Blodwen Rowlands (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
white_flowers) wrote2006-06-11 07:03 pm
white_flowers) wrote2006-06-11 07:03 pm
Entry tags:
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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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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Nita glances over at him, with tired grey eyes, and smiles a little.
"It's less exciting than you think. But okay."