Charlotte reached out for her. She didn’t move. She would be grateful for a little comfort. And she felt that, in a strange way. The fear dropped away. She felt...numb. And that was preferable to the fear and the worry.

Charlotte was right. She was there to help. And Kathleen needed to be there to help her, too.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, of course. I...guess I was just out here too long alone. Thinking too much. Whatever you need, Charlotte. We’ll figure out what’s going on.”

Punishment. (She feared that.) Reward. (She ached for that.) But there was a third. And even in the depths of that trance, she couldn’t see it.

“No, Master. I don’t know.”

She made the softest whimper, a breathy little sound. She had to tip her head down to look at the vampire. And what she saw brought another of those breathless little whimpers. Her hips moved on their own, needy already for what was being teased at.

“Y-- yes. Yes...Katya…”

The question confused her, but she tried to answer as best she could.

“To be yours, Master. All of me, yours. To be taken care of, and to take care of you. To take care of myself as much as I can so you can feed from me. To please you. Most of all to please you.”

The problem with that, of course, was that she wasn’t sure how much more Irena would require to then feed some of it back to Katerana. For the first time in all her years of planning and plotting, she was beginning to wonder if the course she was on was the right one. And that doubt was unsettling. She wasn’t a creature much given to doubt. Especially not to self-doubt. The plan was everything.

Except that the plan was going all wrong now.

“Perhaps. It’s probably too soon to be taking her out for a hunt anyway. I need to be sure you can control her sufficiently, first.”

She sighed, considering Rosemary. The girl was so...damaged. And certainly some of that was on her. But not all. Not even most. The girl was damaged when Katerana found her.

“And perhaps if we stay in tonight, you can enjoy Irena. I know you desired her. I would enjoy seeing you have what you want from her.”

Yo.

Hey. How's?

bbl

>.>

Hey, Kelly.

Hey Colin.

Hm.

=thud=

WINNI. <3

I sure am.

Winnuh.

=cartwheel= Yo what up.

I really need to stop making so many handles.

In the specific case, I'm sitting here acting like I'm working. In the general case, I am limping through life with a cane, and I think we're at the point where I can justify the investment in a nicer cane. You?

Hilariously, buying a cane actually.

Oh.

Give me a review!

I just bought a folding cane for Sawyer because his normal one is kind of awkward for road trips. He's bought canes from the same online store before though, like one for his wedding, and he really liked them. It's "fashionablecanes." We had to hunt for a cane that would suit a really big guy - Sawyer's sort of scaled like a fridge and 6'4" tall so he needs a pretty durable cane. It's pretty durable.

. . .

I just asked him what he usually uses, and the one he uses daily (that doesn't have a sword in it) is a GT-80 carbon fiber cane from the hilariously-named Elderluxe.

. . .

...hubba hubba.

Sorry, fixing handles.

Hey, I don't mind periodic cute girl pictures.

Well, when would you? I mean, honestly?

Given my daily thirst-posting? Can't think of when.

I have had multiple people tell me I need a sword cane, honestly.

He's got a couple sword canes that he frequently uses - one's a Cold Steel, the other one is an antique. It helps to know how to use a sword.

I did fencing lessons for a few years, oddly enough. Where does he recommend for sword canes?

. . . I keep thinking that hands over ears could equate to deafness.

Or hands near ears, anyway.

Father.

Daughter.

Just need to figure out Auggie and Ira.

"Nothing that has one of those shitty screw-top things where you have to unscrew your blade." Apparently the Cold Steel one is pretty good overall.

Apparently he has two different ones, the "quick draw spike" and "heavy duty sword" versions.

This looks like the heavy duty sword version:

[ Link ]

And thank you, both.

I'll work on Ira since I've no clue yet who I'm using for Auggie.

Basically he says the biggest things to watch out for are "rattle and flash" because they not only give away that your cane is a weapon but also indicate a poor fit and finish.

Yeah, that's the heavy duty sword. The spike is apparently a little faster and easier to deploy, because of the grip and the blade style, and you can always whack someone with it without cutting them.

Also, we're both happy to help!

Ugh. . . I think I need to remake this one.

Oh definitely. Way too grainy.

The body shop just called, my car is going to be ready to pick up today, and not next Tuesday like they said a few weeks ago. Thank goodness.

