| Logs |
2009 November 22
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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| Realms: Bough Logs |
Fifth Movement, Eleventh Verse
Mikal doesn't yet seem to control when she's more Inana and when she's just herself, so she doesn't do much preparation for dinner. She makes sure her face and hands are washed, and her hair brushed, and her clothing is tidy. Past that... she sticks close to her pack.
She brightens at a sudden thought -- she's got free time! She pulls out the scroll of the names of the prisoner-of-war angels, and settles contentedly down in the tent with the flopped-out Raphael, using his side as an impromptu table so she can compare the names on the scroll with the list of angels for which True Names are known.
Norris continues to wear the nice clothes that he made up for Tawhaki for their first meeting, though in the interrim between his conversation with the others and the dinner, he goes back to the forge...this time not to work, but rather to apologize to the head smith for his earlier behavior, and to spread around aid and encouragement, and good cheer to the others working in the smithy. And taking a moment to bask in the beauty of the breastplate he forged...in tribute to his warrior half-sister, he ponders decorating it with the same visage as he did the shield he forged for her: the mask of the virgin warrior posessed by battle frenzy. Or perhaps not. He loved his sister, and none would say different. But maybe this armor should be more about him. He continues to give it thought.
Jareth spends some time cleaning up. He's more concerned with his appearance here in the Dreamtime than he was back in the village. Or, perhaps it's since he discovered the part of himself that used to be a goddess. Or, just maybe, the habits of the rakshasa have worn off on him. Whatever it is, he is clean and his hair is washed and hanging over his shoulders in loose waves when it comes time to go to dinner.
The seating is cross-legged before low tables, though the main table is set on a bit of a dias. The pack of mortals is early yet; Tawhaki and the kachinas have not arrived yet, and some pre-dinner entertainment is still going on in the area cleared in front of the dias: A pair of incredibly burly raksasha, one male and one female, wearing breechclouts are spiritedly wrestling; they appear quite evenly matched, most likely on purpose, so as to make for a more engaging spectacle. Certainly the reversed-hands makes for a somewhat different match than the mortals might be used to.
Vhibishana, serving as the seneschal of the feast, notices the mortals immediately, brightening. "Ah, it is good to see you! Not that I thought you would try to avoid the feast, but organizing this lot," he gestures to take in the rakshasa in general, "is something of a challenge."
Norris is watching the wrestling with interest. He's heard of contests of strength like this, but he has never seen one, much less engaged in one. It's not like anyone would have tried to challenge him back in Stanton, after all. "No worries, Vhibishana." he assures, making sure to acknowlege their host in spite of his curiosity.
Jareth smiles at Vhibishasa and says, "There's a saying in our old village 'It's like herding cats,' meaning that it's frustrating and difficult."
Vhibishana grins quirkily at that. "'Herding cats' sounds appropriate on so many levels. Ahem! So! You'll be seated on the dais, to the left of Lord Ravanna and myself, and thus opposite Tawhaki. I do not know if the kachinas are coming to eat as well... or even if they eat at all, for that matter -- but I am considering how to handle it if they are not." He beams. "If any of you would wish to join in the wrestling or activities during the feast, you're more than welcome!" One of the rakshasa who are wrestling lets out a yowl as they scream-and-leap at the other, the two becoming entwined in a -- literal -- furball. "Or not, if you prefer." He adds, deadpan, "I certainly wouldn't blame you...."
Jareth looks toward Norris, grinning at his packmate's avid attention to the wrestling, "It might be fun for you, Bear. They're certainy more of a match than anyone in the village would have been." He reahes out and squeezes Norris' hand briefly.
Norris headtilts. "I...it seems a very interesting activity. But I'm not sure I'm so durable as rakshasa are." he admits dubiously. "What with the claws, and all...and I'm built differently, too..." He seems to be talking himself out of something new, but then Jareth speaks to him in that way he does, and squeezes his hand back, looking shyly at the other man. "Well...whut the hell. Nothin' ventured, and all that..."
Vhibishana looks genuinely surprised, amking a quiet sound as he produces a small, slender, wood-framed, clay-inset tablet from nowhere, making a few marks on it with a stylus. "Interesting. Very well, I'll try to find an opponent who's about your size and weight! This should be fascinating."
