Burning Man -- Logs

Upon returning to the Corporeal plane from their visit with the Willow Lady, an arrangement is made for Rosie to spend a night with Soma. This arrangement was made without actually consulting Soma, perhaps as a surprise for the Summer Lord. The morning of the surprise finds Slate escorting his lover and submissive to the fae encampment, Bella having pulled the blankets over her head with a mumble about pink mice and daisies.

Shateishael helped Rosie get showered and dressed however he wished. His demeanor is sort of ruefully thoughtful as he regards the lovely little Mercurian. After a bit he smiles, putting his large hands on Rosie's shoulders, and rumbles, "S'curious... I know you'll be fine, but I still fin' m'self worryin' 'boutcha. Hope y'don' mind, Rosebud."

Rosenstern feels nervous and excited and a little bit pensive and shy. He briefly worried over Bella's talking about pink mice, but she seems to just be sleeping off the experience in the Ethereal -- much like Rosie himself. He still feels a bit euphoric about it. He more than welcomes Slate's assistance, and when Slate puts his hands on Rosie's shoulders, Rosenstern smiles up to him, putting his own hands on the Stone Angel's. "I don't mind at all, Slate. And it will be fine. I'm glad you're concerned for me." He leans up, kissing Slate on the lips warmly. "I love you," he whispers, smiling.

Shateishael blinks, then smiles and slides his arms around Rosenstern, gently returning the kiss. He'd like to say something, anything, that'll show how he feels, but he can't think of a darned thing that's appropriate. He hesitates, his ice blue eyes far away for a moment... then falls back on the beauty of prose,

"The face of all the world is changed, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still, beside me..."

He lets his hands slide down Rosenstern's back, then takes Rosie's hand in his large, somewhat battle-scarred one, "C'mon, sweet petal, le's go b'fore I get col' feet... y'got ev'rythin' y'wanna take wi'ya? Y'remember y'r rules?"

Rosenstern blushes as he listens to Slate's words, and smiles warmly, cuddling against Slate's chest. "I'll move beside you for many, many years to come, Heaven and you willing." He straightens, blushing and nodding. "I remember the rules, yes!"

Shateishael grins affectionately down at the slight Mercurian padding along quickly next to him. It's true Slate is concerned, but it's hard to worry when Rosie's eyes are so alight with excitement and happiness. He rumbles gently to Rosenstern, "So, tell me th'rules, please, sweet petal, s'I don' worry 'boutcha?"

Rosie is wearing a rose-red mandarin tunic or light Nehru coat that comes to his knees, with a small slit up the sides. Beneath this all that is visible is cherry-black patent: a pair of fingerless gloves of indeterminate length and knee-length boots, laced and snugly buckled, trim and narrow. At his throat, peeking through the neck of the tunic, is the small brass bell to the collar Slate made for him. A delicate ear-chain, also of brass, decorates one ear, as well as a few bangles and the lovely bracelet Slate gave him.

Rosenstern nods soberly, still smiling. "I will tell him my safe word right away, and he will agree to honor it. No marks or bruises. Nobody but Soma. And the collar stays on."

Shateishael nods slowly, thinking... then rumbles, "An' one las' thin', sweet petal. If y'r not comfy, leave. Don' think it'll be'n issue, but jus' wantcha to know f'sure -- whatever y'decide t'do, I'll back ya up. 'Kay?"

Rosenstern nods unhesitatingly. "I will. I promise, Slate." Shateishael smiles, pausing a moment to give Rosenstern a gentle hug -- then continues towards the Ethereal encampment with him. A moment later they're stepping through the glamour's dome, looking around at the mostly-quiet encampment.

The encampment is mostly quiet, most of the tents and other dwellings closed and holding that 'people sleeping' ambience you can only find where large numbers of beings are camping together. Bacchus' tent, in its place outside the Summer Lord's yurt, has the flap open to reveal the satyr sitting inside and eating something steaming in a heavy wooden bowl. Shateishael rumbles quietly, "Good... le's check wi'Bacchus first." He glances at Rosenstern, making sure the Mercurian's still looking excited and happy, then heads over to Bacchus' tent. He crouches on his heels so he's closer to eye level with the satyr, and rumbles politely, "Mornin'. Rosie 'n I wuz wondrin' whut's on Soma's plate f't'day?" He loops one arm behind Rosenstern, resting his hand on Rosie's far hip as he talks.

Bacchus looks up from a bowl of what can only be porridge and smiles, "Good morning, Slate, Rosenstern. As far as I know, Soma hasn't anything scheduled until tonight. Just general court. Hearing pleadings and requests. He said something about hiding until then."

Shateishael grins at the comment about hiding, then nods, "Great. So... w'd it be 'kay if'n we stepped in f'jus' a moment? Got sump'in' f'r him we think he'll like." Rosenstern is tense as they approach the encampment, but he relaxes with Slate's hand on his arm. At Bacchus's words -- about Soma hiding -- he has to smile softly. He can't blame him.

Bacchus chuckles and motions toward the yurt, "He's awake. Go on in."

Shateishael nods, "Thanks," and rises, taking Rosie's hand again. As they head for the yurt's entrance, he pauses, checking one last time. His voice is pitched low, for Rosenstern's ears, "Y'still 'kay wi'this, sweet petal?" His tone is more one of reassurance than actual worry at this point, but he wants to be quite, quite sure he's helping Rosie do what he truly wants.

Rosenstern nods, squeezing Slate's hand warmly and nodding. "I am. I'll be with you again tomorrow, I promise."

Shateishael smiles down at Rosenstern, "Take's long as y'want, sweet petal. I jus' wanna be sure this's whatcha want." He leans to gently brush his lips against Rosenstern's forehead... then taps lightly on the doorframe.

Inside Soma's tent the Summer Lord is indeed awake. He is wearing a heavy tapestry dressing gown against the fading chill of the playa morning and sits at his desk, writing. Despite the medieval air of things around the fae, Soma is using an extremely normal pen and is writing on small sheets of plain white stationery. He raises his head as the angels enter, face brightening as he stands, arms outstretched in the welcoming gesture that is becoming familiar, "Friends... a lovely start to the day..."

Shateishael smiles and gives Soma a hug, "All'ays nice t'come visit; thanks." He steps aside for Rosie then, his expression almost thoughtful again. Rosenstern blushes, giving a greeting hug to Soma as well, then stepping back beside Slate.

Soma returns both the hugs, though the one he gives Rosie is perhaps a bit more lingering. He breathes in the Mercurian's scent for a moment, "You look lovely, petal. Have you broken your fast? Is there something you need?"

Shateishael rests his hands lightly on Rosenstern's shoulders and rumbles quietly to Soma, "We wuz won'drin'... Rosie'd like t'spend some time wi'ya, 'n we though if y'weren' busy, maybe y'all'd like t'start now?" Rosenstern shivers a little -- deliciously so, even if a bit tense -- remembering how Soma 'breaks fast.'

Soma smiles, the expression literally lighting up his face for a moment, "Of course. I always have time for such a lovely diversion. You're welcome to spend the afternoon with me. Though I fear I shall be rather boring company."

Shateishael grins, glancing away for a moment and then back at Soma, "'M sorry, Summer Lord -- not bein' clear. Not me -- Rosie wants t'stay wi'ya." He lifts his hands off Rosenstern's shoulders, giving him a gentle hug about the waist and then releasing. Rosenstern leans against Slate with the hug, smiling warmly up to him, then looking to Soma.

Soma blinks for a moment, then asks with very carefully reined-in eagerness, "You are... trusting him to me, Slate?" One of his hands moves toward Rosie, though his eyes are on the large, protective Seraph.

Shateishael nods slowly, watching Rosenstern for a moment, "Yeah, 'm thinkin' so, Soma." He looks up at the butterfly fae, adding quietly, "Wouldn' do it if'n din' trust you, but... think I do. Jus' wanna ask one favor -- when y'all're done, bring him back to me, please? Don' wan' him wandrin' 'roun' still all glowy, wi'no one t'make sure he gets where he needs t'go." He looks back down at Rosenstern and smiles, giving him a gentle nudge and rumbling quietly to him, "G'wan, pretty."

Soma chuckles quietly, the tone of his voice getting slightly deeper, "I shan't let him wander alone, Warrior. I care too much for him for that." The cheerful welcoming light in his face is starting to change, the tilt of his smile as he looks toward Rosie speaking of fondly held plans. Rosenstern nods to Slate, then steps quietly to Soma. The look on Soma's face makes him feel giddy and a little aroused, his breath catching and his heart seeming to beat harder in his chest.

Shateishael smiles quietly, clasping his hands behind his back and watching for just a moment. He finds it oddly reassuring to see the obvious chemistry between them both, even as he also realizes he's not really sure what the socially graceful thing to do right now is. Probably just slip out quietly... but when? Should he wait for them to kiss so he's not interrupting? Or... after Rosie's given his rules? Or wait -- does that come later? He snorts amusedly, internally -- obviously he should've asked Bella more about this!