Ugh, I had a customer trying to claim I dented his dumb-ass SUV, and I showed him the pictures I took when it arrived with the damn dent already there. I always do that. He was so goddamn mad. Then I gave him a quote to remove the dent and he got even madder. He can now die mad.

Some fucking people.

The things people think they can put past others. . .

Jackass tried to threaten me with legal action. I handed him my lawyer's card and told him to make sure he fucking paid me. He shut up and agreed to my price to pull the dent. Idiot.

Speaking of customers, I'm gonna slap this lady in the tits if she doesn't stop.

Today on Winni's Attack on Idiotic Customers.

...

...

Okay, now what face to give Auggie. /rubs chin-

Ugggh lady shuuuuuuuuuut uuuuuuuuuuuup, goddamn.

Ugh, I can't come up with anything. . . at least, for the moment.

I still think Allegra is incredibly pretty.

Emilia Clarke. <3

I hate that I'm blanking on Auggie.

Hrm.

[ Link ]

uee hee hee hee

teeheehee

I am Peach in this scenario.

I knew that already.

Really? That's weird, I'm pretty low-key about it!

Yes. Yes you are.

Yup. Definitely did not at any point spend a solid week thirst-posting about Bowsette.

>.>

<.<

~~ mobile. ~~
( -corner fox perch- )

Ugh. Back.

Mmmm JDM.

How're you guys today?

Doin' pretty good, the dryer has been installed and laundry can resume!!

And I did some handles. At random.

Hurrah

Mhm!

I think I have one more I need to make. But I think I have to consult first.

Meow.

Lia. <3

~~ mobile. ~~
I laaag.

Finally found a face.

Yay, face!

Okay, sorry, flashed all over again.

~~ mobile. ~~
You flasher.

And back again. Sorry. I will be slow/in and out for just a bit. We just got home and I have to be up and down for a bit. So I promise, not ignoring anyone.

Lia. <3

And you flash all you want.

. . . Cass.

*lol* FLASH.

Ah-Aaaaaah-aaaa!

FLASH ALL YOU WANT.

/dies laughing-

I want to do something with him. But can't really yet.

But I can't seem to make words atm for all the stuff I do owe.

Siiiiiiiiiiigh.

He's beautiful. If I may say.

I am rather pleased with this, yes. I mean, I was only looking off and on from about midnight last night to noon today. With a couple hours to sleep and working in between and breakfast for the grandkid. Lord, guys are so hard for me to find pics for.

I actually have more trouble with girls. Haha. But I get it. I do.

Dude yes, guys are hard. *lol* Most of them have very boring clothes and a lot have very similar and narrow hair style ranges.

. . .

. . .

. . .

. . . and then I come to realize I'm mostly making handles with like, no endgame other than to have them. Good job, Kelly.

BACK OVER HERE.

Ooh, Milagros. I like that name.

*lol* I used to do that on occasion myself, just because it was like, "But I waaaant it."

lol

OH! By the way, debit card turned up.

My middle kid had found it and put it in her jewelry box for safekeeping before going to sleep, and gave it over when asked. Good on Tifabeast.

Awh, sweet Tifa.

What Lia said, at least for me.

Yes, I lag again.

I'm glad you found it, Lia.

I will say, a few of my most beloved characters came from making something just because I wanted to use a particular pic.

Brandon is too pretty. Really.

She's probably the highest on the "made just because I wanted to use a picture" list. And absolutely one of my favourite characters.

That is a fun picture. :)

Hmm, continue with goofy arse Gwion piece or not. *gnaws*

WOOOOOOOOOORDS.

words.

/thinking face-

*lol* Let's see if I can manage goofy repetitive Victorian fairy tale tone again.

*sigh* Lizzie does things to me.

*lol* I continue to regret axing my post by accident last night. I had a vague order in mind of what he was singing to silly flowers for Goddess reasons, and I cannot for the life of me remember what came next. :p

Who doesn't she do things to?

Good point.

Heh.

(Things only significant to MEEE for 1000, alex. :P )

I am sure I'm not the only one who is driven bananas by forgetting something they wanted to write for THEM reasons, though. :D

Oh, no, believe me, I get you, Lia.

Shit. Brb, need to attend to Mum.

*holds fingers ready to write*
*called away to read ALL THE MORE NARNIA*
Uuuuugh The Last Battle is problematic.

*flop*

mew

Hey, Lia. <3

She nodded.

