The lunatic hadn't run off with her $10. He had gotten gas. He could have
gotten booze. But he had gotten gas. But he didn't know what to do with
it. Defenses down Hillery opened the door and went to the gas tank on the
side of the car. "Thank you..."

Elaine was working with blowpipe with a hot gather of glass on the end.
Steam and sparks came off the newspaper that she was using to shape the
glass. She looked over her shoulder and smiled, "Are you talking about
commissioned work, or would you like to make a appointment to work hot
glass?" She nodded toward eight very simple examples of paperwieghts,
perfect for the novice. Elaine continued to constantly to work the glass
on her blowpipe. "Well all of this is cooling off and has to go back in."
Elaine walked over to the glowing gloryhole and put the gather in. When
she pulled it out it glowed with heat and energy.

… I don't belive it! She actually gave you money master, no, no,
that's good, it doesnt have to be round and shiny nowadays. Now let
do this nice lady small favor and get the heck out of here before she
will call the … hmm, town guards, to capture us for stealing it…

… How you can be so unjust noble Iustus. She is in need and we are
the only ones who can aid her in such distress. Cant You see? Dragon
of Despair is loosing ground before you could cut his ugly face in
duel. But don't feel guilty. I have a strong feeling your intervence
will be needed soon…

… Just great!…

> Man bowed deeply again. " I will carry this errand in the nick of
time, Your Ladyship." He turned and run with amazing speed, but
hopefully in direction of gas-station. On his back dangled not a
stick, but carefully made wooden replica of Middle-aged two-handed
sword. It didn't look too dangerous ( as baseball bats arent
dangerous too, yes?) and surely was another proof of his mental
instability. Or a job in that renaissance fair.

It was taking as much time as needed to make Hillary think she made a
mistake, again, beliving in such nonexistent virtues as honesty and
sincerity in average bum. But when she put her head again on the
wheel and feeling of total hopelessness warmed her eyes with tears
again, gentle tapping on the window get her to the senses again.

" I am returned from this small quest succesful My Lady – exclaimed
Edwin with happiness of a child who made his first sand-castle and
was presenting it proudly to his parents.
" Alas, it took me some time to persuade that noble stablekeeper to
lend me this bucket – he presented gas-carnister – for transportation
of oily-liquid. I couldn't afford it for futher use If ever such a
shamefull uncooperation of your chariot would apperar, but he didn't
object if I only use it for your convenience. A really noble spirit
in that man, helping questing knight in such a times." <

… Not to mention this last bit of Glamour You spent my Master to
persuade that rude son-of-a-horse. Really generous You are, truly a
sire…

… Be silent, foul mouth and be excused. Generosity of the heart will
return to us tenfold, as a Book says. Have you forgotten noble
Iustus. Hapiness of her eyes would be my only gift I yearn…

> Man looked unsure now. " I beg You my Lady to forgive sturdy man-at-
arms his stupidity, but what now shall I do with this oil, pour it in
the mouth of the chariot?" Edwin stepped in front of a hood and
looked questioningy on Hillary, ready to spoil the gas.<

… No, NO! You idiot, that will frighten her to death, she will think
you want to kill her, that… oil is flammable!…

… Be at ease, rude friend. It is my subterfuge, are You blind? Dragon
is so sure of his win now, seeing my so-called mistake. Now I ll
strike into the heart of foul beast. She will leave the chariot to
show me my mistake. And I ll defeat monster who hunts her. Be
ready `Iustum and benedictum fiat!'…


--- In Ctd_Epiphany@y..., chicory_patch@l... wrote:
> Sammy's father had taken Hillary to a renessance fair, she had vague
> memories of that, this man would fit in there. Poor crazy man. She
was
> starting to understand him, understand what he ment, how it
translated.
> She looked in her purse and her nearly empty wallet. She opened the
> window a crack and pushed out $10, and prayed that he didn't take
the
> money and leave, she couldn't spare it.
>
> (sorry so sort, limite computer time this week.)

(no prob ;)

He shook her hand lightly, forcing himself not to kiss her palm
(women in America arent used to it, he remembered his lessons), sat
and sipped warm drink too, and closed his eyes from overhelming
sensation of plesure that slipped through his throat and made his
mind racing happily on the fields of flowers along with bees and…
Dagny Skjall. He opened his eyes, suddenly blushing red.

"That is wonderful. I ve never tried mead so rich in flavor and I can
assure You Miss Dagny that I am an expert concerning sweet alcohols
of Europe. Even in my old country they produce slightly less perfect
bucket of sensations. That is probably because I am now …" Matyas
stopped in mid-sentence realizing he let his hormons talk instead of
mind.
"Err…, um, what You asked? Am I… yes, you can call me an author, but
honestly not one of the highest grade. And I lost my… muse, so to
say… right now to continue some projects." He laughed trying to cover
look of pain on his face. "That's why I am walking in the dark,
loosing time instead of sitting in front of computer and trying to
shape fantastic worlds." He took a deep sip, letting alcohol ease his
suffering. It worked some times.

--- In Ctd_Epiphany@y..., "ash_leaf" <ashleaf13@h...> wrote:
> Dagny took the guys hand and smiled prettily. "Dagny Skjaal, my
family
> is from Norway, but I was born here." She said, with only the very
> faintest hints of a accent. "Aren't you the author that lives down
the
> road from me?" She asked taking a sipped of the warm mead. Heather,
> alcohol, honey, its an odd taste that cant be defined by the word
> "chicken". It worked better at warming the stomach than vodka did.
>
> > Matyas thought for a while, decided that would be the nicest
thing he
> > can participate in from very long time and smiled, this time more
> > cheerful.
> >
> > " Thank You, you are very kind. A rare gift this days." He
stepped
> > in, closed the door and looked around with experience of a
writer.
> > His mind was going around the shop and picking up details.
> >
> >  `Yes, those interiors are… very nice, they could work well in
next
> > tavern, no… better it would be spice-shop, hmm… I need to think
about
> > it. Oh, she has great eyes… stop it Matyas, now you need her to
be
> > offended by your staring…' He tried to overcome his thoughts and
> > focused on a cup, sitting down.
> > " Ouch, were are my manners" he stood up again, extending his
hand "
> > My name is Matyas Horthy, you can call me Matt."

Fia considered the sketches, he drew what he saw. She wondered what it
would be like when he drew what he felt, or imagined. What would it take
to make him jump from outer vision to inner vision? Then he commented on
her voice. But she was thinking, "Why do you draw? I sing because there
is something inside that needs to have voice..."

Sammy's father had taken Hillary to a renessance fair, she had vague
memories of that, this man would fit in there. Poor crazy man. She was
starting to understand him, understand what he ment, how it translated.
She looked in her purse and her nearly empty wallet. She opened the
window a crack and pushed out $10, and prayed that he didn't take the
money and leave, she couldn't spare it.

(sorry so sort, limite computer time this week.)

Dagny took the guys hand and smiled prettily. "Dagny Skjaal, my family
is from Norway, but I was born here." She said, with only the very
faintest hints of a accent. "Aren't you the author that lives down the
road from me?" She asked taking a sipped of the warm mead. Heather,
alcohol, honey, its an odd taste that cant be defined by the word
"chicken". It worked better at warming the stomach than vodka did.

> Matyas thought for a while, decided that would be the nicest thing he
> can participate in from very long time and smiled, this time more
> cheerful.
>
> " Thank You, you are very kind. A rare gift this days." He stepped
> in, closed the door and looked around with experience of a writer.
> His mind was going around the shop and picking up details.
>
>  `Yes, those interiors are… very nice, they could work well in next
> tavern, no… better it would be spice-shop, hmm… I need to think about
> it. Oh, she has great eyes… stop it Matyas, now you need her to be
> offended by your staring…' He tried to overcome his thoughts and
> focused on a cup, sitting down.
> " Ouch, were are my manners" he stood up again, extending his hand "
> My name is Matyas Horthy, you can call me Matt."

… All right, now easy Crusader. As You can see we have a helpless
situation here. Your lady wont leave this "Chariot" as you call it,
master, and this "Chariot" wont response to your pleas until you
enchant it and her of course. I wont allow it, you might perish after
that and, moreover you will give her heart attack. Listen to the
reason and if you not, as usual, just listen to the Common Sense…

… Enough! stop your shivering, noble Iustus, cant You see Dragon of
Despair is weakening, I am ready, I will defeat that Serpent of Banal
Thoughts. I wont fall back! …

… Oh, shh… ehem. Just, please master, ask her if she has a gasoline
can and some money, we will bring her gas, she will start the engine
and happily would drive home. End of saga…

… Yes, your words are wise, but they sound strange as usual. I don't
have your wisdom of Land of Youth. Alas, I cannot agree with the
last. She is in deep state of pain. We shall cure it…

… Speak for yourself, master…

> Still smiling, man lowered his head to the window to have his face
on the same level as Hillary. His hands werent making any sudden
moves, as he clearly was showing he hasn't any bad intentions.