Mikal had been rather obviously staring at how lovely Jareth looks, and equally clearly trying to be surreptitious about it. She blanches at the screeching cats, though, hastily ducking behind her larger packmates.
Jareth grins at Norris again and then says to Vhibishana, "Would he be allowed to compensate for his lack of claws and teeth in some way?" When Mikal ducks behind him, he reaches for her hand, wanting to pull her up close against his back.
Mikal is happy to stay pressed up against Jareth's back -- it feels relatively warm and safe, after all. She wraps her arms about his waist as far as she can reach, peeking cautiously out from behind him.
Norris nods agreeably, lighting up. And then looking squarely at Jareth, and leaning in, kissing his packmate's hair. "Thank you, Cat." he whispers, almost lovingly, thanking him even if he doesn't realize what he did. And laughing lightly at Mikal's ducking and hiding. SOme things change, and some things stay the same.
Mikal's collating of the lists bore some fruit: There were many names on the list of prisoners of war, many of them definitely not veterans; and the list of known angelic True Names was about the same size but clearly represented only a fraction of the angelic host. Nevertheless, there are twenty names on the list of POWs that she learns the True Names of. She is feeling rather happily productive due to that, although she's only had a chance to whisper to her packmates that there are some of the angels here that they all know the True Names of. She glances around a bit warily, wondering what they're supposed to do now, until dinner begins.
Jareth draws Mikal with him up to the table, still waiting for the answer about Norris not having the natural weapons of the rakshasa.
Vhibishana purses his lips. "Well, it is simply wrestling; we would never allow anyone to use claws or teeth in a bout meant for entertainment; that would be unpleasant and actually something of an insult to guests, not to mention insulting to you. I would not worry about it; so long as you don't start biting tails, Bear, it will be fine." He smiles. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. Lord Ravana will be at the dais shortly to join you."
Norris blinks at the idea of biting a tail. That would just be...ick. Hair in the mouth. He's trying to get the nonexistent fur from his mouth just from the thought of it.
Mikal curls up neatly between Jareth and Raphael when they sit, still glancing around a bit warily.
Norris looks at Vhibishana, then. "Don't worry too much about it, yeah? I'm a big boy. And trying something new, there's risk in that, yeah? Not fun without risk." He grins boyishly, and sits next to Raph, hand absently going to his lush coat, and then stopping. He's usually not felt comfortable with petting Raph, and now that he knows the wolf is actually the Norse Trickster God does not make him more comfortable. But then he tenatively rests his hand on the canine's broad back, testing Raph's reaction.
The big raptor-wolf flicks an ear in Norris's direction, but doesn't seem unduly fazed. He simply continues panting relaxedly where he's being warm and reassuring for his smaller half-sister.
Vhibishana smiles, "Well, yes, but no need to make things even more risky." There is a smattering of applause and rakshasa cheers as the referee for the wrestling match calls a halt to the proceeding, declaring the female the winner. "I'll let you know when it is your turn, Bear. It is sometime later. In the meantime, please, make yourselves comfortable!" The current match that is being set up appears to be some sort of backgammon, though knowing rakshasa it could very well turn into full-contact backgammon.
Jareth puts his arm around Mikal and smiles down at her, kissing her temple and teasingly saying, "If any of the rakshasa were your size, mon lapin, you'd probably wipe the floor with them." He looks curiously at the board game being set up and says, "I wonder if they play chess as well."
Mikal flushes with pleasure, then blinks nervously, "M-my...? Uh, I d-d-don't, I mean I, um..." In a very small voice she whispers, "I d-don't know how to fight, C-cat!"
Norris takes that as assent, and strokes the wolf's broad back, hand staying away from the head as that might be too patronizing. And as he watches the setup for the game, something inside him sparks...something impish that is neither Norris or Hephaestus as he leans in to the wolf. "Don't worry. I'm not going to start coming on to you too, packmate." he reassures Raph in a low tone, while Mikal and Jareth are distracted.
The big, heavy head swings around at that, and for a moment when the eerie, alienly vertical pupiled, topaz eyes stare at Norris, Raphael seems to grin lazily -- baring not one but several layers of jagged teeth.
Jareth smiles down at Mikal in a way that's just this side of appropriate for public, "Oh, indeed you do, my sweet Rabbit. You are a hunter and you are quick and agile. You also have a mind for strategy. It puts me in awe of you."