"I'm going to go call the police, from the town where he said he was at last. I checked with the hotel, they said he was still checked in, so there's that. Then, I am going to try and do something to distract myself. Can you meet me by the pool in a bit? And I don't want you to worry about him while we're there. Just... forget, for a little bit."

She still had her hand on that bracelet, and she was using so much magic now, to keep Kathleen calm, to suggest to her these things. Because if Kathleen started to panic, she might, too.

I want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight. . .

It's a great song, innit?

That is one of my favourite songs. It ends up in almost all my playlists.

Also, hi.

*resettles, goes back to poking stuff*

It's awesome. I love SWR.

Oh. Colin.

Okay, done with that.

Hm.

That's very nice.

Yeah. But I'm back to having second thoughts. So, eh.

Did you want to talk about the new city tonight? You said last night you might have questions.

You should be dancing, yeah. . .

Yeah. I'm trying to remember what was said enough to write something - anything - for some of this stuff.

I'm just randomly singing songs.

And trying not to think about something else.

Sorry.

What are you trying not to think about? Yes, I'm awful.

And here's what I saved from last night's discussion:

(So, one of the ideas I had, probably the clearest, is that the fey court, such as it is, is run by a fey Lady who was widowed when her husband died, coincidentally shortly after she acquired a vampire caitiff. The widowed Lady hides herself away with the caitiff, issuing orders that seem strange to everyone, but nobody dares question her lest the whole thing slide into chaos.)

(Somewhat. She's really a caitiff, has the collar. But the binding didn't go so hot.

It was sort of a show of fealty. The vampires turned over someone the fey wanted badly, because they're basically second fiddle in Bright Bay. But the fey Lord underestimated his new prize, and here we are.)

(So, I'm thinking it was the leader of the vampires. The fey won their battles with the vampires, although it left them weakened, and the vampires betrayed their leader to buy an uneasy peace.)

Thank you. I'll crawl off to go try to figure this out.

Should I be looking to make the fey chick?

Yes, please.

Alright.

Uh. Basically a enchanted woods that transports you to medieval times.

Real medieval times or enchanted medieval times?

. . . See now you're making me think about it more.

I am just the worst, aren't I.

03-Jan-2019, 20:49:15 MST

[ Ano. : silencioesoro. ]

Out of Character | co-host | occasional player
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take this sinking boat and point it home...
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I hit my hand on that towel bar that it bruised right away.

and I now have a welt. lol.

Definitely.

lol Ano.

That's not a good prize.

03-Jan-2019, 20:52:52 MST

[ Ano. : silencioesoro. ]

Out of Character | co-host | occasional player
-------
take this sinking boat and point it home...
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Do not do windmills in the bathroom.

RAAAAAH sacrificed my computer to let manthing watch Gotham.
Let's see if I can get anything written in like 20 minutes tops.

<3 folks. Meow to you

03-Jan-2019, 20:58:20 MST

[ Ano. : silencioesoro. ]

Out of Character | co-host | occasional player
-------
take this sinking boat and point it home...
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HILIA.

03-Jan-2019, 20:58:21 MST

[ Ano. : silencioesoro. ]

Out of Character | co-host | occasional player
-------
take this sinking boat and point it home...
-------

HILIA.

03-Jan-2019, 20:58:29 MST

[ Ano. : silencioesoro. ]

Out of Character | co-host | occasional player
-------
take this sinking boat and point it home...
-------

There was supposed to be a space there.

*lol* I am okay with that.

AH.

I think I remember where I was going with this now. It may be longish, does anyone mind if I repost what I had finished before for Gwion before I continue writing, so I don't need to flip back and forth between windows as much?

03-Jan-2019, 21:00:33 MST

[ Ano. : silencioesoro. ]

Out of Character | co-host | occasional player
-------
take this sinking boat and point it home...
-------

Now I'm like how would I say Hilia?

Like the place in Zelda? *lol* That's how I hear it the most when people say it fast. :p

Feel free, Lia.

Anony. <3

03-Jan-2019, 21:02:12 MST

[ Ano. : silencioesoro. ]

Out of Character | co-host | occasional player
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take this sinking boat and point it home...
-------

Sooo... hyleeah?

Yep.
Julia sounds like hu-leee-ah, so hyleeah seems about right. :p

RAH WRITIN TIME.

