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Determining poem winner
1. Botein
2. Tempesti
3. Bacchus
4. Ekstrom
5. Emain
6. Liriope
7. Abzu
8. Eridu
9. Feronia
10. Green Chapel
11. Aberdonia
12. Maus
13. Ibirapita

Character name: Blarney
Competing for: Aruna
Poem:





Blarney had, perhaps, taken the whole sonnet thing a little too seriously. It was because Madeline loved English class, and had drilled the definition of a sonnet into him, and how to write one. They'd practiced writing sonnets together, and suddenly that felt like it had been rehearsal for this, without them ever even knowing it.

He was used to performing; he, in fact, loved the spotlight--he and his sister both did. But this was--different, and for the very first time, he felt nervous in front of a crowd.

But, well, training was training, and the spotlight was the spotlight, and he'd already written the thing, so he might as well get up and perform it. He got into it after a line or two, and everyone else's hadn't been anything so great either, so he let himself get a little theatrical about it, just for fun, pointing at Joy or grinning when he had to stutter over a line.

To his surprise, when he finished, he was met with applause, not jeering or mocking or general disinterest. He felt it was too long, comparatively, that everyone else's had been short and sweet, but--well, what's done was done and he found his seat once more, hoping that Aruna liked what he'd written, and that it earned her some honor and some glory. Or, failing that, that it at least made her smile.

"How'd I do?" Blarney whispered to Edam, who was too busy paging through half-scribbled poems in search of her final draft to give him the reassurance he was looking for--an absent nod, an absent 'you did great' was all he got. He pouted slightly, but refused to let himself sulk; not when he was having such a good day. Even if his sonnet had been terrible, he thought the bird would enjoy chewing it up just as much as it had enjoyed snacking on everyone else's, and wasn't that all that really mattered?

Character name: Edam
Competing for: Herself
Poem:





Edam didn't hate much, but Madeline did. She hated plenty. It wasn't cute, and it wasn't an aspect of herself she emphasized or broadcast, but she held a lot of rage in her tiny bones.

She hated, in no particular order: sexists, racists, fascists, every other kind of -ist that existed. Her parents, except that she loved them. The bad guys--the real bad guys, not the creature-y ones, the type that had awoken her and the type that she and Princess Cybele had met and fought--the humanish ones that, if Joy was to be believed, haunted and hunted the streets of Destiny City, looking for mortals to feed and feast upon. But she hadn't ever met any of them, not yet--maybe not ever, if she was able to avoid them, so could she really hate that which she did not know? Had yet to meet, yet to know their true potential for evil?

So what she knew, and she knew she hated, was grounded firmly in the real world; her real life. That was real evil, magic or no magic, and she hated them. She would, powered or not, punch any fascist that dared cross her path.

She knew Blarney was expecting something - more. That he thought she was a genius. And maybe she was, but in the deepest part of her heart, she knew she wasn't everything he thought she was. She wanted to be. She hoped to be. So she felt a bit--less-than, maybe, was the word. That maybe Blarney was disappointed in her.

But when she finished and searched the crowd, he was laughing and giving her two big thumbs up, and she thought maybe she hadn't done such a bad job after all. He clapped along with the rest of the crowd, and Edam gave a slight bow, tilting an imaginary skirt in a curtsy before she retreated back to the safety of her brother's protective, charismatic barrier between her and the rest of the world.

"Too heavy?" Edam whispered. Not that she cared, of course; it was true and she'd say it in every forum at any moment. She refused to be scared by those idiots--but she also didn't want to piss off the gathered magical community, at least not any more than she could help.

"No," Blarney replied, giving her a one-shouldered hug. "It was perfect, just like you." Edam flushed lightly under the praise, warmed by it. Her brother was her entire world, or at least he had been until the world had cracked open to reveal its magical underbelly. Now they were not each other's entire world--just the foundation of it, unshakeable and as strong as ever, invisible but utterly necessary for the world's continuing rotation. She was nothing without him, and she squeezed him back.

If nothing else, this was worth it: getting to see this world with him. At least, she had to admit, she wasn't getting left behind anymore. At least he wasn't abandoning her to normality by herself anymore. At least this way they would always be together, no matter what.

No matter what.

Character name: Kua'kua
Competing for: Grieve
Poem:





The writing of the poem was--difficult, given that Kua'kua had exactly no concept of Earthling, English writing. She could speak it, though the mounting list of words whose meaning escaped her, but writing it was fully another thing. Another thing that Kua'kua had not started on, but wanted to. Eventually. She had liked reading Kuanian literature, enjoyed Kuanian art, and had even had a limited understanding of other, ancient alien planets' media and culture, but that was extremely faint and fuzzy in her memory.

So. Writing a poem. She asked someone nearby what each of the three poem types were, and determined that the easiest option was something called a haiku, which was a simple arrangement, based on the syllables of the words involved, of all things. She had to ask someone (someone else, there was only so much ignorance she could admit to one person) what a syllable was, but once she understood that, it was fairly easy to go from there.

Her assigned topic, a third person told her, was herself - her virtues or beauties, or that of their hostess. Briefly, Kua'kua considered: did she even have any virtues? Did she have any beauties?

After a few minutes of thought, Kua'kua disregarded this idea. Nothing complimentary came to mind, and the assignment was to be nice to oneself, which she didn't think she could do - not until Kua'kua the planet was healed again. Then she would have virtues worth writing poetry about.

So that left writing a haiku about the Lady Joyeuse Garde. Kua'kua's eyes landed on the woman, short and sparkling in the glowing twilight light. She'd been the consummate hostess, all day, seeming as delighted by everyone else's enjoyment of the tournament as her own potential involvement.

But she wasn't just nice. She wasn't just beautiful. She was - devoted to her Wonder, that much was clear, and there was something...tough, about her, as well. Sharp. Living this life, and living it well, was not for the faint of heart, Kua'kua thought. One didn't become a Knight of her stature by only being soft.

Kua'kua sat down and began to write; first in her language, and then awkwardly translating into English, counting the syllables as she went. When it came time to read it aloud, Kua'kua rose, bowed lightly to the Lady Knight in question, spoke the poem aloud, bowed again and sat down, feeling a faint green blush across her cheeks as the applause scattered around her.

At least she was done now, and could focus solely on listening to the poetry of others--especially that of Maus, which admittedly did make her laugh. She liked Maus, and liked that he could laugh at himself. It was a skill she needed to improve within herself, and she clapped along with the rest as he finished. All told, she felt honored, still, that Maus had given her, of all people, his favor, when clearly he had others he could have offered it to. It felt like they were in this together, whatever 'this' would end up being, and that in and of itself was a comforting thought.

It had been - centuries - since she hadn't been alone, and that counted for more than she could ever say, in any language, in any number of syllables.