" My Lady, it seems to me, that your vehicle still wont response to
our even most devoted sugestions. By your permission, may I propose a
visit to this stable I was humbly reffering to a while ago? I assure
You My Lady, that no harm from any heathen hand will even touch your
coat not to mention your Ladyship."

A stranger who introduced himself as Edwin of Dried Oak suddenly
blushed as red as brick.

" It is my most shameful agony, to mention, that I don't have any
gold coins to serve your vehicle some of the needed fodder from the
stable-master. But If You command I ll go and win some either by
stealthy approach or by sheer unstoppable force" – seeing her face he
added quickly – " of course I understand that commoners in Land of
Youth called America arent obliged anymore to serve nobles with
commodities. I agree tottaly with that. Times of my people have
vanished and are not to return. Alas, only some of the nobles
understand that as close as me. But enough of this philosophical
debate, would you do me a heavenly favor and accompany my humble
person to this shack where we would be able to end your troubles and
wake your chariot up? Or, If You wish, my Lady, toss me some gold and
I ll go as servant to bring a bucket of this oily liquid needed to
refresh that which I suppose is called `engine' and stays as heart in
your chariot."

Strange man bowed deeply again and stepped back, not even trying to
hide his hopes of Hillary company behind any reluctance. While she
could see him closer, he was suprisingly handsome and didn't smell as
a bum. His coat looked more weary than dirty and his eyes… his eyes
were as blue as ocean, as sky welcoming morning star, slightly oval,
and shockingly honest. Truly, eyes of childlish lunatic or… someone
else who was still slipping out of Hillary's mind. She saw similar
ones one day, but when was it, where, she couldn't recall.

Coated man with staff ( it looked as staff ) on his back waited
patiently for her answer. <


--- In Ctd_Epiphany@y..., chicory_patch@l... wrote:
> Hillary had not seen him at first her head was down as she cried,
but at
> her window a shadow fell as Edwin stood between her car and a
lamppost in
> the parking lot. It was like watching a bum act out the role of one
of
> the three Musketeers. Already tired and upset she froze for what
would
> have been a fatal moment if Edwin was an attacker and her doors
unlocked.
> She checked the locks and turned the key in the ignition, to no
avail.
> She gripped the steering while til her knuckles were white and she
> moaned, "Why me, why is this happening to me?"
>
> Before he could leave (ooc: if he intended, which I doubt) his words
> tried to sink in. He was as mad as a hatter. ~Just my luck, my
night in
> shinning armor is a lunitic.~ She looked between Edwin and the gas
> station.
>
> Hillary's heart raced as time passed, her eyes looking into
Edwin's, she
> was shivering in her cold car on a cold night thinking of her
little boy.
> She could sit here in the cold, or let the lunitic help her. The
look in
> his eyes, the sincerity, sincerity that Sammy's father had never
shown
> when he whispered words of love. Love that melted away in the harsh
truth
> of reality. She was an unwed mother, in a cold world, and her
little boy
> needed her. She had wanted to beleive that Samuel loved her, she
wanted
> to believe that this man would help her. That anyone would help
her. How
> could she dare? False believe lead to pain.


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OOC:
Well, ok, this one's been sitting a while, and I thought I'd break
out the ol' fae character...

IC:
Ailig gazes around Wheaton Village, breathing in the cold winter air
and blowing it out in misty puffs.  He smiles at the industry of all
the people running around, with their various occupations... like
little bees in a beehive, he thinks.  He idly strolls around,
observing the artisans at work, feeling the Glamour coming off of
some of them, and wrinkling his nose at the obsession with form from
some others.

The glassblowers seem to be the most mixed of the lot, but the
Glamourous ones shine like beacons with their creative energy.  Ailig
feels himself drawn to one glasshouse in particular; Bashir, the
chimerical ferret, perches on his shoulder in anticipation.  "Hurry,
will you?" he says irritably.  "I'm positively famished.  It's been
so long since we've fed last..."

"Twelve, to be precise," the Leanhaun murmurs.  "That band in
Philadelphia."

"Well, they weren't filling enough."  The chimera sniffs at the
house, pleased.  "This one, now, she smells particularly good... like
roses in the middle of a heavy snow."

"Then let's go introduce ourselves," Ailig smiles, putting on his
most charismatic face.  He enters the house and looks at the
collections of paperweights lining the shelves.  A sign advertises
personalized weights, so Ailig proceeds, seeking the artisan.  He
sees her standing there, and he quivers with anticipation... she's
beautiful and imaginative all at once.  He walks up to her and
smiles, saying politely, "'Scuse me, ma'am... are you the artist in
this house?  I'm looking for a certain kind of glass weight..."

~~ AlecRavager

OOC:
Aye, Kinain sounds fine.  And I don't remember if they have cider at
Wheaton Village, but I'm taking liberties, dammit.  :)  And I'm
switching to present tense, because it's the way I do it on the
forum, and it takes much longer for me to post if I have to remember
to do it in present... mwah.  :P  Let me know if it's annoying.

IC:
Jason nods eagerly, standing up.  "Just a minute, I'll get some," he
says brightly, "cider if you don't mind..."  He backs away a bit,
keeping an eye to make sure she doesn't disappear like some wonderful
dream, then goes to a refreshment stand nearby, ordering up two
ciders.  He hurries back over and finds her still there, to his
relief.  Giving her one of the ciders, Jason opens the sketchbook to
the first page, and says a bit diffidently (OOC: is that the right
word?), "They're not really that great... I'm sure you've seen
better..."

Most of his sketches seem to be of people watching the "villagers",
or of animals around the buildings, or villagescapes at different
times of the year.  He notices tears in her eyes, and asks her what's
wrong; when she replies, he's a bit perplexed.  He reminds her of her
family?  But then she moves right on and asks him how long he's been
drawing, and he shrugs.  "Not sure... a while, I guess.  I've been
doodling things as long as I can remember... but drawing like this...
I dunno.  It just started one day."

As for her singing, he says, quite truthfully, "If your voice is as
beautiful as you are, I'd love to hear you sing..."  He then seems to
realize what he just said, and blushes deeply, looking down in
embarassment.

~~ AlecRavager

… All right, now easy Crusader. As You can see we have a helpless
situation here. Your lady wont leave this "Chariot" as you call it,
master, and this "Chariot" wont response to your pleas until you
enchant it and her of course. I wont allow it, you might perish after
that and, moreover you will give her heart attack. Listen to the
reason and if you not, as usual, just listen to the Common Sense…

… Enough! stop your shivering, noble Iustus, cant You see Dragon of
Despair is weakening, I am ready, I will defeat that Serpent of Banal
Thoughts. I wont fall back! …

… Oh, shh… ehem. Just, please master, ask her if she has a gasoline
can and some money, we will bring her gas, she will start the engine
and happily would drive home. End of saga…

… Yes, your words are wise, but they sound strange as usual. I don't
have your wisdom of Land of Youth. Alas, I cannot agree with the
last. She is in deep state of pain. We shall cure it…

… Speak for yourself, master…

> Still smiling, man lowered his head to the window to have his face
on the same level as Hillary. His hands werent making any sudden
moves, as he clearly was showing he hasn't any bad intentions.

" My Lady, it seems to me, that your vehicle still wont response to
our even most devoted sugestions. By your permission, may I propose a
visit to this stable I was humbly reffering to a while ago? I assure
You My Lady, that no harm from any heathen hand will even touch your
coat not to mention your Ladyship."

A stranger who introduced himself as Edwin of Dried Oak suddenly
blushed as red as brick.

" It is my most shameful agony, to mention, that I don't have any
gold coins to serve your vehicle some of the needed fodder from the
stable-master. But If You command I ll go and win some either by
stealthy approach or by sheer unstoppable force" – seeing her face he
added quickly – " of course I understand that commoners in Land of
Youth called America arent obliged anymore to serve nobles with
commodities. I agree tottaly with that. Times of my people have
vanished and are not to return. Alas, only some of the nobles
understand that as close as me. But enough of this philosophical
debate, would you do me a heavenly favor and accompany my humble
person to this shack where we would be able to end your troubles and
wake your chariot up? Or, If You wish, my Lady, toss me some gold and
I ll go as servant to bring a bucket of this oily liquid needed to
refresh that which I suppose is called `engine' and stays as heart in
your chariot."

