friend up there is amazing... he work at the Jack too?"
Beethoven starts the waltz up again, and then almost looses count as he bursts out laughing. "Him? Work?! The day that Sammy Coyote, or any of his kin for that matter, works is the day that up becomes down, left becomes right, and Elvis and Martin Luther King share a cappucino with a giant purple alligator." He pauses, and adds, "Although I probably shouldn't say things like that; knowing Nexus, it's probably already happened. No, Sammy doesn't work. He's a scrounger, a scoundrel, a thief, a liar, as randy as the day is long, prone to disgusting habits and commentary, and about as reliable as Texas weather, which is to say, not. But he is a scion of Grandfather Coyote, and he spins a fine tale, works the skins better than anyone I know, except maybe his sister, and does a disturbingly accurate impression of James Brown. And he's a friend."
The scoundrel in question perks his ears up at Beethoven's laughter and favors the pianist with an inquisitive glance. Beethoven responds with an expression that seems to say, "Yeah, you." The Coyoteson cackles and yips in laughter, and throws a saucy wink at Cere as the couple turns on the dance floor.
*****
Trying to take his mind off of his impending future, he focuses on the being in front of him, {Chickenpuffin speech/telepathy} "Is your mother here also? Any of your broodmates?"
Quest shakes her head. "Nein, tey did not come with us. But Granddam and Grandda are close enough! Everyone in our village iz family!"
He tries to assimilate her words, figuring the odd "grand" words were names given to elders. It sounded like such an irreverant way of speaking of such venerable beings.
He takes a few hops around the little girl, giving her a good eying over. {Chickenpuffin speech/telepathy} "What is that on your head? Is it fur?" It was fascinating to see one of these beings close up and completely mind-boggling that she would grow as tall as the other who hastily left. //Very polite tall-one. Apologised for leaving my presence. As if I was an elder and he was attending me.// He was fairly amused at the thought, though his feathers puff up prettily in accordance with the stroking of his ego.
Quest reaches up to her head in amazement and then grins. "Nein, tis iz mine hat." She takes it off to show to the curious bird. "Mine hair iz under it and tat isz kind of like fur."
He manages not to flinch when she seemingly rips off the top of her head. She had mentioned it was a hat, but it wasn't made of metal or shells or anything strong enough to protect her from an attack. One eyeball gazes down at the proferred hat, while the other gazes at her unadorned head, noting the colour and texture of her 'hair'.
She looks around. "Are tere more chickenpuffins here too?"
Cliickitek cocks his head to the side as he thinks on that question, one eye taking its gaze off her and her hat, to look at the throng which surrounded them, {Chickenpuffin speech/telepathy} "I do not think so. I haven't seen any others of my kind here and when I woke up in the magic water, I was alone."
Quest murmurs, "Awww. Tat is zad... many from mine village came here because te King likez Granddam's baking and he azked us to come."
Another thought brought his attention back to her and he gazes at the little girl quizzically, asking {Chickenpuffin speech/telepathy} "Were you brought here by magic water also?"
Quest tilts her head to the side while she thinks. "Tere _waz_ a lot of water, but I do not tink te water waz magical. We came on a large boat tat docked near tis place. Ten we all walked here. Granddam and Grandda and te others are all still in the kitchen with te food we brought."
He cocks his head to the side, crown feather waving with the movement. {Chickenpuffin speech/telepathy} "It must have _something_ to do with water. Hang upside down a second... the _king_ asked? Would he be the one who brought me here? Is he here? Now?" The little bird starts to get a little agitated, hopping up and down, feathers flipping about in jerky movements. He would have to present himself as quickly as possible, before garnering the ire of the royal being.
*****
Diami looks at the hand extended to her, following it all the way up to the young man's face. He didn't really look familiar, except for the eyes. There was something about the eyes... and the voice. She smiles and takes his hand. "I'd love to!" As they walk onto the dance floor, she says, "My name is Diami, by the way." Grinning, she attempts a quick one-handed curtsey as he swings her across from him on the dance floor.
Smiling, Tome sketches a quick bow to her before slipping his other hand to her waist. "Pleased to meet you again, Diami," he says. //Well, here goes nothing. Just remember, don't step on her feet and have fun with it! Diami said that that was her #1 dancing rule, "No matter what, Have Fun!"// He starts to lead them through the fast-paced music.
"So I _do_ know you!" Diami exclaims. //But, of _course_, you can't remember his name!// "I thought you sounded familiar... but I'm horrible at remembering people's names..." Her voice trails off, especially as her mystery dancing partner tries some swing moves to the fast music. //Not bad. Definately a nice dancer. But he looks so serious! Like this dance is the most important thing in his life! Hmm... I wonder why he's not telling me his name,// she ponders as he pulls her close into his arms from a throw-out. Instead of continuing the dance however, to her great surprise, he dips her. Diami looks up in delight to see that, for the first time since the dance started, her partner is grinning at her. A wicked grin that seemed to promise more. Her own smile widens at the challenge as he pulls her back up and continues the dance.
Tome tries to catch his own breath back as the dance continues. He could still feel where her heartbeat had vibrated through him when he had held her close. He tries to store that feeling in his memory, writing it in ink that would never fade. //Down fellah,// he tells himself. //The dance isn't over yet. You could always make a complete fool out of yourself at any time now...// He had been nervous about trying the dip but Diami had complained to him before how no one ever had ever tried that dance move on her before. The smile--no, a smirk--just slipped out as he relaxed. He keeps the smile as the dance continues. Slipping Diami behind his back, her hand trailing around his waist, he catches her hand and smiles more openly. He recognizes the look in her eyes now... the one she always wore when she was ready to charge into battle, singing at the top of her lungs. Her 'Valkyrie face' he had called it. Her 'take your best shot, buddy!' face she had called it.
Diami put a bit more of a bounce into her dance steps as her partner's smile became more natural. After a few more minutes with moves that left her breathless, the mystery acquaintance returned to a simpler waltz-like dance. They were dancing close enough to hear each other over the band on the stage, which was nearby. //Oh, yes, he _is_ a good dancer... I really should try to remember who he is so I can dance with him like this in the real world! It'd be nice to have a steady dance partner for the various parties in the neighborhood.// Mentally, she pulls herself back. //Whoa! It's just one dance, mon amie! Don't be planning everything out just yet! He hasn't even told you his name...// She pulls in closer, laying her head on his shoulder, just enjoying the music and the movement, and then closes her eyes in contentment. She feels a heartbeat in time with the music, though soon the heartbeat moves a bit faster than the music and is lost in the strong backbeat coming from the stage. //But do I really care what his name is?//
Suddenly conscious of what she is doing, Diami moves back and sneaks a peek at all of the other dancers, especially the elven ribbon dance floating about. "All of these fantastic beings! I can't believe I'm seeing all of this!" she gasps. "So many species and people... And yet among all of these strangers, I find two people I know from the waking world! What are the odds?"
Tome cocks his head to one side. "Not bad odds, I would think. You came in with Tasha but I think you also know the drummer over there." He nods over toward the stage and a serene Sammy communicating to the dancers with the band.
Diami follows his gaze and gawks. "Sammy?!? Wow... he looks so different..." In the back of her mind, though, the thought arose// Wait, he knows both Tasha and Sammy? How? I just met Sammy yesterday...// As her mind races, her mouth decides to go on automatic. "I _really_ have to remember all of this! Tome will love to hear about everything! The gnomes, the Chickenpuffin, the dancing..." She flushes a little. "I'm sorry," she apologizes. "Tome's my closest friend out in the waking world. I just don't want him to miss out on all of this."
Tome steers her to a quiet side of the dance floor. "Oh, I think he already knows." At her confused look, he stops dancing and taking her ring hand, lifts it to his lips. He winks at her, then kisses the knuckle above the ring that had connected the two of them so long ago. "I already know all about it," he whispers.
In shock, Diami whispers back, "T--Tome?"
Tome nods. "Hello, Diami." He doesn't get enough time to say much else because immediately, arms are thrown around his neck and he is being hugged for all he is worth.
Diami whispers to him, "Tome! You're a human! How did this happen?" She draws back to look him in the eyes. She grins, her own eyes sparkling, and asks, "And where did you learn how to dance like that?"
