|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Tue Apr 01, 2014 4:35 pm
Brave, thought Rhedefre, had little to do with it, joke or no joke. They were sharing -- powers, backgrounds, secrets -- and he wanted for it to continue. He felt there was a friendship, true and easy, between himself and the Muse that had started to flower, and it gave him joy.
He righted his ear with a smooth motion, feeling the slim stem of the dandelion flush against it, and smiled, closing his fingers gently around hers.
"Aye-aye, captain," he said with false solemness, his smile still bright in his eyes.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Apr 01, 2014 4:56 pm
Pasha closed her eyes, spots of dappled light still glowing in her personal darkness. She could see Cesc's face still, the afterimage of him in the spring sun. The Muse's smile dimpled, and she tucked her chin down, concentrating.
She knew how it went with humans. It was an easy thing, to capture them in her mind, and imagine them in the world, surrounded by colors and motion. Soon everything swirled together, and something new, something True revealed itself. It wasn't so easy with another Raevan.
Or, perhaps, it wasn't so easy with Cesc. She imagined him easily enough, but her mind wandered to memories. The bakery, his face half shaded in twilight. Why was she never there during the day?! The thought made her smile widen, teeth flashing for a moment before she pressed her lips together again and tried to focus. The Garden Party…the young Stag looking so dapper in his vest and cravat. This morning, in the thrift store…the look on his face a split second before Vi had returned…
Pasha furrowed her brows, trying to concentrate. It didn't help to think of what was. She needed to find what could be. She needed to picture him focused, happy, totally engaged in whatever it was that-
Slowly, the colors started to blend. The Sigel relaxed, her expression softening. It wasn't she that controlled the image, not any more. It was like moving through Cesc's dreams, deeper into him through an ocean of gold and pink and white. It blurred together until the image of him was unrecognizable. The colors were breathtaking, distinct yet harmonious, like a shifting and rolling chant. She was aware of his hand in hers, of his breath, of his movements as he floated…and every motion shaped and reshaped the vision around her. It was as though, by his hand alone…
"You…" Melisande whispered softly, before her eyes even opened. There was no true light in her gaze as she lifted her head, not like there was in Cesc's, but the wonder lit her face. "…create." Her hand tightened in his, and she looked down at it, marveling.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Apr 01, 2014 5:18 pm
For a long moment, Cesc felt nothing. He felt the warmth of Pasha's hand against his, the silence that stretched between them as she concentrated. He saw the smallest furrow in the smoothness of her brow. For a moment, she broke into a smile, then ironed it out. He smiled back, encouragingly, confusedly, but her eyes were closed and she did not speak. Whatever she'd found amusing was not communicated.
They sat still and quiet in the sun. A cool breeze rippled the face of the water. The branches swayed and changed the patterns of the shadows upon them. A duck quacked in a nasal voice and shook its head. Cesc kept one ear high to shield the dandelion from the wind and resisted the urge to smooth away the wayward curls that danced across the Muse's forehead. Whatever she did, she did it with focus, and he would not break that.
Then, suddenly, there was warmth. His fingers felt warm, like he had held them cold over flame, a sweet, melting feeling. He was suddenly very alert to of the feel of her hand in his, and without meaning to he passed his thumb over her knuckles. The smooth rise and fall, the silk of her skin, the shape of the bones beneath: they made sudden and frank sense to him. It was a strange feeling, like perspective being forced upon you. Everything felt right, and solid, and well.
She opened her eyes but Cesc was unprepared for it. He looked at her with his lips parted and his eyes searching. "I... what?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Apr 03, 2014 9:04 pm
"It isn't clear…for me. It's an impression, like a tune you remember, but you can't recall the words…" She flashed an apologetic smile and dropped her eyes back to his hand, taking it in both of hers. The Muse ran her thumbs thoughtfully over his palm, thinking of her other experiences. Vi had a talent with massage. This was similar, in a way…the touch was important. But Vi did not Create. What could one do with a firm touch, that was not…
"Art." She spoke simply, catching his gaze again. There was an earnest wonder in Pasha's expression, like a child witnessing a little miracle. One of her curls caught in the corner of her smile. "You Create with your hands. Clay perhaps? Wood? I'm not sure!" The colors could have been anything, but the subject seemed more and more true as she spoke.
Melisande relinquished his hand slowly, folding her arms low across her stomach. After the song, and looking in to Cesc, being so far away from him seemed strange. "Have you ever tried making something…aside from the bakery? Something like your roses, but that endures?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Apr 03, 2014 9:31 pm
To Cesc's surprise, the words clicked. Not intellectually -- he held doubts of his own abilities. He especially held doubts that he had anything within himself that would inspire a look of such wonder on the Muse's face. He instinctively reached a hand up and pulled away her wayward curl, his eyes distant and unfocused.
There was a point, he thought, where a person became so focused on something that it was almost as if the rest of the world melted away. Focus that felt like the opposite, like the mind was drifting and the body was working, intently and expertly, on one solitary thing. Vivi had explained it to him once as 'flow', a feeling she felt when preforming her acrobatics.
He felt that sometimes in the bakery, early in the morning, making flowers out of fondant, crafting blossoms of buttercream. Working on each, his mind far away, content, at peace.
Could that be what Melisande meant? That feeling, that flow, was that right?
"I've..." the stag began at last, his gaze returning to her, his face clear. "I have really only done so with the baked goods, but I think I may know what you mean." He paused again, thinking. Clay, wood? Shepard carved, there was wood in the apartment.
The sun passed behind the a curtain of clouds and then out again, lighting Melisande's curls and eyes and the softness of her skin. He looked briefly at her hands -- smooth and unblemished. Would she want to risk them, experimenting with him?
"I wonder," the stag continued. "If I were to give it a shot, would you want to come to my home at the bakery and try with me? My family has things I could use to experiment with -- if you would like to meet them, and to try with me, I would love to have you."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Apr 03, 2014 9:53 pm
The words meant something to him. She could see it smooth his brow, light his eyes. When Melisande spoke something True, she never remembered the words she spoke…but she imagined the effect would look something like this.
For a moment, her eyes grew wide at his invitation. She could hear Vi's voice in the back of her mind, faintly. "With…your family?" Melisande drew herself up, dropping her hands to smooth the sides of her corset as she did. Already she was looking forward to the engagement, and the Stag hadn't even offered a date. Her smile flashed again, and she glanced sidelong at the ducks at the edge of the pond, waggling their stubby tails. The sun was warm, the grass was sweet, and she had a very good reason to go dress shopping.
"I would be honored."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