Mikal is starting to look anxious, glancing around to make sure no one's listening. Her whisper is urgent, "N-no! Th-that's not the same, Cat -- not like wh-what they're doing out there! Th-they're hitting each other!"
Jareth nods and strokes Mikal's hair, kissing her forehead soothingly, "True. I won't mention it again, beloved. But perhaps you and I could play chess or backgammon sometime. Maybe some of your smarts will rub off on me."
Norris's eyes twinkle back at the wolf, a small smile gracing the big man's face. "Yeah, I thought you'd like that, he rumbles, feeling more at accord with the mysterious wolf than he ever has as he pets that sleek pelt. That done, he watches curiously at the backgammon. He remembers this old game...it's supposed to be one of the oldest in the world, before even chess. Somewhere, he remembers being an old man, and playing it with friends in a park, under a canopy of trees.
The backgammon game proceedes apace -- apparently unwilling to limit their contests to mere physical prowess, the cunning-valuing rakshasa also encourage this among the less physical but more cerebral of their warriors; it's clear too that the ones participating in such contests tend to be tacticians rather than braves. The backgammon game ends with no fewer cheers than for the wrestling match's victor, the game's winner being a remarkably slight rakshasa who nevertheless seems to wear the rank marks of a captain.
Ravana arrives just in time to hail the winner of the backgammon game, and he beams happilly to the mortals. "Ah, my friends, I'm very glad to see you! Have you been here long?"
Mikal blinks nervously up at the huge rakshasa, shaking her head once.
Ravana blinks a little at Mikal's nervousness. "Why, Rabbit... what's wrong?" He drops his voice. "I pray you haven't been disturbed by the wrestling or fencing?"
Mikal shakes her head nervously several times, although her voice squeaks when she manages to get out, "F-fencing?"
Ravana nods. "Oh, yes. There have been -- or will be, Vhibishana has the schedule -- some sword-fighting exhibitions with blunt swords as part of the entertainment." He sits in the cushion set for him. "But, please, Rabbit... what ails you?" He adds, gently teasing, "Have we spent so little time together that I still startle you?"
Mikal turns bright red at that, hastily ducking behind Jareth's back, "N-no! Not it!"
Norris clears his throat, trying to get Lord Ravana's attention. "If you'll permit me, Lord...Rabbit is just feeling especially Rabbity right now."
Mikal takes a deep breath, clasping her hands together tightly, then manages to get out in a relatively steady voice (still behind Jareth), "J-just... just d-don't know how to f-f-f-fight!" She blinks a bit blankly at Norris, her lips puzzledly forming the word "rabbity?!"
Ravana looks at Norris, a touch surprised. "Fight? But... you do know how to fight, Rabbit I saw -- Ah!" he chuckles softly. "Rabbit, my dear brave Rabbit, you need not worry: You are by no means required to participate in any of the entertainments this evening. They are merely that: Entertainment."
Norris smiles at Mikal. "There's times when you're more like yuh was, back in Stanton. An there's times when you're this intense flame of passion. An lotta the time, yer somewhere in between. Ahm just saying...right now, you're especially Rabbity." he explains his logic.
Mikal goes silent, glancing a bit bemusedly between Norris and where Ravana would be on the other side of Jareth... then decides discretion is is the the better part of valor. She stays silent, curling up tightly against Jareth and lightly closing one hand on his belt.
Ravana blinks as Mikal ducks behind Jareth, then lets out a breath, giving a bit of a sad smile. "Well. Do be reassured that you will not be asked to do anything you would not want to do here this evening, Rabbit. This is, after all, a night of celebration."
As if on cue, there are calls shouted out by the heralds, and Tawhaki arrives at the feasting-place.
He is dressed much as he was before, though this time with a heavy cloak of crimson and a beaded cloth skirt, dark eyes bright and smiling. He and Ravana exchange hails, the rakshasa lord standing, and the rakshasa present give three shouts in greeting to the Uluru emissary.
Jareth wraps an arm around Mikal and whispers softly, "Relax, my love. I am here. Norris is here. You are safe and loved." He finds that he feels particularly protective with his mate's hand clutching his belt. It's an odd feeling for him, being the butterfly that he is.
