faefeasts: the midwinter gala - IC

[She hmms, and haws a moment, before finally speaking up.]

May I bother you for advice my favorite Sun?

It's taken me far too long to admit, or even realize, this. The proverbial cat should've been let out of the bag at my first ball, but I suppose my pride got in the way.

I don't know how to dance.

Could someone teach me? I'm not aiming to learn anything complicated. A tarantella or salsa is quite beyond me. A waltz would be enough. Just teach me to lead and possibly not to step on her toes.

[for the first time a gravelly voice decides to make its presence known, tightness in the words as if it has been far too long since she spoke last, weathered and aged, brushing off the dust of silence.]

All of you sounded like a bunch of animals in rut, I didn't know whether I should dump cold water on you or put you out of your misery with my bow. Luckily I became distracted, hm?

[A voice wisp, quite agitated.]

What sort of licentious place is this? I saw a man and woman...coupling on the grass. Where everyone can see! This place is a brothel!

Drinks, anyone? This is a celebratory time, is it not?

WHO: London and Talos.
WHAT: Prototype recovery.
WHEN: After this thread.
WHERE: Outside the library.
WARNINGS: None atm.

( There were half a dozen of Talos' creations scattered about the palace. )

[She clears her throat]

You create objects, yes?

[A voice wisp. Uaine's voice is calm, almost too soft to hear.]

It seems colder. Has anyone noticed that? Perhaps it's just me.

[The writing is angular and strong, clear and precise. As always, there is little second guessing with him.]

There is always a measure of comfort in knowing that nothing really changes at these parties. The same faces, the same personalities, the same games, the same outcomes. Some of the details may change, but the major things never do.

At least there seems to be a new recipe for honeyed dormice in use this year. It's an improvement.

Who: Aelius and London.
What: Aelius owes London a present!
When: Right now, time is kind of irrelevant.
Where: The feast near a table.
Warnings: I do not think any are needed.


( She would wipe it away with her finger tips, licking it off contentedly. )

This is fantastic - I suddenly understand why some of you men wear kilts and robes. You need to try it completely . The breeze down here. I can feel everything. And the sensitivity - mmmnm. I almost can't wait to get back to my own body to better appreciate how much you men can feel. And more wary.

I- I- I- oh.

As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives,
Each wife had seven sacks,
Each sack had seven cats,
Each cat had seven kits:
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives,
How many were there going to St. Ives?

I seem to have missed the King's masquerade. Such a shame. The dancing is always so enjoyable when he commands it.

[This is written with loops, thoughtful, yet not all together there.]

And how will you pay me back?

[His writing is striking and bold, the letters like slashes on the page. There is a hurried quality to his writing. He must have something to do.]

Tell me, my children, did you enjoy my masquerade? My Queen and I found you indescribably amusing.

[The Librarian's handwriting is tall and precise, with just the slightest flourish. There is little nonsense to his words.]

I would like to remind all that while your presence in the library is appreciated, I would request that all encounters that are even remotely sexual be taken to the reading rooms or out of the library itself. I do not appreciate tripping over tangled limbs on my way to fetch a book.

[His writing is spikey, intricate, and almost indecipherable to modern eyes. The spelling and punctuation are creative at best. Ben doesn't speak the way he writes. No one speaks the way he writes.]

As this bee the land of fairie and I knowe it is for could such divers marvells ever bee contained in any palace of men? it is fitting that every hour should be one hundred years. For how else could all its wonders bee seen? Perchance we truly are twixt heaven and hell yet tis a sweet state all the same. I do not fear for my soul as I should.

[Lin addresses it to everyone only because she can hardly be reminded to think individually of everyone she'd like to speak to. The wisp sounds distracted and apt to break off at any moment if something more interesting comes along.]

There is a boy here in a dress and the dress is shedding sparkles. I tried sticking them back on the train, but I don't think he noticed, or maybe he didn't care. I'm starting a collection now. Does anyone want any stars? They aren't as nice as the real thing of course, but they still shine.

[The wisp is a fragile thing, swirling in small tendrils, fluttering about without much purpose the way moonlight tumbles over stone. The voice accompanying is lost in delicate words.]

Oh... another? So soon? How many is this now? I always remember dancing.

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