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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So Mercer threw himself at the ground and yanked his cap down over his eyes as the explosion hit.
And now he straightens, cautiously, pushing his hat back, blinking away the edges of afterimages. He still can't feel much in his left shoulder except a singleminded stabbing ow, but the sky seems to be clear -- and the weight of the Dark is gone.
Triumphant, he lets out a hoarse whoop like a sports match spectator and punches the air with his good arm.
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There's laughter rippling from him now, bright and silvery and only slightly edged with too many nerves too long pent up.
He doesn't need to be told what's happened here.
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She stands up, brushing herself off, and her eyes are old as she looks around.
Brother?
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... Well, more than just his eye.
There's something about her that he can't quite pin down-- power, shining bright, and there's more of it than he's seen before, more than there should be ...
He stares.
Slow, steady:
"Nita Callahan."
Then he gives up the steady in favor of incredulous.
"... Exactly what have you done with yourself?"
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"Huh?"
The transition is slight -- a shift in stance, a different light in the eyes -- and only noticeable if you're looking closely.
"--Oh. Um, I'll make introductions. But are you okay?"
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Very, very closely.
He shrugs, brushing a bit of dirt from his shoulder.
"Never better."
A a wry quirk of his lips.
"Unless I am mistaken quite, the Rider fares worst of us all."
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"I get that sense."
Brushing her hands against her jeans, she adds, "And, well, this is the Whisperer. We're sharing."
"Well met," says the Whisperer, smiling.
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This is what Puck is about to say, in an appropriately cynical tone-- because, well, that's never safe.
But then she speaks, and he finds there isn't anything to do but listen.
It's like running into several old acquaintances all at once-- the feel of each of them is there; he isn't sure whether to say Athena, or Apollo, or Saraswathi.
Very slowly, and very slightly, he smiles.
"Well."
Soft.
"I should have recognized you better with a few more arms."
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"I look forward to it."
He glances in Blodwen's direction.
"You've arrived at a rather opportune time."
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"Not exactly, anyway," adds Nita.
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"Not exactly?"
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"I was expecting her to kill me, perhaps. Or Raven. I am most gratified that he's managed to survive her."
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She blows out a breath. "I think maybe we're done out here."
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He's tempted.
He's very tempted.
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"Leave her alone tonight, hobgoblin," the Whisperer says, softly.
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And finds he almost resents the name when it's used this way, resents the power behind it. What does this one know, coming so late to things?
Very slowly, and very deliberately, he shrugs.
And smiles.
"Tonight."
Casually, almost carelessly, he examines his fingernails for dirt. Then he glances up, eyes blue and guileless.
"And perhaps, Nita Callahan, you might tell me a tale or two of your recent doings. I do hate being left in the dark."
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And then he looks at Nita.
And he gapes, soundlessly, in a wordless oh.
He gets the impression that if he squinted hard enough, concentrated just that much harder, he'd see grey eyes there. Mercer pulls himself to his feet.
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It takes her a moment to notice Mercer's scrutiny, and then she grins.
"You're looking well, Hermes. Well met."
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He digs his fingers into his shoulder, for stability as much as to massage the pain away.
"You aren't -- "
But she is, somehow, and yet not.
An embarrassed grin follows. "Okay, sis, if it's really you you're gonna have to forgive me 'cause there's the part where I almost got the shit kicked out of me by a big malevolent tornado of evil, but -- how is it I know you?"
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One hand waves towards the Champion. "Glaukopis we shared, and I was Iatros and Loxias sometimes."
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"Sister," he says aloud, joy ringing in his voice, "Well met. And--" he searches her eyes for Nita, not the Whisperer-- "how are you handling things?"
He hasn't forgotten that Nita asked after him, once; he doesn't get concern often from mortals.
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The Whisperer grins. "Very well met. I won't keep you -- but thank you."
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"It's good seeing both of you," he tells them. "I can't stick around like this, anyway - but you two know where to find me."
The light around him flares up briefly and then fades, even as he's speaking, and the Champion vanishes with it.