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Reality Fault

Realms: Burning Man Logs

The Second Night.

After Slate's got himself dressed and a bowl of ice cream put together and packed in a little of the ice supply, the Celestials make their way to the fae encampment. There are a lot more fires around the camps tonight, every one of them up off the ground on some sort of platform. Once they reach the dome, Bella closes her eyes and holds her breath before stepping across it.

Shateishael waits quietly for Bella to cross, so he knows if she'll need reassurance or not. Once past the barrier of glamour, Bella's form seems to waver just a moment. She looks down herself and smiles. From where the two others are standing, she seems the same as before she went in. Shateishael raises an eyebrow, "Int'restin'. Didja concentrate on keepin' y'r form, sweetheart?" He steps though, not concerned about what his form ends up as, but curious as to whether it's just Bella or all of them.

Rosenstern wonders then if the dome conceals how they look from the outside. He too steps through the invisible barrier. Bella turns and tips her head at Slate. "But I did change..." she says, even as Slate walks past the perimeter. Once across, the Seraph can see that Bella did indeed change, but not into the form of the previous night.

Shateishael blinks, then grins, "Oh, of course." He studies his companions curiously.

The Bright is actually wearing clothes this time, a fantastically embroidered sheath of her dress with sleeves that end in points over the backs of her hands. The fabric is a deep green, the embroidery in silver of some sort. Her hair is piled atop her head in mounds of curls and held in place with silver combs decorated with green crystals. Her skin-tone has stayed the same, but there are those small green horns still apparent. Shateishael's eyes widen a bit, and he breaths, "Y'look... beautiful, sweetheart!"

Rosenstern blinks as his head pokes through the barrier, looking at Bella. "Oh, wow! Bella, you look amazing!" Then Rosenstern looks down at himself, and even if he doesn't give voice to it the same way Bella did the first night, the tiny sound he makes is at least equal. Leather, more leather than he could imagine, now sheathes most of his body -- but only most. A corset with adjoined collar is snug about him, leaving his chest bare. Long fingerless gloves are matched by leggings or stockings that plunge into knee-high, narrow-toed and low-heeled boots that buckled all along their height. And while all the leather is in the same shade of 'way too red,' that isn't the only material. The metal used appears to be brass, from the buckles of the corset, boots, and gloves, to the chained star-shape earrings, to the ring upon his left nipple; the exception is the small bracelet Slate gave him so long ago. Translucent, shimmery silk is draped in streamers from his waist.

And there are roses. Roses of every size and shape, all deep and rich and red, are scattered almost randomly upon him, and with worried, rose-corsaged hand he reaches up to touch the garland of roses perched upon his head, not entirely unlike his Celestial halo. The movement makes something jingle and he glances down to catch sight of the short length of brass chain depending from what feels like a ring set into the collar.

The imagery is unsubtle to say the least. Some psychologist in his mind is trying to catalogue the elements, but Rosie can add them up to the whole without deep psychoanalysis. Despite wearing enough red to make a Calabite wonder if the Mercurian has not only Fallen but changed Choirs, the cut and form of the clothing -- to say nothing of the collar -- would seem to put him in a decidedly submissive role... which he would worry about elsewhere, but here... here, he seems to be comfortable... Shateishael glances over at Rosenstern as he speaks -- then his eyes widen again. "Holy crow, Rosie! You look beautiful too!"

Rosenstern blinks to Slate... and the movement makes his earrings make a tiny metallic sound. Startledly Rosie looks at himself more carefully, and takes in a soft gasp. "Oh... oh, my." Though it's a startled sound, it ends up coming out as a purr.

Bella doesn't seem startled at all at her transformation. Though evening gowns are not her normal style, she wears it with aplomb, "You need to wear that more often, Rosie." Shateishael smiles slowly, appreciatively admiring his lovers.

Rosenstern examines himself quickly. "Believe me, if I knew how to I would seriously consider it," he murmurs, then looks to Slate... and blinks again. "Oh, wow... Slate...." Shateishael looks inquiring at Rosie's comment, then looks down at himself curiously.

Bella's head turns and her eyes go very, very wide, "Oh...." is all she manages to say.

Initially Slate's not really surprised at what he sees: the pleats of his usual loose, plain navy hakama billow slightly around his bare feet. The stiff front and back panels are neatly tied about his waist, the open side slits reaching to the top of his thighs just like usual. It's a second later that it really registers... his normal tan seems to have faded away to his original pale skin color... except for the streaming wisps of fire that dance and rise across his arm as he stares at it. Shocked, he watches as bright sparks drift away from his open palm.

A moment later he notices the flowing scarlet bangs drifting across his eyes, and realizes his ordinarily blond hair has gone the color of banked fire. He can't see the glowing gold his eyes are now, nor the upward streams of sparks they shed, but as he raises his hands before his face he realizes from the reflection there must be more firelight behind him. He takes a deep breath, then rumbles carefully, "Do I... have wings a' fire 'r somethin'?" He does, although he can't really see them clearly -- huge, airy wings as fine and delicate as heat shimmer, dancing behind him in a mirage of fiery light and glittering hints of lava.

Rosenstern blinks, looking over Slate's shoulder. "You do, yes. Wow, that's just so incredible." He grins softly. "I remember saying something about fiery lava as a metaphor for the passion of Stone Angels, I think...."

Shateishael nods slowly, still staring bemusedly at his skin, "Uh, yeah... Fire 'n Stone've always been close..." Bella nods mutely, eyes wide enough that they can see the white all the way around. Shateishael holds out a hand, "Am I givin' off heat, guys? I don' wanna burn anyone." Rosenstern reaches out gingerly to Slate's hand, trying to feel if any heat is coming off. Shateishael rumbles a bit worriedly to Bella, "Y'okay, sweetheart?" His voice is a bit different too -- there's a hint of the crackle and roar of fire in it, and not just the usual easy-going gravelly growl.

Bella nods to the question, still silent. The Bright moves close and reaches her hand toward the flaming wings that blaze from Slate's back, seeing if it feels as much like a bonfire as it looks. Oddly, it gets warmer but doesn't seem to be dangerously hot even just a few inches from the flame. Shateishael sighs quietly in relief as no one seems to be burned, and as he does so his skin flushes darker in a lava-like pattern... much like coals that have been breathed on.

Rosenstern gingerly slips his arm around Slate's. "It'd be almost appropriate... I'm willing to bet that Karl told Soma that you'd helped him in his forge today...."

Bella smiles and takes Slate's other arm, "Mmm... well, he does know us a little better now. And if it's based on his perceptions..." She waves vaguely and checks to see if the ice cream made it through. The fact that it did makes her laugh.

Shateishael grumbles, "Coulda warned us..." as he slides his arm about Rosenstern. He nuzzles gently against the graceful little Mercurian's temple, then holds out a hand for Bella. He looks relieved as she also slides up against him, and smiles when she laughs. "Well, now... guess we'll see what he thinks a' his form creations, yeah?"

Rosenstern wonders idly if the ice cream is going to keep from melting this close to Slate! He looks around. "I wonder where everyone is?

Shateishael rumbles, "Prolly in court. Le's go make an entrance, yeah?" Most of the campsites seem empty, though around the edges there can be seen movement in one or two. From the central pavilion there is the sound of drums and what sounds like a hammered dulcimer and perhaps a pipe of some sort. Slate brightens, "Dancin'?! Le's go!" Rosenstern also brightens considerably at mention of dancing, but is ever-mindful of not leaving Slate's side even here.

Shateishael slides through the pavilion's entry flap, then holds it open for his friends. He glances around, a touch proud at being seen with two such lovely entities, and interested to see how folks appreciate them.

Inside, the pavilion looks much different than the night before. Where most of the court seemed to be very casual and comfortable the night before, many of them seem to have dressed for a celebration of some sort. The dryads that can be seen are wearing dresses that float around them likes clouds. The cat-woman from the night before is wearing a slim white skirt and a heavy golden collar that spreads over her shoulders and chest in a spread reminiscent of the sun. Soma's folk are dressed more or less as one might expect of fantastical creatures -- ball gowns and elaborate suits of all types abound, but so do elaborate outfits of vinyl and leather. Soma himself is wearing something straight from Louis XIV's day. The velvet of his suit is midnight blue and the lace that spills from cuffs and throat is almost blindingly white.

Shateishael smiles slowly, both appreciating the finery, and sure his lovers will be remarkable even in this scintillating gathering. The trio gets many smiles of greeting and their fair share of appreciative looks, though it seems each of them catches the attention of a different type of partier. The Summer King smiles broadly and starts to weave his way through the crowd, "Welcome! Welcome! There has been something of a buzz through my court tonight..."

Rosenstern's eyes widen with the amazing panoply of people and costume. His heart gives a bit of a leap when he sees the cat-woman. With that golden mantle and the dress... she... oh, Mutter, could that actually be Bastet? As his eyes go over the crowd he feels himself blushing a little at his own style of dress... then his eyes fall on Soma and he brightens as the Summer King approaches.

Shateishael nods courteously in greeting to Somhairle as he approaches, "Summer King; thank you kindly. Somethin' of a buzz?" He is careful to offer an arm to Bella, and to put an arm around Rosie's waist. It just seems like the right thing to do in a more... courtly style of court.