Tome blushes a little. He starts to move back and forth a little to the music, Diami swaying with him. "Well, for the dancing, I just remembered what you showed me while you were learning. And it did help that I had an excellent partner tonight." He watches as she blushes prettily at the complement. "As to how I got here and why I'm human, I don't know. The last thing I remember from the waking world is you falling asleep after the gargoyles' attack." He feels Diami's body become tense at the mention of the skirmish. Instinctively, he holds her closer, her head resting on his shoulder. "And since they had you enthralled a bit during the battle, I wanted to make sure that you hadn't fallen enough under their power for them to enter your dreams. So I followed your mind into sleep... and 'woke up' near this mansion, looking like this." Shyly, he asks, "How _do_ I look?"
Diami pushes back away from him to give him a thorough once-over. "Turn around," she requests. Tome obliges, holding his arms out away from his body. "You look _very_ handsome, Tome." //Mmm, mmm, _mmm_! I like _very_ much! Feels nice to the touch, too... Oh no, what if he can hear me!// Her eyes widen as her face becomes pale at the thought.
Tome replies back, "You look absolutely stunning tonight, Diami!" He notices her pale face and reaches toward her. "Are you okay? Is something wrong?"
Diami stammers, nervously, "Were... were you listening to my thoughts while we were dancing or just now?"
Tome replies, "No... I haven't read your thoughts the entire time I've been here." //How can she ask me that? She knows me better than that! Does she think that I would just invade her mind like that? What does she think I am?// His face falls, imagining just what Diami thinks of him. Silently, sadly, he bows to her and turns toward the doorway of the ballroom. //It was nice while it lasted. This pain, it hurts so much! Why would she think I was listening in? She didn't even know I was here...// Arms snake around his waist before he can take a step. He tries to pull away but a weight at his back plants her feet to keep him exactly where he is.
A soft voice whispers, "You leave this room and I _swear_ I'll... I'll... I'll tear a chapter out of you when I wake up! Serve it on a silver platter too..." //By all that's above, _when_ am I going to learn to think before I speak? Or at least keep my mouth shut when someone is giving me a complement?// Diami holds onto Tome, hoping that he wouldn't walk away from her. //Just stay, darnnit!// Finally, he turns around in her hold. Diami looks up at him, her eyes shiny from tears being held back. She gives a brittle laugh, saying, "You silly. I didn't mean it like I don't trust you or anything! It's just that..." She blushes a little, the color chasing away the paleness of before. "I wasn't having exactly 'friendly' thoughts about you at the time." She looks him in the eye, sudden courage making her bold. "Or maybe they were a bit _too_ 'friendly' of thoughts..."
Tome pulls her back into his arms. //She's nervous around me?// Then her last words sink in. //She was thinking that way about _me_?!?// "Really?" he asks in amazement. Diami nods, ducking her head as she blushes an even brighter red. He starts to laugh then, and soon Diami joins in, erasing the awkwardness of just a few moments ago.
They begin to move again, slowly, to the music. Diami sighs contentedly. "Tome, this is really a dream come true. Good music, great dance partner... what else could a girl ask for?" As he opens his mouth, she lifts a finger and places it on his lips, silencing him. "Don't answer that!" Smirking at her, he instead kisses her fingertip before returning it to his own hand. Growing serious, she asks, "Do you know if you can be a human in the waking world?"
Tome frowns a bit at this. "I... don't know. I've always been a book. This was my first experience as a human. I didn't even know I _could_ become a human. Being a book was all I knew." //What if this is the only time I can be human?// He looks down at Diami in his arms. //Never to be able to hold her, to dance with her...// He pulls her in close, making her look up at him in puzzlement. "Diami, what if this _is_ the only time I can be human? I don't think I could stand having only this one time with you..."
Diami shrugs. "I don't care." At Tome's shocked look, she continues. "Not like that! I don't care because this _has_ happened. You have been my friend since the day we met. You have become my best friend. You've always been there for me. What other friend would follow me in the Dreamlands just to make sure I was safe? You're here. I'm here. We're dancing together. I'm happy at this specific moment in time and I wish it'd never end. All else is details." She smiles and then cuddles closer into his arms, their bodies still swaying slowly to the music.
Tome hugs her. "I'm happy too. But I can't be there for you like this out in the waking world. I can't dance with you... hold you in my arms.... And I really want to do those things for you. What happens when you wake up? How often do you remember your dreams?"
Diami pulls back away from him, looking him straight in the eye. "Okay, let's say that I don't remember all of this immediately when I wake up. _Somehow_ I will know that our hearts have touched... and that will keep me going for the rest of my life. That feeling that somehow, somewhere I have been loved. I would give up anything to simply be here forever in your arms, listening to you talk, to feel your heartbeat beat with mine." Her serious look slowly changes into a sly smile. "Besides, genius, who has the moveable-type memory? All you have to do is show me this dream in your pages when I wake up. I will believe you. Simple as that."
Tome does not feel completely convinced. "But...."
Diami silences him again, pulling him even closer to her this time. "Look, everyone else is going to be heading out to find Neville. I'm not that much of a fighter, about all I can do is supply the others with simples for a bit of protection in case of more gargoyles. So, it looks like my calendar is free to do some research into finding a way for you to be human. Out in the waking world." She places her head back on his chest, listening to his heart beat out a rhythm just a hair out of time with the surrounding music. "But no matter what, we'll always have our Dreams."
Tome's own smile is wry as he admits, "Alright, I give in. As soon as we wake up, we do research. After all, there has to be someone who might know a way to make me human in all of Angel City."
Above them, a slight tinkling sound is heard louder than the music. Looking up, both of them see a large sprig of mistletoe, silver ribbons wrapped around it. Tome asks Diami, "I know this custom! Did you do that?"
Diami shakes her head. "No, I didn't." She smiles and says out loud, "Thank you, your Majesty!" Gazing up at Tome, she asks, "Well, shall we take the hint?"
He looks up at the mistletoe again. "I think we should before we get a chorus of voices yelling, 'Kiss already!!!' like you do at certain movies or stories."
"Hmmph," is all Diami can pout before she is a bit more occupied. His lips touch hers, first gently then with more pressure as he grows more confident. With his touch, Diami's eyes close and her mind floods with emotions, not quite sure where her emotions leave off and Tome's begin. An overwhelming feeling of love and contentment fills her when she hears Tome's voice in her head.
//Diami?//
Diami tries to pry her mind away from the kiss enough to be coherent. //Where did you learn to kiss like this? You haven't even had lips for that long!//
Tome laughed delightedly. //Amazing what you learn from a romance novel...//
//Should I be jealous?// Diami replied with a mental smile.
//Never!// Tome protested. //I just wanted to say... I love you. Forever. No matter what.//
Diami leaned more into the kiss. //You know what, Tome... you just read my mind.// **
[OOC - Yes, I know, I suck at writing kissing scenes. Consider this as the ending after this scene, the two slowly fading from view in the ballroom. *Diami wakes up and finds herself clutching Tome (in book form) tightly to her. She whispers, "Wow..."* ]
[** There have been 6 great kisses in the world since 1642 B.C., so counted by the people who keep track of these things. They weren't here for this one, but on Diami and Tome's scale... this one left any of them far behind. (Thank you to William Goldman. ;)]
*****
She murmurs a few "Pardon me"'s as she flows lightly along, the groups of chatting and dancing beings parting in front of her and Jack, her aura of determination prodding people aside as if a physical thing.
Angie has to steel herself against the music, feeling it quicken the blood in her veins whenever she took her mind off her goal to think of the sweet strains filling the air. Even her drapery was almost brought under the music's addictive sway and several times she found herself drifting closer and closer to the dance floor, before she regained control.
Though Jack also feels the pull of the music, he is able to resist its urgings better, helped by a stubborn streak common to his people.
She throws a grateful smile over her shoulder as they finally make it out of the ballroom and she slows down enough to float beside Jack; the siren call of the music was muted, although not gone.
"Last time I saw the king, he was in the hallway, greeting the guests." She takes a deep breath of the delicious aromas, to remind her of 'what could be' then gazes curiously around the room for the king. "Have you met him yet, Jack?"
"Wha... Oh, yeah, I've met him, briefly. Looked to be an okay sort, as far as royalty goes. Don't let all the 'your highness' stuff git to his head, as far as I could tell. Anyhow, I think you're right." Rising up onto his toes, he looks around, his already towering form even higher above most of the crowd than before. "Bingo. Ten O'clock."
Taking the lead this time, the crowd parts before him as if a re-enactment of the flight of the Israelites from Egypt, complete with the 'sea' closing behind him after his and Angie's passage. "Sometimes being a bulldozer helps," he comments with a chuckle.
She smiles at his words and giggles as she is gently pulled along in his wake, like a beautiful lure, bright and entrancing. As she hears the words spoken ahead of them, she tugs on Jack's shoulder to slow and stop him, listening in on the two people begging the king to let them stay.
