Burning Man -- Logs

The festival is getting more lively every night, with more artwork and more people. The fires are noticeably more numerous tonight than even just last evening. The band of darkness that separates the fae encampment from the rest of Black Rock City is almost a shock. The dome seems to shine onto a quiet, dark encampment. There doesn't to see much movement or activity. Shateishael studies the quiet encampment with a bit of puzzlement... then rumbles, "D'y'all s'ppose th' glamour's hidin' everythin' t'night?"

Bella shrugs, looking slightly uneasy, "Maybe..."

Shateishael slows, looking down at the Bright, "Sumpthin', sweetheart?"

Bella shakes her head, "I just don't trust anything that looks completely quiet." Rosenstern blinks, looking a littler nervous at the sudden tension. He nods reluctantly at Bella's assessment.

Shateishael nods, "Awright. Gimme a sec, 'kay?" He gently disengages from both his companions, then strides forward so he'll pierce the glamour first. The katana's held in his left hand, ready for drawing if necessary.

Bella looks from one male to the other, "All at once or one at a time?" As she's asking her question and Slate is stepping forward, Puck steps through from the fae side. His appearance is sudden, his approach was invisible, and he's in his human guise. When he sees the three angels he grins, opening his arms in a greeting, "Well, hey, guys. Just who I was sent after."

Shateishael pauses, and it's (hopefully) a testament to his training that he doesn't draw on the suddenly appearing satyr. He leaves his right hand resting on the sword's handle and rumbles, "Really now. Why's 'at?" Rosenstern gives a start at the sudden appearance of Puck. He lets out a breath, glad that it's the glamour that's hiding everything.

The satyr laughs, "Soma sent me to escort you back for the exhibition."

Shateishael nods slowly, straightening and relaxing a bit, letting his right hand fall back to his side, "'Kay. Th'glamour s'pposedta be all-obscurin' t'night, then?"

Puck chuckles lazily, "Yeah. I think he wants to save what he can for what he's got planned for the night. Static image is easier to maintain."

Shateishael says, "Huh." He's silent a moment, studying the invisible glamour... then nods once, "'Kay." He turns and holds out a hand to Bella and Rosenstern, "Shall we?"

He's grinning like his normal self, but the young satyr's eyes have stayed above Bella's shoulders any time he's glanced in the Bright's direction. He turns and does a smart ushering motion toward the dome, "M'lady, m'lords? May I escort you past?"

Shateishael chuckles quietly, thinking to himself, [Well, at least he's not aghast too that I turned down Peony!] He'll follow the satyr in with his lovers. Rosenstern walks in alongside Slate, somewhat more relaxed, and curious as to what the glamour will do to them tonight. Shateishael looks immediately to Rosie and Bella, and then his katana, once he's through. Bella lets Slate usher her across, closing her eyes as they start to pass through the dome. She's holding her breath as if concentrating hard.

Inside the dome, Bella cracks an eye and looks down at herself. The outfit has actually changed, but it looks like her concentration has done some good. She is still wearing a short red veil, but it now seems to be silk rather than cotton. Likewise, the gauzy shift has become a waterfall of jewel-toned silk scarves, billowing around her body in such a way as to suggest movement even when she's standing still. The belt around her waist has stayed, but it's almost more a girdle now, draping over her hips so that the coins dangle against her thighs. Her hair is up in whorls and ringlets, held in place by gold combs that flash with deep red stones. The castanets have disappeared, but in their place, she has chains of tiny gold bells on both her wrists and ankles, the delicate jewelry chinkling softly as shifts her feet to look at herself.

Shateishael stares silently down at Bella for several heartbeats... then finally simply leans to gently kiss her temple. Rosenstern's mouth makes an 'O' of amazement, and he can only say, "Wow...!" Bella smiles at the kiss, eyes sliding shut for a moment and the Bright actually blushes a little at the reaction of her companions.

Slate finds himself wearing gi pants in a deep red silk. The fabric moves easily and the garment is cut loosely enough to move extremely freely without being so large as to become an obstacle itself. Around his waist is a black sash that spills down his hip on one side. There is a small length of black rope hanging from the sash from the side on which he would normally wear the katana and its sheath. Around his wrists are deep gold cuffs. He also finds himself wearing black lacquered geta with red rope thongs. His upper body is left bare except for his Thor's hammer.

Rosenstern looks to Slate, and his mouth drops as he stares. He very subtly licks his lips. Shateishael studies himself for a moment, then nods pragmatically, sliding the katana's scabbard into his obi. He does give the wrist cuffs a slightly perplexed look... then smiles faintly and doesn't worry about it. He looks curiously at Rosenstern, catching the end of the lip-licking, and grins broadly.

Apparently there is something very red in Soma's mind tonight because Rosie finds himself wearing it as well. His upper body is hugged by a long-sleeved leather shirt that seems to fasten by an intricate series of laces up the back. The laces themselves end in a bow tied through the hasp of the lock holding his collar closed. The collar and his bracelet have both made it through the glamour and he can feel the chill of the steel through the leather of the collar, but not painfully so. Red ribbons weave through his hair, which has been braided into numerous tiny plaits. Around his hips is a heavy black belt that holds a red leather kilt in place. Rosenstern can feel the suede has been lined with some smooth fabric, and the leather itself is thin and delicate. His legs are encased in boots to the knees, also leather and also red, but with a deep black cuff at the top.

Shateishael raises an eyebrow as he studies Rosenstern's current attire... and he grins again, "Think 'm seein' a theme here t'night..."

Puck chuckles and nods, "Red's a good color. Powerful. Color of fire."

Rosenstern looks down at himself and takes in a soft breath. He moves a little -- and feels the kilt rubbing against him very, very nicely. For a brief moment he is a bit dizzy and glassy-eyed, but he forces himself to focus and to not vamp, as much as the wonderful cling of leather all over him makes him feel. He straightens a bit, folding his hands in front of him, bright-eyed and feeling quite alive.

Shateishael rumbles thoughtfully, "An' th'blood a' life, yeah." He pauses a moment to click his katana forward an inch from the scabbard, checking to be sure it came through unscathed. The katana has come through completely unchanged. He's relieved -- he gently snaps the katana back into place and nods to Puck, "'Kay, think we're all ready. Lead on."

Bella looks both of the men and smiles in that affectionately possessive way that says these people must be lovers. There's no other reason that shared heat would seem so comfortable. Shateishael takes a moment pacing back and forth to adjust to wearing the geta, then looks up with a grin, "Guess it's sumpthin' y'never quite f'get!" His expression warms a bit when he looks at Bella and Rosie waiting for him, and rumbles quietly, "Y'know, 'case I f'get t'say so later... y'both look really beautiful t'night." Rosenstern blushes, smiling to Slate and glancing warmly to Bella. The Bright grins and kisses both Slate and Rosie on the lips, just a quick brush of her mouth against each of theirs before following Puck to the pavilion.

Puck has become his natural self and the encampment has come to life around them. There are actually more people moving outside the tents than normal, and the pavilion door is being not so much guarded as simply watched by two young men who hold themselves as if they could be effective in a fight. They step to either side as Puck approaches, letting the young satyr and the three angels pass.

Rosenstern's blush deepens with the fleeting kiss, and he follows her in, looking around and drinking in the sights and sensations of the court once more. Shateishael goes still a moment at Bella's kiss... then sighs quietly, his eyes bright with happiness. He paces after his lovers silently, appreciatively admiring them walking before him. He eyes the two young men at the pavilion's entryway with the interest of one warrior examining others... then grins quietly to himself as he realizes what he's doing. As the angels pass the two young men actually bow. The motion and walking between them makes it obvious just how heavy-bodied and tall they are. Despite their size, however, they seem very young.

Inside the pavilion things have been completely changed. There is an actual throne of oak set up in front of the tether-pole. There are smaller chairs, two on either side, sitting with it. The chairs all face a low stage with a curtain backing it. Soma himself is assisting with arranging seats around the rest of the pavilion, laughing with the beings helping him. The summer king himself is not in red, but in sapphire blue. He wears a leather catsuit and heavy cobalt blue boots that make him seem to stand more solidly. His shock of hair has been plaited into one thick braid down his back with strings of sapphires and lapis lazuli entwined. Around his forehead is an intricate silver circlet with an enormous lapis lazuli ovoid in the center. He also wears a belt with a scabbarded sword, though by the bejeweled hilt it is unlikely to be an actual instrument of war.

Rosenstern's slow intake of breath as he spots Soma is audible. Bella laughs softly and pats Rosie lovingly on the shoulder, "He is awfully pretty, hon." Shateishael raises an eyebrow at being bowed to... maybe that was actually to Rosie? He wonders curiously what they are. He's not seen any fae that sturdy that weren't dwarves or centaurs, to date. Entering behind Rosie, his eyebrows go up again. Damn... Soma does look impressively bejeweled!

Puck laughs at the Mercurian's response to the summer lord and strides over to get Soma's attention. The Ethereal lord turns and smiles warmly at the angels, "Ahh, you're here already!" He moves toward them with his arms open in a welcoming gesture, "Our auditorium."

Shateishael waits quietly behind Rosie and Bella, glancing around with interest as they greet Soma. He hopes a little uneasily the chairs by the throne aren't for them... he's not very good at public courtly behavior. Rosenstern beams to Soma, but of course does not immediately dash over. "It's beautiful tonight, Lord Soma. Will there be many performers?"

One of the other workers turns out to be Bacchus, who is also wearing a scabbard of sorts across his back. The weapon there seems to be a javelin of some sort. Shateishael raises an eyebrow again -- lot of weapons showing tonight! Curious. He looks back towards Soma and leans to rumble quietly to Rosie, "S'okay t'go say hi, pretty flow'r." Rosenstern smiles and nods to Slate, then moves shyly towards Soma.

Soma smiles at all three of the angels, "A goodly number, though hopefully not so many as to become tedious." He motions toward the throne and chairs, "I secured the best seats in the house for all of us and Bacchus."

Shateishael's face goes politely expressionless -- damn! Just what he'd feared. He smiles and nods to Soma from behind Rosenstern, then sighs internally as he looks around again. He doesn't feel he's really 'earned' any seat near the throne... and then he grins wryly, mentally chastising himself, [Get a grip! He's trying to be nice.] He rumbles politely, "Y'all need a han' w'anythin'?"

The slender fae wraps Rosie into his arms and lays a kiss on the smaller man's braids, murmuring something to him as one hand comes up to touch the bow of laces just below they reach the collar. Shateishael draws in a slow breath as he realizes he may have done something rude already... he has no idea if Rosie's cold steel collar will bother the fae lord or not.

Bacchus grins, "We need a couple strong arms to hold up that end of the stage while I shove some planks under a sagging corner." Shateishael nods to the butterfly lord, then rumbles to Bacchus, "Got it." He can't help a slightly worried glance over to Rosie as he heads over to lift the end of the stage. He hopes the steel doesn't harm Soma, or get seen as a slap.

Rosenstern embraces Soma warmly, being very careful about the collar, and moreover trying hard not to simply rub himself against Soma -- much, or obviously. It is, after all, supposed to be a warm hug. He blushes at the whisper, and murmurs back, "No... they're lovely, and work well as they are, Lord." He blushes more and murmurs merrily, "How else can they be fastened, then?"

Soma laughs softly, "I simply meant that they didn't have to be tied through the lock.

Rosenstern smiles shyly to Soma and nods, "The lacing is lovely as it is; thank you!"

Bacchus leads Slate over to where the leprechaun musicians from the night before are arguing over whether or not they need to remove the fabric skirting completely to let Bacchus place his shims. Shateishael glances at them amusedly, then simply tucks the fabric up neatly in his arms before lifting.

As Slate lifts the stage with fairly little effort, Bacchus scoots under it casually, though having it dropped on him would likely hurt quite a lot. There's a little grunting and one exclamation that can only be a curse in some language that sound vaguely Greek. When the older satyr reappears, he is sucking on a slightly bloodied thumb, "Dark under there," he comments mildly.

Shateishael tilts his head to regard the smaller satyr and rumbles, "Usually. Y'done, 'r y'wan' this up still?"

Bacchus shakes his head wryly and stands up, strapping his javelin across his back again, "Nah. I'm done. You can put it down."

Shateishael grins, settling the stage end carefully down... then grins again at the leprechauns, "S'okay f'y'all now?" The leprechauns cluck and mutter, working with a plumb bob and a t-square to determine that the stage is level. After they've satisfied themselves, they both nod to Slate. Shateishael grins again, reflexively bringing two fingers up to his right temple in a relaxed salute before he remembers that's the wrong culture for what he's wearing. He chuckles quietly to himself -- probably doesn't really matter here -- and wonders idly if Peony's indeed going to be juggling. Then he remembers the flower ladies, and looks around for Rosie, to go escort them to the pavilion as promised.