"My Lady, forgive." Gwion knelt before the shining woman, his head bowed, his eyes upon the bare feet all ringed with new growth, bobbing, small blossoms. "I did not think you meant to come yourself."

Her laughter was like water, sweet and bright. For a moment, he forgot the shame of being found in rough and travel-worn clothes, of being a few days out from a proper bath. "It is nice to see you, too, Gwion. Don't be so silly. Stand up."

He stood slowly, though his eyes remained upon the grass and tiny blooms at her feet. She smelled of rich growth, air after rain.

"Oh, is it a bad time?" she then asked with worry in her tone. The brilliance of her presence dimmed, fractionally.

He looked to her face, then. Moon pale, it was, and gently gleaming. The eyes that looked upon him were pale as soft cloud, lit round the edges with hints of silver. Like hope of sunshine, they were. Her petal pink lips curved in a smile so warm and genuine that the sting of tears touched his eyes, though he held them back for now. Dark hair flowed about her, tiny bright crystals gleaming like stars in its lengths. It draped and caught in the great, gleaming wings, all moonstone and oilslick sheen, that arched above and behind her.

A great, white, gleaming flower was tucked behind her ear. Not quite like the little starry blooms that had burst to life when the fragile orb she had given him was broken upon the ruins of the church the Unnamable had destroyed when she first elevated the Black King and began to call doom upon Kanace. It was larger, a handspan wide, trailing bits of vine with dainty silver pods. The gleam was more blue than silver, and it added a hint of sweetness to the air all its own.

"Never for you, Lady of Light," Gwion told her. And in his heart of hearts, he meant it in that moment.

Her smile turned tender, almost maternal. She reached up and stroked his cheek, leaving a streak of gleaming, faintly blued pollen in the wake of her touch. "And this," she said with a sweet laugh, "is why you are one of my favorites, Gwion. Now! What I am here for, before I forget. I know how you feel about Kanace."

His face did not fall, precisely, but the sincerity slipped a little. However, he stood in obedient silence, looking upon Rhyedeen without quite looking down. A tricksome thing, for she came to his chest. Really, the kneeling had been more sensible.

"Still. I would like you to take something there for me."

It would be a difficult journey. More difficult each time. He knew he had been forbidden from it, but he had been forbidden by a man now more a ghost bound in heresy than any wise guide. And she had given him so much, and asked so little for it.

"As you would, Lady of Light. What would you have me carry?"

She reached up into her hair, plucked the flower and its attendant, delicately trailing green vine from it, then set it upon his wrist. The vine tightened there, like some overfriendly little creature.

"This. It will be my daughter's heart, you see. I have much to do, but I think you can have it there and ready. It will need for nothing but your songs," she reassured him, as he gave a start. For it was no short journey, the land itself. "Take her to where it began. I think she is ready."

She then set a hand upon his shoulder. "Now bend, because you are too tall." He bent obediently, and she pressed those sweet and tingling lips to his forehead, all weariness and pain wicking from him as though they had never been at that touch. "Do not forget your lute, Gwion," she then told him, before fading as though she had never been.

Save he'd reminders. The large, curious flower, like some absurd corsage, and the wide patch of rich grasses and tiny blooms sprung from the weathered stone. The boyish comfort and joy in her presence faded with her, and the enormity of what an absurd thing had happened really sunk in.

But...but she could go to and fro as she pleased! She'd other servants, without obligation! Why...

He looked down at the flower and took a deep breath.

"Very well then. Sing to you and take you many week's journey through madness."

He wanted to complain. Desperately so. But it would do nothing for him, or his odd charge, or the Lady he owed so much to. Her gifts had not made the world anew, but had made it better, wherever they touched. And was that not something, in this shadowed world? Did he not owe her this?
It was a long way to go afoot, but how in blazes was he to hire a horse with a blasted flower to care for?

The thought was unkind. He would find a way. And so he walked, turning from the Bryoni hunting trail he had traveled to go the other way, the forbidden way. The first day was good progress, for he knew paths here that the men Kiara had given his country to would not, and the Silver Lady held fast in these peaks, freeing them of the corruption that had come to spread again.

The second was lonely, but same. There was water to wash in, if cold. The dark of night was dimmed by the gleaming bloom about his wrist. He knew the light would draw what was unwanted, so he moved with care and shaded it with his cloak. When it faded, he whisper sang, little songs he had sung to his sisters when they were still in his mother's belly as a child. He hardly knew what he did, until they slipped from his lips.

