._Aki Ana's Raevan

[Aki Ana]

Business, Part 2

The applause far outshined the usual polite clapping offered by dining guests. The patrons in the back were on their feet, all bright smiles and cheerful comments as they brought their hands together. Melisande sank into a curtsy, spreading the white pleats of her long dress daintily. Her cheeks were pink, and her wings were spread to catch the wind…which looked dramatic, she thought, and also helped cool her and slow her pounding heart. Singing in front of a new audience was always nerve-wracking, but it had never gone as well as this!

The little silver gazebo in the center of the café had become her stage, and Pasha turned in a slow circle, curtsying again in the opposite direction. As she lifted from the gesture, wings closing, the last of the evening light suddenly dimmed. Someone loomed over her, and Melisande shrank back…until she realized it was Alain, his arms full of flowers.

”Bravo!” He cried, far louder than he needed too, considering how close she was. The muse accepted the flowers reflexively, but her eyes were wide over the sweet and tangled bouquet. ”Bravo!” She watched with her lips parted as Alain turned to the crowd, motioning with a single grand sweep of his arm. ”Please, join us again! The lovely Pasha will be singing every Friday and Saturday evening!”

He turned to glance at the Sigel over one shoulder, his dark eyes merry. In a lower voice, he addressed her personally. ”Won’t you, my dear?” It sounded like a question, so Meli nodded hurriedly before burying her face in the flowers. The answering swell in the applause was almost embarrassing!

Alain left her to her thoughts as he made his way from table to table…soaking in the praise for his grand opening, and earnestly agreeing with the warm reviews of her performance. A hand at her elbow startled her…but it was only Dylan, the boy who cleared the dishes from messy tables.

“You did really well tonight,” He admitted, his brown eyes peering shyly through his mussed auburn hair. Dylan’s touch pulled back from her arm the moment she turned to face him.

”Thank you,” Pasha breathed, eyes smiling. She was a little overwhelmed, but his quiet sincerity made her feel more like herself again. Leaning forward, she kissed the air near the young man’s cheek, which was enough to turn it pink. ”So did you!”

“Me?” He looked genuinely startled, eyes going wide as he held his hands up defensively. “I didn’t sing!”

”No!” She laughed, and shifted the bouquet to the crook of the other arm. The smell was so sweet that Pasha was beginning to feel a bit dizzy. ”But you helped the others by cleaning up, and making the tables look beautiful again! And I saw how hard you worked, those tubs looked heavy.”

“They were,” He agreed, both cheeks a little more than pink. “And I’m not done yet. It looks like this is the time of night when the real work begins! I can’t wait to go home and crash.”

Melisande laughed. That sounded like something Vi would have said! ”Well, I’m sure your parents will be excited to hear about your first day, even if you wait until tomorrow to tell them!” There was something in the way his smile faded that concerned her, and Pasha realized suddenly that she’d said something wrong. ”Oh, I’m…I’m sorry! I didn’t mean-“

“No, it’s okay.” Dylan said, waving his hands again. His smile reappeared almost instantly, but it seemed a little forced. “I just…don’t live at home. I have my own place, a little apartment, not too far from here.”

Pashas eyes went wide, and she clutched the huge bouquet a bit awkwardly. ”You, well….you look so young! I assumed you still lived at home. Please forgive me for assuming!” She ducked her head, wings closing tight against her body. Dylan’s laugh brought her head back up in surprise.

“No, you’re right!” He agreed. “I’m only 17. I guess…I should be at home still, but home sucked. Really sucked. My step dad was an a*****e, and…oh, excuse my language.” They both laughed, Pasha’s cheeks turning pink as well. “Anyway, we all agreed it would be better if I wasn’t there, so I emancipated myself last year.” He shrugged, and the smile suddenly came easier. “I’m better off, even if it does mean working three jobs.”

”Three jobs,” Melisande repeated, eyes going wide. ”Is that…is that what emancipated means? That you get to work three jobs?” Whatever it was, it didn’t sound easy! The muse looked at Dylan in a new light, unable to imagine such a thing. Even one job was tiring enough!

”No, emancipated means I’m allowed to live alone, and I’m in charge of all my own stuff. It’s like being an adult, even if you’re not legally old enough yet. I had to get permiss-“ A call from across the plaza made them both jump. The words were friendly enough, but the look on Alain’s face made both the muse and the bus boy shiver involuntarily. “Sorry, I gotta get back to it. It’s a boring story anyway. Hey, next time I have a break, maybe you can tell me where you learned to sing so well, instead!” He was already jogging down the steps of the gazebo, one hand lifted in parting.

Melisande lifted a hand as well, words that were already on her tongue fading. She didn’t really know where she’d learned to sing so well, and she wasn’t done listening to his story…but if he was done telling it, the Raevan knew it wasn’t her place to push. He’d given her a lot to think about though, and with a mind still full of questions, she made her way out of the gazebo and into the building proper.

There wasn’t much seating inside the restaurant itself, only three or four little tables were tucked into the corners. Even if the weather was poor, Alain had said a canopy was drawn over the outdoor tables, and business carried on as usual. It was mainly just a place for the kitchen, the bathrooms, and the break room for the staff. Taking a moment to find a pitcher of water for the flowers, Pasha settled them in gratefully, and stretched. She hadn’t had to do anything as hard as carrying a tub of dishes, but she was still feeling her exertions from the day. In the quiet of the break room, she arched one wing, then the other…feathers trembling as her tight muscles protested. With deft fingers, she plucked the hair pins from her up do, and gave her curls a shake. Even her scalp ached a little from having her hair up so long…it felt good to have it down again, and cover a little bit of her totally exposed back.

”Lovely,” Alain’s deep voice suddenly rumbled, and Pasha jumped. Her wings closed tight as she spun. ”Your singing.” He clarified, leaning against the doorway. ”Very lovely, indeed.”

”Thank you!” Melisande said breathlessly, hands against her chest. What was it about him that always made her so nervous? And how had a man as large as he learned to move about so gracefully, and so silently? ”And…thank you for the flowers!”

Nodding amiably, Alain straightened, and offered one massive hand to the muse. She settled her hand into his a little reluctantly, watching the way his fingers curled lightly over her skin. ”I was hoping you’d join me for dinner, now that you’re finished for the evening? They’re already setting one of the inside tables for us.”

If they were already setting a table, it seemed to Pasha that it was less of an offer and more of a suggestion. She nodded, not wishing to be rude, and followed him out of the break room. In truth, she was glad he’d chosen to be seated inside. The praise was wonderful, but all the attention was making her feel a little lightheaded. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but it was a new sensation to be sure.

”I took the liberty of ordering,” He explained as they sat. She could hear the bustle in the kitchen, and the clink of plates. ”Salad, and the chilled tomato soup. I thought you might be warm, after working so long, so nothing hot.”

”I…am.” Melisande agreed, tucking her curls back behind her ears. ”You’re very thoughtful.” It was hard to speak up, and keep her eyes up. There was something so commanding about his presence that it made her a bit insecure. ”I look forward to work tomorrow though, and…singing…if you meant what you said about Fridays and Saturdays.”

”Of course I meant it, Pasha.” His eyes were sincere, brightened by a point of light the same grey as the silver at his temples, in his dark hair. ”In fact, there is another opportunity I wish to discuss with you, if you’ll hear it.”

The kitchen door opened, and one of the servers backed out with two plates held high. Marie, Melisande thought, after a moment of trying to remember the woman’s name. She smiled as a bright salad was set carefully down before her. ”Thank you, Marie! And of course, Alain. I’d like to hear it.”

Marie brightened at the fact that Pasha had remembered her name, and her freckled cheeks lifted with a smile. She put the second plate down in front of Alain and bounced back to the kitchen, where Melisande could hear her talking excitedly with someone inside. Alain seemed to wait until she was out of earshot before continuing.

”I think your talents might be better spent singing, instead of at the hostess station.” He picked up his fork and poked at his salad without looking, eyes still on the muse. ”If you’d consider an exclusive contract, I would be happy to offer entertainment on more days than two.”

”I like being the hostess,” She admitted quietly, eyes on the salad. It was only half greens…the other half looked like genuine wildflowers, in purples and reds and oranges, mixed in among the lettuce. Meli marveled at this for a moment, rather taken by the riot of colors. Surely they were edible, or Alain wouldn’t have served them! Something else he’d said finally sank in though, and she lifted her chin to meet his eyes. ”I’m sorry, what’s…an exclusive contract?”

