Blodwen Rowlands (
white_flowers) wrote2006-06-11 07:03 pm
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IC: Midsummer Rising
Midsummer.
Longest day, brightest day, day of celebration for those of the Light and also of the Wild.
It will be a day of great power-- and had once marked the ending of the rising Dark in the world she had once called her own.
But here at the end of all the worlds, she intends to change things. The longest and brightest day it may be, but there is another side to it as well; for at the moment that the sun passes zenith, the time of Light also passes.
So begins the long slow fall into the Dark.
This time, the White Rider means to turn her carefully-gathered power to advantage at that precise moment, bringing the cycle to an entirely different ending -- for everyone.
She is smiling cruelly when she steps out of the forest and starts toward the bar, half-lost in her thoughts and her plans.
Longest day, brightest day, day of celebration for those of the Light and also of the Wild.
It will be a day of great power-- and had once marked the ending of the rising Dark in the world she had once called her own.
But here at the end of all the worlds, she intends to change things. The longest and brightest day it may be, but there is another side to it as well; for at the moment that the sun passes zenith, the time of Light also passes.
So begins the long slow fall into the Dark.
This time, the White Rider means to turn her carefully-gathered power to advantage at that precise moment, bringing the cycle to an entirely different ending -- for everyone.
She is smiling cruelly when she steps out of the forest and starts toward the bar, half-lost in her thoughts and her plans.
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"If it is that you are such a coward as to run from the cold, then goodness yes, I do suppose."
Ice-blue eyes are gleaming with amusement.
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"Y'wouldn't accuse a hummin'bird or a robin of bein' a coward, would you?" It's an effort not to add 'oh, wait, you probably would'.
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"Other birds are an entirely different matter though, dear."
Blodwen touches the globe that hangs at her throat, smiling gently at Ace.
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Well.
So much for that plan.
"Just 'cause y'too dense t'understand 'im doesn't mean y'can mock 'im." She growls low, eyes bright and flashing. Still, she keeps her distance. Mustn't fight. Mustn't attack.
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"I understand him so very well now, goodness yes indeed."
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"Not to break -- to keep, and without even need for a collar, not for the pretty bird."
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And then...
Ace laughs, wild and free.
"You are such a self-delusioned bitch, aren't ya?"
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"Oh? Do tell, dear."
The high light voice is dangerously soft now, and a sibilant hiss underlies it in clear warning.
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"No. I can't help it if y'blind t'y'own faults. Though," She pauses, musing with a wild grin on her face. "It is rather funny how y'go swirlin' about, convinced y'the evilest thing that's ever been, when y'just a bench warmer given a chance t'run 'round the field some."
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"Another idea it is entirely, that I have -- and you will help me with it, I do believe."
The White Rider cups one hand around the glass globe, as bloodstained smoke begins to boil wildly within it, and says sweetly,
"So fond it is that you are of the pretty bird -- your family, you have even called him. Family let it be, in truth."
She throws her other hand out, pointing at Ace with all five fingers spread, and the sudden flash of pink radiance is almost fire-bright.
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...
Suddenly everything is too big, with even the football suddenly appearing monstrous. The landscape seems oddly flat, and there's more of it, spreading away behind her. She opens her mouth to protest, but all that comes out is an indignant rough cawing.
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"A pretty pet it is that you will make, now -- why, and I shall even take you back to the palace beyond, where no one will find you. Not even your Raven will dare return there, not after what happened before, goodness no."
She reaches into a pocket, pulling out a twist of smoky-looking wire that expands into an oddly shining net.
"In time enough, you may even learn to sing for my amusement."
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It is then Ace discovers the problem.
This isn't a body borrowed from Raven, with instincts and ability built in. This is her, and she doesn't know how to fly.
Well, damn.
So she hops. Hop, hop, hopping for her life!
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The White Rider takes three quick steps, and with a snap of her wrist, the net falls into place over the jay.
Laughing, Blodwen bends down to scoop her prisoner from the ground.
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Then another thought occurs (they come more slowly now, there's not much room for them in the tiny little bird head).
She's got a big friggin' beak.
With a will, she sets to making as many holes in Blodwen's hands as birdly possible.
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--which shimmers and transforms into a cage of shining silver wire, with the jay locked securely inside.
Blodwen raises it higher in order to look in, a malicious smile curving her lips.
"Much better."
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Here we are.
Raven's voice is quiet, sharp, and oddly carrying in the open air.
"Not for her, I do not think."
He smiles, showing a quick flash of teeth.
"And not for me."
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Ice-blue eyes meet black ones, and she holds his gaze as she smiles in turn-- sweet and dangerous and heartstoppingly bright.
"Pretty bird." The light soft voice is musical and gentle, and not quite mocking. "Not upset, are you now, when I am simply using what you have yourself shown me the way of?"
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Wikipedia says this about the Eurasian Jay: '...the jay is well known for its mimicry, often sounding so like a different species that it is virtually impossible to distinguish its true identity unless the jay is seen'. Perhaps that is why, when a sudden trill sounds from Blodwen's neatly crafted cage, it sounds most alarmingly like a mocking little 'Not for me, not for me!' when clearly, birds cannot talk.
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His voice is still quiet, black eyes bright and clear.
"But there was a time, I think, that you offered me a choice, yes?"
He takes a step forward.
"It is time, I think, for me to make it."
Time and past time, perhaps.
Perhaps.
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She raises her chin defiantly as he moves toward her, and for just a second, the cage in her hand is almost forgotten.
In this strangely still moment there is nothing but the two of them, Raven and Rider, facing each other on grass as green as the palace where they last fought.
Somewhere above them, a wind begins to rise.
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The white bitch can't have Raven.
Not for her.
It's not a fair trade.
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