Rosenstern's appearance draws the eyes of people from several different places and styles, but almost all of them seem to be the sort to hold themselves as if they're very much in control. The Bright in her gown has drawn the eyes of those that seem quite comfortable with themselves; most of the dryads are smiling in her direction. Perhaps it's just that they appreciate the green. Slate... Slate is drawing attention from almost everyone in the room. The flame seems to fascinate some of them, though the butterfly- and moth-winged beings seem to be especially taken. Shateishael is a bit surprised at the attention he's getting -- he'd expected to be more the foil for his lovers again -- but he continues to maintain carefully correct courtesy until he knows more about what's happening tonight.

Soma smiles somewhat apologetically, "The thought that the Winter Court may start to realize that they can't go on the way they are is potent."

Rosenstern glances about a bit, noting the people who seem to be giving him more attention than Slate and Bella. He blushes a little, and shyly edges a bit closer to Slate. He blinks to Soma. "So there's more hope that they might come to your way of thinking?" he asks hopefully.

Shateishael rumbles, "Ah." He's a touch relieved -- for a moment he'd been wondering if he'd offended Karl or something. "So... tonight is a celebration of that realization?"

Once inside, it's easy to see that there is a cadre of musicians huddled together along one side of the pavilion. There is indeed a dulcimer being played nimbly, and perhaps surprisingly, by Puck. A pair of pale-complected beings with fiery red hair and heavy formal kilts are playing drums of various sorts, and one of Soma's people is playing what looks to be a pennywhistle. Shateishael's eyes are hopeful, watching the musicians. Maybe there'll be dancing later. He does love a good, rousing dance!

Soma nods to the question, smiling happily, "Counseling that premature celebration might be regretted wasn't very effective, so a ball it became! I hope we give no offense?"

Shateishael laughs, tossing his head back to get the fiery bangs out of his face for a moment, "A ball offensive? Never! Joy's always a cause f'celebration!"

Rosenstern shakes his head quickly, beaming. "No offense at all!" I just hope we can pull it off!

Almost before the angels are finished assuring Soma that the ball isn't a problem at all, one of the red-haired drummers stands and announces in a rich Celtic lilt that he expects there to be dancing if there's to be drumming. There's a roar of laughter and when the music starts again, couples seem to form without even a moment's consultation. Not all the Ethereals start immediately to dance, though -- some are still mingling. Shateishael grins at the call, then nudges Rosie gently, "Wanna give Soma th' present now, pretty flower?"

The summer king looks pleasantly surprised, "Gifts between friends are never required, but I shall always be honored by them."

Shateishael smiles, "This'n's a gift from all'a us. Thought y'might like it."

Rosenstern ohs! and nods to Slate quickly. He pads quickly to Soma, unable to keep from blushing, and holds out the large bowl up to Soma. This close to the Summer King he still can't keep his heart from fluttering, shivering softly at the feelings Soma elicits within him -- to say nothing of how he looks dressed as he does tonight... the butterfly monarch smiles delightedly, though the expression takes on a slightly more tender tone when it is turned toward Rosie more exclusively. Slender blue fingers stroke the Mercurian's cheek and he chuckles, "Ice cream on the playa? Oh, Friends, this is a present worth gold!"

Shateishael chuckles quietly, watching... then rumbles thoughtfully, "Summer Lord, will you be movin' 'round 'n minglin' mostly t'night, or what?" Bella leans her head on Slate's bicep, smiling slightly as she watches Rosie present the gift.

"Mmm?" It takes a moment for Soma to tear his attention away from Rosie, "Tonight there is an edict that tonight is to be an unstructured one. I will mingle as I please or if there is something else that draws my attention, that shall be what I do."

Shateishael smiles down at Bella, stroking the fiery fingers of his free hand along Bella's hand on his arm... then he glances between the cobalt-blue dressed Summer Lord and the fiery-red dressed Flower angel. He smiles affectionately at Rosenstern, "Y'wanna sit wi'Soma t'night, then, pretty flower, if he's not minglin'?"

Rosenstern half-closes his eyes, his lips in a beatific smile at Soma's touch. Maybe it's what he's been wearing all day, and then to wear this now -- both such wonderful reminders of Neuschwanstein. Maybe it's just the ethereal magic of the dome. But he feels a rush of desire ripple through him, though truth be told it carries images of both Slate and Soma upon it. He smiles softly at Soma's praise. "Where... ah... where may I put this, Summer Lord?" He blinks, glancing back to Slate, not entirely... sure... what to... he blushes, ducking his head to Slate and smiling softly, giving a soft nod. When Burning Man is over, we won't see him for another year... and in between that time there'll be the Winter Court....

Shateishael chuckles quietly, watching Rosenstern's eyes... then he looks up at the Summer King and rumbles quietly, "Take good care a' him, yeah?"

Soma laughs, sounding slightly surprised, "I did not mean to steal your flower, Warrior. Did you have something you wanted of me tonight?" He doesn't step away from Rosie, however.

Shateishael smiles and shakes his head slowly, "Got everythin' I want t'night, Summer Lord." His fingers are still lightly trailing along Bella's hand, and he glances around the pavilion. "Gettin' t'be part of th' magic, w'folks I love. Couldn' ask f'more than that right now." Then he tilts his head thoughtfully, then grins, "Although we all wonder where y'r gettin' these outfits from!" He waves his hand to indicate the angelic three of them.

Soma smiles and laughs, sliding an arm around Rosie and taking the bowl of ice cream from him as he answers Slate, "I have been told that because we are partially creatures of imagination, that fantasy is strong with us. I apologize if the way the glamour changes you is uncomfortable in some way. The glamour is only meant to reveal parts of oneself."

Rosenstern shivers deliciously as he feels Soma's arm around him. Though he blinks a bit at the description of glamour. "So these are... images from, or aspects of, or how we see ourselves?"

Shateishael grins with knowing amusement at Rosenstern, but simply rumbles, "Then we should definitely keep Rosie with one of us alla th'time t'night... don' think he should leave th'room either, please. At least, not without me." He makes a mental note to keep an eye out for his companions, so they can relax and enjoy themselves, and still know someone's on guard for them.

Soma nods, lowering his head in a sort of half-bow to Slate, "We shall stay within sight, Warrior. " The fae king's posture is slightly different in this outfit, back straighter and the lines of his body not quite so relaxed.

Rosenstern relaxes visibly. Though he was feeling his ardor rising at being with Soma again, he feels so very relieved that Slate will be nearby and visible if need be. Bella smiles and nudges Slate with her elbow, "Would you feel better if you stayed near them, hon?"

Shateishael returns the courtesy, "Thank you, Summer Lord." He oofs slightly, then grins amusedly at Bella, "We're inna pavilion t'gether. That should do. Rosie's not onna leash, after all." He blinks as it suddenly occurs to him Rosie might like that -- and makes another mental note for later about that!

There are actually a few tables here and there around the pavilion tonight, perhaps in deference to the different mode of dress for the night. Soma smiles and inclines his head first to Slate and then to Bella, "Warrior, Seductress... please, enjoy yourselves." His fingertips slide into the back of Rosie's vest, giving a little tug, "I believe I would like to sit and have some ice cream with the Flowerkin." Rosenstern feels the tug, and feels strangely entranced by it as he looks up to Soma with a blushing smile.

Shateishael, perhaps surprisingly, knows how to move in a courtly fashion with a lady. He half-bows gracefully to Soma again, "Thank you, Summer Lord," then paces forward with Bella into the big pavilion, carefully skirting the dance floor but still moving so the Bright at his side can show off her elegant outfit. At the end of the current dance he rumbles quietly to Bella, "Hey, lovely lady... wouldja grant me th' honor of th' next dance?"

The Summer King leads Rosie away with the grip on his vest, face smiling warmly. He chooses a table that will only accommodate the two of them and calls over someone to see if they can find a pair of spoons. Then he turns cobalt eyes on the Mercurian, "My memory and my imagination sometimes combine, Flowerkin."

Rosenstern blushes, looking into those eyes. "Then it wasn't my imagination that I've seen this before," he says, his voice having a purring quality to it that he's a little surprised to find there.

Soma shakes his head and reaches across the table to stroke the leather, "Imagination isn't always to be distrusted." The monarch doesn't even seem to notice when a pair of spoons appear in the bowl of ice cream.

Rosenstern shivers a little at the touch and smiles softly, turning his hand up to run his fingertips along the sleeve of Soma's velvet coat. "In which case I adore your imagination."

Shateishael wonders curiously if the flame wings he seems to be sporting will brush against things tangibly or not... then reflects that he'd better check that before he backs into a table or something, knocking it over. He'd prefer to have no social disasters tonight! He glances around, checking for one of the small tables with no occupants. He'll try flicking a wing lightly against one of the chairs, and see what happens. When Slate's wing flicks against the chair, he feels it and the chair rocks slightly. It seems the Seraph is going to have to be careful... though if he thinks back, it seems as if he's been shifting slightly when people brushed too close to his wings, the way he might if someone got close to his back. Just an instinctive reaction, as if he does it all the time.

Shateishael hms thoughtfully... that's a relief. He didn't want to have to split his awareness so, especially when he's promised to keep an eye out for Rosenstern tonight. An outfit like Rosie's practically begs to be touched... and there may be those Rosie's not interested in being touched by, after all. Relieved, he grins down hopefully at Bella, waiting for her reply. Bella beams up at Slate and answers by turning her body toward him, holding her arms in perfect waltz position, "Why, I'd be honored, sir..." She puts a very Vivian Leigh drawl into her voice, eyes twinkling.