At the king's reassuring words, she takes Jack's hand in both of hers, pulling it up to her face to give it the gentlest of kisses, "Oh Jack, it is true. We can stay. All we need to do is ask his permission." Her happy face looks up at him, eyes shiny with happy tears not yet shed.
And in a fraction of a second, it changes. She pulls from him, a pained look on her face, hand grasping her left forearm. She stares down at it in horrified disbelief as she feels the icy cold working its way through her veins, traveling up her arm. "No. No. No. It's not fair." Her voice is little more than a whisper of denial, of heartbreak, as her hopes shatter, the dream fading before her eyes.
"Oh Jack." A sigh, a small whisper of sound, as she metamorphasizes into a vision, translucent and insubstantial; an echo of memory. "I am so sorry."
*****
"Then let's not waste a moment! Thank you very much for your help, Sir Lovecraft. I'm sure that I will be able to repay you somehow."
Grasping Nora's hand, Kuros turns and runs out of the study, sending his chair toppling to the ground with a resounding crash. The pair quickly find themselves in the great hall, where Kuranes stands surrounded by a motley mix of nobility, infantry and draconian. Skidding to a halt in front of Kuranes, with his coattails fluttering behind them, Kuros bows perfunctorily to the obviously noble, and then gets down on one knee before the King, and blurts out:
The King's eyes widen only slightly at this second abrupt petition.
"Milord, King Kuranes, I come seeking sanctuary. If I go back to my Waking World I will surely die. Would you be able to find it in your heart to allow me refuge in the Dreamlands? I would be ever your humble servant."
Nora, quite breathless, manages a curtsey. "And I, my lord..." She glances desperately up into Kuranes' face. "I wish to stay here with... the man I love." She looks over at Kuros, squeezing his hand. She turns back to the King. "I have nothing in the Waking World, no one to miss me. Please... let me stay. I, too, would be your servant. I would do whatever you asked of me, if you'll only let me stay here with Kuros."
Kuros looks up at Kuranes from his kneeling position, his face showing great insistence:
"I beseech you, milord."
"Please, rise, both of you," Kuranes asks uncomfortably, waving them up. "Of course you may stay. My kingdom will be your home for as long as you wish."
Nora's eyes fill with grateful tears. "THANK you, your majesty!" she murmurs, rising. "You are most kind!" She gently slips her hand into Kuros', turning upon him a look of such excitement and happiness as she has never known before.
Kuros's eyes glimmer with tears and his face reveals an immense relief, and quite rightfully so. It is not often that one gets the chance to avoid death with so little effort. Whispering a hoarse 'thank you' to Kuranes, Kuros squeezes Nora's hand affectionately.
"But beware," he warns. "Even the enchantment of Dream grows threadbare with time, and the disparaged joys of the Waking World may one day draw you once more. When that happens, pray that it is not beyond your power to answer their call."
"I hope so too, milord."
He hangs his head and glances away. Lady Farrington lays a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Chris, who has been standing casually within earshot of the King, feels his heart leap slightly at these words. He takes a small sip of the punch he acquired from a graciously proferred tray to mask his inexplicable anxiety, but cocks his ear as surreptitiously as he may.
Nora looks concerned, but also puzzled. "But, great King..." she ventures, humbly. "If it is as I understand it to be, and time does not pass in the Waking World whilst we are here... then it cannot be any more beyond our power to return in such a case as it is to return now." She glances at Kuros. "If he is... alive... in the Waking World, then he would be no less so whenever he chose to return. And if he is... not..." She finishes the thought with a shrug. "I do not see a risk."
This final question is of such urgent interest to Christopher, that he abruptly takes the cup away from his mouth and leans in, craning his neck like an incautious turtle to hear the response, all etiquette abandoned in his zeal.
"What you say is true, so long as you stay within the borders of my land," he concedes. "All the time you spend here is merely a frozen instant of your slumber. But if you are not truly prepared with the entirety of your being to abandon waking life, you will find the Waking World luring you back to wakefulness. If this occurs in my land, you will return at the instant you left. And if Kuros is, indeed, at the moment of his death...
"Just... be certain."
"Milord, I'd much rather prolong my life for as long as possible. I've never been more happy than I am now. If I get any sort of extension on my life, it will have been entirely worth it.
"From the bottom of my heart, my King, I thank you. I am forever bound to you in servitude."
"And I, my lord king," adds Nora.
"Oh good heavens, _no_," Kuranes chuckles tiredly. "The very _last_ thing I need is another servant. If you are determined to follow my dictates, then my command to you both is that you enjoy every happiness my humble kingdom has to offer you."
She looks up at Kuros. "Perhaps we should leave His Majesty to his party now," she suggests, shyly. She moves closer to Kuros until she is brushing against his arm. It feels so good to be... entitled to such intimacy.
Kuros hesitates slightly but catches himself in the act: //If I can't do it now, I can't do it ever. With anyone.// With that thought, he takes his arm and wraps it around Nora's shoulder, bringing her in closer to him and revelling in her warmth.
"All these people..." she says, glancing toward the chain of dancers engaged in some elaborate, ritualistic dance. A dance that does not call Nora, for she is already enthralled. "...make me nervous. Perhaps we could get a breath of air."
She looks meaningfully toward the door, and escape.
"I have no desire to learn a new dance tonight," Kuros observes the elfin dance with slight confusion, "especially not a dance such as that. If you could excuse us for a second, my king? I'd love to take some time to explore the grounds."
"Yes, that's an excellent idea," Kuranes agrees. "I'm sure the two of you have much to discuss, and a snowy evening stroll would be ideal for that purpose. If you're lucky, Bessie might even still be somewhere about."
_Bessie?_ thinks Nora, but she is too focused on Kuros to ask. She fleetingly hopes this is not some woman to compete with her for her knight's affections, but beyond that she thinks only of him.
"But later, Sir Kuros, I would like to discuss with you how your Waking body might be found. I myself have no power over the Waking World, you understand, but as you might imagine, I have many contacts who _do_."
"Indeed you have," Lady Farrington speaks up. "And Sir Kuros, Lady Nora, I assure you that the spirits have heard your plight, and those most sympathetic I shall direct to the search."
"And _I_," interjects Luminous Frank with a dramatic flourish, "I shall contact Those Who Walk Between, so that They, too, will know of your need and will seek out the good knight's body."
Kuranes looks from one magician to the other, then back to Nora and Kuros. He spreads his hands in a happy expansive gesture. "Well, there you are, then!" he proclaims. "Two better sleuths for this purpose I cannot possibly imagine. I would feel _so_ much better knowing that you were here in the flesh, Sir Kuros. And you, my dear Nora, we will have to direct to a Dreamlands portal in your own good time. My good friend Rinaldo will be more than happy to help you in that regard, I'm sure."
"You are so kind, my king." Nora beams adoringly at her man. "It _would_ be wonderful to know you were really all right. That..." Here, she blushes. "That you had the choice to remain, not merely the exigency." But she no longer tells herself that he is only there because he has no other option. She can see in his beautiful gray eyes that he is quite assuredly there by choice. For reasons she will not examine, he loves her. And she loves him.
"But for now, off with the two of you! Begone!" he laughs, shooing them towards the great double doors.
Christopher waits a tactful moment, watching the pair take their leave, before turning back to the King and his sorcerous companions. A peace like a small sigh has enveloped those nearby, they who witnessed this night a profound fulfillment transcending waking or dreaming or time. He is loathe to break the spell, but soon the furious antithetic theme of the Elf-King's tune creeps merrily back into the warm silence.
He clears his throat in rhetoric preparation, and moves slightly into the periphery of the group, attempting to catch the King's attention. "Your Majesty," he begins, bowing, "Christopher M., at your service. I wish to present myself, and my humble gratitude at your generous invitation to this most festive occasion."
"And about time, too!" Lady Farrington gently scolds. "Imagine, fading into the woodwork while a fine celebration like this goes on all around you!"
"Now, now, my dear," Kuranes chuckles, "We can't all be so accustomed to grand balls and gala festivities. Christopher, you are entirely welcome. I trust that, 'fading' aside, you are enjoying yourself?"
"On the contrary, your Majesty," he laughs with him, "I should think that I have become more 'real' since arriving in your demesne. And yes, thank you, I am amusing myself to no small degree."
