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When The Bough Breaks

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Realms: Bough Logs

Interlude: Amore Venice

Not long after, Janiel leaves, discretely and quietly. Fortunately, Asmodeus is none the wiser, it seems. The angel returns by circuitous route to the angelic lines; there is reasonable certainty that none will be the wiser for his sudden disappearance and relating that to a summoning. According to the ancient records, as Ravana says, the summoning of angels was simply never done.

This does give the encampment a few days to prepare for the angelic 'surprise' attack, and the raksasha use that time well. Not only do they conduct the preparations, but they do so quietly and covertly, so as not to arouse suspicion.

The day before the expected night attack, Ravana seeks out the mortals. He manages to find Jareth and Norris, and, drawing them aside, asks them quietly what their intentions are for the coming battle: If they will be remaining on Mount Meru with the raksasha, or if, as might be safer, they will not be present and will be elsewhere.

Jareth spends the time after Janiel's departure in rather a blue funk. It's not like him to be in such a mood and he knows it, so he does his best to work past it. He practices the summoning rituals and he practices with his new weapon. At Ravana's question, however, he wavers.

Jareth speaks slowly and carefully, "What would make this battle easiest on your people, Ravana?"

Ravana smiles wryly. "I have very little concern of you getting in the way, if that is one aspect of your question. I know you would compose yourselves well, and would not do anything to hinder this defense, either willingly or accidentally. The fact of the matter is, we know the attack is coming and what form it will take and even how many angels we will be facing. It is a strategist's dream come true. At the same time, no plan survives contact with the enemy. And while I would like to say we could do this without your help... I would be lying, because I do not know what will happen.

Norris has been spending the time away from his mates interrogating the bail, other rakshasa, and even Asmodeus, inquiring after any last sightings of gods of note...but more specifically, the fates of Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite. While his personal search for answers began about trying to determine the identity of the Metatron, he has to admit that even in the company of his new family, his pack, he is getting agitated not knowing what happened to his own family. As old feelings and memories resurface. Norris is thinking about this when Ravana comes to them, and informs Norris of something he'd not discussed with his packmates...the comeing assault. His brow knits in consternation, as he weighs his options.

Norris finally responds. "It would be inhospitable of us to not fight with you, Lord Ravana. Especially when our goals are one. But I worry about the long term consequences of our taking part in battle. While there is nothing that can be done to make the assault not happen, if our end goal is to end the fighting, end the death, it makes me wary to be the cause of any of it, and how that might affect our desire to end this peaceably. Having said that...it is they who are attacking, and we who are defending ourselves. If our leaving would prevent the fight, that is one thing. But we should not abandon our allies - that's simply not good form."

He looks sidelong at Jareth...he supposes he should not truly fear for his friend's life. Together, they are strong, and then come from hardy blood. "We should discuss it with Rabbit as well...but for now, I think we should stay and assist with the defense. If for no other reason, perhaps we can see and make options where few exist now."

Speaking clearly is becoming easier, the more he remembers of the god he was. The mortal he was. He still lapses into folksy speak, but when he takes time to consider his words, they often come out clearly.

Ravnana nods, smiling a little. "Thank you. Your assistance would be most welcome, but I understand your concerns in that light. You bring up good points, Norris, and I encourage you to discuss them together.

"I do not believe the attack is predicated upon you being here. It seems to be independent of that, as near as I can tell. We have been awaiting such an attack for some time, but awaiting it and preparing properly for it are two different things. I will leave you to discuss it amongst yourselves, then. Please let me know before noon, however, for the attack comes this evening."

Norris inclines his head, grateful for the lord's understanding and flexibility. "We will speak anon, then." he replies, looking at his friend to see if he has any further thoughts before they are left to their own devices.

Ravana nods, after having someone provide refreshments for the tent again as the three mortals -- four counting Raphael -- discuss the matter amongst themselves.

Jareth admits, somewhat reluctantly, "Moving now would put us in the line of fire for the angels. We know they'll be close. We are likely safer in an armed camp."