Mikal peeks out warily from behind Jareth, staring with slightly awed interest at the minor deity -- she's never seen one before! ...or at least one in his right mind. She wonders why Ravana sounded sad, and she glances at him too. Unfortunately she doesn't think there's any way she's going to be able to get close to him to ask, at least for the duration of this dinner. She squeaks startledly when Jareth accidentally interrupts her fascinated musings -- but then sighs in relief and relaxes against him.
Norris laces his fingers together curiously. "I wonder what he'd be like to wrestle." he muses loud enough for his companions to hear, tilting his head in thought at the impressive emissary.
Once the greetings are all done, Ravana escorts Tawhaki up to the dais, to seat him... beside the mortals. "Will the kachinas be joining us this evening, Tawhaki?" Vhibishana asks respectfully.
Still pleasant, Tawhaki shakes his head, "I'm afraid not. They... indicated to me that they have neither the need nor the desire to eat, but they did pass on their respects to you, Ravana Lord. They did ask for permission to perform a dance later, in honor of the occasion." He adds, a touch candidly, "To be honest, I am a little surprised they came, and even more surprised they've been as social as they have been. They aren't... antisocial, but they do tend to do their own thing."
Ravnana nods. "I can't say I'm familiar with that sort of being, but there is no offense taken, certainly." He smiles and nods to the mortals. "I believe I introduced you to our mortal allies earlier, when you arrived."
Mikal watches the two entities fascinatedly, trying to see what she can deduce by how they greet each other. Is Tawhaki pushing at all, trying to assert dominance or worthiness? Is Ravana welcoming but also prideful, or cocky, or anything? She also glances around, wondering if the kachina will arrive too.
Mikal looks startled as the Uluru representative is seated next to them instead of on the other side of Ravana! She unwittingly presses back against Jareth a bit as she stares at the half-dressed, very muscular young man.
Jareth says, "They sound like quite interesting beings. The masks... they're fascinating. Or are they not masks?"
Norris is actually unsurprised by Tawhaki choosing to sit with them. He vaguely remembers what Armaros was saying earlier, about the demigod specifically being interested in the four of them...what was it he said? That he would test us, take our measure, or something like that. He does not immediately draw attention to himself, though, instead watching Jareth take the lead, and very interested in the answer himself.
Mikal whispers softly, "N-not masks. Them."
Tawhaki nods a touch soberly at Mikal's whispered comment; it's surprising that he heard it so well. "Rabbit Lady is right," he says quietly. His body language is not communicating any sort of dominance attempt; in fact to Mikal he seems to be signally that they are, at least, equals, a good place to start from. Ravana for his part is responding in kind: though he is the lord here, he is welcoming of Tawhaki, and does not see him as a threat of any sort; it is a curious balance that both aethyrs are displaying. "They do not wear masks," Tawhaki continues, "at least not in the sense that you or I might. They are fascinating beings, but I admit to a touch of unease. They are... a little alien. Allies, certainly, but... primal. As if they are some sort of Thrones themselves, yet they have never claimed such."
Mikal looks startled, then oddly pleased at being referred to as Rabbit Lady. A small, shy smile curls up the corners of her lips as she listens.
Jareth feels Mikal relaxing and that soothes him as well. "They are the essence of something?"
Mikal thinks a bit, then hesitantly adds, "A-aren't they actually Th-thrones, though, for their people?" She glances up at Jareth, where she's leaning against him, and nods, "Right, they're l-like a concept... um... aren't they?"
Tawhaki brightens, as if this is one of the more interesting conversations he's had in recent memory. "Indeed, in a sense all gods are like that... but I get the impression that the kachinas are subtly different. They never attended Polaris, they seemed attached, somehow, to the land of their people, and I would say they show all the signs of being Thrones. So yes, they are more like... concepts, than gods."
Jareth nods, fascinated. Concepts are the basis of all stories, "So... they are like stories come to life. Archetypes."
Mikal says slowly, "That... yes, I remember that -- connected to the land. We all used to be like that."
Tawhaki nods to Jareth, "Exactly, Cat Lord!," he says somewhat excitedly. "I think the kachinas' people would even say that of them. They remind me of the Loas -- though admittedly not nearly as bawdy...." He tilts his head curiously to Mikal, considering her words. "How do you mean, Rabbit Lady?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious.