The monarch's eyes are drawn to Rosie's face, voice barely a murmur, "He will be safe here, Slate. I vow it..." The fae lord's head lowers, lips brushing over Rosie's as he speaks, "Even if there is some delicious nervousness or fear..." Shateishael sighs quietly, relieved -- that takes care of both his worries in one -- excellent! He grins, stepping back and slipping silently out the door. He stretches slowly outside, ridding himself of some of the tension of worry, then grins at Bacchus, "Nice day, mm?"

Bacchus arches a brow as Slate emerges alone, chuckling, "Oh... is it that time finally?"

Shateishael grins, his eyes quietly serene as he glances back at the yurt, "Think so. Thanks f'alla th'help translatin', man."

Bacchus snorts, the sound almost equine, "You'd have figured out eventually, Friend Slate."

Shateishael shakes his head slowly, honesty compelling him to admit, "Ain't s'good at keepin' m'temper when I'm 'roun' folks I cain't tell if'n they're honest 'r not, Bacchus. Sure, now I know it's his nature, 'n whut t'do t'talk t'him sometimes... but at th'time wuz startin' t'feel... deceived. I don' deal s'good wi'that, 'n I sure wouldn'ta lef' Rosebud 'r Bella 'lone 'round anyone I felt that kinda twitchy 'roun', y'know?" He adds almost apologetically, "Sorry."

Bacchus nods and chuckles, "I can understand that. I believe we're a bit more used to having to listen to what people mean and not what they say."

Inside the yurt Rosenstern returns the kiss with a soft, happy sigh. "I need..." he murmurs, "I need to tell you what... what I can allow and not...." he says quietly and trepidatiously, but also calmly.

Soma nods, a very raw species of naked desire on his face for a moment before he smoothes it over, "Of course, petal..." He doesn't release Rosie from his arms, however.

Rosenstern slides his arms up and around Soma's neck, gently nuzzling Soma's cheek. His voice remains a whisper. "I have to ask you to honor my safeword -- 'Uncle' -- if I say it, for whatever reason. No marks -- bruises or burns or the like. I'm not to be shared -- in this time I am yours and yours alone. And whatever you wish me to wear... or not wear," he adds impishly, "I must wear the collar Slate put on me."

Soma's eyes are sliding half-closed as he is nuzzled by the warm, soft Mercurian, his hands moving over Rosie's back and over the curve of his behind, murmuring, "Your safeword is Uncle, you are to always wear your collar..." His voice drops into something close to a purr, lips very near Rosie's ear, "And tonight, you are mine alone." He sounds very, very pleased with that last part.

Rosenstern's breathing quavers, and he breathes a soft, surrendering, "Yes..." His fingertips gently stroke through Soma's hair.

Outside, Shateishael nods ruefully, crouching down again next to where Bacchus sits, "Uh, yeah... like I said, sorry 'bout that. Me'n Bella've already talked 'bout how might be best inna Winter Court if'n she did alla th'talkin', f'r that very reason." He ruefully rumbles, "Don' think m'blowin' up at Thorne 'r th'Winter Lord'd be helpful..."

Bacchus visibly flinches, "No, no -- that probably wouldn't do at all. And Bella seems to understand how things work..."

Shateishael grins lazily at Bacchus, "Ayup! Anyway..." He glances at the yurt, then grins at Bacchus, "No shrieks'r nuthin... so think I'll be moseying off now." He straightens, waves, and paces off, humming quietly to himself.

Bacchus murmurs, "Shrieking wouldn't necessarily mean something bad was happening..." as Slate retreats, causing the big Seraph to laugh!

The throng of the crowd mid-festival is almost overwhelming -- costumes and artwork abound. Bella has taken refuge with the partially rejuvenated Rose and Lily, to work on ceramics with them under the deeply shaded tarp they keep at the Imaginary Flowers camp. Rosie, meanwhile, is having his time alone with Soma. This leaves Slate to his own devices.

Shateishael hms thoughtfully to himself... then grins and changes into the outfit he finds most comfortable -- his Nemene (or Comanche) clothes. He steps out of the tent a few moments later and stretches his arms comfortably over his head, rising up onto his moccasin'ed toes and taking a huge, lung-filling breath of the hot, dry air... then settles back, shaking his head once to get his bangs out of his eyes. He grins happily, settles on a pair of shades, and heads out through the city at an easy pace for the nearby hills. From there he can change to Celestial form and fly to town for some fun groceries -- he's almost out of ice cream makings, after all -- and he fully intends to enjoy the sights as he moves through the garish, loud, wonderful, bright city.

Shateishael is in a leather breechclout and thigh-high moccasin boots designed for riding. They're fringed, heavily beaded and decorated on the outsides of the legs and the front and back of the breechclout, and sky-blue, as that color had sacred connotations to the Comanche. Having spent almost 500 years in clothing like this, Slate finds it very comfortable and easy to move around in. His hair is tied back in a loosely braided ponytail, with a few sun-glittery decorations, and he's got his Thor's Hammer on still also. Aside from the belt pack, that's it -- his broad shoulders and torso are heavily sun-tanned, showing the occasional pale spider-webbing of a very old scar.

As the leather-clad Seraph moves through the crowd, a somewhat familiar throaty voice says from behind his left shoulder, "Hmmm... I can't decide if you'd look more mouth-watering without the boots or not..." Shateishael starts to turn normally to look at whoever is speaking... then shies hard right like a spooked horse when his brain suddenly screams, [Lilith!!] at him. He shifts warily as he pulls himself together, turning to check if it is indeed she or if he just nearly trampled folks for no good reason.

The Princess laughs, one hand over her mouth as she watches the Seraph spook. Once he turns around to look at her, she's standing with one hand on her hip, her posture loose and relaxed. She's wearing a broad sun hat and a huge scarf wrapped around her hips like a skirt. Aside from a pair of sandals, the rest of her is bare, "Oh my. Surely li'l ole me isn't all that scary."

Shateishael sighs in faint amusement at himself, shaking his head ruefully, and rumbles, "Sorry, ma'am, but um... well, yeah, you are kinda. Whatcha represent, 'least." He's careful once again not to look her in the eyes. It's fairly easy to do just now, though, considering he has to occasionally step out of folks' way -- they're both standing in a crowded thoroughfare.

Lilith puts on a very interested and mild face. Not much could look less scary -- maybe a baby rabbit or some pink yarn. "Really? It's that scary to be free?" She isn't doing the same sidestepping. People seem to flow around her and not even realize they're doing it.

Shateishael snorts amusedly, "No'm. 'S that scary t'be p'tentially caught by you, 'thout meanin' t'be."

Lilith steps closer to Slate, smiling up at him winsomely, "Caught? Why would I want to catch you?" She puts the slightest emphasis on the word 'catch,' giving it tones that have nothing to do with hunting.

Shateishael doesn't step away, although it's probably clear to the perceptive he'd very much like to despite its potential rudeness. His face goes warily still as he answers politely, "Couldn' b'gin t'guess atcher motivations, ma'am."

Lilith looks thoughtful and perhaps a little bemused, "Something's happened to make you more wary of me." She takes a half-step back, tapping her chin with one forefinger. Her hands aren't so much elegant as simply graceful. They look as if she's worked with them.

Shateishael tilts his head curiously at Lilith, "Don'tcha get that kinda wariness wi'everyone, ma'am?"

The Princess of Freedom shrugs her shoulders, eliciting some admiring glances from passerby at what the motion does to her bare chest, but she doesn't seem to be aware of it -- that, or she doesn't care, "Usually if a person is going to be wary of me, it'll be on first meeting me. You were quite friendly at the drumming."

Shateishael grins, "You weren't backin' me inta 'corner then neither, ma'am." He looks a bit more relaxed when she's not quite so close, in fact.

Lilith laughs and arches a brow, exhibiting that eerie resemblance to Bella again, "Do you feel backed into the corner because I'm so close or because I was admiring your ass?"

Shateishael draws a slow breath, looking away -- it's disconcerting to keep seeing Bella in her! "Leery a'havin' y'that close, ma'am. Din' even realize y'were 'dmirin' m'ass." He grins ruefully, running a hand absently through his bangs.

Lilith reaches her hand out and makes sure she can't quite touch Slate, stepping back just an inch or two so that there's clear air between her fingertips and the Seraph's skin, "Are you afraid I'm going to physically grab you?"

Shateishael shakes his head, "Nah, more worried I'd accident'lly look right atcha, ma'am." He sighs, reflecting a moment, then adds a bit unhappily, "Although... guess I already did that, din' I, when we firs' met 'n b'fore I realized who y'were." He wonders a bit bemusedly what his needs are, to a Lilim. He knows what he'd like, of course... but from the few Brights he's met, he knows they can sometimes pick up unconscious unmet desires.

