| Logs |
2009 February 26
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
| Realms: Bough Logs |
Second Movement, Fourth Solo
Mikal is doing something very slightly unusual for her: she is wandering about a city.
Actually, she isn't in Thebes proper. She's in the area past Thebes when one has their back to the Mirror and is facing the ancient Dreamtime city. Past the walled environs of Thebes, past the obelisks and stele commemorating ancient deeds, past the strange sphinx statue which Mikal is sure is supposed to be missing its nose, there is the continuation of the river valley, where the river starts to become wider, and the shores are populated by nigh-countless small, clay buildings... and massive four-sided pyramids.
From her vantage point on a hillock near Thebes, loking out at the palms and sycamores along the near shore of the river, Mikal can see at least two dozen pyramids of noticable size, including three very large and prominent ones.
Mikal nibbles a sweet date Raphael pulled down for her, resting one hand on his thick mane as the two of them look out over the peaceful scene. She finishes the date and tosses the pit aside so it can maybe root again, then smiles as she tucks an escaped strand of her hair back behind one ear, so it can flow loosely down her back in loose, rippling waves. The wide, bead decorated band tied about her head to restrain her soft, curling hair is tied in the back, and the ends flow along with her hair down to the middle of her back. Her eyes are darkened with kohl, and delicately inscribed henna decorates her small hands as she licks her fingers with casual and unwitting sensuality. Her dress is a single piece wrapped in the Theban style: vertically pleated, almost sheer white silk, which causes it to cling form-fittingly about her slender body and outline her lean, muscled form when the light breeze tugs gently at it. The small woman's dress is set off by a wide, decorated golden pectoral beautifully inlaid with lapis, jet, and malachite, and matching bracelets and anklets. A sweet-scented scarlet flower is tucked behind one small ear, and her feet are bare. She murmurs thoughtfully to Raphael, "That big statue of the sphynx... Raphael, does it feel like it shouldn't have a nose to you too?"
Raphael peers closely at it for a while... and after at time he does admit that, yes, it shouldn't have a nose.
Mikal nods triumphantly, "Thought so! Clearly we're older than the city in the Waking then, don't you think? Because it wasn't done being built then?"
Mikal thinks a bit, then amends, "Well... or at least older than the sphynx..."
Raphael seems about to agree, when he blinks and looks up at Mikal in confusion, not quite following.
Mikal waves a hand towards the statue, her bracelets jingling musically, "They must have still been building that big statue when we were in the Waking. I mean, everyone dreams, right? And it's clear there are folks here from all different times..." She pauses, considering that, and murmurs quietly to herself, "Is that clear? Could we all just be remembering the same time -- the 'now' in the Waking -- and the cities here exist from the dreams of people throughout time and up to us?"
Raphael thinks that might be more in line with what they've seen. He's pretty sure that, for example, Thebes and the Winter Palace are two very different styles.
Mikal sits down on the sand, tucking her pleated skirt under her. "I wonder who's dreaming the Winter Palace? Interesting too that there are so many dreamers, but they're apparently all from the same time as us." Almost dreamily she stares up into the cloudless, piercingly blue sky as she adds, "Think how many people there must be in the Awake place, Raph -- hundreds!" She considers from her limited experience, then adds in awe, "Maybe even hundreds of hundreds!"
As the wind changes she can hear the sound of people working coming to her ear, and down below, through the trees, she can see what looks like a small barge landing, not unlike the one in the valley near Staunton. It's hard to get more than a glimpse from where she is, however.
Mikal brightens, "Ooh, look, Raph -- a barge! Do you suppose maybe they'll have oranges and pretty cloth, like the ones we used to see?" She bounces lightly to her feet, dusting off her rear, and grins at her half-brother, "Race you down there to see?" then darts down the twisting little path, laughing delightedly and with her hair rippling out like a silky banner behind her. Her jewelry chimes and jingles as she runs lightfootedly towards the riverside.
Raphael and Mikal race down to the landing, with Raphael just barely pulling ahead of Mikal, and at that only because for a bit of the way he tumbled and rolled past her.
The landing is busy and rich with sounds and colors. The barges are similar to the ones Mikal remembers, though these have elaborate stems and sterns, and broad, square sails. They are brought up almost directly onto the shore, with wooden ramps laid up against their bulwarks as the deeply tanned Thebans carry off boxes and crates and all sorts of other shaped containers and objects to the shoreside, where diligent and sharp=eyed cargomasters wearing cloth headdresses tally everything carefully on wax-covered clay tablets. Some merchants aren't even bothering to take their wares to Thebes; they've set up small stalls right there, no doubt to get the very best prices on small items before moving down the river to smaller villages and communities.