Mikal's gaze is a bit far away, "The... the deities. We were tied to the land, to our people who were part of the land. The... Nameless One, the Desert King -- it was startling and new when his people kept him close, kept themselves a people, even as they traveled."
Tawhaki looks mildly confused at the way Mikal is saying 'We.' "I... beg your pardon?" Behind him, Ravana makes a quick gesture to Vhibishana, who hurriedly without hurrying, sets up the next set of the entertainment: A pair of rakshasa braves, also in breechclouts, with clearly blunt swords, begin a sword demonstration that segues into fencing. If Ravana hoped that it would distract the demigod, however, he is unfortunately mistaken: Tawhaki looks upon Mikal with curiousity and concern. "Are... are you well, Rabbit Lady?"
Jareth squeezes Mikal's hand gently and says, "We come from a very agricultural village."
Mikal blinks as she notices Ravana trying to be distracting. She smiles at Jareth, and nods silently to the Uluru representative. She's not sure what she did incorrectly, but she understands she did.
Norris does not add to the moment...it was either a mistake on Mikal's part, or she intended to reveal what she did, and he's not sure which it is. At the same time, he's not all that good at being distracting or obfuscating. Although he is interesting in watching sword techniques. He's never used a sword himself, indeed, has never felt the urge to cleave into flesh, to draw blood. Yes, breaking a bone or crushing a body with his hammer or mace is just as deadly. But there is definitely a different feel to it, a wrongness that makes him shudder. Fortunately, there is no danger of that here.
Tawhaki blinks, then smiles and inclines his head to Mikal, and nods to Jareth. "Have you all been travelling the Dreamtime long?"
Jareth laughs a bit self-consciously, "I wish I could say for sure, but time is very strange here for us. Things that should take weeks seem to take only hours. Things that should take minutes last days."
Mikal nods again to Tawhaki, letting her gaze drift to the fencers. She's pondering silently, not really seeing the two athletically handsome young braves. If the Uluru representative came specifically to see the four packmembers, due to the battle with the angels... what did he expect? What is he hoping for? She's bemused that he'd assume some sort of "wrongness" with entities who can strike an archangel -- when they speak differently than he might be used to. Don't the kachina -- wait. She tries to remember: has she ever heard the kachina speak? She doesn't think so.
Tawhaki smiles to Jareth. "Yes, the Dreamtime has that effect on everyone. There are a few things that are relatively stable -- such as the Mirror -- and they provide some frame of reference." He winces a little, as if reminded of something, and drinks of his lhassa. "And some things simply revel in the instability," he adds unhappilly.
Mikal glances over and murmurs softly, "Like what?"
"Well.. the most recent thing that comes to mind are the tulpas. On our way here we stopped at a village near Uluru called Croatoa, which had been suffering the presence of one of these tulpas for many many days, and who asked us for help. I'm not quite sure what the kachinas did -- they would not let me watch -- but I am given to understand it was a long and rather dreadful battle. They drove off the tulpa, but could not destroy it."
Mikal says, "What's a tulpa? I thought it was just a thought creation... like a dream, but manifest."
Tawhaki nods, taking another draught of the lhassa. "They are, yes... unfortunately. The argument could be made, actually, that all aethyrs are in some way tulpas... but the ones I speak of were born of fear and dread. I imagine some don't even have any basis in reality, but so many people come to beleive these... these tales of horror and dread that these tales take on a life of their own. Fortunately, they are few and far between, and can be destroyed by mortals; and they can be driven off at the very least. Bloody Mary, for example, will not be terrorizing Croatoa anytime soon, I imagine."
Mikal sits silently, considering... then she looks up at the Uluru representative and says softly, "How do the kachina speak to you? Do they actually talk? Is it mental? And what are you looking to learn here, tonight, with us?"
Jareth thinks about those stories. The ones that people make up when the very real horror of their own lives has to be given a name other than its true source and his face loses some of its shine.
Norris is listening to the story even as he watches the contest, and gets a distasteful expression at the explanation of tulpas, glancing over at Tawhaki. "That's a relief, at least, that ordinary folk aint helpless against things like that." he murmurs.
Tawhaki smiles sheepishly. "They do not speak to me; they write. Most often, one will write out their message on the ground or floor -- I'm not entirely sure how they do it without ink or stylus, but they do. I have never heard their voices, except when they dance."