Norris nods as he eats and considers the matter with his friend. "S' true. We can't trust to us just being 'mortals' to protect us from scouting bands of angels, if'n we leave. Specially since we're better known, now..."

Jareth smiles crookedly, sipping at his lassa, "True. Pity we can't just wear our old bodies." He pushes himself up to his feet to pace the tent in a limited way. Finally, he admits almost reluctantly, "I'm worried about Janiel. I have a feeling that doubts were already creeping ing there. Janiel is a very young angel, I figure. Well, young as angels go. I am afraid that the doubts are going to get Janiel killed. And... I find that I don't like that idea." He grimaces, "Damn this whole situation."

Norris tilts his head. "Ah doan unnerstand. Get him killed how, zactly?"

Jareth shakes his head, "I think that it's going to be harder, now, for him to fight. And I think that his pride and his convictions are going to make him try, anyway. I suppose I just wish he could have stayed. Backed out of the battle." He shrugs, smirking at his own blathering, "The sides are no longer so clearcut."

Norris shakes his head. "That was gon' happen, Jareth. Things is never clear cut. And nobody's happy about that. Least of all El-Amon, who's doin his best t' make everyone believe it is jus right an wrong, and not shades of grey. An it's be a tragedy, iffn' an angel what we could make int' a friend dies. But nothin's cut into stone yet. There's still hope. An' that's the best reason to stay. Iffn' we's here, we kin make options. Angels and rakshasa both...they're just warriors. fightin' at the orders of their superiors. We's not soldiers. We kin choose whatever path we want."

Jareth nods to Norris and reaches to pat his friend's hand.

Norris squeezes it. "Jus' the same, yew wear that armor ah made for y', hear? Yew's not Lilith yet, an ah don't care t' have nothin' happen to yer." he says firmly.

Jareth snorts, "I am not about to try and find my own way to the Shores, and Raven's still in hiding."

Norris smiles at his friend. And then he tilts his head. "Yew ever think about Her? Iffn' you got children still alive out there? Old lovers?"

Jareth quirks a bit of a smile, "I haven't had time yet to think of that, really. I had just started thinking about myself having children. And I know she has a lover out there."

Norris nods. "I's been thinking about it lots. Since we left Angkor Wat. Had a whole fam'ly...mother, sister, wife, even a daughter. Try'n not t' feel whatsis...survivor's guilt." He shows Jareth the information he's collected so far, written out onto scrolls:

Aphrodite: MIA, believed to be slain by Iophiel. Aphrodite had fled the final attack upon Mount Olympus, accompanied by Persephone and Eros. It is said that they were slain on the steps of the Delphic Oracle, and said oracle was so wroth with the angelic hosts for doing this that no angel my come within a hundred leagues of Delphi anymore. What happens when an angel does so is not recorded.

Athena: KIA. She in turn fell after slaying Iophiel herself, and a score of seraphim. Iophiel returned to Mount Olympus to help continue the siege, and was among the first to break through the lines. Iophiel, which means 'Beauty of God', immediately came upon Athena and the two clashed. Iophiel was slain by Athena's javelin, as were a score more seraphim. Athena herself fell to Michael's lance.

Hera: MIA. She was alive when Mount Olympus surrendered to the angelic forces, and awaited the conquering rulers in the Gods' Forum of Mount Olympus alone. After Metatron and the four archangels (and, some say, El-Amon) entered the Gods' Forum and then left, she was nowhere to be found.

Jareth shakes his head as he looks over the information. When he's done, he takes Norris' hand. "If any of them live, we'll find them. Or do our best."

Norris does not cry, although he did, when he was alone, while Jareth and Mikal worked together to call Janiel. "Hera told me to do it. I wasn't gonna...I didn't want to leave 'dite. Or Harmonia, r' her family. But she reminded me that I had a greater duty. That this was the culmination of all the work we did together. That I was born for this role, as few others, having once been mortal. And maybe she was right. Yew know I was crippled, as a god? Couldna made a good soldier. Couldn'a protected muh family. Not like ah can now."

Jareth quietly wraps his arms around Norris, hugging his friend, eyes serious, "I... can only begin to imagine, Nor. But I can't imagine you being useless. No matter what your body was like. And... thank you for being a warrior for us. Mikal's fierce and amazing. But you are like a rock wall for us."

