Burning Man -- Logs

Shateishael will pace away from the pavilion, but after a few steps he pauses, looking up into the brilliant night sky. He sighs softly, then lowers his head to rest it lightly against his lovers, drawing them both into a close hug if they'll let him. Bella lets herself be drawn into the hug as Slate pauses. Despite wanting to go back to their own campsite, the Bright is a bit reluctant to leave the impromptu ball taking place inside the pavilion.

Shateishael finally sighs and murmurs softly, "'M sorry, beloveds... think I'm bein' greedy, an' Bellisima's right -- we shouldn' 'ppear t'be snubbin' folks here. We should hang 'round a bit more." He straightens a bit, drawing a deep breath, then forces a smile and adds, "'Sides, could be this'll be won'erful f' li'l Rosie, right? An'... I wanted t' try seein' if'n I could still shift t'Stone, din' I. Lemme try that..."

The Bright nods, stepping away. On Slate's other side, Rosie also steps away, giving the Seraph room to see if his Stone form is accessible. Slate finds he can still change, but rather than simple stone, he seems to be metal. Shateishael blinks, looking down at himself and rumbling, "...'kaaay... this's diff'rent." He taps a knuckle against himself, wondering what kind of metal he seems to be made of.

After a moment, the Stone angel notices that frost is starting to appear along his surface, though he himself does not feel cold. He blinks, "Well, now... lookit that. Guess it's... either steel 'r col' iron?" He grins ruefully at his companions, and changes back.

Bella blinks at the tracery of frost that appears over Slate's skin while he stands there. "Wow... that's..." She shakes her head, "Guess you're dangerous all on your own, hon."

Shateishael puzzledly rumbles, "How so, sweetheart? Oh... 'cause it's col' steel?"

Bella slides her hand back through Slate's arm. On the other side, Rosenstern nestles back against his lover's side. The Bright nods, "Wonder if Soma knew that would happen?"

Shateishael watches steam rise from his arms for a few seconds as the flame form eliminates the frost... then he smiles, gently hugging both lovers. "Dunno, sweetheart. He did say what was truly part a' us couldn' be shut down by his field, though?" A moment later he adds, "Okay... so, d'y'all still wanna try a Song a' Healin' on Rose an' Lily some time t'morra, when we're not inna field?" and then, curiously, "Hey, Bellisima... how come y'were so shocked lookin' when y'first saw me w'fire wings?"

As the three angels stand in the starlight speaking among themselves, the soft unmistakable sound of hooves comes from the shadows of the surrounding tents. A moment later, Karl's large form emerges into the light at the front of the central pavilion. The centaur's blacksmith's apron is missing and he is wearing a jingling chain-mail harness.

Shateishael watches the centaur silently, waiting for Bella and Rosie to respond. Bella laughs quietly, "Because you're beautiful, hon. Not that I don't usually think you're gorgeous, but wow..." She turns her head to follow Slate's gaze.

Shateishael blinks, giving Bella a startled glance as he reflexively wonders if that's really true?! -then flushes with pleasure, "You... do? That's..." he grins sheepishly and rubs his cheek lightly against her head, "thanks..."

Rosenstern smiles up to Slate. "Exactly what she said," he says merrily to Slate, and also follows his and Bella's gazes.

Shateishael looks both embarrassed and pleased, but simply rumbles, "Well... uhm... maybe we should g'wan on in?" He heads for the pavilion entrance with his lovers, his skin glowing brightly as coals.

Karl catches sight of the angels and inclines his head. The centaur's hair is loose around his shoulders and he has silver bands around his biceps that match the decorative harness he's wearing, "Evenin'," he says cautiously, not quite recognizing the Celestials on first sight.

Shateishael rumbles happily, "Evenin', Karl. Y've met Bella 'n Rosie both, yeah?"

The centaur snorts, smirking, "Ahh, yeah. Din't recanize ya at first." He jerks his head toward the pavilion, "On yer way in er out?"

Shateishael says, "In." He pauses and adds politely, "After you."

Karl shakes his head and pulls open the flap over the entrance, "Nah, yer the guests here." He motions the angels inside.

Shateishael says, "Uhm... okay." He nods politely, escorting Bella and Rosie in, adding over his shoulder, "Thanks. If y'got time later, was wond'rin' if y'd be willin' t'talk some."

The centaur nods slowly, looking as if he's still trying to figure out just what Slate's angle is. "Sure. Ain't likely to be quiet enough f'r conversation in 'ere."

Shateishael nods, "S'cool. Lemme know when's good f'you, then." He smiles, sparks flaring up from his eyes for a moment, then heads on into the pavilion again. To his lovers he murmurs, "Either y'all wanna dance agin?" Bella lets herself be led back into the bright whirl of the celebratory ball. The musicians are playing something bright and quick and many of the Ethereals seem to be dancing some sort of very formalized dance, quartets and pairs forming and swirling apart only to reform in different configurations.

Rosenstern blushes a little. "I think I need to take a breather from dancing for a little bit," he says, smiling.

Shateishael grins at Rosie and nods, "'Kay, we c'n sitcha down atta table. Y'wanna mug a' Bacchus's beer? S'real good."

Rosenstern smiles. "Sure! I should try it..."

Karl rumbles from behind them, "The satyr makes beer better'n anythin' I've had in centuries. Bran's brewers've been tryin' ta get that recipe out've him for years."

Shateishael snags a few beers for them on the way to an appropriate table. He settles Rosie comfortably, and then his head turns to watch the dancers a bit wistfully... he gives Bella a hopeful look. "Um... wanna try a new dance?" He grins mischievously, adding, "Least y'don' hafta worry 'bout a tango t'night! Unlikely somethin' that new'll be played here!" He looks up at Karl's voice and grins, handing one of the steins to him, "Enjoy, then."

The centaur inclines his head in thanks and lifts the stein, draining half of it in one long draught. He stays near the table where Rosenstern is ensconced and there's something of a buffer zone around him. Most of the fae seem to give him a respectful berth. Shateishael wonders idly if the chainmail is steel -- that'd make most fae give Karl a wide berth! He looks at the dance floor, then back at Bella again, waiting for her to decide. Rosenstern curls his legs under himself, and sips carefully from the beer stein, holding the large mug in both hands as he does so.