Strange man bowed deeply again and stepped back, not even trying to
hide his hopes of Hillary company behind any reluctance. While she
could see him closer, he was suprisingly handsome and didn't smell as
a bum. His coat looked more weary than dirty and his eyes… his eyes
were as blue as ocean, as sky welcoming morning star, slightly oval,
and shockingly honest. Truly, eyes of childlish lunatic or… someone
else who was still slipping out of Hillary's mind. She saw similar
ones one day, but when was it, where, she couldn't recall.

Coated man with staff ( it looked as staff ) on his back waited
patiently for her answer. <


--- In Ctd_Epiphany@y..., chicory_patch@l... wrote:
> Hillary had not seen him at first her head was down as she cried,
but at
> her window a shadow fell as Edwin stood between her car and a
lamppost in
> the parking lot. It was like watching a bum act out the role of one
of
> the three Musketeers. Already tired and upset she froze for what
would
> have been a fatal moment if Edwin was an attacker and her doors
unlocked.
> She checked the locks and turned the key in the ignition, to no
avail.
> She gripped the steering while til her knuckles were white and she
> moaned, "Why me, why is this happening to me?"
>
> Before he could leave (ooc: if he intended, which I doubt) his words
> tried to sink in. He was as mad as a hatter. ~Just my luck, my
night in
> shinning armor is a lunitic.~ She looked between Edwin and the gas
> station.
>
> Hillary's heart raced as time passed, her eyes looking into
Edwin's, she
> was shivering in her cold car on a cold night thinking of her
little boy.
> She could sit here in the cold, or let the lunitic help her. The
look in
> his eyes, the sincerity, sincerity that Sammy's father had never
shown
> when he whispered words of love. Love that melted away in the harsh
truth
> of reality. She was an unwed mother, in a cold world, and her
little boy
> needed her. She had wanted to beleive that Samuel loved her, she
wanted
> to believe that this man would help her. That anyone would help
her. How
> could she dare? False believe lead to pain.

Hillary had not seen him at first her head was down as she cried, but at
her window a shadow fell as Edwin stood between her car and a lamppost in
the parking lot. It was like watching a bum act out the role of one of
the three Musketeers. Already tired and upset she froze for what would
have been a fatal moment if Edwin was an attacker and her doors unlocked.
She checked the locks and turned the key in the ignition, to no avail.
She gripped the steering while til her knuckles were white and she
moaned, "Why me, why is this happening to me?"

Before he could leave (ooc: if he intended, which I doubt) his words
tried to sink in. He was as mad as a hatter. ~Just my luck, my night in
shinning armor is a lunitic.~ She looked between Edwin and the gas
station.

Hillary's heart raced as time passed, her eyes looking into Edwin's, she
was shivering in her cold car on a cold night thinking of her little boy.
She could sit here in the cold, or let the lunitic help her. The look in
his eyes, the sincerity, sincerity that Sammy's father had never shown
when he whispered words of love. Love that melted away in the harsh truth
of reality. She was an unwed mother, in a cold world, and her little boy
needed her. She had wanted to beleive that Samuel loved her, she wanted
to believe that this man would help her. That anyone would help her. How
could she dare? False believe lead to pain.

Fia could see the talent. He had talent, her heart soared like a hawk
into the air, sunlight glinting on wings. But there was more, talent was
the gift that his hands could bring what he saw to paper, it was skill,
but it was more. It was something that was hard to describe from only
seeing two drawings. It was way of seeing a way of letting what you saw
effect your soul. A way of being alive. It was vibrant. She could see his
reactions, his selfdoublts. She smiled gratefully, "I would not want to
impose... only if it is acceptable to your grandmother. I like your
drawing, perhaps we could get something warm to drink, an I can look at
them? Please?" Her voice carried the same tone as child wishing to read a
comic book.

She could sense the glamour, could feel the potential, something that she
could try and make last. As she looked at the drawing tears welled up in
her eyes. ~I do not deserve this, not after... be slow be kind to him,
give him what your family has taken from the world... ~ She brushed the
tears from her face, Don't mind the tears, please, it is just you remind
me of my family, my mother so far away, my father I'm sure is very cross
with me now." She smiled, "They aren't here, you and you drawing are. How
long have you been drawing? Personally I sing, and I love to hear why
other artists are drawn to their choosen art."

Fia knew she could not return to the dreaming, not without help. She
could feel the banality in everything including this artists. Including
herself. It clung to everything like the smell of stale cigerettes. She
needed him, she would have to be patient with his art, with his soul, she
could dare let what she felt was her personal curse touch him. But she
feared she didn't have time. She considered her choices and knew the only
quick way would be to not just muse him, but to romance him.

OOC:
How about she is kinain with only a touch of the blood. ,

>
> Hillary finished her shift, which was a closing shift. She went out
to
> the parking lot and got into her car. The engine wouldn't turn
over. She
> had had enough. Locked in her car she started to cry.
>


Night was dark in his eyes and clouds covered the stars. Were are
days of the glory, were are days of youth? In your memory master
knight…

…Where this road his heading, who knows what perils lay ahead? You
know them all, you have already met them, and they defeated you.
That's true, you cannot deny it. That's why you aren't looking back,
my master, but you shouldn't be ashamed. What's the use of ages-old
wisdom, what's the use of die-hard devotion if when the time comes
you wont be there to help anybody anymore? Where are thou, sire Edwin?
…

…No, I told you before, I am not sire anymore, that path ended, no
more story to be told. Sire Edwin is long dead, you are right about
it, he failed. My name is Edwin of the Dried Oak, sword of the
streets, your wielder, o noble Iustus. There is still work to be
done. No more quests, just simple work of weary hands. Between Sons
of Adam and Daughters of Eve. I need to find some sparks of hopes, in
others, to set a fire stronger that one which burned my villages
before I fled in shame to the safety of Arcadia and burn all of this
… cursed shall be her name… Banality, a thousand-headed hydra
defiling those lands of summer-joy…

… It is autumn already, Edwin, you have missed summer, and you've
already forgotten the spring. And the autumn is at the end. Tempus
Hibernum ante portas ((Time of winter at the doors)), go find warm
shelter, maybe next spring will come. You have done much already, you
don't need to be undone. Remember, although you choose exile and
struggled to make the way of commoners work for you, after death
there is no future for you. Oblivion…

… Silence! Keep your forked tongue, o fatalist! I wonder, your blade
reminds me as much a flame I need to warm hearts of men while need
arise as vile serpent poisoning my mind. I wont give up, till the
last breath, even into oblivion. I just need some strenght to
continue, some… armor of sweetest Glamour to withstand next waves of
nothingness. And then I will return to New Yorkshire. But not yet…
Listen, cant you feel it noble Iustus? Its strong, very strong and
powerful. Oh, it gives me so much pain even from afar.

O Dragon of Despair! Here I come…

>Tall man in tattered coat of unknown color and origin probably from
trenches of first World War, wielding on his back some long wooden
staff for unexperienced and misty eyes, run ahead from the state road
in direction of near mall plaza. His grey hair flew free in the air
as he made long steps with quickness of silver. Short magical formula
and stardust in the air could be taken as insane mumbling and
confetti… but who cared?<

The village ahead was occupied tottaly by merchant shops. Only couple
chariots were standing in town-square. One of them were occupied.