Norris relaxes in Jareth's embrace, sighing, taking comfort in the other man's touch. "Wasn'a useless. Yer right, that ah shouldn't get down on mahself. Ah just see that ahm different now, from what ah wuz. Ahm who I need t' be. An yew know yew can count on me."

It is as the two friends are talking, teir ease increasing and their minds drifting, that once again the surroundings change. But this time it is not to France that the settings become. Rather, the sun burns brightly and lazilly as it sinks towards the horizon, in a warm and balmy day, early autumn in Italy. Genoa is a busy city, bustling with people and activity. So different is it from the laissez-faire attitude of Paris! So much more bustling than the chateau where Voltaire would spend time with his mistress and her unusually tolerant husband! Venice, in the time of the Medicis and the vast trade empire that had risen up in the time of the Renaissance.

It is here, in a small house upon a hill overlooking the busiest of Venice's canals, where gondolas drift by laden with goods and the bourgeoise and the many petty nobles and their many pretty courtesans and companions. It is the festival time, and tonight will be the great masqureade in the estate of the Medicis, and already many of the well-heeled are starting to cavort through the streets, in their finery and masks.

For the young Count Francesco Melzi -- who in a latter life would be one of the engineers working for Robert Oppenheimer and the Manhattan Project -- it is a slightly melancholy time. It is the second anniversary of his teacher's passing, the great Leonardo of Vinci. And his friend, miles and years from the Chateau de Cirey, and yet here dressed as Italian as they come in garb fitting for the friend of a young noble. Norris and Jareth, for the moment no longer in the encampment full of fierce tiger-demons, but in the hustle and bustle of Medici Venice.

Francisco Melzi, barely a man of thirty, sips at a goblet of red wine as he looks over the balcony of the landing he sits at with his friend, smiling at the revelers below...but the smile does not touch his eyes. "This was a very different time for me...I was not the star, the master crafter. I was the pupil, the mirror that reflected the light of one far greater than me. I painted, of course, how could I not, under Master's encouragement. But I came to him late, and had such a short time with him. The care of his works is small recompence for that time lost. For the loss of such a...wonderful man." he murmurs with passion.

Jareth is dressed as sumptuously as one might expect from Jareth given a range of luxurious fabrics from which to choose. He sits with his friend, watching the revelers in the street. He turns his attention to Norris as the young man speaks with wuch melancholy, "I can hear your love for him in your voice."

Norris can't help but flush. "He was...very charismatic. If he charmed relative strangers with his manner, it should be no wonder that I feel so strongly for him, even now. I was so intimidated by his stature at the tender age of fifteen, when he accepted by apprenticeship. I loved the things he loved, would learn and listen to anything he had to say. His voice was like a bell in my heart." What he does not say outright, but is implicit in his body language, was that their relationship went beyond master and student. "The French king held his head in his arms as he died...I would that it had been my own, but I feel like my heart would have broken entirely if I had."

Norris feels the need to push past this wound, as he gazes at his friend. "Is it always like this? Do you think it was designed, that as we were born and died, and reborn, that we would be modest people, hidden in the shadow of greater mortals? What was your experience? What do you remember?"

Jareth tips his head and reaches over and lay a hand on Norris' wrist. His eyes are gentle and he leans close to say, "It is never easy to have those that have made their way into your heart. I know the very thought of losing Mikal..." He shakes his head and smiles lopsidedly. "I remember being a student at an estate in France. I remember the city of Paris in spring. I don't remember much else."

Norris smiles lopsidedly, this time more genuine. "I love Paris in the springtime." he murmurs, in a singsong manner that is more germane to his more modern incarnation, than this one. "I was with him, in the last years of his life, in the Chateau Amboise. I would walk with him in the royal gardens, inhaling the spring blooms, and encourage him to talk, to engage his mind." He twists his hand to grasp Jareth's back, fingers carressing the young man's wrist back. "What time was this, when you were a student? perhaps we were in Paris at the same time...wouldn't that be synchronicity."