Bella smiles and reaches for Slate's hand, "I'm not sure if I'll be able to pick it up too easily, but I'd be willing to try." The Bright Lilim need not have worried. Before the angels can reach the dance floor, the music has changed to something less bright and has become a slow, Celtic-seeming lilt.

Shateishael practically glows with happiness, sliding his arms about Bella's waist, "It's easy, lover... just sway with th'music 'n follow m'lead, 'kay?" He will gladly lose himself in the dance with her, his gaze very much on her and his fiery wings arching forward slightly to frame her as they sway together.

Bella smiles up at Slate, her eyes bright. "Lead the way, honey." She puts one hand on Slate's shoulder, letting her fingers brush the side of his neck. For the moment, she's made up her mind to just not worry about the things she was discussing earlier with Rosie. Shateishael draws Bella gently close to lean against him, and dances with her, the music singing and swirling through him like the sparks that whirl joyously aloft from his glowing, lava-like skin.

Karl glances down at Rosenstern after a moment and says, "I c'n guess why you'd be hangin' about with this lot, but I don't quite get why yer big fella is."

Rosenstern blinks, looking up to Karl. "How do you mean?" he asks, and takes another sip of the beer.

Karl drains the stein and looks around for somewhere to set it down. When he doesn't see anywhere else close, he puts it on the table where Rosie sits, "Ye seem soft. He's not."

Rosenstern considers that for a moment. And roses have thorns. Dork, he thinks. He leaves that commentary out of his voice, though. "Why would that have anything to do with him and the fae?"

Karl shrugs. There wasn't any accusation in his voice, just blunt statement, "Most've the reason the Summerkin have managed to survive is hidin'. Stay away fr'm danger'n you don' get hurt." He motions toward Slate, "He's dangerous."

Bella lets her body fit against Slate's, following the rhythm and flow of his movements. Her eyes occasionally wander from his face to follow the whirling, dancing sparks that drift upward from his eyes and his fire-scarlet hair. The usually independent Bright seems to be enjoying being led through an unknown dance. Shateishael smiles quietly down at Bella's face as they dance close together. He's greatly enjoying just watching her pleasure in the moment... and occasionally gently brushing back a strand of her hair.

Rosenstern makes a quiet sound, reminding himself that Karl is blunt. "Dangerous to the fae? Well...." He remembers the way Slate's stone body turned into cold iron. "You're wondering why the fae are allowing him this close?" Karl simply nods, a quick jerk of his head. Rosenstern considers. "I'm not sure why. I know the fae fascinate him. And I know that the last thing he ever would want to do is to hurt them."

Karl nods slowly, one side of his mouth curling upward in amusement, "Not like he ain't got enough fascinatin' things around him a'ready."

Rosenstern smiles quietly. "Slate's curious. He loves finding out about stuff, asking questions... he just likes learning new things."

Bacchus ducks back into the pavilion, making his way over to where Karl and Rosie are speaking. The centaur catches sight of the satyr and raises his hand in greeting. Bacchus reaches up and pats Karl's arm, "I'm happy to see you being social. You're going to forget how, staying in your smithy all the time."

Rosenstern smiles broadly. "Hello again, Bacchus!"

Shateishael sighs in quiet pleasure as the dance ends, his head raising for a moment to look around him and make sure they're not in anyone's way. Then he looks down at Bella again and grins, "Y'havin' fun, sweetheart?"

Bella reaches up with the hand that was on Slate's shoulder and brushes her thumb against the line of his cheekbone. Pushing up on her tiptoes, she kisses Slate, just a moment's sweet contact, "I'm having a great deal of fun, yes." Shateishael's golden eyes glow more brightly and he beams at her, his arms warm about her waist... then he leans down to gently return the soft, light kiss -- although he won't object if she wishes to kiss a bit more deeply.

Over in the musicians' area, there is some murmuring as three brightly clothed creatures with jewel-toned skins settle in. One has a drum that he sets across his knees. One has some sort of pipe, looking almost like a recorder. The last has an instrument that looks halfway between a sitar and a mandolin. The Celtic musicians settle in to listen. The next song that starts has a more exotic tone, the backbeat deep, the pipe and the stringed instrument adding a sinuous melody.

Bacchus smiles down at Rosenstern, the corners of his eyes crinkling with it. The satyr seats himself next to the Mercurian, "Soma is resting comfortably..."

Rosenstern nods, his smile sobering a little. "I'm glad. He... he seemed very... worn out? Exhausted."

Bacchus nods, reaching over to pat Rosie's hand, smile almost indulgent, "He just expended a lot of energy, Flowerkin. He'll be right as rain tomorrow morning. The sunrise will help a lot."

Rosenstern half-closes his eyes with the petting, smiling softly. "I'm glad. I was worried for him." Karl is watching the interaction between the satyr and the Mercurian, brows together. He doesn't look disapproving. Perhaps slightly puzzled.

Bella lets the kiss linger and deepen just enough to feel the unusual heat of Slate's skin sinking into her lips. When the new music starts up, she pulls back, eyes twinkling with mischief, "Now this is music I know how to dance to." She steps out of the circle of Slate's arms, using one hand to pull the skirt of her dress up, baring her legs to the knee and showing off the intricate moments of her feet as she starts to move to the music. The motion moves up from her feet, through her legs and centers in her hips and belly.

Shateishael blinks, "You do?" He brightens then, watching... a moment later he rumbles apologetically, "'Fraid I don', lover. Is this individual 'r partner music?" Shateishael is willing to follow her lead, if that's appropriate, or just get out of the way so the lovely Bright can shine for a while too.