"And yes, Bear Lord. Bloody Mary, Mothman, the Slender Man... they have their times of terror, but at some point, someone comes to help, of which I am glad. There are even a few bands of mortals who travel the Dreamtime, dedicated to fighting the malevolent tulpas."
He folds his hands, his smile becoming a little more comfortable. "As to what I hope to learn.... I wanted to meet you. To learn who you are. How you defeated Uriel and sent him off so fast that griffons and kachinas have been harrying the Host throughout his entire trip back to Zion. And to learn if, as I hope, we may finally be seeing the beginning of the end for the Architect's dominance. You see, not many people have fought an angel and won. I knew it would have to be a mortal, but none I have yet met have been up to the task... and here you are, who drove Uriel, an Archangel back to Zion!"
Jareth smiles slightly, "Since we've come to the Dreamtime, it has become increasingly obvious that we are not here by accident. There are things about us that have brought us into the heart of this battle. Apparently choices we made in other times and places."
Norris grins proudly. "Rabbit's allus been a special sort. We dun know that. But won't say no to the suggestion that our help here at the battle for the Rakshasa redoubt is a symbol other folk can build on, rebelling against the Architect. No one is ineffable, no matter whut they done say."
Mikal smiles shyly, her gaze flicking to the side as she wonders what Tawhaki must think of them. She knows Jareth and Norris are impressive... does Tawhaki even know anything past that the archangel was forced to yield the field? Does he know who or how or anything else? She puzzles over how to ask more, wishing she were clever and fluent like Jareth.
Mikal looks up suddenly and says, "Aren't there any helpful tulpas?"
Tawhaki nods to Jareth. "I've learned -- a very long time ago -- that there's hardly ever such a thing as 'pure coincidence!' I am given to understand, too, that Raven is in hiding from Azrael. That is a shame; she might at least be able to point you in the direction of what questions you might ask of an Oracle, if you were curious about your past lives."
He in turn nods to Norris. "That is what I am hoping for as well, yes. No, nobody is ineffable, including the Architect."
Tawhaki looks back to Mikal, and nods. "There are some. In both Babylon and Nieuw Amsterdaam, there are stories of a woman in white who aids those without shelter and food, by sharing what little she apparently has. Those who treat her well, find themselves blessed, their generosity returned to them a scorefold. I forget what name has been given to her. There are many other stories. The tulpa-hunters are careful to avoid disturbing the work of these beneficient tulpas."
Jareth looks slightly abashed, "I am afraid, Tashaki, that it is my fault that Raven is in hiding. She gave me the information I needed to refuse Azrael's insistence that I go with him, and she brought me home from the Far Shores."
Norris shakes his head! "Cat, ya should dun stop apologizing for that. Mebbe it's a problem that Raven's on the run. But twasn't your fault that th' Architect an his angels..." He pauses. "...some of his angels are right dicks. Mebbe you shook things up a little, made things happen faster, sure. But doan ya dare apologize for dying!" he says firmly.
Norris glances at Tawhaki. "Actually, that's a pretty good explanation fer what's really going on here, Lord Tawhaki. We's ripples in the pond. Walking around, exploring, trying to get our hands on this mess and wanting to do right, we stir up events into stuff what's larger than us, really." It's not a lie, exactly. "S'good for us that we've done mostly right by most folks, tryin ta help things go better than they wuz."
The night and feast wears on; Tawhaki listens eagerly and fascinatedly to Jareth's story of his death and return from Raven, and does agree that defeating Azrael is of importance.
There is storytelling; Jareth lending his voice to the majority of the time devoted to that as the night wears dark is welcome, several of the rakshasa storytellers gladly letting Jareth speak in the time alloted to them instead. The stories are welcome, Tawhaki particularly enjoying it.
Later, as it nears midnight, one of the kachinas approaches the edge of the camp, and with a brief conference with Vhibishana -- as Tawhaki said, the kachina 'speaks' by writing, in this case on the ground -- the rakshasa announces, respectfuly, that the kachinas wished to dance -- for them, for the mortals, for everyone in the Dreamtime.
With some conferring with the musicians, the kachina disappears, and then shortly, as the drums begin to beat, it returns, this time with the others. Their movements rhythmic and almost hypnotic, the soft jangling of the bells upon some of their feet, as the come forward -- no, dance forward, into the opening before the dais. It is both slow and stately, and also tugs at something primal, something ancient.