Lilith mms, eyes twinkling with amusement, "I guess you did, yes. Are you afraid I'm going to try to tempt you away from your path, hon?" She starts to lean forward, but not near enough to be invasive, lowering her voice to almost a whisper, "Or are you afraid I'll see something you don't want people knowing?"

Shateishael rumbles amusedly, "Ma'am, I like m'life right now. Don' wanna get inta trouble w'm'boss. Still not sure how he'd react t'hearin' 'bout this, but it's not like I hunted y'out 'r anythin'... 'n I'm still not sure why y'd pay any 'ttention t'one lone angel." He grins a bit self-consciously, adding, "Or m'ass." He laughs at the whisper, "If'n I got sump'in' I don' want folks knowin', then I don' know I got it... so it'd be hard t'be worried 'bout that."

Lilith stands back up straight, grinning as if her intention was to make Slate laugh, "Well, because it's a nice ass. And because you paid attention to me first. And you haven't run off to your boss to tell him where I'm at. That intrigues me."

Shateishael says, "Umm... okay..." He sounds a bit uncertain, but after a moment of reflection he adds, "I wuz... 'bout t'head inta town f'some shoppin'. May I, um, invite ya t'cuppa coffee 'r sump'in'?"

Lilith looks pleasantly surprised and motions toward the road, which isn't in the direction Slate was going, "Isn't the way out over there?"

Shateishael says, "Well, um, yeah. I wuz gonna..." he looks around uncertainly, realizing a Demon Prince changing form might well resound far more loudly in the Symphony than one young Seraph. After a moment he takes a breath, looking back towards Lilith, "I'd 'riginally 'ntended t'fly Celestial inta town, but we could take th'bus 'nstead if'n y'd rather?"

Lilith chuckles as she watches realization dawn on Slate's face, "That might be wisest, yes."

Shateishael grins ruefully at her, his hand absently running through his bangs again, "Uh, yeah." He looks around, then takes a very deep, slow breath -- if he's going to do this he should probably do it right. He rumbles to Lilith, "Ma'am, they'll ask ya t'put onna top t'go inta town. Wouldja liketa meet me at th' bus stop, 'r wouldja like 'n escort t'y'r tent?" then politely offers his arm.

That brow goes up again and she slides her hand through Slate's arm, "There's no way I'm refusing the offer of an escort." Her hand feels slightly rough along the fingertips, perhaps from the wind and sun, or perhaps slightly calloused.

Shateishael resists the urge to shiver his skin like a nervous horse, instead nodding politely and murmuring, "Which way then, ma'am?" Most of his brain is almost painfully focused on making sure he doesn't accidentally say or do something rude to someone almost as old as the archangels themselves... the other part is screaming something along the lines of [WHATTHEHELLDOYOUTHINKYOU'REDOING?!?!] Needless to say, it's a bit chaotic in there... Shateishael blinks, suddenly realizing he just offered to walk Lilith to her tent. He draws another deep, nervous breath, smiling ruefully at himself and reminding himself firmly to on no account enter the damn tent!

Lilith does the leading-without-seeming-to trick that Peony did at the feast the other night, guiding Slate to not a tent but a pop-up camper. She reaches into a pouch she apparently had tucked inside her makeshift skirt for a key and opens the door, "Do you want to wait out here or come inside? I've got some cold beer."

Shateishael rumbles amusedly, "Thanks f'th'offer, ma'am, but 'm thinkin' out here's fine f'me." He can't see the amused grin on Lilith's face as the Princess steps into her camper. A moment later she returns wearing not only a shirt, but a pair of jeans as well. She looks just like any pretty girl going out to the store, "Better?"

Shateishael rumbles amusedly, "Yes'm. Hope y'don' mind bein' seen wi' a Burnin' Man weirdie like me, now." He politely offers his arm again, "Shall we, ma'am?"

Lilith takes the arm again, stroking her fingers along the inside of Slate's forearm, "You kidding? If I could, I'd have two of you. One for each arm."

Shateishael twitches slightly, but only once. He just shakes his head amusedly, heading for the bus depot, and rumbles half-teasingly, "You mus' be real bored, ma'am, if'n one li'l baby angel's this much fun."

Lilith chuckles and tries to keep from looking too amused at Slate's reactions, "Sweetie, I've always been a sucker for a younger man. Just as long as he doesn't try to run things."

Shateishael mumbles something under his breath about smarts and running away, then coughs and looks away again, "So, um... y'know any a'th'rest'rants in town? This's m'first Burnin' Man."

Lilith smirks, but otherwise pretends not to have heard what it was that Slate was muttering, "Mmm... there's a pretty good little diner if you don't mind biscuits and gravy all day."

Shateishael nods, "'Kay, tha's fine." He's carefully -- almost excruciatingly -- polite whenever Lilith's in touching distance: suiting his pace to hers, handing her up into the bus, making sure she has a seat, and opening doors for her. He's really not sure at all how to react around a Demon Prince (short of screaming and fleeing), so he falls back on his very early 1900's white man's training on how one deals with ladies. He knows it's doubtless archaic to humans... but hopefully she won't mind.

The bus is crowded and full of very happy people having loud and happy conversation. Slate and Lilith find themselves crowded into a seat together, though Lilith doesn't take any untoward advantage of being pressed against Slate's side. Shateishael is greatly relieved at Lilith's courtesy in the bus. Had there been even a few more folks aboard, he'd have stood -- but there weren't quite enough to pull that off gracefully. Once in town, the Princess leads Slate to a diner that looks like it has been there since the town was built. He starts to relax a bit as they get to the diner, pulling open the door for her -- so far so good!

Lilith walks into the diner ahead of Slate and gets the booth furthest away from the door, and most secluded. It sits by itself in a corner and is built to hold just two people. An emergency exit that looks like it was added in as an afterthought separates it from any other tables. Shateishael blinks... then takes a breath and sits next to her, on the aisle and careful not to crowd her at all. He glances around a moment... then rumbles amusedly, "You chose this place 'n spot d'libr'ately, din' you, ma'am?"

She doesn't even bother to deny it, shrugging with a winsome smile, "I figured if you wanted to have coffee, you wanted to talk. If you wanted to talk, I figured it was something you wouldn't want people listening in on."

Shateishael laughs, shrugging gracefully, "Y'got me there, ma'am." He is polite and friendly with the waitress, ordering two coffees and whatever the lady wants t'eat. Lilith orders peach cobbler with ice cream to go with her coffee. She shifts in the booth so she can face Slate partially, smiling.

"So, have you actually been hiding from me, or have you been busy? I was looking around for you the last few days."

Shateishael is as oblivious as usual to the glances he gets from others in the diner, although to be honest he currently has a good reason to do so. Sitting next to a Demon Prince isn't high on his list of 'Things I'm Really Smooth At.' So he has a few sips of his coffee, rests his large hands around the cup, watches as she has some ice cream and peach cobbler... then looks a bit guilty at her question, "We -- er, I din' know what y'r intentions might be so I kinda, um... yeah. We hid f'a bit, sorta."

Lilith again seems slightly amused, but doesn't actually tease Slate about it, "You could have just asked, you know."

Shateishael says, "Asked what? And how'd I a' foun' ya, ma'am?"

Lilith takes a bite of cobbler and ice cream, closing her eyes as she lets the hot cobbler melt the sweet ice cream on her tongue, and sighing quite blissfully, "Mmm? My intentions. You could have just asked what they were. And I'm not exactly hard to find. I drum every night."

Shateishael smiles, seeing Bella's pleasure in the ice cream he made her reflected in Lilith's face -- then hastily looks back at his coffee cup, sternly reminding himself this is not Bellisima! He smiles a moment later, then rumbles, "Ma'am, I dunno 'nuff 'bout geasa t'go askin' y'buncha fascinatin' questions... f'all I know, that's 'nuff t'set a hook 'r sumpthin'. 'N sure, I got lotsa questions, but never figgered a Demon Prince'd be innerested in listenin' t'me babble, y'know?"

Lilith bounces one knee as she listens, still eating her dessert. She hasn't yet touched her coffee, "Mmm... cautious and truthful. I should have expected that."

Shateishael rumbles curiously, "What didja 'xpect?"

Lilith smiles and silently offers Slate a bite of her ice cream and cobbler, "Mmm... I expected you to be sincere and maybe a little naive. And also maybe a little scared."

Shateishael smiles and shakes his head, rumbling politely, "No thank you, ma'am." He adds dryly, "I 'spect I shouldn' 'ccept anythin' from you. Dunno yet if'n that includes answers... 'n I 'xpect I am bein' naive by talkin' t'ya. But y'haven' given me reason t'be scared yet. Should I be?"

Lilith smiles and shrugs, eating the bit of dessert herself and actually wiggling a little in her seat at the taste of it. She grins broadly at the Seraph, "Don't you know you should always be scared talking to demons?"