Bella laughs happily and reaches up, curling her hand around the back of Slate's neck to pull him close, "Just let the music lead," she teases. She lets her other hand rest on Slate's hip, putting subtle pressure there, urging him to follow her body. Shateishael smiles, resting his large hands on the smooth curve of Bella's hips, letting himself flow with the music and his lover's lead. He's very familiar with this music from his time in Toledo, but he's never danced to it before. He's enjoying the new experience greatly.

Bacchus squeezes Rosie's hand and chuckles, "Ayra also wanted me to let you know she enjoyed spending this afternoon with you. She wasn't feel social tonight."

Rosenstern brightens. "Oh, I'm glad! I really enjoyed the time with her too -- the garden is wonderful! Thank you!"

Bella seems to glow as she moves with the Seraph around the dance floor, and many of the fae move out of the way for the pair as they float along with the music. The music seems to be a heartbeat and a breath, speeding up slightly as it goes along. Bella presses herself against Slate, the dance intimate and graceful. Shateishael lets his hands glide gently along Bella's sides and back as they dance, enjoying the sensual sway of shared movement. There's a quiet smile on his face, and his glowing eyes are all for her as she presses close. His wings reflect his mood well, swaying gently with small incandescent bursts of joy.

Bella reaches up with one hand, unable to resist touching one of those fluttering wings. She shivers with a beatific smile as the flames lick at her fingertips, "I wonder if we can get Soma to put this glamour over the ranch for us when he visits?"

Shateishael rumbles in quiet pleasure, the wing angling forward so it's easier for Bella to reach. "Might, if'n we ask nice. Y'like?"

At the table, the satyr smiles, "She spends most of her time with her mother. I'm glad she seems to see you as a friend. I know we're already imposing more of us than originally invited on you and your companions. But... I would count it a kindness if Ayra were allowed to come see your gardens as well."

Rosenstern beams. "Bacchus, I would be honored if she wanted to come see the ranch garden. I don't see any sort of problem with that at all, she'd be very welcome!"

Bacchus grins broadly and for just a moment, there's an unmistakable resemblance to Puck in his face. He grins and squeezes Rosie's hand again, "Wonderful! Fantastic!" Karl chuckles quietly, watching Bacchus's enjoyment. Rosenstern smiles brightly at Bacchus's exuberance, not quite wondering why he's so happy about that."

The song ends and Bella laughs, wrapping her arms around Slate's waist to hug him tightly, "Oh, that was nice!" As the Bright is snuggling against the Seraph in a way that's not quite inappropriate for public, there's the sound of someone clearing his throat behind them. The voice belongs to the dwarf, Sean, "Feller-me-lad, I wonder if y'd be s'kind as t'llow me t'take yer lady f'r a spin roun' the floor?"

Shateishael is warmly wrapped around Bella, arms and wings and all, practically glorying in how good she feels! It takes him a second to register the voice is directed at him, and he raises his head to look around, sparks flaring slowly up past his wing tips. He smiles at the dwarf, "Hey, guy. S'up t'th'lady, not me."

Bella chuckles and hugs Slate tightly for another moment, "Go pay some attention to Rosebud. I'll take a turn around the floor with Sean." She kisses Slate's cheek, murmuring, "We'll dance again tonight." She turns to the white-haired dwarf and lets him lead her into a much less sensual dance.

Shateishael will gently bring up one of Bella's hands and bow over it, then head quietly for the table. His eyes are completely aglow, not allowing for much reading of expression... but his demeanor is a very quiet and thoughtful calm. He lifts his head, however, at reaching the table, smiling at the others present and resting a hand on one of Rosie's shoulders, "Evenin', all. Rosebud, y'havin' nice time chattin' wi'Karl?" Shateishael leans forward over Rosie (for a moment sparks dance warmly in front of Rosie's face), reaching for one of the steins. He lifts it in silent salute to Bacchus, the brewer, then has a long, thirsty draught.

Rosenstern beams to Slate, leaning up to hug him about his waist. "Hello, Slate! You and Bella were amazing on the floor there. Yes, been chatting with him and Bacchus. Ayra is interested in coming to see the gardens at the ranch!" He's not at all sure why he feels giddy and young again; he realizes that the way he's talking makes him out like a human teenager instead of a three-hundred-year-old angel, but he can't help it.

Shateishael chuckles, gently hugging Rosie back with his free hand, "Thanks, sweet petal. Y'oughta tell Bella that too... bet she'd like t'hear it." He nods to Bacchus, "She's welcome. Like I said earlier, ya c'n bring whoever y'want, long as th'land isn't overburdened." He nods to Karl as he continues speaking to Bacchus, "If y'got th'space in y'r group, would kinda 'ppreciate it if'n Karl could come too. M'lead mare'd love t'meet him too."

Karl blinks slowly, but no other sign of surprise shows on his face. In contract, Bacchus looks quite surprised. Pleasantly so, "Of course! We, uhm, we'll let you know who'll be with us before we actually show up, of course. Many of our folk will be scattered or back on the other side by the time we come to visit."

Shateishael nods, "Invited him earlier, but he said was up t'you 'n Soma." Curiously he rumbles, "Where d'y'all go when y'scatter? Got hidey hole homes 'r somethin'?" He half absently strokes Rosie's hair, his fingers trailing warm sparks along Rosie's throat and shoulder, as he speaks to the others. Rosenstern makes a soft sound, almost purring but only Slate can feel it, as he leans into the petting. He feels that same warmth rising in him with the slow touches of his lover.

Bacchus nods, making a back and forth seesawing motion with his hand, "Eh, some of us hide. Some of us pull glamour over ourselves and live among the humans. I'm one of the later."

Shateishael glances down at Rosenstern, smiling slowly, and continues lightly stroking his skin... more deliberately this time, to increase the little Mercurian's pleasure as the others talk. Rosenstern shivers a little, trying to retain his composure. He leans a little against Slate, feeling very, very comfortable and protected. Slate nods slowly at Bacchus, having another sip of the beer, "'Kay. Don' wanna know much more'n that, though, thanks." He finishes the beer, then sets down the empty stein with a contented sigh. "So... y'all mind if I ask s'more questions? Like... where'd Somhairle come from? Don' r'call anythin' 'bout him in the mortal libraries a' myths?"

