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Gaia fic dump

putting it on tumblr too, I suppose.
Might be more.
I have no idea where these came from. Avert your gaze, poor friends, save yourselves.

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Vesti, Giubba

"First the greasepaint," he instructs you, "then the creme."
He guides your fingers into the small pots, and lifts your hand to his cheek. You feel your way across his face, touching and streaking your way against skin you have never seen. You almost allow your eyes to open, but he reminds you that you mustn't. Blind, you paint his face until it is brilliant white beyond your eyelids, in layers of mixtures of traditional oils and powders. You can feel his grin when your fingertips brush his lips, and you trace the underside of his chin and down his neck to hear his low hum.
When he is satisfied, his visage dressed to stark appeal, he permits you to open your eyes and look.
From there, you take pencil and brush, line his features, draw alien shapes against that paleness
brush the hair from his forehead hesitantly,
feel the softness of his eyelashes on your palm as you shade them,
run one more white powdered finger along his mouth.
The finishing touch is the small black heart to the side. You draw the outline in a dark, chalky pencil, fill it slowly
look upon your handiwork
his face
and gently take his chin in your hands and kiss that heart.
He nearly grumbles before you promise that you haven't spoilt anything, the paint is unchanged
it is perfect
he is perfect
this face, which he has created and made his own, which you look upon now, is perfect.
He brushes by you with a flourish, preparing the bow for his cavernous audience in his head.
You know what some of them say.
That he is a ghost, or demon
but all you know is that he is magician and master
and for you, that is enough.
*


---

Memories of light

Scuttling of tiny claws on scratched and cracked paving,
the stench of damp stone,
sewers and shadows and pits
and people as slippery as the underground walls.

How Luca hated it.

He remembered the scent of spices and perfume, where everything was gold, when his mother wore starlight in her hair and on her breasts, and held him close,
and he hated it.
He remembered the clang of iron and silver from a distant window,
remembered rushing and tripping down stairs,
saw the blood on the ground,
smelled death in the air,
and he wondered why any of it had to be that way.
He hated, and blamed, and a cold seed was planted in his heart.

When he was small, smaller than he was now, Luca rolled a ball in a garden.
The flowers dripped honey, birds whispered things to him, he looked up and from a great height heard a familiar laugh
and the sun shone.

Now, he wakes up, swathed in stolen and bargained silk,
wondering when his family will tire of him
and chastise him into hopeless oblivion until he runs, like they did
like they did to her.

Cordell brings him tea made of foreign roots, and he pretends he is home.
*

---

Gaia

Once,
many years ago, or into the future, or perhaps many worlds away
there were four friends.
Four friends who had a dream.
Their dream was to make a place for sharing, for new faces, for creativity,
and for magic.
After their dream came to pass, one by one and little by little, they slipped away.
Except for one
who we shall call Dancer.
He had made a promise to the goddess of that place that if she granted his wish,
he would make her name great
and all his dream touched would know her.
He promised that he would endure great hardship, for his dream would not be easy,
and she granted that wish. Made it real
but as hard as he tried, he could never find her again.
He fulfilled his vow, made her patron and namesake,
told stories in her honor
and he struggled.
Pieces of the dream fell through.
People left.
The path was unclear.
He never gave up,
for that goddess,
and that dream
he struggled.
He thought that the pain and confusion he often found
were the trials she had warned him about
and he tried his very hardest to find new members of the group that his dream had created
and he never knew
if they were right
or wrong.
*