Olivia watches the feast with (wide_eyes) wrote in faeparties, @ 2014-07-13 21:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, *gardens, fiach, olivia bishop |
Who: Fiach and Liv
What: A discussion about boons
Where Liv's garden
When: After this.
Warnings: None.
Liv was in her garden. It wasn’t really hers, but she’d overtaken it with her art. Collections of paints and brushes were clustered around an elegant mahogany desk she’d sketched and then conjured. Paintings were scattered throughout the gardens on canvases of all sizes. Flowers grew around one of Uaine. The portrait of Aelius glowed, even though she knew she hadn’t done anything crazy with the paints to make it so. Ice crackled under Winter’s portrait, where it was tucked in a tree, turning the entire thing into an icy sculpture. Summer, frozen in time. The portrait of Nyx was cloud and shrouded in darkness that parted to reveal moonlight. One of the walls rippled with a scene of Azeth riding through the meadow behind the stables. She actually moved, if Liv looked at the painting long enough, and the stars swirled through the sky. Streaks of light that glimmered in the relative darkness of the gardens. Most of the time, Liv didn’t notice the fact that her paintings weren’t quite right. When she did, she thought the palace must be doing something to them and that she had nothing to do with it. She was ignoring the weirdness when Fiach slipped into her garden. She was at the desk, her sketchbook open on a smaller table beside her, her brush poised over her canvas. She didn’t noticed him, it was impossible not to, but didn’t look away from laying the ultramarine blue on her brush into the feathered streaks of Fiach’s black hair. “You’re hard to paint,” she told him, cleaning her brush and adding a bit of turpentine to her glob of prussian blue. She swept her brush over the canvas, which was all silvers and blacks and blues. She glanced at him with a small smile. “It makes you a challenge. I like challenges. Want to see?” Setting the brush down, she scooted away from the canvas to give him an unimpeded view of her half-finished work. It was, she had to admit, one of her better pieces. For a while, before stepping into view, Fiach just admired the paintings from a distance. Certainly fairy was having its effects on them, but it took a skilled hand to convince the magic to infuse itself in the work. So many of the residents here had a natural fondness for the arts, for the creative workings of humankind; rarely could they do that kind of thing on their own. Even among the Unseelie were enough who favored them. He could see why, looking at the results. No wonder so many artists and poets wound up wandering their land for all eternity. He smiled faintly as he stepped into view, watching Olivia work without glancing back at him. She was devoted. He could admire that. He paused by the desk until she looked up, moved away, let him see the painting of himself, and his smile went from faint to full-fledged. Fae were vain as hell by default. Adding birds to the mix didn’t help. Fiach’s ego was a massive, carefully-groomed thing, gilded in vanity, and seeing something as flattering as this only made it bigger. “Impressive,” he breathed, sounding more than a little enchanted, staring at the painting with gleaming eyes. Already he wanted to take it and keep it for himself, but he kept his hands firmly in his pockets, unwilling to interrupt her even if she wasn’t working on it exactly at that moment. “I’ll take both your words and this in itself as a compliment of the highest order … I can see why your kind are so admired by ours.” He managed to tear his eyes away from the painting to look at Olivia, grinning. “If I said I was impressed, it would be the biggest understatement I’ve ever spoken.” She ducked her head a bit and grinned, forever caught in that awkward place of knowing she had talent and not knowing how to take a compliment when it was dealt. People always looked at her with expectation if she just said “thank you,” like they expected her to tack on a “but it’s not that great.” But if she said that, then she was being all fake and falsely humble. So she gave him one of her wide, stupid grins, brows raised. “Then you say you’re hella impressed, and leave it at that. All the modern mortals will be in awe of your street cred.” She raised a hand to her hair, pushing it out of her face, and noticed the tips of her fingers were blackened. With a sigh, because cleaning black paint off fingers was a pain, she created the only bar of soap known to man capable of removing oils and started scrubbing. “It’s not quite done, though.” Her eyes fixed on it, narrowing. “Some of the color isn’t spread evenly, and I don’t like the way the brush strokes look around your hair.” She glanced back