Burning Man -- Logs

About six years ago, game time, Bella got the idea that she'd like to attend Burning Man and invited Slate and Rosie to go with. She had heard rumors there were a lot of Ethereals that gathered there and wanted to see for herself. While he was in Japan Slate saw a kami/ethereal, so he'd be okay with accompanying her. He would not tell her about what happened with Rosie, though, past making sure she wouldn't be unhappy if he spent time with someone else while she wasn't there -- he's not the 'kiss & tell' type. Rosie would only tell if asked, and if he knew it wouldn't unduly bother Bella. As for going, he wouldn't mind going at all. Whatever happened at Neuschwanstein left him fairly 'liberal' as far as Ethereals go, though he wouldn't want to find himself between them and Larry's Guardians.

Bella has been almost floating around the ranch on the pre-Burning Man visit. In her entire existence, she's seen a lot of strange and wonderful things, but from what she's heard this is beyond even the normal spectrum of amazements. And getting to share it with people she holds as dear as Rosie and Slate is going to just add to the fun. The Bright is like a kid, giggling for no good reason and at random times.

When the trio arrives at Black Rock City, it's a whirl of activity: people dressed in fantastic costumes, fire-eaters, wandering minstrels, and sacred clowns all throng together in this spot. And there's an unmistakable feel of potential. Rosenstern is, all told, about like Bella when they get to Burning Man. The sheer energy of the place, the *people* -- it's like the Symphony brought into one wonderfully polyphonous place.

Shateishael grins, deeply enjoying seeing two of his favorite people in the universe so happy. He's packed to make sure everyone's at ease, though. Despite knowing everyone shares out there, he doesn't want his party to end up uncomfortable. They have a cozy little tent to share (although Slate's definition of 'little' is obviously not the same as that most people hold) with plenty of blankets for the night, which will provide shelter from the sun during the day. He's also packed a bicycle in case they want to get around more swiftly than walking, along with several other things he suspects Rosenstern and Bella will like for costuming purposes. Once he's taken care of the practical stuff like setting up their tent and tucking away the truck, though, he's happy to strip down to next to nothing, like everyone else, and wander around for the joy of it.

Once everything is set up, Bella grins and kisses both the men on the cheek, "I'm going to go change into something a little more comfortable, boys." With that, she disappears into the tent with the duffel she had with her when Slate met her, and another huge canvas satchel overflowing with feathers and other bits of glittery frippery. Rosenstern blinks as Bella takes over the tent shortly after it's set up. He says cheerfully to Slate, "Well, I'm definitely glad she's enjoying it here.'

Shateishael chuckles quietly, then raises an eyebrow at Rosie, "Lemme guess... you're gonna change too?" He's as cross-culturally pragmatic as always, in ragged jeans shorts, hiking boots, and what looks like an Arabic turban so he can cover his face if necessary should the wind rise at all on the dusty plain.

Rosenstern considers, fiddling with his bracelet thoughtfully. "Not sure... I might at that -- I mean, it's bound to be more blending in than what I normally wear!"

Shateishael blinks, noticing Rosenstern's bracelet... then slowly smiles, a quiet happiness in his eyes.

After perhaps half an hour Bella emerges again. She's wearing a very loose garment made of nearly-transparent red gauze. It seems to be just two large rectangles fastened at the shoulders and belted around the waist with an enormous red silk scarf. Beneath it she's painted herself in flames: vermilion, orange, and lemon body paints lick at her limbs and torso. She's also put on a pair of very brief red briefs in the interest of some modicum of modesty. Her hair is braided with more scarlet ribbons and she's wearing a small red leather harlequin mask.

Shateishael smiles slowly again, studying Bella thoroughly, "Sweetheart... you look *beautiful*." He grins, "Good enough t' eat... although I'm almost afraid t' touch you. Wouldn't wanna mess up your paintin'."

Rosenstern blinks at Bella. "Oh, Bella, that looks gorgeous on you! Beautiful costume!"

Bella giggles and spins around, making the tails of the gauze almost-dress whirl out, "Thank you." She's barefoot and minces over, kissing each of you on the cheek, "I brought lots more body paint and such..." She leans toward Rosie and stage whispers, "I thought we could pin Slate down and make him into a Satyr."

Rosenstern blinks, and giggles softly. "I think that'd go well!"

Shateishael laughs! -then rumbles cheerfully, "Oh, th' horror." He grins, nudging Rosenstern gently, "G'wan. You know you wanna change too."

Rosenstern makes a long 'hmmmm' sound. "I... guess that would be in order. Better now than later, then, when the festival's in full swing...." He's still blushing, though.

Bella is almost glowing, grinning over her whole face even as she tips her head curiously at Rosie, "What's wrong, hon? Feeling bashful?" The Bright doesn't show the least bit of bashfulness being bare-breasted and mostly dressed in gauze with strangers thronging around.

Shateishael chuckles, patting Rosenstern's rear lightly, then giving him a gentle push, "Go on, little flower. We'll wait."

Rosenstern grins sheepishly to Bella. "Well, just a bit...." He blinks to Slate, then laughs softly at the nudge. "Okay. Give me a few minutes; I'll be right out." Then it's his turn to duck into the tent.

Shateishael spends the time happily finding out just where Bella will let him stroke her. Bella quite happily lets Slate explore and doesn't seem to mind if the paint gets a little bit mussed. He finds himself taking a few deep breaths after a while, and firmly reminding himself they're still in public and it's not nice to spook the mortals! When Slate has to take those deep breaths, Bella laughs, kissing his forehead, "You are a treasure, hon. And fantastic for a girl's ego."

Shateishael smiles, leaning so she can easily reach his forehead, and rumbles quietly, "Just this one, sweetheart."

Rosenstern eventually comes out, and if his painting ability was somewhat better he could almost be confused for a flowerbed. What little modesty he has is a short, tidy kilt of patterned earth-tone muslin, and the rest of his body is covered in a melody of various types of flowers, from azaleas to sunflowers to lilacs. Notably absent are roses, because those -- or at least silk ones -- he's woven into his hair in a manner not entirely unlike his garlanded halo. A few more silk flowers are tied on with slender, dark green ribbons here and there; the only other jewelry he wears is his earrings and the bracelet. Shateishael blinks, then gently turns Bella, "Look. Our Rosebud's lookin' gorgeous too."

Bella blinks and takes in Rosie's costume and then she squeals very much like a teenager and claps gleefully, "Oh Rosie! It's fantastic!" She scampers over and takes the Mercurian's hands, attempting to get him to swing around in a circle with her.

Shateishael grins, one hand unwittingly going to his own chest to run lightly over his Thor's hammer. He's still inordinately pleased to see Rosenstern's wearing his gift... he checks visually, wondering if Bella's wearing the pendant he made for her. Bella is never without the pendant. Shateishael chuckles quietly, warmed at sight of the pendant and watching the two of them whirl about together. "Y'all look so pretty together... like fire 'n flowers. Good for th' soul."

Rosenstern yipes! and laughs, whirling with Bella. "Thank you! Oh, good, I was worried it wouldn't go okay!" At Slate's words, he looks up to the man, and grins merrily. "Your turn."

Shateishael laughs aloud at that! "It is now, is it? Y'all know I have all th' paintin' ability of Thea, right?"

Bella is grinning impishly, "Who says you have to paint anything? There's all sorts of other things in there to make into a costume!"

Shateishael snorts amusedly, raising one hand and opening his mouth to politely decline... then he gets a thoughtful look. A second later he laughs again, "Uhh... alright then, I guess -- if'n y'all really want?"

Rosenstern bobs his head. "We really want!" he says cheerfully.

The Bright puts her fists on her hips and raises one brow, "Slate, do we really have to pin you down and dress you up ourselves?"

Shateishael is a bit bemused, but if it makes his dearest friends happy... he laughs again, "Um, would it make it more fun for you if y' had t' pin me down?"

Rosenstern looks like he seriously considers that for a few seconds, then grins. "Yes, but not this early in the day...."

Shateishael chuckles again, "'kay, okay, I give! Have a blast... 'long as I get t' see too, when y'r done." He'll obligingly enter the tent, strip, and lay down as they want. He's not used to being the center of attention and having nothing he has to do... so he rather enjoys getting painted up.

Bella is just slightly caught off guard at Rosie's flirtatious comment, but not in a bad way, it just surprises a laugh out of her. She follows Slate into the tent and starts digging through her bag of costume bits, "I know I have some friendly plastic horns in here somewhere..."

When the Mercurian and the Bright are done with him, Slate has been transformed into a post-modern Green Man. Camouflage BDU's cover his lower body fitting close enough to be attractive but not so tight as to be vulgar. Over the exposed parts of his body, there are hints of gray granite, suggesting a wall. Climbing the wall and twining around Slate's trunk, arms, and neck are swirls and eddies of green vines, the ends of them curling into spirals across the Seraph's forehead and cheeks. On his forehead Bella has used generous amounts of spirit gum to attach a pair of crookedly twisting horns that sweep upward. Green ribbons dangle from his hair, tied in here and there through the blonde locks.

Shateishael emerges with an initially faintly bemused expression... to be wearing horns makes him feel a bit... odd, considering the connotations they have in his head with demons -- but on the other hand he's rather startled and deeply touched by the artistic effort Bella and Rosie have put into so beautifully decorating him! He beams as he hugs them both strongly, very much enjoying himself. "Wow... y'all are amazin', y'know that?"

After she returns the hug Bella grins over at Rosie, "Didn't have to hold him down after all... I'd suspect that would be a reversal, anyway."

Shateishael laughs aloud, tossing his head back... then grins down with affectionate amusement at the two smaller angels he's hugging, "Well... yeah. But he seems t' like it."

Rosenstern laughs, returning the hug warmly. He blushes even *more* at Bella's words, and coughs, unable to make a rejoinder of any sort. Rosie's blush just makes Bella grin more wickedly, "Oh, I just knew he was a bottom..." She ducks into the tent and comes back with a brocade pouch tied to her sash, "Let's go see what we can see, guys."

Shateishael chuckles, slipping an arm around both their waists and rumbling happily, "C'mon! Let's go admire folks, an' be admired, yeah?" He grins at Bella with quiet warmth, "He likes girls too, sweetheart." To Rosie he murmurs, "Um... that's not a secret, right?"

Rosenstern bursts out laughing at Slate's aside. "No, it's not a secret!"

Shateishael looks relieved, "Oh, good. I figured if you were wearin' your bracelet in public it was okay... but figured it'd be p'lite t' check."

The mass of humanity in the desert is a joyous, raucous explosion of creativity. Fire-eaters, jugglers, mimes, and stilt-walkers abound, mixed in among the general roil of people dressed or undressed in various costumes. Freedom is the word and there are people of all shapes and sizes reveling in their own beauty and the beauty of one another. Fairy wings are much in evidence and Slate is far from the only person wearing horns. Some of the costumes are amazing in their attention to detail, and one slender androgyne dressed in close-fitting latex has a pair of enormous butterfly wings attached to their back that actually flap slowly from time to time.

Shateishael is amazed and enchanted -- this is the most gorgeous, astonishing, fantastical display he's ever seen in all his years! Bella turns around to walk backward through the crowd, trusting Slate and Rosie to tell her if she's about to run over anyone. Her voice is pitched confidentially, "Y'know, I've heard that not all these costumes are costumes... Ian told me there were rumors that Uriel's little genocide wasn't complete..."

Shateishael rumbles quietly at one point, "Wish Aletheia could be here... she'd love this! She always said I was too..." he cuts off at Bella's words, blinking and wondering if he's accidentally given something away without realizing it... then he takes a deep breath and smiles. He's pretty sure he's never mentioned Uriel or the 'supernatural' to anyone recently. He thinks a moment, then rumbles cautiously, "How... would you feel about that, sweetheart? That there might be Ethereals around still?"

A swirl and a laugh, making those skirts flare out again before she's walking backward again, "I think it'd be fantastic. I mean, they were part of Creation to start with, right? The more different things there are, the better, if you ask me."

Shateishael smiles, relaxing slightly and watching Bella dance with pleasure, "Me too, sweetheart. Not sure I'd recognize 'em if I saw 'em now, though." He looks around curiously, wondering if any of these are indeed Ethereals.

Rosenstern purses his lips a little, thinking and taking a while before answering. "Well... there are still some in the Marches and here and there. They weren't all wiped out. I don't know a lot about them, though." He smiles a little lopsidedly. "Most of what I do is in the Corporeal realm, not Ethereal. Shateishael grins lazily at Rosenstern at that, lightly brushing some of the slight Mercurian's long hair out of his face.

Bella's eyes shine, "Really? That's just fantastic!" She starts into another of those twirls, only to trip over her own feet and ending up pitching into the butterfly-winged person, who catches her just perhaps a little too easily. The voice that comes from the androgyne's throat is musical and just as hard to categorize as the physical appearance, "Whoop! Careful there! Get dust on that paint and you'll have to wash it all off."

Rosenstern blinks and tries to reach out to help keep Bella from whirling off-balance -- he's caught a bit flatfooted when the butterfly androgyne catches her so easily. [Oh, I'd never have been able to do that, even on my best day!]

The person is well over six feet tall, some of that height coming from the five-inch patent leather platform boots. He, or maybe she, is dressed in a glittering blue spandex body suit that covers from throat down, even going over the tips of the fingers. The wings emerge from slits in the body suit and if there's a mechanism to make them flap the way they do, it's well hidden. The hair is a spill of cobalt that tumbles down the back almost to the waist and the bangs straggle over a powder-blue face that shines with the slickness of greasepaint.

Shateishael reaches his arms out automatically to steady Bella, but ends up only half-holding her as he stares in amazement at the butterfly. He can 'feel' the Otherness radiating from the butterfly, this close. It's like a gentle syncopated trill in the Symphony. Rosenstern blinks at the butterfly then, as if just noticing them. The butterfly-person's little entourage has wandered off the Brownian way of people in a festival crowd. Bella rights herself and blinks, speechless for the moment. Her rescuer grins and offers a hand to the three angels, not seeming to care who accepts it, "I'm Somhairle."

Shateishael realizes a second later he's gawping, and he straightens, smiling a little tightly, "Sorry, there." He takes the creature's hand first, not precisely sure what will happen, but not wanting anyone hurt by accident.

Somhairle squeezes Slate's hand, and the ripple gets a little stronger, but there's nothing evil in it. It blends with the Symphony in a gentle, sweet undercurrent. "No worries."

Shateishael says, "Uh. Right. Slate." He grins ruefully, remembering what manners are in this time period, "An' that's Bella, 'n Rosie there. Love your look. Good t' see folks like you here."

Rosenstern starts to feel it -- he's attuned to the comings and goings, of the ebb and flow of people in a crowd. Fine resolution, or picking out individual notes or instruments in the Symphony, though, he's not so good at. Something about Somhairle is making him... notice it -- above and beyond the name. If Slate lets go of the person's hand, he does shake it. "Pleased to meet you," he says, a little muted but still friendly and cheerful. "Your costume is lovely."

That musical trill of a laugh comes again, "Folks like me started this whole thing." If he realizes what the three angels are, he doesn't seem worried -- perhaps simply because of the throng. His gaze moves to Rosie and he blinks, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, "You look familiar..." He takes the Mercurian's hand and leans in close, voice dropping to a whisper, "You really think it's a costume?"

Shateishael chuckles quietly, watching, then glances at Bella, checking to see if she's realized also. He knows how much she'd like to meet one. Bella is still standing speechless, eyes wide and full of wonder as she examines the wings, licking her lips a little as she realizes they have actual scales like a butterfly's.

Rosenstern blinks at the 'familiar' comment. He swallows a little, though he's still friendly and cheerful. "Ah... n-no, I guess not. But... thought it would be polite to not... call attention to it, at that -- here, I mean."

Shateishael grins quietly at Rosenstern, then smiles and rumbles a quiet compliment to the Ethereal, his eyes bright with happiness,
"Chou kiete
tamashii ware ni
kaeri keri..."

A moment later he grins at the other two, "Can you feel it?" He sighs happily, then rumbles the translation softly,
"The butterfly having disappeared,
My spirit
Came back to me."

Somhairle seems about to say something, but a pair of petite women wearing gorgeous, stylized costumes (one a dragon, one obviously a phoenix) appear out of the crowd and grab the tall fae's hands, "Soma! Soma! Jenny's here! She brought the little ones with her!" And with that they're gone off into the crowd, though the shock of blue hair is visible for a moment or two longer.

Rosenstern blinks after the dragged-off Ethereal. "Oh... my...." He tries to wrack his brain, numbly and without much alacrity, to think of where he saw Soma before.