Shateishael paces over to stand behind Bella and rest his hands on her shoulders for a moment. He leans to rumble to her, "'M gonna go find th'flow'r ladies, t'escort 'em in f'Rosebud. If he notices I'm gone, tell him I'll be right back, 'kay?"

Soma is very carefully not touching the collar, but he doesn't seem offended by its presence. He isn't, however, letting go of Rosie and almost seems to encourage the little bit of wiggling Rosie's letting himself do. He chuckles softly, "We will be ready to begin in less than half an hour... performers will be escorted quietly out before time for their appearance. There's been an opening put in the pavilion wall behind the curtain to make entrances."

Shateishael is a bit relieved at Soma's reaction to the collar -- he does feel possessive of Rosenstern, but has no quarrel with the butterfly fae. He nods at Soma's comment, rumbling, "'Kay. Was thinkin' a' goin' t'escort in th' flow'r ladies like we promised, since 'm thinkin' even if Rosie's one a' th'later p'formers, they'd like to see th' others too, yeah?"

Soma tips his head thoughtfully, "I think perhaps we will have the Flowerkin bring them on stage as the first presentation. So they stay a surprise but get to see the exhibitions."

Shateishael nods politely to Soma, "That works." He looks around at the hustle and bustle with quiet interest as he stands behind Bella... then suddenly, hopefully wonders if he can get Lily to sit in the chair reserved for him... that'd mean he didn't have to sit above the metaphorical salt! He grins quietly to himself as it registers -- Soma knows how the flower ladies turned out already! He thinks amusedly, [Guy really does get around!] Once the stage is level and the leprechauns seem satisfied, Soma settles into the throne and invites the angels to join him. Understandably, Slate excuses himself to help Rosie escort the flower ladies to the pavilion. Bella takes a seat to the left of Soma; Bacchus declines to sit and stands at the summer Lord's right shoulder.

When the two male angels get to Rose and Lily's tent, they have dressed in delicate shifts of pastels that match the delicate hues of their skins and eyes. Shateishael smiles slowly, "Ladies, y'all look incredibly lovely t'night." Rosenstern beams, and nods enthusiastically in agreement with Slate. Shateishael rumbles, "Rosie, why'n'tcha escort Miz Lily, 'n I'll escort Miz Rose?" He steps towards the seated fae's wheelchair, adding, "May I?"

Rosenstern nods to Slate and smiles to Lily. "May I, ma'am?"

Rose laughs delightedly and clasps Slate and Rosie's hands for just a moment, "Such fine words from two fine beings." At Slate's question she glances to Lily, to make sure the amber-eyed fae agrees. At Lily's nod, Rose turns her smile's full wattage on Slate, "We would be honored, Warrior." Across the back of the chair is a wooden bar, set low enough to push the chair without tipping it forward. Lily smiles and laughs soundlessly, slipping her arm through Rosie's. Rosenstern smiles shyly and places his hand on Lily's in his arm.

Shateishael pushes the wheelchair carefully across the encampment to the pavilion entrance and pauses, glancing thoughtfully to first Rosenstern, then the two young men. He asks them carefully, "'R' folks usually announced on entrance?"

One of the young men rumbles in a thick, almost-familiar accent, "You're to take Miz Rose and Miz Lily 'roun' back to come up on stage first... Pan'll show you what to do." The accent is almost-but-not-quite Norse.

Shateishael stares at the young man in fascination... then absently rumbles, "Thanks." He doesn't realize he's shifted languages in his focus on the young man, speaking ancient Norse reflexively to him. He turns and heads with Rose in the direction indicated, wondering where young ancient Norse might come from. Rosenstern ndos dutifully to the to guards.

Shateishael will take the ladies and Rosenstern to the indicated entrance, looking around for Pan. He rumbles curiously to the flower ladies, "Um... y'all know what, er, species those two guys were?"

Pan has taken on the role of production assistant, and does it like he's done it before. The slight young satyr is directing people where to stand and how to get through the curtains without pulling them down. Shateishael nods politely to Pan, standing next to Rose and holding her hand, waiting relaxedly.

Rose laughs softly and smiles up at Slate, "Their mothers were giants." Before she can explain further, Pan is urging them through the curtains and onto the stage. The stage has been lit with old-fashioned candle footlights backed with some silvery metal to reflect the light toward the stage. It throws most of the audience into shadows. There is a young female butterfly fae stage right, speaking to the audience, "Our first exhibition will be not one of talent demonstrated, but of that talent's results." As the angels and the partially restored fae come onstage, a wave of excited and surprised murmuring washes across the court.

Shateishael smiles, pushing Rose's wheelchair forward and then fading well back so Rosie's center stage with the flower ladies. As he does so he puzzles mentally. Just about all the Aesir males dallied with the daughters of giants at one point or another... could those two be the sons of the Aesir?

The delicately green butterfly fae moves across the stage, moving close to Rosie and asks him softly if he could explain what he's done for the flower-ladies. Rosenstern suddenly blushes, tense. This was a lot sooner than he had expected! And it's definitely more of being center stage than he wanted. He stifles his rising tension and genuine nerves as best as he can, blinks to the butterfly-fae and swallows, looking incredibly nerv- No, wait -- stop, Rosie! Don't dishonor Soma here! He swallows a bit, then says quietly but clearly, "I sang for them, a Song of Healing. I fear it was only a Corporeal Song, and I am not the best Singer. I am glad to have done for them this, and only wish I was capable of more for them."

The wave of murmurs goes from curious to astonished and then a thunderous chorus of cheers and applause fills the pavilion. Soma and Bacchus are both smiling and watching not Rosie and the flower ladies, but the reaction of the court. Bella, however is beaming up at her companions. Shateishael smiles quietly, standing with his arms folded in the shadows of backstage. [You did good, pretty Rosebud. You did damned good.] Rosenstern blushes even deeper as the audience cheers. Shateishael will stay offstage until the ladies seem ready to move -- he thinks Rosenstern deserves all the accolades he's getting! Slate doesn't want to get in the way of that. Rose and Lily actually move slightly behind Rosenstern, both smiling knowingly. Shateishael grins amusedly at that. Rosenstern half-glances behind them as Rose and Lily move back, looking even more shy.

After the applause has started to die down, Soma rises from his throne and mounts the stage, moving to kiss Rosie's forehead and saying clearly, "Thus do we welcome back the good works that angelic hands have wrought." Rosenstern blushes, ducking his head in a bow to Soma as he kisses him, in part very glad that he's no longer in the center of attention. Shateishael smiles quietly, [That was a nice touch.] The crowd quiets for a moment and there's another cheer, though it may seem not quite as universal as the last. Shateishael glances thoughtfully out at the crowd, wondering who's not so thrilled. With the lights reflecting back toward the stage, it's almost impossible to tell much of anything about anyone that wasn't raised above the crowd in the way of Soma's throne and the accompanying chairs. Shateishael grimaces faintly -- he'd have liked to know. Still, perhaps he'll have a better chance when he's up.

The two leprechauns from earlier slip onstage to escort Rose and Lily back off the stage. Soma quietly invites Slate and Rosie to simply step down from the stage with him, "Though I shall understand if you wish to escort our lovely blossoms around aand to their seats..."

Rosenstern glances to Slate, smiling a little and murmuring, "That might be a good thing to do?"

Shateishael will step forward from backstage and politely rumble, "Liketa see 'em t'their seats, yeah." He nods to Rosenstern, stepping behind Rose's wheelchair.

Soma smiles and inclines his head, "As I suspected you would." He leaves the stage himself by the way he came and settles back into his throne, wearing a quiet, satisfied smile. As the angels and the fae leave the stage, the murmuring rises into chatter. As Slate and Rosie escort the flower ladies back around, they see Pan shooing a young dragonfly-winged creature onstage with a harp.

Shateishael is careful to see Rose and Lily right to wherever their assigned seats are. He whispers to Rosenstern, "You g'wan up 'n sit w'Bellisima 'n Soma, 'kay? I'm gonna, um... stay out here a bit, 'kay?"

Rosenstern blinks to Slate. "Are you sure, Slate?" he murmurs softly

Shateishael nods firmly, whispering. "Yep. Not much f'thrones, li'l petal... they make me tense. But I'll be 'roun' if y'need me, promise."

Rosenstern smiles a bit and nods, moving back to sit near Bella and Soma -- but not before he gives Slate a warm kiss. Shateishael smiles, returning the kiss with quiet pleasure. Rose and Lily have places saved for them to Soma's right, but not with the other grouping of chairs. Soma invites Rosie to sit in the chair directly to his right. Rosenstern blushes, and slips into that chair, curling his legs beneath him.

After Rosie's left, Slate checks to be sure both flower ladies are comfortable, then fades back very quietly to a more shadowed area of the pavilion. He's tall enough that, standing behind everyone else, he can still see and watch with interest. He mentally whew!s at dodging the spotlight, and relaxes quietly in the back.

On stage, the Ethereal with the dragonfly wings is playing the harp. A mournful Celtic song fills the tent and other than its strains, silence reigns. When Rosenstern settles in, Soma reaches over, stroking the back of his hand briefly. Rosenstern makes a soft, comfortable sound, leaning over a little to rub his head against Soma's hand.

The ballad on the harp seems to ache with loss, the Ethereal's head bowed over his instrument, but then the notes begin to climb. The music draws up out of the heart-breaking sob of the strings, the fae's head raising as the music soars up, hope renewed in the wake of sorrow. Rosenstern is almost on the verge of tears by the middle of the song, and it's something of a relief as the song begins to go higher in mood. Shateishael listens silently, eyes half closed so he can better discern the beauty of the song weaving through the Symphony. Life and Death and Life again... this life-renewal, he feels, should be for the fae. The song ends on a single, joyous chord, the strings of the harp vibrating into the silence of the audience. Only after a moment of generally bated breath do the Ethereals explode into applause.

Rosenstern shivers a little with the ending of the song, then applauds strongly with the fae. It had been almost painful to listen to, achingly yet wonderfully beautiful, most especially towards the end. Shateishael draws a slow breath himself as well, sincerely joining in with the accolade. [Now that's a bard!] he thinks appreciatively to himself. Then he starts looking around the room, noting where folks are. He's particularly interested in where Karl, Gaelach, and the dragon ladies are, although he'll note locations with interest if he spots Bast, Peony, or anyone else he knows.

Karl isn't inside the tent just now, but Gaelach is seated not far from Soma's right. He is surrounded by a small gaggle of fae that almost radiate the aura of yes-men. The luna-moth-winged fae is applauding for the harper, but his face looks less than ecstatic. In fact, he looks disturbed. Peony is forward of Soma's throne. The leprechaun is wearing a very plain brown robe of some sort, belted around her waist. Her hair is braided into cornrows, minute gold chains woven through the plaits here and there.

The harper stands, bows gracefully and comes up beaming like a child at his first recital. His dragonfly wings flutter and he darts upward to spin happily before sweeping offstage with his harp. Shateishael grins at the dragonfly fae's enthusiasm, and claps harder. He wonders what's up with Gaelach, though... it was indeed a hauntingly beautiful song. He continues mentally placing where folks he knows are, curiously watching Gaelach and his yes-fae off and on. He grins at spotting Peony -- he finds her simple attire attractively restful. [Hm... got to think about what kind of blade to make for her...]

Soma is applauding and laughing happily as the dragonfly fae darts off stage. He leans toward Rosie and murmurs, "A cousin of mine... Pan says he's almost beyond what anyone in the court can teach him." There is very evident pride in his voice.

Rosenstern smiles quietly. "He's very talented," he murmurs quietly back. "He had me in tears during the first part of the song, and in the second... he's very, very good!" Bella is applauding so hard, she's turned her palms pink, actually bouncing in her seat. At times, the Bright just seems so very young. Shateishael grins, his gaze warming with affection as he watches Bella.

There are a couple of acts after the harper: two young dryads dressed in only their white dresses and own foliage, sing an old Welsh folk ballad. Somehow the words aren't translated in the angels' ears, letting the lilting of the fluid language stay pure. The next is a display of contortionism by a lithe young man with skin that seems to be made of shifting sand. During this last, one of the male leprechauns comes and leads Peony away.