Jareth chuckles slightly, "Mmm... The early sixteenth? Was it sixteenth? Yes. Sixteenth century. I was studying under Voltaire. It was electrifying to listen to the great minds that passed through there. Their minds... their stories."

Norris laughs, the sound a living, joyous thing, and seeming so strange coming from Norris's mouth. "Ah, long after, then. And you too are drawn to those minds, but all about the stories, always the stories, my friend." He squeezes Jareth's fingers, sipping at his wine. "Curiosity driving you to seek them out, and desire to see other minds flourish encouraging you to tell them again." He leans in closer, almost conspiratorially, the comely count smiling brightly at Jareth. "Tell me a story?" he queries hopefully, playfully.

Jareth tips his head a little bit, smiling oddly and then chuckling. It almost seems as if Norris is flirting and it's something he isn't used to hearing rom his friend. It's nice to see, however, "A story... hmm... what sort of story? I know several. I could tell you a French fairy tale?"

Norris does indeed seem to carried along by the memory of the man he was, of the deep relationship he had with his master: sviscerato et ardentissimo amore, or "deeply felt and most ardent love". That, coupled with the relationship between the friends and pack members they are today, and it should perhaps not be surprised that he's acting the way he is, that he feels free to. "Please do. I were not aware the french told tales of the fae." he purrs, taking the bottle at his table, and refreshing Jareth's cup.

Jareth can't help but laugh quietly. It's not a mocking laugh, just a friendly, happy one. "Oh, the French love tales of love lost and found and of tragedy and beauty." He turns his hand palm-up as he takes a sip of his wine, "But you may already know the stories and not realize. For instance, Cindrillon. The story of the widowers child who is cast down into servitude, but through sweetness and goodness is lifted up by a faerie to become queen."

Jareth continues on, eyes happily distant. These stories are French in character, but they have roots as old as time, "Or La Belle et la Bete. The story of a child that sacrifices herself for her father's life, giving herself over to imprisonment by an ugly, deformed beast. One that many would think unlovable... only to find that by patience and, again, sweetness, that she has found the gentlest of men accursed by a witch. A man that nearly dies for want of her."

Melzi's agile mind couples with Norris's future memories, and he gets the connection almost immediately. "Incredibile." he murmurs in his native tongue. "I did not know those stories had their equivalents in France, although I should perhaps not be surprised, especially due to the culture espoused in the most recent iteration of The Beauty and the Beast." he murmurs dryly.

Jareth laughs again, "Stories, my friend, spread across cultures and across worlds. Stories speak to the things so deep and indelible that they must be passed on. But they are passed on as symbols, because no one wishes simply to memorize lists of virtues and of vices." He grins and tips back his glass of wine, draining it in a slow, luxurious swallow.

It is, perhaps, because of this curious merging of past and present selves, that Norris latches onto a stray thought, listening to Jareth speak, even as he responds to the beautiful man's most recent comment. "It's true, that telling a story to entertain is a good way to pass on wisdom. Many knew this and cultivated it." He watches Jareth savor the wine, carressing the rim on his goblet as he does so. "It is good, eh? Sweet? Of the vices I have, port wine is a modest one." he adds, watching you with those deep eyes. This incarnation is far handsomer than the Norris you know, or the one that helped shape Oppenheimer's device...or even Hephaestus himself. But your tale does not go unnoticed. "Is there something you are trying to tell me, dear one?" he queries gently.

The wine is indeed good and a little sweet. Jareth sets his goblet down and shrugs elegantly, still smiling, "You asked me to tell you a story. I want to find a good one for you. Your eyes were so sad when you were thinking of your master and your time with him. And you are... different here. Confident, I think."

"I am, however, getting the distinct feeling that you are wanting more than a story from me, and it is unexpected," Jareth shrugs again, eyes still warm, "Not unpleasant, just out of the ordinary."