They had been songs of hope, and songs of how bright the world waiting was. Songs of longing to see them, for Liana had told him they would be playmates, and dear. Songs of the flowing lights above, and the cool sea are, and the brilliance of sweetmeats on the tongue and the sheer joy of life and living.

They were foolish little things, the conceits of a child who knew no true sadness. And though he felt a little silly, the flower thrived, a few more vines trailing up his arm.

He felt absurd. Old Wolf would mock him mercilessly. The other knights, too. But she had given him so much, and it was so little in return.

The next night was colder, unseasonable snow a crisp and gleaming hazard, even with the moon's light stolen away. Though it sent a shock to his senses each time he heard the loud noises of his steps, for border guard might wander here, still he breathed songs to the flower when it wilted.

They puffed upon the air, strands of blue light catching in the mist of his faint music.

They were songs he had sung for Susana, when the moon-time came upon her and the world was only half real. Songs to call her back from ghosts and frightful maybes. Pretty things that tinkled through the cracks in the visions her blood had woven round her, things he could never see. Never feel. So he had made things for her that were calm and kind and true, things like the soft blanket between them as he lay beside her on the bed, never quite touching, but near.

He soothed her soul, when he was near, she always told him when they were children. Her silly baby brother who only saw the sun. Who never asked her what tomorrow would bring, because he loved today.

These, too, pleased her silly flower. It continued to thrive for him, though he was weary and wary, and needful of water if he was to sing much longer.

The next day came, though barely noted. The mists were thick and cottony. They burned in the throat and stung in the senses. But he found a little pool and drank, and did not let himself think on the worry of it. And as he rested a while among the rocks, singing the fool, drooping flower songs he had sung baby Kiara when they said she'd not live the week, he found he needed pause his singing, for the sound of some great beast moved in the mist.

But when it parted, it revealed his wild Bryoni-raised niece, astride her dark wolf and with her hair all full of vines and silver gleaming flowers. The Silver Lady who purged the darkness wherever she grew.

It was with a little trepadation he revealed himself to her. She laughed at the great flower he had been bidden to carry, then whistled low.

"Aoife's children would never eat some flower heart," she told him, and the madness of it all made him open his mouth to ask if she was real.

A damned fool question; why would hallucinations answer?

But the young silvery wolf with black streaks in its fur, massive and primal and truly a beast of the mountains, felt real enough. And it was not a proper mount--he knew himself invited, and he did not dare to direct it. Instead, he told Viviene his tale in hushed tones, and she looked away a moment before admitting she had been samewise sent. Not to carry some great big flower, but to go to where it all began, where she had sought succor for dying father, been granted hope, and had it cast away.

He smiled for the girl, and sang for her the songs for little Kiara, too. For a while. While they were safe. They seemed to please the wolves well, wild though they were in spirit, and they seemed to please the starry blooms that trailed Viviene's midnight hair even more.

But the black night was for silence, and caution. Greater fear, because to disappoint the Lady would be unfortunate, but to lose his young niece would be tragedy. Yet still, they persevered.

There were the bones of old vineyards, the broken backs of erstwhile stables. The burned-out shells of stately homes, and the tummult of beast ruined fields. And there was care, and there was quiet.

But woven in it, he found his time to sing his whispered songs to the fool flower on his wrist. She'd put it on his shield hand, he absently realized as he sang it songs he'd sing Jacob while they were on the road, laughing things, things to brighten and straighten his brother's shoulders.

He'd learned loss, by then. Silly losses, compared to what streched before them. But the songs hadn't. And they had made even quiet, distant Jacob laugh.

The flower loved them well. They left the Silver Lady in their wake.

He worried they might be tracked by them, but Viviene pointed out her flowers spread by wind, by bird, by beast. They might have followed any random path. And besides, to fret was to slow them, and she had much to do.

So, so much to do for so young a girl.
The mists were thicker, now. Co ...

... lder. There were whispers in them, and the earth beneath troubled the wolves. Gwion offered to make them covers for their paws, which filled Viviene with a silent fury at first, but at last, looking upon Aoife, she acquiesed.

they were simple things, torn from his worn cloak. Coaxed closed with those delicate vines. They seemed amniable to the matter, though.

