Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was only dusk by the time the fires were being lit. In truth it was always dusk, or dusky at the least, but as citizens of a half-lit world can tell you there are quite a few different shades of dusk and this one was the true dusk. A proper dusk, the beginning of night. So really, festivities were starting quite early this year.

The Night of Stories was held in the same wide intersection in Cheppinhew it graced every year. Although nothing like a proper square the people in the neighborhood had taken to calling it Salton Square some time ago for reasons unknown. It was a wide open area, well suited to the needs of the festival, that had been created when poor city planning had caused a number of cobblestone streets to tangle up with each other and lose their individuality all in the same place. Earlier in the day barriers had been erected to stop mechanized carriages from passing through the area and while they only blocked off the square itself the throngs of people soon to arrive would render all the surrounding streets equally unusable by the end of the night. Booths ringing the square had been set up by industrious merchants long before even the barricades were and already small lines had formed at a few of them. Hanging above all, strung between unlit street lamps and balconies and anything else they could be attached to, were dozens of ropes of yet-unlit paper lanterns.

In six evenly spaced points around the square, or intersection, or what have you, were the places where the smaller storytelling fires would be lit and at their center was the space for the main fire, the dancing fire. The lighting of the fires was normally done at around 9:00, when true darkness was sure to have fallen, and was a spectacle intended for a much larger crowd. But only a sixth of the people who would attend the night's festivities had deigned to show up so early. Though this meant they could actually walk, rather than shove their way through the crowds, many of them were already complaining about the sorry affair that would be this year's opening ceremonies. Nevertheless they all ceased their chattering to watch, respectfully, as the bear-headed City Person in charge of this year's festivities stepped up to a podium at the far edge of the square and droned earnestly about the great history of their City, and the tradition of the festival, and the importance of storytelling, and other subjects far less interesting than setting things on fire.

Having spent fifteen minutes on the necessary introductions the bear man huffed, which when put into writing had the look of a funny sort of squiggle pressed between two sentences, as a way of clearing his throat. "Let us now commence with the lighting of the fires! Mr. Sarrister, if you would," he said, and motioned with one gloved hand toward the center. All eyes turned to watch as another man, torch in hand, ascended a small platform beside the main fire's kindling and bowed. Sarrister held the torch above the waiting pile of fuel and paused, smiling a little mischievously, until little ribbons of protest began to drift up from the crowd. With a wink, he dropped the torch.

The fire caught instantly, no doubt the work of a little convenient magic, and in that same moment each of the surrounding fires and every single one of lanterns caught as well. The whole square flashed brilliantly and was filled with light. A chaotic jumble of letters and the shouts of Book Children erupted from the enthusiastic crowd. They clapped, whooped and cheered long after Sarrister had stepped away from the fire and vanished among the dark shapes of the people. The crowd may have been smaller this year but the show was still quite grand and now the people began to talk amongst themselves. Night set in with definite authority. Music began to play. The festival had officially begun.

Dancing. Crowds. Stories. Music.
Nothing could keep her away from this night.

This would be her sixth time attending the festival and it was her favourite time of the year. There was nothing Talulah loved more than being surrounded by people while dancing by the firelight, then sitting down and listening to stories long into the night.

The Book Child had arrived long before dusk. The night before she had followed home one of festival organizers and for the last week she had been poking her nose into everything she could. It was just so… so very exciting! She wanted to be in the thick of it constantly and now here it all was coming together in what she knew would be a fabulous night. Certainly the crowd was not quite as large as the first Night of Stories she had participated in, but it would be no less brilliant.

Talulah had positioned herself right next to unlit dancing fire; standing on tippy toes to see the impressively bear-headed fellow that she had been floating around for a week or so. Her feet were, as usual, bare and her long slender legs were mostly uncovered. She only read every second word that was said during the long speech; her gaze constantly shifting from City Person to City Person, studying each one while looking for the telltale flash of colour of the Book Children.

“Hooray Mr. Sarrister!” Talulah clapped her hands eagerly, attention quickly focusing on the man with the torch and away from the crowds as soon as the name was spoken. She hopped from one foot to the other, unable to properly keep still and then held her breath as, after the pause of a true showman, the torch finally began its fall. It was a wonder, as the fire roared to life, that Talulah didn’t burst into flames along with it. Her proximity to it was certainly classed as ‘overly-enthusiastic’ by everyone else nearby.

But she was not turned to ash. Talulah gave a light, laugh of delight and had to take a quick, elegant step back. She turned the movement into a twirl; accustomed to showing off her joy. The trailing fabric of her top swirled around her and when her clothing caught the light of the fire; it shimmered like the brilliant scales of a fish. Then the music started up and the goldfish was in heaven.

There would be no small number of late arrivals for this particular Night of Stories, what with the festivities beginning so early, but Verin hadn't intended to be one of them. With her acquaintances too busy and out of her way for idle chatter the news of the earlier timetable for the event didn't reach her until the day of. Then she had been obligated to scramble through her errands much faster, trying to navigate her obligations (many of which were in the upper reaches of the city's middle layer) so that they were completed thoroughly and well, while still leaving enough time to wash up and dress for the festival. Ultimately it didn't work out. Even though she knew it was silly - she was more than a century old and the Night of Stories had been happening every single year of her life - when she arrived at the square to find the fires already roaring Verin had to fight off her disappointment.

It was mostly for the opening ceremonies that Verin bothered to show up each year. Dancing really wasn't her forte, especially once they became those dizzying, spinning ones where everyone joined hands and half ran in circles around the fire, and the storytelling was pleasant, to be sure, but they were mostly the same old stories told again and again. For the youth. But the lighting of the fires was spectacular every year. The energy of their anticipation crackled like static electricity through the crowd and standing among them while they all waited always made her shiver. Then the brilliant flash as all the fires lit- for a moment, one could almost believe the square was bathed in sunlight.