… See Iustus, that young lady with greenest hair I have ever seen.
She is in need. Grey claws of desperation and biterness around her
are hazing my view, but I shall not allow her to be taken by this
monster!…

> Tall man, looking much older than his thirty years steped in front
of the car and laid a hand on its hood. He face showed some puzzled
look, then realisation and finnaly brightest smile Hillary could
remember through all day. Next thing he did was a step near the
window which was transformed in much elaborate bow. He looked much as
a bum, except for boots, sturdy, quite dirty but still good.
"My lady" - his voice was deep but very pleasant, it could remind of
opera singer but even more a young man running through the forest
shouting his joy to the birds – " Your chariot needs some of that
smelly blood which usualy runs in his veins. He is stubborn and in
bad mood right now, but I warned him that Iustus could count his
teeth and scar his face horribly if he cannot make to that stable
nearby " – he raised his hand and pointed gas-station on the other
side of the road – " Please, smile again, I cannot guess what haunts
you besides moods of your vehicle, but such a lovely face should be
praised by poets ranking Chretien de Troyes or bards of Hibernia, not
be clouded with grief and rained with tears. If I would be an artist
I might say a poem to put stars again shining on the sky and
mirroring only light of Your eyes my Lady, but alas, I am only simple
man-at-arms and I am not versed in that craft. Edwin, street knight
at your service, my Lady" he bowed again.<

… She will think you are crazy and will call for help, o mentally
imparied master. What did I advise you, not to approach mortals so
directly. Good heavens we can be in trouble!…

… Silence, soul of the chicken! Let me try at least to fight that
despair in her. Grevious need needs swift action!…

OOC
Okay, that's a fae. I ll put details in files. ;) Explanation of
text : in ... ... i put sentences of Willow whisper between Edwin and
Iustus, in > < is narration from mundane point of view.

Tomek

Matyas thought for a while, decided that would be the nicest thing he
can participate in from very long time and smiled, this time more
cheerful.

" Thank You, you are very kind. A rare gift this days." He stepped
in, closed the door and looked around with experience of a writer.
His mind was going around the shop and picking up details.

  `Yes, those interiors are… very nice, they could work well in next
tavern, no… better it would be spice-shop, hmm… I need to think about
it. Oh, she has great eyes… stop it Matyas, now you need her to be
offended by your staring…' He tried to overcome his thoughts and
focused on a cup, sitting down.
" Ouch, were are my manners" he stood up again, extending his hand "
My name is Matyas Horthy, you can call me Matt."


--- In Ctd_Epiphany@y..., Ashleaf <ashleaf13@h...> wrote:
> Dagny gives an amused smile. "Well all my mead is the very best."
She
> takes a bottle from the rack down on the bottom that had been
previously
> opened and invites the writer further into her house. "COme, set
down."
> She sets down at a small table near the fireplace and opened the
bottle
> pouring some into a couple tea cups she kept setting nearby.
> "Oh, just a few dollars will be fine, unless you plan on drinking
the
> whole bottle." She smiles and then notices hes about ready to leave
> anyway. "Oh dont be silly, come in and set down, its late and Im
sure
> were both bored." She places one of the cups at the side of the
table
> where the other chair is, patiently waiting.
>
> Tomasz Wyszynski wrote:
>
> > Dagny catched him in mid-turn as he was prepared to leave. He
looked
> > upon her with quite a shock, he wasn't prepared to success even in
> > such a small matter as buying some product he had need of.
> >
> > Amazement slowly was taking him, as slowly snow is melting on the
> > coat while stepping near the fire.
> > " Well, yes, err… good evening, I didn't think you are open so
late.
> > I would like to buy a half-liter, hmm how you call it here, a
pint of
> > your finest mead. Wait…" he rummaged through his pockets… "Maybe
not
> > so finest…" he finished his sentence with sad expression as he
found
> > only ten-dollar bill and some change.
> >
> > Then first part of young woman offer was apparent to him. A
company.
> > How long it was he spent some time in company of a woman? Two
weeks,
> > a month, three? He was so desperatly alone, but unable to give up
his
> > feelings to Angela. It started to eat him as rust is eating
through
> > iron. A sign of great longing ascended his face as moon is coming
on
> > the sky. And shopkeeper was great looking, Matyas was surprised he
> > allowed himself to notice that. He sighed.
> >
> > " Would it be enough? I forgot more money, such a banal mistake
for
> > one who wants to be dead drunk very soon, don't You think madame?"
> >
> > His foregin accent was very strong and apparent. He tried to smile
> > but it wasn't a success for sure. Very little of sleep, too much
> > drinking, working late on script which gave him money but took
away
> > most satisfaction of work, and total depression of casted away, it
> > has left him barren on the field of flirting.
> > " Sorry for bothering you, I… should be going " – he didn't step
back
> > yet though. Warmth of the place and bulky bottles of his favourite
> > drink stayed him in the place.
> >
> > OOC: Have you ever tried mead, any of you my friends? If not (and
> > sweets arent repelling you) sensation might be close to watching
> > glass-making ;)

Dagny gives an amused smile. "Well all my mead is the very best." She
takes a bottle from the rack down on the bottom that had been previously
opened and invites the writer further into her house. "COme, set down."
She sets down at a small table near the fireplace and opened the bottle
pouring some into a couple tea cups she kept setting nearby.
"Oh, just a few dollars will be fine, unless you plan on drinking the
whole bottle." She smiles and then notices hes about ready to leave
anyway. "Oh dont be silly, come in and set down, its late and Im sure
were both bored." She places one of the cups at the side of the table
where the other chair is, patiently waiting.

Tomasz Wyszynski wrote:

> Dagny catched him in mid-turn as he was prepared to leave. He looked
> upon her with quite a shock, he wasn't prepared to success even in
> such a small matter as buying some product he had need of.
>
> Amazement slowly was taking him, as slowly snow is melting on the
> coat while stepping near the fire.
> " Well, yes, err… good evening, I didn't think you are open so late.
> I would like to buy a half-liter, hmm how you call it here, a pint of
> your finest mead. Wait…" he rummaged through his pockets… "Maybe not
> so finest…" he finished his sentence with sad expression as he found
> only ten-dollar bill and some change.
>
> Then first part of young woman offer was apparent to him. A company.
> How long it was he spent some time in company of a woman? Two weeks,
> a month, three? He was so desperatly alone, but unable to give up his
> feelings to Angela. It started to eat him as rust is eating through
> iron. A sign of great longing ascended his face as moon is coming on
> the sky. And shopkeeper was great looking, Matyas was surprised he
> allowed himself to notice that. He sighed.
>
> " Would it be enough? I forgot more money, such a banal mistake for
> one who wants to be dead drunk very soon, don't You think madame?"
>
> His foregin accent was very strong and apparent. He tried to smile
> but it wasn't a success for sure. Very little of sleep, too much
> drinking, working late on script which gave him money but took away
> most satisfaction of work, and total depression of casted away, it
> has left him barren on the field of flirting.
> " Sorry for bothering you, I… should be going " – he didn't step back
> yet though. Warmth of the place and bulky bottles of his favourite
> drink stayed him in the place.
>
> OOC: Have you ever tried mead, any of you my friends? If not (and
> sweets arent repelling you) sensation might be close to watching
> glass-making ;)

Dagny catched him in mid-turn as he was prepared to leave. He looked
upon her with quite a shock, he wasn't prepared to success even in
such a small matter as buying some product he had need of.

Amazement slowly was taking him, as slowly snow is melting on the
coat while stepping near the fire.
" Well, yes, err… good evening, I didn't think you are open so late.
I would like to buy a half-liter, hmm how you call it here, a pint of
your finest mead. Wait…" he rummaged through his pockets… "Maybe not
so finest…" he finished his sentence with sad expression as he found
only ten-dollar bill and some change.

Then first part of young woman offer was apparent to him. A company.
How long it was he spent some time in company of a woman? Two weeks,
a month, three? He was so desperatly alone, but unable to give up his
feelings to Angela. It started to eat him as rust is eating through
iron. A sign of great longing ascended his face as moon is coming on
the sky. And shopkeeper was great looking, Matyas was surprised he
allowed himself to notice that. He sighed.

" Would it be enough? I forgot more money, such a banal mistake for
one who wants to be dead drunk very soon, don't You think madame?"

His foregin accent was very strong and apparent. He tried to smile
but it wasn't a success for sure. Very little of sleep, too much
drinking, working late on script which gave him money but took away
most satisfaction of work, and total depression of casted away, it
has left him barren on the field of flirting.
" Sorry for bothering you, I… should be going " – he didn't step back
yet though. Warmth of the place and bulky bottles of his favourite
drink stayed him in the place.