Shateishael covers a grin at the wiggle -- apparently Bella's imitated mannerisms as well from her mother! He replies politely, "No'm, I don' know that. I figger if'n they're willin' t'talk, there's always hope... 'n I like helpin' folks." He grins, adding, "Good thing I dunno that, too, 'r I wouldn'ta stopped t'help y'r daughter."

Lilith smiles around her spoon, "You sure you don't want a bite of this? It's really good cobbler..." She chuckles, ahhing, "So it's not that you know a Bright Lilim, but that you Redeemed her, hmm?"

Shateishael says, "Both, ma'am." His face lights up with remembered happiness as he adds quite truthfully, "Ain't nuthin' like th' Symphony 'roun' a Bright."

Lilith watches the Seraph's face and she ahhs as realization dawns, "You're in love with her!"

Shateishael grins at Lilith, "Isn't everyone?"

The Princess of Freedom laughs delightedly, "No, not everyone is in love with any of my daughters, Seraph. Lust often, but not love...." She looks at Slate with new curiosity, "And you didn't actually answer me. Are you afraid I'll take advantage?"

Shateishael says, "Well, I meant Brights, not alla y'r daughters. Hain't met any non-Brights s'far... 'sides y'self." He's silent a moment, considering... then he rumbles slowly, "Ma'am, y'ever been in love? Dunno 'bout you... but f'me, at least, makin' sure she's happy 'n safe is damn important t'me. When I dunno whatcha want, then yeah... 'm kinda worried f'her." He glances sideways at her, adding quietly, "Sorry, but 's whut I wuz thinkin'."

Lilith smiles wistfully and nods, stirring melting ice cream together with the last bits of her cobbler, "Yes, I have been." She brightens, though the glint in her eye isn't quite as bright as earlier, "What I want is to drum until my hands bleed, smoke some amazing weed, drink some wine, and have a lot of very good sex with a lot of really free people. That's why I come here."

Shateishael smiles in quiet empathy, regarding the Demon Princess of Freedom, "You ever get t'be free t'love, ma'am? 'R is everyone always either wantin' sump'in', 'r scared a' you?"

Lilith tips the bowl with her cobbler and ice cream, letting the melted ice cream pour into her coffee. She uses her spoon to stir it in before taking a sip, "I'm free to do just about whatever I want."

Shateishael watches her thoughtfully, then rumbles carefully, "Ma'am, if'n y'wan' me t'stop, jus' say so... but I notice y'din' answer th' question."

Lilith laughs and sips her coffee again, "Yes, I'm free to be in love. And some people actually seem to want to be in love with me. Even if they know who I am. And some people think they're in love with me when really they're in love with my body or my blowjobs or my power. It's like being anyone else, only a thousand times moreso."

Shateishael rumbles surprisedly, "Really? Huh. Who wants ta be in love with ya, if y'don' mind m'askin'? Not lust -- love."

Lilith shrugs, smiling, "Over the millennia, a lot of people. One of the fundamentals of the universe is that people want love. What they mean by love might be different than what love really is. Right this minute? There's a pretty little boy named Joe who really, really wants me to be his one-and-only. There's a butch woman in England who thinks I hung the moon. There's a man in Zurich who owns half of Chicago and desperately thinks he'd give it all up if I'd just stay with him. Love, Slate, is one of the most powerful things in the world."

Shateishael looks a bit startled, his lips framing the phrase 'hung the moon' in bewilderment. He considers for a bit... then shakes his head, "Well, guess ya got it covered, then." He curiously asks, "So... whatcha doin' here?"

Lilith leans close enough to speak intimately, almost close enough to kiss the Seraph, eyes serious, "But, sweet boy, none of them are in love with me. They're in love with Electra and Julie and Heidi. They're in love with an image of a person who they think they want. Which is how it usually is. So, yeah. I'm free to be in love, but it's too much work." At Slate's question, she sits back, bouncing her knee again, "I already answered that one. Drums, weed, wine, sex. Remember?"

Shateishael raises an eyebrow, not leaning away -- he's pretty sure she's not likely to actually try to kiss him -- and murmurs, "Never found real love t'be too much work, ma'am. Wuz actually wond'rin' whatcha doin' here -- at this diner wi'me. Don' have any a' those things: drum, weed, 'r wine -- 'n no 'ffense but m' not in love w'ya, 'n I prefer sex wi'those 'm already in love with, y'know?" He pauses, thinking how sad it must be to find love too much work. Then he blinks, suddenly figuring it out, "Oh! Love as too much work -- y'mean them bein' in love wi'you -- you don' love them, right? Well, in love witha parta you, I guess."

Lilith arches a brow, "Mmm... that's one way to look at it. I'm not in love with any of those people. They're interesting and some of them are sweet. But right now they need too much."

Shateishael nods, wishing she'd answer his previous query, but more relieved internally she's not taken offense at his comments. Hmm... perhaps he should change the subject, in fact. He'd prefer not to antagonize her, after all. "So whyn'tcha try fa- uh, wait, that's jus' dumb. Never min'." He thinks quickly... different subject, come on, brain! Then he hastily adds, "So, um... where'd ya learn t'drum?"

Lilith smiles, "Here and there. Japan. South Dakota. Detroit." She continues bouncing her knee slightly, "I'm here, by the way, because I think you're interesting and this place has great cobbler. And because I wondered if you'd tell me who it was you saved from the eternal torment of being a regular old Lilim."

Shateishael laughs in spite of himself, then shakes his head amusedly, "Um... ma'am, 'm pretty sure that's not my story t'tell; sorry. But I don' think she's actively avoidin' you, if'n that's whatcha askin'." He hesitates, then grins, adding in formal archaic Japanese, "If this insignificant one may ask, during what reign did the Great Lord learn drumming in the Land of the Rising Sun? This tiresome being was overly honored by the attentions of the incomparable master and katana kaji Masamune during the early Muromachi Period, and has fond memories of that time."

Lilith smiles around her coffee cup, speaking in much more modern Japanese, "About ten years ago. I studied with a Taiko troupe in Kyoto." She switches back to English, "I have to say that the Japanese have had some really, really exquisite manners. I couldn't handle it for too long."

Shateishael looks a bit surprised, reflexively shifting back into English as well, "Y'couldn'? Howcome?" He's a bit disconcerted -- he'd thought speaking Japanese would suit his needs well just now. She'd be the great lord, he the lowly apprentice -- and it'd be easy to remember not to raise his eyes. A moment later he amusedly reflects it's entirely possible she realized that too. He grins quietly to himself, then studies her shoulders and arms thoughtfully as what she said registers -- taiko is hard work! He's slightly more impressed at her determination. He grins quietly to himself again as it also registers she's not familiar with the name he gave. That's all right -- he suspects he could blather boringly on for far too long about swords, and never realize he was being irritating!

Lilith's arms are nicely muscled but not bulky, much like the rest of her. She has the build of someone that works out for health but not for definition. Her eyes are twinkling a bit, watching Slate's face as he watches her -- she's comfortable being examined, and in fact almost seems to enjoy it. Shateishael glances away, slightly embarrassed at being noticed studying her. He has a sip of coffee, his gaze determinedly forward, savoring the hot, sharp flavor of the coffee on his tongue as he waits for her answer. Lilith turns until her back is against the wall, tucking one foot beneath her other leg, facing Slate as she sips her coffee. "Mmm, too much stricture." She continues smiling as she talks. The foot she tucked under the opposite leg is bare, the shoe apparently left on the ground. "Exquisite isn't automatically good."

Shateishael half turns at the movement, his small smile a bit rueful, "I foun' it much th'same, ma'am, when I first arrived. But I learned. Took a whiles, 'n I nearly got killed coupla times... but it's got its own beauty, 'm thinkin'." He sets down his coffee mug, automatically sliding one hand under her extended foot and putting it on his lap -- just as he would for Bella -- and continues talking as he slips off the shoe, setting it next to her, and then starting to massage her foot with his large, strong hands, "Wuz there cuz I wuz in love wi' blades at th'time. Wanted t'fin' th' greatest swordsmith ever." He smiles, his gaze far away and his hands strongly and carefully working along the arch of Lilith's foot, "Learned a damned lot there... 'bout swords 'n 'bout life..."

Lilith looks slightly surprised and quite amused as Slate starts to rub her foot without even thinking about it. She wiggles her toes just a bit. The nails are painted a bright purple, but the polish is slightly chipped from tromping around Black Rock City. Otherwise, she doesn't bring attention to it. "Sacrifice is a noble thing." When the Seraph's thumbs move over the arch of her foot, she makes a sound that's just slightly too intimate for public consumption, "You're good at that. Get a lot of practice?"