They agreed it would spoil their grip, But the wolves moved more certainly, more surely. Gwion whispered with Viviene.

They agreed it was madness. They agreed, too, that the Lady had given them too much to refuse her. They shared what rations they'd the sense to take, and then he sang the drooping flower songs he had sung Kiara, as she grieved. As she became the hope of Tivar, a little while. The hope of the World, a little, little while. Though the world was painted with blood, and darkness, and fear, and they had lost almost everything to darkness, they had been songs of light. Light to pierce the webs of vision and fear that kept Kiara from sleeping. Light to warm her as she dwelt in lands of fear. Light to help her be the light for so, so many.

Viviene smiled a little on Aoife's back, as her uncle sang low. She did not want to. That rich, angellic voice was an alien thing in such clammy, clinging fog. Surely it would bring enemies down on their heads.

But somehow, it didn't. And though she thought herself above such things, the songs comforted her a little, too.

Okay?

...I'm sorry, I was too busy staring.

Alright. I'll be around somewhere. People know how to reach me.

She looked at Katerana, and she looked like she was trying to decide something.

"Why do you want to be a vampire?"

03-Jan-2019, 21:31:32 MST

[ Ano. : silencioesoro. ]

Out of Character | co-host | occasional player
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take this sinking boat and point it home...
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Okay, gonna do do the dishes and bop around a bit more.

I will not be doing windmills in the abthroom tonight.

03-Jan-2019, 21:31:53 MST

[ Ano. : silencioesoro. ]

Out of Character | co-host | occasional player
-------
take this sinking boat and point it home...
-------

beeteedubs, Kels, soon, we'll have to make someone/someone and plaaaaay.

"You are all of me yours."

She sighed, and laid out in the bed, crooking her finger.

"It does not seem to have made you very happy, though. I was hoping it would."

"You are, all of you, mine."

She sighed, and laid out in the bed, crooking her finger.

"It does not seem to have made you very happy, though. I was hoping it would."

"Well. I will be most displeased if you pass out. I still have things I want to do when I get you out of that."

And she leaned forward, and she attended to Tasha's pleasure with lips and tongue and a hint of teeth, slow and gentle so as to give Tasha some hope of doing what Katya had insisted upon.

The mists grew thicker, the world consumed by a strange luminescence that spoke of distant moonlight. Save, there was no moon. So it must surely have been day, yes?

It was hard to say, in the places where the mists rolled and gathered.

The silence was dense in their ears. The barren land beneath them took light now and then with a few trailing vines, as drifting pollen from Viviene's attendant blooms touched that dry earth. Corruption walked here, and walked rich and deep.

But was that not most of Kanace?

A bitter thought. There was no sound but the wolves' padding steps, their own breath, the rustle and creak of their garb. Even scent seemed to die here. Somehow, the perfume of the flowers, the sweat of their bodies, the musk of the wolves's fur all were muted to a dry, tingling sensation. Now and then, the mist stirred, suggested forms. Creatures. Humans. Something not quite either. But always it was whiteness, and dry, and empty as they passed it.

He could feel the young wolf tense, and though it was no tame thing, he stroked its great head to comfort it. The creature gave a low whine, then leaned into his fingertips, bestiring the curious blue glowing pollen and gaining its own fine glitter in coarse fur. Hardly anything to compare to all the silver gleams coating its dark mother--one could not be so close to Viviene without ending up as starred as a priest's cloak. But a little bit. The great flower hung a little limp, and so, though it was hard to find his voice as the air grew denser, he sang through the numbness.

He sang it songs he had composed in his head, while wandering the jungles of Rajasran. Songs of beauty and love and hope for Linnea. Songs of new beginnings, growth, and life for Liran and Donatien, yet unborn at the time. They had liked them well as toddlers, when he had finally gotten to meet them? Liked them as well as the blossom had, which took on life and flourished. The delicate vining had gone up to his shoulder, now. He could still flex and bend his arm beneath the rich green filligree, but it was still a strange feeling. Like fingers always gripping.

It did not pair well with the flow in the mist.

There was no darkness, there. So perhaps it was no natural light that lit the mists. He sang until he was hoarse, and then, though they were all loathe to do it, they stopped there. Gwion spread what was left of his cloak upon the parched earth for the silver wolf to settle on--a small thing for such a big creature, but a ward against the unpleasant feel of the dust. Viviene offered her own to Aiofe, then curled against her after swallowing a little water and offering the wolves what was left of their dried meat.