Rosenstern listens to the Welsh words curiously; since he doesn't understand it, he lets the harmony and melody suffuse him and flow around him, closing his eyes and letting the sound convey it's meaning. It's really very beautiful, though he's never heard Welsh before. The contortionist is fascinating as well, moving with extraordinary grace.

Shateishael also listens with pleasure to the singers, smiling at their lovely looking youth. He blinks at the contortionist, fascinated by the young man's skin... could that be something like his own shifting to Stone? He also continues giving the occasional moment of attention to Gaelach, wondering if the moth fae is still disturbed, or what. Gaelach seems to have relaxed slightly and is laughing with his little entourage. After the contortionist leaves the stage, the slender female that has been serving as the emcee announces there will be a brief break. Shateishael folds his arms and leans back against a support, just people watching with quiet enjoyment.

At the break Soma smiles and looks around, blinking as he sees Slate's seat empty. "The Warrior wishes to be inconspicuous?" he asks Rosie, one hand stroking the Mercurian's leg casually, just enjoying touching. The butterfly king doesn't seem upset so much as concerned.

With the announcement of the break Rosenstern turns to Soma, smiling. "I'm so very glad we came tonight." He shivers a little at the touch, a thrill running through him. He considers his answer. "Mostly, yes. Slate didn't feel comfortable looming."

Soma chuckles softly, "And thus the difference in a soldier and a warrior. Or in a king and a tyrant."

Rosenstern tilts his head at the curious answer. "Why do you say that?"

Soma smiles quietly, "A warrior protects, serves, loves. A soldier fights, intimidates, defeats. A king leads, protects, uplifts. A tyrant rules, oppresses, uses."

Rosenstern listens, then smiles softly and nods. "They certainly do," he says warmly.

The audience is taking the break to chatter and laugh together. Bacchus glances around at Soma's words and spots Slate. Chuckling, the satyr saunters over toward the Seraph, "Hiding in the shadows, Slate?"

Shateishael glances over, then grins ruefully at the satyr, "Um. Not much f'thrones, sorry. Din' think anyone'd mind."

Bacchus chuckles, "No one minds, aside from being sorry we didn't warn you about it."

Shateishael adds amusedly, "Din' think Rosie'd have any problems where he is right now neither." He pauses, then rumbles quietly, "Nah, notta problem. So... why would a lovely song trouble a luna moth fae?"

Bacchus blinks at Slate in puzzlement and looks toward the only fae that has those markings, "You mean Gaelach and his sour face?" He grins, broadly, eyes glinting with amusement, "I think Rosenstern's abilities gave him a bit of an unpleasant start and it took him a while to get over it."

Shateishael raises an eyebrow, "Really now? Why would he be bothered by healin'?"

The older satyr smirks and crosses his arms over his chest, "From whispers I was hearing, I think the little prat had thought your Flowerkin nothing but a pretty and ineffectual face. The fact that he has the ability to restore, even that little, two of our fading ones makes Gaelach have to consider him something more."

Shateishael gives a low, growling chuckle, then rumbles quietly, "Good. Hopefully he's gonna get more'n one s'prise t'night."

As Slate and Bacchus talk, one of the male leprechauns ducks into the pavilion and starts toward Soma's throne, then stops, looking puzzled. He looks around and gives an exasperated sigh before scampering over toward Slate, "Didn't anyone tell you you were supposed to be in that chair, sir?"

Shateishael grins down at the little leprechaun, rumbling, "Yup. But 'm not a knight."

The little fae looks at Slate suspiciously, as if suspecting he's being made fun of, but then the expression passes and he snorts, "Oh, no. You're not a knight and I'm not a leprechaun and Bacchus doesn't get laid more than any five of us. Come along. Pan sent me after you -- you're to go on in a few minutes." As he's nattering, the emcee announces Peony's performance.

By the thrones, the monarch-winged fae shrugs gracefully to Rosenstern and smiles, "It is the difference between harmony and disharmony. Selflessness and selfishness. They're shadows of one another."

Rosenstern leans on the arm of his chair that's closest to Soma. "Shadows, maybe... but very separate from one another as well."

Soma slides his fingers over the sleek braids of Rosie's hair, "Mmm... one can never really be detached from one's shadow, petal."

Rosenstern half-closes his eyes with the touch, smiling and making a soft, comfortable sound. And vice-versa? he thinks but does not ask. Instead he merely murmurs, "That's true." He perks as the emcee announces Peony, and spots Slate with the leprechaun. Oh, foo! He's going to miss Peony's performance!

Shateishael gives the leprechaun a faintly puzzled look, but then grins and shrugs slightly at the little fae, rumbling, "'M not, though. Um... you need me right 'way? Don' wanna miss Peony's performance." He does give Bacchus a faintly bemused glance, wondering how the satyr manages any time on his own if he really has that much sex...?!

Peony steps onstage, walking on the balls of her feet. She's not so much clad as painted. Her body glistens with a sheen of gold and glitter that starts like reverse flames at her ankles and covers her from there to neck and wrists. The wavering tips climb up onto her throat, weaving around the edges of her face and up to her hairline where they blend to almost seem like the genesis of the chains in her hair. In her hands she carries three crystal spheres, and she sets down a simple black bag by her feet.

The leprechaun looks a little flustered as if not sure what to do with someone who doesn't do as Pan says, "Well... I... I suppose... you don't have to change or anything before you do... whatever... do you?"

Shateishael blinks, his attention suddenly focused, thinking, [Wow, she looks great!] A moment later he wonders happily, [I wonder if we could paint something like that on Bella?] By the thrones, Rosenstern also blinks, sitting up and watching Peony, mesmerized already.

Music starts behind the curtain, sounding like the liquid strains of a harp as Peony starts the spheres spinning in her hand, eyes intent on the spheres, the opposite hand moving as if it is directing the movement of the spheres. As she twirls the crystals, she slowly crouches and reaches into the bag, gathering up a fourth sphere that she places atop the three already spinning, making a glinting, moving pyramid of them.

She stays crouched, balanced on the ball of one foot as she stretches the other leg out in a delicate line. She plucks the top sphere from the pile and starts it dancing across her hand, rolling and moving over her palm and then she does a graceful flip of her wrist and sends it over her fingertips and onto the back of her hand. Back and forth the sphere spins, the original three still moving in her other palm.

Rosenstern is sitting with his legs curled under him as he watches, enraptured by the glint and play of light both upon Peony and through the glass spheres. Bella is leaning forward, entranced by the dancing of the spheres. Shateishael smiles slowly, admiring Peony's lovely attire and pondering blades... definitely a lovely, mellow, glowing bronze or red-gold... oooh! Maybe three juggling blades? She might like that....

Slowly, more spheres join the four already dancing in the leprechaun's hands until she's got two spinning pyramids of four, the crystals moving as if they have some sort of magnetic force between them to keep them together as they spin and roll. The music picks up tempo and so does the juggling, the spheres rolling from one hand to the other along Peony's arms, across her chest, and to the opposite arm. The motion is almost hypnotic and Peony looks not as if she's concentrating but as if she herself is intoxicated with the movement of the spheres, her body moving in small circular movements, seeming almost to dance with the crystals. Shateishael blinks, astonished, and a quietly awed, "Holy Freya!" escapes him. Rosenstern is stunned speechless, staring in awe at Peony's ability. His jaw is actually hung open a little bit.

The dance of gold and crystal goes on for long, ecstatic minutes and then she starts sending them one by one to dance down the line of her body to the extended leg, the first coming to rest in the curve where her flexed foot meets her leg. Each following one bumps gently into the last until they line her leg from ankle to thigh. She ends up bowed over them, fingertips reaching out toward her toes.

Rosenstern finds he's holding his breath through the entire performance. She's simply astonishing to watch. The incredible agility she shows could only hint at the 'skilled' that so many have mentioned, but Rosie is stunned simply by the spectacle of how delicately dexterous Peony is. Thinking about that makes him ruminate on Slate's reluctance to her proposition. She could ask anyone she wanted, but propositioned Slate. If it was just about sex with her, she could have been with anyone, even Gaelach. Instead.... he files the thoughts for later discussion with Slate.

Shateishael smiles in silent appreciation of the lovely little leprechaun's artistry, suddenly understanding what Bacchus meant by 'skilled.' He sighs quietly to himself at that thought, wondering perplexedly how folks could want sex with someone just because they're good at moving their bodies... don't they care who the person is? Continuing to watch the little flame-haired fae, though, he is suddenly, self-consciously glad he politely turned her down... he's nowhere near so 'skilled' as this. He shifts a bit restlessly, looking around and feeling out of place again amongst this beautiful, glittering, talented court... he'll people-watch, that's it. How's Gaelach reacting, and who else does he know here? His applause is sincere but a bit wistful when the audience bursts out into cheers.

The moment Peony's done, the leprechaun tries to pull Slate out through the pavilion's entrance, "Come on! Please! There's one short thing between her and you... we have to get you moving." Gaelach was watching Peony in a proprietary, almost predatory way.

Shateishael mentally 'eww!'s at that. He's not quite sure he can wrap his brain around that sort of ownership either, now he thinks about it. Consensual relationships are one thing, that sort of repressed obsessive non- ack! He blinks at the leprechaun, startled out of his reverie by the impatient and ineffectual tugging on him, "Uhmm... oh! 'Kay, sure, comin', comin'..." He heads out after the little fae, taking a deep breath of the cool night air and studying the stars to clear his head.

Bacchus grins and starts to follow Slate and the leprechaun, "I already know I'm supposed to be after you, so I'll follow along."

Shateishael glances over his shoulder at Bacchus, rumbling worriedly, "I'm th'first weapons-user? Uhh... Bacchus, I dunno anythin' 'bout th' stage's borders 'r how twitchy folks're gonna be 'r... nuthin'...?"

Bacchus chuckles and ahhs, "I see... would you feel more comfortable if I told Pan we're switching places? You can have a peek and I can be the one that scares the living hell out of them?"

Shateishael rumbles uncertainly, "Uhm... well, I know Soma wanted me t'..." He pauses, realizing he's not really sure what he's supposed to be doing, aside from scaring a lot of folks he has no reason to scare and spooking Gaelach. Ruefully he reflects that he'd actually rather just clobber the smug moth fae for a real reason, than bluff threateningly... but an opportunity to do that, he suspects, isn't likely to occur in the mostly peaceful seeming Summer Court. He sighs, feeling once again utterly out of his depth in a court, and simply rumbles, "Sure."

Inside the pavilion Soma leans toward Rosenstern and murmurs, "I wept the first time I watched her perform with her spheres."

Rosenstern murmurs back, "I can see why. She's... incredible." He blinks a little and turns to Soma. "Why did you weep?" He reaches over, gently touching Soma's arm as he asks.

Soma lays his hand over Rosie's and laughs softly, "Because sometimes beautiful things are overwhelming as well as sorrowful ones." Peony has gathered her spheres and exited the stage, giving way to a comical little man and several comical little dogs.

Rosenstern smiles softly, turning his hand under Soma's to press his fingertips against the fae king's palm. "I'm sorry... I've been almost too long in the Western world."

Soma smiles and closes his hand over Rosie's, "Not if the Western World needs you."

Rosenstern blushes softly, but his smile is a little sad. "For the time being it does." He leans down to place a soft, adoring kiss on Soma's hand. "But I'm remembering what it means to not be tied to that world."

Soma smiles and goes very still for a moment as if thinking something over very carefully, "Tied to and tied down by are only separate by a very thin line, but tied to is the path of those that serve."

Rosenstern nods, looking back to watch the small dog show. "And I do serve," he says softly. Then after a moment he adds, "And I believe that to serve is to also follow my heart."

Outside the pavilion, Peony is wrapping herself back up in the brown robe as the leprechaun male leads Slate and Bacchus around the back of the tent. She's grinning and laughing quietly with Pan and his small crew. Shateishael watches the little fae in silent wonder, but can't think of a darned thing to say. Peony moves to meet Slate and Bacchus, beaming, "Did they drag you back here before I went on stage?" She reaches out for their hands, seeming to glow, though not literally.

Shateishael grins shyly at Peony, taking her hand and bowing politely over it -- for lack of a clue as to what else to do! When he straightens he scratches the back of his head and rumbles quietly, "Um, no... was 'mazin', ma'am." He glances away a bit self-consciously, not sure what to do with his hands... then makes himself go into parade rest to center himself.

Peony bounces on her toes and looks as if she would kiss Slate on the cheek for the compliment. Then she grins impishly, "It wasn't just to look pretty, though. Leprechauns have been renowned as assassins in the court." She leans in close enough that only Slate and the satyr can hear her, "Not me, but it's good to remind Gaelach there are hands that are quicker than his mind is."