Turning to Lady Farrington, he winks and confides, "My Lady, do not think me surly or ungrateful if I do not participate with the enthusiasm of some--" here he nods meaningfully to the dancers, "--but allow me to quietly enjoy the pleasure of so diverse but agreeable a company from a pleasant but not unfriendly distance, at least for the nonce."
"Oh, very well," the Lady replies with an exaggerated sigh. "There is, after all, something to be said for discretion."
"Your Majesty," he begins afresh, "if I may be so bold, dare I ask what manner of land this Ooth-Nargai is? For in all my wanderings and studies as a dreamer--though I do not claim to be yet so skilled in the art that I may be graced with the title of 'elder'--I have never heard mention of your lovely kingdom; in truth, I rather thought there to be something entirely different in this area of the Dreamlands. And by so speaking, I in no wise intend to be cryptic about my purpose, having no doubt that it is clear to you, who are wise enough in the ways of dream to have anticipated my arrival and gracious enough to have gone out of your way to invite me here from beyond the Skye."
Kuranes smiles and shrugs. "What's there to tell? Ooth-Nargai is my kingdom--no more, no less."
"Oh, pish-tosh!" Lady Farrington interjects. "There is more to it than that, as you know very well!
"The King is modest to a fault," she explains to Christopher. "You see, he Dreamed this land and all who dwell here."
"Ah, indeed!" smiles Christopher, "though you noted as much to me on our first meeting." Christopher turns back to the King with a smile. "In truth, your Majesty is a prodigious dreamer, as evidenced by the very audacity of bringing such a land and its inhabitants into being, if the magnificent beauty and painstaking detail of the creation were not already enough to shock even the most jaded dreamer into stunned silence.
"But if you will forgive me for being so forward, I have a riddle for Your Majesty--and you, My Lady--" he adds hurriedly, with a nod in her direction, "which may amuse you, slight of wit as it is. Until this very day, I swear that I knew naught of Ooth-Nargai, nor Your Majesty; yet since my arrival within the dreamlands this past fortnight, I have been making straight for this location with singular purpose.
"Now, Your Majesty," he smiles mischievously, eyes winking over the rim of his glass, "how answer you that?"
*****
Marius looks up from his bathing session and cocks and ear at the sound of furniture falling. He turns to Lovecraft and inquires:
"They'll be alright, won't they?"
"Beg pardon?" Lovecraft asks, watching the couple leave. "Oh. 'all right'? Well, who can say? But in the end, is _anyone_ ever truly 'all right'?"
The cat hops the short distance between his chair and the author's and snuggles into Lovecraft's lap with a proprietary air.
"So, to pick up where we left off, you were telling me about my "mortal enemies", as it were, the Cats of Saturn?"
"Ah, yes," he chuckles, stroking the cat's head. "You _had_ best know all you can of them, if you plan on spending any amount of time in the Dreamlands. At the very least, you wouldn't want to be thought ignorant by your fellow dreaming felines. Cats can be _terribly_ cruel, as you well know.
"Now, as I was saying: The Cats from Saturn are-"
*****
High above the floor, the elf dance spirals downward. Malody's feet are the last to touch the floor. Although the music continues to play, she lets go the ribbon with every intention of running directly to find Paulie Cabrini. Intentions, however, can be short-lived things.
Before she can retreat, the two young elves on either side of her (the one very dark and one sparkling bright) take hold of her hands. Malody hesitates, about to protest. But the dark one, the fellow who had earlier given the ribbon its moebius twist, puts a finger to her lips. "Listen," he says softly, heeding the music. She pauses. She listens as the two begin to sing a lyric that is hard to decipher, a language, backward and foreign, but like something she ought to know.
Daffydd, one of the first enthralled by the spell of Elven music, lingers with his fingers on the long ribbon, Annwyl beside him. His face shows that his thoughts are elsehwhere, in some land where none can follow. Except perhaps for his beloved wife. She watches his face, taking pleasure in his pleasure, as the seductive music pulls them into the Cycle of Life.
Only half aware, she begins to dance again; in a smaller, more intimate danceline of three that winds its way to the center of the floor. Their steps are measured and perfectly matched. As one sways, so do they all. And as they begin a turn in unison, the bright elf spins to take both Malody's hands and steps back, drawing her with him. The dark elf follows, his hands on her shoulders.
Paulie's smile first falters, then falls like a failed soufflé.
Drawing back to its graceful beginnings, the music slows. So do the steps of the dance. Pulling her hands free, Malody matches her movements to the bright elf's without the benefit of a touch to lead her. From close behind her, the dark elf slips his hands off her shoulders and down her arms, taking her hands into his. He lifts her arms and holds them aloft, watching her dance for a moment before releasing her altogether. As Malody is led by the motions of the bright elf, the dark one follows from behind, ever closer but never again quite touching.
Paulie shakes his head and turns away. His gaze finally settles on the musicians, more out of need for a plausible focus than out of interest.
Why should this bother him? Malody is what she is, and now he knows just what that means.
But still... it bothers him.
Daffydd's gaze focusses on another object, as Malody and her partners assemble into a sinuous line. He watches. And watches.
When the bright elf leans back, Malody and her shadow lean toward him. When the bright elf leans forward, Malody yields the space, arcing her back, imposing on the man behind her. Their arms move, slowly and synchronously. And their proximity is such that when either elf brings his arms forward, Malody is completely enclosed. When they both move toward her at once, she can barely be seen.
Willowdew spins out of her own little continuation of the elves' spiral. Her cheeks color a delicate pink as she sees the trio's sinuous dance.
The backplayed music lends the air a strangeness. And in this peculiar current, Malody stretches upward, her arms and body undulating like a slow flame. The elves crouch. With only a breath between their hands and Malody's velvet dress, they mold the air around her to conform to her rhythmic, sinuous movements.
Annwyl, noting Daffydd's sudden shift in attention, turns to see what has caught him so completely. A frown flits across her brow. Then she moves herself so that she is between Daffydd and the prospect of the sensual triad. She looks into Daffydd's face, with what can only be called a "smirk". "Enjoying yourself, beloved?" she asks in a low purr.
Daffydd's gaze snaps to her face. "Uh... Yes!" he stammers, stumbling in the dance. A thing he has never done before. "Yes, very much, my love. The music is quite wonderful."
"Good," Annwyl drawls with the sweetest of smiles. She leans closer to him so that only he may hear. "Because if you don't wipe that drool off your face, this may be the last dance you ever attend."
Daffydd looks at her in shock, and then tips his head back in a belly-laugh, scooping her up in his arms and twirling her about. "I'd _much_ rather watch _you_ dance, my dear, beloved one," he assurs her. He leans very close to her ear. "And you shall dance for me alone, my love... later..."
Annwyl's toes touch the floor and she continues the dance, with a look approximating that of a cat with a corner on the cream concession.
Vincent watches with curiosity from the shadows once again. The three dancers do not seem to know each other, but they dance very well together. He continues to follow them, especially that girl who had invited him to dance, who had noticed him and reached out, though probably only as a courtesy. //I would that it were that easy to be alive. Damn Petruc.// He wipes a hand across his face, and thinks no more about it.
Squamous, the tiny dragon, watches from above the periphery of the dance. He shakes his head in admiration. Elves know a thing or two about dance, he thinks. Then his eye is caught by Paulie Cabrini.
Squamous makes a beeline for the young man. As he nears his target, he increases speed to deliver a resounding thump on Paulie's shoulder.
"Ow!" Paulie yelps irritably. "What _now_??"
Squamous waves emphatically in the direction of Malody and her dancing partners and thumps Paulie's shoulder again.
"Yeah, yeah, I see. She's got a couple of fancy hoofers out there. So? Whaddya want me to do about it?"
With a snort of disgust, the dragon zips between the other dancers to hover above and behind Malody's dark companion. Looking back at Paulie, Squamous reaches down and thumps the elf soundly on the back of his head. He motions for Paulie to come.
"Who, _me_?" Paulie mouths incredulously. He has _got_ to be kidding!
Or does he? It isn't as if Paulie's never set foot on a dance floor. Maybe he's been playing it too safe with this girl. After all, just look at her out there! Anyone can see that she likes a guy (or even _guys_?) who takes charge!
Emboldened by this revelation, Paulie moves out onto the floor toward Malody...
...just as the members of the quartet reign in the very last inverted notes of the Elf King's Tune and slump to the floor, exhausted.
Stripped of the music's pretense for his approach, Paulie blinks like a hypnosis subject awakened to find himself unexpectedly and publicly nude.
Both elves and Malody look up with dazed smiles. "Did you like the dance?" she asks.