Shateishael thinks about that for a moment, not quite registering Lilith's asking about foot massages rather than sword making, "Think so, ma'am. Master Masamune tended t'be real economical 'bout who 'n when he praised... 'n jus' b'fore he died he once called me 'son' whiles he wuz 'xaminin' one a' m'blades." There's a touch of both pride and sadness in his voice... and then he adds quietly, "So yeah, I try t'keep m'hand in, t'keep his teachin's 'live." He still has that far-away gaze, as if he's seeing more memory than the present. His hands are gently working over Lilith's toes as he adds thoughtfully, "Gotta 'gree love's likely th'mos' powerful force inna worlds... 'salways been so f'me, 'leastaways."

Lilith continues to smile as her foot is taken care of. Her eyes are looking languorous, and she mmms in response to Slate's rambling, tapping her fingers slightly on the side of her coffee mug, "Stone can be like that. Whatever makes you tick makes you tick in a big, big way. Love, power, service... it's like David's people become that thing."

Shateishael turns his head to look at Lilith again and nods, rumbling quietly, "Yes'm. 'S parta why I din' call th'Architect right 'way... y'din' offer violence t'no one, 'n we were both doin' sumpthin' we loved. You were drummin'... I wuz dancin'. Hate t'interrupt love wi'anger." His bright blue eyes are almost serene as his strong fingers massage her heel and the ball of the foot, where the hard-packed desert ground takes the harshest toll on feet, and he rumbles thoughtfully, "'S that why y'r not innerested in y'current lovers? They all seem t'wanna possess part a' you, but you seem more innerested in someone that loves alla you. 'Zat whut's happenin', 'r am I jus' not seein' it clearly?"

Lilith makes another one of those slightly-too-intimate sounds as the Seraph's fingers work over the ball of her foot, back stretched out catlike for a moment. "Mmm, no. I'm interested in them or they wouldn't be my lovers. I can afford to pick and choose. But I haven't found anyone that captivates me. The man in Zurich has the most amazing collection of art. The butch does things with a single-tail whip that you wouldn't believe. The pretty boy... he's just pretty. Like making love to a perfect marble statue." She spreads her toes out, wiggling them again, "But I know them too well. It's hard to surprise someone as old as me and I like surprises."

Shateishael nods thoughtfully at that, "'Kay, that makes sense." He starts working on the ankle, gently bending the foot back and forth to stretch it, frowning thoughtfully. A moment later he rumbles, "But... how'd I s'prise ya? Din' think I di- oh. Th'invite t' 'scort'cha upta Heaven?"

Lilith smiles, eyes twinkling, voice warm, "That's one way, yes." The Princess' eyes never leave Slate's face, watching his expression as he unconsciously treats her like she's someone close to him.

Shateishael hmms thoughtfully, "Do y'wanna be s'prised 'n captivated, though?"

Lilith chuckles, "Doesn't everyone?"

Shateishael considers that one for a while... then slowly shakes his head, "Don' think so, ma'am. Least'ways, not that I've seen?" He's silent a moment, finishing off massaging the foot in his lap. Then he turns just enough to carefully and neatly set her foot back on the bench, and pat his lap once, "Gimme t'other one now." As he lifts his hand for her to set her other foot in his lap, he adds thoughtfully, "Think humans like s'prises on'y when they're not scared 'r starvin' 'r 'bout t'get hurt 'r sump'in, y'know?" He adds thoughtfully, "Guess that works f'non humans too, now I think 'bout it."

Lilith is still smiling in amusement as she shifts around to put the other foot into Slate's lap. This one, like the other, has a slight dusting of the alkali dust from the playa. "But the things that really seem to enamor beings of one another are the sweet surprises. Laughter is a surprise, you know. Or coming around a corner and finding your lover standing in the doorway, brushing his hair and humming. Little surprises."

Shateishael lightly dusts off Lilith's foot, then starts massaging it slowly and strongly as well. At her words he sighs quietly, his head lifting and his gaze going far away again. He's got that almost glowing look in his eyes as he slowly smiles and rumbles, "Oh, yeah... 'r comin' in from th'barn at night 'n findin' y'lover's got th'fire goin', hot choc'late, 'n cuddlin' on th'couch in mind..." His hands actually slow for a moment in the massage as he draws another very slow, deep, contented breath... then he pulls himself together a bit and continues the foot massage. "'Kay. Kinda wondered if'n y'd really been in love, but that sure soun's like it t'me." He's silent a moment again, still smiling that quietly joyous smile... then he murmurs softly,

"Daylight, full of small dancing particles
and the one great turning, our souls
are dancing with you, without feet, they dance.
Can you see them when I whisper in your ear?"

Lilith takes another sip of her coffee to cover her amusement. She's not wanting to offend the Seraph, especially when he's doing such very lovely things to her feet. "And you quote poetry... interesting."

Shateishael grins a bit sheepishly, ducking his head for a moment to supposedly study the foot he's carefully massaging -- which allows his bangs to fall forward and half-obscure his face, "Eh, well, it's sump'in' t'keep m'head busy. Wouldn' wanna have an empty one!" He grins, his eyes alight with enthusiasm as he turns to look right at Lilith, "I think sometimes th'human authors c'n half-hear th'Symphony 'r sump'in' -- 'n tha's when th'mos' beautiful poetry gets written." For a moment he almost asks her if she wants to hear the snippet of poetry Bella inspired in his head when he first used his Resonance on her -- then he flushes slightly and looks hastily away -- she'd probably not be interested anyways.

It's at that moment it truly registers for him, and Shateishael abruptly freezes, his body stiffening, slowly raising his hands as he realizes precisely what insanely stupid thing he's doing -- he's giving a foot massage -- to a Demon Prince?! He draws a slow breath, wondering if there's any graceful way around this. Bolting out the door while screaming is probably right out, unfortunately! As he's thinking, Lilith very carefully extracts her foot from Slate's lap, saying in a very gently teasing tone of disappointment, "Damn. I was hoping you wouldn't realize until you'd done my calves."

Shateishael straightens with excruciating caution, feeling the adrenaline rush screaming through his vessel's system. Very, very carefully he murmurs, "Sorry 'bout that, ma'am..." He blinks, then draws another slow, careful breath, still not looking at her as he considers her last statement... then he cautiously adds, "Hope y'din' min'... din' mean nuthin' disrespectful. Jus'... you remind me real strong a' y'daughter sometimes...?"

Lilith tucks her feet up until she's sitting tailor-fashion, eyes still twinkling with mild amusement, "If I'd felt disrespected, Slate, you'd already know it." She finishes off her coffee and sets the mug gently on the table.

Shateishael sits very still for a moment, considering again... then he says carefully again, "Um... 'n hope y'din' mind? 'R... if I wuz 'nnoyin', I c'n jus' leave, if'n y'want?"

Lilith leans forward, letting her face go serious, "Slate. I. Am. Not. Annoyed."

Shateishael flinches slightly as she suddenly leans forward, then hastily stops himself, thinking, [Don't be rude! Don't want to make it worse...] At her words he glances sideways at her, thinking furiously... and finally, very carefully, he leans back in his seat again and murmurs a touch tentatively, "Then... y'wan' me t'finish? Wuz almos' done...?"

Lilith leans back and stretches out both of her feet, putting them in Slate's lap, "I'd be a fool to say no."

Shateishael is still for a moment again, firmly reminding himself -- these are just feet! And he did offer, even if he's not entirely sure precisely why now... slowly, carefully, he raises his hands again; carefully and lightly he runs his fingertips along her foot in a gentle, stroking touch... then he takes a deep breath and mentally shakes himself by the scruff of the neck. Focus! He's giving a foot massage -- do it right. He closes one large hand gently around her foot, and continues working his fingers along the heel and ball of the foot, strongly massaging again. After a silent moment he adds ruefully, "Thanks f'th'compliment, ma'am."

Lilith smiles and wiggles her toes, chuckling softly, "Mmm... you're quite welcome." She tips her head slightly, saying as if she's surprised about it, "You're afraid of me?"

Shateishael thinks about that for a moment... then rumbles quietly, "Guess 'm more 'fraida offendin' ya, ma'am. So far been..." his voice sounds almost a touch surprised, "been 'njoyin' talkin' w'ya, 'n wond'rin' if'n y'd be innerested in talkin' 'bout more ph'losophy like las' time... but'cha said y'din' like young men that try t'tell ya what t'do..." his voice trails off as he considers a bit longer -- then he adds dryly, "Guess some'a m'worry wuz th'stuff folks say 'bout'cha too."

She arches a brow and that quirky little smile comes over her face again, "What have you heard?"

Shateishael finishes off the massage with the gentle stretching of her ankle, then reaches for her one leather-thong sandal that he set on the booth bench. He settles it on her foot, then grins, "Wanna walk t'th'store now, 'n talk onna way?"

Lilith puts her foot down to retrieve the other sandal without using her hands, "Sounds perfect." She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill. She lays it on the table, "That should cover us."