”Try your salad, love. You’ll enjoy it.” Alain took a bite as Melisande automatically complied, and chewed thoughtfully as she tasted it. He was right, she was enjoying it, but her mind was still on his offer. Dabbing his mouth with the napkin, he settled it back in his lap before continuing. ”An exclusive contract simply means you sing for no one but me.” As Pasha met his eyes, shocked, he inclined his head graciously. ”For no one but the Plaza Café’, I mean. It is a way of ensuring more loyal customers, of course. A meal could be had anywhere, but people will return time and time again if it is the only place they can watch you.”

He said it all so casually, explained it all so easily, that Melisande had to take a moment to pick it apart. She lifted a frilly yellow blossom from her salad and chewed it silently, only distantly noting the way it was both peppery and sweet. ”I…appreciate the offer, very much. I don’t have any plans to get another job, but…I just wouldn’t feel right about that.” Her blue eyes were concerned as she lifted them slowly again to his face. Concerned that he would think her ungrateful, concern that he might even be angry and not understand. ”I wouldn’t feel right about making a promise like that, I mean. I like to sing…and I’m not sure I can say this is the only place I’d ever like to do it.”

Alain dropped his eyes to his water glass, large hand wrapping around it. She watched the way his thumb smoothed over the condensation on the side of the cold glass, making a single fat drop run like a tear. ”I’d ask you to think it over,” He said, deep voice surprisingly quiet. Meli’s fork was forgotten in her hand as she watched and listened, feeling tense. ”It would be very lucrative, in that the pay would be excellent,” He explained, and lifted the glass from the table. ”But I’m sure that’s not your deciding factor. Simply keep it in mind, won’t you? Perhaps we can discuss it again at a later date.” He was holding his glass out towards Melisande, his eyes on hers again, and she realized with a start that he meant to toast. Retrieving her own glass, she clinked it gently against his. ”To your first day! Congratulations, Melisande.”

”To your first day, as well! Congratulations!” She echoed, and took a small sip. It wasn’t until she sat the glass back upon the table that a cold chill shot through her, as cold as the icy water she’d drank. Her pale feathers lifted reflexively, wings puffing like a sparrow on a winter’s morning.

His rich voice echoed in her mind, repeating her name in her memory over and over. A name she was sure that she’d never told him.

Melisande.  

[Aki Ana]

RP with Kyou! In Progress~

 

[Aki Ana]

Summer ORP! Completed!

 

[Aki Ana]

Quest: Blackberry Summer
Part 1

~

Taken by : Aki Ana

Title : Blackberry Summer

Description : Ah! The fruition of summer! After basking in the sun and sucking up the summer storms, the blackberry bushes nearby your home have finally produced healthy bunches of delicious corpulent blackberries. There are so many to pick, so many to gather and harvest! Though the task may prove difficult because of those nasty thorns, the ending result should be marvelous! What do you do? Do you keep all the blackberries for yourself, or do you choose to share them with someone special? Or perhaps you decide to make something with them, something even better than just blackberries? The summer is waning fast!

Requirements : None.

~

Melisande floated silently in her strange new room, pale hands clasped low against her stomach. She gazed out the watery glass of the closed window with her face carefully composed, a neutral expression that seemed deceptively serene. Her bright blue eyes were heavy lidded, circled with faint ashen rings, and fixed unwaveringly on the distant blue sky.

“Another beautiful day, Miss.” An aged, tentative voice ventured from the room behind her. Melisande winced, but didn’t turn. She’d spent beautiful day after beautiful day at her window, waiting and watching. Hoping for a wisp of fog, or a single stray cloud, but the sky was still heartbreakingly clear. Anderson bent stiffly, sweeping up the scattered petals that surrounded her with a tiny hand broom. Old bones creaked, and he cleared his throat roughly as he straightened.

“May I offer you a ride to work this evening?” Concern was obvious in the housekeeper’s wavering tone, but it barely registered to the muse. Her eyes were still fixed on the cruel, cloudless sky.

”I work on Friday.” Pasha murmured, her own voice paper thin and barely audible. ”Is it Friday?”

“No, Miss. I suppose it isn’t.” Anderson sighed quietly, forehead lined at how innocent and distant her question sounded. He tapped out the petals into her little decorative trash bin, and shuffled once again out of the room.

Melisande didn’t notice. Minutes turned into an hour, the time only marked by the insistent tick of an antique clock. Still her eyes stayed fixed on the sky, looking for a sign. Looking for hope. When Anderson returned once more, he moved with slow and dignified purpose…shuffling forward until he stood directly between Pasha and the window. The Sigel blinked, dry eyes stinging, and stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“Summer is almost over, Miss.” In his large knuckled hands he held a wide, floppy brimmed sun hat and a petite cloth lined basket…both of which he offered out to her. “The blackberries are ripe…” He paused to catch his breath, hands shaking with the effort of holding out the hat and basket without letting his arms fall. “Wouldn’t you like to…pick some?”
She truly didn’t. Not so much as a speck of interest brightened with Melisande, but her eyes did settle on the hat the manservant held dutifully out to her. The storm that Pasha held in her heart surged suddenly, filling her memory in a flash.

Lashing wind scoured the beach, slapping stinging grit against Melisande’s salt streaked face. She ignored the way the storm plastered the white cotton shirt against her thin frame, ribbons unspooled and snatched away from her tangled curls. The rest of the Raevans and their guardians had long since left…the drinks booth slanted crookedly, and the broken melons and melted popsicles left bright spots of color in the sand.

Pasha’s gaze never wavered. She stared down the beach, through the veil of her snarled golden hair. Across the sand and over the water, the storm worsened…white capped waves frothing and shattered against one another. Beyond that, she knew, was the heart of the storm…a little island of calm water and gentle winds, a patch of clear blue sky.

That was what Zavier was to her. What he’d always been. But staring out into the chaos, Melisande couldn’t see the eye of the storm. She couldn’t see past the ruined beach, the crashing waves, the howling wind and driving rain.

Something wheeled and tumbled down the abandoned stretch of sand, flipping and sailing in the wind. A wide brimmed sun hat, with a tattered bow…left behind by someone that once loved it, or snatched away by the cruel and greedy winds. Melisande’s hand tightened at her chest, pulling the sodden white dress shirt closed over her clammy skin.

Left behind, and lost in the storm.

Pasha reached out slowly, and took the sun hat from Anderson’s shaking hand. His old face crinkled with relief, but Melisande didn’t notice. She took it with reluctantly, still lost in her memories. The muse’s heart was heavy, so heavy it felt like it would sink down through her, and smother the dim light of her rune once and for all. Distantly, she wished she could cry, or laugh, or do anything to lessen the terrible weight…but the tears wouldn’t come, and the idea of a smile seemed almost strangely foreign.

“The best berries are along the fence, Miss. Mind the thorns.”

***


The frilly sun hat rested forgotten in the grass like a giant flower, nestled into the perfect shag green of the lawn. Overhead, the sun blazed merrily. Anderson was right. It was a beautiful day.

Pasha’s throat tightened. She’d always used to like sunny days. Again, her eyes lifted to the sky, hoping for even a single cloud, but the blue was flawless. When she dropped her eyes again, the tangle of vines and berries before her was so complex compared to the empty sky that it was almost overwhelming. For a moment, the Sigel simply clutched the basket, and stared at the maze of berries and leaves. The enormity of the task was daunting. She just wanted to rest in a quiet room, and watch the days pass by…

Slowly, Melisande began to realize why Anderson had been so insistent about the berries. Having her spend another day in her room was exactly what he didn’t want. She hadn’t eaten, and hadn’t slept…not really. Not for days. This was a distraction, and nothing more. Pasha sighed, and reached forward with one pale, delicate hand.

She didn’t want a distraction. She didn’t want any berries. She wanted Zavier.

A sudden and unexpected sensation raced up Melisande’s arm, jolting her from her sluggish and sullen thoughts. It was a shocking feeling, and her breath rushed inward as she snatched her hand back. On the tip of her first finger, a perfect red berry was balanced. Pasha stared at it, uncomprehending, until the berry swelled and slumped to one side. It wasn’t a berry, it was blood, she realized a bit belatedly. The color was vivid against her white skin, trickling soundlessly and twining like a crimson ribbon down her slender hand.

The muse watched it, lips still parted in shock, until the thin line of blood reached the edge of her wrist. There, a drop collected, hanging for just a moment and growing fatter before falling free, like a tiny shining harvest apple. She’d never seen her own blood before, Pasha realized, and the beautiful day seemed to grow dim around the edges.