"Uh... yeah," he replies flatly. "It was... _great_."
Malody's moony smile melts into a puzzled frown. "What?" she asks, "You didn't like it?" She shrugs off the courteous small talk of the elves and steps up to poke her curious nose inches from Paulie's, studying his face intently. "But I only... I mean, they...," she shakes her head and stares at the floor thoughtfully.
"You didn't like it."
He takes her hands in his without realizing he has done so.
"No! Nah, it _was_ great. Really. It's just that..."--he glances at the two elves--"...well, seeing you dancing like... _that_... with two other guys..."
Understanding glimmers in Malody's eyes. She lifts his hand to look at it holding her's. "Paulie," she speaks haltingly, "It's like I tried to tell you before, upstairs. I'm in a lot of trouble. And it's not safe. This," she lifts his hand and lays her face against it, "is not safe. For you. Not in real life."
"Ah, don't mind me," he snorts, shaking his head. "I must be goin' screwy or something."
"Yeah, well" she smiles, brushing her cheek against the back of his hand, "We are still in the Dreamlands." She pauses to open his hand with both her own and then very softly kiss the center of his palm. "At least for now."
A slow grin blossoms on his face. His free hand reaches out and gently tilts up her chin so that her gaze meets his own.
"Well, then... 'zat the best you can do?"
And he lowers his lips hers.
Malody trembles as, suddenly, there is no sound, no sight, no passage of time, no thing for her except the sensation of his lips; so shockingly imminent and yet soft as breath. When she once again comes to her senses, she has no idea how long she'd been standing there staring at his face.
"Um... I...," she blinks and gives her head a little shake.
A smug grin spreads across Paulie's face as he watches her reaction. //Wow... Didn't know I had it in me!//
"I know!" her eyes gleam, "I know something I'm sure you'll like. Let me show you?" Without waiting for an answer, she grips his hand and hauls him toward the door.
"Huh?" he blinks. "But... WhaHEY!!"
Squamous, the tiny dragon watches with an approving grin. Curious, he follows the pair.
They cross the hall and Malody stops in front of a closed door, metal framing rows of steamy glass panes. She touches the small sign on the door. "Kuranes and the staff call it the conservatory," she says, "It's my favorite. Have you seen it?"
"The... greenhouse?" he replies. "Uh... nah, hadn't had a chance ye-URK!"
Eager to share it with him, she slips through the door and tugs him inside, pushing hard to close the door's resistant and hissing hermetic seal. The room is unusually tall and long and narrow. Its ends and one long wall are the stone of the manor's exterior. Their feet scrape on a floor of flagstone and gravel. And high overhead, the ceiling as well as the other long wall are pane after pane of half-steamed glass.
From the ceiling hang long rows of the lush ferns used to enliven the other rooms of the manor. The length of the room is primarily filled with two rows of roughly built work tables, and rank upon rank of flowering plants ready for cutting, tier after tier of herbs ready for harvest. Here and there large tubs contain tropical trees; the palms and rubber trees so popular where Kuranes first made his home. The air is hot and humid. From a hidden source, steam rises so thick it can be seen in wisps among the foliage. Water drips and trickles and hisses almost invisibly, filling the room with white noise.
Sweat begins to bead Paulie's forehead almost immediately. He removes his coat and slings it over his shoulder as he glances around, taking the measure of the place.
"Pretty nice," he admits.
Malody grins. "Come this way." She ducks around the work table toward the glass wall. When she reaches the center, she stops, giving him time to appreciate this thing she treasures. Where the glass offers a frosty vista of the festively lit, snowy gardens outside, there is a fountain. It burbles and sprays, sparkling over a pool of carp. Next to it, a small table and chairs wait.
"He uses it for teas, I think," she says, smiling and lost in her own imaginations.
"Wait," she presses him, "let me show you the best part." Leaves whisper as she slips between them. "Come this way," she says, disappearing between overlapping fronds and leaves.
Curiousity supplanting irritation at Malody's ephemeral hijinks, Paulie follows.
She stands in a hollowed place beneath large,surreal leaves, with only room for two to stand, surrounded above and on all sides by green and growing things. "Look," she grins, pointing upward. Brightly colored finches flit silently in the leaves. "And this," she says in a whisper, moving to show him the plant behind her. A blossom, like an orchid, but a meter in diameter. "It's like being home."
For a long moment she stood and simply breathed. She took his hand and held it to her. "Do you see?"
"Yeah... Yeah, I think I do," he agrees, stepping forward to join her in the little grotto of cyclopean flora. His free hand runs reverently over the surface of one massive leaf, and childish little grin tickles a corner of his mouth. "It's like... bein' _small_."
"Exactly!" She clutches his hand tighter and her words tumble over one another, "Like before, when I was still a fairy, before I made that cursed bargain with that awful voice guy. So beautiful, the world was then, you know? Only it's better than that! I mean, when I leave here, I may have that voice guy to deal with, but here -- he can't reach me here, in my dreams, and it's beautiful here like it was before, and it's better."
She looks at the floor, at the flowers, anywhere but directly at Paulie. "It's better because here, now, I have this," she indicates herself with a wave of her hand, "this body, I mean, and even more than that, because... because you are here."
Overwhelmed and not wanting to babble, she falls silent. She kneads his hand as if to wring his thoughts from it and dares to look into his eyes. Anxious but determined, she presses against him and lays her head against his shoulder. With a shuddering sigh, she nestles her face against his neck and softly kisses his throat.
He takes her in his arms, enjoying this rare moment of peace with her. (And privately pleased with himself for getting one of those girly hint things right for once.)
Finding ways to wiggle even closer to him, she begins to softly hum a tune.
"Hey, waitaminute!" he blurts out, releasing her from his embrace to grasp her gently but firmly by the shoulders. "Where are you??"
"Huh?" she laughs, "I -- I'm right here."
"I mean, I know you're _here_, with me, but where are you in real life, sleeping? 'Cause if this creepy voice guy can't get to you _here_, why, there's no _way_ he'd be able to touch you at _Pop's_ place! You'd be _safe_ there!"
"Rinaldo's?" she pales at the thought. "Are you sure about this? I mean, why couldn't he reach me there? Or you for that matter. If he were to see you, he'd be after you in a heartbeat. And Rinaldo and Sofia, they might not think...," Malody shivers and falls silent.
"But it's so nice here, now." She struggles to worm her way back into his arms.
"In real life? In real life I am at Home. I can get to Nexus from there. I could find Rinaldo's, if you think it's a good idea. If you're sure you want me to."
"Well... of _course_ I want you to!" he says, the question catching him quite off guard as he embraces her once more. "Look, you let me worry about Ma and Pop. I dunno how much you know about how Nexus works, but, well, things don't work the same way in different places, right? Well, in Pop's part of town, there's no magic or any of that kinda weird stuff. I know that might sound kinda boring to someone like you, but it's as safe as you can possibly get if you've got some kinda magic guy after you.
"And... I'd kinda like to keep you safe."
*****
Beethoven spins Cere into a final pirouette, and then they finish. He pulls off his hat, revealing dark hair with a little silver in it, and wipes his forehead with his handkerchief. "Haven't done that in a while," he says, and then drops half bow, adding, "Divinely danced, Miss Cere. I believe that a drink is in order."
*****
Kuros and Nora walk together down and out of the great hall, away from the dancing, the revelry, the comforts of a warm hearth. Pausing only briefly, Kuros opens the wooden front door with his free hand and steps outside. A slight shiver races through Kuros's body, as he has been indoors for so long and is not in proper outdoor attire, but his body quickly adjusts to the temperature change. Subconsciously, he draws Nora slightly nearer to him in an effort to shield her from the cold of the outside. Tiny snowflakes pelt the two in what appears to be an attempt to make them turn back. Neither will listen.
As the pair wend their way down the path that Kuros had walked down not too much longer before, they pause for a moment in a slight clearing in the woods:
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"Mmmm...yes..." Nora snuggles in closer against a cold she barely feels.
Kuros points up at the gigantic white moon which beams upon the two, bathing them in its milky glow. Snow falls about the couple, the flakes scintillating in the light of the moon. The knight lets his gaze stray from the moon to the woman at his side, her cheekbones, nose and collarbone standing out prominently against the night sky.
//My God, but she's beautiful. What are you waiting for?//
Kuros removes his hand from Nora's shoulder and turns her carefully so that they face each other. Before she can protest, he holds his index finger up to her mouth and shushes her in a low whisper, bringing his other hand up and placing it firmly on the nape of her neck. Slowly, carefully, Kuros brings his slightly parted lips towards hers.