Shateishael chuckles quietly, his glowing eyes flaring a little brighter as he gladly slides one arm about her waist and takes up her other hand, "M'not sure we're gonna be able t'waltz t'this music, lover, but I'll gladly dance however y'd like t'night!"

Bella laughs and squeezes Slate's hand, "It's just as well. I don't actually know how to waltz." She throws her head back with an impish grin, "But you get to lead." Shateishael blinks and draws in a slow breath at that gesture, his skin darkening into that glowing lava effect again... then he leans down to press his warm lips against Bella's lovely bared throat. Bella ohs and gives a little shiver, murmuring, "Oh... that feels interesting..." When Slate's lips brush against her throat, the flames flickering along her skin for a moment, heating it but not burning it.

Shateishael, encouraged, takes his time and gives several languid, nibbling kisses as well. Bella gets caught up in the kisses and finds herself moving slightly with them and with the music, which has taken on a slow lilting tone for the moment. Her fingers brush just over Slate's hair, not quite touching it.

Shateishael feels very strange, although it's a wonderful, almost incandescent sort of sensation filling him tonight. The music pours through him, one with the Symphony, as clear and powerful and beautiful as the flames he can sense dancing around him... Bella feels like fire or music herself, held close in his arms, being careful not to squeeze the delicate beauty he can sense flowing between them. The other dancers themselves touch on his consciousness as lightly as fellow instruments in an emotional concert of passionate harmony, like flames whirling slowly in the same orchestra. Bella just seems to float on the music and the sheer joy that seems to flood the room. And it's easy to relax into Slate's arms. As careful as she always is to try to keep her boundaries well set, it just doesn't seem much to matter tonight.

Soma nods and picks up one of the spoons without even looking, wings fluttering for a moment. For the second time that day Rosie finds himself being fed ice cream as Soma talks, voice gentle but serious, "You have spoken with Bacchus about more of our nature?" The tone says he already knows the answer.

Rosenstern hesitates just a little in the slow licking of the ice cream from the spoon. "Yes, he told us... some of it," he says quietly.

Soma finishes the second half of the spoonful of ice cream for himself, still solemnly smiling as he scoops up another, "Understanding that part of us is important... I find myself relieved it has not scared you away. Love can be important."

Rosenstern blushes and smiles to Soma, shaking his head. "It has not scared me away. It's helped me to understand."

The summer king nods and smiles, shifting his chair around until he's sitting beside instead of across from Rosie. The lace of his cuff is surprisingly soft as it brushes the Mercurian's shoulder, fingers looking to slide into the rose-encircled hair, "What I can offer is not love as you think of it... but I would like to be allowed to behave as if I do love you. The shadow of something can remind us of its true shape."

Rosenstern smiles softly, making a quiet sound, tilting his head into Soma's touch. His voice, though still warm and tender, is a little somber. "I... I would want that... so very, very much... I would just not want to hurt you or Slate. Soma, you... bring feelings out in me; make whatever inhibitions I have flee. And I know enough that it is more than just base desire that I feel. I just... need to ask, and I don't want... I don't wish you harm in my asking." He tries to frame the question one final time, then asks softly, "Is it that you have lost love, that you cannot?"

Soma smiles quietly and shakes his head, "I could allow myself to love you, little blossom, but to give that piece of me up would put my people at risk. And it would create a bond that could be unwanted once Bran is ascendant." His fingers flex like he wants to grab Rosie's hair, but instead he just strokes.

Rosenstern makes another soft sound of pleasure, felt more than heard, with the gentle petting. He nods softly, smiling. "I think I understand." His hand moves slowly, to gently run his fingertips over Soma's. Then he blinks a little. "How do you mean, when Bran is ascendant?"

Soma's hand slides down and his thumb brushes the side of Rosenstern's throat, "When I am my other self, Flowerkin..."

Rosenstern lifts his chin up a little with the touch upon his throat. "Oh..." he says softly. "And... you would fear that bond would... it would exist when you were your other self."

Nodding, Soma leans in, first kissing just under the angle of Rosie's jaw and then dragging his teeth over the skin there, fingers going back to tangle in the Mercurian's hair, "That is my fear..." he whispers against Rosie's skin. It doesn't seem to occur to him that his actions and his words are so totally at odds.

Bella lets Slate and the music guide her around the pavilion. Being Celestial has never managed to dull her delight in beings with wings, and when it happens to be the Seraph it's just that much more enchanting. And the big Seraph is indeed quite enchanted, almost afloat in the ecstasy of shared movement with Bella. The lilting music, his lovely partner, the curiously exotic form he currently wears -- the sheer physical sensuality of the dance itself... he literally glows joyously from within, sparks swirling dreamily away from him as the two of them drift across the floor with one conjoined purpose.

Rosenstern takes in a sharp breath, his eyes fluttering closed. "And... and what... ooooh...." Rosie... Rosenstern... Kabatstselael, you have to ask him. You're an Intercessionist, you see humans tell themselves all the time that they won't fall in love, that they won't stay in an hurtful relationship, and then they do, repeatedly. You need to ask him, even if it means breaking the moment. Please, forgive me, Soma. "How... how can one pretend to be in love, and yet not be in love?" His voice is tiny, reluctant to ask it, but he does all the same, each word hurting.

As Soma and Rosie speak, the musicians launch into a rollicking tune, sounding somewhere between a reel and simply a joyful noise. Somehow, it works. Shateishael looks almost bemused as he raises his head, as if he'd forgotten where he was... then he grins down at Bella, his glowing eyes flashing, and whirls the Bright joyously into the faster paced dance! Bella's dress doesn't spin outward like a fuller skirt would, but she reaches up and tugs on the pins holding her hair in place, letting it fall down around her shoulders to spin outward with the movement of the dance. Shateishael draws in his breath sharply again at the silken fall of hair across his arm about Bella... his grin is a touch quirky as he rumbles to her, "Think I un'erstan' now what they meant 'bout dance bein' vertical sex, lover!"

The Bright laughs happily and whirls through the dance with Slate, "It is when you get to do it with someone who makes you feel beautiful." There are other dancers around the angels, but Bella isn't noticing a one. If either of them took their eyes from the other, they'd see one of the appreciative faces is Bacchus, who is dancing with his daughter in a much less evocative way.

Shateishael smiles slowly, his eyes warm both literally and metaphorically, "You are beautiful, sweetheart... inside 'n' out, y' glow so brightly. No wonder people flock t' you -- y' light up their souls too."

Soma's mouth pauses and his breath is warm against Rosie's skin for a moment before he draws back until he can look into the Mercurian's face again. His voice is husky, taking on tones that deepen the musical sound of it into something more earthy, from a flute to a clarinet, "With great care, sweet pe..." he stumbles for a moment and then continues, "Sweet petal... for us it is more than simply emotion. It is about our essence, our being..." On the last word, he presses a hand against the center of Rosie's chest, where a human's heart would beat.

Rosenstern feels the pause and winces, like a spear thrust through his Heart. As Soma draws back he can see how hurt the little Mercurian feels for having hurt him. As he listens, though, he feels himself drawn more and more into those eyes and that voice, wanting desperately to lose himself in them and to be possessed by them, by him. He blushes at the name given him by the Summer Lord, even as he wonders at the faint stumbling upon it. He puts his hand upon Soma's, holding it to his chest. "I don't want to see you hurt," he whispers. "But I trust you." Mutter, am I going to regret this later? Is this why Judgment and Purity and the Sword all tell us to avoid dealing with Ethereals? But how can I be otherwise? "I... I would want to talk with Slate. He's a part of this as well."

Soma nods and kisses Rosenstern's forehead, leaving his hand where it is for the moment, "Of course he is, sweet petal. He is yours as much as you are his. As much as all of you belong to one another."

Rosenstern blushes with the kiss, smiling blissfully, and nods a little, opening his eyes. They are bright now, glittering in the light of the court, and his smile is warm and gentle. "Then maybe for tonight we should enjoy the moment. I can't imagine Slate and Bella aren't."

Soma smiles and raises his eyes as if just remembering he promised something about staying in sight. He smiles so brightly that his eyes seem almost to glow. His skin hasn't yet started having that luminescence however, "Oh... they seem to be drawing admiration and envy..." Indeed, some of the court is looking as if they want to be in one of the angels' shoes. It's not always clear which pair they would want to occupy.

Rosenstern glances over, and smiles warmly, giving a soft laugh. "Oh, they're wonderful! I didn't know Slate could dance so well...!"

Soma smiles, "I would be surprised if he couldn't... Warriors must be graceful."

Rosenstern thinks back to the times he and Slate were intimate together, and his smile softens. "You're right. He very much is graceful."

Soma smiles and chuckles quietly, that earthy, intimate tone still in his voice, "Do you wish to dance? I have been somewhat selfish in my desire to be still and alone with you."

Rosenstern brightens at mention of dancing, then smiles in a slinky way he had never thought himself capable of. "Maybe one dance... but surely being alone with me would preclude being truly still...." Gott et Mutter en Himmel, did I just say that?!

Soma laughs delightedly and stands, offering his hand to Rosie, "Ah, and I still would need to convince your beautiful Warrior that I would not hurt you..." The fae does tangle his fingers in Rosie's hair this time and leans close enough that his voice can be barely a breath, as he says, "At least not in any way you would not enjoy, tender little petal."