THe huge variety of cargo and items there is almost stunning to Mikal. Most of the items appear to be similar to Theban styles, with the statuary and jewelry and cloth being very much like that which Mikal has seen. And there are a dizzying variety of foods, as well: dates and pomegranites, bushels of wheat and barley, onions and lettuce. And, indeed, there are things form slightly further afield: icons and small statues of styles that do not match the stylized Theban designs. Fruits and vegetables and other foodstuffs that are not immediately recognizable. Piles of aromatic ceder wood, phials of perfume, bags and boxes of herbs and spices, and, yes, oranges.
Mikal is laughing and disheveled as she catches up to Raphael, calling out, "No fair! You're supposed to run, not fall down the hill!" She's completely unaware of how unaffectedly pretty she looks, giggling and pushing her hair back, then cheerfully poking the unrepentant Raphael in the side. He obligingly grunts melodramatically, then grins at her, tongue lolling out over his heavily fanged jaws, as she giggles again and sticks her tongue out at him!
Mikal bumps him companionably with her hip, "Hmf!" as she walks along with him through the bustling little port. They adroitly dodge the heavily laden porters and happily inspect the marvelous variety of goods, Raphael sniffing interestedly and Mikal ooohing and aaahing at all the lovely things they see.
While not many of the people present are mortal, all seem quite willing to take a few moments to admire Mikal cheerfully; none of them are boorish at all, in fact, or make any untoward advances, merely quite pleased to watch her for a bit before the overseers glare at them to go back to work... though the overseers themselves don't appear immune, as at one point one manages to crack a smile on a weathered face as Mikal makes eye contact with him.
It is among the merchants that mortals appear to be most apparent, and even then they are polite and friendly and quite happy -- many seem to be literally working their dream jobs of travelling to exotic locales and trading equally exotic goods there and back again.
Mikal beams cheerfully at anyone who meets her eyes, unsure why she feels so -- so confident and... and oddly happy today! Maybe it's because she's around happy people? She doesn't know for sure, but she gives a small, exuberant skip next to Raphael, giggling a bit at his amused sideways glance at her. She whispers interestedly to him, "The ones that aren't mortals -- do you suppose they're like the aelfar or something?"
Raphael considers, then admits he doesn't know, and suggests asking one of the merchants... like the one who looks like he could be a grandfather several times over?
Mikal looks around towards where Raph is looking, "Which one?" She grins, "Does he have pretty things on display too?"
The one Raphael is indicating is a makeshift booth that has a variety of spices, bolts of cloth, jewelry -- not all of it Theban -- and a few examples of foods, including oranges.
The merchant there wears some kind of wrapping around his head -- a turban? -- and is clothed more as if he were from Jericho than Thebes; his face is lined and cracked but still with a broad smile and laughing eyes.
Mikal oohs, trotting over to interestedly examine the jewelry, "How pretty! Where's it from?"
The merchant's smile, if anything, becomes wider. "Mohenjo-Darro, miss, near Mount Meru!" The jewelry she is looking at and that the merchant describes is colorful and elaborate, mostly of finely-worked gold with ddecorative, elaborate inlays.
Mikal beams at the man, "They're very pretty!" She looks at the jewelry again, then hmms thoughtfully, "How do you tell when things are real, sir goodman? I mean, how can you know it won't disappear at Dawn?"
He beams. "It's something you notice after a while. You hold it in your hand, let the light glint off of it, and you can usually tell when something has enough awen in it to last past the Dawn.
Mikal nods interestedly, her head tilted slightly to the side as she studies one of his bracelets next to one of hers. "So... what do I look for, please?"
The man nods, still happy, especially to be talking to a pretty young intelligent woman. "It's one part feeling -- like how you can tell an aethyr from a mortal. And it's one part seeing the blue and red flecks of light reflecting off of the material. You can't see them normally, but when the light is right -- any light, even from torches -- and you're looking for it, you'll see it. If there's enough awen in the item, of course!"
Mikal holds up both bracelets, squinting slightly as she watches them flash brilliantly in the sunlight, looking for the effect the man described to her.
It takes a few tries, but shortly she can indeed see the effect of the faint flashes of red and blue from the surface of the gold bracelets, where there is no red or blue markings. And she knows, somehow, that the bracelets are permament.