It was only then that Pasha saw the thorns, hidden among the leaves. It was her own fault. She’d only seen the fruit, so lost in her own world that she hadn’t bothered to think it through. The blood splattered lawn seemed to be rising up to meet her, and Melisande squeezed her eyes closed against the wave of vertigo.

Tiny basket still clutched in her other hand, Pasha crumpled to the grass, blond curls fanning over her white face as she fainted.  

[Aki Ana]

Quest: Blackberry Summer
Part 2


Melisande’s eyes opened slowly. The afternoon must have passed…the sun no longer warmed her skin. Perhaps a cloud had covered the sun, offering her a little blessed shade. She almost smiled at the thought, and rolled her head to the side to gaze upward.

A delicate green umbrella arched over her. Pasha stared at it, momentarily disoriented, until she realized what must have happened. Anderson had found her, sleeping in the garden, and set up a lawn shade. He was a thoughtful man, if a little parental. She rested a minute longer, still gazing upwards. There was something unusual about the ribs of the umbrella, something that tickled at her in the back of her mind. They looked like the veins of a leaf, she realized suddenly, and tilted her head the other way as she marveled. It wasn’t surprising, not particularly…Aria had all manner of unusual and beautiful things around her manor. Especially her clothes, Pasha thought vaguely.

Anderson had selected her berry picking outfit himself from Aria’s old wardrobe, since Melisande hadn’t been able to summon an interest in anything but cloud-watching in days. A corset of criss-crossing silk ribbons cinched tightly around her, the same gold as her hair at the top, and fading to warm white at the bottom. He’d picked it because it matched the frilly sun hat, and the white basket for the berries. As she remembered the basket, Melisande sighed, and pushed herself up with one arm. She checked the corset briefly, making sure it hadn’t been stained by the grass. Thankfully, it hadn’t, but Pasha realized the basket was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t remember where she left it, and couldn’t really remember laying down for a nap, either. Feeling a bit disoriented, Melisande took another slow look around.

It was a bit dim in the shade, but the sun filtered down in dramatic slanting columns. Pasha stretched, arms over her head and wings trembling with the effort. Everything seemed strange, but it was probably just the tail of a dream, still turning circles in her head. Giving her curls a shake, Meli dropped her arms and floated out of the patch of shade. The sun was brilliant, momentarily dazzling. The Sigel shaded her eyes with one fair hand, squinting up against the light. Her curls seemed to blaze as they caught the sun, the sheen of her corset glowing almost incandescent as she slowly turned.

Still staring upwards, Pasha’s breath caught. It was beautiful. Overlapping shades of green fluttered softly in an unfelt breeze, fringing the column of light. At the very top, a grand chandelier hung…great clustered orbs of frosted glass, the richest wine purple, that seemed to positively glow with collected sun. The air was impossibly sweet, and Melisande’s eyes fluttered closed as she took a deep breath, still turning in the warm air.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The voice was just was warm and sweet as the breeze. Pasha’s eyes opened slowly. At the edge of the ring of light was a young man, smiling and watching without a bit of shyness. Melisande blushed, and dropped her eyes. He should have been at least a little shy…he wasn’t wearing any clothes! ”It is.” Pasha agreed quietly, looking at the ground. Instead of grass, the ground was covered in great golden swatches, which crinkled and crunched underfoot as the young man walked forward.

“I made that one.” He confided, and Melisande reflexively looked up. He’d planted his hands on his hips, gazing upward into the column of light. His hands were stained a rich purple. Pasha’s blush returned twofold, and she lifted her eyes this time, instead of dropping them.

”You made…what?” She spoke to cover her nervousness. Didn’t he know it was polite to wear clothes when speaking to a lady?!

“The blackberry!” He laughed, pointing. It took her a long moment to realize what he meant. The chandelier? It was…a blackberry?! Melisande put a hand to her forehead, feeling dizzy.

“I think…I think I’m dreaming.” Her voice sounded fuzzy and distant, but she jolted out of it at the feel of a touch on her upper arm.

“Of course you are!” His laugh was as warm as the sun. Melisande was frozen with him so close, but struggled to find her voice.

”If…if it’s my dream…why…” She swallowed past the lump in her throat, and bravely met his eyes. They were green. She should have guessed they would be green, but she’d been hoping for blue. ”…why don’t you look like him?”

The young man’s smile faded. “Like who?” He asked, and settled one hand on Pasha’s shoulder. His fingers left purple smudges on her fair skin, like fading bruises. His voice was still warm, but soft and serious, like his expression.

Pasha’s lips parted, but she couldn’t say his name. Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she tried to find the strength. Distant laughter, like tiny tinkling bells, pulled her back to the moment. ”Like…Zavier. My Zavier.”

“Oh, love.” Sympathy breathed out from him, and his hand tightened comfortingly on her shoulder. “I don’t look like him because I’m not him, I suppose.” He lifted his hand and tucked a few curls behind her ears. Part of her wondered if he’d left a purple streak in her hair. “You are dreaming, but…that doesn’t mean this is your dream. You understand.”

Meli’s pale brows knit together. ”I don’t. I really…don’t understand.” She drifted back from him, wings spreading slightly. The distance was nice, but she abruptly remembered why she hadn’t been looking at him in the first place. ”And…could you find some clothes? Please?” It embarrassed her to ask, but it was hard to have a conversation when she couldn’t look his way.

His easy laugh made her blush again. “How’s this?” He asked so quickly and so easily that Pasha thought it was a joke. He laughed again, without malice, and she peeked through her veil of long, sultry curls. Low and behold, his lower half was suddenly clothed...embroidered cloth of gold perfectly and improbably tailored into a rather sharp pair of pants.

”You don’t have a shirt…” Pasha whispered, her eyes on his ankles. ”But thank you. What did you mean about…?”

“About dreaming? I would be honored to explain.” He offered his elbow (bare) and smiled slowly as she accepted it. “My name is Rubus. Walk with me? Well…float with me?” The muse floated silently by his side as he stepped from the column of slanting sunlight, guiding her deeper into the heart of the bramble.

Melisande looked around, marveling, as Rubus escorted her through the tangle. From this perspective, it was less of a tangle, actually. The loops of the blackberry vines arched majestically, towering architecture fringed with serrated leaves and studded with shining thorns. Pasha’s eyes lingered on the thorns, wary of their seductive curves and wicked, ruddy points. Rubus followed her gaze, and his easy smile flashed. “Thorns! Someone else makes those. They look cruel, but they serve an important purpose.”

”What purpose?” Melisande asked, looking daunted. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to see someone hurt like that! Remembering her finger suddenly, Pasha lifted it up to her face, examining the tip. She’d pricked it, before she’d even picked her first berry…that was why she’d fainted! She remembered the crisp red of her blood, and-

Melisande winced as dizziness washed over her, and everything seemed to grow brighter.  

[Aki Ana]

Quest: Blackberry Summer
Part 3


“Don’t!!”

Rubus stopped suddenly, folding his hand over Melisande’s. She started a bit, and furrowed her brow at him, disoriented and confused. “Don’t think on it, whatever it is. If you concentrate too hard on the waking world, you will leave the Dreaming!”

Her mouth opened, and he chuckled, answering her question before she could ask it. “The Dreaming is what I was telling you about. It’s another place, a special place!” His hand slipped from Melisande’s, and she almost sighed. He’d been warm, like sunshine. Rubus interlocked his fingers gracefully, and smiled at the Sigel over his clasped hands. “It’s woven into the waking world, so I suppose it’s not a different place entirely, but not everyone can reach the Dreaming. Only special folk! It’s like…another point of view. If you ask me, it makes more sense than normal dreams.” He shrugged as they drifted into a new column of sun, the light casting richly across the lines of his shoulders and collar bones. “Normal dreams are strange. Whole worlds, locked up in just one person’s head!”

Melisande squeezed his arm lightly, urging him to halt. It was nice in the light, and she needed a moment to think. ”If I’m here, does that mean…I’m special?” Her cheeks were pink, the lightest breath of raspberry. She knew she looked special, and had been born a special way, but she didn’t know that made her a special person!

“Or course!” Rubus agreed, enthusiastic. He tucked a few more of Melisande’s golden curls behind her ear, and tilted his head with a winning smile. Despite how stained and purple his hands were, his teeth were very white. “You’re a Muse, aren’t you? Or a descendant of one, at least. Muses usually have legs. But they are part of the Folk from way back. More mainstream than the rest of us, though.” He said the last part with a bit of derision, waving the fingers on one hand, but Pasha didn’t dwell on that.