Shateishael rests a hand lightly on Bella's shoulder, watching the fae leave as he rumbles quietly, "Got your wish, sweetheart."

Bella's eyes are shining and she blinks as Slate's hand rests on her shoulder. She's smiling beatifically despite tears trying to trickle down her face, "Oh... oh wow."

Shateishael slides his arms gently around Bella from behind, dropping a soft kiss on top of her head, "It's easy t' lose y'self around 'em." Then he grins at Rosie, "So you're *familiar* to that one? Hmm... y' got somethin' y' wanna tell us?"

Rosenstern shakes his head, still looking a bit dazed. "I... I don't know! I don't recognize him, I-" he breaks off, blinking at Slate, then looks abashed. "It... it must have been from Neuschwanstein. Er, the second time I was there, I mean -- most recently."

Shateishael grins affectionately at Rosenstern, "Figured as much. You didn't mention 'em much, though... just, um... the afterwards." He shifts to take Bella's hand, gently urging her onward, "C'mon, sweetheart... where there's one, there might be more. Plus th' mortals themselves 're lovely too. Shall we?"

Rosenstern bites his lip, nodding a little. "Mmm... yes... I.. just don't remember them much. They can have that effect on people who aren't expecting it." He nods, much more animatedly and enthusiastically. "Oh, yes, there's still a lot more to see!" Shateishael grins at Rosenstern and heads along into the crowd with them both. Rosenstern blinks after Slate, and follows after him. "Uhm... Slate? Why weren't you... why didn't you have, well, the same reaction Bella and I did?"

Shateishael chuckles quietly, his eyes bright as he smiles down at Bella. Then he glances back at the Mercurian and grins, "Oh, they don't have as much effect on you if you've already lost your heart to someone else." Rosenstern blinks at Slate wonderingly, his brow furrowing as he trails along. Bella is beaming still and almost skipping along in Slate's wake, giggling for no good reason from time to time. Shateishael grins at Bella, obviously enjoying both her and Rosie's pleasure in the day. "So, where to next, guys?"

Bella hooks her fingers into the back of Slate's pants, digging in her heels and tugging him back with a laugh, "Woahwoahwoah, big blonde and buff, you can't just say something like that offhand and wander off."

Shateishael grins at Bella, a little puzzled, "Uhm, okay. Somethin' like what?" He glances down, then adds, "You keep doin' that, you're gonna be holdin' my pants without me, y'know." He grins.

Bella smiles sweetly, perhaps a little TOO sweetly for the sweetness to be real, "That's not such a bad thing. Rosie and I would just get to show off our pretty escort. I meant the bit about having lost your heart."

Shateishael chuckles, "Well, up t' y'all on that one. But th' bit about losin' your heart... I dunno why it works th' way it does, sweetheart, an' I dunno if it's a kindness or True Love really does conquer all. But the... th' glamour, I think it's called, du'n't work so well on folks that're already in love." Then he glances between the other two a bit curiously, "Um... y'all did already know I was in love, right?" He reassuringly adds, "I di'n't mean *physically* lost my heart."

Rosenstern blinks and opens his mouth... then closes it again, parsing what Slate's saying. Bella rolls her eyes with a snort of amusement, "I knew you meant love, Slate. I meant just who is it that has given you this immunity."

Shateishael gives Bella a slow, bemused look... then rumbles puzzledly, "You, of course. Di'n't you know? Figured you'd be able t' tell th' moment y' looked in my eyes, sweetheart."

Bella blinks again and swallows, then does something very unusual for the Bright. She blushes. Not much, but it is a blush, "Oh... " She goes on tiptoe and kisses Slate's cheek, "Baby, you are the sweetest Seraph in the Symphony. But I always figured you loved me the same way you do Rosie and Thea, hon."

Shateishael smiles, wrapping his arms with pleasure around Bella while she hugs him, and releasing easily (if a touch reluctantly) when she steps back. He tilts his head thoughtfully at Bella, still smiling, then shakes his head, "Dunno what th' diff'rence is, beautiful. Just know I'm happy when Rosie 'n Thea are with me an ' happy, that's f' sure... but my heart *sings* when you're there 'n happy."

Bella smiles and steps back, but only as if to get a better look at Slate, "You are going to swell my head." She beams up at him and squeezes both his hands. Rosenstern blinks, watching, then grins widely, making sure that the two have a little bit of time and privacy together. He looks around, still watching them still -- but only discreetly, just in case they get a little self-conscious.

As the Bright and the Seraph have this discussion, a young man just past being a boy comes dancing through the crowd. He's wearing... well, not much really. He has longish hair dyed several different jewel tones. He's pinned long lengths of jewel-toned gauze into it and the ribbons swirl around him as he moves with grace. His upper body is bare and shining with sweat. On his lower body he's wearing a posing pouch and a pair of sturdy hiking boots. Around his waist is a thick belt with velvet pouches attached. Out of these, he's taking handfuls of glitter and scattering it over people.

Shateishael's smile is still thoughtful, and his ice-blue eyes are intent on the Bright, but he doesn't say anything... just gently squeezes back. Then he seems to register that Bella's pulling back a bit, so he glances at Rosie and reaches out to loop an arm about his shoulders, drawing him closer, "Y'don't hafta slide away, pretty flower... don't think Bella's th' jealous type, an' wouldn't s'prise me if she thought y' had a cute ass 'r somethin' too."

Bella peeks around Slate and says to Rosie, "You do, actually."

The glitter boy comes near Rosenstern and grins at him, holding up a double handful of glitter, "Because you're all painted up, I'll ask before I do this." He doesn't actually say what he's asking or what this is, but the way he's holding his hands, it's fairly clear. As is the little trill when he gets close. His chin is covered in a neat pointed beard and the trill is a much deeper note, something more primal than that of Soma.

Shateishael raises an eyebrow at the fae, watching curiously. "What does it do?"

The fae looks at Slate and snorts, laughing, "It glitters?"

Shateishael chuckles, glancing down at Bella and Rosie, then grins at the fae, "What do you do? Are you an elemental?"

Rosenstern tilts his head to the side as he watches the boy spreading about glitter. [Oh, that's right; it's a common thing in things like fairy tales and movies with faeries! Spreading 'fairy dust' or 'pixie dust' and such.] He grins. [What a cool thing to do at Burning Man! He certainly looks the part, almost like Puck in "Midsummer's Night's Dream."] It almost completely misses his thought that this year at least there really *are* fae here... he blinks to the boy when asked the question. "Er... what...? I mean, before you do what?"

His attention is distracted for a moment, however, as Slate grabs him in the hug. He laughs and hugs back, shaking his head. "I'm certainly not jealous!" He blushes even deeper at Bella's comment. "It's ah, not as nice as yours, though..." Shateishael snorts in laughter! -then grins, realizing they're standing close enough now that they're *all* going to get glittered if Rosie says yes.

The boy with the glitter blinks at Slate, and if anyone looks closely into his brown eyes, it's rather obvious that his pupils are hugely dilated. With a saturnine grin, he says, "Right now, I'm a guy with pouches full of glitter and a little package of E."

Shateishael chuckles again, "Fair enough, I suppose." He glances at Rosenstern, "Want some pixie dust, Rosebud?"

Rosenstern blinks again. [E? Ecstasy? I thought that was called 'X'? Might be something else, then. But no matter, it's not like he's sprinkling the 'E' on us.] "Ah... sure! I think it'd go well with the body paint...."

The boy leans in and takes a deep breath. He blows into his cupped palms and the multicolored glitter puffs outward toward the three angels, adhering to the paint and settling in hair and clothes. There's an interesting musk about him. He winks at Slate, "Nice horns..." and then he too is gone off into the crowd.

Shateishael grins lazily at the comment, then takes a few moments to admire the way the glitter clings along the curves of Bella's body. "Looks real nice t' me."

Rosenstern watches the spire and fall of the glitter, somewhat entranced by the patterns it makes as it flits through the air and lands. "It's pretty," he says, smiling.

Shateishael grins down at Rosenstern, squeezing gently about the little Mercurian's shoulders, then releasing, "Did y'all catch that boy's thrummin' in th' Symphony too? Interestin' how different they feel."

Rosenstern blinks, looking up at Slate, then his eyes widen. "Oh, *Gott en Himmel*. I'd almost forgotten..."

More of the glitter has landed on Rosie than on the others, making his flowers glitter. Bella grins at Slate's admiring glance, "I love this..." She steps far enough away to be able to twirl around again, grinning like a fool, "I want to do this again..."

Shateishael chuckles at Rosenstern's wide-eyed wonder, lightly brushing a strand of Rosie's hair out of his face, "Ayup... they have that effect too, I think. S'okay... they 'ppear t' all be friendly here." He beams at Bella, then looks curious, "Want to do what again, sweetheart?"

The Bright reaches for both Slate and Rosie's hands, beaming, "Come here." She turns a little, trying to find the fae with the glitter, "And I want to meet more of them." Rosenstern blinks, letting Bella take him by the hand. He's curious as well, about the fae, about the Ethereals. But he's still a little worried about Soma saying that he looked familiar.

Shateishael takes a second to get it, then laughs, pacing along easily with the ebulliently dancing Bright, "Okay, don't see why we couldn't come back next year as well." He looks around from his slight height advantage, trying to see or sense more of the fae for Bella to meet. The theme this year at Burning Man is Fantasyland, and there are several elaborate sculptures and other creations of animals Slate recognizes as Ethereals, even though he doesn't see any live examples of them: centaurs, sphinxes, mermaids, and so on.

Shateishael follows his dear friends and enjoys himself tremendously. It's been a while since he's seen anything quite so colorfully, noisily, unabashedly joyous in the mortal realm... he finds he really likes it on both an emotional and a sensual level. Unlike previous such encounters, however, he finds he takes even more pleasure in the wonder and happiness of his companions. It's an interesting new perspective for him, and he savors it quietly as he goes.

Bella seems completely in her element here with all the scents, sounds, people to see and things to admire and touch. The sheer variety is staggering and the Bright loves every second of it. After the two fae that the angels encountered early on, there are no more that come directly up to them or that bump into them, but there's the occasional trill in the Symphony of something not-human coming nearby. Still, never is there a feel of something sinister or Infernal about it. As the sun goes down, the blazing heat of the desert flees fast and the festival denizens begin donning more clothes.

When the stars start coming out, Bella suggests to the Mercurian and the Seraph that they ought to perhaps also put on something warmer and starts making her way back to the tent, leaving the pair of them to follow or explore as they like. The Bright has been almost intoxicated most of the day, and her normal affection is even more in evidence. Spontaneous hugs are given out liberally to companions and new-met people alike, and she seems to thrive on the touch. And she also seems to be enjoying seeing if she can make Rosie blush with flirtatious comments.

Shateishael gladly hugs back any time Bella hugs him, since he's never been afraid of touch. He will even cheerfully swing her or Rosie around in a hug if they happen to be skipping towards him. He's probably not smiled this much in years, and it's a lovely if unusual sensation to him to be so relaxed amongst so many people. At the suggestion they put on more clothes he's faintly disappointed, but will follow other folks' lead.

Rosenstern has just been intoxicated himself, it seems. Always rather on the optimistic side, he's also always had this faint struggle to make things better, to help people be happier. For once it seems he doesn't seem to need to do that so much -- there's just already so much joy and love and happiness here that he not only can relax some, he soaks it up and seems to meld with and dance with the melodies of the Symphony.

Later that night, as the desert cools, he also goes with Bella and Slate to wash off the paint and the glitter, and to ponder what warmer thing to wear for the evening meandering at the festival. Shateishael will, if allowed, happily help Rosie and Bella clean up in the solar showers. He can perhaps be forgiven for running his hands over their wet, soapy bodies a bit more thoroughly than is absolutely necessary... since he doesn't seem to mind it in the least if they return the favor!

Once she's clean, Bella takes a moment and kisses both of the men. The kisses are just past chaste, but not pushy. "Thank you both."

Shateishael will return the kiss with as much enthusiasm as Bella seems to want, curling his arms warmly around her and letting himself get lost in the sensuousness of his lover's touch and scent and taste and feel... he has to take a long breath when she pulls away, but he's still smiling as he rumbles quietly, "Any time, beautiful."

Rosenstern is a bit surprised by the kiss, but beams, still blushing. "Welcome! And thank you guys too." He's just rubbing off a few last bits of paint, still seeming almost on the verge of delirium with the experiences of the day. During the shower he's been somewhat more flirty than usual for him, blushingly pensive as he (unavoidably) brushes and rubs against the two he's sharing the solar shower with, almost as if asking permission to do so even as he can't avoid doing it. Bella, for her part, encourages Rosie's flirtations, seeming to love the way he blushes.

Shateishael, as always with the little Mercurian, just grins lazily and responds by letting his hands rove more freely over Rosenstern's body, teasing with careful strength. Eventually, unless Rosie objects, Slate will stretch Rosie's arms over his head, wrists deftly caught in one large hand, and will cheerfully assist Bella in seeing just how much they can cause Rosie to blush. Rosenstern makes no resistance, not even any cheerful ones he might make in a public or semi-public place. Though he still squirms merrily.

Bella's eyes twinkle as she realizes that Rosie seems to like having his hands bound like that, and she happily assists with the teasing. Snuggling up against the Mercurian's back, she nips at the back of his neck and lets her hands wander freely over the front and sides of his body. Shateishael grins, obviously enjoying himself greatly with the other two. Rosenstern is even less inclined at this point to resist, looking a little dazed and of a state of mind where one could almost convince him to do anything... up to and including getting him to promise to make lasagna for dinner when they get back. Above and beyond what all the sensations are doing to him.

Bella doesn't bother putting anything on to walk from the shower to the tent, loving the feel of the night air on her skin. As she nears the tent there's a low, appreciative whistle from just in the tent's shadow. The Bright stops, suddenly on alert, but she relaxes when the boy with the parti-colored hair steps into the dim light cast by a neighboring camp's fire. He's still grinning, but he's now wearing jeans and a hoodie. The hood is pulled up, covering his shocking locks, "Y'know, I always thought angels were stodgy," he comments.

Shateishael raises an eyebrow and grins, "Depends on th' angel, I s'ppose." His hair is a dark, wet mane down his bare back, and he's got Rosenstern casually half cradled in one arm. He stops next to Bella, interestedly watching the young looking fae. "What kinda angels didja meet?"

The fae laughs and shakes his head, hands pushed into the pockets of his sweater, "Ya'll are the first I've ever met. But the stories." He steps a little closer, something odd about his gait. He's wearing long, wide-legged pants, "Soma sent me to find you guys."

Shateishael chuckles quietly, "Could say th' same 'bout you guys. Whatcha need, son?"

Rosenstern is blessedly lost in whatever world he's in as Slate carries him back to the tent, mind awhirl with thoughts and feelings not quite normal for him. All that gets tucked to the side posthaste when he sees the fae near their tent, and he becomes bright-eyed and alert as he mentions angels. He glances down at the man's pants as he walks, and some part of him wonders if 'Puck' was more than a merely casual label, and what shape the man's legs are. He blinks at mention of the fae they met. "Soma?" he asks in a small voice.

Shateishael says, "Relax, pretty flower... he's referrin' t' th' blue-haired fae, 'member?"

Rosenstern says, "I-I know... I was just... wondering why, that is."

The boy grins at Rosie's voice, "Yeah, Soma. He said to find the Flowerkin and his companions. He seems to like you." The smile grows toothier, "And after what I just saw, he's really gonna like you."

Rosenstern blinks and blushes fit to be a lobster. Shateishael tilts his head thoughtfully, studying the fae... then, without looking away, rumbles quietly, "Bella, Rosie? Whatcha think... wanna go or not?"

Bella leans toward the boy and says in her sweetest voice, "I'm going nowhere with someone whose name I don't know." Rosie swallows and glances to Slate and Rosie, then nods -- too quickly -- at Bella's comment. Shateishael nods quietly, pleased. He moves slightly, settling Rosie down gently and keeping a hand on him until he's sure the Mercurian's steady on his feet. It's almost unwitting, but he's shifted so he can swiftly get between his friends and the fae.

Laughing, the fae shakes his head, "Don't know you well enough to give you my name. Call me Puck." The shake of his head shifts the hood and reveals a brief glimpse of ivory-colored horns emerging from his forehead.

Shateishael raises an eyebrow again, somehow unsurprised to see horns on someone who complimented *him* on his fake horns. He waits for either Rosie or Bella's decision on staying or going, though he maintains a quiet readiness for swift action if necessary. Bella puts her fists on her hips, arching a brow, "Not very original, but it'll do, Puck."