Rosenstern stands smoothly, taking Soma's hand delicately. The subtle tangling of Soma's fingers through his hair, and the whispered suggestion makes him shiver deliciously. "Anything by your hand would bring nothing but pleasure, my Lord," he purrs. Some part of him is hoping desperately Judgment never finds out he called Soma that. Dominic would have more kittens than he already has.

The Summer King sweeps the Mercurian out into the dance, holding him as if he's something fragile, precious, and altogether desirable. The expression on Soma's face is one of joy and undisguised eagerness as he leads the smaller angel through the whirl of people. Rosenstern dances joyously, in sheer bliss with Soma, the silks draped from his clothing whirling to brush against Soma as they dance together. The lithe Mercurian is gleefully losing himself in the movement. Soma either doesn't notice or is enjoying the way the whirl of the silks reveal quite a lot of the Mercurian's body. In either case, he doesn't comment on it in words. His skin does begin to glow slightly as they sink into the dance.

The song comes to an end and the musicians take a break to wet their throats and rest hands that have been moving non-stop over drums since the angels entered the tent. Bella laughs and awwws in good-natured disappointment. What she does not do, however, is to let go of Slate. Shateishael laughs, feeling much the same disappointment... then sighs in almost blissful pleasure, brushing his cheek against Bella's hair and holding her gently close. His voice is a lazily contented growl, "Mmm... wanna thank th' musicians? Know they love that..."

Bella rests her head against Slate's chest for a moment, just basking in the unusual warmth of him. "All artists appreciate praise..." She smiles up at Slate from under the tangle of her hair, "Lead the way."

Shateishael gently brushes her bangs back, admiring the way her expression brings her face alight... then catches himself, "Right! Sure, sweetheart." He slides an arm around her, curiously reluctant to lose that lovely contact with her, and heads towards the musicians, inadvertently trailing dancing sparks behind him.

Bella leans against Slate, reluctant as well to lose that contact. They continue to draw smiles and glances of admiration as they make their way through the press of bodies, although Shateishael doesn't really notice the glances -- he's still a bit lost in the emotional and physical fugue he just shared with Bella. He pauses by the resting musicians, taking a closer look at the two Celtic looking ones, as well as the pennywhistle player. He grins, rumbling politely, "Evenin'. Jus' wan'ed t'let y'all know m'lady 'n I really enjoying y'r music t'night."

Puck chuckles and puts a hand over his chest, miming shock, "He says something nice in my direction!" He doesn't actually seem bitter, just teasing. The two redheads grin and accept the praise happily. The pennywhistle player doesn't speak and actually seems a bit shy.

Bella curtseys, spreading imaginary skirts as she dips low, "Beautiful playing, gentle... people." She grins.

Shateishael grins amusedly at Puck, "Got a soft spot f' hammered dulcimer. Al'ays thought it sounded like liquid metal... dancin'." He smiles and nods politely to the pennywhistle player, admiring the lovely big blue butterfly wings. To the drummers he adds, "Y'r playin' reminds me a bit a' my first home." He's silent a moment, then says a little wistfully, "Don' suppose y'all know any a' th' Norse dances... 'r any Native American drumming chants?"

Puck grins and runs his finger along the dulcimer almost lovingly, "Pop taught me to play, but he's really more a piper."

Shateishael says, "Bacchus? Y'mean like... bagpipes?" He smiles, watching Puck's treatment of the instrument. To him, that says Puck really does love the music.

The drummers lean together, murmuring and conferring about what they might be able to play for the Seraph. Puck grins, "Uh, no. Like pan-pipes. Duh." He winces as he says that, "Sorry, that was disrespectful." Puck? Apologizing for disrespect?

Shateishael is a bit startled, but simply nods, "Ah, gotcha. Sorry, 'm not really up on Greek music." He glances amusedly at Bella, wondering if she caught that too. Amazing! One day with the dragon ladies, and Puck's trying to be polite! Bella is grinning at Puck's apology. Slate grins to himself as well, and wonders if they give lessons.

Shateishael watches the drummers conferring, then glances thoughtfully at the pennywhistle player, wondering why the butterfly fae is so shy-seeming. Most of them seemed pretty aware of themselves, and comfortable in their bodies. One of the drummers glances up, and up, and up at Slate. They're really very petite. Very human looking except the paleness of their skin, their size and the fact that they have very slightly pointed ears. Shateishael glances back at the drummer inquiringly, then wonders if these are elves... he knows the belief in tall elves is a very recent (like in the last century) variant on the usual myths.

When he speaks, the little drummer's accent is hard to place. Definitely Celtic, but beyond that it's ambiguous, "We know some Saxon music, Warrior."

Shateishael thinks about that... then smiles, "Well, there was a lotta repetition in musical tropes thenabouts, as I recall. Love t'hear it, if y'all're willin'?" The quieter of the two drummers nods and the musicians all lean together, conferring and pulling back into that cohesive unit that will make what they play music rather than noise. Shateishael grins, his already glowing eyes lighting up a bit more as he realizes they're busy now. He glances at Bella, tilting his head inquiringly towards the rest of the room, "Y' a'tall thirsty, sweetheart?"

As the angels stand there, the cat-woman in the golden collar slinks up to the pair of angels, "If one may be so bold as to intrude," she murmurs, voice holding slightly differences in pronunciation due to the shape of her muzzle, "would it be unwelcome for one to wish a dance with the Warrior?" It's not clear whether she's speaking to Bella or Slate.

Shateishael nods politely as the cat-woman approaches and speaks, then looks a bit puzzled, "Er... you... wanna dance?! Uh, I mean, wi'me?" He goes still for a second... then sighs amusedly, "Bright Lord, could I possibly sound denser?" His skin darkens into that lava-like pattern again from embarrassment.

Bella smiles crookedly, amused at herself because there was, for an instant, something she very rarely feels. Something that's not quite possessiveness, but is very much about belonging to one another, flares and then fades, the Bright reminding herself silently that the cat-woman simply wants a dance. And Bella really can't blame her.

The cat-woman's ears flick in amusement and she offers one hand... paw? to Slate, "If one would not be intruding, of course. One is aware that there are prior claims." Bella's only real sign of the momentary reluctance is a shadow that crosses her face and a brief, unusually tight squeeze of her hand on his arm.

Shateishael takes a deep breath to quell his embarrassment at his initial clumsy response, then does a half-bow and rumbles politely, "Evenin', Lady. 'M Slate, 'n this here's Bella. Din' catch y'r name?"

The feline being smiles and inclines her head regally, "You may call one Bastet."

Shateishael looks at Bella thoughtfully, trying to figure out how to ask what he wants to ask -- then blinks, his head snapping back at the name, his voice astonished, "The Bastet?!" He hastily wracks his brains, trying to remember if she's the crazy killer one... no, wait, wasn't that Sekhmet? The solar Lady Bast... goddess of fire, cats, the hearth, what else... pregnant women, he thinks? Something about perfume too, wasn't there? He has a great deal of respect for hearthfolk, and so he bows politely to her, "'S an honor t'meetcha, Lady."

The feline muzzle moves in an approximation of a smile, amusement showing more in the set of her ears and the flick of her tail, "One is unique. And one is not afraid of having one's name known." After a moment she makes sure she was clear, "Yes, the Bastet, Warrior."

Shateishael looks impressed... then belatedly remembers he was asked a question too. He politely replies to the cat woman, "Far as 'prior claims,' I truly wish there was, Lady... but I don' think that's how Bella thinks." His smile to Bella is a bit wistful.

Bella smiles quietly and strokes Slate's arm. "Sweetness, you're welcome to dance with a goddess any time one asks you."

Shateishael sighs a little internally, thinking [I'd turn one down for you, lover...] then firmly reminds himself not to be greedy -- that'll drive Bella off faster than almost anything else he can think of. He thinks a bit, not really wanting to lose contact with Bella yet, but not wanting to be rude either. "Um... actually I was jus' 'bout t'getta drink, Lady. C'n I offer y'a seat, an' I'll bring you somethin' too?" He offers Bastet his free arm. If he can get her seated, he can invite Bella to help him carry the drinks... and find out why she squeezed his arm so tightly. She must have noticed something he missed, and wants to tell him, he figures.

Bastet waits patiently, tail swishing as the two angels confer. When Slate offers his arm, she slides her paw through his elbow and curls her tail around his calf, "One would be honored, Warrior." She allows herself to be led to one of the tables.

Shateishael blinks at the touch of the tail, then grins -- that's different! He carefully and courteously seats Bastet. "What wouldja like t'drink, Lady?" He glances inquiringly at Bella, "An' y'rself, sweetheart? An'... wouldja mind helpin' carry th'drinks, please?"

Bella stays on Slate's other side, "I'd be happy to help, hon." She doesn't show her curiosity. Bastet answers Slate's inquiry, "Simply water, Warrior... though if Bacchus' beer is in evidence, one would not say no to a pint."

Shateishael nods politely to the cat-lady, then leads Bella towards the drinks table. On the way he murmurs softly, "What was th' arm squeeze for, sweetheart? Did I miss somethin'?" He can't resist maybe just a little stroking of her back and lovely hair as they walk, though.

Bella blinks, trying to think what Slate might mean -- then laughs as she remembers when she squeezed his arm, "No, no, Slate. You didn't miss a thing. I just got a little... uhm... jealous? maybe..."

Shateishael gives Bella a startled look... then looks oddly happy for a moment, "Really?!" He's silent a moment, then almost shyly offers, "I'd be happy t'jus' dance with you if y'wanted, beautiful...?"