”A…muse?” She asked, voice quiet and fragile. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard the term, but it was the first time she’d really thought of herself as such. Aki had always used words like inspiration around Melisande, but Pasha had always assumed she was being complementary. Even the term muse was just flattery! Wasn’t it? ”How do you know? Are you…a muse, too?”

Rubus laughed. She liked his laugh, it cut through her confusion, and brought her back to the moment. There was something about the way it chimed, so light and carefree, that made her want to laugh with him. “Of course I’m not a muse! I don’t have wings, do I?” He turned around for a moment to prove it, half in jest, and peered at her over one shoulder. Melisande’s eyes traveled for just a moment down his slender, toned back before her blush returned. “No, I’m one of the nature Folk! I help with the blackberries…when I feel like it.” There was a hint of mischief to his tone, but Meli found it rather endearing. In fact, the entire place was growing on her!

There was something about the way the bramble extended, up up and ever upwards, that filled her with a sense of wonder. She’d never felt so tiny before…she had to wonder, was she really tiny, or was the Dreaming just really big? Rubus certainly seemed normal sized, but who had ever heard of a blackberry larger than a car?! She gazed upward at the blackberries overhead, and sighed a bit at their dark, plump perfection. Rubus stood silently by her side, shielding his eyes from the sun with one purple hand, and admired his work as well.

“I’ve always enjoyed berries the best.” He confided, gaze still caressing the high and heavy fruit. “All those delicate segments, filled with sweet juice, and a tiny perfect seed in the middle of each one! Very rewarding. Apples aren’t nearly as fun. Too big and cumbersome. Dull colors.”

”How do you make a blackberry?” Melisande asked tentatively, hoping it wasn’t a silly question. It certainly seemed silly. She had a mental image of Rubus pouring bucket after bucket of juice into an empty blackberry skin, and stitching it carefully closed. ”Should I be helping? I’m not sure why I’m here…”

Dropping his eyes back to the Muse, Rubus gave her a sympathetic look. She sounded so lost, he couldn’t help but fret over her. “I suppose I don’t make the blackberries, not really. Look, you eat fruit, don’t you?” He waited until Melisande nodded to continue. “Have you ever had a peach that was kind of grainy and mushy? Not very sweet?” He laughed a bit as Pasha wrinkled her nose and nodded again. “Now, have you ever had a perfect peach? Where the skin is just barely fuzzy, and it’s so filled with juice that it almost pops when you take a bite? And the flesh is perfectly sweet, and silky smooth? Well, that’s what I do. That’s what most nature Folk do! You can tell when something has a little magic in it, you know? When a tree is that brilliant shade of crimson in the fall, or when the roses in your garden smell sweeter than perfume!” He threw his arms wide and laughed, and this time, Melisande laughed with him.

She didn’t realize it until that moment, but her laugh had the same sweet, ringing tone as his did. It had been a long time since she’d heard her own laugh. For days, it had been nothing but stinging eyes and a heavy heart. ”Can I watch you make one?” She asked, laying one hand back on Rubus’s elbow.

His green eyes widened. ”Do you really want too?! Oh, yes, thank you- ah…” His enthusiasm dampened for a moment, and Rubus scrubbed one hand through the back of his hair, smiling abashed. “Sorry, little Muse! I don’t know your name!”

Pasha smiled with him, and drifted back a bit, playfully. ”You know I’m a Muse, and you know how to make a blackberry, but you don’t know my name? I was beginning to think you knew everything!” They laughed together, and the tone was even sweeter, a perfect compliment. It sounded almost like music, she realized with surprise. ”My name is Melisande! You can call me Pasha, though, if you like.”

“Pasha.” He agreed, still smiling his brilliant smile. “Very cute!” Chuckling at her blush, he tugged the Sigel out of the beam of sunlight, towards an arching loop of vine. Following the sweep of his hand with her eyes, Melisande could see a large blackberry nestled high among the leaves, looking cool and red in the shade. “Let’s go for that one. It’s a bit of a climb, but…” Glancing sidelong at her wings, he grinned. “I’m sure you’ll make it fine! Just hold my hand!”

Melisande obliged him, and followed Rubus as he picked his way up the path sized stalk of bramble. They threaded their way carefully between the thorns, her worry lessening with each step. The thorns weren’t so scary, with their points up so high! ”I wish I had a job, like you do. Well, I do have a job, but it’s in a café! I mean a nature job.”

“Muses have a job already!” Rubus protested, stepping carefully around an inconveniently placed thorn. “It’s your job to inspire people! Matter of fact, you could probably help me with my work, if you really wanted! What kind of muse are you, anyway?”

Pasha boggled at the question. ”I…I don’t know! I didn’t know there were different kinds!” She held aside a large leaf with a heart shaped brown spot on it, until Rubus passed beneath. Melisande followed a moment later, hurrying to catch up.

“Sure there are! Just like there are different kinds of nature Folk! Of course, since Muses are always gallivanting about in the waking world, I suppose people just know more about them.” The explanation still didn’t make much sense to Pasha, but Rubus continued on blithely. “Muses always seem to have something to do with art. Like, poems and writing, or dancing, or singing, or-“

”Singing?” Melisande breathed, wings furling as she came to a halt. Rubus stopped just a few feet later, and grinned again over one shoulder. ”There are Muses that sing?”

“Absolutely!” He agreed, and laughed lightly. “Judging by your reaction, I’m guessing that’s your thing?” Pasha nodded, dizzy with surprise. “Well, how about I teach you an old song I know, and you can sing it while I work on this berry?”

Melisande realized belatedly that they’d arrived. The berry was within reach of the vine, far larger than she’d expected. Each segment was so shiny that she could see her tiny face reflected in it. It didn’t look nearly as plump and delicious as the last ones she’d seen…instead, it was a dark unappetizing red, and the segments seemed slightly opaque. ”Please teach it to me! It won’t take long, I promise. I learn new songs fast!”

“I’m sure you do!” He chuckled, and brought one fist to cover his mouth as he cleared his throat.

When Rubus began to sing, Melisande stilled to listen. Her wings parted slightly as though she could catch the melody in the sweet air between them, and her lips moved silently, practicing words in the fluid, unfamiliar language. The boisterous pace of the song and the wheeling, complex chorus were very charismatic, in her opinion. It would be the perfect song for chores, or gardening! By the time he finished, Melisande felt energized, and she clapped her little hands enthusiastically. ”Beautiful! It was a lovely song, Rubus! Very lovely!”

He waved her praise away with one hand, but she could see pride in his wide smile. “Credit goes to the song, then. I know my voice doesn’t do it justice. It’s a harvest song, though! I know a few planting songs as well, but this one seemed like the perfect fit. Do you need me to sing it again?”

Melisande shook her head. ”I think I’ve got it! I’m not sure if I’ll actually be of any help, but…”

“Oh, please!” Rubus laughed, and nudged her with one shoulder. Pasha’s wings fluttered, giving her enough momentum to nudge him right back. “I’m sure just hearing you sing will be a treat! Go ahead and start any time, and I’ll get to work on this berry! Looks like it will need all the help it can get.” He made a sour face at the likely sour blackberry, and rubbed his purple hands together briskly. Melisande watched as he leaned forward, and pushed his palm against the shiny skin of the segments. The purple stain of his hands almost seemed to leak into the berry, driving the red color back and replacing it with a dark, rich tone. Pasha was so entranced, watching the change, that she almost forgot to sing!

Her lips parted, but for a single moment, the song escaped her. Panic stiffened her wings. How could she forget it so easily?! She’d promised to sing it for Rubus…the embarrassment was almost unbearable! Squeezing her eyes shut, Pasha did the only thing she could think of. She was a Muse, right? For the first time, Melisande turned her inspiration inward, and willed herself to remember. It was only nerves…once she heard a song, she could always remember it! It didn’t matter if it was a different language. She could do it! With a little thrill, the words returned to her, and the first sweet line swelled up from her.

As Pasha began to sing, she could see Rubus turn, his eyes wide with surprise. Her voice filled the little bramble, as surely as the sunlight and sweet summer air. The berry plumped under his spread fingers, the rich purple of it darkening to an almost decadent black. After just the first repetition of the chorus, Melisande could see the dimples his hands were now making in the thin skin on the segments he touched, as they softened and filled with delicate juice. The little stem the berry weighed upon began to bend, until the bulk of the fruit rested heavily upon the neighboring vine. Pasha finished the song with a breathless laugh, just a minute later, and laughed again as Rubus caught her up in a hug.