Shateishael rumbles thoughtfully, "Somhairle... i'n't that d'rived from Old Norse Sumarlidr -- Summer Traveler?" He grins quietly, still carefully watching 'Puck,' "Guess y'all have True Names too." He pronounces the Old Norse correctly, with a soft, lilting accent.

Rosenstern gives a faint twitch at that name. [Could he have known my thoughts? No... telepathy isn't... well, okay, maybe it is... and if it is, so what? Wait... this is the faeries, the Fair Folk, *die Fee*. Oh, I wish I'd listened to more of the stories the parishioners told about them,] he thinks. He swallows and nods. "Let's... let's get kinda dressed first, though?"

Puck lets his eyes wander over each of you in turn and sighs with exaggerated regret, "If you gotta. Seems a shame to cover up all that skin." This coming from a guy covered head to foot. Shateishael snorts amusedly, shifting slightly so he paces between his friends and the fae as they all head for the tent.

Shateishael pulls on jeans, hiking boots, and his usual flannel shirt, rolling up the sleeves as he glances at the others, "Y'all think we need to take anythin' along with us? Dunno anythin' 'bout fae manners, myself."

Bella pulls on a long chemise-like dress and belts it with another sash. She kneels down and goes through her costume bag, coming up with a wreath made from dried flowers, "Well, it's never bad to bring a host gift."

Shateishael nods approvingly, "We got anythin' t' eat we can take too? Think those are always welcome?"

Rosenstern seems a bit torn as to what to wear, even if -- or perhaps especially because -- they're going to be purposely meeting fae. Though his last encounter with them is still really very fuzzy in his head, he vaguely remembers that the bright, elaborate, and exotic caught their favor. Or at the very least, that's what he's seen thus far. Then again, 'Puck' came to them all but bundled up. And this is a desert, which gets a bit cool at night, though that doesn't stop some people. He glances at what Slate and Bella are wearing, then nods to himself and emerges from the tent in a light mock turtleneck cut to leave the shoulder bare, slacks, and light walking shoes. "I imagine they'd like gifts," he says, a little worry in his voice. "I don't suppose we brought any of that wine from the Ranch?"

Shateishael grins at Rosenstern, "Th' honey mead you made, maybe?" Rosenstern brightens and nods cheerfully, ducking back into the tent to retrieve the bottle of homemade honey-mead.

Puck has sat himself down to wait, the cuffs of his pants pulling up to reveal the barest flash of shiny black cloven hooves. Pushing to his feet, he brushes the sand off the ass of his jeans, "Soma loves presents and if you brought him honey wine, he might just crap himself with happiness."

Shateishael gives the odd fey a startled look -- then gives a short bark of laughter! He's fascinated by the cloven hooves, wishing he could examine them. He wonders if the fae wears shoes... so he deliberately lags slightly behind Puck, studying the ground to see if the characteristic imprint of a shod and cloven hooved critter is left behind. He also considers a knife of his own forging as a gift -- then grins ruefully. *Definitely* not a good idea, even if well-meant, if cold steel is all it's supposed to be, to the fae!

Puck's feet do indeed show the imprints of shoes, but what they're made of is a mystery, as iron would be a bad thing. The satyr leads the three angels through the festival grounds to an encampment that is a couple of hundred yards away from everyone else. There's no physical barrier, but something has kept everyone else from camping near. In the center is an enormous silk pavilion, almost a miniature circus tent. There is a tremor in the Symphony as they pass that invisible boundary, a gentle wall of sound that seems to encourage not passing. But just a little effort gets past it and they find themselves in a throng even stranger and more colorful than the people they'd encountered earlier. Once past that barrier, Puck pulls back his hood, revealing beautifully backswept horns.

Shateishael blinks as it registers that Puck's shoes can't be iron, and he ponders thoughtfully what metal they must be as he paces along behind the satyr... gold, maybe? Too soft, surely? He's fascinated by the little tremor in the Symphony, looking around interestedly as he passes through it. Despite his fascination, however, he doesn't let the three of them get separated -- this is wonderful and delightful and magical, but he also wants to be sure it's *safe* for his beloveds.

Rosenstern pauses after crossing the barrier, half-glancing back, then swallows a little, and plunges on, ignoring the little Reliever in him murmuring worriedly about 'Point of no return.' Even so... this is so unusual and different and *new* that he can't really bring himself to be genuinely afraid.

There's a shiver of sensation as they pass the wall and a moment of disorientation. Bella sways on her feet and looks around, blinking. The Bright's chemise has disappeared, but that's really the least of the changes. Her normal almost nut-brown tan has been replaced by a light green tone that almost seems to shimmer in the various campfires around the compound of the fae. From her forehead two tiny emerald colored horns protrude. The fall of her hair has extended until the tips are brushing the ground, the strands moving in the wind... or perhaps just moving. The hair seems to have a life of its own, moving around the Bright's body and keeping her covered most of the time, but revealing tantalizing flashes of skin and occasionally more than flashes. Looking down at herself, Bella breathes out in an almost frightened voice, "Fuck me..."

Puck leers at her briefly, "Glad to, but you gotta go meet Soma first."

Shateishael blinks a bit startledly, then looks up at the satyr, growling, "Cut it out. She's *scared*."

Bella turns and looks at the pair of male angels, eyes going wide, "Oh hell..." she whispers.

Shateishael holds out a steadying arm and rumbles quietly, "Bella, sweetheart... s'okay. You're okay." He gives Rosie a quick look, worried about Bella's reaction.

Puck smirks and holds up his hands in the universal gesture of 'no harm meant,' "Sorry, dude, I just forgot to warn you." Bella is getting steadier, and she motions at the two male angels, "Look at yourselves..."

Once Slate looks down, he finds that his skin is smeared white with some chalky substance. Over this layer, greenish-blue whorls and knots have been painted. The only thing he's left wearing is a soft fur breechclout and elaborately wrapped moccasins. A quick inspection will show that even his face and hair have been covered with the white. Lime probably occurs to him as the source of the color. Across his back there is something heavy, a thick leather strap across his chest holding whatever it is in place.

Shateishael looks puzzled -- why is he attired like an ancient Celt? He never spent any time with them... very odd. Nevertheless he slings the leather strap forward to see what it is. Perhaps the scabbard to his katana? What lies against Slate's back is a hammer. A broad wooden mallet, the handle leather-wrapped.

Rosenstern's modest outfit has been replaced as well. The gentle Mercurian finds his skin has gone a shade of green somewhat darker than Bella's and vines seem to be sprouting from his body, wrapping themselves around his limbs and torso. The vines are abloom with roses that cover him almost modestly. Like Bella's hair, they seem almost to accentuate the lines of his muscles, the smoothness of his skin rather than hide it. More of the flowers emerge from his head in place of his hair, and the blooms there are tiny. The air all around him smells of rose.

Shateishael raises a surprised eyebrow at the hammer... then settles it back in place as he checks to make sure the Bright and the Mercurian are both okay -- or at least as much as possible at this moment. Surprised again, he rumbles quietly, "Y'all both look... really beautiful." There's the ring of absolutely unaffected truth in his voice. He smiles at them both, then gives himself a more thorough look, turing a hand over to curiously inspecting the woad patterns. He grins, remembering why it was worn: traditionally, a warrior clad in woad couldn't be blooded in battle!

Slate smiles and shrugs to himself. If he's got to protect folks here, this is probably the mythic outfit to be wearing. Perhaps these fae are of Celtic origin, and that's why he came out like this... except for the hammer. Weird. He grins again, remembering what he'd read of the berserker fits lime was said to inspire -- and that traditionally the warriors wore no clothing whatsoever! He muses to himself, [Let's *not* go there tonight, I'm thinking.] He looks back at Puck, curiously asking, "How come you still got clothes on?"

Smiling lazily, the Satyr chuckles, "Cause I was wearing them when I left the camp."

Shateishael nods, satisfied, and looks back at his friends. "Y'all okay now, yeah?"

Rosenstern blinks, looking at his hands. It's... it's strange, like he's become the gardens he so carefully nurtures. Reaching up he gingerly feels the garland -- no, the flowers that *are* his hair, so very much like the garlanded Halo his Celestial form bears. He swallows. "I... I think so," he breathes.

Shateishael nods again, starting to reach an arm out to Rosenstern -- then he pauses uncertainly, "Um... think I'm wearin' lime, Rosie. You know if that'll hurtcha or not?"

Bella nods and looks at herself, smiling crookedly, "Just couldn't figure out why I was in this form here..."

Shateishael smiles at Bella, "You're still a Bright, beautiful." He thinks a moment, then in a low, resonant voice he chants an ancient prayer:
"As waves upon my head the circling curl,
So in the sacred dance weave ye and whirl.
Dance then, O heart, a whirling circle be.
Burn in this flame -- is not the candle She?"

Rosenstern blinks at Slate for a moment, for it to take a moment to sink in. "I... I think it's okay. Lime is sometimes used in gardening. Well... some types of lime...."

Shateishael grins almost teasingly at Rosenstern, bracing him gently with one arm, "Gotcha. So the old Hebrew proverb's really right for you, then? 'As is the garden, such is the gardener'?"

Rosenstern says, "I... guess it is, at that...." He still sounds rather off-kilter.

Puck has his hands shoved into his pockets, smirking slightly as he watches the trio of angels settle into their appearance here. "The boundary is a little strange. Best I can figure, it's linked to Soma's mind."

Shateishael wraps his arm more securely about Rosenstern at the quaver in the smaller Mercurian's voice, and gives Puck a curious look, "We look like what he sees... or thinks he sees?" He glances a bit worriedly at Bella, still concerned for her.

Bella seems to be regaining her equilibrium, and in fact seems to be gaining a teasing confidence. Both of the other angels have seen it before, Rosie for the first time tonight. It's the sense of being around her when she knows it's acceptable to let the sensual side of her Lilim nature show through; the shift that happens when she's with a lover. Shateishael sighs softly in relief at that, then glances back down at Rosenstern. "'kay, li'l flower... think you can walk okay now?"

Smiling, the Bright reaches up and brushes a fingertip over first Slate's lips and then Rosie's, "Yeah... yeah, I'm feeling great now, actually."

Shateishael blinks, his startled gaze going back to Bella... then he grins slowly, "Yeah. You are." Rosenstern blinks at the touch, and then shies a little, smiling and blushing richly. There's something in the air here, after the initial shock of the change, that seems to invite a relaxation into the self. Shateishael looks around thoughtfully, taking in his surroundings now he's surer his companions are okay.

The satyr leads the three angels into the largest pavilion. All around are creatures that Uriel supposedly exterminated. There isn't a huge number of any one creature, but there seems to be at least one of almost everything. Slate even catches sight of a gryphon as it strides by and into a yurt. Inside the main pavilion is Soma, and the butterfly-fae is surrounded by several other butterfly-winged beings, most of them considerably smaller than himself. His spandex bodysuit is gone, revealing skin that is so pale that the blue tinge to it is difficult to see. Eyes that are a solid cobalt blue without iris or pupil widen in pleasure when he sees that Puck has brought them all here, "Friends! Welcome!" He rises to his feet, wings fluttering.

Shateishael's eyes widen in fascination, watching with delighted wonder the evidence that the fantastic is not yet dead to the human realm. He smiles, letting Bella and Rosie go first. Not only are they bearing the gifts, but he strongly suspects they're more gracious than he!

Rosenstern stares at the sight of the gryphon. [Oh, Adonai! Uriel... I thought he and his Malakim... that they... but they didn't after all! I... I don't know what to make of this! Oh, Adonai, if it be Your will, don't let Dominic ever suspect we've seen this! I don't want to lie to him -- though I will if it comes to it. Wait, he's a Seraph. Oh, *scheisse*.] Then he hears Soma's voice and swallows, nervously but bit by bit shedding that feeling as he becomes more and more comfortable with things. "Th-thank you for inviting us," he says; though not meek, his voice is gentle, soft, and quite humble.

Shateishael puts his palms together before him and bows his head politely to Soma as Rosenstern speaks. Bella inclines her head, smiling broadly enough that there's a hint of sharp canines showing. "Well, thank you, Soma." She moves toward the butterfly, holding out the garland, "But next time, maybe you should send someone to fetch us that's going to warn us about your little mindfuck."

Shateishael raises an eyebrow, watching... interesting. This appears to be a *not* strictly hierarchical court, then. He looks around fascinatedly, unconsciously analyzing the others there in terms of being a warrior. Soma's brows both go up and he looks over at Puck, but speaks to Bella, "Mmmm... perhaps sending Puck wasn't the wisest course, but he had the advantage of having seen you earlier today."

To Slate's practiced eye, most of the courtiers in the pavilion are just that: courtiers. But around the edges of the room are beings that seem to hold themselves with more confidence and watch the room with more wariness. He notes those individuals with thoughtful interest. He has no intention of hurting anyone, of course... but the thought of a bit of sparring with those unusual folks makes his eyes light up happily. He chuckles quietly, then gently presses one large palm against the small of Rosenstern's back, urging him forward, "Present your gift, Rosebud."

Rosenstern erps softly and nods quickly, stepping forward -- it looks almost dainty, the way he pads forward, one foot in front of the other, offering the bottle of honey mead to Soma.

Puck lowers his head in a show of humility and apology, but the gleam in his eye belies both, "Just slipped my mind."

Shateishael winces slightly at the blatant lie, then rumbles to the butterfly fae, "Honey mead, crafted by Rosenstern there from flowers grown where we live."

Soma's eyes alight on Rosenstern and the corners of his mouth curl upward, "Oh my... honey mead from the Flowerkin... how wonderful." When Rosie comes close enough, the monarch (apparently in fact as well as in namesake, since his wings are the rich orange and black of the butterfly that bears that name) takes the bottle with his right hand. With his left he cups Rosenstern's chin, guiding the Mercurian's face upward slightly, "We are *very* honored."

Shateishael watches quietly for any sign of discomfort from the Mercurian. Short of that, however, he simply folds his arms and observes. Bella leaves the garland lying at Soma's feet and moves back toward Slate, slipping behind the Seraph and letting her arms wrap around his waist, resting her cheek between his shoulder blades. Shateishael smiles, one large hand resting warmly around Bella's. He rumbles softly over his shoulder to her, "You okay, sweetheart?"

Bella laughs a rich, throaty laugh and kisses the back of Slate's shoulder, resisting the urge to nip at the lime-coated skin, "Beloved, I haven't felt this good in a long, long time..."

Shateishael wonders internally how it is Bella always makes him feel more relaxed... he rather likes it. He chuckles quietly, stroking her forearm lightly, "Glad to hear it. You look wonderful, beautiful."

Rosenstern takes in a soft, sharp breath at the gesture, at the touch, holding himself very still, but not from fear. It is a commanding gesture, one that Rosie here finds surprisingly easy to give in to. He blushes again, saying, "We are... we're pleased that you enjoy the gift. Sir," he adds, as if not quite sure what honorific to use or what honorific he would want to use. Shateishael grins at Rosenstern's reaction, relaxing a bit more. Seems everything's just fine, at least so far.

Soma smiles down at Rosie and releases his chin, letting his fingertips brush the smaller man's cheek softly, "I've seen your kin before, little one. Guardians of the flowers. Such a sweet presence." He lets his gaze move up and over to Slate and Bella, smile broadening, "I apologize, Warrior. Most of your kind that I have met prefer blades, but my glamour cannot create them even in seeming."

Rosenstern suppresses a faint shiver, half-closing his eyes as the fingers brush along his cheek, his breath catching in his throat. He ducks his head, feeling his blush deepen, reaching up to gently touch his chest, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

Shateishael smiles and shakes his head, "I am a metal-shaper also, Fey Lord. A hammer suits me well enough, and thank you." He wonders thoughtfully if his pocket dimension extends even here... but decides to check later, when everyone's looking elsewhere. He wonders curiously why Bella's standing behind him, but doesn't shift. If she wants to be out of sight of the butterfly king, she must have a good reason. Bella's reason for standing behind Slate seems primarily to do with the fact that she can touch his chest and stomach from here, or at least that's what she's been doing, fingers brushing over the Seraph's lime-painted skin.

Shateishael relaxedly enjoys the sensation, letting his own fingers trail gently and teasingly along Bella's skin -- at least as much as he can reach currently. He absently hopes the lime won't badly affect either of his companions, but the thought is somewhat fleeting, as Bella's quite distracting. His grin broadens a bit at Rosie's blush, recognizing that behavior. Still, the Mercurian's unlikely to be dizzy yet, so Slate doesn't shift from Bella's *exceedingly* pleasant embrace.