OOC: Have you ever tried mead, any of you my friends? If not (and
sweets arent repelling you) sensation might be close to watching
glass-making ;)

--- In Ctd_Epiphany@y..., Ashleaf <ashleaf13@h...> wrote:
> Deep in the Freehold Dagny was still pouring over the maps. A light
> flashed on the wall, telling her that she had a visitor at the
door. Its
> so late though, surely someone isnt here to buy her products... Oh
well,
> business is business, just as long as they dont show up at 3 in the
> morning. She stashes the maps in the folder thay came in and heads
out
> of the warmth of the Hold, up into the house and through to front
part
> of the house that served as a type of shop. Nothing really, just
the
> hallway that was large enough to store the honey and the few
bottles of
> mead she had left on a large stand, where the prices for the items
were
> kept as well. Aleksi had begun to make things with a bee motif
calling
> them Boggan-wares as a joke; pot holders, ceramic dishes (bought
and
> then decorated) , and a couple table cloths.
>
> Dagny looked through the door at the man standing outside and
noticed
> that he looked run-down and depressed. he looked familiar though,
right
> now her mind was somewhat tired so she didnt place the face with
the
> name of the authour whos books she liked. She opens the door and
gives
> him a cheery greeting.
> "Good evening, come in please." She smiles, stepping aside so he
can
> enter. Afterwhich she closes the door. "Is there something you
need?
> Company, mead? Something to eat?" Dagny did have a tendancy to be
> bogganish but she couldnt help it, she just had too much of a
> compassionate personality, despite being Aesin...
>
> OOC: She takes customers up to 11pm.

Jason's heart leaped when she agreed to have her portrait done.
Something about her struck a chord; he was sure she wasn't boring or
dull like the others.  He traced the lines of her hair and face,
those perfect cheeks and smiling mouth.  He hoped she liked it;
actually, it was some of the best work he'd ever done.  He was amazed
at himself that he had entered this frenzy in only a few moments of
looking at her; his hand moved as though it was bewitched.

"A gift... I don't know about that.  I just...I draw what I see," he
finished uncertainly.  He bent his head over the paper in a bit of
embarassment.  Shit, he thought, this isn't going to well.  He never
let himself lose control like this, and he centered himself until she
spoke again, and asked...

"I'm from...well, not here, exactly, originally," he stammered, "but
I live here now.  With my grandmother.  Near here..."  He looked up
suddenly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead, a light
shining in his eyes.  "You could... you could stay at my house if you
wanted.  It's small, but there's an extra bedroom, and my grandmother
loves having people stay... I don't know many places renting around
here."  The hope in his voice was almost pitiful.

OOC:
I wonder if his grandmother should be Kinain, Kithain, or
somesuch... :)

~~ AlecRavager

Deep in the Freehold Dagny was still pouring over the maps. A light
flashed on the wall, telling her that she had a visitor at the door. Its
so late though, surely someone isnt here to buy her products... Oh well,
business is business, just as long as they dont show up at 3 in the
morning. She stashes the maps in the folder thay came in and heads out
of the warmth of the Hold, up into the house and through to front part
of the house that served as a type of shop. Nothing really, just the
hallway that was large enough to store the honey and the few bottles of
mead she had left on a large stand, where the prices for the items were
kept as well. Aleksi had begun to make things with a bee motif calling
them Boggan-wares as a joke; pot holders, ceramic dishes (bought and
then decorated) , and a couple table cloths.

Dagny looked through the door at the man standing outside and noticed
that he looked run-down and depressed. he looked familiar though, right
now her mind was somewhat tired so she didnt place the face with the
name of the authour whos books she liked. She opens the door and gives
him a cheery greeting.
"Good evening, come in please." She smiles, stepping aside so he can
enter. Afterwhich she closes the door. "Is there something you need?
Company, mead? Something to eat?" Dagny did have a tendancy to be
bogganish but she couldnt help it, she just had too much of a
compassionate personality, despite being Aesin...

OOC: She takes customers up to 11pm.

Tomasz Wyszynski wrote:

> & is it a sad destiny, or cruel twist of fate,
> is it from others errors or my futile debate?
> Why, tell me gentle empress, in your white so glamourous gown,
> I cannot change thy name to save you when I'm only by my own&
>
> Like always his sleep was interrupted just before the time he could
> shout out a new name for emperess of Fantasia. This dream haunted him
> from time to time since his youth. He watched "Neverending story"
> just once in his life but, as any other fantasy creation this was a
> major source of his later life work.
>
> "Angela&" he said softly, but it was probably too late. Looking
> around for the source of intrusion which has woken him up from
> slumber, he heard rather than saw a bee. Strange isnt it? A bee in
> winter& Is it possible? Matyas has learned already a very useful
> techique for his writers-blocks, beliving in impossible.
>
> "Hmm, - he thought  there is a shop nearby, the one with backyard
> behind rock wall ivy-clad. They are selling honey.  he looked at
> table where half-emptied pot of honey stood. Matyas smiled  If I was
> a young kid from the neighborhood I would be sick if I repeatedly
> wouldn't try to sneak behind this wall."
> Standing up he quickly find some clothes around the appartement.
> There is a chance they would be open ( fat chance, it is already
> after 10 PM) He slept only for an hour, but& he could use a walk
> right now, to settle his blazing mind down. And finding a cure for
> headache. A bottle of incredible mead, from that shop. Yes, even in
> Old Country he couldn't find taste so pure, so sweet and full of
> nectar. If thet are open&
>
> Realizing something he rushed to the computer, fliped over the chair,
> sweared in hungarian, skipping on one leg reached computer and&
>
> & Monitor was black, computer of course had already shut himself
> down. Matyas sweared some more. He couldn't remember last scene he
> was writing. It was good, even from vague impression he had now. It
> could realy motivate the story, not yet a culmination but interesting
> turn& "Ordog belso reszek!!" ((devil's entrails)) he almost spitted
> his anguish. Turning on the machine he saw with surprise that on the
> keyboard sat a bee. Gently Matyas chased away insect while realizing
> she occupied `enter' button. Slowly golden buzzing honey-maker
> started to circle around his head and then left appartement through
> the open window (Matyas couldn't sleep with closed even in the middle
> of winter). Files loaded. The last one was& saved.
>
> Writer sighed with relief. He made two copies on floppy discs and
> left for a walk. Headache had lessen as soon as he went out of the
> building. Strange. Matyas quickly traversed the street and head to
> the small house on the corner (yes, it looked rather as a house than
> a shop, it reminded him of his country, where, especialy in small
> towns shopkeepers ran their business in their own houses.)
>
> It was cold and he forget scarf and a hat as usual. But returning now
> to his appartement for some reason made him quicken his pace. " Hm, I
> realy need something to drink" he thought. And he hoped for a shop,
> cause the nearest pub was quite far away.
>
> The night was& beautiful, calm and tottaly magical. Small flakes of
> snow glittered in the moonlight mixed with delicate light of gas-
> lanterns (they are still using them here, I love this quarter.), it
> was a first snow this winter (first snow he realized, his mind wasn't
> exactly around from some time), so he made a very small and wet
> snowball and throw it in the signpost (& your car will be towed&). He
> laughed and run to the end of the street. With each step he felt
> somewhat better. Now it would very much help him to forget tottaly
> about his loss. Just for that night&
>
> Matyas looked at the door for any board announcing hours of closing.
> They werent any. "So, nothing to be afraid of&" he encourage himself.
> Shop will be closed for sure, but before he will be dead drunk in the
> pub he would say he tried. Taste of mead being sold here was truly&
> enchanting.

Fia offered a warm reassuring smile, "I'm fine, just sad. I don't mind at
all if you do my portrait." One thing Fia had learned growing up was the
best way to get people to open up to you was to open up to them. "My
parents don't get along, and I'm caught in the middle. Are you from
around here? I'm looking to move, find a nice place..." Fia's face wasn't
'sculpted', but slightly round and natural. Here expression was both open
and honest.

Fia blushed, "My name is Fia, I don't think I asked you yours." She was
studying him and his art as much as he was studying her.

Her voice was clear, with a pleasent tone. "I've always admirred
artists... I write, mostly poetry. But to be able to capture a moment in
time, that is such a gift." Fia changed the subject suddenly, "You
wouldn't know of any places to rent?"

Fia always tried to use her openess to seam innocent and sheltered, it
was true in many ways, and now being in the Autumn world without her
father there to help out, it was a little scary.

The flurecent lighting gave the cherk's light blonde hair an almost green
sheen. She was thin, with dark circles under her green eyes. She would be
possibly attractive if she gained 20 pounds and got some rest. Her
clothes where worn, jeans and t-shirt, with blue smock and name tag.

Hillary was dead on her feet, or at least she felt like it. Her mother
was watching the Sammy and the double shift would help out so much, but
she was to tired to even day dream. When she had gotten pregnant in high
school she didn't want to believe how hard life would be. She wanted to
believe Sam, Sammy's father would be there for them. She had been wrong.
Life had become a struggle with very little time left for anything but
survial.