Karl is standing over the table of angels and the satyr and looking, if not intimidating, almost protective. Shateishael gives Karl a thoughtful look, then studies the chainmail as he waits for Bacchus to answer. He wonders what style of chainmail it is, and what metal it's made of... probably just as well there's a leather lining on it. It'd be pulling hair otherwise. He gets a ruefully amused look for a fraction of a second, remembering his own experience with unlined chainmail -- not wise!

Bacchus smiles quietly, a sadness showing in his eyes, "Before the Purge, Soma was simply a courtier. A fairly powerful one, but he is not the sort to put himself in the public eye."

Shateishael tilts his head curiously at Bacchus, "What happened t'him, that he was th' one t'step fo'ard?" The centaur's harness gleams too whitely to be steel. It may well be silver. It's an intricate five-in-one weave and seems too delicate to be used for actual armor. Shateishael admires the workmanship of the chainmail -- looks like an Arabic weave, perhaps?

Bacchus shakes his head, "He was the strongest left. The mantle of the Summer King fell to him."

Shateishael gives Bacchus a startled look -- then stiffens. His voice is a quietly thoughtful growl, "The mantle... that get passed from Summer King t' Consort, if there's a problem?" He's fairly able to control emotion in his body, but he's not used to wings -- they flare out brilliantly for a moment, in his worry.

Rosenstern blinks, opening his eyes in surprise at that. No, that doesn't sound right... that wouldn't happen.

Bacchus goes very still at the sound of the growl. He shakes his head slowly, the torches and candlelight making his horns gleam. Carefully he says, "No, Warrior. It would pass to the next most powerful of the sidhe." He motions across the room to a powerfully muscled young fae with luna-moth wings, "That would most likely be Gaelach."

Shateishael nods, relaxing, "'kay. Sorry." He looks down at Rosie, then back up at Bacchus. His tone is faintly apologetic, "Jus'... don' wan' Rosie gettin' inta trouble w' our folks." He mumbles under his breath to himself, "Any more'n we already got..." then deliberately looks up at Karl and adds, "Beautiful work on y'r chainmail. Persian, yeah? Y' willin' t'tell us anythin' 'bout th' Winter Court?"

Rosenstern lets out a breath. Well... it'd be incredibly interesting. And it would put to rest the theories that Celestials are just another type of Ethereal.

Bacchus and Karl both relax slightly, the satyr smiling lopsidedly as Slate turns his attention to the centaur. Shateishael wonders slightly, internally, at the reactions he's been getting. The slightest growl, and everyone tenses up -- it's almost like they don't have any Warr- he blinks... then looks around slowly. Do the Summer fae have any warriors in their numbers?

Karl blinks at Slate, rumbling, "Yeah, one 'a the fire djinn taught it t'me." The centaur's hands move to brush over the links proudly. He looks hard at Slate for a moment, adding, "Aye, but not here."

Shateishael looks back at the centaur and nods evenly, "Fair 'nuff." He studies the chainmail again... then grins at Karl, his eyes lighting up with the passion of an artist talking to another, "So, y'ever do any sword work?"

As before, there are some strong looking young men in the crowd, but very few seem to carry themselves in any way that seems martial.

Shateishael's brow furrows in thought. No warriors! All hearthfolk? How do they stay safe?!

Shateishael glances around again, mentally adding to himself, [And why aren't the few surviving warriors teaching the others how to fight?]

Karl actually grins. A broad, enthusiastic smile, "Best swordsmith in the damn court." Bacchus adds to that, "In either court."

Shateishael's head snaps back around, sparks flying and his teeth gleaming -- was that a challenge?! He grins slowly, his wings throwing heat shimmer with enthusiasm as he drawls, "Really now... got any a' y'swordwork with ya? Who was y'r master?"

Karl chuckles, body language relaxing more than any of the angels have seen. Even Bacchus looks pleasantly surprised, "Well, m'first Master was Hephaestos. I worked some with Waylon Smith."

Shateishael's eyes widen as he realizes just how old Karl is -- then he grins again, recognizing this guy's likely far more experienced, and rumbles, "Dunno Waylon Smith, but I heard a' Hephaestos. Mine was the Nihongo Masamune." He says the name with pride -- he knows a mortal won't compete with an immortal in any particular skill, but he's still sure Masamune is the greatest mortal swordsmith ever.

Rosenstern hasn't, unfortunately, ever heard of those names, never having been a smith. he thinks Hephaestos was a Greek god of some sort, but he can't be sure.

Karl looks quite impressed with that, "Masamune was touched by the gods, Warrior. He was a great artist."

Shateishael smiles, eminently proud of his mortal master, and nods politely, "Cain't speak f'whether his deities touched him, but 'm still honored he accepted me as 'pprentice. Still carry on his teachin's, too." He's silent a moment, then grins again, flames dancing across his shoulders as he adds, "Wanna c'mpare notes later?"

Shateishael goes suddenly still, "Oh!" and then his eyes widen again, "You studied under Volundr?!" He pronounces the Norse name correctly, despite his shock.

Bacchus is smiling quietly, seeming pleased that Slate and Karl are enjoying this.

The centaur nods solemnly, "Both o' them are sorely missed, but aye, I'd love t' talk with one of Masamune's apprentices. I never got t'meet th'man m'self. And that is a pure shame."

Shateishael grins, reaching for his Thor's Hammer pendant -- is it still there?

The pendant still hangs around Slate's neck. Rosie and Bella's jewelry is also intact.

Shateishael shifts into old Norse, "An ally of the lame smith is a friend indeed, metal-shaper." He holds out the Thor's Hammer, his grin faintly sheepish, "First thin' I ever cast. I keep it to keep myself humble."

Shateishael blinks, suddenly realizing they're monopolizing the conversation and doing shoptalk! "Uh! Right..." He pats Rosie's shoulder gently and apologetically rumbles, "Sorry 'bout that, y'all." He grins at Karl, adding, "We c'n talk more later, yeah?"