Bella smiles crookedly and stretches up on her toes to kiss the Seraph on the cheek, "If we're going to be ambassadors, we can't afford to seem to snub any of these folks." She leans as closely as she can to murmur, "But I want to dance every dance I can with you."

The sparks drifting upwards from Slate's glowing eyes swirl a little more swiftly for a moment, and he draws another of those slow, very happy breaths that cause his skin to darken into the glowing pattern of lava. His answering rumble is quiet, pitched just for Bella, "You c'n have all th'dances y'want from me, beautiful." He takes another slow breath, contentedly sliding his arm about the graceful curve of Bella's waist, and asks the, er, entity manning -- Etherealing? something-ing -- the bar if they have any of Bacchus's beer available?

The bartender is the middle satyr, the one mentioned as being called Pan. He grins broadly motions to two large wooden kegs behind him, "And there's more waiting out behind the pavilion."

Shateishael chuckles, holding up three fingers -- then pauses and glances down at Bella, "One f'you too, sweetheart?" When Bella nods, Pan pours three foaming pints of the rich amber bear and passes them over to the angels. Bella holds her own and lets Slate retrieve those for himself and the goddess.

Shateishael cheerfully thanks Pan, grabs the other two steins and, if Bella doesn't seem to mind, will loop an arm about her shoulder again. He has this weird urge to rub affectionately up against her, rather like a cat... but ruefully figures she might object to that. So he just paces sedately next to her as they return to Bastet, deeply enjoying the way her hip brushes lightly against him in the normal sway of her walk. Bella is doing some catlike rubbing herself, but she's trying not to seem to hang on Slate too horribly much. Bastet has been watching the pair of angels with that inscrutable face, ears flicking lazily.

Shateishael will smile politely at Bastet and set both steins down on the table, with hers within easy reach. He sighs softly internally again when he has to stop touching Bella in order to politely seat her as well... then he settles in his own chair, thinking, [Thank goodness these chairs are built for butterfly folk -- the wings won't get in the way.] He rumbles, "So, uh... Bacchus makes p'tic'ly good beer, I take it?" He sniffs the beer curiously, catching the rich scent of hops, and smiles, "Sure smells good."

Bella settles into her seat and sips the beer, mming at the rich taste of it. There's something almost fruity in the flavor, but not exactly sweet. Shateishael sighs contentedly after a long draught of beer, "Ah! Real beer, not th' watered-down hoss-pi-" He catches himself, flushing, and mumbles, "Uhh... yeah. Good beer." He hastily has another drink.

Bastet takes her own mug and holds it to her mouth, but rather than tip the mug to drink from it, she laps it like a cat with a bowl of water, a chuffing purr emitting from her chest, "He makes the best beer I've had since Bubastis was destroyed." Shateishael winces slightly at that, and turns his gaze out to the dance floor.

While the angels and the goddess sip at their beer, the musicians have started again with the music and Soma has swept Rosie onto the dance floor. Soma dances as gracefully as he seems to do most things, the wings not seeming to impede his movement through the crowd in the impromptu ballroom. The monarch leads Rosie around the floor, his hand on the small of the Mercurian's back. There is something both stately and sensual about the way he moves through the steps of a dance that seems almost to be a waltz, but isn't quite.

Rosenstern moves with Soma, eyes locked with the Summer Lord's, his arm draped gently upon Soma's shoulder, letting himself sink into the sultry, slow whirl of the dance. While he is no professional dancer, the dance is the heart and soul of the Mercurian, and he follows Soma's lead as best as he can, his enrapture seeming to whisper the steps of the dance to him.The Summer Lord pulls Rosenstern against himself, mouth near Rosie's hair. He doesn't speak, just allowing himself to fall into the magic of the dance. The velvet of his suit is soft against the generous amounts of skin exposed by Rosie's clothing. The hand at Rosenstern's waist moves up to cup the back of the lithe angel's neck.

Rosenstern only half-closes his eyes as he rests his head against Soma's chest, and only because he wants to follow the dance. The warm velvet against his skin is like a sensual kiss, more than just the wonderful enjoyment of each other that they've shared both at Neuschwanstein and here in equally mythic and fantastical Black Rock City. He feels warm and comfortable and it is hard for him to not find himself in the sweet whirlwind of emotions Soma stirs.

Shateishael slowly raises an eyebrow, watching... then grins. He's going to bet the usually-shy Mercurian isn't aware of how much skin he's flashing in those deep twirls the butterfly fae is turning! Bastet's ears flick as she follows Slate's glance, and finds the Mercurian and the fae lord dancing. "One is curious as to how that pairing will come out."

Shateishael turns back to Bastet, having another sip of the rich, dark beer, "Mm? How do you mean, Lady?"

The Egyptian goddess makes a sound halfway between a purr and a laugh, "One simply means that it has been quite a while since the king had a consort. It would be interesting to see it be an angel."

Shateishael gives the cat-woman a curious look, "A... consort?" He's silent a moment, idly trailing one fiery finger along the lip of his stein... then he looks up at Bastet again, "Wouldn' a consort imply love?" Bella leans her head against Slate's shoulder, smiling as she watches Soma dance with Rosie. She finds it interesting the different ways Rosie reacts to Slate and to the fae king, both of whom he obviously adores. Shateishael looks down at Bella, his expression unwittingly warming. He gently strokes her hair with one hand, then looks back at Bastet.

Bastet flicks her tail, one of her feet/paws shifting beneath the table to brush against the inside of one of Slate's calves, "Mmmm... sometimes. Or it can simply mean a partner or lover that one does not actually love."

Soma's fingers tangle in Rosie's hair and he pulls back until he can look down into the Novalite's face, skin starting to take on that soft glow. Rosenstern feels a rush of warmth. The slow sensuality of the dance smolders, the flames fanned within him as Soma draws his head back and up to look at the Summer Lord. His eyes are a blur of all but for Soma's, and he shivers again in his grasp, his lips parting slightly as he draws in short, shallow breaths.

Shateishael glances back towards Soma and Rosie -- watching with as much fascination as many others in the pavilion, he suspects -- and sips his beer again. He blinks, then smiles at the light touch on his bare leg. He strokes Bella's thigh lightly under the table as he rumbles politely to the cat-lady, "Thank you f'y'r patience, Lady, while we had a breather. May I in'rest you inna dance now?" Shateishael smiles at Bella -- or intends to, since he does tend to get a bit smoldery inside when he spends much time looking into her eyes tonight -- then draws a breath to center himself and rises, offering Bastet a hand.

Bastet lays her paw in Slate's hand and rises, "One is glad to have that delayed pleasure, Warrior."

Bella smiles back at Slate and gives his hand a quick squeeze. Shateishael's skin shimmers incandescently with pleasure at Bella's touch -- and then he looks a bit embarrassed again at Bastet's gentle remonstration, "Your pardon, Lady." He bows politely and hastily gets her out on the dance floor, hoping he doesn't do something horrible and embarrass himself again!

The goddess' movements are slinky, relaxed, and quintessentially feline as she follows Slate toward the dance floor. "One does wonder, Warrior, why a Celestial would choose to ally with heathen?"

Shateishael gives Bastet a faintly confused look, "Er, once again, please? Who's th'heath'n?"

Bastet presses herself against Slate but it seems almost as if she's seeking the warmth of the glamour's flames rather than trying to be in contact with the Seraph's skin, "Mmm... everyone in this pavilion except you and your harem, Warrior."

Shateishael gives the cat lady a startled look -- this woman is getting very, um... close! He takes a moment to pull his thoughts together so he doesn't stumble or anything, takes another moment to carefully keep correct posture without flinching away from the disturbingly close cat-lady, then thoughtfully rumbles, "Lady Bastet, if by heath'n y'mean non-christians, then none a' us 're christian either. An' they're not m'harem, if I un'erstan' whatcha mean by that. They're wi'me 'cause they wanna be, and 'cause in Rosie's case I've accepted responsibility f'r his safety."

Soma leans close enough to murmur into Rosenstern's ear, "You realize that this lovely outfit hides nothing when you move this way, sweet petal?" There's teasing in his voice, but also some concern as if he's not sure Rosie knows.

Rosenstern blinks a little bit before he grasps fully what Soma means, then he blushes brightly and opens his mouth, already in the middle of a swirl. After a moment he fights down his embarrassment, and smiles shyly to Soma. "I... it's far too late to stop dancing, isn't it?" Some part of him thoroughly enjoys this embarrassment, this sudden recognition that he's not what a regular person would call 'decent.' Then again, nothing of what he's wearing is 'decent' either. It gives him a delicious little thrill to realize he's exposed like this, a little vulnerable and a little naughty.

Soma smiles delightedly, "Far too late to stop, yes..." He leads Rosie through a twirl that leaves the silks whirling outward and for just a moment, he spins the smaller being around, a quick pirouette that faces the Mercurian outward for the briefest of moments. Rosenstern takes in a sharp breath at the pirouette Soma puts him through, feeling acutely embarrassed (and loving every long moment of it) at feeling the silks rise up around him in the whirl, and he sees the members of the court -- and Slate and Bella! -- all around and able to see him essentially flash the entire court. After that brief moment of such exposure, Rosie finds himself again in Soma's arms and facing the Summer Lord; he's blushing, breathless, and it is impossible to not tell that he's enjoying it in a very sensual way, such that it's almost certain the silks won't do a great deal to conceal his modesty in the near term.