“Pasha, you’re amazing! It was like the beginning of the season, all over again! I feel like I could do twenty more, just today!” He spun her about for a moment before holding her again at arms length, both of them beaming and gasping for breath. “This is going to be the fattest, sweetest berry anyone has ever tasted!”

Melisande’s smile faltered. ”But…you worked so hard! Aren’t you sad that someone is going to come along and…eat it?” It was like a work of art! Pasha felt almost sad that the little berry was destined to come to such a selfish end.

Rubus shook his head, his wild hair shading his green eyes. “Are you kidding? No, I’m not sad at all! Everything has a purpose, like I was saying earlier. Nothing worth having in life is easy to get…that’s the point of the thorns! But there are always rewards, like this berry! The sweet things in life never last long, but they always make for the best memories. Don’t you agree?”

Melisande was stunned. She couldn’t answer…suddenly, the weight in her heart and the lump in her throat that she’d been carrying for days rose to the surface. Great, shining tears filled her blue eyes, and cut lines down the blackberry stains Rubus had left on her cheeks. Memories of Zavier filled her, like fluttering birds, and Melisande pressed the palm of her hand against her chest. It felt like her heart was breaking all over again, but this time, the pain was much closer. Rubus was right. Nothing worth having was easy to get…and if all she had left were memories, then that was all she had. The sweet things in life never lasted long…

“Pasha?” Rubus asked, alarmed. His voice sounded very far away. “Melisande?” His hands were on her shoulders, shaking her gently, but she couldn’t even feel his touch. “Don’t think on it, or you’re going to wake up! No, it’s…it’s too late!” She knew it was true. Everything around her was growing brighter, as though the bramble had parted to make way for the sun. The leaves, even the one with the little heart shaped brown mark, seemed to grow thin and transparent under the light. “Come back some day, won’t you? Back to the Dreaming? Just rest your head, whenever you think I’m near! Pasha??”

The light was blinding, as hot on her skin as the tears on her cheeks. Melisande reached out for her companion, but her hand passed through him, fingers curling where his heart should have been.

“Don’t forget me! Pasha!”  

[Aki Ana]

Quest: Blackberry Summer
Part 4


Melisande woke hiccupping, the sobs still trapped in her chest. Sitting up slowly, she rubbed at her sunburned cheeks with the back of one hand. The sun was still blazing overhead, and the blood along the side of her hand smeared across her fair cheeks as she rubbed. The pain of losing Zavier suddenly seemed all too real, and for a moment, Pasha wished she was back in the Dreaming…singing with Rubus, and watching the berries grow fat.

Instead, she was alone…hurting from the tears, from the sun, and from the memories. She took a deep, tremulous breath, and let it back out…sniffing as the tears kept coming. The Muse scrubbed at her eyes again, trying to get them to stop. It had been so long, and not a single tear…but Rubus was right. Sweet things weren’t meant to last. Life was full of thorns for a reason. Without thorns, no one would appreciate the berries.

Pasha sniffed again, and fluffed her wings like a dew soaked songbird. Her pale feathers ruffled, spreading in the sun, and warming the thin little bones beneath. For a few minutes, she simply rested…clutching the little cloth lined basket against her stomach, and trying to calm her pounding heart. The words of Rubus’ song came back to her as she quieted, and Melisande breathed them like a lullaby. She didn’t know what any of the words meant, even now…but the tune that was so contagious when sung heartily was comforting, when sung so soft.

She gazed into the tangle of the bramble, wishing she could tell Rubus thank you, and tell him that she would be okay. She hoped she would be okay, anyway. It felt like her heart was beating around one of those wicked thorns…every moment hurt, but Melisande didn’t resent it. The pain had a purpose, just like the thorns. It reminded her not of what she’d lost, but what she once had.

Near a loop of thorny vine, something caught Melisande’s eye. It was the jagged edged leaf, with the little brown spot shaped like a heart. The mark was so tiny now that she barely noticed it, but seeing it almost made her remember how it felt to smile. With careful fingers, mindful of the thorns this time, Pasha reached just past it, where she knew the berry would be. She couldn’t see it from outside the bramble, but sure enough, the fat blackberry fell right into her hands with barely a brush to knock it loose.

Melisande pulled her hand back out of the bush, cradling the berry gently in her caged fingers. It was huge, almost the size of a small egg, and she could almost see her face reflected in each of the dark, shining segments. Holding it as though it were something precious, because it was, Melisande let the basket drop to the grass and brought the fruit up to eye level. She remembered what color it had been before Rubus worked on it, but there wasn’t even a hint of the cold red left. It was heavy, heavier than it should have been, and Melisande knew without a doubt that it would be the sweetest, richest berry anyone had ever eaten.

She should do something special with it, she realized. Something to take her mind off of her loss and troubles. Perhaps she could make it into a little tart! Or tiny blackberry candies! Anderson would like it, she knew…she could give it to him, to say thank you for encouraging her to get out of the house. Or she could give it to Dr. Kyou, to say thank you for granting her request to live on her own! Perhaps she could send it to Aki, as a peace offering. It had been weeks since they had spoken.

Ideas were planted, and each sprouted into a beautiful scenario in the Muse’s head. She liked the idea that Rubus’ hard work wouldn’t go to waste. She could make someone happy with this berry! She could-

Suddenly, and without thinking any more about it, Melisande brought her hand to her face and popped the entire berry in her mouth. It would make someone happy, she realized. Her! It was already bursting before she bit into it, and juice sweeter than blackberry wine filled her mouth. She could taste the sun in it, warm and impossibly bright, and for the first time in the waking world, with tears still on her cheeks, Melisande laughed. Her lips were stained purple, and her heart was broken, but she laughed.

From somewhere deep in the bramble, almost too light to hear, another laugh answered, and drifted like a snippet of music on the summer breeze.  

[Aki Ana]

Work and Play
(solo)

The office was dark and silent. Tall, tidy stacks of paper sat like squat skyscrapers on Alain’s desk, each topped with a glass dome paperweight. It wasn’t like him to avoid paperwork. Melisande trailed her fingers up the corner of one pale stack, watching the edges lift and fall stiffly, and wondered how much trouble she was in. It had been weeks since she’d worked. She hadn’t even called. The time away had done very little to help her heal…even now, the tears and loneliness swelled like the tide, just behind her fragile mask. Everything tasted of salt and bitterness, but the world did not wait on one Raevan’s broken heart. Be sad if you must, Miss, but why be sad alone? Anderson’s kind insistence had finally pushed her out the door, and back into everyday life.

Even though she was back out in the world, it didn’t feel real. Why was the Café’ dark? Why was the office so silent? Even on his days off Alain was always here…shuffling papers and making calls, counting tills and rearranging schedules. Perhaps Anderson had been wrong. Perhaps the world did wait on one Raevan’s broken heart.

”You’ve returned.”

Alain’s voice was so dark, so deep, that Melisande started as she spun. The stack of papers she’d been touching leaned precariously to one side, and the paperweight slid off and landed with a shotgun crack on the expensive stone tiled floor. Papers swirled up into the air like petals, whisking and fluttering in the space between them. He filled the doorway so completely that for a moment, she was disoriented, blinking in the dim light.

”I’m sorry, Alain. I’ve…” The words wouldn’t come. Melisande’s hands made fists against her chest, tucking under her chin as she tried not to let the tears show. ”Someone…”

Alain’s shadow surged forward, his silhouette detaching from the darkness of the doorway. Melisande lips barely parted with a gasp when his massive hand closed around her wrist. The sudden shock of pressure drove the breath from her just as suddenly, and she stared up into his icy grey eyes with shock written across her face.

”Did someone hurt you, Melisande?” There was a cold fury in his low, even voice as he pulled her close, looming over the muse in the darkened office. ”Who.” The way he said it made the word into a threat, not a question.

Pasha’s wings flicked as she tried to find her voice, the fingers of her hand uncurling from the numbing pressure of his grip. The ache of her slender wrist in his grasp was almost a relief, in a way. For so long now she’d been carrying the pain in her chest that this was a nice distraction. ”It’s not…like that. “ Her lashes fluttered as she blinked back tears. It never even occurred to the Sigel to struggle. ”He just…left.” Her delicate voice cracked, like something precious underfoot.