Indeed, the four once-deities seem to find themselves drawn into the dance mentally; as if there is something in that slow drum beat, the jangling of bells, the footfalls heavy and light of the kachinas upon the dusty ground, that speaks to them. We know who you are, they seem to be saying, or implying. We welcome you back. It is the end of the beginning of the end. We will help you.
If any of the Rakshasa hear this underlying message, they give no mention of it.
As they dance, they hear, as if from very far away, the sound of chanting, or singing, in time to the beating fo the drums and the kachinas' footsteps. It could not be the kachinas who are singing; or it might be, just from whatever corners of the Dreamtime they came from. But the encampment becomes even more still as the ghostly voices chant.
Jareth is in his element with the storytelling and thanks the rakshasa that yield their time to him with true gratitude and even takes the hands of those willing to let him, bowing over them in an oddly formal way. When the kachinas start to dance, his heart catches in his throat and tears fill his eyes. For a moment, Lilith fills him almost completely and the once-goddess reaches out a hand, unthinking, as if she would touch the ghostly dancers.
Norris feels very strange, as he is drawn into this primal performance, feeling as if it turns a page in a book, or rather a whole chapter. A dawning of a new age, like the tales of aboriginal peoples that proclaimed the destruction of an old world and the creation of a new. It reinforces this change he's been feeling in himself...not Norris any more, but something more, as the drum beat fills him, feeling like the beating of his heart. When he realizes that the performance is over, he remembers then, 'oh, right! Breathing is good!'
Jareth is surprised, or perhaps not surprised, that in one of their circling of some central point in the clearing, the wingtip feather of one of the kachinas brushes against his fingertips. He catches his breath and feels himself swaying toward the kachinas. Alien, they may be, but they are benevolent... at least here and now.
Mikal curls up against Raphael so Jareth has space to gesture and move about as he tells the stories -- she knows how that goes, and it makes her smile to see her packmate enjoying himself so. However, at the sound of the drumming she tilts her head curiously -- it sounds slightly... different than she's used to. As the big, thundering drums begin speaking to each other and the audience, growling their unconscious messages of power and rebirth, the slight girl blinks, straightening up a bit from where she's curled against Raphael. She looks... almost bemused for a moment, glancing around to see if anyone else hears it too.
It's when her focus drifts away from the drumming that it seems to slide into her, curling up and dancing within her unconscious mind like a sacred serpent. She jerks upright startledly, blinks... then her eyes clear and she laughs suddenly, low and throaty and full of promise.
Jareth turns toward Mikal and his eyes are shining with the same sort of promise. One hand reaches to touch her face, trace the line of her jaw. The drumbeat is like the heart of the universe and it seems to match his pulse. Or perhaps his pulse matches it.
Mikal's clothing has changed -- rather dramatically, even though she hasn't consciously willed it. The slight, lithe young woman smiles at Jareth, then bounces lightly to her feet, watching the kachina for a moment with her head proudly raised in a way Mikal would never think to do. A moment later she steps forward and off the edge of the dais -- and almost instantly she's whirled up into the dance with the kachina. Arms raised over her head, her hair flying free behind her, she twirls and stamps and sways with the inhuman creatures. Bells chime on anklets and zills sing in rhythm with her steps; her skirts swirl easily about her swift-moving bare feet and her bright jewelry glitters, firelit, in her hair and at her throat and wrists and upper arms.
She does a circuit of the open space in the center of the eating tables, weaving smoothly and gracefully through the much taller, darker kachinas like a golden serpent through grass, or a bright streak of lightning through thunderheads. She makes eye contact with several of the rakshasa, smiling with lazy confidence at them, but it's when she ends up in front of the main table that she seems to truly exude an electric power. Her dance is inviting, knowing, enticing, and her dark, kohl-encircled eyes twinkle almost with mischief as she dances first for Ravana, then for Tawhaki. The swirl and sway of her hips hints at both sacred pleasure and immortal blessings... and then she pauses, her stormy-eyed gaze fixing on Jareth. For an instant she is still, chin raised as she studies him -- then slowly one hand reaches out, palm up, in a commanding beckoning. "Come. You have waited too long, Evening Star. It is time for you to dance again!"