Rosenstern giggles softly, "It's fine, Slate."

Karl leans down to peer at the pendant with a quiet smile, speaking in the same tongue, "It's a fitting tribute, Smith." The centaur speaks the word with the same emphasis the rest of the Ethereals seem to give the names that the angels have been called since they first entered the encampment.

Shateishael grins amusedly at Rosenstern, "'T'ain't p'lite, though, Rosebud... as you've tol' me previously." He smiles and nods to Karl, pleased at the title, then rumbles, "C'n I ask y'sumpin'? Dunno if y'know, but... what happened t'Fenrir? He get put outta his misery finally?"

A startled cry splits the air, and there is a sudden flurry of unfamiliar speech behind Shateishael.

Shateishael shifts to look, half blocking Rosie from whatever's going on.

Almost every eye in the place turns toward the startlement.

Rosenstern gives a sudden start, and is out of his chair and whirling to look around Slate.

The person standing there appears to be a well-aged man: the lines in his earth-toned face suggests one well into his 60's, but his musculature and his posture would seem to suggest one of much younger years. His hair is long, straight and raven-dark, cascading past his shoulders, fine and smooth. He is dressed simply in tan slacks, a rainbow tie-dyed shirt, and a light-blue denim shirt over that, unbuttoned. He wears moccasins that are decorated with intricate beadwork, and he wears a pendant that seems to be made of four different kinds of stone: one red, one blue, one black, and one white. The most notable thing about his is his eyes...one is a deep, deep blue, but the other would appear to be a glass eye of some kind, except that instead of looking like an actual eye, it is merely a light-gold stone carved into the shape and detail of an eye.

At the moment, those eyes seem to be staring wildly at Shateishael - or to be more specific, his wings. But as the angel turns around the man's expression falls, as if in disappointment. "Pardon me." he murmurs, his voice sounding tired. "I thought...I thought you were someone I knew."

Shateishael casually puts out an arm so Rosie's not darting forward into potential trouble, frowning. Odd... that sounded vaguely... like Comanche? Not quite, though... something vaguely like 'sister,' but that's about it. He raises an amused eyebrow.

In looking more closely at the man, one realizes that he also has wings, but wings that are of a blue so deep one cannot almost pick them out of the darkness of the night. Those wings rustle, and in so doing, there is a deep sound that is not unlike that of a rolling storm, one far in the distance.

Shateishael's eyes narrow slightly as he studies the man... then he says slowly in Comanche, "You are not of the Lords of the Plains. You are... of the farming folk of the southwest?"

Bacchus looks slightly apologetic, standing and offering his seat to the man with the golden eye, "Cetan, my apologies. I should have known the Warrior's appearance would be startling to you."

Shateishael remains standing slightly behind and to one side of Rosenstern, watching in silent interest.

Rosenstern watches, his hands on Slate's waist as he peers from around the large Angel at the other man.

Shateishael glances at Bacchus, then turns his head to rumble quietly to Rosenstern, "Y'wanna getta refill f'th'table, pretty flower?"

Cetan blinks at Shateishael's query, tilting his head and blinking. He then realizes Bacchus has spoken, and smiles sadly at the satyr. "It is well, my friend." he replies, sitting as he faces the angel. "You speak the tongue of the Cintualuka. Were you of their number?" he queries politely, not quite answering his question.

Rosenstern nods, worriedly, and slips from behind slate to go over to Pan's kegs.

Pan is looking somewhat curious, though not worried as Rosie comes over. He's already pouring pints of the rich beer for the table, "I hope there is not tension?" he asks, voice musical and sounding as if his singing voice would be a tenor.

Shateishael tilts his head thoughtfully, then rumbles quietly, "We were the Nemene. I was of the Penateka." There is the faintest emphasis on the Comanche name for themselves, since he's aware other tribe's names for the Comanche (outrageously successful nomadic traders and riders) were... not always complimentary.

Rosenstern glances over. "I don't... think so? I'm afraid I'm not following the conversation, I don't speak that language.

Cetan nods. "The Nemene. Yes, I remember them. So long ago," he murmurs in English, eyes cast to the sky briefly, as if in remembrance. "Forgive me again for my outburst, all of you. Please, do not let me pull you from your conversation." he addresses all those present, suddenly aware of the tension, and the eyes watching all of them.

Pan nods slowly, smiling at Rosenstern as he pushes two of the steins toward the angel and steps around the bar with three more in his own hands, "I'll help you with that. Carrying more mugs than you have hands is a pain."

Rosenstern smiles to Pan, bowing (though in the heels it comes across more as a curtsey) and picks up the two steins. "Thank you!"

Shateishael raises an eyebrow again, wondering why this person refers to those times as long ago... then mentally shakes himself. How a fae perceives time is the fae's business, not his!

Shateishael glances at Bacchus, "So... sister wi' fire wings, I take it? Y' knew her too?"

Bacchus smiles quietly and shakes his head, "Sadly, no. The sister was lost to Uriel. But Cetan has told some lovely stories about her." Karl mutters quietly, "Does nothin' but tell stories, far's I c'n tell."

Shateishael glances sideways at Karl, covering a grin -- although his wings unwittingly shimmer for a second.

Cetan's eyes find Shateishael's once more, and his expression is rueful. "Forgive the old name I used, warrior. It came to me instinctively. I do not suppose that you would like being called a 'snake-man' - now, or then."

Shateishael glares at the other man for a moment... then he deliberately looks away, rumbling, "Thanks, Rosie," and accepts a mug of beer.

Pan brings his part of the load of beer to the table and sets them down. The youngish satyr walks delicately, almost effeminately. When the steins are set down, he wraps his arms around Bacchus from behind and kisses the older satyr's shoulder. Bacchus cranes his neck to smile at Pan and pats his hand, "Mmm... bit of a delicate conversation, hon. I'll see you in a bit." Pan nods and wanders back to the bar.

Rosenstern nods to Slate, and goes back to his half-hiding position through this.

Shateishael has a long drink again, then folds his arms and tilts his head to rumble to Rosenstern behind him, "Y'wanna chair, Rosebud?"