Alain’s grip on her wrist relaxed. Pasha gasped as blood made its way back to her hand, prickling her with pins and needles. Instead, his strong fingers cupped her jaw, tilting her head back. His eyes were no longer so icy and cold…they seemed darker now, glittering. With tears? ”Oh, Melisande. I had no idea, lamb. Here, now.” His touch slid around to the back of her neck, and he drew her in against his broad chest.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Pasha pulled her wings in tight…willing the tears to stay low in their surging sea, and not rise up into the storm she remembered. He held her for several long moments, until she began to stir. Until she realized what he’d said.

The muse pushed away from him slowly. One hand was still buzzing with renewed circulation, pink fingers spread against the front of his dress shirt. Staring up at Alain with wide blue eyes, Pasha searched his shadowed face.

”You called me…Melisande.” Her spun sugar voice was fragile with trepidation, wings tight against her back. ”Alain, how…how do you know that name?” Since the first day they’d met, she’d used the name Pasha. This wasn’t the first time he’d called her something different, she realized, and grew still as something slid across his gaze.

Alain’s smile hitched up in one corner, slow and crooked. It looked unusual on his strong, even face. For a while, he simply held her in place…his gaze locking hers, and his hand still curled against the back of her neck. Finally, his hand dropped…smoothing slowly over her shoulder and down one slender arm. Pasha shivered without realizing it.

”Your mother called, Pasha.”

”Aki?!” Meli cried, wings jolting open. She drifted suddenly back, clasping her hands at her chest again. A twinge from one wrist went almost unnoticed. ”When did she call? Is she coming here? How did she find me?!”

He took in her reactions with the same calm half smile. Reaching back with one hand, Alain found the light switch and radiance filled the room…glinting from the crystals of the small, tasteful chandelier overhead. His dress shirt was rumpled, she realized distantly. The cuffs were turned back, and it was undone to the third button. Unusual for him to be anything but immaculately put together.

”She called almost a month ago.” He answered slowly with his black velvet voice, watching her reactions as he smiled reassuringly. ”She’s not coming, Pasha. Don’t worry. I didn’t even confirm you were here.” He saw Melisande’s eyes grow wide, and laughed. The baritone made the crystals overhead chime nervously. ”She saw your ad. Remember the photo shoot we did, the publicity for the grand opening?” He waited until she nodded to continue, strolling forward to close the distance between them again. ”Well, this is obviously the first place she would call, right? I told her we worked together for the photo shoot, but that was all I told her. Don’t worry, Melisande.” He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, and she leaned back reflexively. ”I’m sorry. May I call you that?”

Aki had called? And she hadn’t pushed for more information, hadn’t stopped by? Something about that made Meli feel strange. Was it because she’d hoped Aki would come find her? She didn’t think that was what she wanted, but… ”Please…call me Pasha. If you don’t mind.” The muse tilted her face away from his touch as she tucked her curls behind her ears. ”And Alain…I’m sorry. I should have called, being gone so long. And I should have told you about Aki. I-“

He shushed her warmly, gliding around to the other side of his desk. She’d always marveled at the way he moved so gracefully for a man so large. ”It’s all forgiven. I held your job for you…of course. How could I not? No one else can sing like you, darling.” Pasha searched for bitterness in his voice, but didn’t find it. She relaxed slowly as he continued, watching him pour something thick and golden into two tiny flutes. ”And your business with your mother is exactly that. Your business. But as for this other matter…”

He passed her a slender flute, and Meli reached out gingerly to accept it. She was a bit startled to see the pink welts his hand had left on her wrist, but the muse said nothing. He lifted his glass, and she did the same. ”A broken heart is a stronger heart.” Alain’s toast chilled her…he had to clink his glass against hers as she froze. ”You’re a woman now, Pasha. You’ve loved and lost. If you can survive that…you can survive anything.”

Was that true? Was the hardest part of life behind her? Slowly, she brought the tall crystal glass closer to her face, staring down into it. There were no bubbles, but somewhere inside her, all the way down to her rune, tiny sparks of hope seemed to effervesce. She loved Zavier, as much as she ever had, but the idea of moving past the hurt was warming. ”A stronger heart.” She murmured. His lips curved into a smile. A temptingly sweet smell drifted up from the glass to caress her, and her eyes fluttered closed. ”What is it?”

”Mead.” He answered crisply, and took a sip. Pasha mimicked him and touched her tongue to her lips, tasting the bright sweetness. ”Honey wine. With a little time and a little patience, it’s amazing how something so sweet can mature into something so sophisticated. Don’t you think?”

A breath of pink graced her cheeks, but Pasha nodded. She had the suspicion that he was referring to more than the wine, but the muse didn’t object. Sophisticated…she liked the sound of that. It sounded adult and mysterious. It sounded…strong.

Alain watched as she took another sip, longer this time. His smile never wavered. ”If you’re able, I’d like you to work tomorrow, Pasha. Your audience misses you.” He set down his glass silently, the level almost unchanged.

”Wear something lovely, won’t you? Let’s give them a show.”  

[Aki Ana]

Unexpected Attention
(solo)

Tiny powdered teacakes crowded the silver platter, piled like dainty snowballs. Petite square sandwiches with no crust covered a second plate, each one laced with cream cheese and perfect rounds of cucumber. Sugared nuts, fresh berries, and clotted cream filled shining bowls, garnished with candied rose petals and sprigs of fresh mint. Tea sat steaming in porcelain cups so thin that the morning light from the window made them glow like votives. Viola made a happy noise and stuffed another cookie into her mouth, still lounging on the velvet divan.

“I weally wike y’woom, Pasha!”

Melisande stuck her head out of her walk-in closet, smiling through tousled curls. She held a lace scarf wadded up against her bare chest, covering herself for a moment to talk to her friend. ”What? I can’t hear you through all those teacakes!”

Vi finished chewing, swallowed, and laughed. “Sorry! I said I really like your room! It’s good to see you again…it’s been so long.”

Melisande’s smile faded slowly. She’d already told Vi the story, already brought the tears and the pain back fresh. Her friend knew why she’d been absent, but the guilt of vanishing only made Pasha feel worse. ”It has been. I-”

Waving the muse off with one hand, Viola reached for the teacup with the other. It was so delicate, like a baby bird! A baby bird filled with delicious, delicious tea. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to distract you. Finish getting ready so I can do your hair! Alain said something fancy, right?”

”Something lovely.” Pasha automatically corrected, voice muffled from the depths of the closet. ”All of Aria’s clothes are lovely, though. I don’t know what to pick!”

Viola pondered that as she sipped, both hands now curled around the tiny steaming cup. “Hmm. Well, what does he like? Dark, light? Long sleeves, sleeveless?”

Hidden by racks of silk and satin, ribbons and bows and ruffles, Melisande brought her arm slowly into the light. Vivid purple bruises surrounded her wrist like a cuff, ringed by a sickly yellow. She placed her fingers over the darkest parts, remembering how big Alain’s hands really were. ”Something long sleeved.” Her voice was subdued, swallowed by the wardrobe.

A few minutes later, Pasha emerged. She was still tugging things into place…the tight opera length gloves, the sash around her neck with the long, trailing ends. Vi gasped when she saw the muse, and started coughing as she inhaled the powdered sugar from one of the little cookies.

“Hey! Lookin’ good, sister! Love it!” Viola dusted her hands together brusquely, still coughing, and smeared the final bits of sugar off her fingers and onto her tattered jeans. “Never seen you in something that dark before, though. Definitely dramatic!”

Meli smoothed her hands over the fabric, a blue so rich and dark it was almost black. It lengthened her in the most peculiar way, making the muse seem downright thin instead of just slender. She was proud of herself that she only thought of the storm once, the deep turbulent sea and the threatening blue black of the clouds. The loose curls of her pale hair rested against the fabric like the crests of wild water, bright and ephemeral. ”I’m glad you like it.”

Her voice was so subdued. Viola sighed, wishing she hadn’t upset her friend again. Melisande should never apologize for taking time for herself, but they’d already had that talk. “Your hair looks good down, actually. Let’s brush it out a bit, and then curl the ends back up? Give it lots of body?” Pasha just nodded, and settled at her vanity…wings spread and held low. Leaving the treats behind with one last longing look, Viola made her way over to the Raevan. She combed her fingers through the soft curls for a while without speaking, until she could feel Melisande start to relax. “Leave it to me. You’ll be back on stage before you know it!”