Shateishael nods slowly, suddenly quite effectively grounded at that statement. He opens his mouth to mention how Gaelach had studied her... then pauses, realizing she must know by now. He doesn't want to sound like he's whining at her to be careful, after all, so he just rumbles quietly, "...yeah." He wonders a bit exasperatedly how he's supposed to protect against assassins! -then sharply reins in his thoughts -- he'll do just as he's always done. He's a protector; he doesn't get to choose who comes up against him. [Quit whining, boy. Get a grip,] he thinks irritatedly at himself. He wonders a moment later why he's feeling so unsettled. He really does need to center himself. So she's beautiful and talented -- so? He's got talents too, even if he doesn't clean up so good!

Pan is ushering Bacchus toward the stage and the older satyr calls out, "Watch through the curtains. I'll try to show you how they'll react to a weapon demonstration."

Shateishael nods to Bacchus, then rumbles politely to Peony, "'Scuse me please, ma'am?" He slides silently to a good watching spot and waits to see how the audience reacts -- and just how far around the stage Bacchus moves.

Inside the pavilion, Soma leans toward Rosie and speaks very softly as the man with the dogs leaves stage, followed by good-natured applause and laughter. The dogs' antics were clever and funny, but not nearly as spectacular as some of the other performances. The fae lord's lips brush against Rosie's ear, "Would you like to sit in my lap to watch your Warrior?" he asks, unaware it's Bacchus and not Slate next.

Rosenstern blushes and smiles, nodding, after giving polite but sincere applause. "I would like that, yes, please," he murmurs. Soma holds Rosie's hand and moves to make his lap more accommodating, shifting the scabbarded sword at his belt so it will not jab uncomfortably into the Mercurian's body.

Bacchus takes the stage and bows toward Soma, right hand going to his chest, fingers curled into a loose fist. It's very close to a Roman obeisance. He has removed his javelin from its sheath and the sheath itself is at the edge of the stage, nearly ten feet to his right. He has almost as much space to his left as well. Rosenstern slips onto Soma's lap, sliding an arm around him carefully so as not to lean against him with the steel elements of his collar. He's a little surprised as Bacchus appears and not Slate. Is Slate... does Slate have stage fright? That seems so unlike him... Soma seems surprised as well, but inclines his head in answer to the bow. To the trained eye it is almost more a greeting between equals than a bow and acknowledgement of liege and lord.

Bacchus takes a moment, centering himself with the javelin held between the palms of his hands, palms facing one another at sternum-level as if in prayer. He starts into a slow kata, using the javelin like a staff, moving through some obvious defensive stances. The satyr doesn't move with the grace of the leprechaun, but with the sure practice of someone used to their body. Rosenstern snuggles up against Soma, watching Bacchus alertly. His fingertips gently caress the back of Soma's neck. Soma watches Bacchus with a quiet smile, though his attention wavers when Rosenstern's fingers move over his skin. His arms are wrapped around the Novalite's waist, one hand resting against the smaller man's hip.

Bacchus' movements get more purposeful, less defensive. He thrusts and parries with the weapon in the way of a different sort of spear. The satyr uses all of the stage, moving edge to edge in his demonstration. He wears an expression of dire concentration. Rosenstern's fingertips continue to just brush Soma's neck as he watches Bacchus intently. He squirms comfortably in Soma's embrace as they watch.

As the demonstration goes on, Bacchus sweeps the javelin tip out over the edge of the stage, grazing near the audience without touching anyone, jabbing into empty air with shouts of attack. His breath gets quicker, muscles moving more jerkily, more like danger than demonstration. At the end he whirls quickly into throwing position, tossing the javelin up and catching it in the grip for letting it fly... and fly it does, through the air to Soma's right to bite with a resounding thud into a wooden targe that had been attached to an outer support above head-height.

Shateishael nods slowly to himself, watching the satyr move, studying where the edge of the stage is, and where folks are located relative to it. Glancing around the little stage again, he mentally riffles through his kata. He picks three in a row that allow him to stay mostly in one small area, and which allow for both armed and unarmed practice. Then he freezes at the sudden javelin toss, forcing himself not to leap out in defense of his friends -- then remembers to breathe again when the javelin is obviously aimed at the target. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and growling internally, [Gonna strangle whoever was supposed to warn me about all this!]

Rosenstern blinks and actually gives a bit of a, "Yipe!" as the javelin sings through the air -- it's only a little bit affected. Though he does remember to breathe again, and his fingers grip reflexively on Soma. Soma wraps Rosie in his arms and jumps a little, chuckling for a moment at the yipe, "I thought you were all aware that Bacchus was going to launch his weapon at the end of his demonstration?"

Shateishael grins a bit grimly to himself, realizing the absurdity of everyone checking their behavior with him... then he blinks, and his almost accusing gaze travels to Puck, [He didn't! He wouldn't! ...would he?] Puck is in the audience with Ayra, laughing and applauding at their father's performance. Slate is silent a moment, thinking... then grimly reflects that if the young satyr was charged with warning him, he's going to feel no compunction whatsoever at getting the little jerk in trouble with the dragon ladies! He carefully loosens his grip on the curtains, not wanting to damage them, and steps back so there's room for Bacchus to exit smoothly.

Bacchus ends the performance with another, sharper fist-to-chest bow and then leaves the stage with a purposeful stride. The satyr grins at Slate, almost vibrating with the energy of exercise and mock battle, "Ahh! That does get the old blood pumping!"

Shateishael grins at Bacchus -- he quite understands that sentiment! He glances at Pan, checking to be sure he's next, as he rumbles quietly to Bacchus, "Nice work."

Pan makes a shooing motion toward Slate, indicating he should get onstage. The young woman doing the emcee steps through first, announcing, "And now, it is our great honor to have the Celestial Warrior." Shateishael steps out of his geta by the short steps to the stage. After mounting them he pauses at the edge to give a small, formal bow first in the direction of Soma and his friends -- then towards the stage and audience beyond. After that he paces to the center of the stage, takes a long, slow, deep breath, lets it out slowly as he lets his consciousness drift away... then suddenly erupts into explosive movement.

On the oak throne, Rosenstern blinks to Soma and shakes his head. "No, none of us were told that! Er...." he glances around, trying to find Puck. "Who was supposed to tell us that?" He brightens at the mention of Slate though, and beams, watching his lover and dominant intently.

Soma sighs and rolls his eyes in exasperation, "Puck. Though I didn't tell him directly. I told his current keepers. They may have not been as explicit as I wished... or he may simply be trying to test the limits of the binding."

Rosenstern murmurs, "Oh, dear," at mention of Puck's name. I swear, he's like a Malphean and an Andrealphan all wrapped up in one goat-legged package!

Onstage, Shateishael moves very, very swiftly in short, powerful bursts, completely focused on what he's doing. He's deeply into the floatingly reactive 'no mind' of the martial art, whipping through the linked kata with the polished ease of someone very, very familiar with what he is doing. Curiously he does not move heavily, despite his size -- he almost drifts, deceptively graceful, across the stage. Bella is on the edge of her seat, eyes wide and bright, hands clasped in her lap as Slate moves with the beautiful danger of a skilled warrior. The look on her face is that hungry wariness that speaks of the most thrilling sort of desire.

Abruptly Slate whirls through the kata steps and right off the stage, Gaelach only a long arm's reach away from the big Seraph. For perhaps three long steps of the kata Slate whips fluidly past the luna moth fae, his cold, icy gaze focused on Gaelach as his body shifts through the breakneck speed of the kata -- and then, with a lithe bound, Slate's back on the stage and still moving. Gaelach jerks backward ever so slightly, eyes flashing real fear for a moment until he realizes Slate is not so much threatening as warning. His own emerald eyes stare back at Slate, trying for defiant and mostly ending up haughty. It takes visible effort for the luna moth fae not to slump with relief when the angel whirls away.

On the oak throne, Soma looks toward Puck -- and then his gaze is ripped away by Slate's deceptively light movement off the stage -- he smiles with amusement and admiration. He seems very, very pleased with Slate's choice. Rosenstern's breath catches as he sees Slate send an utterly unmistakable message to Gaelach. He continues to hold the breath.

A few short moments later Slate has concluded the kata and is poised back in place at the center of the stage, where he straightens, draws a deep breath again, and bows formally once... then with a sharp, "KIAI!" as he snaps the katana out and invokes it, he whips back through the linked kata once again -- and again he flows with deliberate, almost reflexive speed. The beautiful, ancient sword gleams, a tongue of flame in his hands, reflecting the firelight as it dances and whirls like a live thing through the bright, aggressive movements of the kata with Slate.

Shateishael goes through the same three steps of the kata as before in front of Gaelach, this time accompanied by the soft, wicked whisper of cold steel cutting through the air in sharp, precise slices. There is an unpleasant promise in Slate's ice-blue gaze -- and then he's whirled away again, back up onto the stage. Though Gaelach is more relaxed at first on the second pass, his eyes grow wider with every pass of the blade so close. The longer the katana is out, the more cold it radiates, frost tracing the gleaming steel like deadly lace.

Soma's eyes are intent upon Slate, face no longer holding amusement, but clear and sincere admiration. Rosenstern watches, his eyes wide with adoration and utter love for Slate. As the cold steel blade cuts a frosty swath through the air, unbidden comes to his mind:

Gold is for the mistress -- silver for the maid --
Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.
"Good!" cried the Baron, sitting in his hall,
"But iron, cold iron, is the master of them all."

It takes surprisingly little time to gracefully accomplish the entire chain of kata once again -- and then with a smooth, swift gesture and a slight snickt! the katana is once again sheathed in the plain, battle scarred, black-lacquered scabbard. Slate bows politely once more towards the little thrones, then towards the audience. After that he turns immediately and heads off stage, swiftly sliding his feet into his geta without looking at anyone. He feels a little... odd, a little off -- he's not sure why precisely he feels as unsettled as he does, he's not sure he's doing the right thing currently... and he does not expect a happy reaction from the audience. So he straightens and paces smoothly and with dignity out of the pavilion -- he is a Seraph of Stone, after all!

The audience was all gasps and cries of surprise during the exhibition, but once Slate starts to step off the stage, there is a deafening roar of applause and cheers. And then, in a wave, the whole court is on their feet. Even Soma shifts to let Rosenstern stand as he rises. Rosenstern stands as well, clapping and applauding enthusiastically, almost bouncing on his feet.

Shateishael stands outside, out of folks' way, staring up at the stars and drawing slow, even breaths of the cool night air. He's given his warning. He's done what he thinks the Summer Lord wants. He's behaved with decorum... he starts to feel better after a few seconds -- a bit more centered in his body and less likely to try and chew Puck's head off for a stupid prank. It's not the silly young satyr he's really upset with, after all. Then he blinks, the applause finally registering. He looks at the pavilion, wondering... surely that's not... for him? As he turning, Bella comes running out of the pavilion, laughing joyfully as she throws herself toward Slate, blindly trusting he'll catch her. Shateishael is pacing back almost warily... then blinks, reflexively catching the happy Bright. He hugs her close, rumbling confusedly, "Bellisima? Is that... who're they -mmf?!"

Bella takes Slate's face between her hands and kisses him mid-question. Shateishael blinks startledly again -- then happily decides the question can wait! He relaxes into the kiss, a low rumble of appreciation in his chest. When the kiss ends, Bella laughs and wiggles her way to the ground, "Who the fuck do you think? Get back in here." She moves backward, tugging on Slate's hand, knowing that she's not moving him if he doesn't want to move.

Shateishael gives her a slightly confused grin, following amiably despite his un-surety. He rumbles quietly to her as they approach the pavilion, "Thought they'd be scared though, beautiful, from what Soma said...?"

The Bright still pretends to be dragging Slate as she leads him back toward the tent, "Oh, I'm sure Gaelach's pissing his pants and you were scary as hell, but wow..."

The court is still on its feet when the two angels enter the tent, and the cheering redoubles. Soma has to lean close to Rosie to be heard, "Go to him, petal..." Shateishael looks rather surprised as he looks around, following Bella's lead -- this really wasn't what he expected! A slow, quietly happy smile dawns on his face as he realizes the accolades are sincere, and he's not going to be an object of fear to the folks he was starting to like so much.

Rosenstern blushes and nods, giving Soma a quick, heartfelt kiss. "I'll be back," he whispers. Then he's dashing through the crowd, weaving his way through the cheering throng to almost tackle-hug Slate about his chest. "Slate, you were marvelous!" Bella has herself wrapped around Slate from the back now, the three angels presenting what must be a very obvious image of solidarity.