Shateishael smiles, shaking his head, "Ma'am, already said I'd pay. Lemme do it, please." He gently nudges her bill over to her, then pulls his own wallet from his hip pack, laying down another twenty. He straightens then, adding, "An' tha's th'sorta stuff I've heard, ac'shully -- that y'end up wi'folks owin' ya, even when they don' wanna or they're in good faith, y'know?" He rises himself, then turns and courteously offers her his hand to also rise from the booth, musing for a moment before rumbling thoughtfully, "Thing is, things I really wanna have, don' think you c'n help me with... so guess y'd hafta see one a' th'non-conscious thin's I s'pposedly want, 'r sumpthin' like that?"

Lilith leans close enough that her breath is brushing Slate's skin very slightly, "Shateishael, when you owe me, you'll know." There's more joking in her voice than anything else. She slides the bill back into her pocket.

Shateishael reflexively flinches the tiniest bit when she speaks so close... then he rumbles with rueful amusement, "Y' like doin' that, don'tcha, ma'am?" It's a heartbeat later that he really jerks back, his eyes bright and wary -- how'd she know his name?!

Lilith smiles, shrugging, "Sometimes I can't help it. I told you -- I like surprises." She does sounds truly apologetic. A moment later she smiles and can't help adding, "You might be surprised what I could help you with, though."

Shateishael takes a slow step back, his extended hand falling to his side, and carefully shakes his head, "No, thank you, ma'am. Um... how'd you know m'name?" Like a nervous horse on the brink of bolting, he's sharply focused on her even as he's carefully leaning away.

Lilith smiles almost sadly, "I wasn't offering, Slate." She shrugs, seeing no reason to lie to the Seraph, "I saw it in your eyes."

Shateishael draws in a slow, tight breath again, his head reflexively tilting away from her... then rumbles warily, "Um... maybe... I sh'd jus' be goin'..." He's deeply spooked, and it's worsened by his sudden piercingly clear realization that he can't tell at all if she's lying or not. Is this blind-headedness how everyone that's not a Seraph stumbles through the world?! If so, he's just gotten one hell of a painful dose of empathy dumped on his head!

Lilith's smile looks slightly wistful, "If you wish, Slate. I'm sorry I... forgot myself. I got a little too comfortable."

Shateishael hunches his shoulders for a moment, looking away almost baffledly, [It's much easier to dislike demons when they don't sound almost... well, wistful or something...] he reflects. He considers a moment... then his nature reasserts itself, "I jus'... cain't read y' 'tall, ma'am. 'S real... disconcertin', not bein' able t'tell if'n y'r tellin' Truth 'r not." He sighs, absently running his hands through his hair, unwittingly making a mess of his loose braid as he adds, "I... still need t'go shoppin', though. Um... if... if y'don' mind not usin' y'r Resonance on me, 'r whutever else y'jus' learned, I'd be hap-" he cuts off, not able to finish the sentence -- he wouldn't be happy at all, actually... but he'd feel he was at least doing the polite, right thing. "Er... I'd be willin' t'... t' 'scort'cha bit more, since 's kinda my fault y'r here now?"

Lilith smiles warmly and shakes her head, "No, I'm sorry. I'll let you get your supplies. I'll visit with the folks around here that I know. You know where to find me if you decide you'd like to talk Sartre."

Shateishael looks a bit startled -- Sartre was not really what he had in mind as philosophy -- but then pulls himself together and nods politely, "Um... drummin'?"

Lilith smiles, "That, or you know where my camper is." She chuckles, just that bare hint of teasing in her voice again, "I promise not to invite you in. Even if you do have an extremely nice ass."

Shateishael struggles for a moment, but can't help the slightly sheepish grin that slips across his face, "Um... thanks f'th'compliment 'gain then, ma'am." He stands still for a moment, slightly startled at how easily she's letting go -- then turns and paces silently out, nodding politely once to the waitress. Outside the restaurant he just stands for a few minutes, his face turned up to the sun, drawing deep, slow breaths.

Once Slate is back to camp, he finds that Bella has left him two things: a note letting him know that she's going to be doing something (she doesn't specify what exactly) with Peony, and a ring made of braided silver with three small gems set in it -- red, green, and yellow. Shateishael blinks at the ring, wondering where it came from. He picks it up, examining it curiously to see how it was made and who it was sized for. The ring is not delicate, despite the materials. The stones, which seem to be a garnet, an aventurine, and a topaz, are set into a triangle with the topaz topmost. And it fits Slate's right ring finger almost perfectly. Shateishael smiles slowly, his expression warming as he wonders how Bella created the ring. Did she ask Karl, maybe?

Shateishael grins, trying the ring on -- it's a lovely gift! He's inordinately delighted, and leaves it on while he unpacks and puts away the groceries he's bought, humming contentedly to himself. [Wonder if the colors signify anything?] Once he's done he stops to review and check the time... he'd thought to go dancing tonight -- with Bella if she was back, and on his own if not. He considers, then preps for dancing -- more water, a tiny first aid kit in his hip pack (since he has no Song of Healing and has been known to dance blisters on either his own feet or those of his partners), no T-shirt... he studies the ring thoughtfully. He's going to get hot and sweaty while dancing... perhaps best not to start tarnishing the poor ring immediately.

Slate carefully sets the ring back on Bella's note, then finds a pen. In his usual lovely calligraphy (since he knows no other way to write) he thanks Bella for the lovely gift, lets her know he's out dancing (should she return before he does, and/or wish to join him), and will be be back very late that night. Then he stretches again, enjoying the feel of his body moving, the muscles shifting and working across his back and torso... he's looking forward to a good, hard night of tribal-style dancing! Pounding drums, the fire leaping, dancing in a prickly trance of dust and sweat mingling, blurring the boundaries between his body and the earth, feeling the heartbeat of his almost feral desire -- he straightens, grinning, his eyes bright and teeth flashing as he strides swiftly into the growing twilight. There's a dance ground out there calling his name!

The night is almost chaotic with moving artwork and people in costumes dancing through the streets and visiting with one another. The sounds of deep, heartbeat-like drums tug Slate toward one particular circle formed around a platform that holds a bonfire that leaps into the chill desert night as if it has a life of its own. Bodies are silhouetted around it, leaping and stomping to the pounding of the drums. The drummers are clumped into a group on the north side of the fire, sweat streaming down their bodies as palms strike the taut drumheads.

Shateishael's eyes gleam with excitement and he almost bounds onto the circle, throwing himself into the music and the motion with abandon -- he has a great deal of tension to work off tonight! He laughs as he dances, tossing his golden hair back, and it catches the ruddy shine of firelight, rippling down his bare back as he stamps and whirls and floats through the thrumming music.

In the center front of the drummers is Lilith. She's standing this time, the drums in front of her a deeply polished pair of congas. Her white teeth flash in a feral, joyous grin in the firelight as she watches the dancers losing themselves to the pull of the drums. The princess is dressed in a snug sports bra in some dark color and a flaring, multi-colored broomstick skirt. Her feet seem to be bare, and her hands are wrapped in medical tape again, her chestnut hair flying loose as she stomps and bobs with the music. The drummers around the Princess follow her lead without even meaning to, the beats of their instruments weaving into the intricate pattern that suffuses the dancers.

Shateishael feels inspired by both drummers and dancers tonight -- the heat prickles along his skin and the drums pound with the throb of the blood coursing through his beating heart. Somehow it doesn't matter Lilith is the drum lead; somehow what truly matters is only the wild, dancing music within this firelit moment. He laughs again, whirling around a few of the slower, more deliberate dancers, his moccasin'd feet stepping lightly against the dusty ground in praise of life, of joy, of love...

Some of the dancers aren't even moving their feet, swaying and using their arms and hands to express themselves as the thump and thud of hands on drumheads seems to seep into the very ground. The dust of the playa is raised in a cloud like a very low-lying fog, stirred by the dancing and the wind and the fire. When Slate whirls past the drummers a short bit later, he can see that there are dark blots on the heads of Lilith's drums. Her hair is spilling over her shoulders in a cascade and she's laughing as she takes a moment, letting a young man that looks far too pretty to be real wraps yet more tape around her fingers, clucking over her hands. This is all in pantomime, the drums drowning out anything else.

Shateishael pauses a moment -- then realizes she's actually doing what she said she wanted to do: drum until her hands bleed! He winces slightly at that, stepping out of the dance long enough to lightly touch the young man's shoulder, holding up his tiny first aid kit from his hip pack. If the kid wants some real bandages, Slate's willing to share. He's careful not to look at Lilith too much, though. In his current mood he's not entirely sure he wouldn't offer to whirl her away into the dance -- she's reminding him uncomfortably strongly of Bella, and he can already barely resist stroking Bella when they dance.