Watching Mikal drift into the dance triggers something in Jareth and the young man is on his feet and out amongst the kachinas before he has made the conscious decision to do so. The clothes he wears are much different than those he started out with. His upper body is bare except for decorations of gold: rings around his biceps, forearms and wrists are matched by a heavy golden torc at his throat. He wears a garment that is heavy and made of lush silks, adorned with intricate embroidery. It comes down to his bare feet, where more gold glistens at his ankles. As his feet stomp, the layered anklets clink and jingle together and he loses himself in the ecstatic whirl of the dance.
The expression on Norris's face bodes an interesting question: do gods, even ex-gods, worship? The awe and ecstatic countenance the smith wears is certainly suggestive of it as Inanna takes the floor with the Kachinas, and Jareth joins her. The two of them like the celestial bodies...Mikal the bright sun, and Jareth the Moon that not only reflects that light, but makes it his - her - own.
Ravana, Vhibishana, Tawhaki -- in fact the entire company of rashasa, all are entranced, but none moreso than Ravana and Tawhaki. The kachinas dancing seems to continue on without regard for the passage of time in this endless moment of midnight. At some point, even the burly raptor-wolf has begun to stomp upon the ground with the others, his form taking on that of the great Fenriswulf.
And then, for the briefest of moments, as if seen through a blurred lens, Norris things he can see, within that circle of gods and kachinas, of Aions and Thrones, beckoning him to join, urging as if craving release... the image of Hephaestus, lame yet walking still... and asking Norris to, for just a moment, cast off the mortal seeming....
Mikal laughs, lightly dancing around kachina, Lilith, and the seeming of Loki's son. Because she's the Lady of Love as well as of War, she's quite aware of her effect on Ravana. Her dance for him is powerful, sensual, clearly sharing eroticism with him. The dance for Tawhaki is more of a simply sensuous welcome, however... and once she has her companions on the dance floor with her, she dreamily focuses on drawing everyone in. The Dance of Love, after all, is the most sincere form of worship.
She circles Jareth/Lilith within the dance, her eyes sparkling, and if her companion seems willing she'll start dancing in rhythm with him/her, mirroring each other in an erotically charged shadow dance of desire and beauty and allure.
In this time and place, Jareth's own sensuality comes barreling to the fore and when his lover and beloved moves to dance with him, it radiates out from the pair of them. His own dancing is as inviting at Inana's, the strange androgyny of his current state of being reaching out to whomever it can touch until he and Mikal lock onto one another and the dance seems to naturally draw them into that link.
Norris feels reluctance in him...perhaps the doubt is in him, or it is in the self-conscious once-mortal smith, than needed to be shown that he too, even in his crippled state, was beautiful, by his tempestuous wife. Norris starts to rise, but someone very different from the young man is the one that stands. Older, more weathered, nearly naked save for a white tabard that clothes him in the old greek style, his feet in wrapped sandals. His brown hair longer, wilder, his beard full and mighty, covering his face and the smile beneath it. But his twisted legs move with a strength that was not his even in godhood, and while he does not leap and twirl with the efficacy and grace of the others, his feet do stamp the earth as he joins the others, moving to the beat of those intense drums...
The midnight moment continues stretching on, and the rakshasa have begun to join the dancing, almost without realizing it; one by one at first, then in tens and twnetie. It's clear at first the Tawhaki has never seen anything like it before, even though he has travelled with the kachinas in the past and kows them best; and yet here they are, and these mortals have oined in the dancing; and yet they are not mortals, are they?> he suddenly realizes. As if the forms they have taken did not make it clear enough, something in the dances, in the footfalls these four once-mortals take in the circle dance tells him, sings to him, that t was more than a mortal blow which struck Iriel. It was something much, much more than that, and something far more promising than a band of talented mortals.
Ravana needs little more incentive to come down from the dais, drawn into the dance my mikal's energy, but the tantalizing draw of her movements. His earlier stupor broken, sbsumed into the energy of Inanna he once tasted and would seek again, he joins her within the circle of the kachinas. And shortly, fascinated in the way that he cannot explain, so too is Tawhai.
In perhaps moments, or minutes, the entire redoubt has been drawn into the dance, primal and rich in raw meaning and energy.
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