Nora leans into his kiss, his embrace...his love....
Nothing else in the world matters.
The moon casts his benevolent light upon the two.
The snow falls around them, tracing lazy spirals in its descent.
The wind blows, whispering its secrets to all that would hear.
But nothing can prevent the two lovers from being together.
*****
Rexalc laughs -- a sound like distant thunder. "There are places of both great warmth and great security in Nexus," the storm dragon assures him. "But predictability? Of that, I have, indeed, found none."
"You'd make a terrible Draconiati", Marada snorts. With the mention of his race, he seems a bit saddened, and quickly turns to look for some sort of fruit-topped cake to drown his sorrows in.
Rexalc's brow wrinkles uncomfortably. "Ah... yes, likely so.
"Well!" he adds, brightening, "I believe I shall refill my drink. If you will excuse me?"
"Rather no choice in the matter", he states. There is very little a being like him can do to stop one Rexalc's size. He looks around, lifting up the tablecloth and trying to find the cat he had so terrified recently. //Poor thing. It needs to be made amends with.//
With a bow of his head, he moves to the far end of the table to peruse the beverage choices. Rinaldo Cabrini looks up from his own generous tankard at his approach.
"That wan, he is a gloomy one, eh?" Rinaldo observes, nodding toward the other dragon with a grin.
Rexalc nods sadly as he follows Rinaldo's gaze. "Indeed. We dragons are creatures of great passions. It is both a blessing and a curse, to feel both joy and pain like a thousand suns."
*****
"Music lover," Joe chuckles. For him, the fey music holds no charm. His is another realm.
Nor does Josefina answer its call, though she smiles freely in appreciation of it. Her heart belongs to the more earthy fire of the salsa, and her spirit to the chill whispery music of the dead.
Mark, for his part, is not caught in its snare, but it does set a velvet hook into his curiosity. "Hey, would you guys mind excusing me, too?" he asks. "I'd like to see what's going on in there."
Joe nods. "Sure, go right ahead. It's a party, isn't it?" He winks.
The Blackbird's smile becomes strained. // I don't think I can keep this up... I want him to enjoy this time, but he needs to _know_... //
"Joe," she asks, "can we try and find some place a little more quiet to eat? The party's wonderful, but it's a bit much to take all at once."
"Sure, 'Bird," Joe agrees. "Let's have a look at that room across the way over there -- the one I was thinkin' about having that chat with Daffydd in. I thought I caught a glimpse of a fire in there. That'd be nice."
Balancing laden plates and full tankards, they wind their way through the crowd -- thinner, now, due to the music's call -- and into the sitting room.
The room's sole human occupant looks up from stroking a cat by the fire and smiles.
"A Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Black," Lovecraft says.
"Hey! Merry Christmas, Howard!" comes Joe's delighted reply as he strides into the room to take Lovecraft's hand.
"Yes... Merry Christmas, Mr. Lovecraft," Josefina concurs. "It's wonderful to see you again."
//Damn it.//
"Please, do sit down," Lovecraft urges the pair. "It's been some time since last we chatted, and besides, you seem to be carrying quite substantial burdens."
"What do you mean?" the Blackbird gasps out. Then, noting the curious looks from both Joe and Lovecraft, she glances down at her plate and flushes. "Oh... yes. The food." She takes a seat on the sofa between the two high-backed chairs and falls silent. Joe sits by her side.
"Oh, but forgive me," Lovecraft deftly interjects before the silence can become uncomfortable. "This is Marius. Marius, it is my distinct pleasure to introduce Josefina Gutierrez -- otherwise known by the sobriquet 'the Mexican Blackbird' -- and Josiah Black."
The svelte gray feline extricates himself from Lovecraft's lap and vaults to the top of a nearby chairback. Balancing like a tight-rope walker, Marius sniffs and wrinkles his cute gray nose to scent the newly arrived couple.
With a startled *snit!*, the cat bares his teeth and grimaces in the peculiar Flehmen manner. The smells and feelings that emmanate from the pair of humans is unlike anything he has ever encountered, but familiar in a way Marius can't quite place. He opens his mouth slightly wider, nostrils flaring, to sample more of Joe's and Josefina's scents. The tall man in black smells very much like the Man at home: Safe, Secure, Strong and Right. Marius feels like he could curl up with this one at any time and not worry about a thing. The woman, however, is very different. She feels like the stuff of life; not of the Green Mother, but of that which balances the never-ending re-birth of nature and the creation of the world. The cat picks up whisps of scent: the dying breath of a captured mouse, the decomposing detritus of a forest floor. His very whiskers quiver in excitement.
Marius stands straight and tall to greet them:
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir, Ma'am. I must say it is rare that one has an opportunity to meet with folk such as yourselves."
Joe and Josefina smile at the regal feline, Josefina reaching out to stroke his head. "Hola, Marius," she says fondly.
Joe glances Lovecraft's way with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, he is simply expressing his pleasure at meeting such unique individuals," Lovecraft translates with a smile.
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, too, Marius," Joe chuckles, shaking the cat's left forepaw in mock formality.
More pleasantries are exchanged. Stories are swapped and catching up done between mouthfuls of food and drink.
And then, the inevitable.
"So, 'Bird," says Joe, wiping his mustache, "what was it you wanted to tell me earlier?"
The Mexican Blackbird's eyes ignite in low-grade panic. "I... It can wait, Joe. Really. I wouldn't want to bore Mr. Lovecraft..."
Lovecraft gives her a curious look.
"Now, 'Bird," Joe says seriously, "Howard's a good friend. Whatever it is, I don't mind him hearin' it.
"Well, within reason," he adds, with a quick wink and grin Lovecraft's way that the author doesn't return.
Josefina sighs and sets her plate aside. "All right, Joe. I didn't know whether I should tell you. This is a dream, so it might not even matter... but I think you need to know what you seem to have forgotten. What's happening to you right now, in the Waking World."
A tickle of foreboding plays along the Lawman's neck.
And the Blackbird tells.
As the tale of drama unfolds, Marius is caught up in the story. /Sounds like something out of one of Her sci-fi books at Home, with a little cop drama thrown in!/ he thinks to himself. Cats are sensitive beings, and although Marius tries to present himself as a rough and tough Tomcat, his true nature befits the decade of his birth. Josefina's account of human "Justice" and bureaucratic nonsense irks the gray cat's "90's guy" feline sensibilities.
"This is terribly sad and unfair," Marius chimes in when Josefina finishes. I don't suppose there's anything I or my brother Izzy might be able to help with?"
The cat's mewing startles the three humans from the stunned silence following the Blackbird's revelations.
Clearing his throat, Lovecraft conveys Marius's observation and question to the others.
Joe doesn't reply. He only stands silently, staring at nothing. Deep in thought, or else with all thoughts driven away in horror.
The Blackbird wipes the tears from her eyes and offers Marius a wan smile. "Oh... you're such a good kitty... but no, I don't think so. How could you, even if you could -find- us in the Waking World? I can't... I don't even know if what -I'm- doing is any h-help..."
Joe moves out of his reverie to take her in his arms. "I know you're doin' all you can, 'Bird. You always do. Jesus God, how could I have -forgotten- all of that...?? And now, I'll be damned if I know what -I- should do."
"Stay."
Joe looks up at Lovecraft's statement. "What?"
"Stay," the author repeats evenly. "Here, in Ooth-Nargai, where time does not pass for the dreamer. If you cannot affect what transpires during your confinement in the Waking World, at least you needn't confine yourself to unconscious oblivion. And... if worse -were- to come to worse..."
"No!" the Blackbird snaps. "That -won't- happen!"
Lovecraft shrugs apologetically. "Of course. Forgive me. But-"
"He's right, 'Bird," Joe interrupts.
"But, Joe..." Her planned objection trails off, replaced with new resolve. "I'm staying with you, then."
He holds her more tightly to him, then gently takes her by the shoulders. "No, 'Bird. You said it yourself: You've got work to do, if I'm ever gonna get outta this. I'm countin' on you, 'Bird, more than I've ever counted on anyone or anything."
The truth in his words sink deep, hardening her tears. Turning them into the sharp diamonds that prick the soul of the Crusader.
She nods, saying no more. She doesn't need to.
Nor does he.
They've been through much, these two have. They have come far, and have reached the point at which some knowledge is instinctive. Like knowing when it's time to talk. When it's time to love.
And when it's Business Time.
She takes her head in her hands, pulling him into a final, desperate kiss.
And then she is gone.