The young man looks startled as the rather large blonde comes out of the crowd and offers a first aid kit. He smiles a bright, beautiful smile at Slate and leans close enough to be able to shout over the drums, "Thank you! It's like she's in a trance or something!" The boy smears some antibiotic ointment on Lilith/Electra's fingers and covers them with gauze and tape. Lilith protests, "Oh, come on! I won't be able to feel the drums with all that cloth!" Joe -- if this happens to be him -- grins and shouts, "Then go dance!" He gives her a playful shove, just as any young lover would do to his companion. Perhaps there's a certain freedom in him not knowing who she really is. Shateishael bares his teeth in a half-tranced grin of his own at the young man -- he's guessing this is indeed poor 'sweet Joe' -- then closes his eyes for a moment as the young man pushes Lilith out onto the dance floor, wondering, [Is this fate?] Then he shakes his head sharply, tucking the little kit away. [Don't be a fool -- she may not even want to dance, let alone with you!]

Lilith rolls her eyes in an exaggerated show of being forced. Her lover takes her place at the drums, keeping up the rhythm but missing some small part of the primal rightness of it. The Princess of Freedom whirls her way out into the dancers, hair flying out in a curtain as she just lets her body blindly follow the music that she started. She flashes a quick smile at Slate but doesn't get too close, conscious of the Seraph's earlier discomfort with her. Her dancing isn't the same sinuous seduction as Bella's belly dancing -- there's something wilder in it -- the grace of a stampede or a hurricane as she sweeps around the fire, bare feet stomping against the desert ground, hands reaching alternately for the stars and the fire.

Shateishael steps out onto the dance ground a few breaths later, carefully not looking for Lilith. He just listens to the thundering drums for a few heartbeats more, letting his hips start swaying lithely with the music as it starts to flow through him, to weave deeply into the Symphony itself... he laughs softly for the sheer joy of it, then steps out into the dance's insidious beat, swirling mesmerizingly around him and everyone else out there with him. This is what dancing is all about -- joie du vivre! To Slate the music is almost palpable -- a deep, rumbling, powerful beat that picks him up effortlessly, calling him like the voice of his Superior. Lighter tones flourish and weave through it, and he takes a deep breath and does the same, relaxing inside himself, letting the beat rise up through his stamping feet, thrill poundingly up through his body until it echoes his heartbeat, his swaying body matching its hypnotic throb... he tosses his head, shaking his hair back, and roars with primal joy at the stars. The powerful drums effortlessly drown him in sound, and he abandons himself to the music once again. He spreads his arms like wings, lightly brushing against passing partners, sweeping past some and whirling sensuously around others, a fiercely joyous grin alight on his face.

Shateishael isn't sure when or how it happened, but he suddenly realizes his partner is Lilith again. He laughs in spite of himself and lightly lifts her up in his arms, whirling her around effortlessly with the flowing, ecstatically thundering music, laughing again as her loose hair drifts across his bare, sweaty arm and face. Lilith lets herself be swept up in the dance with Slate, her hands going to his hair and clutching it fiercely as she grins down at him, the firelight and her hair painting her face into stripes of light and shadow, one eye gleaming for a moment only to be obscured in the next second, only to have her lips revealed in a laughing, singing grin. She lets go of the Seraph's hair the moment he starts to move his head, raising her hands over her head, reaching toward the ecstatic wash of stars in the clear, perfect sky.

Shateishael is suddenly reminded of a song he heard while learning how to tango, and the almost throbbing delirium of abandoning himself to its shimmering, pleasurable movement,

"This is how the tango is danced;
feeling in the face,
the blood that raises in each beat,
while the arm,
like a serpent,
coils around the waist...

This is how the tango is danced;
mixing the breath,
closing the eyes
to hear better
as the violins say to the bellows,
why from that night..."

The euphoric heat whirls up through his body in passionate waves of frenzied movement, and if he could he would fly his partner up to Heaven itself -- he's lost Shateishael and Lilith, and is now reacting in a far more primitive fashion. There is beauty and movement and joy in the night, and he and his current partner are as much part of it as they are of life itself.

Lilith lets herself respond to the music and to the angel, body moving with complete and ecstatic abandon. Her hair, her skirt twirl and flare out, surrounding her in a susurrant cloud of sensation and scent. The woody earth smoke of the fire mixes with the smell of amber and fresh sweat unique to bonfires and bodies moving in concert. The Princess lets out a sound that's half howl, half laugh -- and completely joyous. Shateishael has been devoured by the night and the rhythm, mentally purging former worries with the purity, intensity, and pleasurable exhaustion of sensual dance. A partner who shares his fierce, smoldering addiction to this almost furiously impassioned moment is one he'll continue to dance with as long as she pleases -- or until something else shatters this ardent, almost stormy moment.

Lilith sometimes clings to Slate for a moment, so that cloth, skin, and hair swirl around him for just an instant -- until the rhythm of the drums pulls their bodies apart in a celebration of Freedom. The Princess seems just as lost, as open, and as uninhibited as the Seraph. Time seems to be shifting, moments stretching like warm toffee or snapping by with the speed of light. It only starts to solidify again when the rhythm of the drums change, deepening from the heart-racing pounding to something deeper, seeming to come up through the earth itself to manifest in the drums. The drums slow, the beat measured, more deliberate, a stalk rather than a sprint.

Shateishael doesn't even really consciously adjust his dance -- the slowing of the drumbeats slows him as well, and his movements become prowling, light-footed, deliberately hunting steps. Like a big cat he sweeps closer to the lady as the music builds emphasis. He paces in time with her, moving closer to make the first light, inviting touch against her upraised hands. He's effortlessly falling into a tango, his lean, sweaty body swaying near her sensuously swaying, fluid form, hungrily suggesting a shared moment in the inflaming story of the dance. The movement seems to flow from the music naturally and Lilith lets her body follow the angel into it. The hypnotic power of the drums and the dance strip away Celestial and Infernal, Princess and Seraph, everything down to the essence of male and female, Freedom and Truth blending into one brilliant convergence.

Shateishael feels a dreamlike pleasure, his gaze as heatedly devouring as his partner's is promising. Slow and fluidly she moves, steps light and sure as she draws nearer, her gracefully moving arms beckoning her partner closer and her smoldering gaze fiercely intent again. He grins, transported, and swirls her around lightly. A moment later she's supple and willowy in his arms as she lets him move her gracefully about, then swaying together into the dance's intricate steps. He thinks he can feel her heartbeat where she's pressed against his chest -- the rhythm pounding through them both, melting them together into one powerful, needy, almost nakedly Truthful moment of Freedom, deeply enjoying the music thrumming hypnotically through them almost as much as they enjoy the heat and sensuality of their shifting, arousing movements against each other. Lilith has one hand wrapped around to tangle in the hair on the back of Slate's head, eyes averted just enough draw his gaze with the promise of the flash in them.

The Princess' face is a hard heartbeat away from her partner's -- when she finds herself pulled away from the Seraph's shining presence, the moment breaking with a heart-stopping instant of slamming back into herself, the spirit of the dance and drums leaking out of her. Her hand releases her grip on Slate's hair the instant she feels herself being pulled away, and she spins into the person, feeling a moment of sharp regret and irritation at the moment being shattered. A second later she finds herself holding the body of a young girl who has danced herself into passing out; the yank on Lilith's arm had been the collapsing dancer trying to keep from hitting the ground. If Lilith had been any slower than one would expect from an Infernal Princess, the girl would be sprawled in the alkali dust. Shateishael blinks, a bit startled himself -- then steps in the way of the on-coming dancers, so Lilith and the girl aren't trampled. He's not thinking entirely clearly himself yet -- he simply scoops them both up and whirls swiftly off the dance floor. Once he's clear he gently sets them both down, putting his head next to Lilith's ear to rumble, "She okay? Wha' happened?"

Being swept up bodily with another person is a moment that can take anyone's breath, and Lilith is panting a bit when Slate sets her down with the girl. She looks around for the nearest bottle of water, eyes flicking around as thoughts snap through her head, "She passed out... probably dehydrated."

Shateishael hands her his bottle, already checking the girl visually for any other potential problems. "Dammit... don' hav'a Song a' Healin'." He raises his head, looking around for any friends she might have nearby -- or someone more medically trained than he. He also glances at Lilith, adding a bit worriedly, "Y'r 'kay, yeah?" He remembers her bleeding fingers, and reaches to gently turn one of her hands over if she lets him, checking the bandages.

Lilith smiles almost drunkenly, "I do... and I am... yes." She leans close to the girl, whispering into her ear, her voice unheard in the thunder of the drums but the Song thrilling through the Symphony as the girl's body is Healed of the damage she caused it by getting too lost in the dance. The Princess lets her hand be taken, the bandages there and showing spots of dark blood.

Shateishael sighs in relief at the Healing, leaning his head next to hers to be heard again, rumbling, "Thanks!" Then he frowns thoughtfully at her fingers. Do they need more bandaging, or is this just normal leakage? He reaches for his medkit, hoping it wasn't him that caused the renewed bleeding.