Shateishael blinks again, startledly catching Rosenstern as well, "Rosebud? Uh... thanks, pretty flow'r!" He draws a slow breath, then suddenly grins more sincerely, "Wow... guess they did like it!" He laughs, waving once to the crowd and then putting an arm around each lover, "Thank you!" He grins, tilting his head to nuzzle Rosenstern's head and to give Bella a quick kiss... then rumbles to them both, "C'mon... le's go siddown a bit, 'kay?" He heads back towards the chairs they were assigned -- he can put up with sitting there a bit, he guesses, now he feels a bit more like he's not being regarded as something like... oh, a hired axe-man or somesuch.

Rosenstern snuggles against Slate's side, not really caring that this might very well be giving Gaelach something to use against them all, and laughs. "Of course they did! You were incredible and dashing!" Shateishael chuckles quietly at Rosie's statement.

As the angels approach the throne, both Soma and Bacchus bow deeply and gracefully to Slate. The satyr is grinning so wide it looks like his face might split. Soma isn't grinning, but his eyes are glowing with blue fire. Slate's eyes widen slightly at being formally bowed to -- he's not really used to that -- but he gracefully returns the bows, still beaming, before sitting next to Bella on Soma's far left. He reflects amusedly as he settles, [Guess Gaelach's really not popular with these folks... poor sap.]

Rosenstern glances around, then grins and looks for a chance to tug Slate towards where Peony had been sitting. The ovation seems to have started near where she was sitting, after all....

Even Gaelach has stood for the ovation, but his clapping is somewhat stiff. Eventually the court settles and Soma sits, leaning across Bella to murmur, "I apologize, Warrior; it was brought to my attention after you were already on stage that my chosen messenger didn't get the full message to you."

Shateishael rumbles amusedly to Soma, "Wuz it Puck? C'n I strangle him?"

Soma smiles wryly, "It was, and I think we shall need to find out what order his keepers gave him. It was to them I spoke."

Shateishael adds a moment later, "Er... an' is there more to th'message I should know?" As the quiet discussion is going on, a puppet stage is being set up on the main stage. Rosenstern settles into his seat as well, feeling tingly and elated that Slate earned such a grand ovation. Shateishael grins cheerfully at Rosenstern, rather pleased to see him so elated looking!

Soma's hand has reached toward Rosenstern again as if by its own accord. He speaks to Slate, "I simply wished for you to know that some show of force is welcome and that weapons demonstrations are common at such events... the court knows how to react to them."

Shateishael nods and grins, "Gotcha. Well, now I know." He cheerfully adds, "C'n I strangle Puck later, then?"

Rosenstern takes Soma's hand in his, still beaming broadly. The idea of strangling Puck is not an unattractive one... Soma laughs quietly, "If you wish only to scare him, certainly."

Shateishael chuckles, "Nah. Think I'll jus'... get him in trouble wi'th'dragon ladies. Tha's meaner!"

The summer lord smiles wryly, "Hell hath no fury..." he murmurs.

Shateishael grins amusedly at the butterfly fae, but says nothing... just leans to gently nuzzle against Bella. He rumbles very softly just to her, "Thanks f'comin' out f'me, sweetheart."

Bella murmurs, whispering back, "I wouldn't let you miss this for the world." Shateishael's eyes warm and he hugs her gently, resting his forehead against her for a moment. Then he straightens a bit so they can both watch the performers... and so he can happily look around for folks he knows. As he does so he muses to himself -- he should have realized there'd be a target here somewhere, since Ajax is supposed to do an archery demo.

Soma leans toward his right so that Slate and Bella can both hear him, his fingers stroking Rosie's wrist "I had thought to let the Seductress take the stage just before myself." His smile takes on an edge of appreciation if not lechery, "Your appearance is very striking, my dear."

Bella grins at Soma and answers, "As if you had no hand in it..." Shateishael snorts amusedly at Soma and Bella's discussion! As Slate thinks, a centaur that looks like a smaller, more compact version of Karl moves through the curtains and bows the human half of his body, along with extending his right foreleg in an equine bow as well. Shateishael smiles, watching -- Thea'd like this young man too, he suspects.

Rosenstern grins as he listens, and lightly runs his free hand over Soma's arm as he watches the next performance. Now that he's a lot less tense he can pay attention to other things... not only the performance but the lovely buttery-soft leather that Soma is wearing... Urf! Focus, Rosie, focus! Don't get distracted from the performance! It's rude!

Peony is back in her old spot, surrounded by people that seem more friends than admirers. Karl has entered and is standing at the back of the pavilion, arms across his chest and a proud smile on his face. Bast is in the shadows around the edge of the pavilion, prowling very much like a cat. Shateishael grins at Karl's demeanor, realizing the big centaur must be related to Ajax in some way. He very much understands that pride in one's offspring, whether by blood or adoption. He makes a mental note to stop by and say hi to Karl later... then grins again at Bast's prowling. His gaze rests on Peony for a while... then he smiles faintly to himself. She's got plenty of friends; she doesn't need him butting in on a night like tonight, when she's probably still high from her performance. He turns his gaze back to Bast instead, wondering if the cat-like woman has any friends like that.

Ajax -- for who else could it be -- has a quiver strapped across his back and is carrying a deeply recurved bow that gleams with the light of a piece of wood well-cared-for. After he greets the audience, he turns to his left where there's been an aisle cleared, leading to the far end of the pavilion. When he backs to the edge of the stage, it puts him almost forty feet from the target at its end. Rosenstern watches curiously, glancing between the centaur and the target. He isn't sure -- he's not an archer -- but it looks like it is a fairly modest distance to be firing at, unless the centaur's aiming for a great deal of precision.

The young centaur takes a breath and closes his eyes. With eyes still closed he nocks and fires his first arrow -- and it hits within the center ring of the targe. And the second arrow hits so close that one has to be right on the target to see they don't share the same entry point. One after another, he fires a half-dozen arrows, eyes still closed. When he lowers the bow, the six arrows are bunched together so close that their fledging is one indeterminate mass of feathers. Ajax opens his eyes and fires another arrow. It lands in the outermost ring of the target, but the two directly after it lodge one into another's nock. Before the last of the three has stopped quivering the young centaur has launched three move, but these he nocked and fired together. They land within inches of one another on the target.

For the finale to his demonstration, Puck walks over and stands in front of the target, arms outspread. He's wearing a very cocky grin and looks not the least bit frightened. Taking one deep breath, Ajax sends ten arrows speeding toward Puck in a steady hail. One after another they puncture the target within an inch of Puck's body, outlining his torso and not so much as scraping his skin. Both young Ethereals take a deep bow and Ajax exits the stage. Puck wiggles his way out of the nest of arrows and goes to sit with Ayra again. No one is clapping harder or cheering more loudly than Karl. Shateishael grins and joins in the roar of applause, impressed. The last time he saw anything like that was in Nihon, centuries ago -- and it wasn't as precise as this! He can completely understand Karl's pride in his offspring; archery like this is amazing. He wonders thoughtfully if Ajax is sworn to this court or no.

As Ajax is being led off-stage, the leprechauns appear at the thrones to lead Bella and Soma away. Rosenstern blinks, amazed at the display of archery prowess, and cheers as well, applauding Ajax. Bella leans over to kiss Slate on the temple before scampering off. Soma does much the same before moving. As Soma heads off, Rosie returns Soma's kiss warmly, smiling and reaching up to gently touch the fae king's cheek. Shateishael grins and gently squeezes Bella's hand before she goes, then glances about, intending to casually drift away from the throne chairs to go wander behind the crowd. Rosenstern, however, then takes the opportunity to sit beside Slate, murmuring softly and a little teasingly, "Did you notice who started the standing ovation for you?"

Shateishael puts an arm around Rosie and hugs him gently, still feeling rather good. He chuckles, "Sweet petal, I wasn' lookin' at anyone atall as I lef'. Was there someone in p'tic'lar y'had in mind?"

Rosenstern's smile widens. "Well, I wasn't certain, but it looked like Peony was the first to stand...." The delicate green emcee declares another short pause in the programming.

Shateishael looks a bit surprised, "Really? Huh... wonder why?" He muses a moment -- then grins wickedly, "Ah, gotcha. Man, that luna moth guy's really unpopular!" He glances over at Peony, still grinning mischievously.

Rosenstern shakes his head. "I don't think that's quite it," he says, reaching over to lightly scratch his fingernails over Slate's arm. "Something came to me earlier. She's popular for... ahem, what she can do in bed -- I think we've heard the innuendo from just about everyone here. But if she was just interested in sex, she'd have no end of people here who'd be more than willing to do that with her. She could proposition anyone, or even just wait to be propositioned -- I doubt Gaelach is the only one to approach her. Instead... instead, she propositioned you. She approached you. There's a seed of something there, Slate-my-love. And I'm pretty sure it's not just that she wants to jump you."

Shateishael looks interested, if not precisely clueful, "Yeah? Huh. Whatcha think she wants?" He frowns puzzledly, "Got th' impression from Bacchus she could take care a' herself, though...?"

Rosie attempts to order his thoughts. Even as a Mercurian who's supposed to be familiar with the ways and wiles of the heart, wearing what he's wearing and being in this close proximity to Slate while wearing it has a blessedly powerful distracting effect on him. "I think she's interested in you as a person -- that she's attracted to you, and not just for your body."

Shateishael lazily strokes a hand along Rosie's bare thigh as he considers, absently nudging aside the kilt where necessary, then rumbles, "So... whatcher sayin' is askin' someone t'bed here is... more like sayin' "I like you" than "le's have sex"?"

Rosenstern pauses for several very long moments, and only some of that is to keep his thoughts in order from the lovely touching. "Slate, congratulations. You have just reached the first plateau."

Shateishael gives Rosenstern an amused look, "Uh-huh. Plateau a'what?"

Rosenstern smiles merrily to Slate, reaching down to take the Seraph's hand in both of his. "Sorry. Old, old joke. You're partly right, I'm sure, that people here have sex more casually than the outside world does. But I'm also saying that she could have propositioned or been propositioned by anyone. Instead she approached you. So, yes... she likes you. Quite likely likes you a great deal."

Shateishael is starting to look a bit disbelieving, "Rosebud, this's all fine 'n good, but how could she like me all hunky-dory bunches if'n all we've had is one dance?"

As the angels are discussing Peony's possible motives, the curtains open and Bella steps on-stage. With her is the djinn with the pipe and the one with the drum. The settle in a back corner of the stage and the piper begins to play a slow, sinuous melody. The music seems to catch Bella's hands and start them moving in graceful curves, describing intricate patterns in the air. Shateishael pauses, distracted by Bella's entrance... although his gentle stroking of Rosie's thigh reflexively continues.

Rosenstern says wryly, "Why don't you find out and talk to her? If nothing else... you might ask her the same consideration you made of me." Then the curtains open and he falls silent, watching Bella and once again struck by how simply beautiful she is. Combined with the haunting melody, he finds it almost mesmerizing.

The music picks up volume and seems to move down Bella's body, catching first her head and then her shoulders, the wave of motion pouring down her body as slow as honey. As the volume picks up so does the tempo, but not drastically -- just enough that when her feet begin to move, the bells add a tinkling counterpart to the pipe. The moment her hips begin to move, the drums join into the tune. Shateishael's face warms uncharacteristically as he watches Bella dance, a slow smile curling up his lips. He loves her for who she is inside -- he finds her beauty in the Symphony simply astonishing. It does mean, though, that occasionally she still catches him by surprise when he registers her physical beauty as well. Amusedly he reflects that he loves her for that wonderful sense of surprised discovery he gets with her, too.

Once the Bright's feet begin to stir, she starts to move across the stage, flowing into the motion as if a breeze were urging her that way. At the edge of the stage she twirls around, veils and silks whirling outward and seeming to offer glimpses of flesh that never come. As she makes her way in the other direction, hands still dancing through the air with their bracelets of bells, the pace picks up and the motions become more aggressive; less demure and more seductive. Shateishael continues to absently trail his fingers along Rosie's thigh, his eyes bright with happiness as he watches the lovely Bright. Rosenstern watches, most definitely mesmerized. This is a side of Bella he's never really seen before, although he has enough wherewithal to glance about at the audience now and then to see their reaction to her -- and he glances over to see what Gaelach's reaction in particular is.

