Beau Rosier (illusoiree) wrote in theunboundic, @ 2018-07-19 22:52:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ! time: march 20 - 26, beau rosier, calvin llewellyn |
Oh, the fortune said
Who: Beau and Calvin
What: Hello again.
When: Monday Mid-Morning during the Turning Festival, March 21st
Where: The village green
Glynn was an impossibly lovely little village, Beau decided as he wandered along a side street. He didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before but it was so obvious now on the cusp of spring with every street lamp and shop front bearing a riot of flowers. The air was heavy with the scent of cut greenery and wild blossoms and sweet foods of every kind. The Aurellians in their best, most colorful outfits only added to the picture and Beau couldn’t help but feel compelled to take paint and brush to the scene. He'd come with Viola but had wandered away with a promise to be back quickly, a desire to explore a nearby street taking him while she looked over some of the market stalls.
He moved back towards the village green with his hands in his pockets. Dressed in a blue suit with simple, elegant lines he still looked like a Clovennian but he didn’t clash quite so much as he sometimes did with the scene around him. He was content simply to stay out of the way and enjoy the sights and sounds, this was a day for Aurellians after all. It surprised him then, to see an old woman beckoning him closer. She spoke in quick, lilting Aurellian the consonant-rich language practically dancing off her tongue. She was dressed in brilliant pinks, one arm laden with dozens of flowered circlets.
Beau blinked quickly, “I’m sorry, ma’am I don’t understand…” He began, glancing to her side to see a little girl who observed him with all the soft hauteur of a preadolescent. “She don’t speak Clove.” she provided helpfully, eyeing his suit and clearly feeling some sympathy for a man who apparently didn’t own appropriate festival dress. “She’s saying to tell you happy Turning, Canwyn-son”
Beau smiled, some memory sparked by the title. Hadn’t Calvin called him Canwyn-son once or twice? After the god of spring? “Ah, would you be so kind as to tell her thank you for me?” He asked and the little girl shrugged and repeated the message in bright Aurellian. The old woman smiled back at him, unhooking one of the flower circlets from her arm and handing it to the girl, speaking quickly.
“Gramma says you should have this so you look right.” The girl translated, holding up the flower circlet, a lovely crown made up of pale cornflowers and vivid blue forget-me-nots. She waited, clearly expecting him to lean down for it. Beau blinked again, not quite certain of how to respond. He’d seen the Aurellians walking around with similar decoration, there was hardly a person in the crowd that didn’t have a flower of some kind woven into their hair. He hadn’t quite been anticipated being invited to join in. “That’s very kind…” he began, searching for the right response.
The little girl made an expectant tilt of her head, looking like a queen working to be patient with a slow subject. Beau finally chuckled very softly, crouching so that he was at the right height to be crowned. She settled the flowers on his hair, carefully tugging it this way and that for a moment before she seemed satisfied with the way the little blue flowers sat against his dark curls. “There, now you don’t look so silly.” she declared. Beau couldn’t help but grin, charmed by this girl who reminded him so much of Viola when she was younger.
“Can I repay you for this?” He asked, looking between the girl and her grandmother. “It’s Turning,” The younger of the two said, looking slightly scandalized “you don’t pay for flowers on Turning.” Beau opened his mouth and then closed it again, vaguely aware of the presence of nuances that clearly surrounded money and the Aurellian religion.
“Ah, then. A gift for a gift.” He said softly, putting his hand out, palm up. The two looked quizzically down at it before quite suddenly, he materialized a lark from thin air. Both exclaimed a bright “Oh!” as they watched the illusory bird flutter and glide around his hand. After a moment the lark became a robin and then a swallow, flying in elegant loops between them. Both girl and grandmother spoke in Aurellian, a commentary he couldn’t quite follow but the feeling behind their words was obvious, The sheer immediacy of their delight was encouraging and Beau couldn’t help but match their smiles.
Finally, the girl came back to herself, “Now make a wren!” she said, clapping a little as the swallow became a blue fairy wren. So focused was Beau on entertaining the girl and her grandmother, it hadn’t occurred to him that he’d drawn a very small crowd of children until he heard other voices requesting animals in a mix of Clovennian and Aurellian. “Do a linnet.” “No, a Canary” “Can’t you make it sing?” Beau laughed very softly, “No, I can’t quite make it do anything as lovely as that…” he answered, resolving the dispute of which bird to manifest by creating an illusion of both. There was a soft exclamation of delight as the children reached out to try to catch the illusory birds, eyes widening as their little hands passed through them and they disappeared into smoke and aether.
“They’re just for looking, I’m afraid,” Beau said apologetically, though to his surprise the delicacy of the illusions only seemed only to delight his little audience. “Can you only make birds Canwyn-son?” “Will you make a swan?” “Danu, come look at the birds!” The last one caught Beau’s attention, spoken in Aurellian but he recognized the word Danu. His heart fluttered against his ribs, breath silently catching as he looked up.