Soma's hand has come to rest on Rosie's shoulder; he seems to like touching the slight angel, but his gaze moves down to the movement of Bella's hands. He laughs quietly, "Flowerkin, Warrior and Seductress. What an interesting group. Please, make yourselves comfortable. I wished to talk with you all away from the press of humanity." The winged monarch indicates his own seat, which consists of a pile of plush cushions, and the space around it, which is strewn with more of the same.

Soma sits tailor-fashion, folding his hands in his lap. In many others, the motion would call attention to the fact that he is nude and he is anatomically male. But the grace with which it is executed just makes it seem a natural gesture.

Shateishael nods courteously to the butterfly king, then rumbles quietly to Bella, "Gonna shift, beloved. Come sit with me?" He'll take Bella's hand, if she wants, and settle cross-legged on some of the cushions -- not so near the fae lord that the sentinels are tense, but not so far away as to be rude. He shrugs the hammer off to rest before his feet, then smiles at Bella and Rosie, patting the cushions in invitation. For some odd reason (at least to himself) he really hopes they cuddle up with him.

Bella nods against Slate's back and follows him. More than just cuddling against him, she settles herself into his lap and rests her head against his shoulder, the fingertips of one hand tracing the woad swirls on his chest. She doesn't seem to mind that flecks of white are showing in her hair and against her skin.

Rosenstern is not quite trembling. [Mein Gott, what is this that's overtaking me? He's only touching me, for Heaven's sake. I hardly know him -- he knows Flowerkin, Angels of Flowers, that's why he said I was familiar, it's not like he personally knows me, or I him. So why am I blushing like a schoolboy with each brush of his fingers, like this? Oooh...] But even if he's not trembling or shaking or dizzy, he can feel himself so comfortable with things as they are. He steps quietly up to the cushions with Bella and Slate, waiting discreetly for the three others to sit before he sinks down himself, curling his legs underneath himself and not so much sitting beside Slate as sitting such that he's right up against Slate.

Shateishael sighs in quiet happiness, shifting to make himself more comfortable for Bella and loosely looping one arm around her to gently stroke her hair. When Rosie settles on the other side Slate gets an odd look on his face -- somewhat like he's not sure what he did to be so favored by fortune! He beams, putting his other arm around Rosie and gently nuzzling the slight angel's tiny-rosebud-covered head.

The main pavilion is made of brightly jewel-toned fabrics. There are patterns both inside and out, ranging from chaotic swirls and splotches to labyrinthine mazes to stylized celebrations of nature and fantasy. Inside, the temporary building is more than sixty feet through the middle, the center support made of an enormous and magnificently carved trunk of some dark-stained tree. The carvings depict different creatures of myth and fantasy, fae and dragons and all their kin. Both benevolent creatures and their more malevolent cousins caper around the trunk, detail disappearing into the shadows near the tent's apex.

Rough desert terrain has been covered first with some sort of ground-cloth and then with layers of carpeting, rugs and what seem to be a few blankets. These take their designs and patterns from as many sources as the decorations of the walls. Everything from delicate Persian rugs to one enormous braided rug looking like twists of patchwork quilt can be seen, the different textures providing sensual input even for that most neglected of extremities, the feet. Here and there are piles and mounds of cushions upon which the denizens take their rest. The only solid furniture seems to be several low tables on which are arrayed bowls and flagons, offering everything from steaming breads and slabs of roasted meat to softly-scented flowers.

Light comes from paper lanterns that seem strung from the upper supports, casting light in flickering shades. The place is filled with people and creatures no less varied and magnificent.

Soma is certainly striking all on his own with his powder-blue skin, cobalt hair, matching eyes and the enormous Monarch wings that extend from his back. There are several creatures of his kind in his court, all with the same wiry delicacy of limb. Male and female alike are evident, but gender is by no means the first thing that catches the attention. Each of this breed of fae sports wings, ranging from the vibrant blues and greens of swallowtails to the somber greys and browns of moths. If one looks closely, the social strata can be perceived according to the brilliance of the wings. There are no servants, so to speak here, but the idle courtiers wear the brightest colors and the guardians at the edges seem to sport the drabber, more practical colors. None of them come within a foot of their leader's height.

Puck, too, is not alone. There are at least two more satyrs in the crowd, neither of them dressed in anything but the fur of their own bodies. One is surrounded by a bevy of lovely beings, male and female alike, all of who are roaring with laughter at some tale he is relating with flamboyant gestures and the exaggerated expression of a seasoned storyteller. The other sits with just a single companion, a female that looks like some exotic blend of human and cat. Buff, cougar-like fur covers her body, shading to white on her stomach, which is exposed as she reclines with her head in the satyr's lap. Her expression is enraptured as she listens to some soft tune he is playing on what looks to be a violin. The three goat-men all share a solidness of build and dark curling hair on their haunches, but the violin player is smooth of face and feature where Puck and the storyteller both wear pointed goatees. Their horns likewise seem unique to each of them.

There are women with skin in every shade of brown, gray, and white that sport tangled manes of hair that range from deep pine green to the crimson blaze of a Japanese maple. These are draped in simple white tunics and seem to carry a patience of ages around them. There are delicate creatures with dragonfly wings that skitter from place to place, listening here, chattering there and then wandering off to new amusements. Creatures of many sizes and colors, not to mention varied shapes and forms, are present in ones and twos; enough different sorts that it is difficult to catalog them.

It is a casual court with laughter and joy much present. The diversions range from conversation to music and stories, and here and there a pair or group of fae enjoying one another in a much more earthy and sensual way. This is not gawked at by the others, but seems to be regarded as just another part of celebration.

Soma himself sits on cushions around the center support with surprisingly few people nearby, though that may simply be because he now has the angelic visitors. Closest by are the dragon and phoenix from earlier in the day, though what seemed to be masks under the harsh sun are now revealed to be the women's true faces. Even they, however, are a respectful distance away, playing some sort of game involving brightly colored blocks with a half-dozen child-sized creatures with jewels inset in their foreheads and the slit eyes of cats.

Soma smiles at the angelic tableau, "It's not often that any of us are in the presence of Celestials outside the Marches." Rosenstern blushes at mention of that, glancing uncomfortably at Slate and Bella.

Shateishael has been looking around in obvious fascination, trying to see as much as he can without rudely staring. The storytelling satyr catches his interest, and he can't help but wonder what marvelous story is being shared... and if he'd be welcome in such a circle. He strongly favors oral-tradition cultures, due to his earthly upbringing. The violinist also causes him to wish he was a Kyriotate, able to be in several places at once in order to both listen to the lovely music *and* examine the shaggy young satyr.

His expression is almost envious when he spots the dryads -- what stories might they tell an eager and polite young Seraph? -and he grins at seeing the dragon and phoenix are True, not just masques. He wonders at the small, slit-eyed creatures with gems in their foreheads, as well -- are they the offspring of a wise Naga perhaps? He knows the Agnostics viewed the Serpent in the Garden as a Bringer of Knowledge, rather than something evil... and the ruby gem between the eyes was the sign of one who'd achieved enlightenment, whose Third Eye was opened.

The Stone angel is being mentally pulled in a myriad of different directions -- what an amazing Community! Such beauty and casual enjoyment and pleasure and lack of guilt... how might he learn from it how to teach humans to be better at Community? He's distracted, however, by the relaxedly sensuous Bright in his lap -- he can't help but look down often and lightly caress her curiously shifting hair... and... she really does look amazingly beautiful. Her inner Light shines through gorgeously to him, scented with rose from the lovely, gracile Flowerchild next to him.

Shateishael blinks almost distractedly at the butterfly king when he speaks, "Er... pardon? Oh." He collects his ragged thoughts, then politely adds, "I feel we have lost a great deal, in losing connection with your people, fae lord." As always, he speaks the truth as he sees it.

The monarch fae is silent for a moment and then laughs, a tinkling sound. "Some of us feel we lost a lot by having that connection, Warrior." Soma shakes his head, "Myself, I feel that we would be poorer if there were not your sort in the planes. Even among us, we have zealots. We are simply blessed that they do not possess the resources your Uriel did." He continues, "And I am a lover of variety. Purity leads to sterility. And sterility leads to death."

Shateishael's expression falls a bit -- he can't deny their great loss at the hands of the zealots of his people. He isn't sure what to say -- what could possibly compensate for such a genocidal slaughter? Finally he simply rumbles quietly, "Sumerlidr, I am very sorry for what happened. I... I am not old enough to understand why it happened or why it was not stopped earlier. I can only mourn the loss, inadequate though that response is." Without realizing it, he's shifted into a more lyrical language, and is speaking ancient Norse to the butterfly king.

Shateishael quietly runs his hands along first Bella, then Rosie, looking at them both thoughtfully. Compared to his fairly mundane humanoid appearance, they're both fascinatingly alien. He tries to imagine what it would be like for someone to believe them worthy of death simply for that reason... his brain can't even wrap around the concept. Bella has spent the last several minutes using her fingertips to slowly brush away a section of lime and woad to bare a patch of Slate's skin. As he tenders the apology, she leans in, a dreamy look on her face as she grazes her teeth over it and then places a kiss there. He shivers slightly at Bella's touch, his arm around her tightening slightly in an almost protective gesture, and shakes his head firmly. No. Absolutely not. Just because people don't look exactly like you is *not* a good reason to kill them! He doesn't understand Purity's motivation, and he's not sure he ever will.

Soma waves off Slate's apology, but he does say, "No need for an apology, Warrior. It wasn't you. It was eons ago, and it caused us to come together as a people. There is less squabble between the fae and Aesir and the Greek pantheon and the totems of the Native Americans. There are too few of us to spend precious comrades in internal wars."

Shateishael looks up a bit wistfully, "Some of the Aesir and the totemic peoples still live? Oh... I would so love to see them. The humans I lived among revered them so... they spoke to the heart in a way I never felt for the cold priesthood of the Desert King's son, the White Christ." Rosenstern blinks, looking at Slate and the apology he gives. He looks again at Soma, at the reply. He relaxes somewhat, though not entirely sure how to feel about that.

Soma shakes his head and laughs again, "I didn't ask you here for us all to get caught up in this; I apologize. I only meant to ask you here because the three of you did not react the way the last angels I encountered did. It gladdened me. It makes me hopeful for the future I wish to see."

Shateishael smiles slowly, his eyes still thoughtful (except when Bella nibbles on him), and rumbles curiously, "What future do you hope for, Traveler?"

Rosenstern blinks again. "The last angels?" he blurts out, then looks abashed and sinks back against Slate, murmuring an apology for his blurt.

Shateishael grins down at Rosenstern, gently running a hand along the smaller angel's side, "Don't need to apologize, little flower."

Rosenstern says softly, "I know, but... it was rude of me to ask that..."

Soma opens his mouth to answer Slate's question when Rosie's interrupts it. He smiles at the Novalite, cobalt eyes gleaming for a moment, "We had an experiment like this one other time, Flowerkin."

Rosenstern blinks, looking up -- a little shyly -- at Soma, not daring to interrupt again. Shateishael looks up fascinatedly at the fae, "Really? When was this? What happened?" He lightly and reassuringly runs the fingers of one hand along Rosenstern's jawline, not letting him duck his head away. Rosenstern's breath catches a little, and he represses a shiver with the touch.

Soma is looking at Rosenstern quite directly as he says, "Neuschwanstein."

Shateishael nods slowly at that... then rumbles, "Wasn't there myself, Traveler -- just pretty Rosie. I heard demons shattered the Tether, though?"

Rosenstern's eyes widen. "But I... I thought... I thought it-" He breaks off, and says in an almost heartbroken, tiny voice, "I thought it was demons who broke the Tether...." Shateishael raises an eyebrow, looking down at Rosie again, then back at the fae.

The monarch nods, "It was demons who shattered the Tether. But they were only the first in the race." Soma stands and walks over, reaching down to touch Rosie's temple, "There were angels of Dominic and Michael already arrayed. Some of us encountered them on the way back to our places of hiding."

Shateishael frowns at hearing Dominic's name, growling softly under his breath and watching over Rosenstern silently, feeling oddly protective of his companions here. The Bright is listening, though she finds her attention continually drawn to other things. The oddly interesting texture of the dried lime and woad on Slate's skin, the sweet scent of Rosie's blooms. The way her own hair is moving. For her, it is like having the restrictions imposed over her senses by having a Vessel have been removed. She shifts in the Seraph's lap to be able to rest her legs across Rosie as well.

Shateishael puzzledly analyzes his sensation... finally realizing touching is fine, but he doesn't want to see either of them get hurt. If they want someone to stop touching, he wants to be sure their wishes are respected. He wonders curiously why he'd think the fae wouldn't listen to his companions... then blinks as it hits him -- he's not entirely sure Rosie would *say* anything right now! He's never seen the lovely little Mercurian so shy before.

Soma crouches close to the three angels, wings slowly flapping to help him balance on the balls of his feet. His expression is serious, intent, "But I remembered the Flowerkin. I was not quite in this form, then."

Shateishael tilts his head inquiringly at the butterfly fae, "What form did you wear when you met the Flowerkin previously, fae lord?" He shifts slightly and automatically to accommodate Bella again, making sure she's still comfortable. The occasionally extremely tingly touches he's getting from her are incredibly distracting... he wonders a bit bemusedly if he's going to be able to continue talking to the fae, at this rate!

Rosenstern looks up at Soma, his eyes widening. A tiny little sound escapes his throat. "I didn't know," he whispers. "I wanted the Ethereal Tether to happen. Mother just wanted us there to make sure no mortals were hurt." He's switched to Middle German. "I'm... I'm sorry...." Then he blinks again, still not quite un-shocked. "What... you remember me? I mean... I don't... what form were you in? If... if I may ask?"

"We're an odd breed. Like butterflies, we undergo a metamorphosis. The small ones with the dragonfly wings are our larval stage. Or they are, here-and-now. I hadn't the wings. I suppose one would say I looked like a pixie."

Shateishael looks fascinated, "Like... Relievers for us, perhaps?" He thinks a moment, then rumbles, "Flowerkin helped you metamorphosize, perhaps?"

Rosenstern blinks to Soma. "I think I remember you, then...."

Soma is still watching Rosie, reaching out to brush his fingertips over the tiny flowers covering Rosie's had, "No, I just remember how lovely he was that night. And I remembered that he seemed to want it as much as we did... and so seeing him again brought hope."

Shateishael smiles quietly, realizing the fae lord is talking almost directly to the Mercurian alone. "Ya, he is lovely."

The fae laughs and shakes his head, freeing himself of his reverie, "I sent Puck to watch you. To see if you behaved as if you were reconnoitering or if you truly were simply here because you wished to partake." The smile turns slightly impish, "From his reports the last thing on your minds is to do something destructive."

Shateishael rumbles quietly, "We're Creation, Flowers, and Stone. We're not Destroyers. At most, I'm a Protector."

Rosenstern's eyes flutter half-closed, blushing and his breathing becoming a little shallow with the touching. "I did," he whispers, "I did want it," though it's not clear that he's speaking entirely about wanting the Tether to form, or that and... other things. "I could not have even approached how beautiful you w-were." He blinks, then blushes, returning to the here-and-now. And his blush returns.

Shateishael chuckles quietly, watching Rosie turn the shade of his namesake... curious how strongly here and now is affecting the little Flower... and Bella too, from her wonderfully distracting behavior -- then Slate blinks. Is he being unwittingly affected too?

Soma shifts so that he's sitting again, close enough that his knee brushes Rosie's petals at the shin, wings spreading wide for a moment, "Mmm, I could tell. Else you'd not have made it past the barrier in the form you carry."

Shateishael shakes his head firmly once to clear it, his lime-stiffened crest of hair rustling. He takes a deep breath, then looks at the butterfly lord and smiles wryly, "If you want the Flowerchild, you should ask me. Here, he's mine." Rosenstern blinks, looking at Slate quickly for a moment, then ducks his head shy, blushing -- or rather, still blushing -- and smiling softly at Slate's words.

Puck has sauntered up as the fae lord was settling in closer to the three angels. The satyr has removed his hoodie and jeans, revealing the classic satyr's form, save that the wool of his haunches is dyed as garishly as that of his head. There are other obvious attributes drawing attention to his species' reputation as well. Soma laughs, "I am being somewhat obvious, am I not? I apologize. I can see that there is more than simple flesh between you as well."

Shateishael rumbles calmly, "Obvious isn't bad, and please don't apologize, Sumerlidr. But I *am* a Protector, as I noted." He can't help it, now he's shifting into a more cautious mode -- he gives the satyr a long, hard stare. He's still not happy about Bella being scared by Puck... or the untruthful response.