”It’s not really a stage,” Pasha murmured. ”It’s a…gazebo? It reminds me of one of those old bird cages, except with vines and tiny little flowers.”

Viola’s fingers slowed. A cage? She could appreciate the imagery, but the idea of her friend locked up like a songbird was a little disquieting. “How are things with Alain?” She twisted most of Pasha’s hair up gently, and picked up a little comb from the top of the vanity to tease some body into the under layer.

Vi’s voice unusually quiet and serious, for Vi at least. Melisande lifted her gaze, seeking out the other woman’s face in the mirror. Viola’s green eyes were downcast, focused on her work. ”He’s…okay. I think he was upset with me, taking so much time off. But…”

“He understood?”

Meli paused, lips still parted. ”I suppose so. He said…I was stronger for it.” In retrospect, Alain hadn’t asked any questions at all, and Pasha hadn’t really explained. It was as though having her heart broken was all he needed to know.

“Stronger? Well, that’s one way to look at it. Oops, sorry.” Vi wiggled the comb out of a tangle as Melisande winced, and patted the area until the Raevan’s expression smoothed out again in the mirror. “You saw him yesterday?”

”Last night.” Pasha corrected, closing her eyes. The scene was still fresh. ”I went after close to talk to him. We didn’t talk long…he poured me some mead and drove me home.”

Viola’s hands paused in Pasha’s hair. “Home as in…over here? Did he come in?” Pasha could hear the restraint in her friend’s voice, and her pink lips quirked into a little smile as she opened her eyes.

”No. But why do you ask?” She suspected Vi had a crush on Alain from the very first day he’d knocked on the door of her friend’s shop. Her suspicion was reinforced by the way Vi’s freckled cheeks went pink and the tugging at her hair increased.

“No reason! Just curious. You know, girl talk!” Their girl talk was suddenly interrupted by a soft knock on the bedroom door. Both of them jumped, and Viola laughed lightly. “I’ll get it!” She pushed away from the vanity and skipped over to the door.

Pasha could hear Anderson’s soft voice from the hall, and another of Vi’s short laughs. Anderson was such a dear…even though he’d cared for Aria, he’d been willing to stay when Pasha had arrived. The estate had provided for his continued service, he’d explained, and spoke no further on it. She toyed with the little crystal perfume bottles on the silver tray, wondering idly which one Vi would pick.

She was pulled back to the present by the sound of the door shutting. Pasha twisted to see what Anderson had wanted, and gasped. Vi’s arms were wrapped around a huge frosted vase, filled with such a profusion of flowers that the girl had to lean down and to one side to see around them. Gorgeous orange roses cascaded into a fall of brilliant red, arranged to transition from one shade to another with skill and obvious creativity. Melisande’s expression was as shocked as Vi’s was delighted. ”Wh…who?”

“Alain!” Viola said breathlessly, and gasped another laugh. “Duh! Well, I take it he isn’t mad anymore!”

Pasha’s eyes were still wide, spots of color high on her cheeks. A sudden flash of Alain’s stony face and glittery eyes filled her memory. He might not be mad now, but…he had been mad, hadn’t he? Unconsciously, Pasha’s fingers trailed over her gloved wrist, purple marks hidden by rich blue satin. ”They’re…beautiful.”

Viola set them on the top of the vanity with a thunk. The reflection of roses doubled the size of the bouquet, and Melisande felt suddenly overwhelmed. “They’re gorgeous! Oh, you lucky girl! I-…” Trailing off, Viola realized what she’d said a little too late. No matter how it looked from the outside, she knew Pasha wasn’t feeling very lucky. “I’m sorry, I’m just excited for you. I’ll move them-“

”No, it’s…okay. They smell nice.” Pasha looked a bit wan in the mirror, but she sounded sincere. Vi relaxed a little bit and smiled.

“How about some rose perfume then? Seems fitting?” The muse nodded and Viola grabbed the atomizer, spritzing the Raevan lightly. “Alain dropped them off himself, you know.” She added the last bit casually, going back to working on Melisande’s hair.

Pasha started, wings spreading. The heavy vase rocked dangerously, and she grabbed it with both hands. Something thrilled through her at Viola’s words, but it wasn’t quite excitement. It was something closer to nervousness, but the Sigel didn’t take the time to analyze it. “Just now? Is he still here?”

She shook her head and tugged Melisande back into place. “Nope. Anderson wouldn’t let him in. Old guy seemed kinda put out, actually. Said it was dreadfully inappropriate.”

Viola’s impression of the butler was so dramatic (and accurate, Pasha admitted to herself) that the muse couldn’t help but laugh. Her friend smiled, glad to hear the sound. ”Did he say why?”

“Nope.” Said Viola, scrunching Melisande’s hair with both hands. She’d worked it into an impressive mane of body and curls…a vivid contrast to the dark, sexy dress. “Guess you’ll have to ask him.”  

[Aki Ana]

Old News

The bruises on her wrist had long since faded, but Melisande was still in the habit of keeping them covered. There were lacy, opera length gloves in Aria’s closet that she rather fancied, and the Muse slid the length of them slowly up her pale and slender arms. Antique lace was softer than modern lace…strands worn smooth and worked into suppleness. It was a difference she’d never appreciated while living with Aki. Being on her own had opened her eyes in many ways.

There were many things that Pasha still didn’t understand, however. She pinned her hair up carefully, twining her curls into place with deft fingers as she studied her own solemn face in the mirror. Aria’s mirror. Anderson had welcomed her home like family, but he’d never truly said why. He’d never explained why he’d turned Alain away at the door, either. Melisande had spent weeks dwelling in the past, and months trying to put herself back together. It was time to look to the future, even if her heart wasn’t in it.

She drifted from the dressing room like a ghost, silent and swathed in white. The lace edging on the corset complemented the gloves well…not a perfect match, but it had its own harmony. Much like her place in this Manor. Pasha had never felt at home here, not truly, but she certainly felt welcome. She tried to find a smile before knocking softly at Anderson’s door.

“Yes, Miss.” His aged voice was steady, for once. Because he was resting, Melisande realized sadly. No matter how she insisted, the kind old man simply wouldn’t retire. He was on his feet by the time she opened the door.

Pasha had always liked Anderson’s room. It smelled warm and sweet, like leather and cherry tobacco. High shelves of dark polished wood held stacks of fat books, carefully dusted until the golden lettering on the spines glittered. The bed was spartan, with a thin brown blanket and a single pillow, and seemed far too hard to sleep on. Anderson said it was good for his back. Even though she’d invited herself in, he was already busy pouring them tea before she could protest. Melisande accepted the steaming cup with both hands, and smiled gratefully at him.

”Thank you, Anderson. I was…hoping we could talk.” She settled down on his ottoman, not quite sitting, but doing the best a Sigel could.

“Yes, Miss.” He sipped his tea, even though the cup was almost too hot to hold. Pasha winced.

Melisande wasn’t sure where to start. It had been the same thing that had been holding her back for weeks. He was such a nice man, but not exactly chatty. Pasha took a deep breath, and tried to remember Vi’s advice. Don’t expect a story, Viola had said. Just ask simple questions. She took a breath, and asked.

”Why don’t you like Alain?”

Anderson took another sip, and cradled the cup in his knobby hands. “I don’t dislike him, Miss.”

Pasha waited. Anderson waited. Pasha made a face. Vi was right. There was no story coming. Blushing at bit, Melisande stumbled and tried to rephrase. ”O-okay. I guess what I meant was…why didn’t you let him in, the other night?”

“Because I don’t trust him, Miss.”

Shock rippled through her. The Sigel’s wings spread slightly, and the tea in the cup trembled. Didn’t trust him? The idea of Alain being untrustworthy was…strange! ”But…why?”

Anderson seemed to ponder that for a moment. He rolled the cup between his hands as though lost in thought, but his eyes were sharply focused on Melisande’s face. “Did you give him your address, Miss?”

”…No.” The color drained a bit from Pasha’s face. Come to think of it, she hadn’t. ”How did you know?”

Suddenly, Anderson’s blue eyes seemed much older, and much sadder. “Because Aria didn’t either, Miss. Yet there he was, flowers in hand, just days after they met.”

The shelves filled with books suddenly seemed much taller, looming and bending over her. Melisande reached back, and placed both hands on the ottoman behind her. She didn’t know when Anderson had taken the teacup from her. ”Alain…knew Aria?” Her voice sounded very small in Anderson’s tall room, and her pale wings tucked in tight.