She wondered if she shouldn't just leave. Clearly she had missed the best part already. But she had exerted such effort to get here that it seemed rather undignified to show up, see nothing, and go home. She could at least buy something from one of the stalls. If she was going to walk around better to do it now, before the crowds became truly unmanageable. Already she had to push her way through. "Excuse me," she said to a woman, a City Person dressed in all white, who was blocking her path. At least she thought it was a woman, whoever they were they had a hood up and the formlessness of their robe made it hard to tell. How needlessly confusing, she thought. The irony was lost on Verin entirely. "Excuse me," she said again, sounding irritable this time. She ignored the woman's profuse, if quiet, apologies and pressed onward to the center of the square. Honestly, what it took just to make some people move.

Near the center fire a Book Child's lovely, quick movements had caught the attention of a number of City People who were also admiring - perhaps a little jealously - her lovely clothes. They did catch the firelight rather nicely, Verin thought. And in this thinner crowd one could actually see things, anything really, which was pleasant. Maybe she'd stay a little longer. Just until the crowds became too thick.

For a good while he could see Estra racing to the fires, her feathered dress and luscious hair sweeping across the cobblestones, dainty little determined steps. Despite his hatred of the current situation, he was impressed that her ridiculous little mind could conceive of such a naughty plan, much less dare to venture out again his explicit instructions. Growing up yet? ...no, hardly likely, he insisted, or she wouldn't be so childish as to run out to an event like this...

As it was, Vlad wasn't quite watching his step, and Vlad fell over, tripping over a carelessly lost candy stick and losing sight of his dove. He scrambled up, cursing under his breath, attempting to regain his dignity - no sign of the girl, she was probably approaching the fires...
Another caw of frustration, and he started on his second attempt of the people maze.

Talulah stood with her hips swishing back and forth as she admired the fire. She giggled and moved into an easy twirl; dancing slowly with the music and crackling flames. She knew very well she had an audience around her and she played to it; peaking over her shoulder with twinkling blue eyes.

Oh but this was a festival! One was not meant to dance all on their own when there was so much company around. So the goldfish paused and turned around in order to scan the crowd for a dancing partner. Her gaze stopped on an older Book Child with a covered face and then moved on to land on a rather familiar face.

“Estra!” She exclaimed in delight, instantly racing over and throwing her arms around the dove. “I’m so glad you’re here!” She let go, bouncing up and down on the spot in excitement. “Let’s dance toge-“ Her words were cut short by the announcement from the podium.

Storybooks lost? How terrible!

The goldfish went to grab Estra’s hand in her own, ready to tug her friend deeper into the crowd away from the main fire. “Come on, let’s search for those books. It’s not a Night of Stories without the story part!”

Estra's joy at Talulah's effervescent greeting was curtailed by the horrible news. Books? Lost? Oh, what could be worse?! The thought of those poor books, lying forlorn in the gutters, splayed open helplessly for dirt to settle upon and smudge the letters into oblivion...or worse, trampled heedlessly underfoot, pages ripped out from uncaring stamps, scattered across the cobbles and trod into dust - no! As these dreadful thoughts spun in her head, Talulah's words slowly registered alongside them - no stories? No stories…on the Night of Stories?! Unthinkable!

"Oh, Tali," she cried, breathless, as she pulled closer to the goldfish, linked by their hands, "do you think those poor books will be found?" She was ready to follow wherever the other girl might lead; Talulah was quick, and bright, and knew the streets of Cheppinhew so very well - if anyone could find the books, surely she could?

Quite, quite naturally, she had entirely forgotten that 'a moment' was all she was meant to have spared.

Naoya had been unnecessarily fussed over by a gaggle of ladies for what felt like hours that evening, being 'prepared' for his first Night of Stories. He'd taken it in stride, even enjoyed some of the attention he'd received from the City Folk, but when they began menacing him with hair grease, perfume and second-hand pinstripe suits, he had to politely excuse himself as fast as possible. He felt that the purple and yellow clothes he was born with were quite festive enough (especially freshly laundered!), and the perfume and oils would make him sneeze and be no end of trouble to get off.

After his getaway, Naoya headed straight to the festival. He'd been sitting at one of the magnificent fires, raptly listening to the stories being swapped, but his ears swiveled towards the podium when the announcement was made about the missing books. Well, now, what business was it of his if there were someone's books lying about, lost? No skin off his nose!

But what if there's a reward for finding them, he thought, And someone else gets it? Well, that simply wouldn't do! Standing up abruptly, Naoya slipped into the crowd to look for the poor, lonely books that were badly in need of rescue. He scanned the paving underfoot for any bright blue or gold binding, helplessly fluttering parchment-pale pages, or suspiciously boxy shapes.

Estra relaxed with Talulah's confident verdict - Tali would know, she was much smarter than Estra herself was, she would find those books in no time! Moving through the crowds behind her (and Tali could really cut a path through the crowd too! It would have taken her a much longer time to reach the outer borders of the square on her own.), Estra cast her eyes about for glimpses of blue and gold. Such lovely colours, she dreamily thought as she looked, blue and gold…they must be such lovely books - with such lovely stories, too!

Her thoughts, however, started eroding as they moved closer and closer to the merchants' booths, and the wonderful smell of the night's food fare wafted across the air… Both savoury scents, and sweet (ooh! She wondered how pretty the desserts would look tonight!) - and Talulah seemed to be moving towards a booth in particular. "Are those," she sighed longingly, as the unmistakable scent came to meet them, "zucchini fritters?"