Bella's fingers have been finding other places to stroke, moving slowly down Slate's torso, brushing away only the lime, leaving the woad in place. Once she has cleared a patch on his chest, she uses the tip of her tongue to trace between the lines of the woad. Her hair has started to twine around Slate and Rosie as well.

Soma catches the expression and looks between the satyr and the angel, "Did Puck give offense somehow, Warrior?"

Shateishael blinks and starts at Bella's actions -- then he goes still and takes a long, slow breath before answering Soma. His voice is a little hoarse, "He... frightened someone I care about, fae lord. Excuse me." He takes another deep breath before adding in a slightly more normal tone of voice, "Er... and lies jangle in my head." He wonders with a hint of amusement if he's going to be able to think straight much longer!

Soma mmms and looks at Puck levelly, "You conveniently forgot something again?" From his exasperated tone, this is a common occurrence. Puck smirks slightly, "It was just a little trick. She's obviously fine now."

Shateishael growls softly under his breath, glancing sideways at the satyr. Rosenstern stiffens a little. He's seen what Slate does with malicious people. Shateishael takes another deep breath -- what is *happening* to him?! He's usually far more self-controlled! He pulls his head together, then says evenly to the satyr, "Go away a bit, please. You feel too much like all you want is sex with Bella... and it's her you hurt." It doesn't occur to him that he's being a bit more blunt than he might ordinarily consider acceptable.

Bella's toes are wiggling through the roses covering Rosie's thighs, searching out skin beneath them. She takes a deep breath of her own and seems to swim up through the haze, for a moment, "Love, I really am fine..." Her gaze settles on the satyr and she says in a sweetly malicious tone, "But I wouldn't fuck him now if I were in heat." Shateishael reflexively wraps his arms around Rosie and Bella, watching Puck unblinkingly... then snorts in laughter! He grins, relaxing a bit, and gently nuzzles the top of Bella's head.

Puck's head actually moves back a fraction of a second, a look of comic shock on his face for a moment. Soma throws his head back and laughs, waving Puck away, "Go pester someone else, Jester. I want our friends to be comfortable here."

The satyr snorts a laugh through his nose, grinning amiably, "I think I'll go see if Amaryllis is done with the little nixie yet." With that, he saunters as best one can on goat legs out the flap of the pavilion.

Shateishael watches the satyr saunter off, then relaxes a bit more, turning to smile at Soma, "Thank you. So you never said, Summer Traveler -- what future do you hope for?"

Soma turns back, a look of sincere regret on his face, "I apologize for Puck. He has something of a wicked sense of humor. Please, tell me what I can do to atone for his rudeness and then I'll tell you the future as I wish to see it come about."

Shateishael shakes his head, rumbling, "Unless my companions have some wish I don't know of yet, there is nothing I see to atone for." He grins wickedly, "He's already punished himself -- he's missing out on Bella's and Rosie's company!"

Rosenstern relaxes, giving him time enough to wonder just what's happening to him since entering the pavilion -- heck, since he was at Neuschwanstein, though amplified tonight. It's not that he feels weak or helpless, just the opposite; he just feels... he's not sure he can put it into words. Just very, very happy when Slate or Soma touch him the way they have tonight. As Bella puts her legs in his lap -- the better to glom Slate -- he almost instinctively starts to rub her feet. Bella has gone back to her explorations, tongue and fingers tracing Slate's skin, curling her toes appreciatively at Rosie's massage. She rests her head against the blonde Seraph's shoulder, oblivious to the lime getting in her hair. Shateishael smiles with quiet warmth at his companions, then looks interestedly at the butterfly king, "Will you share your vision with us now, fae lord?"

Soma nods, his face taking on animation and light. Even the angle of his body indicates eagerness, "The last time we tried to do it in secrecy, keep the humans out. Make it pure... and I believe that even had it not been broken, it would have shattered in time. As varied as we are, we are still rigid in our ways. We can be extremely fragile constructs.... but humans are robust."

Shateishael shivers occasionally at Bella's tingly touchings, relaxing even more as both his companions seem to be comfortable and happy. The colors and movement and music are starting to swirl around him like brilliant, messy rain-blurs, as he gets both more distracted by Bella, and struggles to maintain focus on the fae speaking with them. He nods, wondering what humans have to do with a Tether... maybe it has something to do with faith?

The butterfly fae pushes himself to his feet, turning around in a circle, indicating the whole wonderful riot of color and joy in the pavilion, "We are so varied... and yet we're locked into our natures. Satyrs will be creative and lecherous. We winged ones will be collectors of beauty and drinkers of sweetness. The dryads will defend their trees." He drops into a crouch again, leaning until his face is just inches away from all of the angels, "But humans... humans can be whatever they want! They adapt! They thrive! So: what if we can channel that into a tether?"

Shateishael blinks, considering that concept carefully for a while -- or at least as carefully as he can while being sexually aroused! Finally he looks up and puzzledly asks, "Do we... do you see angels adapting?"

The butterfly fae's hand reaches for Rosie's face again, but he stops himself, "May I?"

Shateishael glances at Rosie thoughtfully... then nods, "Yes, as long as you don't hurt him at all, and are willing to stop if I ask you to."

Soma shakes his head, "I would never harm the Flowerkin." He slides his hand over Rosenstern's head, twining his fingers into the rosebuds that cover his scalp, "I think that angels are learning that they need to adapt. Which is a step further than my kind right now. I am rare in feeling that we ought to change."

Rosenstern listens, a little wide-eyed with the fae-monarch's words. They make such sense, such wonderful sense (it also hits uncomfortably close to the theory that angels are just another type of Ethereal). He blinks a little as Soma reaches for him, and holds himself very still, shivering as Slate speaks. At Soma's touch his eyes really do flutter closed now, and he lets out a slow breath. Very slightly, he rubs his head against the fae's hand.

Shateishael smiles, distracted by the almost euphoric expression on Rosie's face. Finally he shakes his head again, struggling to pull his thoughts together, "Uhh... right. Where were we... humans, right! So... would that harm the humans, to be part of a Tether like that?"

Soma gently urges Rosie to put his head on the fae lord's knee. Shaking his head, he beams, eyes literally alight with his passion for the idea, "All we're doing is feeding it from energy they're throwing off... we're fueling it on joy and creativity and pleasure, love and lust and art... and what we're building is something that will draw them to itself to celebrate and renew it and themselves."

Shateishael lightly strokes a hand along Rosie's reclining body, enjoying his soft curves and blooming roses, as he rumbles quietly, "But... don't they need some of that energy too? Are you sure it won't hurt them to lose that?" Rosenstern lets himself be guided down to that position, not at all resisting or even needing much urging. After gently moving Bella's legs from his lap, he stretches out almost catlike, rubbing his head a little against Soma's knee, making a soft, sensual noise. With Slate's touch, his back even arches a little, his eyes closing.

Soma looks positively ecstatic as he shakes his head no, "We aren't draining them, Warrior. Think of it this way..." he cups his hands together, "this is the vessel they are filling..." he makes another cupping motion, encompassing a much larger space, "this is how much energy they are putting into it... we are simply collecting the overflow." The fae lord's hand slides down, tracing the curve of Rosie's ear and down over his neck.

Bella makes a little sounds of disappointment as Rosie moves, opening her eyes and focusing them on him for a moment to see what caused him to shift. When she sees, the Bright chuckles happily and shifts in Slate's lap, hips and hair moving across his lap in an intriguing way. She leans over to kiss the Novalite's forehead.

Rosenstern smiles softly, peeking open his eyes to smile warmly to Bella. Then Soma's hand caresses him, and he trembles, his eyes closing again as he tilts up his chin a bit to bare his throat more. He's following the conversation, though it only looks to be with half his mind; still, he is following the words and the discussion.

Shateishael smiles in spite of himself at the little Mercurian's blatantly sensuous pleasure, rumbling softly under his breath,
"Waga haru mo
joujoukichi zo
ume no hana."
He draws in his breath slowly, his own eyes going half closed as the Bright shifts in his lap. One hand goes still in the middle of caressing Bella's hair... and the translation sings like love poetry in his head,
[Plum blossoms:
My spring
Is an ecstasy!]

Soma's hands are cool as his fingers curl over Rosie's throat, a gentle pressure not even close to actually cutting off breath. "I fear the glamour around this place has perhaps derailed our companions from any useful discussion at the moment."

Rosenstern blushes at Soma's words, though he does not resist the touch and the subtle grasp. "I apologize," he murmurs. "I just... I'm not sure what's... come over me...."

Shateishael sits very still for a few heartbeats, eyes closed as he concentrates on being a good guest and *not* simply curling up around his companions for lovemaking... then he raises his head and takes a deep breath again. His ice-blue gaze meets the fae lord's cobalt blue, and without reflection he says exactly what he's thinking, "*How* do you have coherent conversations in situations like this?!" Then he blinks, realizing what he said, and actually looks sheepish, "Er... that wasn't very diplomatic, was it... sorry..."

Soma's laugh seems to fill the whole pavilion, "Because it comes from me. I am the Summer Lord. This is my place. In a way, you are in a reality filtered through my mind..."

Shateishael looks both puzzled and fascinated, "So... because you're intrigued by Rosie, everyone around you feels more sensual?" He gently shushes Rosie, murmuring quietly, "Just enjoy, pretty flower," then looks back up at the butterfly king as he lightly strokes his fingertips along Rosenstern's body again, half teasing and half reassuring, as he listens to Somhairle. Rosenstern makes another soft sound, shivering at the instruction, and nods a little.

The fae lord shakes his head, laughing, "No, Warrior. In a way, I *am* Summer. It's a time of riots of color and pleasure. It's a fecund time."

Shateishael ponders that statement, both hands still unwittingly and gently teasing his companions for their pleasure. He looks up again a moment later, "So... does summer strengthen you and this sensation... or... do you create it entirely, but only in this season? And... if you're creating it, are you unaffected by it? Or... am I over thinking this?"

Soma smiles indulgently down at Rosie, the grip on the Mercurian's throat tightening for a moment, a gentle but almost possessive motion, "It is strongest in high summer... but it does not so much come from me as..." he makes a vague motion with his free hand, "as flow *through* me. I must be of it, but able to see through it..." He chuckles, "I speak a bit in riddles, but it is part of our nature."

Bella slides down and out of Slate's lap, continuing to trace lines down his torso with fingers, following with her tongue. She laughs breathlessly, "I'm not sure I care, love..."

Shateishael starts to look down at Bella -- then *twitches* strongly! "Ah! Uh... love, I, uhm..." He shuts up for a moment, thinking, his gaze flicking between the butterfly lord, the stretched out and practically ecstatic Flowerchild, and the rapidly *too* distracting Bright... then he hastily rumbles, "I see -- quite fascinating -- so! Um... would you mind if we p-picked up this conversation in -- whoa! Er, in a little bit?" The fae lord makes an offer of allowing his guests privacy, but when no one seems inclined to take him up on it, he instead draws Rosenstern to the center of the pavilion and uses the center post to bind him during a gently intense scene. Bella doesn't so much as seem to hear the offer.

And then there is a long, sweet time of not thinking of Tethers or politics or diplomacy. Instead there is just a melding of desire into reality, letting the joy of it spread and blend with the rest of the beauty that lies over this place like a protective blanket. Afterward, Soma takes his seat at the base of the central pillar, drawing Rosie into his lap to hold like a beloved pet or a child. Where before, it was just his eyes that glowed, now his skin holds a low luminescence in the dimness of the tent.

Shateishael sighs with quiet happiness, his arms wrapped warmly around Bella as he wonders idly if it's possible for one's heart to stop from joy. He has no words currently... just an inner fire that seems to flare up like song around Bella, which she's now banked for him into contentedly glowing embers. Rosie's limp contentment as he lies across Soma's lap, and Bella's soft breathing against his chest, are a Truth he can feel thrumming sweetly right down through his bones and into his soul.

Bella nestles in Slate's lap, her hair lying as still as she is for once. She looks content and much more present than she was before. This place simply sings Freedom and the Bright clearly loves it. Rosenstern is neatly curled up in Soma's lap, eyes closed and smiling softly in the afterglow of the moments. He seems content to be possessed in this way, and he murmurs softly, "I'm happy to see you again."

Shateishael will finally look up at the faintly glowing fae, a quiet smile on his face, and rumble softly, "Thank you... Summer Lord."

Soma caresses Rosie's face and smiles down at the Novalite, "Mmm, and I you, little Flowerkin. And thank you, Warrior for trusting me with one of your lovers." He leans back against the central column, "So, you've heard my vision."

Shateishael nods silently, still smiling. He just watches his lovers breath for a quietly contentedly moment... then looks up and rumbles quietly, "Is the Tether working here yet?"

Soma smiles and reaches up with one hand, caressing the dark wood of the center column, "It is, but it is only for this time each year... though it gets easier to bring to life each time."

Shateishael curiously asks, "Where does it lead to, though?"

The fae is lost in his caress of the carvings for a moment before he snaps back to reality, arms wrapping around Rosie in an almost possessive way, though there is a casual ease in his posture, "To a pocket of our old realm. The last bastion not absorbed by the Marches. The dreamers don't disturb us there."

Shateishael looks a bit troubled, "Are you all... leaving? Going there? Or is this more like Heaven for us -- a place to visit and heal before returning here?"

Soma continues, "But it's only accessible for these two weeks. Those that are trapped there the rest of the year can come across for a short time. The ones trapped here and in the Marches can visit our home again. We can't go back. There isn't enough of it to sustain us all."

Shateishael looks a bit troubled still. While he's glad they're not all departing Earth, he does feel a bit bad about the fate of the Ethereals. He ponders a while... then rumbles slowly, "How... might we help?"

Rosenstern shivers, his lips curling in a smile with his eyes still closed as he snuggles a bit into Soma's lap. The feeling of being possessed like this is... incredibly, if unusually for him, comfortable and more than a little arousing. His eyes open a little at Slate's question, peering curiously and quietly up at Soma.

Soma smiles warmly at Slate, "I would like to give my people more time. Perhaps in another part of the year, but my..." he pauses, trying to choose his words carefully, "my counterpart represents an insular time of year." He lowers his lips and brushes a kiss across Rosenstern's forehead, the touch feeling literally like electricity, like the air before lightning strikes. "And rituals once dedicated to him are now co-opted by your Lord." Rosenstern makes a quiet, pleasurable sound at the kiss, still listening and at least now with more attention given to the words rather than loosing himself in sensations.

Shateishael nods, understanding. He ponders a moment, then rumbles, "The Autumn Solstice instead, maybe? All Hallow's Eve?" He's silent a moment, then curiously adds, "Are you a seasonal sacrificial spirit, then?"

The fae shakes his head, smiling lopsidedly, "Think of me instead as a coin, Warrior." He holds his hand palm up, "This side light." He turns it over to show the back of his hand, "This side dark. Not all the Winter denizens are as... benign as the Summer folk. They aren't evil, per se, but they are harsh."

Shateishael nods again, being quite familiar with that amongst Stone's folk. He rests his cheek against Bella's head, thinking... then rumbles slowly, "I... don't know how my Superior would feel, but unless he tells me otherwise, I wish I knew a way to help."

Bella nuzzles against Slate's chest, which has been largely wiped clean of the lime and woad during their lovemaking. "Are you asking us to be an ambassador to yourself, Soma?" she asks curiously, brows drawing together.

Shateishael gives Bella a puzzled look even as he gently brushes a strand of her hair back from her face... then his inquiring gaze rises to the Summer Lord, "What's an ambassador do?"

Soma is smiling at Bella, then shifts his gaze to Slate, "An ambassador serves as the voice of one leader to another. Myself and my people either change or hibernate during the dark half of the year. There is one day in spring and one day in fall that I return to my cocoon. I emerge as my own other half." Shateishael blinks, thinking about that. Soma looks straight into Slate's eyes, "I want the three of you to be my messengers to the Winter Lord. We *must* learn to adapt. Just because his season is frozen doesn't mean he must be!" Shateishael blinks again, finally getting a clear 'read' from the fae lord.

Rosenstern blinks. "Winter Lord?" he asks softly,.

Soma smiles down at Rosie and nuzzles into the rosebuds that form his hair, "My other self, Flowerkin. I am Summer. He is Winter."

Shateishael is momentarily speechless. He's met Truth and conviction this strong before... but it's not usually from anyone but a high-ranking angel! There's a moment of doubt while he considers just what this means... should he ask David first? This certainly isn't Christian, but it doesn't 'feel' at all evil or demonic... the humans seem joyous enough...

Rosenstern only closes his eyes with the nuzzle a little, and asks quietly, "But... if the Winter Lord is you... why do you need us to be ambassadors to him? You?"