at him, comparing the two. “Your nose is off. I’ll redo it.” The only place in life Liv was a perfectionist was in art. “So do you want it?” Perfectionism wasn’t something he was inherently familiar with - he didn’t go for perfect, generally, because it was so easy for fae - but so long as she wished to improve on something, especially something like this, he would happily agree with anything she wanted to make perfect. Personally he didn’t see the flaws but he’d accept another painting without hesitation, if it was going to look something like this. “Of course.” Fiach still didn’t touch it, though, keeping his distance until she handed it over. “Once you’ve finished it, I’ll put it somewhere I can see it whenever the mood strikes me. Always, likely.” There were relatively few walls in the places really close to his heart, but there was always … well. “I could see you being remarkably sought-after by many in fairy for portraits like these.” Enchanted, even if it was only by the natural magic here, such things would be enough for gifts to land at her feet when she chose. Even if the other fae quickly lost interest in them and tucked them away somewhere, there would still be the immediate admiration to get her something worthwhile. Now, during the feast, or later, should she choose to stay … she had begged his boon for her brother, after all. She laughed, the sound as bright as she was, and she shook her head. “Oh, Raven, how old are you again? You should know better than to tip your hand.” Crossing her arms under her breasts, she leaned forward. For once, she was wearing something that covered her up. The dress, black and glittering, covered her from throat to toe, though it left her arms and back naked. She’d never have worn it while painting back home, but here? Here, oils didn’t destroy her clothes. She could paint in anything she wanted, and she liked looking sexy and being artistic at the same time. “What will you trade for it?” Her eyes glittered. Vanity, of course, did have its downsides. The grin froze for a moment, then smoothed into something more careful. He knew she had goals, intentions for herself but more likely it seemed for other people, and it wasn’t as if fae always got the better of humans. He let his eyes drift down her figure, the glittering black of her dress more than a little suited to his style, and leaned back with a roll of his shoulders. “We all make mistakes,” Fiach said lightly, still grinning, watching his every word with care. “I gamble less often than you’d expect.” His eyes drifted back to the painting. Bets weren’t gambling, really. “It’ll take more than a picture to secure a boon, though it certainly does help on the path … I only have one, you see, and there’s a fair number of mortals here asking that I grant it to them.” Some more stridently than others. But Olivia had a number of advantages in her favor. Still, it wouldn’t do to show his hand. Again. “So I suppose the question is, what would you ask me to give for it?” “So let’s not gamble. Even trade.” She kept one arm crossed over her chest but gestured toward the gazebo behind her. There were piles of canvases inside it, stacked on top of each other. The wet ones were on the tops of the stacks, fairy having obliged her by drying her oils much faster than they should have. “That one--” She nodded her head toward the very large portrait. “--isn’t the only one of you I’ve done.” She made her way toward the gazebo, her dress clinging to her hips and thighs so closely she had to take much shorter steps than she was used to, and her bare toes peaked out from under the hem. She hated painting in shoes of any kind. It was a weird thing with her. “And if not a portrait or four…” Liv picked up one of the smaller portraits. It had been a color test, and one of the few that was still a bit wet. Blues and blacks gleamed on the surface of the canvas, eerie and inhumanly iridescent colors. “I’m sure we can find something I have that you want.” She flashed him another wide, earnest smile. An even trade. Possibly she didn’t know what would be equal for a feast’s boon, or she wouldn’t say such things. If he granted it to her, she could have anything that was within his power to grant, and like all fae, Fiach had a lot of power. Perhaps not over certain domains, but over more than enough to give a mortal power that other mortals would tremble to know of. A few feathers that could grant flight, or safety, or to whisk one away by magical means. A withered branch that would keep one from getting lost in the wild. A piece of cloth woven so fine it rivaled even the richest of silks that would keep one warm, no matter the cold … or take all the warmth from whoever else decided to take it from the owner. Or simply power. Gifts untouchable but there. A cast of