He offered his prayers, gave to the creatures, his niece, what he could of the strength the Lady of Light gave him to share out. He cradled the flower and rested his back against the wolf--in his head, he had started calling him Nuada, but he hardly knew if the creature had a name of his own, and would hardly presume.

You never knew with Bryoni beasts. These creatures were strangely alert, and Viviene certainly talked to her she-wolf as though she understood like a man.

If sleep came, it had been but more of the stirring, silent mist, the glimpses of figures. Flow of skirt, twitch of hand, hint of profile, jarring angles that fit not quite anything natural. He merely recalled slipping a little away, returning, and offering the Lady's blessing of health and strength once more to the wolves and Viviene.

Still, the great creatures seemed sluggish. He looked to the wild, dark girl--woman, really. It was hard to see Viviene as a woman, but silly to deny it. "I think," he said, his voice hushed and yet too loud, a violation, here. "I think it is time we walk. I had to walk to find it, the times before."

Viviene frowned, then buried her face in Aoife's dark fur, whispered to the creature, and stood, spreading her mantle over the great beast. Gwion gave his erstwhile friend the same treatment with the ragged half-cloak, breathed deep, then began to walk.

The world thrummed strange through him, even with the boots. He could hear the heavy tread of the wolves turned strange pattern--clear enough, they felt the wrong, too. Still, the trailing vines of Silver Lady caught in Vivene's hair left their wild growth in her wake, in odd patterns. They grew thick, and lush, and bright in the mist. Grew on the dead soil in rich profusion.

His throat burned, but he could see the way the bloom upon his arm wilted once more. Greedy thing. And so, he gave it what he had, the only thing he had for it. He sang.

This song was still full of warmth, of brightness. But it was not so innocent and warm as the others. There was sorrow in it. Songs of memory. Memory could be a honeyed thing, golden and warm, but there was a thin strand of pain in all of it. He never meant to sing such songs, songs he had made for himself when he woke from nightmares of his father, his sisters, his brothers withering away. Nightmares of what he had missed, seeking some miracle and failing. The pain of knowing Haven had been pounded away like castles in the sand, that the rest was worse. The agony of returning with Kiara's men, when she had ruled Tivar, and finding so many who would still live in corruption, disgrace, want, and desperation because they refused to believe the Goddess had been false and Kanace would never be again as it had been.

The words never said these things. They were rambling, sweet, and lovely songs of forests and oceans and shifting skies. Of paths and hunts and simple pleasures. But his heart had been filled with them as he had penned them, or traced them into the earth while sleepless another night, or simply sung them while strumming imaginary notes against his knee because he was in places his lute had not followed.

"Sing for Papa, too," Viviene said behind him, shocking him to silence a moment. He turned to look at her and saw dark trails through the dust on her face betraying that she had wept behind him. And then he looked with worry to the flower, but still it grew bright and strong, so he closed his eyes and walked ahead, ears open to the numbness of the mist even as he sang about the great, wild dragon-slayer, the giant warrior, the honorable and yet kind golden-haired king who had taken his sister to wife and brought her across the Mistborn Mountains to serve his savage and wakeful land beside him.

There were many ballads of Gareth Daragson, after all. They were to be heard in taverns even in places like Havali, because the giant of a man and his fairy-wife made a grand story to those who never knew him. They were not his songs, but in them was woven what he knew of Alina, and his moonchild-pale nephew who sat the throne now, and the little children. In them was tied thoughts of Gareth the Younger's golden wife, bound in sleep and ringed with the Silver Lady even now, and the desperation in his nephew's dark eyes when he had to tell him that the art to wake her was beyond him while his hands were still marred with her birthing blood, the blood of her wounds.

He trailed them away as a sob slipped from Viviene's lips, caught, half like a hiccup. And he could sing no more, for the dust and the mist were so tangled in his throat he felt as though the world were dying around them, fading away to nothing.

And then, he stumbled on a lump of rock.

The stone was irregular, broken masonry. It had been painted brightly once. Upon it was a delicate hand in curious bend, holding loosely a fanciful goblet, chips and pocks in the rich color. Like a church mural might bear. And he knew they were near.