The butterfly lord's voice is soft and a little sad, "Because we are shadows of one another, little one. We both must exist. And we both exist in this being, but only one of us is awake at a time."

Shateishael thinks furiously. Somhairle said he returned to his cocoon in spring and in fall. Slate can see the fae going into the cocoon for fall, to emerge in winter... but... why spring? Unless... he looks up confusedly, "Is there a Spring and Autumn Lady? Or..." he blinks, wondering, "Did... is Novalis...?"

Rosenstern listens, looking up at Soma's face with wide, unblinking eyes at mention of Novalis. Soma's melancholy expression is replaced by a quiet smile, "There is but one Lady, Warrior."

Shateishael draws a slow breath, remembering strong, beautiful old women teaching him about both ancient Mother Earth, bright Amaterasu, and the loving and golden Freya. For a moment his heart aches for those times -- then he rests his cheek against Bella again, and asks steadily, "Who... is she?

Soma continues in that careful way as if he is translating in his head, "Her nature is not like mine. Like ours. Where we are like a coin, she is like the Moon, always showing a different face, but always truly the same. She says she cannot intervene because one does not choose a favorite child."

Shateishael listens, still puzzled. "Intervene how?"

"She will not go to the Winter Lord on my behalf."

"Oh." Slate falls silent for a long moment, holding Bella carefully close and trying to sort out his thoughts. He's a Seraph... he'll tell the Truth; that he's calm and certain on. He's of Stone. What is Stone... what is his Nature here, so he does what is right? He touches Bella's soft hair lightly, looks over at Rosenstern's gracefully reclining form... looks around the tent. Ethereals... he's never been taught they were the enemy. So many... so much variety. Jordi teaches variety is good, and killing too many things will diminish all of us... and this is certainly Creative, and Flowers would be thrilled... but Stone?

Shateishael sighs softly, suddenly understanding. It's Community. He'll be helping create *community*... not just among the Ethereals. He'll be building bridges for both angels and humans too! Shateishael looks up and smiles slowly at the beautiful Summer Lord, "So long as my Architect does not forbid, and my companions are safe... I accept, Sumerlidr." Rosenstern nods, once, brightening. Bella quietly adds her agreement to Slate's assent. Creation and Freedom both sing in her, and this is both.

The fae lord's face breaks into a beatific smile, "My gratitude, Warrior, Seductress, Flowerkin!" His arms squeeze tightly around Rosie for a moment, "There is much I will need to tell you, and a talisman, something to show him that you are truly speaking for me..." He laughs joyfully, "But not tonight. Tonight we celebrate the first steps toward uniting our people again."

Rosenstern is a touch dizzy; the sights and sounds combining with the joy of Soma and the strong, strong emotions he's been feeling make his head spin. He nestles happily into Soma's embrace, feeling joy and happiness in this. Even if some in the Celestial hierarchy might consider it heresy, or even tantamount to Falling, he knows Mother would understand. He even, for the moment, neglects to remember what Soma said of his other half, the Winter Lord, and how that one is... harsher.

Shateishael smiles, quietly pleased to see the fae lord so happy -- he's glad he can return the favor of joy he's received here. Thoughtfully he rumbles, "May I ask questions still? Such as... why us? Why not human ambassadors?"

From behind Slate's shoulder a deep baritone voice answers, "Because Soma doesn't have to convince you he's not insane and you aren't insane. Think of most humans, Warrior: if someone came up to a human and said, 'I am the Summer King of the faerie court and I want you to talk to my other self...' The human's first reaction would be to try to figure out if Soma were schizophrenic of if the human was." The voice comes from the older satyr, the storyteller.

Shateishael grins in spite of himself, his voice sheepish, "Ahh... yeah. Sorry, forgot." He gives a very interested look at the older satyr, then rumbles politely, the way he was taught by the Norse, "Greetings, honored Bard of the Summer Court. Will you share your stories with us?"

Soma smiles affectionately at the stocky goat-man, "Bacchus, please join us!" Shateishael's eyes light up a bit -- Bacchus himself?! What stories he must tell!

Bacchus settles himself halfway between Soma and Slate. He too seems to wear shoes on his strong black hooves. They gleam silver in the low light as he sits. Catching Slate's look, he laughs, "I'm not that one, Warrior. It is simply the name I use because I am fond of the grape and of sweet flesh and of stories."

Shateishael grins a bit sheepishly again, "Sorry... I just love a good story." He hesitates, then adds slowly, "I am... a bit of a metal-worker, although no farrier. May I examine your hooves and shoes?"

Bacchus grins at Slate and stretches out his feet almost teasingly, though the gesture is neither submissive nor feminine, "We'll barter for that later, Warrior angel."

Shateishael snorts amusedly, quite willing to be patient instead... since he has a good idea what a satyr would want, and isn't sure he wants to pay that price. He just settles back comfortably, his arms still loosely and warmly twined about Bella, remaining in arm's reach of Rosie just in case... and waits quietly and contentedly for whatever else the Summer Lord wants to tell them.

Rosenstern is a bit too well into the afterglow, still; a curious daze where everything seems to be in a pleasantly warm fog and the warmth is like a purring thing within you. Though he cares deeply for Slate, and Bella, being in Soma's arms reminds him of the better and more enjoyable moments of that single night in Newschwanstein. And so Rosie is for the moment content and quiet, nestled in Soma's lap. Soma is caressing Rosie softly, petting him much like one would a beloved pet or a small child, "Bacchus is indeed my bard, Warrior. But he's more than that. Like any really good bard, he's also my closest advisor."

Shateishael nods, unsurprised, rumbling, "Most of the Norse bards I kenned did much the same for their lords, aye." He glances curiously at the satyr, "You also counsel change?" Rosenstern is almost purring with the slow caressing, though he listens with increasing attention as the afterglow reluctantly fades. His gaze goes to the satyr who was self-named Bacchus.

Bacchus nods solemnly, "Aye. I liken us to fields too often planted with cotton. We used to bloom and give back wonderful things to our tenders, but now our soil weakens and we cannot give back as much or as well as before."

Shateishael makes a quietly thoughtful noise, considering that... his eyes tend to remain fascinatedly focused on the butterfly king as he thinks, then shift to whomever he's speaking to. He replies to Bacchus, "I never thought of it that way before. Using that analogy... would the Tether be... sort of a new fertilizer? How would you... re-seed?" His gaze flicks back to Somhairle, watching intently as he unwittingly strokes Bella much the same as the butterfly fae is stroking Rosie. Bella caresses Slate in turn, her eyes looking more alert as well. Every once in a while, she catches sight of Rosie and smiles affectionately at the Novalite.

Rosenstern considers; the analogy is particularly interesting to him, and gets his attention; he stays right where he is, though. "Or... crop rotation?"

Bacchus grins at Rosie and taps his own nose with a forefinger, "Aye, flowerkin. Crop rotation. Each time we come out here, we reconnect, re-energize. We become soybeans for a while."

Rosenstern blushes, smiling back to Bella when he catches her sight. He blinks at Bacchus at the comment, then laughs softly. Bacchus grins at Rosie and winks at him lazily, "I am one that spends his time here, Flowerkin. I've studied." Shateishael listens in fascination, quietly watching.

Rosenstern tilts his head to the side, looking at Bacchus. "So what you suggested is this temporary Tether? One that can come and go... and isn't around long enough to be noticed?" He hesitates. "Does... the Winter King," and he reaches up to gently touch Soma's cheek, "have one as well?"

Soma doesn't seem to mind being watched so closely by Slate, "It's part of what I have suggested. Eventually... eventually I would like to have communication with the human world more openly again." He smiles down at Rosie and turns his head to kiss the little Mercurian's fingertips, "Not yet he doesn't. He..." Soma pauses, brow creasing for a moment, "He sees us as nobility and not to be sullied or risked."

Shateishael looks puzzled, "All the Ethereals? Or only you?"

The fae king smiles somewhat sadly, "All fae."

Rosenstern blinks a little, blushing at the kiss nonetheless. "I... I think I see. So he would... disapprove of the Burning Man Tether.

Soma nods quietly, the soft glow of his skin is beginning to fade slightly, "It may not be easy to be the ambassador I need."

Bacchus leans toward Slate and says quietly, "You're watching him as if you expect him to do something startling."

Shateishael raises an eyebrow, "Forgive me, fae lord, but isn't it a bit late to be worrying about riski- uh..." He blinks, turning to face Bacchus -- then suddenly looks a bit sheepish, "Ah... am I staring? Forgive me. I, um... just..." He hesitates, looking back at Rosie and the butterfly fae, then looks back at Bacchus and shrugs, smiling wryly, "I'm not real good at being... gentle. Romantic. Whatever. I'm... kinda rough around the edges... so I was trying to take notes on what he was doing, so I could try doing it with Bella and Rosie later. They're most of my family, as it is..." His voice trails off for a moment as he looks down at Bella, and then he rumbles quietly, "I wish Aletheia could've been here. She'd have absolutely loved this, I think. She always says I'm too serious, now I live among the termite people..." He trails his fingers along Bella's arm, twining them with her fingers, then bringing her hand up to gently kiss her fingertips... and watching quietly to see if she seems to enjoy that. Rosenstern blinks startledly at Slate for several moments, then smiles warmly at the big angel.

Bacchus laughs deeply at Slate's explanation, "I saw you earlier with both of them, Warrior. I don't know that you need to change a thing." Bella smiles up at Slate and shakes her head, "Who says Stone is rigid?"

Shateishael hesitates, taking a breath... then grins and blushes a bit. He ducks his head, the sheepish grin still on his face as he mumbles, "Still think Thea'd love it here..."

Bella considers a moment and then can't resist adding, "Well... not that rigid is always bad."

Shateishael laughs, shaking his head and giving up on trying to hide his face -- he just pushes back his lime-heavy hair and grins at Bella, "You're a wonder, you know that, love?" Then he goes still at a sudden thought -- then looks at Soma, "Do you or your people ever, um... visit folks?"

Soma tips his head curiously, wings taking a slow beat, "Visit, Warrior? I know that Bacchus there has been welcome in many people's homes. Though his seeming is different most of the time."

Shateishael smiles, glancing at his companions, "As I said, I am sure Thea would love to meet you all, but she can't come here -- she's too big. By any chance would you like to visit where we live? It's in the land of the Cliff Dwellers. Um, what're they calling it now... the town is Phoenix... uhhm... Arizona! That's it. Do you know the area?"

Rosenstern brightens at the suggestion, but tries not to put pleading eyes on to Soma. There might be very good reasons why they can't... but he would never turn them away from the Circle-H... Soma looks very thoughtful at that suggestion, trailing his fingertips along the line of Rosie's jaw, "It is arid there, yes?"

Shateishael says, "Aye, although Rosie's made it quite lush on the ranch proper."

Rosenstern shivers, closing his eyes with the touch and tilting his head into Soma's hand. "I've tried, Slate... after so many years, I think it's gotten very pretty there..."

Bella is moving in a way that's not so much squirming as shifting so that more of her body falls under Slate's caressing. Shateishael rumbles quietly, "You've done an amazing job, little Rose... the temperature's noticeably lower under the trees on the land. Heck, we have an open pond that never goes dry!"

Rosenstern blushes even more at Slate's compliment, and looks over to smile shyly. "I've had wonderful incentive."

Soma smiles warmly, "I would love to visit any place the Flowerkin has helped to make. I would be honored to be your guest, Warrior." Rosenstern breaks out into a wide smile at Soma's acceptance, and also his compliment. He leans up to place a slow, shy kiss upon the fae's cheek.

Bacchus clears his throat, "Not to tell you what t'do, m'Lord, but you're not going alone. I'll go along. And I want you to bring along at least a pair of guardians."

Shateishael nods once, slowly and formally, "We would also be honored, Summer Lord. Be welcome in our home on earth, as you have made us welcome in yours." He smiles at Rosie, then looks down at Bella as she shifts, his expression uncharacteristically gentle as he strokes slowly along her body. He looks almost reverent for a moment... then he takes a deep breath and looks up again curiously at Bacchus, "We did not mean he had to come alone. We'd ask only he not overburden the land with his company." He adds helpfully, "We have about 60 acres at this time."

Soma chuckles, "Bacchus only worries because he feels I do things that are often what he considers risky." He wraps his arms around Rosie, hugging the angel close, "I cannot exactly travel with a full retinue in the human world, so I choose often to go things alone."

Shateishael chuckles quietly, watching the entranced little Flowers angel... then he gives Bacchus a rueful glance, "You will, of course, have to pass all your company past my lead mare, Thea. Her decision is law on the Circle H. But as long as they're courteous, she's a gracious hostess."

Bacchus snorts through his nose, "Aye, Warrior. We would not think to force our way. I'll choose his protectors myself. Soma, myself. Two others."

Shateishael nods quietly, his fingers still tracing the graceful curves of Bella's body as he looks up at Soma again, "You said it might not be easy to be the ambassador you need, Summer Lord. Would you care to elucidate?" His demeanor is very peaceful and relaxed, and internally he wonders a bit at that. He's not felt so nice in a crowd since... since he rode with the Nemene, he thinks. Curious... that it's the non-christians who help him be the calmest and happiest.

Soma smiles crookedly, "My... opposite number is not as gentle as most of my folk. I would not say evil, but I would say harsh. Cold. He is Winter, after all."

Shateishael nods inquiringly, encouraging the fae lord to continue. [Sort of Norse, perhaps?] he wonders. Rosenstern shivers a little, despite being nestled comfortably in Soma's lap. He'd been worried about that -- about how the Summer King's winter half would treat them. "Does he... remember what you remember?"

Soma smiles down at Rosie, "Mmm, in fits and snatches, Blodeuwedd. As one remembers a dream." As the fae says the unfamiliar name, there is an unusual effect. The word sounds like Blahdooeeath, but also "flower-face."

Shateishael chuckles quietly at the name, then rumbles thoughtfully, "He sounds... a bit like the Norse folk I dwelled with for a while." He looks curiously at Bacchus, "Do all of you change for winter?"

Rosenstern tilts his head to the side, and opens his mouth to ask what -- oh, wait. Somhairle called him 'Flower-face,' he thinks. He blushes at the name, smiling softly, but still a little nervously. "So he will... he will know me." He doesn't sound one hundred percent enthused by that idea.

Bacchus shakes his head and smiles, "Nay, not all of us. I am always like this. As are my brothers." The satyr adds in a more solemn voice, "There are not many of my kin left."

Shateishael frowns a bit puzzledly, suddenly registering the linguistic change... then he shakes his head, focusing on the satyr, "So... are you of the Winter Court also?" He stiffens at a sudden thought, "Wait... do you... breed?!"

Bella sits up, stretching her arms over her head, seeming to enjoy the motion beyond what one normally would, "I'm certain they at least go through the motions, love." She grins at Bacchus.

The satyr chuckles, "We do, Warrior. But not often and not easily. We are not wholly physical creatures after all."

Soma's smile, and his glow, dims again for a moment, "He will have some recollection of you, sweet flower, but I can mark you as not to be... interfered with." The fae king's speech keeps having those pauses as he looks for words.

Shateishael sighs and smiles quietly at Bella, letting his hands slide in a caress down her body as she sits up. His voice is a bit wistful, "That means they can have children, sweetheart." Then he blinks at Soma's comment, looking up sharply, "Wait... what was that about not being interfered with?"

Soma's smile stays slightly strained, still caressing Rosie, the touch perhaps a bit more protective than before, "My other self has harsher appetites as well as harsher philosophies. He will want the Flowerkin. But if he is marked, Winter will not touch him."

Rosenstern asks softly, "'Interfered with?'"

Shateishael's eyes narrow, "I think we need more information on these 'harsher appetites,' please."

Bella's eyes mirror Slate's, "I think Slate's right, fae king."

Rosenstern shivers again; there are depths of meaning in the word 'want' that he is uncomfortable considering. He looks briefly askance at Slate, not wanting to know, then ducks his head... and nods, knowing that Slate must know to protect them best.

Soma seems almost to blush, though the blush is not pink but a deeper hue of blue staining his cheeks, "Where I wanted to drink of the Flowerkin's beauty and pleasure... he would want to possess him. He would not... force. But he may coerce or cajole or... attempt to trade." There are many of those pauses.

Shateishael draws in a long, slow breath... then rumbles flatly, "Rosie, you aren't going." He looks down at Bella in his lap... his expression tightens, but he doesn't say anything. He already knows she'll come or go on her own recognizance.

Rosenstern blinks, looking at Slate. "But I-" He breaks off, biting his lip. Without a more compelling reason than 'I have to,' Slate would be as utterly unmovable as Stone.