glamour, though he’d probably get in trouble for that. The possibilities were endless; the thought of an even trade was almost enough to make him grin. But he kept his expression even, following her with languid grace toward the gazebo where the rest of her paintings were stacked. His eyes glanced down over her body once, the way the cloth kept her restricted. Thoughts curled through his mind, and he looked back up to her when she spoke, his smile slight and calm. “I’m glad to have been such an inspiration.” Among other subjects, he noticed - though it didn’t bother him. “And I am flattered. By this and more. But to trade evenly … will be difficult.” Moreso for her than him. He leaned against one of the posts of the gazebo. “Are you really prepared to spend the rest of your life here in return for one person’s safe return?” She watched him with a curious expression, leaning her hip against the frame of the gazebo’s entrance. “That seems like it’s unfair to me,” she said, brushing her hair out of her face as an errant wind tugged at it. Invisible fingers, the magic of necessity, swept the sides of it until pretty black clips that matched her dress without her even realizing she’d done it. Really, if anyone was on their way to being more at home in fairy than the mortal world, it was Liv. She’d always lived on the edge of fantasy, seeing the world’s with an artist’s skewed perception instead of how it really was. Even without a canvas, she could paint flowers in a halo around someone’s head or see everyone as minimalistic strokes of a brush, all swatches of color with no real form. “It’s not like you’d be keeping me forever.” Not that she necessarily wanted to be kept forever. “You’d get bored.” But she shrugged anyway, an easy roll of her shoulder. “I guess it wouldn’t be terrible, though. I mean, at least here, I’d have inspiration all the time, even if I have to find it from other people.” She canted her head to the side. “So I suppose I’m okay with that. The whole staying here forever thing. Only place I can pound back six shots of tequila in a row and not die. Or paint in a dress.” We’re not known for fairness, he thought, because really, they weren’t. It went both ways, of course, but mortals got burned far more often than fae when it came down to it. Fiach watched as Olivia put up her hair without a second thought, the magic of the place curling to her whims happily. Mortals didn’t often take to the place quite so well. It was always interesting to find ones who did, and he rested his hands in his pockets as he watched her move, tilt her head at him, speak as if nothing in the world was wrong. Maybe for her, nothing was. His grin softened a bit. “There are more possibilities here,” he agreed. “And no doubt you’d be treated well, at least in the Seelie court. But it’s not your world, and eventually I’m sure you’ll miss something. Get homesick, if not lonely.” Though possibly that wouldn’t be an issue for her. “And, like you said, if the courts grow bored of you and send you back … it won’t be to the time you remember. Years might have passed. Centuries.” His look was more careful now, watching her for doubts. “Is he worth so much?” If they sent her back. Most tended to linger among the courts, unnoticed, forgotten. Though perhaps that was a better fate. He didn’t know; few humans ever experienced both and came back to tell the tale. “Miss something, hm.” Liv moved away from him, into the gazebo, and the bulk of the skirt vanished into smoke, leaving her legs naked as she moved through her paintings. She plucked one from the back. It wasn’t a very interesting picture, except that the painted clouds drifted across the canvas and the grass waved in an invisible breeze. The rest of the landscape was taken up by a house. Two stories, with a pale exterior of not-quite-ivory. But the details of it were lost. She’d sketched in where windows should go, and the place a door belonged, but none of it was painted in the bold strokes with which she rendered all her other works. “Landscapes were never really my thing,” she said to explain it away as she offered it to him. “That’s home.” Ambiguously stated, that’s. “You may not get it, because you’ve always been here, and from what I understand you don’t really change courts. But home? Home changes.” She slipped up to his side, pushing his arm out of her way and pressing against him, peering critically at the painting in his hands. “I remember even less of it now.” It wouldn’t be so bad, she thought, to be surrounded by inspiration all the time. She sighed, then brightened. “But, I suppose, too, if you can’t do it, I can find someone else who can. I know not all fae are as powerful as the next.” No, he didn’t really understand the concept, though possibly he did more than countless other fae. They were