Nodding once, Anderson bent and reached under his bed. The butler pulled out something heavy and square, wrapped in an old cloth. With obvious effort, he lifted the book to his lap, and unwrapped it with trembling hands. It was an old leather photo album, or at least Melisande assumed it was, since the word Photos was embossed into the thick cover. He opened it reverently, to a ribbon marked page about half way through. “The last picture…I have of her. It was opening night.”

His gnarled fingers smoothed over the edge of the page, never quite touching the photograph. Aria looked beautiful, her curls a wild flower-pinned mane. Rosy pink shadow ringed her huge eyes, but her smile seemed very small. Beside her stood Alain, with one hand resting on Aria’s shoulder. Not resting, Pasha thought, and leaned closer. His fingers tightened over the diva’s shoulder in the photograph, tightened firmly enough to leave dimples in her white flesh. He wore the same smile, even back then…handsome, confident, and never quite touching his eyes. Melisande’s fingers grazed along her own wrist, remembering his strength.

”A-anderson? What…” The Muse swallowed, and lifted her eyes to the old man’s face. His eyes were still sad. ”...What happened to Aria?”

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, Miss. This was the last time I ever saw her.”  

[Aki Ana]

[RP with Lucia, The Gilded Cage, in progress!]  

[Aki Ana]

[RP with Zul, Cold Reception, complete!]  

[Aki Ana]

ICEBREAKER - COMPLETE?  

[Aki Ana]

Lost and Found

Anderson twisted the bronze knobs deftly, his grip sure despite his years. Hot water splashed down into the immaculate tub, swirling the scattering of herbs and salts he’d added to the bath. The scent of lavender lifted with the steam, and he inhaled professionally, making sure the fragrance was neither too faint nor too overwhelming. It was, of course, neither.

The water continued to run as he straightened, his back stiff but his face untroubled. His thoughts weren’t quite as serene. The Miss sat out on the balcony, as she did every time it rained. Anderson could see her silhouette against the glum sky of the evening, her head tilted back. The curls of her hair had darkened slightly and pulled straight with the rain, but they didn’t stick to her cheeks. It was as though the rain pushed them back, smoothing the wet locks from her cheeks. She didn’t shiver, but her wings were pulled in tight. The butler knew she would need a hot bath. She always did after a storm.

With slow, practiced motions, Anderson folded her towel into a square, and rested it on the table beside the tub. He pondered it a moment, watery blue eyes traveling to the French doors of the balcony, and back to the towel. Just as slowly, he unfolded the same towel and began again. When he finished, a charming towel bunny huddled on the table instead. His lips pressed thin with satisfaction, and he twisted the water off.

The rain had let up, as he knew it would. He was at the door as she turned, opening it silently just as Melisande ghosted across the balcony. She seemed a million miles away, her bright blue eyes unfocused and her short white dress plastered to her slender frame. He didn’t bother helping her out of it…Anderson simply led the way to the bath, and the Muse sank in, clothes and all. Her eyes closed, and her head tilted back against the rim of the tub. For a few moments, he waited, to see if there was anything she needed. He knew there wouldn’t be, but he hoped. It had been a long time since he’d seen the girl want anything.

Still in silence, he turned, and made his way to the door. He was pulling it shut behind him when Pasha spoke, her voice like music, like his favorite song from a long time ago. Her voice was always like that.

”Anderson? The bunny is cute.”

The corners of his eyes fanned suddenly with wrinkles as he smiled. The storm was passing. “Thank you, Miss. Goodnight.”  

[Aki Ana]

L'oiseau Chanteur

“Pasha!”

Alain’s voice rang across the courtyard of the Café’. His baritone was so rich and commanding that several patrons jumped in their seats, and a burst of finches scattered from the eves of the gazebo, streaking out into the evening sky. Melisande didn’t even wince. She was used to this.

”Yes, Alain?” She paused near the outskirts of the Plaza, bag over one shoulder. Every day he seemed to find some reason to delay her, when it came time for her to leave. It had been flattering at first.

”You sang beautifully this evening, my dear.” Pasha extended one hand, knowing he’d reach down and take it anyway, and watched as he pressed his lips to the backs of her fingers.

”Thank you. I must say good evening, though. I’ve been working si-“

”I know, my dear, I know. You are an angel. A gift.” He murmured, but Melisande was positive his deep voice carried, especially considering how the patrons turned in their seats to watch. Her hand was still locked in his. ”I’ll send someone over to see to you tomorrow morning, before your shift. I think a massage could-“

”Tomorrow?” Melisande’s eyes went wide for a moment before she remembered herself. Alain hated a public scene. She used the moment of shock to pull her hand free, and grabbed the strap of her bag. ”I am not working tomorrow, Alain. You…remember?” His face was darkening. It was hard to see…the slight lines around the corners of his eyes deepened, his full lips thinned ever so slightly, his brow lowered a fraction as his chin dropped. She moderated her tone automatically. ”I asked for the day off, weeks ago. Zoe has asked her students to sing at her club this evening, there will be someone important there, and-“

”Zoe.” His voice was a rumble, she could feel the bass of it even though they no longer touched. ”You are a student to no one, my dear. That woman should be honored to hear you sing, much less have you sing for her.” He reined himself in with some obvious effort, pulling himself taller and forcing his chin to rise. Pasha swallowed. She always forgot just how large Alain was. ”Apologies, my dear. But I would have remembered any request, and it’s not in my book! If it’s not in my book…”

Melisande’s lips parted. The color drained out of her, and for a moment, in the long white Grecian dress that Alain preferred she wear, she looked like her Halloween persona all over again. When she finally found her voice, it was a whisper. ”I…did! You were at your desk! I…why are you smiling?” The Sigel’s stomach twisted, and she pressed both hands against it.

”Pasha,” He began, patiently. ”I didn’t want to tell you this and ruin the surprise, but…tomorrow is a very special day!” He reached forward and tucked a stray curl back into her updo. The muse was so used to this that she blocked the action out entirely. ”It’s our Grand Re-Opening!”

”Your…what?”

”Our.” He corrected, and pulled something from the inner pocket of his jacket. It was a business card. Meli took it automatically, and stared at the text. ”Our Grand Re-Opening!”

L'oiseau chanteur

The script was delicate and pale silver. Above it were two embossed birds in flight, and below was the address, and the name of the proprietor. Not just Alain’s name, though.

Both of their names.

”What…Alain, what does this mean?” Pasha was shocked. Her wings spread ever so slightly before she caught herself, and tucked them tightly back in.

”It means The Songbird. I’ve renamed the Café’ after you, Melisande!” His smile was dazzling, but Pasha barely noticed. She was still staring at her name, listed under his on the heavy stock card.

Her thumb smoothed over the embossed birds slowly. ”I…thank you! But…why is my name on the card?”

His large hand cupped her chin gently, tilting her face up towards his. Melisande’s eyes were so wide, and so blue…for a moment, he could see himself reflected in them, haloed by the twinkling lights of the Café’. ”Because you deserve it, Pasha. This café’ would be nothing without you. Because of you, we attracted the finest customers, time and time again! You helped me build this business from the very first day, and so…I’d like you to be my partner.” Alain pretended he didn’t notice the way every remaining dinner guest was craning out of their seat to listen. It would be great publicity. ”Legally, all on paper, every ‘t’ crossed and every ‘i’ dotted. What do you say, Pasha? Will you stand beside me tomorrow, here at our L'oiseau Chanteur?”

The Muse’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. She’d worked so hard to make it on her own since she left Aki. She thought of Vi’s kindness, in the thrift store…of Anderson’s kindness, in Aria’s manor. Even Alain’s kindness in giving her a job in the first place, but this…

This was something she’d accomplished! Something she’d truly earned!

”Yes! Yes, I will!!” Melisande’s wings snapped open and she threw her arms around Alain’s neck, hugging him tightly. The makeshift audience gasped, and a polite smattering of applause rippled through the sparsely populated tables. ”Thank you!!”

His large hand smoothed down her lithe, slender back, and Alain held her close. ”No, thank you, Pasha. Without you, this would simply be the Plaza Café’. I’ll see you here tomorrow, at 4. I’ll send by something for you to wear.”

Melisande nodded, and drifted back. Her mind was spinning with thoughts of the business. Their business. His fingers trailed along the small of her back before he crossed his arms, satisfied. With one final, tiny smile, the Muse turned, and darted out into the evening.

She’d forgotten all about Zoe.