Rosenstern says, "Oh, uhm, no, thanks, Slate, I'm fine for the moment!"

Cetan had noted Shateishael's anger, but under the circumstances, could do nothing else...he had already apologized. When the angel next speaks, Cetan blinks, looking at Rosie, and then makes an amused sound. "How coincidental..."

Rosenstern blinks at Cetan. "How so...?"

Karl arches a brow at Cetan's comment, wondering what the big coincidence is.

Shateishael growls immediately, "This's Rosenstern. 'S a two-spirit. Not a catamite." He holds one big hand over Rosie's, resting about his waist, and stares at Cetan for a moment, then at Karl, almost as if daring the men to make something of it.

Cetan's brow knits. "I know not what a catamite is...but I merely remarked on it because my home is called the Rosebud Reservation," he explains calmly in response to the Seraph's anger.

Shateishael nods once, relaxing slightly.

The centaur holds up his hands with a wry smile, "Meant no harm by it, Smith. Lived too long with the Greeks." That gets a look of surprise from Bacchus. Puck and Karl being polite in one night. The satyr looks up as if expecting something to fall out of the sky.

Shateishael studies the centaur and Bacchus... then, almost without meaning to, the corners of his mouth quirk upwards. His wings fan back gently, half wrapping about Rosie.

Cetan watches those wings in fascination, though he does not speak further for the moment, sipping at a beer someone pressed into his hand.

Rosenstern feels a bit uncomfortable, or at least discomfited, by the unexpected fury of Slate's comment. But he relaxes when neither centaur nor Cetan wants to make any sort of scene over that.

Shateishael has another drink, firmly reminding himself he's the guest here... then he rumbles to the Native American, "So... what'd y'do wi'yer people?"

Cetan blinks, in mid sip, as if surprised the angel is addressing him. "I suppose you could consider me...a morale officer, of sorts. One could certainly say that both yours and mine need such release now, more than any other. What reservation do you hail from? Perhaps I have already visited it."

Shateishael gives the other guy a long stare. Is he making fun of him? Finally he rumbles slowly, "'M... not from a reservation. Rosie 'n I 're Celestials."

Bacchus relaxes visibly when it seems the moment of tension has passed between the two winged beings.

Bacchus murmurs close to Cetan's ear, "The Warrior and the Flowerkin... Soma's ambassadors to Bran's court." The satyr's gaze flicks over to the dance floor where Bella seems to be dancing with... dear heavens... Puck. That causes a snort of surprise.

Cetan's eyes widen! "Oh!" He turns to look at Bacchus. "I see! These are the ones you mentioned in passing, earlier." His wings rustle once more, and there is again that sound of far off thunder.

Shateishael glances over at Bacchus's reaction, then gets a slightly grim smile. Puck's going to hurt if he's disrespectful... and it won't be due to anything Slate does! He looks back at the others.

Rosenstern blinks at Bacchus's snort, and looks out onto the dance floor... and blinks again.

Bella actually seems to be laughing at something Puck is saying. And the young Ethereal's good behavior is likely due to the fact that the Phoenix and Dragon can be seen nearby in the crowd of bodies.

Shateishael's expression softens at the sound of Bella's laugh, and he looks back that way, smiling.

Cetan smiles broadly at Shateishael and Rosie. "Sirs, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Cetan Ittindi." His eyes get shrewd as he looks at Slate. "You might know me better as the Ba'a', Warrior."

Rosie stifles a tiny little yawn, and curls up in the seat beside Slate. Curls up and nestles into Slate's lap, unable to remain awake any longer.

Shateishael looks back at Cetan, his eyes narrowed... then simply nods once, reflexively shifting so Rosenstern's comfortable, and running a hand lightly and reassuringly over the small Mercurian.

Shateishael is silent a moment. The name given is Comanche for the Thunderbird... but he doesn't ever remember seeing the man. Odd. He'll have to ask more questions later.

Shateishael glances back at Bella a bit wistfully... then looks down at Rosenstern and sighs faintly, smiling a bit. He runs one large, warm hand over Rosie's shoulder, then looks up at the others. "So... y'never said, metal shaper. Y'know whether th'Fenrir ever got decently laid t'rest?"

Karl smiles tightly, saying, "He hasn't been laid to rest, no."

Bacchus rests a hand on Cetan's shoulder as if to soothe the winged being.

Shateishael is gently stroking Rosie's hair, but at that he goes still... then looks up at the centaur. There's a faintly horrified note in his voice as he rumbles, "Th'Fenrir... he's still alive?! They bound him 'n left him?!"

Karl shakes his head again, smiling that same smile, "No, he wasn't left there, Smith. Not once we... not once it was realized he was there."

Shateishael takes a slow breath, his wings sinking back to a more normal stance, then rumbles thoughtfully, "Then... what happened t'him? Where's he now?"

Cetan smiles in passing to Bacchus, muttering assurances to the satyr, though there is a tightness at his eyes. He looks between Karl and the Seraph as they speak, quietly sipping.

Karl looks steadily at Slate and says simply, "Safe."

Shateishael studies Karl for a long moment... then simply nods and turns back to his beer.

Shateishael has a long, considering sip... then looks to Bacchus, "Gotta fav'r t'ask a' y'all. Know it's not likely t'happen this year, but maybe sometime inna future. C'n Rosie go visit y'r lady's gardens w'Ayra?"

After a moment the centaur seems to relent, "It's bes' not spoken of too openly, Smith. The Fenrir is still a scary thing t'some."

Bacchus smiles and nods, "I'm sure Ayra and my Willow would both enjoy the Flowerkin's visit."

Shateishael thinks a moment, then rumbles, "Guess I should go too..." He looks back over at the centaur, then sighs and shakes his head, "Al'ays wondered why they treated him like that. Were they s'prised he turned out vicious?"

Karl smiles tightly again, "Gods ain't always as bright as they'd have y'think."

Shateishael is bringing up his beer mug, and snorts amusedly at that, putting the mug down again.