*****
Bored with wandering and snacking, Marada decides to exploit his knowledge of the dream-nature of this place. He waddles to a vacant corner, concentrates for a moment, and visualizes himself sitting in a small, plush chair, adjacent to a large, black dragoness. They commence spirited political debate in the Draconiati language. If anyone is out of the loop of this development, it will appear to them that he is babbling to nobody in particular in an agitated Eastern European tongue, to great comedic effect.
*****
Jin places the half empty plate of Bao on a nearby side table and moves closer to Tasha, reaching out to stroke the kitty's fur, "Y'know Tasha. A sure fire for me to remember you better is if I draw you. And you can work on my believing you while I draw."
He grins to her, flashing his pearly whites, "Would certainly have me for a captive audience, so why don't we take a peek around? Since it's a dream, I should be able to find what I want easily enough, don't you think?" He gestures towards a hallway that looks a little less travelled.
She smiles tiredly in spite of herself. "Well, you definitely get points for persistence," she concedes.
He holds his hands out in a 'what can I say?' kind of gesture. "Y'know what they say. Faint heart never won a fair lady. Or is it the other way around?" He dwells on that for a moment, then shrugs good-naturedly, a twinkle in his eyes.
"Whaddya say, kitty?" she asks Izzy, scratching his head fondly. "Wanna do some exploring?"
Izzy bumps Tasha's head and rubs his cheeks on her furry hands. The little cat wriggles in Tasha's grip, and like an eel, he slips from her grasp. Izzy jumps scrambles up, up, and up, climbing Tasha like a tree, all the while being very careful not to prick her with his needle-like claws. Finally, after a mad dash and a few near falls, Izzy finally reaches his goal: Tasha's shoulder. There he assumes the pose of a Siamese Temple cat, ready to jump for action.
Tasha laughs and scratches Izzy behind the ears.
Jin looks rather impressed with the cat's gyrations and he congratulates the kitty, "Nicely done." Then with a bow to Tasha and her shoulder consort, he leads the way down the hallway, nodding to the gaily dressed people as he walks by.
Of course he only leads the way for a moment or two before once more walking beside Tasha, gazing at her sideways, "So, what do you want to know about me and my home reality? Wanna know what TV shows I like to watch, sports teams I root for, boxers or briefs... ?" He winks at her, a teasing note in his voice.
"No, no, no," she growfs. "Look, navigating Nexus is serious business. If I'm going to find you--again, assuming that's possible--I've got to know some fundamental facts about your reality. What year is it? How many sentient species are there, and what kind? Is there working magic? Psionics? Superpowers? Miracles? And what's your city _look_ like? What are the major landmarks?
"I could go on, and I will. Finding a given reality in Nexus usually involves working your way through realities that are progressively more like the place you're looking for. The more info I have, the better."
"Oh ah, okay." He muses over the questions in his mind as he opens a door, peeks in, then shakes his head in negative to Tasha (plus cat) and continues down the hall.
"Let me see... only one sentient species, though there are quite a few groups lobbying congress for recognition for the great apes. It's the year 2001, though Chinese scholars would argue against that. Magic? I'm guessing you don't mean Siegfried and Roy. Nah, no magic, psionics or anything vaguely that interesting. We do have cyber technology. Y'know, for limbs that have been lost, eyes, etc. Um, what else is there? Some cloning, but it's been banned due to the mutations and deaths that have been attributed to it." Jin pauses in speaking only long enough to peruse another room, then walking on.
"My city? Ah, it's the land of drought and computer chips, where the plastic surgeons are more plentiful than coffeeshops." He chuckles at the old and worn joke, before continuing on, "Well, there's always Disneyland for a major landmark. Err, not sure what else I should mention. There's always the Griffith Observatory, the Hollywood Bowl, the Library Tower... oh, here's something for you that just happened recently."
He moves in closer to his two companions, speaking in a low tone, "Some nutbar tried to assasinate the president at the premiere of Lord of the Rings. He got away with minor injuries, because his secret service guys all piled on him. Blew a good chunk of the Shrine Auditorium away. Killed about 20 people, including Tom Cruise, Nicole Kidman, Joe Pesci and Arnold Schwarzenegger. There's a huge funeral procession being planned, even Disneyland is getting shut down for the day. They're still sifting through the rubble for evidence and in case they missed anyone."
A frown creases his face, not liking to speak that distressing news out loud on such a festive and joyous occasion... even if it was just a dream.
She nods intently at each item in his description, brow furrowed as her mind carefully examines and appropriately files them all away for future reference. The assassination attempt is just one more fact to be absorbed, going down as smoothly as a banana seed.
"Okay, good," she says as he finishes. "That's a decent start. I can work with that. But _please_ try to remember all this. If I _do_ find you, I want to know that it's not an alternate version."
She selects a random door and, finding it unlocked, peers inside.
Turning back to Jin with a triumphant grin, she pushes the door wide open. "Will this do?"
Beyond the doorway, a candelabra on a low round table illuminates a plush love seat and easel facing each other from across a bare little room. An open sketchpad rests on the easel like a silent challenge, as does the box of charcoals on the table beside it.
He looks into the room a panoramic smile spliting his face, "Well, it's just what the doctor ordered. Ladies first." He gestures her in and follows after her.
Tasha rolls her eyes into a sardonic glance at Izzy as she strolls into the room.
The short man paces about the room, casting a critical eyes upon almost everything, especially the placement of the couch and the lighting within the room. After a bit he moves his attention to the easel, charcoal and various pieces of parchment/paper. His fingers lightly smooth over the paper, feeling the gardations in the fibers with a small, approving nod, "Nice paper. Good lighting. A lovely model... or should I say, _models_?" He nods, with a grin, to the cat still perched upon Tasha.
"Yeah, yeah..." Tasha smirks.
He sits himself down at the chair, which someone so thoughtfully placed in a convenient space behind the easel, "Would you be so kind as to relax upon the sofa Tasha? Sit, lay down, curl up or whatever you may be more comfortable with." His hand reaches down into the box of charcoal, hefting stick after stick, as if trying to get one with the perfect weight and dimensions.
"Think I'll lay down," Tasha says. "I could use a good rest..."
She sets Izzy down on the back of the sofa. Then, with a teasing grin Jin's way, she begins to strip out of her elaborate dress--a process that is nowhere near as elegantly tantalizing as she'd like, owing to her unfamiliarity with the various clasps involved.
As nude as a humanoid completely covered in thick white hair can get, she sets the dress over the back of the sofa and reclines upon its embroidered cushions.
"There!" she says with an elaborate sigh. "Sketch away, Picasso."
Izzy looks about at the comfortable surroundings. If any place was ever conducive to relaxation, this was it. The little cat slinks along the back of the sofa and settles down near Tasha's head and assumes a classic Sphynx-like pose. Affecting as much of a distinguished expression as possible, Izzy glances down at the snow-white Yeti:
"An excercise in contrasts, hmmm? Lets see if this human has the gift, eh?" he mutters, trying not to twitch a whisker.
He pauses in his search for the perfect stick, watching her do her impromptu strip tease. A Mona Lisa smile curls the corner of his lips and there is a flash a male appreciation, before his lids lower, effectively shuttering off his emotions for her to see.
"Picasso? I should be so lucky," he replies dryly. Then a wide smile, his voice taking on his regular teasing lilt, "No worries Tasha, I'm not about to give you a nose on the side of your head and more legs than you can shake a stick at." He winks to her, finally settling on a medium length of charcoal and starting to bring life to the inert papyrus in front of him.
His tone is more subdued, almost absent-minded, "You know about where I live... well, a little anyways. How about you? What do you do? Where do you live?" Brown eyes flicker over her form, touching down here and there on spots that many would overlook; a curl of fur on her calf, the indentation of a slightly bent elbow, the curve of her neck. His fingers were constantly at work, rubbing at the charcoal, blending, designing and scraping off excess with a nail. "Got a boyfriend?"
"You never quit, do you?" she laughs. "No, no boyfriend. Guess I move around too much. Moving around's what I do. Like I said before, I'm a shawman. People pay me to pull them around in a rickshaw, because in Nexus, if you know the tricks of the place, the fastest way to get around between realities is on foot.
"As for where I live: Nothing special, I'm afraid. Just a halfway decent loft apartment in Angel City, which used to be Los Angeles in a version of your world, pre-phase. It's 2012 AD there now, although since it's been in phase for 18 years, that hardly matters. A major hub like that gets so many outside influences, there's no way to know what it would've been like by now outside of Nexus."