After twirling Rosenstern through the dance, Soma hold the small angel against his body, perhaps to help the blushing Mercurian to stay semi-modest, perhaps to make sure the velvet of his suit is brushing against Rosie most intimately. In either case, his eyes are glowing that deep blue, "I would ask your lover for permission to court you as well, sweet petal. He holds your safety dear." Rosenstern's breathing quickens, his blush anything but disappearing as he feels the velvet touching every part of him... every part. He can only nod mutely at Soma's words, still dazed and with a riot of not-entirely-conflicting emotions: arousal, embarrassment, shyness... desire....

Bastet purrs and stays close to Slate. She isn't moving in any overtly sexual way, but she does seem to enjoy close contact with him. After a moment she realizes what she is doing and moves back to a more polite distance, "Perhaps one should have said pride. One only meant your loves, Warrior."

Shateishael says, "Oh! Okay, yeah... that'n I'd agree with." He considers a moment, faintly relieved Bastet's not rubbing herself quite so, um, interestedly against him, then rumbles, "Dunno how Ethereals do it, Lady, but where I come from we're s'pposed t'do what's right, even if there's argument 'bout what 'right' is... an' we think helpin' y'all is th'right thing t'do." He smiles a bit tightly down at her, adding, "That answer y'question, Lady?"

Bastet flicks her tail from side to side, ears fluttering as she thinks. After a moment she bobs her head. Her body language has been getting less flirtatious, but no less graceful. She touches Slate's cheek with her pawpads, saying, "It is pleasing to see one that knows the true meaning of family."

Shateishael isn't sure how what he said conveys that, but then he supposes he shouldn't be surprised an ancient cat lady is confusing to him. He just smile and nods, "Thank you, Lady." He's silent a moment, then carefully rumbles, "Um... couldn' help but notice y'seem t'like th'flame, Lady... is it... dunno, helpful, 'r feel good, 'r somethin'?"

The feline goddess smiles, "One is a creature of the hearth, Warrior. Fire and warmth draw one." The music is starting to come to a close -- at least this tune is. When the music stops, Bastet steps back from Slate and bows elegantly, "One appreciates the dance." Bella has been watching the two couples with one of those quiet, inscrutable smiles that sometimes settle on her face.

Shateishael gracefully returns the bow, offering his arm to escort her off the dance floor. As they pace back towards the table, he tilts his head thoughtfully at the cat lady moving gracefully next to him, "Was taught all true warriors should maintain great respect f'r the hearthfolk who maintain 'em, Lady. Does m' flame t'night actually benefit you?"

Bastet slips her paw through Slate's elbow and laughs, the sound rough with the edge of a purr, "Only in that it makes one feel almost kittenish again, Warrior."

Shateishael thinks as he paces back to the table. Once there he hesitates before pulling out her chair again. Finally he rumbles cautiously, "Would, um... wouldja like a hug then, Lady?"

Bastet's ears flick in amusement, but then she silently goes slightly on tiptoe to hug herself to Slate, cheek nuzzling kittenishly against his shoulder. Again, the gesture could be quite intimate, but the goddess' form makes it seem more as it would from a normal corporeal cat: a fond touch but not a proposition. Shateishael is carefully proper, opening his arms to Bastet so she can decide how close she wishes to be. His wings flare out brilliantly behind him, then arc forward so he wraps the cat-lady in flame as well as in his arms. He stands quietly, letting her soak up as much fire as she wishes, and smiles quietly at Bella over Bastet's head. He wonders if she'd like a fiery hug too.

Bastet begins to purr as the wings are wrapped around her and her tail curls around Slate's ankle again for a moment before she disengages, "One must be off, Warrior. It was a lovely dance."

The Summer King guides the delicate Flowerkin around the pavilion until their dance ends just feet from Bella's seat. He doesn't quite release Rosie yet, still holding the gentle Celestial close and stroking the side of his neck. There's that gentle undercurrent of desire there, and the sidhe's skin color is beginning to deepen as he glows more brightly. Rosenstern's breathing is a bit calmer now, though he walks a little awkwardly, one hand gathering the silks in front of him a bit. His head is tilted a bit to the side, to better bare his neck to Soma's touches. He pauses to lean upward and kiss Soma gently on the chin. "Thank you for a wonderful dance," he says softly, smiling.

Soma smiles down at Rosie and then puts his hand against the Mercurian's back again, this time guiding him toward the table where the Bright is seated, "It was, sweet petal. Thank you."

Rosenstern feels almost giddy as Soma ushers him to the table with... Bella? He blinks, and looks around for Slate. He thinks he sees the now-fiery wings of the Stone Angel, but -- oh, he's hugging the cat lady? They must have just danced, he thinks? He smiles to Bella. "Hi, Bella!"

Shateishael bows courteously, "'M happy you enjoyed y'self, Lady Bastet." He waits until she's departed, then settles with a slightly relieved sigh next to Bella, "That was diff'rent. Kinda neat." He smiles up at Soma and Rosie, "Hey. Y'all havin' fun?"

Bella smiles up at Rosie, a teasing twinkle in her eye as she notices that he's trying to discreetly not reveal his arousal to the entire pavilion. "Glowing must be going around tonight, she remarks."

Shateishael chuckles quietly, also noticing Rosie's, um... flushed condition, "Guess so." Rosenstern blushes -- again! -- and smiles sheepishly to Bella and Slate.

Soma actually pulls a chair out for Rosie, smiling down to the Bright, "Our feline goddess seems to have taken a shine to Slate... that can be a good thing. She can be choosy about bestowing her blessings." Rosenstern smiles to Soma, his hand brushing the Summer Lord's as he slips into the seat offered, curling his legs up beneath him as he sits. -- and also making sure the silks cover his lap.

Shateishael gives Soma a curious look, "How's'at, Summer Lord?"

The faerie monarch stays standing behind Rosie and chuckles at Slate, "Felines can be fickle, but they are rarely wrong in who they trust. And Bastet is the epitome of felinity."

Shateishael smiles slowly, glancing in the direction the Egyptian lady departed towards, and rumbles quietly, "Then think 'm flattered, Summer Lord." He looks at Rosie and smiles affectionately, "Havin' a great time, Rosebud?"

Rosenstern brightens and nods to Slate. "Oh, yes, definitely! I haven't danced like that in... erm, well, never quite like that, I mean..."

Shateishael chuckles again, his glowing eyes giving off heat shimmer, and rumbles, "Y're cute, li'l Rosie." He looks up at the butterfly fae and grins, "Okay, gotta be a reason y'r here 'n not dancin', yeah?"

Soma's hand stays resting on Rosie's shoulder as he stands behind the red-clad Friend of Man. The Summer Lord smiles at Slate and asks, "Would it be possible to speak together, just you and I... Slate?" He pauses before he says the name as if not sure the intimacy of using name rather than title is warranted with the big man.

Shateishael gets a slightly curious look, but nods, rising smoothly, "Sure, whatcha need?" He glances at Rosie, adding, "Y'mind stickin' near Bellisima f'a bit, Rosebud?"

Rosenstern's hand rests on Soma's, but as Soma asks his question, his expression goes a little flat, and he fidgets a little bit. He nods to Slate. "I will!"

Soma inclines his head to Bella and Rosie with a smile, "Pardon me for stealing your Warrior." He gestures toward the opening of the pavilion and weaves his way through the crowd of Ethereals to slip outside into the Black Rock night.

Shateishael pauses, studying Rosie thoughtfully... then looks up at the butterfly fae, his eyes narrowing a bit. Something is going on... but precisely what, he's not sure. He doesn't say anything about that, though, simply rumbles, "Be back inna bit, lovely," and drops a gentle kiss on the top of both Bella's and Rosie's heads, before pacing curiously out after the Summer Lord.

Bella watches the two tall figures, one broad and muscled, one lithe and willow, move toward the door -- and then she looks at Rosie with brow arched, "Oh... kay..."

Rosenstern lets out a breath, his shoulders slumping a little as Slate and Soma move off. He rubs his eyes. "If this were a human relationship," he says softly, "or anyone other than these people, I would feel quite doomed." He looks to Bella. "Soma... is going to ask Slate for permission to court me. I get so enraptured by him that I keep forgetting to wonder how he'll be able to do that without actually falling in love and... and causing some sort of bond to form between myself and him -- and by extension, Bran."

Bella whistles through her teeth and then clucks her tongue, "That's going to be quite a trick, Rosie-chan."

Rosenstern sighs again. "I know. And... I'm still confused as to what this... what all this means. I mean, how it relates to my relationship with Slate. I've been with him for decades; I'm not about to give that up. Especially not now, now that... that I've found a niche with him that I feel so wonderful and comfortable in." He shakes his head.

Bella tips her head, "Rosie, you know Slate is far from averse to sharing..." She says that slowly as if wanting to make sure that's what Rosie was worried about.

Rosenstern nods quietly to Bella. "Sharing, no, I know he isn't the type to... react badly to that. And if it were just that I wouldn't be worried. But this... between Soma and I... if it turns into something more, it could cause Slate... and you... pain when we go to the Winter Court." Not to mention how Mutter would feel. He shakes his head. "Besides... oh, Adonai, can you imagine how it would be if I had to take him home to meet Mom?" He says this last with humor and a smile, though he still appears nervous.

Bella smiles wryly and reaches over to take Rosie's hand, "Sweetie, I think that your head is turned around because you've got two people who are obviously crazy about you trying to figure out how that works... and I think that love can't be bad."