Bella's dance moves back and forth across the stage, moving slowly forward until she can step off, weaving her way through the crowd, bells tinkling and coins flashing. She makes her way in a slow spiral from the outside edges in. She passes within feet of Gaelach, but carefully out of touching range. Her spiral finally brings her to the dais and she dances for just a moment in front of the angels and the satyr standing unobtrusively behind them and ends up perched on pillows near their feet.

Bella sits quietly for a moment and the music fades. There's a moment of silence as the audience realizes the dance is done before applause fills the pavilion. Shateishael beams admiringly at Bella, waiting until he's sure the dance is finished before he holds out a hand to her. The Bright reaches for Slate's hand and squeezes it, reaching for Rosie with the other. Shateishael laughs, lifting her lightly to her feet so he and Rosie can both give her hugs. Rosenstern beams, standing and taking Bella's hand, letting Slate hug her first. Shateishael swings Bella up off her feet in the hug, laughing delightedly, "Y'r beautiful, beautiful!"

Bella nestles into the hugs and is making a sound that's as close to a purr as a human throat can come to when Slate swings her around, making her squeal with laughter. Shateishael grins, setting Bella lightly back on her feet so she can hug Rosenstern too... and then his gaze shifts curiously -- what's Gaelach's reaction?

When the applause starts to die back, Gaelach is one of the few still clapping to the very end -- and he is watching the three angels very, very closely, though his interest seems to have slide from Rosie to Bella. But the moment he sees he's being watched his face turns toward the stage, where the emcee has reappeared, waiting for the audience to quiet. Shateishael smiles a touch grimly, thinking, [Yeah, you look away, jerk.]

Rosenstern beams as Slate sweeps Bella off her feet, then he hugs her warmly and enthusiastically. "You did wonderful, Bella! Your dance was amazing!"

Bella hugs Rosie tight and winks at him, "I'll teach you sometime."

Shateishael grins at Bella at that, "Bright Lady, y'r gonna gimme heart attack if'n y'r both doin' that!"

Bella settles back into the cushions, tipping her head back to grin at Slate, "Well, we'd want to affect your pulse, anyway."

Shateishael chuckles, settling gracefully next to Bella and lightly brushing the backs of his fingers along her cheek, "Don' needta dance t'do that t'me, lover."

Rosenstern laughs softly. "Oh, I'd love to learn that, Bella!" He laughs again at her comment to Slate as he curls up on the chair again.

Bella smirks and winks, "No, but sometimes it's fun to watch you drool." She turns her attention back to the stage where the emcee has just announced Soma's entrance. Shateishael snorts amusedly, but obligingly turns his attention to the stage as well. He glances around once before Soma's entrance, noting where a few folks are so he can try talking to them afterwards... then he looks back at the stage. Rosenstern sits up, blinking curiously and wondering what Soma will be doing.

The torches that have been keeping the pavilion in dim light are doused, leaving the footlights lining the stage as the only illumination, aside from the soft glow of someone's skin here or there. Soma steps onto the stage in full brightness: blue light shining from his body, a golden gleam from his wings. As he raises his arms, the sun seems to rise in the pavilion and suddenly the court finds itself convening in a meadow covered in small yellow wildflowers, a breeze brushing through with the barest whisper of a winter just passed. Rosenstern takes in a sharp breath at the sudden change, blinking and looking around in surprise. Shateishael smiles amusedly, somehow not surprised. Somhairle'd been saving up his energies, after all -- makes sense he'd do something hugely dramatic as a closer for the night. Slate settles back to enjoy the show.

As the sun rises, golden and scarlet in the east, a pair of creatures emerge from the nearby woods, one a delicate, spindle-legged foal, the other a magnificently ebony creature with a spiral horn that seems to be made of snowflake obsidian. They raise their heads and sniff the air before walking forward into the meadow to crop grass quietly. From all directions there is the waking-up twitter of birdsong that slowly resolves to a wordless, multipart harmony of voices. The unicorns shimmer and change, becoming a deer and her fawn before trotting back into the wood; the sun climbs through the sky, and at its zenith a cloud of yellow-winged butterflies erupts from the flowers. The brush of their wings is very real as they flutter past cheeks and foreheads, only to explode upward into a shower of silver fire that resolves into stars on the backdrop of a deep indigo sky as the last finger of sunlight sinks below the western horizon, sending the pavilion back into darkness. Slowly, the glowing form of Soma returns and then the ring of footlights surrounding him. The summer king is standing with his head back as if ecstatic, arms spread.

Shateishael smiles slowly again, watching the dreamlike world with quiet, wondering pleasure. Such beauty... he wonders a little sadly if the Winter King ever creates beauty, or if the hierarchy is such that it wouldn't even occur to him. Then he wonders more wistfully if the unicorns are truly that ethereally lovely... he hopes so. Thea will be in raptures!

The only applause that came even close to this was that which greeted Slate's performance. The ovation comes not in a wave but as a sudden surge with only a few hesitations. The monarch-winged fae doesn't seem in the least winded as he strides from the stage, returning congratulations and even hugs with several of his courtiers on the way back to the throne. He seems surrounded by a triumphant theme, not so much disturbing the Symphony as introducing variants as he sits down. Even the best of Songs have a hard time shifting things so subtly.

Shateishael applauds with the others, although he's quite startled at the Symphony's reaction to Soma. He glances at Rosie and Bella, wondering if they've noticed it too... and how far the disturbance extends! Rosenstern watches, stunned not only by the mere sight of the unicorns, but also the implications. If what just happened is what he thinks happened... the mythical bestiary is being hidden on Earth in plain sight of Jordi. Then another thought takes him: What if Jordi already knows? -then again... that was such a beautifully subtle play within the Symphony... Hush, Rosie... you're over-thinking things again. And you're probably completely blowing it out of proportion. He does stand and beam as Soma returns, applauding him sincerely and warmly, and unhesitatingly embracing him as he sits, words failing the little Mercurian.

Soma takes one long, slow moment to kiss Rosie, concentrating solely on the little angel in his embrace -- and that seems to bring a fresh wave of applause and cheers. Shateishael chuckles quietly as he watches, still applauding with the audience. He glances around, warmed by the obvious happiness the court takes in its monarch's joy. The applause does finally die down, and Soma announces, "That is the end of our demonstrations, dear friends! I believe the inestimable Pan has created an outdoor celebration for those that wish to partake!"

Shateishael hms, wondering if Pan is also a chef as well as an inestimable bartender and stage manager. He grins at the thought, then loops an arm around Bella's waist and grins down at her, "Shall we, beautiful?" Bella grins happily at Slate, the casual carriage of her body back, so different in some ways than the seductive way she moved in the dance. Shateishael pauses, studying her a moment... then touches her cheek and smiles quietly.

Soma offers his arm to Rosie in much the same way, "My dear petal?" Rosenstern smiles and puts his hand in Soma's arm. The outdoors feast sounds and will likely smell delicious. And of course he has to coordinate with Bella on some machination to get Slate to talk to Peony. It's just the sort of spark that has to be either left to smolder and fade, or fanned into something lovely and warm.

As the Ethereals stream out of the tent, there is much laughing and chatter. There hasn't been a lot done to change the encampment aside from clearing clutter from the area in front of the pavilion. A cluster of musicians has gathered on another small stage and there is an enormous buffet table set up. The actual tables to sit at are scattered around the camp, colored paper lanterns hanging over them to point out their locations. People are already piling their plates with food and a few couples are dancing to a sweetly melancholy waltz. Shateishael brightens, then gives Bella a hopeful look, "Waltz, lovely?"

Bella smiles and nods, leaning her head against Slate's shoulder for a brief moment, "I'd love to..." She glances to Rosie and Soma, "The pair of you will be fine, right?" There's a note of teasing in her voice.

Rosenstern glances to Soma, and smiles to Bella. "I think we will be, yes...."

Shateishael chuckles quietly, taking a moment to turn away from the crowd and return his katana to sword-space. Once he's tucked it away he offers his arm to Bella, gladly sweeping her out into the dreamily lyrical waltz music, lost within love. Bella quite happily lets herself be swept into the dance with Slate, murmuring good-naturedly, "You're so going to have to lead, hon; I have never danced a waltz in my life..."

Shateishael grins down at Bella, eyes almost glowing with happiness, "'S'okay, lover... s'th'job a' th'man t'lead inna waltz 'n make sure his partner looks ravishin' always. I got it easy on th'ravishin' part!"

Bella's eyes twinkle as Slate's hand settles on her waist to start the dance, "Why, sir, are you offering to ravish me?" The question is asked in a deep Georgia drawl, and she flutters her lashes like a country coquette.

Shateishael chuckles again, his drawl more Texan but equally deep, "Any time you'd like, ma'am!"

On the edge of the dance floor, Rosenstern looks up to Soma, eyes bright. "And what would you like to do, my Lord?" he says in a light, gently teasing tone.

Soma smiles down at Rosenstern, his free hand reaching to caress the line of Rosie's jaw, "What I wish to do and what is acceptable to do are two entirely different creatures, sweet petal. So for the moment shall we mingle and give my people a chance to fawn over you for helping two dear friends?"

Rosenstern half-closes his eyes, smiling and giving a soft purr. His tone is still warm and pleasant, though. "I don't know about 'fawning.' I... I'm just upset that it was never done before..."

Soma chuckles again and starts to lead Rosie toward the mingling crowd of Ethereals, though the sound is slightly sad, "Ahh, little one, I am not certain it would have worked for someone not an angel."

Rosenstern slips his arm into Soma's, stepping daintily beside him. "Why do you say that?" he says softly. Then he realizes why, perhaps: the damage was done by angels or demons. So perhaps it could only be healed by Celestials, "...oh."

On the dance floor, Shateishael strokes his hand gently down Bella's back, enjoying the sensuality of the various textures -- Bella's soft hair, the light ripple of delicate golden chains, the silken clothing... he sighs in quiet pleasure and leans to drop a gentle kiss on her forehead as they dance. Bella closes her eyes, smiling at the kiss and pressing closer to Slate than is really proper for a waltz. For a short bit the Bright just keeps her eyes closed, memorizing the moment through touch and feel and sound. Shateishael gladly holds the Bright close as they dance -- it's not like anyone's going to come over and try to enforce a proprietous separation on them, after all! He whispers softly to her,

""...in thy sight I stand transfigured, glorified aright,
With conscience of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face toward thine. There's nothing low
In love, when love the lowest, meanest creatures
Who love God, God accepts while loving so."

Bella's eyes open and she smiles dreamily up at Slate. [He really honestly doesn't even understand that the fact he's a blacksmith who thinks in poetry is just exactly why people are amazed by him...] The thought makes her laugh softly, reaching up to slide her fingers through his hair. Shateishael smiles, delighted that she seems pleased by the poetry and the dance, and he whirls her gently around in his arms through the sweet strains of the music. Bella makes a mental note to make Slate dance with herself and Rosie more often when they all get home. In the meantime, she just savors the moment.

The first group of fae that Soma takes Rosie toward includes both Peony and Ayra as well as some unfamiliar faces. The two women grin at the sight of the little angel and their king moving so closely together, and the tender way Soma seems to keep his body turned slightly toward Rosie. Rosenstern doesn't immediately notice the grinning or the reason for it; he remains close to Soma simply because he enjoys being with the king. He beams upon seeing Peony and Ayra, greeting them cheerfully. Soma introduces Rosie to those that have not yet met him personally. True to the summer king's prediction, several of them say something regarding the partial restoration of Rose and Lily. One young butterfly maiden actually stammers and then scampers away like a schoolgirl. Rosenstern blinks as the butterfly-fae scampers off, and shies a bit. "I.. hope she's okay...?" he asks a touch lamely.

Peony laughs and watches the girl scamper, "She's fine, Flowerkin. I believe she's developed something of a crush; she's barely two hundred. I was very shy at that age myself." Soma listens to Peony's explanation, amused affection playing across his face as Rosie's first reaction is to worry about the girl's welfare. Rosenstern opens his mouth, then closes it, surprised speechless. Peony pats Rosie's arm and smiles, "Are all Celestial males as unaware of themselves as you and the Warrior?"

Rosenstern blushes a little, ducking his head. "No, not all," he says wryly and gently. "I'm afraid as angels go I'm also very young and not terribly experienced."

The leprechaun woman laughs softly, "Which is part of your appeal, Flowerkin. Also of the Warrior's. Neither of you expect people to be awed." With that she inclines her head to everyone -- Rosie last, and with a wink -- before she slips off into the crowd.