*flashback*
Hillary sat in english class, listening to the teacher, and planning the
nursry, she was 3 months away from graduation, and 3 months into her
pregnancy. No one knew yet. She was happy, scared, and sad. The world was
all roses and love, it didn't matter that she was going to post-pone
college and design classes, she could always do it latter.

*end*

Hillary finished her shift, which was a closing shift. She went out to
the parking lot and got into her car. The engine wouldn't turn over. She
had had enough. Locked in her car she started to cry.

ooc: This poor one is not just a dreamer, but a ravaged kinain.

… is it a sad destiny, or cruel twist of fate,
   is it from others errors or my futile debate?
   Why, tell me gentle empress, in your white so glamourous gown,
   I cannot change thy name to save you when I'm only by my own…

   Like always his sleep was interrupted just before the time he could
shout out a new name for emperess of Fantasia. This dream haunted him
from time to time since his youth. He watched "Neverending story"
just once in his life but, as any other fantasy creation this was a
major source of his later life work.

"Angela…" he said softly, but it was probably too late. Looking
around for the source of intrusion which has woken him up from
slumber, he heard rather than saw a bee. Strange isnt it? A bee in
winter… Is it possible? Matyas has learned already a very useful
techique for his writers-blocks, beliving in impossible.

"Hmm, - he thought – there is a shop nearby, the one with backyard
behind rock wall ivy-clad. They are selling honey. – he looked at
table where half-emptied pot of honey stood. Matyas smiled – If I was
a young kid from the neighborhood I would be sick if I repeatedly
wouldn't try to sneak behind this wall."
Standing up he quickly find some clothes around the appartement.
There is a chance they would be open ( fat chance, it is already
after 10 PM)  He slept only for an hour, but… he could use a walk
right now, to settle his blazing mind down. And finding a cure for
headache. A bottle of incredible mead, from that shop. Yes, even in
Old Country he couldn't find taste so pure, so sweet and full of
nectar. If thet are open…

Realizing something he rushed to the computer, fliped over the chair,
sweared in hungarian, skipping on one leg reached computer and…

… Monitor was black, computer of course had already shut himself
down. Matyas sweared some more. He couldn't remember last scene he
was writing. It was good, even from vague impression he had now. It
could realy motivate the story, not yet a culmination but interesting
turn… "Ordog belso reszek!!" ((devil's entrails)) he almost spitted
his anguish. Turning on the machine he saw with surprise that on the
keyboard sat a bee. Gently Matyas chased away insect while realizing
she occupied `enter' button. Slowly golden buzzing honey-maker
started to circle around his head and then left appartement through
the open window (Matyas couldn't sleep with closed even in the middle
of winter). Files loaded. The last one was… saved.

Writer sighed with relief. He made two copies on floppy discs and
left for a walk. Headache had lessen as soon as he went out of the
building. Strange. Matyas quickly traversed the street and head to
the small house on the corner (yes, it looked rather as a house than
a shop, it reminded him of his country, where, especialy in small
towns shopkeepers ran their business in their own houses.)

It was cold and he forget scarf and a hat as usual. But returning now
to his appartement for some reason made him quicken his pace. " Hm, I
realy need something to drink" he thought. And he hoped for a shop,
cause the nearest pub was quite far away.

  The night was… beautiful, calm and tottaly magical. Small flakes of
snow glittered in the moonlight mixed with delicate light of gas-
lanterns (they are still using them here, I love this quarter.), it
was a first snow this winter (first snow he realized, his mind wasn't
exactly around from some time), so he made a very small and wet
snowball and throw it in the signpost (… your car will be towed…). He
laughed and run to the end of the street. With each step he felt
somewhat better. Now it would very much help him to forget tottaly
about his loss. Just for that night…

Matyas looked at the door for any board announcing hours of closing.
They werent any. "So, nothing to be afraid of…" he encourage himself.
Shop will be closed for sure, but before he will be dead drunk in the
pub he would say he tried. Taste of mead being sold here was truly…
enchanting.


--- In Ctd_Epiphany@y..., Ashleaf <ashleaf13@h...> wrote:
> Setting somewhere near the apartment that has a reputation for
sucking
> the creativity out of people is a small house that is known for
> producing the most sweetest honey known to the denizens of New
Jersey.
> No one is sure just why the honey from here tastes so good, but
people
> love it, most come from up state just to buy quarts of it, there
have
> even been people from Manhattan that have come here, having heard
of the
> honey from a friend's friend.
>
> The house is rather nice looking, it being modled after swedish
> architecture, and made from wood and stone, no paint, just varnish
to
> keep the wood from rotting. The back yard is fenced in by a rock
wall,
> and in the very back set the bee hives, 13 in all, they appear to
be
> normal bees, and normal hives, and the clover that grows all over
the
> back yard, intentionally grown there for a local food source is
normal too.
> It is only to other fae that the reason why the honey is so
delicious
> becomes apparent. The bees are fed Glamour, or rather they gather
the
> pollen from the clover flowers that glitter with Glamour that seeps
up
> from the ground. This keeps the bees Enchanted, and as a result
they
> make more sweeter, delicious honey than wild bees. Dagny Skjaal,
Wilder
> Sidhe of House Aesin was given control of this freehold by her
parents,
> since then she has grown the tiny freehold into a thriving
business,
> selling her magically sweentened honey. Being only a Lady in
Waiting,
> she only had monour court responsibilities, leaving her more time
to
> fuss with her bee hives and her cottage business. Her sister Aleksi
> often teased her about how she should have been born a Boggan and
not a
> Sidhe. Of course Dagny, being the proper Sidhe that she is was
offended
> by this remark and told her sister not to come back untill she
could
> show proper respect... which lasted all of an hour usually, untill
the
> bee keeper needed help with something.
>
> Late one night, she was setting behind her desk reading through a
> document that her parents had given her, thinking she would like
it. It
> was a scroll of a map of the Near Dreaming, showing the location of
a
> hive of bees that  supposedly created honey that was even more
delicious
> than hers. The map showed wear and tear, and even stains, she wasnt
sure
> if this was from being out   in the waking world, or if it was from
the
> journey.  Some of the locations on the map were faded, evidence
that the
> Mists were trying to claim the map back, but that was halted now
that
> the map was back in a freehold.
> A surge of glamour shot through her, a creative spike from
somewhere,
> she was sure she knew who it was, a certain writer she had inspired
a
> while ago, but the glamour was so small of an amount it made her
only
> slightly giddy. She wondered if  he was going to put out a new book
> soon. It was late though, and she was tired, maybe it was just the
bees
> that fed her that shot of Glamour...

Jason was so intent in his drawing that he didn't even hear the woman
come up behind him until she spoke.  "That's beautiful... may I join
you?"  He looked up with surprise; hardly anyone that wasn't part of
the Village ever struck up a conversation with him.  Certainly no one
who looked like this...

She was absolutely dazzling, with that perfect curtain of blond hair
and perfectly hued skin... she made him feel small and disgusting,
like a dead frog he had found once.  But she was standing, smiling
beatifically, asking a question that was impossible to refuse, so he
had to nod in reply.  An awed murmur might've escaped his throat, he
wasn't sure.

As she seated herself, and he continued to look at her, the grandeur
lessened to the point where he regained his senses.  There was
something strange about her that would inspire such emotion in him,
he was sure.  But at the moment, he noticed her eyes seemed a bit
puffed and crimson (even so, they still looked perfect).  "Are you
all right?" he asked, concerned.  If she was, he was ready to follow
up with, "Do you mind if I do your portrait?"  If she did, he'd try
to draw from memory, anyway; his eyes began to rapidly take in all
her features, just in case...

~~ AlecRavager

Setting somewhere near the apartment that has a reputation for sucking
the creativity out of people is a small house that is known for
producing the most sweetest honey known to the denizens of New Jersey.
No one is sure just why the honey from here tastes so good, but people
love it, most come from up state just to buy quarts of it, there have
even been people from Manhattan that have come here, having heard of the
honey from a friend's friend.