Rosenstern lets out a breath, smiling to Bella and squeezing her hand back. "Thanks, Bella. That helps to put it into perspective. Thank you."

Soma is standing far enough from the door of the pavilion that the glow of his own skin is the closest illumination. His head is tilted back as he looks up at the sky, hands clasped behind his back just beneath the attachment-points of his wings. He waits for Slate to be directly beside him before speaking, "I have a... a favor to ask." Does the lithe fae lord seem nervous?

Shateishael stands silently, wings flaring gently and arms folded, and nods once, listening. Soma doesn't turn to Slate at first, "Or perhaps not a favor. I would ask your permission, Warrior." He turns to look at the Seraph with an ironic little smile on his face, "It is not a familiar thing for me, asking permission... but I would not do damage or cause strain to you or your loves." Shateishael raises an eyebrow, starting to get a hint of where this is going. He remains silent, though, not wanting to say anything socially inept. It's been his experience when one is unsure of how to behave, silence is often wise!

The silence, however, seems to make Soma slightly more anxious and he begins to pace. Not far, just a few steps back and forth, "You know I am fond of... of Rosenstern. I would ask your permission to court him. He is too precious a gift to be seen as casual. As he is in your charge in so many ways, I feel I must tell you I would not seek to take him from you. Simply to have him be as special in my life as he is in yours."

Shateishael watches the butterfly fae pace, and eventually figures out why -- he's making the poor man nervous. He reaches out one hand when Soma's close to him, to stop the pacing, "Soma, guy... take it easy, please?" He thinks a bit, then rumbles slowly, "I... don' have a problem w'you'n Rosie bein' lovers, but... gotta ask what that means f'r Rosie 'n his Superior... 'n f'you'n y'r folk." He tilts his head at Soma, sparks whirling lazily up from him, "Thoughtcha din' wanna fall in love...?"

Soma stops and actually chuckles, seeming somewhat abashed, "Novalis' people... many of them have been friends of my court in the past. Before the Purge." Shateishael waits silently, wondering if Soma will answer his question. He knows it's a tough one.

Taking a deep breath, the Ethereal monarch goes on, "It would mean my having a consort for the first time since the Purge. It would mean I would have to be very careful to keep that final bond from happening. Your Flowerkin is special. You are all quite special, actually." His face is a little drawn as he works at speaking as straight to the point as he can, "To allow myself to fall truly in love with him would mean a link between myself and the Flowerkin, and would mean there would be a link between him and my brother-self."

Shateishael nods gravely, "An' lemme guess... it'd be dangerous f'you'n y'r people if y'lost y'r Consort, right?"

Soma shakes his head, "No... the only danger to my people would be if that bond happened and Rosenstern were to... come to harm." He falters on that last phrase, frowning to himself, "I know you see the seriousness of my request, Warrior. There are bindings that can be done. But I would never treat him as less than beloved."

Shateishael rumbles quietly, "Don' think f'r a minute y'wouldn' treat him well, Soma. Just worried 'bout what'll happen t'you an' y'r people." He sighs softly, considering, then simply asks what he's wondering, "How y'gonna keep from fallin' in love with Rosie, if y'gonna be courtin' him? He's... kinda lovable, y'know?" He pauses, then adds, "If'n y'wanna do somethin' like call Bacchus over f'r straight answers, tha's fine w'me, Summer Lord."

Soma nods and goes to the pavilion door, motioning at someone inside. A moment later, Bacchus emerges from the crowd and joins Slate and Soma under the moonlight, "How can I help, gentlemen?" Shateishael nods politely to Bacchus, glancing at Soma to see if he wants to be the one to talk to his servitor.

Bella smiles and leans over to hug Rosie, chuckling quietly, "You're welcome, honey. I think it's interesting that you seem so free here when you're wearing a collar... is it the first time you've worn one?"

Rosenstern blushes and nods a little, smiling shyly. "Yes. I've... seen some humans wearing them in a situation like this and... I could sort of understand how they felt. Now I can really see how they felt." He makes a wry face. "I've seen Malakim with collars as well, but somehow I think that doesn't mean at all the same thing."

Bella smirks slightly, "Depends on the Malakite... Ian looks pretty adorable in a collar." She glances toward the pavilion's doorway, "I must admit the whole festival has been sort of a surprise."

Rosenstern tilts his head to the side, looking to Bella. "Why so?"

Bella smiles, "Because I expected to come to the desert and see some beautiful art and spend the time speculating on if there really were faeries here."

Rosenstern smiles quietly. "I know. I didn't expect anything like this either. Or what's happened."

Soma puts his hand on Bacchus' shoulder and murmurs something into the satyr's ear. The goat-man nods solemnly, "There are bindings that can be done, Warrior. As Soma bound Puck, so can Soma be bound. A binding or a forbidding. It will lock away that part of him."

Shateishael considers carefully, then rumbles, "So... is the Summer Lord talkin' 'bout bindin' away th' possibility a' lovin' Rosie?"

Bacchus tips his head as Soma murmurs to him, the satyr's brows drawing together, "Yes... he is. But he wants to be able to behave as if he had love in his life. He wants Rosenstern and he cherishes him. You would do Soma a great honor to allow him to court him." Bacchus' face clears as he says, "And I will say for myself that many of us would be more than happy to see Soma with someone to make him smile like that again."

Shateishael lightly taps his fingers against his lips, studying the two men thoughtfully... then rumbles quietly, "Think I unnerstand, then." He glances at Soma, adding, "Y'mind if I ask some kinda blunt questions, Summer Lord?"

Soma smiles, the glow having faded somewhat from the strain of being as direct as he has, "Never, Warrior."

Shateishael nods gravely, internally impressed with how hard the butterfly fae is trying, "Thank you." He turns to Bacchus, "So, 's there a way t'tell if someone fae's in love? An' what kinda bond does it create? An' what kinda response're we gonna be able t'expect from Bran?"

Bacchus rubs his bearded chin thoughtfully, trying to think how to word this, "We take on something of one another. It can be subtle. My lady and I, our eyes changed. The color stayed the same, but the shapes... it's as if we switched them." Shateishael looks puzzled, then leans forward a bit to study Bacchus's eyes thoughtfully.

Bacchus lets Slate examine his face. The satyr's eyes are almost the exact shape of his daughter Ayra's eyes. They are perhaps somewhat more almond-shaped than one would expect in a face shaped like his. He smiles and laugh lines appear at the corners, "They don't look unusual unless you knew me before, Warrior."

Shateishael grins, straightening, "Sorry. Jus' nosy, I guess. So... is that th' only bond? Wait, no... there's gotta be more, yeah?"

Bacchus chuckles, "That isn't the bond. It's just the sign of it, Warrior. Two of Soma's folk wound up with one another's wings. A dwarf and a naiad wound up simply with memories of one another's past."

Shateishael raises a surprised eyebrow, "Whoa. That'd be..." He pauses, reflecting momentarily on his past, then frowns, "Uh. Not good. Right. So... anythin' else y'can tell me 'bout it?"

Bacchus nods. Soma stands nearby, relaxing a bit as the satyr continues speaking, "The binding would have to be redone next cycle. It would disappear with the change."

Shateishael looks surprised, "Wait." He puzzles that one out, then rumbles slowly, "Y'r sayin'... if th'Summer Lord bonded w'someone, it'd go 'way when he changed t'th'Winter Raven?"

Bacchus shakes his head, "No. Only a magical binding on him would disappear. The bond itself could endure. It has before, with other less powerful of Soma's people."

Shateishael sighs softly, understanding, "Ahh... so whatever bindin' he does on himself t'not fall in love with Rosie'd hafta be redone every time he -- uh, he... emerges? Dunno whatcha call that?"

Soma nods in answer to that. Bacchus answers in words, "Every time it is his cycle."

Shateishael nods slowly, thinking, then rumbles quietly, "'Kay... how long does th'bindin' take? 'N... is it one a' those bindin's where th' wordin's more important than th' spirit a'th'promise?"

Bacchus confers with Soma again, "The ritual itself would take but a few moments. The spirit is the truly important part, but it wouldn't pay to be careless with the words."

Shateishael nods, relieved. "'Kay." He's silent, thinking a bit, then carefully rumbles to Soma, "Um... hope this isn't rude, but... y'sure y're not already in love with Rosie?"

Soma smiles whimsically, though his eyes are solemn. Bacchus nods quietly, "There's a connection that happens. It's unmistakable. It's not the chemistry of attraction. It is literally a piece of our soul being transplanted."

Shateishael nods again, sighing softly in relief, "'Kay. Hadta ask, sorry." Then he pauses, looking worried, "Uh, wait. So... what happens if th'other one's soul's diff'rent? I mean, like we're angels, y'know? Does that leave th'fae w'a hole in their soul?"

Bacchus tips his head and smiles faintly, "We all come from the same place, Warrior. Because our natures are different doesn't mean we cannot share ourselves."

Shateishael nods slowly again, rumbling quietly, "Gotcha. Gettin' quite th'education t'night..." He looks away into the cluster of sparks and lights that marks the mortal camp, then sighs and looks back at Soma, "Okay. If Rosie's okay with it, y'c'n court him, Summer Lord, 'n thanks f'r th'courtesy a' askin' first. But please, don' do anythin' w'him I wouldn' do, 'kay? 'M pretty sure y'could talk him inta whatever y'wanted... 'n I don' wanna see that happen t'him." Then he glances at Bacchus and rumbles quietly, "Thanks f'helpin' translate."