On the dance floor, Shateishael sighs a bit wistfully as the waltz comes to an end, taking a moment to gently spin Bella around in a graceful pirouette, her bells chiming musically as she does so. He rumbles quietly, "Could dance all night with ya, beautiful, but I wanna check onna flower ladies first, 'kay? 'N I needta find out what th'dragon ladies tole Puck t'do." He bows gracefully over her hand, then smiles warmly at her, "C'n I have some a' y'r later dances p'raps?"

Bella laughs happily as she's spun around. She smiles warmly up at Slate, "Any time, lover. Go check the belles of the ball." Shateishael smiles, leading Bella courteously to a table. He gives her a quick, warm hug... then looks around for both sets of ancient fae ladies. He'll head towards the first of them that he spots. Rose and Lily are both seated at a table near the buffet, close enough to watch the dancers without being in the way. They aren't so much mobbed as the center of a constant swirl of attention.

Shateishael pauses, regarding the flower ladies thoughtfully from some distance away. He had been about to offer to see them to their tent... but they don't appear to be tired yet. Excellent! He's really pleased with how well Rosie's Song of Healing turned out. Perhaps over the next few years, if Rosie's willing, more Healing can be layered on for more benefit? He'll quietly wait his turn through the crowd of well-wishers, then smile and offer his services should they need a hand at any time that night. Rose and Lily both light up as Slate nears the table, each of them insisting on him leaning down so they lay a kiss on his cheek. Rose murmurs with a wicked little smile, "If Gaelach has brain one, he'll realize not to touch those you protect... Sadly, I suspect he hasn't that much brain."

Shateishael grins shyly at the kisses, thanking them both. He chuckles at Rose's comment, rumbling, "Thank you, ma'am; I'm pleased ta hear m'message was clear... t'some, at least." He's silent a moment, then tilts his head thoughtfully, "What's his style a' foolishness, then? He likely t'make a clumsy pass at Rosebud 'r Bellisima, or grab at 'em, 'r sump'in else entirely?" He wonders a bit wistfully if any of the lovely fae he's met actually need protecting. Part of him really wants to -- he's strongly drawn to this community, and it's deeply his nature to try to defend and encourage it.

Lily covers her mouth with both hands, and from the way her body moves she's laughing uproariously. Rose's own chuckle is a little more sedate, "He believes himself a Casanova when he is truly a clown... he greatly overestimates his own appeal. And those that fawn on him encourage him in it."

Shateishael looks a bit surprised at the flower ladies' reactions, until they explain -- at which point he chuckles ruefully, "Ah, poor guy. Tha's gotta be hard onna ego." He glances around curiously, wondering at the gender mix of Gaelach's 'yes-fae.' Are they mostly male, female, or mixed? Gaelach's entourage seems about a 50/50 mix of physical genders. Shateishael nods quietly to himself, looking back at the flower ladies. He rumbles thoughtfully, "Anyone ever try bein' a real frien' ta him, I wonder?"

Before Rose can answer, a familiar voice comes from behind Slate -- Karl's deep rumble saying, "Hard t' be a friend t' someone who sees it as weakness."

Shateishael nods, somehow unsurprised at the answer, "Was 'fraid he'd see it thataways." He turns and grins, "Hey, Karl. Impressive shootin' by young Ajax t'night."

Karl doesn't quite disguise the way his shoulders go back in pride, "Aye, he's good. An' not all bigheaded about it, neither. My sister woulda been very proud."

Shateishael smiles quietly, remembering a few kids he had a hand in the raising of, and how proud he was of them. "Did you teach 'im? Mus' be quite th'archer if so?"

Karl laughs quietly and shakes his head, "Nah. 'M with Bacchus. Rather have a javelin 'r a spear in m'hands. He learned a bit here and there, but I think mostly he's just got a touch with it."

Shateishael nods thoughtfully, "Damn good touch, then!" He steps to the side so Karl can easily converse with the flower ladies, adding to them, "C'n I getch'all a drink 'r anythin'?"

Elsewhere, Rosenstern blinks a bit after Peony, then considers and looks up to Soma -- and part of his mind files that conversation into 'things to tell Slate.' "I hope that me being about... three hundred isn't considered to be robbing the cradle?" he asks teasingly.

Soma lets a grin curl his lips as he slides an arm closer around Rosenstern, pressing a long line of his body against the Mercurian's in a way that feels much more intimate than it looks, "Perhaps it is, but anyone that says it only speaks out of envy."

Rosenstern smiles, a twinkle in his eyes as he presses his side against Soma, enjoying the touch immensely. "Then I shan't worry about it, I think...." Soma kisses the top of Rosie's head and starts toward the next group of fae. This little gaggle has all unfamiliar faces and almost all seem quite happy to meet the little Mercurian -- only one seems a bit nervous. Rosenstern is shy, although normally he isn't -- he's a Mercurian, for Heaven's sake. Still, these are people lionizing him, which he's not used to. All he did was sing a Song almost any angel could sing; the only special thing was that he sang it for Ethereals. Even so, he tries to remain collected, polite and friendly and open like how he is with humans, self-effacing and not arrogant or proud. Soma sweeps Rosie from group to group, slowly working his way toward the dance space.

As the two male angels are mingling, Bella is dancing. Bacchus seems to be her current partner and the two of them seem to be talking rather animatedly. The build of his legs makes the satyr have to dance with a slightly different gait than a human, but he's careful not to trip the Bright up with it. Karl shakes his head to Slate's question and Rose says, "Oh, many thanks but no, Warrior." She makes a shooing motion, "Go talk to people; let them tell you how rare you are."

Shateishael looks a bit puzzled, "Er... rare? Not, um... not really...? There are a fair number a' Seraphs a' Stone, Lady." He wonders if this is an euphemism, and hastily adds, "But, ah, not t'pester y'all -- I'll be off then!" He bows politely and steps away, looking around for either Puck or the dragon ladies as he paces along.

The dragon and the phoenix are in a small gaggle of beings, eating delicately from small plates of food. It is, in fact, the same group the Soma and Rosie have just moved toward. Shateishael heads over in that direction, a bit relieved. He hadn't been entirely sure how to courteously ask the dragon ladies what precisely was the order given to Puck -- but he's sure Soma will know how. Rosenstern brightens as he sees Slate is also en route to their destination. Shateishael grins and waves to Rosie, stepping up next to him and Soma, "Hey there! Looks like y'r havin' fun, Rosebud." He bows politely to the dragon ladies, "Evenin', ladies." He nods politely to everyone else, since he doesn't know them yet.

Rosenstern waves to Slate cheerfully, even as he presses against Soma's side. "It's been making my head spin!" he says, laughing softly. "But it's been wonderful meeting so many people."

Shateishael rumbles curiously to Rosie, "Spin? Howso, pretty flower? You been drinkin'?"

Rosenstern smiles wryly, shaking his head. "No, just there's been so many people..." Soma is looking positively blissful as he escorts Rosie there. His arm has been around the Mercurian's shoulder, holding him as if he were fragile.

Shateishael says, "Ah. Yeah, I hear ya." He glances at Soma, rumbling carefully, "So, um... din' you wanna ask th'Dragon ladies sumpthin'?"

The Summer Lord blinks at Slate, having been watching Rosie's face. After a moment he jumps slightly as if startled, "Oh! Oh, yes, I did..." He looks to the Dragon and Phoenix, "It seems your charge left off a large part of the message I sent with him. Is it possible he misconstrued your words?" Rosenstern blushes a little at Soma's distraction, still smiling shyly. He really well knows how that can be. Shateishael covers a small grin, rather understanding the somewhat lost-in-your-lover demeanor he just saw. Then he collects himself again and looks inquiringly at the ladies. For Puck's sake, he sure hopes the order was misconstruable... because if the young satyr blew it deliberately again, Slate's going to have no compunction whatsoever in getting him into deep hot water!

The Dragon and the Phoenix look at one another and scowl, half in thought and half in trying to figure out how Pucky managed to pull a prank. It's the Dragon that finally speaks, "I told him, Lord Soma, to go to the camp of the angels; explain to them the surprises that were planned, and then to bring them here."

Shateishael raises an eyebrow, folding his arms, and rumbles, "Well, got it half right. But he din' mention anythin' 'tall 'bout s'prises."

Soma looks unhappy and curious, "Half-right, Warrior?"

Rosenstern rubs his forehead, letting out a breath. "Oh, dear...."

Shateishael nods quietly to Soma, "'Fraid so. On'y thin' close t'a s'prise he mentioned was you savin' y'energies f'whatever y'had planned f't'night -- that wuz why th'encampment looked so quiet from th'outside." He adds with quiet emphasis, "That wuz it."

The Dragon and Phoenix are wearing identical expressions of displeasure, "But he went to your camp?"

Shateishael shakes his head at the dragon ladies, "No'm. We wuz already jus' outside th'glamour when he stepped through." He glances around curiously, wondering if Puck's made his escape already. Indeed, Puck doesn't seem to be anywhere to be seen. He adds dryly, "That might 'xplain his absence, in fact."

Rosenstern blinks and looks around, then lets out his breath. "He's a slippery one, all right...."

Shateishael politely bows to the dragon ladies, courteously rumbling, "'M sorry t'be th'bearer a' unpleasant tidin's, ladies."

The Phoenix winces and mutters under her breath. The words have the feel of cursing even though they aren't really familiar. "I believe the exact wording was to tell you the planned surprises before you left your camp. We wished to make sure it was kept a surprise."

The Dragon groans and curses in English, "The little jackass... too general and he 'accidentally' misunderstands. Too specific and he uses that for mischief as well."

Shateishael nods, "That'd be how he skipped it, then." He sighs, then rumbles, "Fortunately I wuz outside th'pavilion when th'javelin got thrown -- wuz too far t'really interpose -- an' th'Summer Lord din' take offense at m'not bein' real comfy w'thrones." He tilts his head curiously, "Y'all don' have th'option a' askin' f'keepin' th'spirit a'th'oath instead a'th'strict word?"

Soma's words are crisp with displeasure, "I believe my dear advisor's son has just extended his indenture..."

Shateishael covers a small, dryly amused grin again at that. His eyes are dancing with mischief as he rumbles to the butterfly fae, "Guess that means I don' get t'strangle him then?"

Rosenstern says quietly, "I wonder if he's practicing to be... I'm not sure, some sort of trickster fae?

Shateishael grins at Rosenstern, "He is one, Rosebud -- th'satyrs were traditionally tricksters as well as bards 'n lovers."

Soma laughs with a wry shake of his head, "Sadly, no. Though you aren't the first to have a fantasy in that direction." As he's opening his mouth to say something else, when Slate fills in for him, "Indeed. Well-spoken, Warrior."

Rosenstern says, "I mean... more than just that. Like... the Celestial equivalent of a word?" He blinks up to Soma and smiles quietly, nodding to him and Slate. "Ah, I see."

Shateishael grins at Soma re not being able to strangle Puck, cheerfully rumbling, "Bummer!"

There's a general chuckle from the group of people standing with the angels and the fae to which they're speaking. As it dies down another trickster appears, this one still wearing the brown robe she donned after she finished her juggling routine. Shateishael brightens a bit, rumbling, "Hey, Miz Peony! Thought y'r jugglin' was... really beautiful." He wishes he had better words for what he felt while watching. Rosenstern brightens at Peony's appearance and glances at Slate, trying to mentally transmit some sort of script or guide into Slate's mind.

Peony smiles, "And your kata was breath-taking, Warrior." She smiles up at Soma, "May I steal your escort for a dance, summer lord?"

Rosenstern blinks in surprise. Me? Shateishael thinks a bit, then grins -- why not set a trickster after a trickster? "So, um-" he cuts off when she starts speaking, and grins at Rosenstern, [Looks like he's snared another one!] He chuckles, "Y'all have fun!" and turns to see who else he knows nearby. He'd like to speak to Bast or the young Jotuns still. Rosenstern blinks as Slate turns around. Oh, you...! You are so not getting out of this that easily! This I promise! He looks up at Soma for the king's permission.

Soma laughs and nods, making as if to hand Rosie off to Peony, "Of course. I'm certain our little juggler will bring you back safe." Rosenstern smiles and bows to Soma, then bows to Peony, offering his arm.

Peony takes Rosie's arm and then smiles to Slate with a gleam in her eyes, "And then I believe I'd like a dance with the Warrior... at least at some point."

Rosenstern stifles a giggle at Peony's words. "I think he would be delighted to."

Shateishael glances back over his shoulder and smiles, "Happy t'oblige, ma'am." Rosenstern realizes that Slate's completely oblivious reply makes him grate. His. Teeth. This may require a less subtle hint delivery than we'd thought.