Mikal brightens, bouncing excitedly on her bare toes, "Oh, I see it -- I can see it now!" She slips her bracelet back on, then carefully lays his -- the 'real' ones -- back on the table, as she happily adds, "Thank you! That's a good thing to know. So are you an aethyr too, then? Or one of the aelfar, or something?"
He laughs. "Ah, my dear, no, I am not an alfar. I am an aethyr, however. An inhabitant of the Dreamtime. Almost anyone you meet will be a mortal or an aethyr. Even the alfar are considered aethyrs. Then there are the gods -- but there's not much chance of meeting one of them!"
Mikal leans companionably against Raphael, seated sturdily beside her, and puzzledly asks, "So... what are all the different types of aethyrs, then? Which are you?"
The man chuckles. "Almost too many!" he says jokingly. "Ah, but there are a few types. You know of the alfar, of course. And you've surely seen satyrs and bakeneko, others in the villages and towns, yes? Even those who look like perfectly normal human mortals but they aren't mortal? All those -- alfar, humans, satyrs, the like -- they're the least of the aethyrs. There is no real name for them -- there are so many different types! Tribes and clans and peoples and cultures... My dear, you could spend many, many lifetimes wandering through the dreamtime and not learn all there is about these peoples who are native to the Dreamtime.
Mikal nods and smiles almost dreamily, fascinated by the storyteller in the older man. "Do you all live here like mortals -- grow up, marry, have children, and so on -- except you don't die?"
The man laughs, and nods, "Yes, essentially! Though this is the Dreamtime. Sometimes, a childhood may last forever; sometimes it may be over in a blink of an eye. Sometimes it may be relived, sometimes it is quickly forgotten. Usually it's somewhere in between!
Mikal blinks startledly, "You mean you can stay young or old or whatever forever, if you want?" She thinks about that interestedly, then adds, "Can we too?"
He nods, becoming a little bit sober. "And back and forth. If you tire of one, you may find yourself slipping to the other... and vice versa. As a mortal you have much, much greater control over it, though. For aethyrs, our appearance is not entirely our own choice. I mean, truthfully: One is not born into the image that one most desires! So any changes that we aethyrs undergo, take a great deal of time, even becoming younger-looking. Mortals, on the other hand, with skill and practice, can do it faster."
Mikal's eyes widen a bit in fascination, "You mean if I worked at it, I could be..." her voice gets a little wistful, "I could be beautiful, and people would smile when they looked at me, instead of pointing and whispering?"
The man actually looks a bit taken aback. "Ah," he says slowly. "Miss... how can I say this without seeming like a dirty old man.... Miss, you already are beautiful. Do you think the longshoremen and overseers were making light of you? I saw how their faces lit up when they saw you."
Mikal blinks puzzledly at the older man, her focus returning to him, "What? I... I didn't notice." A bit worriedly she adds, "What, um, what were they doing?"
"Dear girl, when a man sees a lovely young woman, can his heart not help but be uplifted? Even if she does not call him 'love' he is inspired. I assure you, they were doing nothing more lascivious than looking upon you appreciatively.
Mikal blinks, glancing a bit nervously over her shoulder before she looks back at the aethyr, "Maybe, um... maybe I won't try to look prettier. I'm n-n-not sure I want to be stared at more!" She considers a bit more, then brightens, "Oh! Oh, I know -- could I maybe look like a boy instead?"
The man smiles gently. "As you wish, dear. But it's not a bad thing to look how you want to. Besides.. do you really feel like a boy? You should look as you're most comfortable.
Mikal answers honestly, "Well, I don't actually know how a boy feels. My packbrothers are really different in that respect. One of them's really big and strong and shy around most girls, and the other is pretty and funny and loves dallying with all the girls." She grins at the man, "I bet they feel differently?"
The man smiles, nodding. "As best as I can tell, my dear, yes, boys and girls feel very much different from each other. I can't speak from experience, mind you, but from what I have been told by my daughters and sons, yes, there's a lot of difference!"
Mikal laughs at that, relaxing. She chats happily with the man for a while, and asks what he accepts in trade for things like jewelry or oranges.
Mikal is fascinated by his cheerful explanations, and her face lights up with grateful delight when he hands her an orange for, as he puts it, a thank you for her kind interest in the ramblings of an old man. As she wanders off, happily nibbling her juicy orange and licking her fingers, Raphael snorts in quiet, hidden amusement at his half-sister's charming innocence, but says nothing. The two of them spend a very pleasant afternoon wandering the quay and fascinatedly exploring, and once it gets dark they run together, laughing, back to the inn where the little pack is spending the night.
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