at home with solid concepts, with the nature of the courts: chaos could be unchanging in its own way, after a long enough time had passed to observe it. Mortals, though, changed constantly, even to the point where their concepts of the safest place to be could shift like leaves in autumn. Fiach eyed the painting along with Olivia, though his analysis was different than hers. Home changes … He glanced down at her, still grinning faintly as he set down the painting carefully so as not to smudge one of the other ones stacked nearby. She was saying, he assumed, that she could eventually see this courts as home, and that it wouldn’t bother her. Much. Possibly something would be tucked away deep inside, but mortals never liked to talk about the things they buried so deep … though that he could sympathize with. “Are you trying to sway me by attacking my pride?” he asked, amused, a laugh pulling at the corner of his mouth. “A dangerous move, where some fae are concerned. I’m more than powerful enough. But hedging your bets is never a bad thing. After all, you might get two out of it.” To get a boon from two different fae was unlikely and incredible, but he’d laugh to see it happen, even if he was one of those involved. He slipped one arm around her waist, keeping her close, but it was a loose grip. If she wanted to pull away, he wouldn’t hold on. “I suppose you’re telling me yes, he is worth it.” Fiach watched her carefully, studying the lines of her face. “I wonder what he’s like.” Two. Now that would be a coup. She knew enough about lawyering - care of Tony - that she was fairly sure she could get what she wanted from one boon. But having another… She laughed to keep the greedy smile from her face, turning toward him with her head tipped back. “I’m not telling you anything.” Her expression fell a little, though not too terribly much, at the thought of Fiach wondering anything about Tony. But it was only for a second, and then she was grinning again. Olivia, forever smiling, almost entirely unreadable. She was getting very good at that whole masked expression thing. “Boring. Dull. He’s a lawyer. He’d arbitrate you to death and then you’d come after me, all grumpy and demanding to know why I’d ever brought him up.” She turned away, letting some of her expression show, then. Grief. “He doesn’t really care about me, though.” Old words. An old argument. “None of them do. Not enough good.” She waved her hand dismissively at her art. “I was never good enough for them.” All the insecurities she felt made her voice waver, all the uncertainty. Sorrow made her voice hitch and brought the burn of tears to her eyes. Liv wasn’t like some people who fought tears, but she hated how crying made her eyes red and her face splotchy, so she tried to do it where no one would see. Fiach wasn’t the only vain creature wandering around. Olivia told him significantly more than she likely wanted to just by tone of voice and then by the dismissal. He may have been a dull enough figure - something he doubted - but at the same time, he meant something to her. Whether good or bad. “And yet you’d give up everything to send him home,” Fiach said quietly, still watching her, but giving her the space enough to turn away if she wanted, to let her hide the tears. Some humans were picky about that, and he could understand why. Most fae were the same way. He was. But let her think that was due to natural fae arrogance in general. “I think perhaps you value him, and what you’d leave behind, more than you expect … and if he’s here, especially if he was looking for you, then likely you mean more to him than you thought.” Not that she’d said that, but it was fairly rare for people as close as siblings to wind up here just by chance. Besides, it had likely been some time since she left the mortal world. Undoubtedly, no matter how bad the relationship, there had been some worry back home. “He’s an ass,” she said bitterly, blinking back her tears and turning to him with a smile that wavered ever so slightly before her expression turned slightly dangerous, her eyes flashing with something that would be more at home on the face of one of the fae. “But I swear to God, or whatever you believe in, Fiach, if you or any other poncy fairies hurt him, I’ll rip your heart out.” She let that hang in the air for a second before breaking into brilliant peal of laughter. “Or whatever. God knows he’s got a massive stick up his ass, and that’s not why I wanted you here.” She pointed at a stack of five canvases, all of him. One of him and her from their time in the bedrooms. “Those are done, and you can have any two of them. I’ve got to get back to that other before the paint dries too much and then it’s unworkable. And.” She gave him a saucy smile as she pulled away. “We have a Ranvir to seduce.” |