Soma nods, wincing slightly. Bacchus starts to speak for him, but the Summer King puts his hand on the satyr's shoulder, "I would truly never harm the Flowerkin, Slate. I swear this to you on the stars and the moon."

Inside the pavilion, Bella reaches over and takes Rosie's hand, smiling, "You take such good care of Slate there on the ranch."

Rosenstern squeezes Bella's hand, blushing and smiling. "I enjoy it. I like doing that for him. I've been in a few relationships, Bella, but this, with Slate.... I feel like I want to do everything for him."

Bella chuckles quietly and nods, "Slate's dangerous like that. He's sort of impossible not to care about if he's decided you're family."

Rosenstern gives a soft giggle. "That's so true!" he says. And then he sobers a little. "He takes such good care of me... I adore him so much, I can't not want to do whatever I can for him."

Bella smiles and nods, "Mmm... he does try to take care of everyone and everything. That doesn't -- doesn't sort of make you feel..." she makes an ambiguous gesture with her hands, "scared?"

Rosenstern tilts his head to the side. "Scared? That he wants to take care of everyone he cares about?" He considers for a moment. "It makes me worried for him. I'm not a fighter, Bella. And it's a nightmare I have that someday I'll get into trouble... and Slate'll be there to save me, but the odds are too much against him, or I'm used as bait for a trap that he doesn't know about, or worse: one he does know about and walks into anyway to save me. Because I know that's what he'd do. So I have to try to never get into that sort of situation. But it might never happen. And in the meantime I enjoy being with him as Epicurean as I can." He pauses, then asks gently, "But that's not what scares you, is it?"

Bella shakes her head, "No, Rosie-hon. That's not what scares me. What scares the hell out of me is that I still can't quite figure out why he loves me. And I'm afraid I could like him way, way too much."

Rosenstern blinks to Bella. "Well... if it's one thing I've learned about Slate, Bella, is that you can take whatever he says at face value. He loves you because you're you. You're who you are. It sounds a little corny, but it's truth. Being with you makes him feel good and wonderful and happy and all the thousand little flutters of the heart that say 'I love this person.'" Then he stops short, looking around. "Did you feel that?" he murmurs curiously.

The Bright blinks and nods, brows drawing together as she looks around, "Sounded like... almost like a Song."

Outside, Shateishael studies the butterfly fae silently for a long moment -- he felt the trilling ripple in the Symphony caused by the just-spoken oath. He draws in a slow breath, then lets it out just as slowly, still watching Somhairle. In some way this scares him horribly. He's keenly aware of how delicate lovely little Rosie is, and how fragile, and it's hard to (in effect) open his hands and let the little Mercurian fly free of him. He's trusting Somhairle tonight, almost as much as he trusts Rosie, and it's a rapid and unexpected trust he's being asked to give... but he knows he really has to, for Rosie's sake. What good is love if it stifles? He finally slowly reaches out his hand towards the butterfly fae. He doesn't know if Somhairle knows a warrior's clasp, but he'll offer it regardless -- a gesture of trust between peers.

Bacchus is looking a little concerned for Soma, standing as if he expects to be leaned on. The Summer King reaches for Slate's hand and the Seraph can see Soma has wrapped a lacy handkerchief around his hand, traces of something dark showing against his palm, "That is my word, Friend, and it is my binding."

Shateishael closes his hand about Soma's wrist, rumbling quietly, "Thank you. Have I harmed you by askin' this?"

Soma grasps Slate's wrist and smiles quietly. The glow is gone from his skin, but he still looks happy despite it, "You have helped me to stiffen my resolve, Friend. There is no harm in that."

Shateishael tilts his head thoughtfully, but simply rumbles, "Maybe y'd like ta go inside 'n have a seat 'n some a' Bacchus's excellent beer, then?" He glances at Bacchus, trying to read off the goat-man if he should expect something drastic, like Soma collapsing or something.

Inside, Rosenstern looks around alertly. "We're amongst Ethereals; I'd be surprised if none of them Sang, but, still... do you think it came from Slate? or Soma?"

Bella simply shrugs mutely, eyes just a little wide, "Won't know until we ask, hm?" She starts to rise from her chair, going quite businesslike. Rosenstern nods, standing with her and shaking out the silks so they fall straight, staying with Bella. He makes a mental note, however, to continue this conversation with Bella. She's not going to get out of it that easily, even if it was by virtue of a Song going off.

Outside, Soma nods and smiles, "I would like, rather, to retire to my own quarters. You and the others are always welcome there." Bacchus doesn't actually move to support Soma, but he does stay close by his side. The fae king looks toward the pavilion, "Though it would be churlish to not bid the Flowerkin goodnight." Shateishael bows quietly and politely, following the butterfly fae into the pavilion. He glances thoughtfully at his wrist as they enter into the better light, wondering if he'll see blood from the Summer King there.

The cloth wrapped around Soma's hand actually has a greenish rather than a red stain coloring it where it wraps across his palm. The entrance of the sidhe, the satyr, and the Seraph coincides almost exactly with Bella and Rosie reaching the door on their way to investigate the ripple in the Symphony. Shateishael's head comes up sharply at sight of Bella and Rosie, and he rumbles alertly, "Somethin'?"

Bella steps close to Slate, reaching up to put her hands on his flame-licked shoulders, "We... heard something. Was that you?" Her eyes are moving over the three men with concern, gaze lingering on the cloth wrapped around Soma's palm. Shateishael shakes his head, his arms sliding smoothly about her waist, and tilts his head slightly towards Soma. He suspects Bacchus is going to depart with Soma, and he can't blame the satyr for that. It worries him a little how draining personal binding seems to be on Soma -- the binding on Puck didn't seem anywhere as hard on Soma. He wonders idly if Karl's around too. He'd like to ask a few more questions of someone blunt and straight speaking.

Rosenstern blinks. "Oh! Hi! We, ah..." He glances to Bella. "We heard something. A Song. A couple of minutes ago. Are you-" His gaze drops to blink at Soma's hand, and his brow furrows.

Bella raises her brows questioningly and starts to say something, but Soma speaks up before she can. "It was a binding, petal, not a Song as the Celestials mean it." He reaches for Rosie's hand and, if allowed, turns it over to kiss the inside of the Mercurian's wrist, "A precaution, dear one. But I feel I should retire. Crowds can be draining."

Rosenstern feels a warmth rise through him as Soma kisses his hand, and he smiles softly, nodding. "I understand, Soma. Please, sleep well. We'll see each other again soon." And because Slate is there, and he finally remembered... Rosie listens quietly to the Symphony with his Mercurian senses -- his Resonance with the emotions of others. Rosie's senses get that Soma is feeling tired, but very, very happy. Beyond tired, actually. The sort of tired he has seen in Celestials that have expended a great deal of Essence. The Mercurian also gets flashes of the love most of Soma's people hold for their king, and the respect as well.

Soma seems reluctant to release Rosie's wrist and finally glances to Slate, "Would it be over-bold to ask the honor of the Flowerkin's presence in my quarters as I rest? I would send him to his own bed for the night."

Shateishael looks troubled, glancing unhappily between Soma and Rosie. Finally he rumbles quietly, "F'give me, please, but... 'm not much f' rushin' things? I'd like t'talk t'him some first, Summer Lord. After that, if it's what Rosie wants..." he shrugs expressively.

Rosenstern is a bit confused, and so realizes he should be more specific in what he listens for. Another time, I think, not now. He's too exhausted. He looks torn when Soma makes his request, but -- reluctantly -- has to agree with Slate. He has a feeling about the talk that's going to be coming later.

Soma nods and brushes another kiss across Rosie's wrist, "A wise precaution. Good night, Friends." Soma and Bacchus both incline their heads in greeting and farewell to Bella and move toward a large yurt-style tent set up behind the one Bacchus seems to be living out of. Shateishael nods politely, silently watching them leave. One arm reaches out to gather Rosie close, if he wishes. He draws a long, slow, worried breath, studying Rosie's face as the Mercurian watches the butterfly fae depart with the satyr.

Rosenstern watches Soma go with a mixture of apprehension, affection, concern, worry, and adoration. Shateishael glances at Bella then, his expression still worried. Bella steps close and wraps her arms around both the men, hugging tightly for a moment and smiling crookedly, "I say we go back to the camp and curl up in our sleeping bags like a pile of puppies." Rosenstern lets out a breath and nods to Bella.

Shateishael rumbles quietly, "Yeah. Need t'talk t'y'all, too." He sighs softly, "'M sorry, Bellisima... can we save y'r dances f'r 'nother time? I'd really like t'do more, but... maybe not t'night?"

Bella nods and goes up on tiptoes to kiss Slate's cheek, "You can take us both dancing when we get home. Even if it's just in the living room."

Shateishael smiles, relaxing a bit, "Thanks, beautiful." He turns slowly, his arms still about both lovers, adding dryly, "Gotta admit, was a bit nervous 'bout some a' those moth-winged folks lookin' int'restedly at me..."

Rosenstern leans against Slate, snuggling and rubbing against him. Though he looks a touch pensive, he smiles quietly. "It must be the moth-to-flame thing..."

Bella laughs quietly, "Well, you are a flaming beauty tonight..."

Shateishael snorts amusedly, drawling, "Riiiight." He brushes his lips across the top of Rosie's head, then murmurs uncertainly, "...yeah... think snugglin' 'n bein' warm's jus' th'thing t'night, 'f we can't dance any more..."

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