Bacchus pushes himself to his feet and walks over, putting a hand lightly on Soma's shoulder, "If I may, Warrior, Seductress, Flowerkin..." He inclines his head to Soma, "My lord... I wish to offer myself as a substitute. There are reasons for the number. There must be three."

Shateishael looks up at Bacchus, then at Soma, "Okay, this has all been very nice, but I think it's time we get to the meat of the matter. Why three? Where is this Winter Court going to be? What are we supposed to expect? If you want this to succeed, you really need to tell us as much as you can, so we're forewarned and forearmed."

Bella kisses Slate's cheek, leaving a print of her lips in a remaining trace of lime, then turns to Soma, "You're saying he's Unseelie, aren't you."

Shateishael frowns, "Unseelie?" then sighs, "...great."

Soma nods, "I was not trying to keep it from you, Warrior." This time as he says the word, there is another of those doubling moments and the word Warrior also comes out as a word in some musical tongue, "We have difficulty rushing."

Shateishael nods silently, listening. He tilts his head, uncertain as to what the second word-sounding was, but not wanting to distract the fae lord from whatever information he's willing to share. Soma takes a deep breath, brushing a thumb over Rosie's lips, "There must be three. It is one of the old laws. One can be beguiled. Two can be turned against one another. Three are proof against confusion. There is always a third view."

Rosenstern kisses the thumb gently, listening to Soma's words. "And four?"

Soma smiles at Rosie, "Four is most powerful, little l... lovely. Six even more. Nine is nigh invincible. Three is safe."

Bacchus nods fractionally to Bella's statement, "Aye. The Winter Court. But the word doesn't mean what many think. Our cousins are not evil. They are merely selfish."

Shateishael raises his head sharply at that... then studies the satyr intently. "Do the Vanir or Aesir -- or any of the Jotun, for that matter -- walk among the Winter Court?" He hms, then shakes his head, "Nay, not the Vanir. They always were a gentler summer folk."

Bacchus' jaw tightens slightly, "One did, but he has been banished even from there."

Shateishael raises an eyebrow, "'He'? That would be poor cursed Loki? Or do you speak of Fenrir?"

Bacchus nods, a hint of sadness in his eyes, "I speak of Loki, Warrior. We ourselves do play host to some of the old gods from time to time. Freya has come to us for our celebrations. And Brigid."

Rosenstern blinks again, this time at the faint stuttering. "What... what is wrong?" he asks softly. Soma chuckles quietly and lowers his mouth to Rosie's ear speaking quietly just to the Mercurian for a moment. Shateishael glares at that, frowning. He doesn't like how things are going. Rosenstern nods quietly, and a little sadly, to Soma. 'Nothing is wrong little one, I just cannot lay claim to the word love yet.' It hurts, a bit, but I think I understand what he means. Well. Even if Slate won't let me go to the Winter Court, I'll have to do a lot of reading, a lot of studying. With the circles I travel in amongst humans, there's got to be someone with more knowledge of fae lore than I know.

Soma raises his head and takes another deep breath, "Three is safe. Three speaks of solidarity without speaking of force. It shows knowledge and courtesy. You would carry signs marking you sacrosanct."

Shateishael snaps, "Brigid's not Aesir." He drags his glare from Soma and Rosie to frown at the satyr, "It is good to hear the golden Lady lived, though." He sighs, rubbing his face with one big hand, then says, "I am sorry... I do not like secrets and lies, and it makes me grouchy and unpleasant to be around." He takes a deep breath, then rumbles carefully and evenly, "Did any others of the Norse survive? I would fear both Thor and Sleipnir did not, since the Thunderer did tend to be in the forefront of any conflict, and the Eight-Legged one could traverse all realms on his own. That he does not appear to do so any longer would say to me he did not survive." He's trying very hard to remain polite, but his sudden understanding of the thicket of unspoken truths and casually deceptive unsaid woven about them all makes his skin crawl.

Bacchus blinks, "I did not mean to say she was, Warrior. I meant that the old gods of many lands are still among us." The satyr bows deeply, "I cry pardon."

Shateishael looks away in embarrassment, then sighs, looking back at the satyr. "Please don't apologize... it's me that should. I'm just... I... am not good at court stuff. Er, things. Court shit. Rituals. Whatever. Oh, crap... look, I'm sorry, just ignore me, okay?"

Soma jumps slightly and hurries to speak, "We mean no harm, Warrior! Nor deception. It is..." His brow wrinkles again, face looking distressed, "I am telling you the truth as I must speak..."

Bacchus caresses Soma's shoulder and smiles at Slate, "I can explain, I believe, Warrior." The satyr takes a deep breath, "If I remember correctly, your kind carry restrictions upon them, yes? To go against your nature causes you... pain of some sort, yes?"

Shateishael sighs, resting his forehead against Bella for a moment, trying to not make things worse, and mumbles from there, "Yeah..."

Bella kisses Slate's temple and whispers, "Relax, babe. Think of the cave. The quiet...." Shateishael sighs and nods slightly at Bella's words, and takes slow, deep breaths. The cave... the quiet... there's Truth in Stone. He can ground himself in that... Rosenstern cringes at Slate's anger, trying to curl up into a ball, never quite feeling so helpless. He doesn't like seeing Slate angry, or wrathful.

Bacchus nods, crooked smile still on his face, "We're much the same. Soma's people are creatures of riddles and metaphors. They do not lie. They cannot. But it costs them effort to speak plainly." Soma simply nods to Bacchus' explanation and a miniscule amount of tension melts out of his limbs. He wraps his long arms around Rosie, but loosely enough that the Novalite could leave if he needed -- or even if he just wanted.

Shateishael thinks about that a while... then lifts his head enough to rest his chin on Bella's shoulder, wrapping his arms around her and thinking, [Must think solid thoughts... nice, honest, straightforward thoughts. Love Bella. Am Stone. Am Truth. Okay... easy now...] He takes another deep breath, then slowly rumbles, "So... the metaphors are based on Truth?"

Bacchus continues, "Where I could say to you: the winter court aren't evil. Most of them aren't even malicious. They're selfish, usually. And mischievous. They're the shadow to the summer court's light. They define summer as summer defines them. My lord would have to word himself more carefully or risk unraveling part of himself, and it's long, hard work to rebuild it."

Shateishael looks puzzled at that, "Er... what?"

Bacchus tips his head, "Which part do you need me to clarify, Warrior?"

Shateishael says, "That last sentence? The Summer Lord... he is made of... of words?"

Rosenstern blinks to Slate. "Aren't Superiors?

Shateishael looks over at the little Mercurian, "Not like this. They are their Word -- one Word -- and I... I've never heard of them being able to unmake themselves?"

Bacchus shakes his head and smiles, "Not exactly... but at the same time, yes. I am saying that it damages him to speak straight, plain words. The same way it pains and damages you to speak untruth, Seraph."

Shateishael ahhs, sudden understanding dawning. He thinks about that for a bit, then studies the satyr curiously, "All of you? Or just him?"

Bacchus relaxes as well, "His kind. My kind? We like a good story, but we can be frank. We embody some of the frankest things in the world after all." Soma seems to be relieved now that Bacchus is doing the talking, concentrating instead on caressing the still-nervous Novalite in his lap.

Shateishael says, "Aha. In that case, will you answer my questions? Frankly?"

Bacchus nods, "Aye. I'll do my best. It has already cost my lord much to be as blunt as he has been. As he said, three is a safe number. It's protection for you and not a threat to him. The Winter Court convenes in different places. We only recently settled on this as a place to come every year. This winter they will be in Wisconsin, in a tiny town outside Madison." He smiles apologetically, "You'll have to forgive me. If I left something out, it's because I don't remember all you were asking about."

Shateishael sighs, relaxing a bit, "Thank you. One moment, please." He turns back to Soma and gives a slight bow from where he sits, rumbling with careful courtesy, "Please forgive me, Summer Lord. I am, um... unfortunately rudely sharp-edged without meaning to be sometimes, when I worry for those who look to me for protection."

Soma inclines his head, accepting the apology, "Fellow travelers must sometimes disagree on where the path truly lies, Warrior." Rosenstern relaxes quite a great deal; he no longer seems cringing now that Slate is more relaxed and his protective instincts sated for the moment. Rosie still remains quiet though; he trusts Slate's caution more than anything else in the worlds.

Shateishael thinks a moment, a wry expression on his face, then takes a deep breath. He sighs gustily, then turns back to Bacchus. "Okay. Should we be expecting the hostile night things in the Winter Court? Will there be any who might listen with sympathy to this message? And... if we're not, um... 'marked,' what then? I do not think my Architect will look with any pleasure on my carrying anyone else's mark, after all."

Bacchus settles again, halfway between Slate and Soma, "The mark would be a talisman, Warrior. It would not touch the essence of yourself." Shateishael looks quite relieved at that, but simply nods for the satyr to continue. Bacchus takes a deep breath, "There are those that will listen. The trick is getting himself to listen. Soma is a king with his people. The winter lord is king over his people. He's older than Soma. More set in his ways."

Shateishael looks puzzled, "How...?" then firmly closes his mouth, so Bacchus can continue. Rosenstern blinks and is about to ask how as well, but when Slate goes silent he does as well, so as not to interrupt Bacchus.

The satyr grins, a deep chuckle rumbling out of his mouth. Soma himself smiles at Slate, saying, "Puzzles made life."

Shateishael frowns in puzzlement again at that, and shakes his head, "I... am sorry, I enjoy metaphoric prose, but riddles offered as an entire conversation make me... twitchy." He takes a deep breath again, reminding himself he is a guest, dammit! Then he rumbles carefully, "How can one half of a twofold being be older than the other?"

Bacchus chuckles, "Mmm, thought you might ask that. Soma is Summer. It's a time of change and growth, yes? So the half that is Soma is remade from time to time." Large, callused hands move as if unstacking something, "The pieces are taken apart..." his hands reverse their motions, only in not quite the same sequence, "and put back together again. A millennium ago, Soma hadn't wings or blue skin."

Shateishael thinks about that slowly. Bella sits up straighter at that, eyes shining and expression rapt, "You're re-Created! Something in the world changes, so you change, too!" She actually bounces, causing some interesting things to happen to her torso and the hair that's still almost hiding it.

Shateishael finally cautiously rumbles, "But... Winter also is a time of life and change, as well as death. The bear gives birth during her sleep. The seedpod shatters in the cold, allowing it to grow in the Spring. Why isn't the Winter King also occasionally remade?" Then he grins ruefully, muttering softly to Bella, "You do know you make it really hard to think when you do that, sweetheart? Or d'you just like messing with my head?"

Bella winks at Slate, sliding a hand along his thigh, "Both of them, in fact. But I really just got excited."

Bacchus shrugs, still smiling, "Because it's a slower time, Warrior." Soma's glow has lessened slightly, but he still seems more relaxed.

Shateishael nods slowly to Bacchus, "Okay, that makes sense. Now," he blinks at Bella, then gives a snort of laughter, "They should just send you, sweetheart. You do that to someone, they're likely to agree to anything you want, and have no idea what it was!" He grins, shaking his head amusedly, then adds to Bacchus, "So, about the Winter Court... are they all Celtic, or will there be any other pantheons there that you know of?"

Bacchus grins, "They're no more all Celtic than we are. I myself used to live on Olympus."

Shateishael dryly points out, "Hey, it was you guys agreed they were Unseelie."

Bacchus nods, admitting, "Mmm, and I call us Seelie. But those words aren't as narrow as they once were. It's like how anyone that lives in the United States can call themselves American, but really they're Cree and Celt and Armenian and African. Doesn't make them less part of their nation."

Shateishael nods. "So... what should we be expecting? If there are any Norse or Comanche spirits -- maybe even some of the kami -- that'd help to know, 'cause I know a little about them." Rosenstern has been quiet, listening with emotions wavering between dread and eagerness. But all through it, he recalls Slate's forbidding him from going.

Bacchus hmms again thoughtfully, "You can expect more misdirection for the mischief of it, but no outright lies from the Winter King's kind." The satyr takes a deep breath, "You can expect to meet resistance and possible hostility. Winter has not forgiven Uriel its excess." He goes on, "I will see what I can find of the Norse gods. The Thunderer has not been seen in more years than I care to count, but there are rumors of the gallows god being seen from time to time. But not on our side of the year. The Comanche and the kami though, you aren't likely to see many of them in Wisconsin. I've seen some kami on this continent, but almost always where there are high concentrations of their people."

Shateishael sighs quietly -- he's not sure all the angels have forgiven Uriel. But he says nothing about that, simply rumbling quietly, "I... would be curious to know how the Fenrir did, go- er, Bacchus. I... never quite figured out why he was so treated by his kind."

Bacchus nods solemnly, "I'm not all-knowing, Warrior, but I can certainly see what I can find out for you. My brethren and I are mostly considered neutral. Winter enjoys a good story as much as Summer."

Shateishael rumbles quietly, "Thank you, honored Bard." He's silent then, thinking for a while... then turns his head sharply at a sudden thought, studying the Mercurian. "Rosie... your resonance is detecting someone's current emotional state, right?"

Rosenstern blinks to Slate and nods, "Yes. At least on a mortal or celestial... I think it works with Ethereals as well." He glances to Soma, blushing and smiling quietly, "Though sometimes one doesn't need it." He draws himself back together and looks back to Slate. "But yes, that's the Mercurian Resonance.

Soma laughs softly and strokes Rosenstern's side gently, looking down at the angel with a warm smile, "Sometimes one doesn't need to read to know a story."

Shateishael frowns thoughtfully, idly trailing one finger in a lock of Bella's long, flowing hair... then he looks up at Rosenstern again, "Test it on an Ethereal, Rosebud." He looks at the satyr and the butterfly fae, "Will one of you allow him to do so?"

Bacchus looks to Soma and the butterfly fae nods. The satyr answers, "Aye. Either of us or both."

Shateishael nods quietly, "Thank you," then looks expectantly at the little Mercurian. Rosenstern tilts his head to the side, and glances between Bacchus and Soma. For some reason, it seems... wrong to do it to Soma. So at least to start he looks at Bacchus, tilting his head to the side briefly as he listens with Celestial ear to the pluckings of the strings that Bacchus makes upon the instrument of Creation, the Symphony that sings in all things.

The satyr seems to see himself as a humble messenger and storyteller and a guide to the Summer court, as a protector to Soma. The court itself sees him as a valued resource and beloved mentor and also (perhaps not unexpectedly) a sought-after lover. And those here think of him almost equally as Bacchus and Tumnus. Also, the satyr is a collector of knowledge, songs, and stories -- and he is very, very old.

Rosenstern tilts his head to the side and relates what he senses, frowning a little. This is much more detail than he normally gets on seeking a resonance. Shateishael's eyes widen a bit -- that's far more detail than he expected too! The look he gives the satyr contains more respect, and he rumbles quietly, "Thank you, sir, for letting us check." He wonders if he'd get a similarly powerful reading, but doesn't push it. Instead he sighs softly, then says to Soma, "It would appear we need Rosie with us. This does not make me happy... but I do try to do my best when I say I'll do something. So... for Rosie's sake, what else should Bacchus tell us about the Winter Court, so we may be well forewarned?"

Rosenstern blinks to Slate. "Slate? What... changed your mind?"

Shateishael rumbles unhappily, "How else are we going to know if a truth we've been given is maliciously meant or not?"

Bacchus smiles and nods slowly, "Wise, Warrior."

Shateishael shakes his head, looking vaguely grumpy, "No, although I wish it were so. Just... scarred." He sighs, then shakes his head, "Ah, well. Is there aught else helpful you can tell us, Bacchus?"

Soma takes a deep breath and smiles, the glow of his skin momentarily flashing almost sun-bright for a bare instant, "Friends can be trusted with one's dearest secrets." He smiles and looks down at Rosenstern, "Isn't that so, lovely one?"

Rosenstern nods to Slate and blinks, looking up at Soma. He smiles blushingly to the fae-monarch, and says softly, "Yes. Yes, that's very much so."

Shateishael blinks at the flash, then curiously asks, "What is that?!"

Bacchus calls over his shoulder for a moment, "Ayra! I have a tale to tell! Fetch me some wine!" He turns back, "Hm? The glow? Heh, think of it as a mood ring, but the only thing it measures is happiness."

Shateishael laughs! -then grins and shakes his head again, "Bright Lord, that'd be something else again." He trails his fingers lightly along Bella's back and side, looking around curiously, wondering how the rest of this scintillating and brilliant court is doing this night. The rest of the court is either submersed in their own celebrations or very carefully and courteously pretending to be. Shateishael looks a bit wistful... he'd love to swap stories with some of these folks! But he sighs internally and pulls his thoughts back to the issue at hand. Must focus... folks are going to depend on him.