Shateishael sighs, looking around, then back at the others, "Okay, gotta ask. Y'all don' have any more warriors t'speak of, do ya?"

Bacchus smiles wryly and sits down, keeping his seat close to Cetan. He seems solicitous of the Native American, "There aren't many of them left, no. Most of them aren't in here celebrating, either, Warrior."

Shateishael says, "Please tell me y'have at least a few? Someone t'train those that wanna learn th' martial way?"

Bacchus nods, "Oh, aye, there are a few." He chuckles and arches a brow, "Would it soothe your mind to meet them sometime?"

Shateishael shakes his head slowly, picking up his mug again as he looks around, muttering, "Court fulla hearthfolk, no warriors... yeah, sometime, if y'don' mind. Man, if y'all weren't Ethereals I know halfa dozen warriors'd give their eye teeth t'be here!"

Shateishael has a sip of beer, then glowers, muttering into the mug, "Bigoted jerks."

Shateishael is silent a moment... then sets the mug down very gently. "Sorry."

Cetan seems to be slightly pained at the Seraph's words, but says nothing, only sipping at his drink.

Bacchus is looking slightly amused, "Warrior... Slate, if only you knew how often I've said that same thing over the centuries about some of our own folk... though mostly of the other court."

Shateishael tilts his head a touch confusedly at Bacchus.

Bacchus chuckles slightly, "Different creatures sometimes have a hard time working together. It took Soma and I decades to convince the remaining dwarves that they need to lay aside their distrust of some of the other Ethereals and help get everyone working together. If it weren't for Sean, I'm not sure we would have succeeded."

The satyr thinks for a moment, "Might be because he had been living with the humans for centuries and was thriving."

Shateishael nods slowly, understanding. "Yeah, I hear ya. Rosie's S'perior is hostile t'mine... but 'm lucky Rosie doesn' take it personal."

Shateishael says, "So are there more warriors inna Winter Court, 'r what?"

Karl breaks in there, "Not s'much more warriors as more angry people wi' swords."

Shateishael snorts amusedly, "Oh, tha's just peachy. Warriors w'out hearthfolk t'protect 're jus' butchers."

Shateishael glances sideways at the others, "Uh... sorry if that was rude."

Neither Karl nor Bacchus look offended so much as amused.

Shateishael sighs quietly, then ruefully murmurs, "Think I've had 'nuff beer f'th' night. So, whatch'all wanna talk 'bout?"

Bacchus says with a half-smile, "And there you see the difference between a soldier and a Warrior."

Shateishael nods, unsurprised, "'S what I was taught too."

On the heels of Slate's question, Bella comes almost skipping over to the table, wrapping her arms around Slate from behind and not seeming to mind the heat from his wings the least little bit.

For a moment - a brief moment - Cetan's eyes sparkle with electricity, his face darkening. If Shateishael had not been looking, he would have even noticed, as the old one merely sighs into his beer after...only realizing just then that his mug is empty. He starts to ask Bacchus for another, and then is surprised by Bella's sudden entrance.

Shateishael grins, relaxing as he reaches an arm up to loop it gently around her, "Hey, beautiful. Y'met Bacchus 'n Karl. This's Cetan." He glances at the Native American, adding, "This's Bella."

Bella smiles and leans over to offer her hand to Cetan. Her hair is falling loose around her face and brushes Slate's shoulder when her leaning puts her half-over the Seraph, "It's a pleasure, Cetan."

Shateishael watches Bella moving, smiling quietly and eyes aglow again. Sparks drift lazily upwards from him past her.

Cetan stares at Bella's face. "Wiwasteka." he murmurs under his breath, and then takes her hand. "I am honored." he murmurs.

Bella smiles, squeezing Cetan's hand before coming around Slate and perching on what space is left available in his lap, "Puck was actually civilized! Bacchus, your son is not a complete loss yet."

Shateishael chuckles, obligingly shifting to accommodate Bella as well, looping an arm loosely about her so she can lean back against him if she wishes. He looks much more relaxed now, actually.

Shateishael says, "Guess th'dragon ladies're good f'r him."

Shateishael glances a bit wistfully at the dance floor... then settles, turning his gaze back to the others. He studies the centaur for a bit, then curiously says exactly what's on his mind, "So, Karl, how come ever'one here tends t'give y'wide berth?"

Bacchus chuckles and wryly admits, "At his age, I got slapped by more than one nymph. I've been hoping he'll grow out of it." Slate's comment makes him laugh, "Oh, aye, they've set an order down on his head that he's to be polite."

Shateishael grins at Bacchus, "Figgered as much."

The centaur snorts and one of his back feet paws at the ground. The sound is very, very equine, "B'cause I don' bother bein' nice, an' I'll tell 'em to their faces if they're bein' silly damn flibbertigibbets."

Bacchus takes a sip of beer and murmurs into the mug, "And because he threatened Gaoithean with a red-hot horseshoe."

Shateishael snorts again, his eyes glowing with amusement. "Uh-huh... musta been right popular inna Winter Court, I take it!" He glances at Bacchus, then gives a guffaw of laughter, "Oh, no!" He grins at Karl, "What'd y'do that fer?!"

Karl waves disdainfully toward a young elfin looking man wearing a much gaudier version of Soma's velvet suit, "Little empty-headed idiot called me a damn servant is why. I serve no damn body."

Shateishael looks puzzled, glancing towards the man as he rumbles, "What'd he call y'that f'r? Did he want somethin'?"

Bacchus clears his throat, "More specifically, he told Karl "No sweat-smelling servant is going to tell me to wait for something I need!" I think what he needed so awfully bad was to get a new set of grommets put on his good boots. Karl was..."

Shateishael's eyes widen, a delighted grin crossing his face as he listens.

"I was makin' the shoes to replace the ones Pegasus will've wore out by the time I get home is what I was doin'." Karl almost growls. His gaze toward the fae dandy is not kind.

Shateishael's eyes widen again, although for a different reason, "Pegasus? Wear out shoes?! How?"