He looks around the easel with eyebrows raised when she mentions that Angel City used to be Los Angeles and he grins, "Well hey, I may be there already. Another me anyways." He looks back to his drawing, blackened fingers reaching to stroke and cajole another line into becoming more than a division of white and black. Her lips twitch as he notices how statue-like the cat has become, but he says nothing, not wanting to disturb the black&white feline.
Again his voice takes on a far away tonal quality, his eyes once more glued to the work in process, "To be honest Tasha, I have ulterior motives for drawing you. Other than getting to see you naked of course." Jin's lips spread into a smile of male satisfaction, before he continues, "I actually was thinking you would be perfect for a heroine-type figure in my next game."
"Who? -Me-?" she snorts. "Please. I'm no hero. I'm just some chick who pulls a rickshaw to make a buck." She shakes her head -- only slightly, so as not to break the pose. "Your world must be really hard up for heroes if -I- qualify, Jin."
Jin snorts right on back, his voice filled with laughter, "Not an _actual_ hero Tasha. I wanted to use you for a physical template for a character in a video game hun."
He chuckles, lips spread in a wide grin, "Anyone can be a," he pauses, a curious look to his face, before giving his head a quick shake and continuing on, "hero, it just depends on the circumstances."
Bringing his concentration back to the drawing, he smudges here and scrapes there, blowing a little on the granules of charcoal to give an area a softer effect.
"Yeah, well, that's true," Tasha concedes. "With all the strangeness that goes on in Nexus, I've heard it said that Warhol's '15 minutes of fame' should be '15 minutes of heroism.' But that's not for me. Pulling people's fat asses around that town's risky enough without digging for extra trouble."
"Hmmm..." And that is all he says, his face showing his concentration while he works on the picture that was coming to life under his hands.
After a few long moments, he speaks once more, "Y'know Tasha, if you are going to," once again her pauses and this time he looks around for something, before giving his head a quick shake, continuing on, "come look me up, I have to warn you, I have some eclectic room mates. Then again, if this Nexus is half as interesting and varied as you evidence it to be ... then I don't think you'll have a problem getting in the front door at all. Just to let you know, the password for this week is New England Clam Chowder. If you try to get in without using it ... well ... I can't say you would like the outcome. Last time it was tar and feathering." He shudders dramatically.
"Yuck. I'd hate trying to clean tar out of my fur. But I think I can handle the eclectic buds.
"I just hope _you_ can deal with _mine_," she adds with a smirk. "When you _don't_ think you're dreaming, that is."
He just grins at that, not saying anything because he was certain it would just annoy her.
The slender young man pushes back away from his easel, cocking his head one way, then the other. He closes one eye, gazing seriously at the picture before opening it and doing the same with the other eye. Again that "hmmm" thrums from his throat as he debates on whether the picture was finished to his satisfaction or not.
"I hope we aren't too difficult as subjects..." she chuckles.
Jin is quick to reassure, "No, no, you are perfect subjects, it's just that," again he pauses and looks around, this time a frown appears on his face before he continues, "I tend to be picky when it comes to my drawings. I think it's done though. Try to compliment me. I have a fragile ego." He grins widely to her for a moment, before a confused look settles on his face.
"I'll do my best," she promises with a grin.
Rubbing his forehead, streaking it with charcoal, he looks questioning to her, "Do you hear that?"
"Um... apparently not," she admits, glancing about the room uneasily. "What am I supposed to be hearing?"
He frowns slightly, cocking his head to the side, "I dunno, it comes and goes." Giving his head a quick shake, he stands from his chair and moves away from the portrait. "C'mon over m'lady and her feline companion." He entices her and cat towards the easel with an elaborate bow, lips curved in a teasing grin.
The picture was black and cream coloured (the colour of the parchment). It was most definitely Tasha, laying lazily, almost seductively, with the cat perched near to her, but there the similiarities to the room end. She was no longer lying upon a sofa, but on an altar, with fat candles sitting upon intricately wrought candlesticks standing near her head and at her feet. In the background, the walls were set in a haze, barely being able to make out the glyphs adorning the wall and the crouched, bowing figures adorning the floor.
There was an aura of noblility and sensuality to the painting. Even the cat had his best features highlighted and enhanced. He was no longer your average tabby, but a consort of a goddess, his bearing of one who knew they were better than everyone around them and were simply accepted the fact of being worshiped as a god-given right. Tasha blended in the shadows of her luxurious altar, alternately becoming one with the sinous curves of the carvings upon it, and the supple folds of the silk draping about her, then standing out in bold relief, showing her beauty off and at the same time, keeping a mystery to her beauty (that bit of shadow that is within all of us). It was enticing in its play on light and dark, the teasing bits shown and not shown.
He seems a bit nervous when she does look it over, though he does his best to look unconcerned. "Sooooo, what do you think?"
She just stares at the picture and searches for the words. "Wow... Well, you certainly have me looking... uh... wow."
He raises an eyebrow, his face entreating her to explain further. "Wow good? Or wow, you-must-be-on-some-good-drugs?"
"Oh, definitely 'wow good,'" she assures him. "Although you must be on some good drugs, too. I've never seen myself quite this way before. It's just... kinda different."
He blinks a bit, before looking around the room with a bit of annoyance, "Would _someone_ pick that up? Where's the damn phone?"
Tasha looks from the picture to Jin, brow furrowed in growing consternation. "Um, Jin? Granted, I'm pretty new here, too, but I don't think this is the kind of place where they have _phones_..."
Jin frowns thoughtfully, "Yeah, you're right. Then why," eyes widen with understanding, "ah shi-"
His last word is left hanging in the air as he suddenly dissapears, leaving only clothes to fall limply to the floor, boots falling over a thump with the weight of jacket and sweatpants upon them.
Izzy peers around at the beautiful drawing, the discarded clothes, and finally at Tasha. He sniffs the air with a puzzled frown crinkling his nose, and wriggles out of the yeti's grasp to land gently in the middle of Jin's puddle of clothes. The cat paws around, searching. Looking up at Tasha, Izzy yowls plaintively:
"Where did he go? What happened? Why did the nice artist person leave?" The poor cat sits down on the clothing and, whiskers drooping, begins to sulk.
----------
Jin's eyes snap open with the incessant ringing of his phone and he snarls as he reaches for Mickey Mouse's jiggling head. Snatching at the statue's cranium, he rips off the ears and drags it to his head, "What the hell do you want!?!" Damnit, he had been having a great dream! And he'd been up for over 30 hours and now some tit was waking him up?!
The tinny, female voice on the other end, tartly replied, "You are such a bitch in the morning Jin ..." Then, as if being able to see his facial contortions, she quickly adds, "No, don't hang up! It's about the game. We got the go ahead! They've agreed to the contract! We'll have half a million copies out by July! Then we have free reign for the two projects agreed upon afterwards! Isn't that great? Jin?"
He rolls on to his back, staring up at the ceiling filled with pictures of Anime characters and sighing softly, "Yeah, that's great." Now why wasn't he more excited about this? It's not often that you can become a millionaire before you were 30. "This what you woke me up for?"
The annoyance in her voice, no doubt stemming from the dissapointment with the lack of Jin's enthuisiasm, was plain to hear, "Yes, I woke you out of your 17 hour nap because I figured you would want to know the dream we have been knocking ourselves out and starving ourselves for the past three years, has come true."
He winces at the diatribe, "Look Alex, I'm sorry about that. I was just having an incredible dream ..." How was he to explain it? It had seemed so real. At the further silence, he grimaces, "You know how I hate getting up. I'll make it up to you with some of my mom's famous bao? Bring Steve, Darlene and Howie and we'll turn it into a victory celebration okay?"
A little mutter can be heard, then her voice comes over the line, not quite as excited, but still goodnatured, "Yeah, I should have known better than to call you first. Call me back when you are fully yourself. And Jin ... you owe me a beer." She hangs up, her laughter abruptly cut off.
He grins, remembering that bet, three years prior. Then his smile fades for a moment and he jumps out of bed, heading towards his drawing board. He was wide awake and his fingers were itching to draw the fascinating subjects from his dream. Already they were starting to fade bit by bit in his mind ... all but one.
"Tasha ..."
*****
Marada slowly fades away into his own dream. As his body loses the ability to preclude other matter from taking its space, the elements of this world upon him fall to the ground in a neat heap: a small cloud of cat hair, a half-eaten minature tart, and seventeen pieces of silverware.
He quickly snaps back to wakefulness in the Shadowlands, ready for another assault on his senses and concept of moral outrage.
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