Norris considers his friend's words, and nods slowly. "Each life, each incarnation, has it's own strengths and weaknesses." he murmurs solemnly. "The man that built the egg, his confidence, his pride, was both a strength and a weakness. Though he did not see it until faced with the fruits of his labor. The man I am now, echoes back to the first of me, the god and the mortal both. I am the truest reflection of he. And his doubts, his vaciliation, are sometimes my own. Even as I know I am strong and loved and capable." he murmurs. "And to be honest, what I want from you is not so easily categorized. But I guess I feel I have kept myself at arms length from you and Mikal both, and it is only recently, since the rite of Me, that I realized that I had done so. And in this face, in ths body, it is easier for me to voice a desire to be...closer." He moistens dry lips. "Though I suppose my experience in this body does color towards more specific desires." he adds, blushing.

Jareth nods and stands up, moving to lean back against the railing of the balcony, closer to Norris and facing him. His arms are crossed over his chest and he tips his head to the side, thoughtful and inquisitive, "It's good to want to let ourselves become closer. We are going to need all our combined strength to end this war." He crouches down so that Norris has to look down at him a little, "He was your lover?"

Norris smiles shyly. "He was. Amazingly gentle...I was a dove in his hands, the sort that he would purchase from vendor's in cages, and set free to fly. I, of course, would always return to him."

Norris reaches out, and carresses Jareth's face. "It feels good, to be confident, if only in this moment." he adds.

Norris says, "And now, on the eve of a battle, it's certainly no wonder one wants to be...life-affirming."

Jareth chuckles quietly and reaches up to take his friend's hands, "And you once told me that you worried that you did not feel things as other people. You simply felt things so strongly that you walled it away to keep yourself sane." He smiles at the touch on his cheek. "It's definitely good to see you confident." As Jareth, he has not been one to take male lovers, but he has other memories of Astarte's life. There's a little teasing in his voice, "I am simply surprised at this feeling from you. Or did I simply miss the cues from you?"

Norris laughs lightly. "There were not many to miss. I have always been fond of you, dear one. But it was only recently that those feelings started to change into something else. It awoke in me on the eve of the Me, but I did not act overmuch then, as there was something else - someone else - capturing my...attention." he purrs. "I expect I was not prepared to deal with the feelings I was getting from both sides of the coin, as it were."

Jareth ahhs and smiles, "My lovely lapin was quite distracting, yes. And so very generous. I suspect that she is still a little shocked when she looks back, as Mikal, to those hours."

Norris's eyes glitter. "And I expect when this dream is over, and I am relegated back to memory, that I will be just as shocked at my actions here." he agrees. "For right now, though, I take pleasure in this moment here with you." he murmurs, lifting one of Jareth's hands up and kissing his knuckles.

Jareth can't stop his lips from twitching slightly in fond memory. The touch of Norris' mouth is interesting and he registers how it is different from that of a woman. Again, not unpleasant. Simply different. "Mmm. I see... well, then, let it be pleasant." He pushes up a little to kiss Norris, but only lightly and briefly, an exploration and a test.

Norris's expression changes to something pleased as Jareth leans in, and his mouth meets his friend's. There is no hesitation, on his part, Melzi having been well schooled by his lover. And he returns the kiss gently, fingertips carressing his soft palm.

Jareth has a moment of amusement as he pulls back carefully, not wanting his friend to feel he is jerking away. It just occured to him that in this particular time and this particular milieu, Norris is far the more experienced.

Norris seems to sense his friend's hesitancy, and smiles reassuringly. "You shouldn't feel obligated, Jair. I realize that all told, this may feel sudden. And I suppose part of it is, as I said, my emotional response to the coming conflict." he murmurs.

Jareth snorts laughter and shakes his head, "I rarely feel obligated by anything, Norris. Someone once said that no one can impose upon you without your permission... or words to that effect. I am feeling things out, but a kiss is not so much. And they are pleasant to give and receive." He leans in again and presses closer this time, but only briefly, "But understand, I cannot promise. I can only say that I'll say when it does not feel right."

Norris's eyes twinkle, and he accepts your second oral carress happily. "A kiss can be much or little. It all depends on how and where you do it." he purrs almost sensually. "And you might be amazed at how much the little things can mean, as well." he adds, endfolding his friend in an embrace as the two are together a while. Experimenting.

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