The house is rather nice looking, it being modled after swedish
architecture, and made from wood and stone, no paint, just varnish to
keep the wood from rotting. The back yard is fenced in by a rock wall,
and in the very back set the bee hives, 13 in all, they appear to be
normal bees, and normal hives, and the clover that grows all over the
back yard, intentionally grown there for a local food source is normal too.
It is only to other fae that the reason why the honey is so delicious
becomes apparent. The bees are fed Glamour, or rather they gather the
pollen from the clover flowers that glitter with Glamour that seeps up
from the ground. This keeps the bees Enchanted, and as a result they
make more sweeter, delicious honey than wild bees. Dagny Skjaal, Wilder
Sidhe of House Aesin was given control of this freehold by her parents,
since then she has grown the tiny freehold into a thriving business,
selling her magically sweentened honey. Being only a Lady in Waiting,
she only had monour court responsibilities, leaving her more time to
fuss with her bee hives and her cottage business. Her sister Aleksi
often teased her about how she should have been born a Boggan and not a
Sidhe. Of course Dagny, being the proper Sidhe that she is was offended
by this remark and told her sister not to come back untill she could
show proper respect... which lasted all of an hour usually, untill the
bee keeper needed help with something.

Late one night, she was setting behind her desk reading through a
document that her parents had given her, thinking she would like it. It
was a scroll of a map of the Near Dreaming, showing the location of a
hive of bees that  supposedly created honey that was even more delicious
than hers. The map showed wear and tear, and even stains, she wasnt sure
if this was from being out   in the waking world, or if it was from the
journey.  Some of the locations on the map were faded, evidence that the
Mists were trying to claim the map back, but that was halted now that
the map was back in a freehold.
A surge of glamour shot through her, a creative spike from somewhere,
she was sure she knew who it was, a certain writer she had inspired a
while ago, but the glamour was so small of an amount it made her only
slightly giddy. She wondered if  he was going to put out a new book
soon. It was late though, and she was tired, maybe it was just the bees
that fed her that shot of Glamour...

His pencil moved along the paper, forming the shapes of the girl and
the bird in mere seconds.  He was even adding in the details of the
sapling when the girl was ushered back to the field trippers; they
passed right by the stump where Jason was sitting.  One of the older
women, no doubt a teacher, stopped and eyed him severely, her lips
pursed.  "What," she said crisply, "are you drawing?"  She looked
down over the tops of her tortoise-shell glasses, and
glowered.  "I'll thank you NOT to draw any of her children, young
man."  Her mouth worked a few moments afterward; no doubt she thought
he was some pervert slum kid after the kiddies.  He shook his head as
she walked away, muttering under his breath, "Bitch."  Some people
just didn't get it.

He really had to find someone to talk to one of these days.  It was
just getting too boring around here...

[new]
Fia looked around as people mingled in the shops and workshops. She
wanted to, needed to find a source of glamour, yet at the same time the
memories of the past weeks caused her stomach to knot at the thought.
Need overpowered guilt as Fia spotted a man sketching away. She brushed
hair out of her eyes, knowing her eyes were red from crying.

She walked around some more wishing to approach the artist from behind so
she could see his work. That only drew her closer, and she couldn't
change her path even if she wanted to. "That is beautiful, may I join
you?"

(ooc: she is a real looker, Sureal Beauty merit.)

“It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live.”

Tin Angel at Serrano
The distraught red head fled the bar known for a mix of acts that it
couldn’t be classified. At times the only description all the acts share
was ‘SOLD OUT’. The Weird Sisters would not be performing there tonight
or any other night. The trio was now a solo act.


Soft blonde waves that caught the slightest breeze and flickered like a
candle flame was the first thing people noticed as the woman exited the
Lady’s room. The royal blue duster with silver buttons concealed the more
obvious details of her figure, alluding to soft gentle curves. Her skin
was nearly a perfect match for a flawless blush-tinted rose petal, her
lips a darker pink. Her eyes were a clear light blue. Perched on her head
was blue beret with a pin depicting a black bird with silver rose in its
beak. Such beauty and yet no joy. She ignored the man that called out to
her as she raced to the bus that was loading with people. 408 to
Millville.

To those whose sight is not blinded by the mists of wakefulness, the
blonde is wholly fae, yet strangely human. The same stunning figure, her
eyes the neon blue found at the core of a flame. Yellow-fire hair tucked
behind rounded ears.

She paid her fare and looked at the seats. A young man her age cleared
his stuff off the seat next to him in hopes…

She took the offered seat, “Thank you.”

He smiled as if he couldn’t believe that she sat next to him, “No-no No
problem, I’m Jim…”

She smiled back, only the slightest of reassuring gestures, before
offering her hand, “Fia. Is it a long ride to,” she paused trying to
remember where the bus went. “Millville?”

“Millville? Let me look.” The man pulled out a schedule, “About 2 and
half hours… What’s in Millville?”

Fia smiled, “A friend.”

The man smiled back and wished he was a ‘friend’. Then he saw the sadness
in her eyes, and the way she wrapped her arms around herself. “Are you
ok.”

Fia nodded, “Just tired, long day. Hard day.” She looked at the man, she
could use a shot of Glamour, but he was no dreamer… he was just average,
ordinary, normal, boring. He wasn’t even very attractive, but that she
would have ignored if he could dream. “I guess I have time for a nap…”
Fia turned from the man like an Indian summer returning to winter. Her
thoughts were private and dark and turned her mood into barrier.


“There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to
seek it...”

I am a monster born of monsters. Born of twisted love and hate. I know
the story of my genesis; it is not a pretty one. Did the gods create
mankind? Or did mankind dream the gods into being? Does it matter? What
if it was a little of both? We evolved together, shaping and forging each
other. Am I a god? Yes and no. I am descended from Zeus and Mnemosyne.
Little was recorded of their nine golden haired daughters, but they were
no chaste maidens. Especially Erato, muse to the poets of love and
goddess of mimicry. I do not look like a monster, but I am one as surely
as the summer is warm and the winter cold. I think I must also be
descended from Nemesis, for I have been the instrument of my parent’s
revenge. Mother has already paid for the dreams she destroyed. Father's
punishment is assured, no thanks to me. Perhaps my childhood was
suffering enough, perhaps the Dreaming has yet more in store for me. I
have free will. I knew the meaning of my actions, I had a choose. I
choose. I am a monster born of monsters.


The bus stopped and the driver tapped Fia on the shoulder, “Last stop
miss.”

Fia feigned brushing sleep from her eyes, “Thank you.” She departed
quickly and looked about the town. After a few minutes a sign in store
window caught her eyes. She pushed up the door and took the sign out of
the window as people stared. “How do I get there?”

The waitress looked at Fia with jealous eyes as she started to give
directions. She hung the sign back up muttering to herself after Fia was
gone.

Fia walked to Wheaton Village, fighting back tears.

Jason scuffed one shoe through the sandy dirt on the side of the road
and looked back up, peering at the trees in front of him.  His breath
misted in front of his face, and he shivered with the cold as his
frigid hands tried to keep a grip on the pencil.  A few more lines,
and he had the image of the squirrel on a branch captured on the
paper.  Not a moment too soon, either; as soon as he finished shading
in the fur, the little creature eyed him haughtily, then hopped
daintily to the ground and scampered to the other side of the road.

Jason smiled a bit at that, then packed his sketchbook back into the
backpack and pocketed the pencil.  He rubbed his hands together once
or twice, blowing on them to heat them up, and pulled his hat lower
over his ears.  It was a long walk to Wheaton, but Gram's truck was
broken down again, and he didn't have another way to get there.  So
now his feet were sore, his fingers were numb, and the clouds
obscured whatever sun there was (he had started out while it was
still dark).  Soon, though, he would come to the Village, sit down on
a tree stump out of the way, and sketch the potters, the glassmakers,
or the buildings they worked in, rising out of the trees.

Sure enough, as soon as he got there, most of the workers he passed
gave him a smile and a "Good morning," and he nodded in reply.  They
rarely had conversation with him, nor he with them, and he liked it
that way.  Still, sometimes it was nice to talk to another artist;
there were so few who could appreciate the beauty of the Barrens.
Jason pulled out the sketchbook again and eyed a group of children -
4th-graders, maybe? - just exiting a school bus.  One girl, appearing
much wiser and charming than the rest, hopped down immediately, and
proceeded to a nearby sapling.  A sparrow was chirping happily in a
branch, and the girl's face was one of absolute joy at the music.
Jason smiled, shaking his head at such innocence, but felt the need
to sketch the scene.

His pencil moved along the paper, forming the shapes of the girl and
the bird in mere seconds.  He was even adding in the details of the
sapling when the girl was ushered back to the field trippers; they
passed right by the stump where Jason was sitting.  One of the older
women, no doubt a teacher, stopped and eyed him severely, her lips
pursed.  "What," she said crisply, "are you drawing?"  She looked
down over the tops of her tortoise-shell glasses, and
glowered.  "I'll thank you NOT to draw any of her children, young
man."  Her mouth worked a few moments afterward; no doubt she thought
he was some pervert slum kid after the kiddies.  He shook his head as
she walked away, muttering under his breath, "Bitch."  Some people
just didn't get it.