Bast isn't in the immediate area, but then the celebration has moved out into the entire camp, so she may be somewhere else inside the dome. Shateishael bows politely to the group he's next to, then heads off to see if he can find the other few folks he's trying to find. Peony walks with Rosie to the dance area and lets the delicate angel actually lead, smiling up at him. She's modest in height even compared to him, "I wanted a chance to tell you thank you when you weren't being crushed by a crowd, Flowerkin."

Rosenstern smiles warmly to Peony. "You're welcome, Peony. I'm really, really glad it was a help to them."

The leprechaun lady is proper but friendly as she dances with Rosie. She holds herself with a careful ease -- no hint of actual flirtation in it, "And also to ask if your Warrior is as gentle as he seems."

Rosenstern dances with Peony, also polite but friendly, enjoying the easy dance -- and letting his heart rate slow down a little bit. "He is, yes. He'd never, ever hurt anyone who didn't hurt one of his friends or loved ones first."

Peony smiles, nodding as if this is nothing less than what she expected. "I believe that I would like to be his friend, very much."

Rosenstern's smile widens. Believe me, we've been trying! "If there is anything I can do to help that, I will, I promise."

Peony smiles and nods, "That was my hope, actually... it would be an honor if you would help me know how best to do that."

Rosenstern bobs his head. "Well... I do know that Slate takes a lot of things seriously. Other things... well, kind of baffle him. He's direct and speaks his mind, and lies and half-truths -- even white lies -- make him... irritable. On the best of days." He considers for a moment, then smiles again. "It also doesn't seem it, but he does like touch. Casual intimacy beyond that... well, kind of baffles him; like I said, he takes things like that very seriously. But with people he likes and trusts, he enjoys cuddling."

Peony nods and smiles, taking in this information, "Honesty of that sort is even rarer than protection that isn't about possession. I see how he draws you and the succubus." The last word is said with no hint at all of it being derogatory. She says succubus in the way she might say angel or leprechaun, a simple statement of being.

Rosenstern blushes a little. "He... he's a protector at heart, and honesty is part of who he is. And... it's safe around him. He's safe. And he makes us both feel safe and happy."

Elsewhere, the two large young men that were watching the pavilion entrance can be seen beyond the edge of the main banquet area, moving in a way that suggests they may be on a patrol of some sort. They move very much in synch. Shateishael watches the two young men with interest, wondering if they've just trained together for ages, or there's something more to how well they move together. He paces up easily, so they can see him coming... and smiles quietly to himself, realizing he rather likes the appellation 'Celestial Warrior.' He'll have to be careful not to let it go to his head... but surely it should be all right to thank the young lady for giving him such a lovely title.

The two young men seem to spot Slate coming and sense the purpose in his movement toward him, pausing in their patrol and coming to parade rest. As he gets close, the slightly taller of the two says, "Warrior. Greetings."

Shateishael nods politely, "Evenin'. Y'all min' if'n I walk wi'y'all f'a bit?"

The second of the two guards says in a voice that sounds like thunder or rolling boulders, though as quiet as he can make it, "We would be honored."

Shateishael bows politely, "Th'honor's mine." He falls in next to them, switching to Norse, "So... is it rude to ask you both where you are originally from?"

The first of the enormous Ethereals smiles, answering in the same dialect, "Not at all, Warrior. We were raised in what the humans call Norway."

Shateishael rumbles in interest, "You are sons of the daughters of the Jotun then?"

Both young men nod, again almost in sync, "Yes," the first speaks again, "My mother was a gygr, as was Ymir's. Our father raised us, however."

Shateishael says, "You are half-brothers then? Who was your father, if I may ask?" He wonders interestedly if the giant brothers are the 'demi-giants' spoken of previously. How exciting to hear some of the Norse successfully survived the Purity crusade!

The second half-giant speaks in his boulderish voice, "He is a human. A farmer. Soma came for us several years ago to offer us sanctuary here."

Shateishael nods, "A remarkable man, then." He courteously gives his own lineage as well, "I am known as Slate now, but when I dwelt with my first mortal folk I was known as Guenther Metalshaper."

The demi-giants nod again, smiling quietly; the second agreeing, "Yes, he is."

The first says, "It is an honor to meet a warrior and a smith."

Shateishael grins quietly, "But enough about me. Tell me of your accomplishments, sons of the Jotun?" He paces silently, listening to them and pondering. He gets the oddest feeling they seem to be holding him in some kind of... awe or respect, and he's not sure why, nor how to reassure them. They seem curiously deferential, for Norse warriors. Then he blinks at a sudden thought -- are they warriors? He'd sort of assumed, but... hm, curious idea! He mentally analyzes the way they've been moving and how aware they are of their environment, to see if he can tell if they're depending on their size and strength, or are actually trained.

The young men do move as if they understand how to fight, or at least how to use their bodies. The one with the more human voice speaks as they continue on their patrol around the edge of the dome, "They are, sadly, very few, Warrior. We have only been training as protectors ourselves for less than a decade. Our father had been trying to let us live among the humans, but our... unusual... size was getting too different for it."

Shateishael grins, looking up at the nearly 8' tall young men, "I can understand that. Still, time will grant you all the opportunities and more for glory, I am sure." He pauses a bit, then adds a touch diffidently, "Who trains you here? Is it anyone I've met already?"

The gravel-voiced young man speaks, "Karl. Bacchus. Ajax is the archery master. Some of the others have lessons as well."

On the dance floor, Peony nods and her eyes go slightly distant for a moment, "Safety is important. And honesty is beautiful in its own right." She chuckles at Rosie's blush, tipping her head, "I hope it is not a faux pas for me to ask such things of you? I misunderstood the nature of sharing between you before; I don't wish to do it again."

Rosenstern blinks a bit. "It is not a faux pas, not at all. I don't mind it at all. If I may ask, though... why do you say you misunderstood us? What is it you thought, if I may ask?"

Peony thinks on that for a moment before speaking, "I misunderstood the level of intimacy expected before sharing bodies. It is..." She fishes for a word for a moment, "not so much casual, as a way to connect and remind ourselves that we still exist. It's a sharing. Or it is for most of us."

Rosenstern blinks, then ducks his head. "Then it was we who misunderstood as well, Peony, and for that I'm sorry. Would it help if I explain it that way to him?"

Peony laughs softly and shakes her head, "I believe I should speak to him. But how did you misunderstand?" She seems genuinely curious and is holding herself less carefully.

Rosenstern lets out a soft breath. "I had thought that intimacy was casual -- friendly, of course, and close -- just not necessarily something which required a deep and long-lasting commitment." Oh, that hurts. He's certain this would be a slappable offense.

Peony nods and listens, brows drawing together, "It isn't something that is a long-lasting commitment... not always. There are very few of us and that sort of commitment could isolate us even more than we are. But between the right beings it carries far more than physical pleasure. The sharing, the reminding, becomes a bonding." She wrinkles her nose and squints her eyes as if she just tasted something nasty, "Which is why Gaelach will never, ever smarm his way into my bed."

Rosenstern nods quietly. "I think I understand," he says gently. "I am glad it's something enjoyable and wonderful to share, though."

Peony nods and smiles, somehow managing to stretch up to kiss Rosie's cheek without stumbling in the dance, "Thank you, Flowerkin. I think I would enjoy knowing all of your cadre."

Rosenstern blushes at the kiss, smiling shyly. "I think we would all like that, Peony. Please, call me Rosie? It's... 'Flowerkin' sounds rather like a title, which... well, I guess it is at that...."

Peony smiles, pleased, "Certainly, Rosie." The dance is just ending then and they have come back almost to where they started, finding Soma and Bella talking together quietly at a table.

Rosenstern smiles and bows over Peony's hand as the dance ends. "Thank you. And thank you for a wonderful dance, Peony."

Peony curtseys and smiles, "Thank you for the insight, Rosie." She slips her hand out of Rosie's grasp and disappears into the crowd again.

Walking patrol with the young Jotuns, Shateishael thinks a while, then carefully asks, "Do any of your instructors teach unarmed fighting skills?"

The same demi-giant speaks, "Oh, aye. Though most of those are the smaller beings and their styles are not as easy to teach to someone my size... or Ymir's size."

Shateishael grins, glancing up, "Ymir? A fitting name to keep in the family!" He looks at the other brother, cheerfully adding, "And your name?"

The other demi-giant laughs, "He's called Bergelmir."

Shateishael grins and cheerfully slaps the shoulder of the closest one, "I am glad to meet you both! May I come watch next time you practice your martial arts?"

Ymir and Bergelmir grin like teenagers. Come to think of it, they look almost like teenagers -- they don't look as old at Slate's vessel. "We would be honored... especially so if you would consent to teach us some sword work? That was an amazing display."

Shateishael brightens up considerably -- finally, someone he can help! "Be happy to, as long as your current swordmaster doesn't mind!"

Bergelmir looks a little bashful, "We don't currently have a swordmaster. Not as such. We learn from whoever has some skill, but swordplay was an art that faded much with the Purge... or so we are given to know."

Shateishael looks even more delighted, "Excellent! Er, I mean, what an excellent chance for us to learn something new from each other!" Then he blinks at a sudden thought, "Hey. If you two are less than a mortal's lifetime old... where are your mothers? Are they here too?"

Ymir shakes his head, smiling somewhat sadly, "No, they aren't, Warrior. They don't venture much out of the mountains."

Shateishael rumbles thoughtfully, "May I ask their names?"

Ymir looks almost embarrassed, "They haven't names that they use outside the mountains, Warrior."

Shateishael looks puzzled, "How do you mean?"

Ymir continues to explain, "We don't wish to be disrespectful, Warrior, but they have no names we can share."

Shateishael says, "You mean you promised not to give their names, or their names are unpronounceable, or something else entirely? Or..." he puzzles a bit, "do you mean they've forgotten their names? Oh!" He brightens as he thinks he's figured it out, "They only have True Names? They don't have any everyday names?"

The young demi-giants are looking uncomfortable, trying to figure out how to explain more clearly -- and both look obviously relieved when Slate hits on the explanation, "Yes, the last, Warrior."

Shateishael says, "Ah, that's fine." He tilts his head, regarding the two young giants, and grins, "If we're lucky, maybe someday you can introduce me to them -- I'd love to meet more of the Norse. Brings back good memories."

The two young men look at one another, then at Slate, seeming surprised, "Most would fear them... the reputation of their people is fierce."

Shateishael looks curious, "Fear who? The daughters of the Jotun, or the Norse in general?"

Ymir smiles apologetically, "The daughters of the Jotun, Warrior. The Jotun as well. Though there are very few left."

Shateishael laughs, then grins at the two young men, "All the most wonderful women I've ever known were as fierce as they were generous and beautiful. I will fear them when I've wronged them -- not before."

The young men break into sunny smiles, "Then perhaps they will consent to meet you. We shall ask when next we visit them."

Shateishael beams, "That would be very kind of you!" He claps them both on the shoulder, adding, "Thank you! One last question, if you would... have either of you seen Puck or Bast recently?"

Just off the dance floor, Rosenstern looks after Peony thoughtfully, then slips back to beside Soma and Bella. They both look up with smiles as Rosie approaches. Soma stands and holds his arms out for Rosenstern, "Did our sweet leprechaun attempt to use her wiles on you, little blossom?" He's obviously teasing.

Rosenstern laughs softly, going into Soma's arms. "Peony is a wonderful and charming lady and her dancing is as good if not better than her contact juggling."

The summer lord folds Rosie into his arms, head bowing over Rosenstern's braids. "Mmm. She is very graceful," he murmurs, but he seems to be saying something else, something with nothing to do with the leprechaun woman.

Rosenstern closes his eyes, smiling with the embrace, though he wonders whom Soma is talking about. Bella? That would make the most sense.... but I have a feeling she's not whom he's talking about.... Bella watches the way that Soma loses himself in Rosie, thinking that what he's saying is much more about the way that Rosie moved than the way the leprechaun did.

Elsewhere, Bergelmir nods and points to the table most removed from the others, "The Lady Bast is there, with Lord Anubis."

Shateishael blinks, "Anubis?! Whoa, I didn't know he was here also..." He's silent a moment, then smiles at the two young men, "Well, I will bid you both a good night and leave you in peace. Until later!" He waves and heads off, although not in any particular direction. He'd thought to try being a friend to Bast as well, since he knows he would have been very lonely indeed were he the last of his pantheon left... but it appears Bast has other folks to be friends with already. He wanders idly through the crowd, just "people watching" as he heads back through the encampment towards where he left Bella and Rosie.

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

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