The mist thinned, then drifted away, to reveal a place that glowed like all the moonlight and starshine of a century poured out over a small city, tumbling over a gentle and irregular hill. Through the dazzle, he could see thousands upon thousands of Silver Lady blooms, moulding themselves over everything. Silver trees threw up their arms in profusion. When last he came, there had been but ten. Now there were at least forty, their roots making knots and lumps in the profusion of blooms. Little jolts of color were there--some glittered, bits of broken stained-glass window or flashed, bits of painted stone with gilt and rich pigment. Some bobbed, and he realized that somehow, proper flowers had come to grow among the strange silver growth.

Viviene drew a long, slow breath beside him. They looked to each other. She swiped her face with her sleeve, fidgeted with her dark hair, then coaxed the Silver Lady vines that had attended her personally loose from it. They draped her like a mantle, trailing and yet never quite joining those before them.

The world smelled of clean rain, and lush green, and sweetness hard to place.

You would not think the bones of thousands lie beneath all that wealth of strange silver. At least none showed, now. Some still had, when last he had come, and they had jutted wild here and there, some even with dried flesh and shreds of rotted cloth yet, when first Gwion had come here. When he had broken the Lady's strange shimmering orb and sung hymns to it until he was hoarse, eyes closed, and opened them to see the first of the silver elms, the first Silver Lady vines spreading.

NOO manthing like, go to bed, and I am SO CLOSE to done. HSSS.

Bah. Putting it away. Maybe I can finish on Saturday.

Rest well when you get there, if anyone is about.

Ano, yes, agreed. We must do the thing.

THING DOING

DOING THE THINGS.

ALL OF THE THINGS

ALL OF THEM, EVERYWHERE AND ANYWHERE.

[ Link ]

Good song.

I try.

You do well.

Thank you kindly.

You're welcome.

Hm.

What's she for?

Right now, the only thing I know about her is that she's tough, but she's also struggling. . . puts too much of herself into work and comes home, drinks. . . probably lonesome.

That seems like something to be getting on with.

Yeah?

You got a core there. Lot of ideas that can go from there, depending on the mood and what interests you.

Right, might try and go darker. We'll see where my mind eventually drives me.

ALWAYS GO DARKER I mean you do you. >.>

And I'm going to sit on my hands before I ask about three other characters you made lately that caught my eyes. >.>

You can ask. . . no harm in asking?

What you do is ask what he was doing with his hands before he sat on them.

. . . CASS.

~~ mobile. ~~
>.> No don't ask that.

COLIN WHAT WERE YOU DOING WITH YOUR HANDS BEFORE YOU SAT ON THEM?

~~ mobile. ~~
-DEAD-

And now I'm going to pretend not to know what he was doing. ^____^

Typing, mostly.

Glenna Browning, Ciannait Mehigan and Allegra Crescenti are the ones I was curious about.

Glenna. . . I have no idea yet.

Cian is a junkie who gets very desperate, sleeps with her dealer so she can shoot up and winds up pregnant. She's going to get clean, so she is putting herself through withdrawal and trying to manage on her own. It's going to be a hell of a struggle.

Allegra, just a big sister, who puts the needs of others before herself and forgets she has needs too now and then.

IF IT'S A HOT CHICK HE'S CURIOUS OKAY.

~~ mobile. ~~
< Allegra's baby sister.

She gon' lose that baby.

Mhm.

~~ mobile. ~~
( - fixes tag- )

Cass, how dare you. I'm...

Okay, that's basically where I'm at, but still.

*cute smile*

Speaking of. Not that I have produced anything despite a desperate need to write tonight, I think I'm owed someone or other for something and I can't remember what and it's driving me nuts.

Am I wrong?

~~ mobile. ~~
-Snickers-

Hopefully I can come up with something for Glenna.

I mean, you're owed a great deal of things, it's hard to say which you're thinking of. Or do you mean the pic I flashed last night for Brandon's fey? Or do you mean the [insert whatever] for Ivy?

I hope so too!

Oh. It might have been her. Yeah, I meant like character creation, not posts. I never ask about posts, unless it's because I thought I didn't post something because brain stupid.

I honestly don't know. I just remember I needed to make stuff, and then I did, and then...

Yeah, ignore me. I'm going to my corner and play magic 8-ball with the dice.

Made the fey about an hour ago. Still need to figure out what's going on with Lisa and who she could have help her with this.