He really had to find someone to talk to one of these days.  It was
just getting too boring around here...

OOC:

That's the cue for a fae.  :)

~~ AlecRavager

IC
Humming machine was taking him to the thirteen floor. He didn't
belive in magic of numbers or any common superstitions, but last
events made him reconsider their influence on what happened. It may
be a reason his life crumbled to ashes. He ran out of all logical
reasons about month ago. Maybe its because of winter, who knows?
He looked in to the mirror on the other side of small cabin. A sad
and sullen face of unshaved man in the late twenties (almost too late
to call them twenties) looked back on him and he couldn't withstand
that stare. He wanted to scream but it wasn't an option. Somebody
might think he is crazy and that in this building lead straight to
asylum. Or he was thinking it might.

With the gentle "ding", elevator stopped and he went through sliding
doors. Almost in the same time he has put his foot on the thirteen
floor, high and unnerving yapping started as the trumphet of doom. He
made a murderous grimmace. Usually, when he was describing some new
and imaginative way to annihilate next  demon, kill some scheming
half-brother or destroy a city in his novels he was always referring
to that hellish creature Mrs Rottenberg was calling "her
precious". `Her preciousss, yess' – he said through his teeth.
His irritation couldn't last long. Almost immiedatly his train of
thought went back on the railroad of `how on earth it could happen to
me?'

Two months ago, his only love, princess of his dreams, gentle, sweet,
beautiful as Madonna herself Lady of his life took him to the
restaurant they ate each Sundays. It was the same place he told her
he want to marry her some time before. It was the palce he sat each
day, looking into the faces of regular customers and placed them as
heroes and villains of his stories. Angela, his girlfriend said…

>> Now I ban thee creature of utter darkness, I command thee go back
to the Shadow and never be to return. That vow I make from the power
which is given me by… <<
The last sentence of sir Charles before he was taken by his daemonic
lover to the seventh circle of hell seemed to vanish from his mind as
snow was melting on his neck with icy cold sensation.

… she said that she must follow her career and that is opportunity of
the lifetime. No young lawyer ever has a chance to work in Wilson,
Fritz and Stanfield Office before he is forty. She must move to San
Francisco. She will be too busy to think about any long relationship.
She was sure he will understand.

He had. He started to drink.
After almost all of his money were pouring away in percentage of
beverages, he went back to reality. His editor had always some space
for scripts of soap-operas. He hated that work. It killed all of the
magic world he was creating in his mind. His plans of making the
monument of fantastic literature as big as Lord of the Rings itself
were … disappearing in the mists of hard reality. He stopped drinking
alcohol and went back to mundane life sinking each day deeper in
depression.

He heard deep sound of someone playing a strange drum. Or banging his
head on wooden door. He looked on plate before him. It stated "Mr
Matyas Horthy". It wasn't the name which he signed covers of his
books. Americans couldn't possibly spell right his hungarian name.
They wouldn't be intrested in art of somebody as himself. He was
called Matt Hardy. To ease any problems (editor insisted on that).
       He stopped hurting his head not only because his conciousness
started to react and said to him it is leaving and wont come back if
he doesn't stop. It was because Mrs Rottenberg will make a scene any
time right now. Matyas was sure she is already peeking through the
door.
       He entered, after some time spent on searching for a key. He
didn't find it. The doors were open.
Cofee was put to warm itself in machine and bathroom started to be
his living room for some time. Shower should help him in some way. It
hasn't.
       Matyas left steamed room and went to his work leaving drying up
to towel on his hips and generaly to the world. Computer was still
working (strange twist of fate, when he had best ideas in the past it
crashed with regularity of swiss clock). He started to write down
idea which emerged from the mists of steam in bathroom. A love scene,
strange, twisted but incredibly passionate and beautiful. Eroticism
was delicate, methaphorical, not vulgar as he watched from time to
time on television. The feeling mattered. First and only reason of
life. A burst, blaze, foundation of most incredible and truest of
dreams. Love.

Then in the middle of inspiration he turned his head, slowly as only
wisest sages or most bored students can do, to look on the picture
which was standing on the table close to his bed. Angela in the
garden, playing with crystal ball she got from glass factory in the
village near the town. ((OOC Wheaton village))
      Inspiration was shattered by stronger emotions. He stood up,
forgot to save file on disk, and walked to bed. Then he did something
he hasn't done for many, many years, last time when he was told by
his father, that he must be brave…
… he cried with bitter, sad tears, running as wild horses through
thick beard he forgot to shave. Matyas layed down on the bed. Still
weeping he wanted to forget, to pass out.
He went asleep. To the land of dreams… … and there, nothingness was
already preparing the siege on the Magic Land…

OOC
That's my mortal character, all basic info I ll put in files section
soon. Any question or info I should remember of, give me a hint.
Tomek

> The color was all done and Elaine smiled as she started to alternate
> between blowing and shaping the glass. Steam and sparks rose from
the wet
> newspaper that let her work with the glass like a potter with clay.
She
> worked the glass into vase-shape before transferring it to punty.
Then
> she started the final phase opening out the lip of the vase. Lastly
she
> broke it off and with Kevlar gloves set the work into the 900 degree
> Annealer. But even at this stage the pattern could be seen, the
blue vase
> with white clouds was the background for a flock of tiny colorful
> sprites.
>
> Elaine set her work to cool and then shut the shop up and walked
home to
> the Fellows quarters. The dreamer was out the minute her head hit
the
> pillow.

The next morning (1/17/2003) Elaine got up and prepared her
breakfast. she poured amber honey into the outmeal and contemplated
the warm color. She mixed up some Oregon Chia and spread jam on
toast. She ate and looked out the window thinking about what to make
today. She washed up and took her chia and a bag of trail mix. She
stopped at the gazebo to watch the morning light on the frozen lake.
Once she started to shiver she went to the cold-working room to
sketch her dreams.

She was in the glass house 30 minutes before the first vistor with an
appointment to make their own paperwight.

(Translation, she is in public, any visitor to the village can see
her, watch her teach and create.)

Elaine Daum relaxed in the hot air by the furnace. The shop was closed
for the night and Elaine was in the mood to play. She took a pipe from
the pipe heater where it has been preheated so the glass will stick,
opening the door to the furnace, tipping the rod at an angle into the
glass while turning it and pulling out a gather of glass
(http://www.glassblowing.com/hotglass/process/index.php4). Keeping the
pipe turning to maintain an even shape of glass, Elaine went over to the
marver to roll the gather even cylinder
(http://www.glassblowing.com/hotglass/process/hotglass_2.php4). She put
the pipe to her mouth and blowed, creating a bubble of air. She held her
thumb over the mouth piece and let the air expand as it was heated by the
glowing glass
(http://www.glassblowing.com/hotglass/process/hotglass_3.php4 Just go
though the pages to see the process…). Elaine’s blonde curls reflected
back the fire from the gloryhole and furnace. Her dark blue eyes shone.
Elaine is not tall only 5’2” with a round face that fit her slightly
plump frame. Her jeans are old and worn, comfortable her tee-shirt a soft
pale blue. Elaine didn’t turn heads, but she had smile that would light
up a room if you got to know her and coaxed the laughter out of her.

On a worktable small glass sprites rested. Each little bit of lampworked
delicacy was a different color, some with wings, others looked like they
were possessed of comets with trailing streamers. Elaine heated the glass
in the gloryhole and then rolled it in sky blue and white opaque frit.
The colors faded as the frit melted into the gather, and Elaine helped
the process by returning the gather to the gloryhole. Once the glass was
back up to a working temperature of over 2,000° F. She brought the pipe
back out and worked it into shape then rolled it over the sprites. She
heated them in the gloryhole one more time before picking up more gather.

The color was all done and Elaine smiled as she started to alternate
between blowing and shaping the glass. Steam and sparks rose from the wet
newspaper that let her work with the glass like a potter with clay. She
worked the glass into vase-shape before transferring it to punty. Then
she started the final phase opening out the lip of the vase. Lastly she
broke it off and with Kevlar gloves set the work into the 900 degree
Annealer. But even at this stage the pattern could be seen, the blue vase
with white clouds was the background for a flock of tiny colorful
sprites.

Elaine set her work to cool and then shut the shop up and walked home to
the Fellows quarters. The dreamer was out the minute her head hit the
pillow.