As he's turning his attention back, Slate catches the dragon-women glancing their way and then quickly going back to the game with the small jewel-graced beings. Shateishael smiles quietly to himself, pleased. Maybe he can persuade the dragon and the phoenix to talk to him later? He wonders if they're Chinese... he'll have to try and remember his Nihongo manners, as the closest form of courtesy he knows. He grins, cheering up a bit at that.

One of the younger, more delicately green dryads brings over a simple wooden bowl and a large silver pitcher. She hands both to Bacchus and kisses the top of his head, murmuring, "Here you go, father." She flits back into the crowd as the satyr watches her leave with a warm smile.

Bacchus fills the bowl with wine and takes a deep draft before passing it clockwise toward Soma. The monarch takes the bowl and sips of it before offering it to Rosie. As he does, Bacchus explains, "It's sort of a custom. If we're sharing stories, we share drink. Shows trust and fellowship." Shateishael brightens -- this ritual he knows! He smiles, waiting his turn after Bella.

Rosenstern accepts the bowl -- a bit of a trick from his position in Soma's lap -- and takes a sip from it. The wine is a bit stronger than he's used to, at least in recent years. It puts even German lagers to shame for alcohol content. He glances around a bit, then leans up to kiss Soma upon his chin before slipping from his lap and padding over to offer the bowl to Bella. Soma smiles at the kiss and opens his arms, letting Rosie move however he needs to.

Bella reaches up and takes the bowl from Rosie. She smiles up at her friend and gives him a playful little wink. She drinks from the bowl, laughing as some of it trickles down her chin, "Oop... clumsy." Turning, she offers the bowl to

Slate with a warm, "Never thirst, love." Rosenstern, after giving the bowl to Bella -- his poise and body language so much more... servant-like than ever before on the ranch -- slips back over to Soma (who isn't all that far away), and sits at the fae's feet, placing his head on the fae-king's thigh and listening to Bacchus.

Shateishael laughs, accepting the bowl with one hand and gently taking Bella's chin in the other. He cleans off her chin with a few licks and kisses... then lingers for one more, just for the pleasure of it. Then he too takes a slow, savoring sip from the bowl, using both hands. He smiles relaxedly, his eyes half-closed as he enjoys the rich, almost nutty flavor and the warmth sliding down his throat. A slow sigh of contentment, and he rumbles quietly, his eyes on Bella, "Never thirst." Then he glances at Bacchus inquiringly, still holding the bowl -- does the satyr want the rest, since he'll be talking?

Bacchus takes the bowl and drains it off in one long draft, "Mmm... and besides, talking is thirsty work." Shateishael grins, settling comfortably again with one arm around Bella. The other hand slowly trails through her hair, half combing and half stroking.

Bacchus takes a deep breath, "Summer and Winter have their lords, who are one in the same and yet ever separate. Soma is the embodiment of summer. The winter lord is the embodiment of his half of the year. He is slow, cold, precise. Beautiful and sometimes capricious. He rules over a court of beings who belong to the cold half of things. Some of them are simply there because winter is a time of rest and thought. Some are there because they are the shadow of something that belongs to summer. But they hold to many of the same rules as the summer."

The satyr's voice is a deep, pleasant baritone. "Because they are slow to change, they are less numerous than those of us that are more willing to move with the world. We adapt, they try to freeze things." Shateishael frowns, listening carefully and trying hard to understand. He thinks, [I must remember to ask what a shadow-of-summer thing is... but later.] Bacchus holds up both hands, realizing how he phrased that last thing, "Not literally. They don't go about with ice-rays and zambonis trying to make the world into a hockey aren, but they try to make things stay the same. They like stasis." Shateishael grins at that image.

Soma smiles down at Rosie and traces fingertips around the angel's throat, murmuring, "And like a flower, hope arises in the spring." Rosenstern can't help but to giggle a little at the idea of a fae zamboni, although it is a bit sobering to picture some kind of infernal zamboni. Soma's touch makes him almost-purr again, lifting up his chin and blushing deeply.

Bacchus grins back at Slate, but his expression sobers a little as he says, "A lot of them are still holding a grudge over Uriel's rampage. But they aren't stupid. I truly believe they can be convinced. After all, even glaciers move."

Shateishael sighs, "I... cannot be angry that they hold a grudge. I am unsure I would not do the same in their tracks." He thinks a bit more... then rumbles thoughtfully, "So... what is a shadow-of-summer thing? And how do you change your seeming, Bacchus? I take it there are elements of this court who will be at the other court as well, like yourself, who are... relatively unchanged? Who are they all, and would it be helpful for you or they to speak well for us to the Winter King? And what is this talisman which will somehow cover us all in some form of protection from the Winter King?"

Bacchus nods again, filling the bowl and raising it to Slate in salute before drinking again, "They'll try to trick and divert and misdirect you. And, yes, the winter lord will desperately want your little Flowerkin. But they won't dare harm you if you carry the talisman or a mark upon yourself." Bacchus chuckles, continuing, "Why, glamour of course." There is a shimmer in the air around Bacchus and a trill of sound in the Symphony. Seated in the Satyr's place is a stocky human of middle age, dark hair somewhat threaded with silver. His torso and face appear almost unchanged, except for the lack of horns. His lower body, however, has transformed. In place of goatish legs and hooves, there are human legs and feet.

Shateishael's eyes widen in slow wonder, "Ooh... how do you do that? I know someone who would dearly love to be able to -- to look human..." Then he sighs a little wistfully, "No, wait... personal desires should wait. Go on, please?"

Rosenstern looks uncomfortable at how the Winter Lord will apparently want him. But he blinks in surprise at Bacchus' transformation. "That's amazing!" he blurts out.

Another shimmer and Bacchus is back to himself, "I'm not certain I can teach it, Warrior. It is as much a part of us as your abilities are of you." He nods and continues on, "If you accept the burden, this negotiation could take some little time. Years, possibly, but being who and what the three of you are, we suspect that this is of little concern."

Shateishael simply nods at the glamour not being teachable -- it's disappointing but unfortunately unsurprising. He tilts his head thoughtfully at the next comment, still listening carefully, and thinking, [Must ask what precisely they want said and negotiated, too... later.]

Bacchus tilts his eyes upward as if trying to think of a good example of something, then nods as it comes to him. He calls Ayra's name over his shoulder again and the young dryad appears at his side, "Yes, papa?" Bacchus pats her foot and smiles, "You're going to be a visual aid, darling." To the angels he says, "This is Ayra, my daughter. She's a wood nymph of the spring. In the winter court you will find autumn ladies and winter crones. Some of the crones are wise and gentle. And some are bitter that they no longer bloom. They are jealous and selfish and may attempt to cause your beautiful Seductress distress."

Shateishael nods slowly, his one arm about Bella tightening for a moment... then he murmurs quietly (if not precisely happily), "Bellisima is her own person, honored Bard."

Bella smiles and hugs Slate back, nodding, "I have too much of my Mother in me." Shateishael smiles a little crookedly at Bella, but says nothing, simply continuing to lightly stroke her back.

Bacchus nods, grinning broadly, "As women should be. You are a powerful force, Seductress." He gets back on track after visibly pulling his concentration back, "There are some, like myself and the other satyrs, that don't change. Most of them are there because they are cynical or just like to buck rules a little. Which I always found sort of funny, seeing how little Winter likes to be disobeyed."

Shateishael chuckles quietly, reminded of parts of the heavenly host at that, then studies the dryad carefully. She looks much like a sapling made human: small, slender, flexible. Nut-brown skin, white tunic, spring-green eyes, and hair that looks like just-budded leaves. He rumbles quietly to the satyr, "Your daughter is very lovely, Bard."

Soma smiles down at Rosenstern, eyes glowing, "Even the divine can find wonder in small things of beauty."

Rosenstern smiles softly back up to Soma, gently running his hand along his calf. "And there are some things of no small beauty," he says, softly. Then he looks back at Bacchus and his explanation.

The dryad blushes slightly, a green tinge showing in her cheeks. Her father smiles warmly up at her, "Which is no thanks to me. Her mother is a willow tree. All delicate limbs and warm, wet secrets." Shateishael laughs softly at that, his eyes quietly reflective.

Ayra laughs and nudges her father with her toe, "Mama would be angry to hear you talk of her so." The young nymph doesn't seem to worried about it, though, "May I go, papa? I promised I would help braid Lorelei's hair for tomorrow."

Bacchus nods and pats her foot again, "Go, and in health, daughter." He turns back to the angels, "There are some of my brethren. They are like me and do not change. They simply are somewhat more stubborn than I. The gryphons and the dragons don't change, no matter which court they favor. The two unicorns only barely shift. And that is more like gaining a winter coat, only on a more fundamental level than hair."

Shateishael draws in his breath sharply, "You have... equines?!" He smiles slowly, his eyes far away, wondering if Thea would like to come along to the Winter Court.

Soma trails his fingers down Rosenstern's side to his hip, "A trio of equines to trot between us. Winged and lance-tipped."

Bacchus clarifies, "By which he means two unicorns and the Pegasus. There was ever only one of him, after all."

Shateishael murmurs softly, almost dreamily, "Winged... she'd adore seeing that..."

Soma smiles at Slate, nodding, "Perhaps their appearance in the desert is not impossible."

Shateishael grins excitedly, his eyes bright, "Would it be all right to take four instead of three to the Winter Court?"

Bacchus chuckles, "I'm sorry, but three has to be it. However, I think Soma just said he'd bring them with on our visit to your home." The satyr glances to his king and has his interpretation confirmed with a nod and a smile.

Shateishael says, "I'd have brought her here if I could... oh... yes, that would be wonderful!"

Bella grins and bounces again, sitting up on her knees, "Oh! Yes, it would!"

Shateishael grins happily and hugs Bella impulsively, "Won't Thea be delighted if we bring the best of Burning Man home to her?"

Bacchus grins at the angels almost glowing at the thought of the unicorns, "And the talisman is just that -- a piece of jewelry that holds a lock of Soma's hair. Parts of the kings cannot be taken against their will. They must be given freely."

Shateishael nods at that, still beaming, "Okay -- thank you!" He remembers medieval texts comparing the Jesus child with the purity of a virgin-loving unicorn, but considering Uriel slew the unicorns too, he'd guess the older, pagan interpretation is the correct one: unicorns as expressions of lust. Or sensual love, depending on it not being a prim and bitter Christian interpretation of the pagan text. And 'virgin' originally meant nothing more horrific than someone who'd not yet born children -- that should work! He grins happily.

Rosenstern shivers at the long, languid touch. Lance-tipped, what a lovely way to refer to unicorns. All this has been a great deal for Rosie to take in for a single day -- nay, a single evening. He wonders if he'll be able to remember this night with more clarity than he remembered Neuschwanstein... and hopes and prays, as heretical as it might be, that this would not be the last night with Soma as he remembers him now. Then he blinks in surprise, and beams. "Oh, yes, Thea would adore that!"

Soma smiles down at the shivering of the Novalite, "What I hold sacred, he must, to honor himself."

Shateishael sighs happily and says very sincerely, "Thank you so much, Summer King, for being willing to come visit our home. You don't know what this will mean to Thea."

Soma chuckles and says, "Honor done to one in a fellowship is honor done to all. As my brothers... and sisters... honor me, so I honor them. And I only hope you will consider me a brother."

Shateishael blinks at that, saying honestly, "I am not sure precisely what that means to you, Sumrlidr, but you are certainly someone I would protect if necessary... for Rosie's sake if for no other reason." He grins affectionately at the little Mercurian, adding, "He does tend to collect people that love him, without even trying." Rosenstern blushes deeply, smiling at Slate's words.

Bacchus smiles, "He means, 'Thank you for inviting me. And I like you all a lot.'" The satyr grins, "But I'm pretty sure that one was fairly plain. If it wouldn't be something your leaders would look badly upon, Soma could also lay a mark with a kiss. It's indelible except by his will."

Soma chuckles quietly, "Love is a gift much needed and too rarely bestowed. The Flowerkin helps to remind of that." Rosenstern's blush -- a cinnamon shade upon his currently brown skin -- deepens even more.

Shateishael laughs at Bacchus' comment, relaxing a bit. He considers, then shakes his head a touch reluctantly, "Forgive me, please, but I'm fairly sure David would not care for me carrying someone else's mark, and I would not care to endanger your mission through carelessness on my part in honoring my Architect. However, I would be honored to carry the talisman." At Soma's words Slate looks up suddenly at him, ice-blue eyes flashing. He's silent a moment, then rumbles quietly, "Love... oh, yes." He closes his eyes a moment, then murmurs, "I think it was Rilke who said, 'Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.'" He opens his eyes again, drawing a deep breath as he stares fascinatedly at the fae lord.

Soma smiles and nods. "Yes," is all he says. His hands have not stopped moving on Rosie, soothing, warm, and somehow seeming to show possessiveness and lack of demand at once.

Bella smiles, "My Superior won't mind me carrying such a mark, but I myself think I'd rather have the talisman. I've got this thing about something I can't remove myself."

Rosenstern's eyes close, and not only from the lovely touches Soma imparts upon him; the dizzying sensations that are so easy to surrender to. "Mmm... as much as I would cherish your mark... I... I shouldn't. Mother is tolerant but... I don't want to get her or my friends in trouble...."

Shateishael studies the fae lord for a moment, still fascinated... then looks slowly around at the entire court, thinking furiously. [So that's it... Uriel was Purity, but his Jesus is Love. I... think I actually get it! Amazing...] He blinks, looking back at the others, then rumbles quietly, "Summer King, if you do not mind, I would greatly appreciate a bit of time for the three of us to simply reflect on this?"

Soma smiles and nods, "It is a burden to carry something that must be removed by another. I would not shackle any of you." At Slate's request Soma nods and smiles again, "Certainly. You are free to pass in and out as you please."

Shateishael's eyes are still bright with that amazing revelation... it'd never occurred to him before, but it answers so many questions! Purity can still fear. He wonders curiously if Uriel would have fit into the Winter Court, in another time... then grins at that, alight with excitement. He loves figuring out religious issues! Then he hastily recalls his manners and bows his head politely, rumbling, "Thank you for your courtesy, gentle lord." He looks at the other two and adds cheerfully, "We don't have to leave immediately, of course... but if you don't mind, I'd like to think a bit?"

Bella smiles and stretches luxuriantly again. Bacchus watches it with appreciation, but without the same sense of leering Puck had. The Bright smiles, "Mmm... I like it here, but I think going back to think would be good."

Rosenstern makes a quiet sound, clearly torn. Shateishael nods, "All right." He smiles with some understanding at Rosenstern, "It's all right, pretty Rosie -- we've got two whole weeks to come be here as well." He rises easily, looping the hammer over one shoulder, then holding out one hand to each of his companions.

Soma strokes Rosie's cheek, "There will be more time."

Bella smiles and takes Slate's hand, rising to her feet. She blows a kiss to the two fae that have been speaking with them. Rosenstern closes his eyes with the touch, reaching up to cup Soma's hand to his cheek. "There will be," he whispers. "Thank you... thank you for letting me see you again, after all this time. It had... been like a dream, nearly forgotten, try as hard as I might to remember."

Soma smiles and leans over in a show of impressive flexibility, and kisses Rosenstern's forehead, "Joy is never one-sided."

Shateishael tilts his head curiously at the little Mercurian's words, then waits patiently and quietly for Rosie to finish his leave-taking. Rosenstern beams at Soma's words, then takes Slate's hand and puts his arm around Slate. Once Rosie takes his hand, Slate will pull the dreamy-eyed angel easily to his feet, then scoop him up in one arm. He bows his head politely to both fae, rumbling, "We shall speak again. For now, blessings on you and yours." He paces out quietly, holding Bella's hand if she's willing and with Rosie dreamily and comfortably half-cradled in the other arm. Bella laces her fingers quite easily with Slate's and murmurs thanks as she follows the Seraph from the pavilion.

Shateishael looks up in quiet wonder as they step through the barrier, then down at himself and his companions. He rumbles softly, "Amazing..." then continues on to their tent, his thoughts full. Shortly the three angels are back in their tent. Rosie for his part seems more 'touchy' than before, at least a little, and also a bit more acquiescent and yielding to the others' desires. He curls up beside them, appearing exhausted, and is shortly fast asleep. Bella and Slate, for their part, are more awake and entwine themselves into a neat, tender knot between themselves, before they too are sleeping deeply.

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Last modified: 2006-Dec-07 15:15:59

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