Lilith has been using her free hand to help the girl sip at water, letting it seem as if she is just coming around from the fainting spell on her own. After a moment the girl's friends have escorted her away, leaving the Princess and the Seraph alone with Slate examining the wounds. They don't seem to be leaking fresh blood, but neither have they healed any more than a human's hands would. Slate looks a bit surprised at that. He looks up at Lilith, still somewhat concerned as he remembers that almost... drunken sound to her voice. Leaning towards her again, he rumbles slowly so he can be heard, "Y'r not healin' fast's I'da 'xpected. Y'sure y'okay? When wuz'a last time y'drank anythin'?" He gently nudges her hand, holding his water bottle, towards her mouth, "Might wanna have some now?"

Lilith is still beaming at him, but the tone of her voice is serious, as if not wanting to let anyone not closer know what's really happening, "Joe thinks I'm human.... he's seen the wounds; I have to keep them." She curls her fingers around Slate's, giving his hand a soft squeeze, "Besides, sometimes it's important to know how a human feels."

Shateishael nods slowly, suddenly understanding... and agreeing, "Gotcha. 'Least drink some, though? Don' wantcha faintin' on me." Lilith takes the bottle of water and takes several long gulps. Shateishael sighs and relaxes a bit, watching and waiting. When she's done he has some also, remembering he should be careful with himself as well. After he snaps the bottle back into his hip pack he reacts normally for him -- he puts his arms around his partner and rises, gently setting her on her feet. He leans to rumble in her ear again, "Y'wanna dance 'ny more, 'r've I m'nop'lized enuff'a y'r time t'night?" When he straightens he's grinning a bit self-consciously at her -- he had a wonderful time, but he doesn't want to be rude.

Lilith closes her eyes as Slate murmurs into her ear, smiling with a quiet and gentle amusement. She turns her head to murmur back, "Seraph, I'm afraid if I let myself dance with you that I will end up having to explain to my sweet Joe how I wound up making love to a stranger." Threaded through the humor is the barest suggestion of heat, just enough to show there is a tinge of truth to the exaggeration.

Shateishael smiles quietly, somewhat understanding how one could feel that way after dancing like this, even though he wouldn't really feel like it unless he was with his lovers. Instead he simply nods, his arms loosening about her, and rumbles softly into her ear, "Y'wanna go back on y'own, 'r wanna escort?" He glances around as he does so, placing where folks are... and wondering a bit wistfully if Bella and Peony would mind his company -- even all sweaty as he is now.

Lilith stands on her own feet and, if Slate lets her, draws one of his hands up to kiss the backs of his fingers, "I believe I should probably go on my own. Thank you for the dance." She slips away from him, weaving her way through the people thronging the circle, toward Joe and the drums. Some of the wildness of the dance seems to cling to her, leaving a hint of stalk to her walk.

Shateishael smiles a bit bemusedly -- he's never had his hand kissed before by anyone not a lover. He waits long enough to be sure she gets back safely (although there is an amused realization he's being carefully and politely protective over someone immensely more powerful than he!), then grins, stretching his arms high overhead and rising onto tiptoes with bone-creaking pleasure. A moment later he spreads his arms wide like the Thunderbird and starts a relaxed, happy, light-stepping dance of his own, swaying with the drum beating as he heads off elsewhere -- no need to tempt fate, after all.

Shateishael checks his current location, trying to figure out where he might wander by and perhaps catch sight of his beautiful Bright lover and Peony. Hmm... the Jewels site is closest. He's not sure if they'd remain there at night -- the Ethereal camp is a slightly stronger possibility -- but he can swing by Peony's site on the way to his shared tent. Once there he can wash up a bit, so he doesn't scare everyone away in the Ethereal encampment! He grins cheerfully to himself, then lazily starts one of the chanting songs of the Comanche as he continues his dancing, musical 'flight' towards Peony's site.

The Jewels camp is not empty, but neither is it exactly crowded. There are a few small clumps of people here and there, and from one of the clumps the sound of a pair of familiar voices can be heard raised in laughter. Shateishael brightens, his chant fading off to a whisper and his pouncing, dancing gait shifting to a more normal, long-striding walk. He too has a touch of the fey joy of the dance still lingering about his demeanor as he strolls over towards the clump of folks. He stays politely back, however, still quite heated and sweaty from the dancing about the drum fire, and rumbles with quiet pleasure, "Hey, y'all. Whatcha up to?" once he spots Bella and Peony.

If Slate moves toward the sound of the voices, the forms of Bella and Peony -- wearing paint-and-clay smeared clothes -- are reclining on the cushions. A bottle of wine is between them and a tray of something that smells of brown sugar and honey. When his voice cuts in, both women smile at him, Bella rising to fit herself into his arms, completely heedless of the sweat. Shateishael blinks a bit startledly, but catches her gladly and hugs her close and warm, sighing with pleasure at the feel and scent of her, "Mmm, y'r sight f'sore eyes, Bellisima." He nuzzles her hair and rumbles with lazy contentment.

Bella smiles and slides her hands along Slate's back, nuzzling her cheek against his chest, "Peony's been teaching me how to do stained glass." The Bright feels relaxed and warm against the Seraph's body, her hair falling down her back in a ponytail.

Shateishael mms contentedly, about ready to melt with pleasure -- he's still all steamy feeling inside from the dancing! He manages to pull himself together enough to rumble a touch apologetically, "Sorry'm kinda stinky, ladies... been dancin' hard! Was wunnerful." He grins shyly at Peony over Bella's head, adding, "Thanks f'bein' s'nice t'us all, Miz Peony."

Bella laughs, shrugging, "I've been working with clay and soldering irons today; I'm sure I don't smell like a rose." She stretches as far up as she can, breathing in her lover's scent, "You smell like wood smoke."

Shateishael draws a slow, deep breath as Bella's body slides along his, then rumbles exactly what he's thinking, "Lover, don' wanna be no fun right now f'ya, but'cha keep doin' that 'n 'm gonna wanna fall over onna cushions right here wi'ya!"

Bella raises her head to gives Slate a rather heated and mischievous look, "Then you probably want to take me back to the tent." Peony chuckles softly, not so much ogling as watching with warm affection.

Shateishael mms contentedly, nuzzling Bella's hair again, murmuring into its softness and scent, "Don' wanna innerupt y'all...?" He slides his hands with sensual enjoyment along Bella's back and down the flare of her hips as he rumbles to her, "Oh! A'mos' f'got -- y'r mom's real curious 'bout which Bright I'm 'pparently 'ssociated wi', Bellisima. An' she wuz lookin' f'me when she foun' me, earlier t'day."

Peony clears her throat and rises, taking her bottle of wine and a glass, "Oh, I think that pretty a picture is well worth the interruption. Did I hear drumming..." Her question trails off as Slate makes the slightly mysterious announcement.

Shateishael nods happily to Peony, "Yes'm! That wuz where I wuz dancin', 'n fact, 'n where Bella's mom's drummin'."

Bella arches a brow at the comment about her mom, "Hmmm... I'm likely to bump into her accidentally. Might be best if I go find her myself tomorrow..." She hasn't moved away from Slate through the discussion. Peony nods, "I think I'll go find a circle and see if someone will lend me a drum."

Shateishael grins happily, "Have fun, Miz Peony! Don' look Bella's mom inna eyes, though." He's still almost blissfully running his large, warm hands along Bella's back and sides, and his voice is getting a bit dreamy sounding -- it's very hard to concentrate when he's got lovely Bella pressed close like this!

Peony slips away as Bella leans against Slate's chest, smiling. "Do you want to tell me about the encounter with my mom?" she asks, trying to sound as neutral as possible -- but there's something that says the Bright would rather talk about something else.

Shateishael rumbles lazily, "C'n we talk 'bout 'er later, beautiful? Really would like ta go back t'th'tent wi'ya right now, if'n y'don' min'?" He's starting to press gentle kisses between his sentences along Bella's temple and jawline... and his breathing is deepening noticeably.

Bella laughs softly and stretches up into the kisses, her eyes closing as she melts into the kisses. "I don't mind..." There really are moments that it's obvious how much Bella took unconsciously from Lilith: a tip of her head, a lilt of her voice. Shateishael blinks a bit at that -- it's a bit startling to see bits of the other when he's with the one -- then simply reminds himself that for him, Bella's the beautiful and wonderfully desirable original. Unless she objects he'll gently scoop her up into his arms, facing him similarly to the tantric position they've done together, and head slowly and relaxedly towards the tent, exchanging lazy, languid, fiery kisses with her. Bella cooperates nicely with being carried to the tent. It is one of those moments when she forgets to be scared of how strongly she feels for the Seraph and just lets herself melt into it. The night is long and joyous, the two deeply enraptured angels transported together through an ecstasy filled with the sound of drums and distant merry-making.

[Previous Log] [Index] [Next Log]

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

All material on this site is
Copyright © 2006-2024 Reality Fault
unless specifically indicated on each document.
All Rights Reserved.
Administrated by Reality Fault Webmaster