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 Posted: Thu Nov 20, 2014 12:51 pm
 This Icing Ain't Sweet
Cesc and Shepard go watch the Flyers game at a new bar *
[ongoing]
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Posted: Thu Nov 20, 2014 12:51 pm
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Posted: Fri Mar 27, 2015 6:31 pm
On the Mend
Cesc and Zurine go to the aquarium and try to clear the air. *
Cesc pulled out his phone. It was good to see her name at the top of the list again.
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Posted: Fri Mar 27, 2015 7:40 pm
Halloween and the Hedge Maze
Cesc, Vivi and Shepard go out to a lab function for the first time since the ordeals of the summer.
Cesc also returns to the hedge maze that gave him so much trouble two years earlier. *
Well, it was easier than before, Cesc thought.
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Posted: Fri Mar 27, 2015 7:42 pm
Save You
Cesc gets a call from Jeremy and Dr. Kyou... *
[ongoing]
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Posted: Fri Mar 27, 2015 9:12 pm
Save You: Redux
Anxiety... *
[ongoing]
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Posted: Tue Apr 21, 2015 3:06 pm
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Posted: Tue Apr 21, 2015 3:07 pm
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Posted: Tue Apr 21, 2015 3:11 pm
A Silver Lining
Cesc goes to Ethiriel's birthday party *
He did wonder what she'd wished for.
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Posted: Tue Apr 21, 2015 3:17 pm
 Light, and All Its Brothers
Cesc turned a feather over and over in his hands. Pink, tangible, like one plucked from a healthy flamingo. He turned it over and over, his fingertips sliding along the spine of it, feeling the weight of it. Over and over, over and over.
Thoughts spilled from his memory like a full bottle crashing on solid ground. Inescapable, disorganized, everywhere. Broken debris.
He'd yelled in that forest. His voice echoing with anguish and frustration and fear. He'd yelled, and his wings had exploded off his back.
Years before, he'd touched Luka, and his light had exploded, too.
But here it was. A feather. A real feather, taken from his own wings. How had that exploded?
--
Shepard pulled up a seat next to him.
"You look constipated," he said. He took a drink -- water, although Cesc had expected beer. Shepard was still a little thinner than usual, still struggling to get back up to his previous ... well, everything. He was still a little more tired, quiet, subdued than usual. But it was coming back, like sprouts in springtime.
Cesc laughed. "I'm concentrating," he said.
"On a feather?"
Cesc nodded. "I'm trying to make it, ah... explode."
Shepard took a long drink and nodded without comprehension. His brows knit. "Might be sitting here a while."
The stag laughed. "No -- no, I guess you didn't see. That... that day, when I was--"
"-- your wings, yeah. I know." Shepard curled in his fingers and then splayed them outward. "They went poof, yeh?"
"Yeah," said Cesc. "Poof."
"Well, the rest of you kind of went poof a little bit later, right?" Shepard shrugged, easy, unconcerned. "Weird."
The feather went over and over in Cesc's hand. He nodded. "Weird."
---
He knew how to turn his wings into light. It was how he dressed. How he kept his wings from bumping into others in crowded areas. And he knew that what he was made of was broken light. So it made sense, didn't it? That he could break light, explode it. It made sense...
Cesc closed his eyes.
He could see the white stag in the forest. Golden horns and hooves and eyes, a pristine flank. Was that what he'd looked like before? Before he'd been stained pink, inflated by dawn. Given hands and words.
His eyes remained, though. True and unadulterated gold.
They hadn't spoke.
Maybe he didn't look close enough to be related. Got too much from his mother's side.
Cesc cracked a smile. He remembered Melisande's words: the wings of a muse should be white...
There was nothing for it, was there? Raevans didn't belong. They were made of things that didn't belong, not in nature or magic. That's why they were what they were... right?
The feather glowed in his hand, its tangibility disappearing into light. He stroked his thumb over it, over the warmth of it.
To his surprise, the feather bent. Like he'd touched clay, fondant. It was pliable in his hands.
--
November, 2014
It got easier with practice. Pulling light from where it lay, from rays of sunshine, from the glow of a lightbulb -- although from his own wings was still the easiest. He would pull the light into his hand, and stroke his fingers over it. It was like sculpting. He could make things. Keys and stars and balls and twists. He could make the light warm or cool, make its edges sharp or dull. And, if in frustration he closed his palms over it, he could crush it into dust.
And the light seemed eager, if he could trust himself to guess what light felt, happy to be used, happy to be pulled from inertia. Was that what Luka felt? Luka, who was made of true and brilliant light, unbroken and whole. Did he feel from all light what Cesc felt from dawn? A mother's embrace, a laughing eagerness to connect, to play, to engage in some, some, some way?
Light had no voice, could feel no loss. Cesc could feel nothing, truly, from the light he pulled and stretched and made into objects and then let go, flutter back into intangibility. But somehow it seemed right, it seemed to like him. To want to serve him, to help him.
Perhaps it wasn't breaking that he was doing. Splitting, rather, like water when it becomes ice. It could never really, truly, break into nothing.
--
December, 2014
Rhedefre wanted to give a gift.
Prajna, he remembered -- somehow remembered, like an imprint -- that he had promised a gift in return for that strange and beautiful Raevan's song. He owed Prajna a gift that was singular and special, and now he had one. But would Prajna remember him, or that promise?
Melisande. But how many gifts did he mean to bestow upon the Muse before she felt uncomfortable with his attentions? She was, surely, absorbed in her own life, her own relationship, her own self. And she wanted, she'd said, a place of her very own -- she was looking, she'd said. He couldn't give her more things to take, not until she was settled.
Ethiriel. Her birthday was coming, Cesc knew, but the delicate garden of one -- she needed something she could see, and his light was not in her scope.
Zurine. They were friends again, or something like it. They were groping for friendship, out in the sunshine after being in pure black for too long, awkward and happy but still somehow touched with a stinging, unfamiliar pain. What did they need from each other? Understanding, was it? Or -- something else? He didn't want to complicate things. Not while they were still trying to redefine normal, not while his hands remembered the feel of her hair, not while he still didn't know what the right distance to stand from her was.
--
January, 2015
Cesc made a knife.
He needed one in the bakery and he couldn't step away from the tiered cake he held steady with one hand. He fumbled in the air and he pinched together his fingers, and there it was -- a crude knife of morning light, sharp and even and just what was necessary.
The light again, eager to help.
He slid it over the buttercream and he thought, with vague discomfort and mild relief, that he would never be without a weapon again.
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Posted: Sat May 02, 2015 11:42 am
You're Naga-nna Believe This
Cesc meets Lette, Kla Han... and Guy Smiley *
[ongoing]
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Posted: Sat May 09, 2015 2:37 pm
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Posted: Fri May 15, 2015 7:05 pm
Cupcake Parade
Sunday morning filled with cupcakes and friends. *
[ongoing]
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Posted: Sun Jun 14, 2015 9:50 am
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Posted: Sun Jun 14, 2015 9:51 am
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