Karl sighs, "I wasn' about to let the iron go cold just to put in some dinky li'l grommets on those godawful ugly boots."

Shateishael nods understandingly, "'Course not. Ruins 'em. But seriously -- a flyin' creature needs shoes?" He pauses, considering... then rumbles to Karl, "Wait. Y'need a hand at th'forge?"

Bella chuckles, standing and reaching down to tug on one of Slate's hands, "No more shop talk. Dancing. Now." She grins around at the other men, almost glowing, "Gentlemen, I'm sure we'll see all of you soon."

Karl smirks and bows, the gesture part human bow, part equine bow, "Wouldn' think to stand in th' way." He glances at Slate, "Because when he's actually onna ground, it's usually on some damn rough terrain."

Shateishael blinks a bit startledly at Bella -- then grins apologetically at Karl, "Uh... later, yeah? Promise." He rises with alacrity, carefully laying Rosie down on the couch, then beams at Bella, flames dancing delightedly along his arms as he holds his arms out to her, "Love to, beautiful!" Cetan merely watches as the two rise to dance once more, his eyes thoughtful.

Bella moves onto the dance floor with Slate. The Celtic-seeming Ethereals, along with Puck, are back to playing. The tune is an odd combination of traditional Celtic dances and some Mediterranean rhythm that Puck is making the dulcimer chime. The fusion somehow works. Shateishael isn't familiar with the music, but cheerfully dances with the rhythm. He's here to treat his lady and indulge in his enjoyment of graceful, matched movement... he wraps his arms warmly around Bella and whirls lightly across the floor with her, trailing sparks and glowing pleasure.

Bacchus settles near Rosie, almost managing to look like he's not standing guard over the Mercurian. Almost. Rosenstern is half-sleeping, though he's keeping himself awake as best as he can. It's rude to sleep as a guest unless offered a place to sleep, after all. He isn't cold at all, even with the harsh desert evening; the tent is very warm, so even with his... lack of clothing, he's reasonably warm -- though he bundles the silks up to give him some modesty.

Bella lets Slate twirl her through the dance, closing her eyes and smiling. Her hair falls over half of her face, lending just the tiniest air of mystery to the familiar Bright. Fingertips never quite stop moving over Slate's spark-dancing skin. Shateishael rumbles in quiet pleasure, savoring both his lover's delicate touch as well as her belovedly mysterious face. He dances carefully, warding her from accidentally tripping or stumbling with his gentle leading in the dance, but as much as he can, his glowing gaze is only for her.

Bacchus smiles at Rosenstern, dark eyes warm, "Have I said thank you yet, Flowerkin?"

Rosenstern blinks to Bacchus, coming awake. "'Thank you?' Erm... no, Bacchus, but why for?"

The satyr pats Rosie affectionately on the hip. It could be an intimate touch, but there's no sense of it being flirtatious, "For giving Soma something nice to obsess over for once."

Rosenstern blinks again. As a Mercurian, when dealing with humans 'obsess' is never the best word to hear. "Uhm, obsess? How do you mean...?"

Bella's eyes never leave Slate's face and at one point, her hand moves up to tangle in the hair at the base of his skull. Shateishael smiles lazily down at her, not bothering to flip his long hair back out of the way as she plays with it. His large hands rest warm and strong along her back to guide her, letting her lean securely back into his arms as much or as little as she wishes, as they whirl gracefully around the floor.

Bella lets herself lean into Slate's hands, closing her eyes and just trusting that he can lead her and keep her safe in the intricacies of the dance. For once, she just lets her strange worries about her feelings for him go. Shateishael sighs contentedly as he feels Bella relax in his arms, and holds her carefully, gently close, as if he were dancing with something too delicate and precious to risk. He feels like his heart is beating in time with both the dance and the Symphony, a steady cadence to both ward and uplift his beloved. In such a state, it's easy for him to lose track of time.

Bacchus chuckles slightly, still absently patting Rosie, "I mean that he worries for everyone a lot. He worked for a long, long time to make all of this happen. And it's been far too long since he had something pleasant for himself. Not that he hasn't had some enjoyment... it's not sidhe nature to go without pleasure. But physical pleasure is different than something to care about."

Rosenstern admittedly enjoys the patting, and Bacchus's explanation makes him relax somewhat, though it does make him feel a lot of sympathy for Soma. "I... think I understand." He smiles sheepishly. "I hope I can bring him pleasure, somehow." And here's hoping that there won't be any trouble...

The satyr nods and smiles, "May I call you Rosenstern?" he asks almost formally.

Rosenstern blinks and nods to Bacchus, "Oh, certainly! I didn't realize that to call someone by their name required that formality. I apologize if I've offended."

Bacchus smiles, laughing his rich laugh, "No, you've given no offense. You've been calling us by the names we gave you." He goes on, still smiling, "I haven't seen him this lighthearted in centuries, Rosenstern. You've given him a lot."

Rosenstern blushes deeply, shying a bit and smiling. "He's... given a lot to me. I'm just glad I'm able to give something back to him."

Karl hehs from just behind Bacchus, "Gotta say the goat's right. The boy's been needin' somethin' to keep him from becomin' a bore."

Bella lets her body fit against and move with Slate in the dance. She finds it so hard to worry when she's in the fae encampment, and having her lover hold her like this in a place that seems to removed from time is wonderful -- perfect almost. Shateishael is whirling in rhythmic grace, lost in the music and Bella... he whispers softly,

"O fleece, that down the neck waves to the nape!
O curls! O perfume nonchalant and rare!
O ecstasy! To fill the alcove shape
With memories that in these tresses sleep,
I would shake them like pennons in the air!"

Without realizing it, Slate's beginning to slow, shifting easily through the other couples, moving closer and closer to the center, where the more sedate couples are dancing...

"Pavilion, of blue-shadowed tresses spun,
You give me back the azure from afar;
And where the twisted locks are fringed with down
Lurk mingled odors I grow drunk upon
Of oil of coconut, of musk and more..."

Slate is beginning to feel like he could gaze on Bella's face forever... drown in her hair, drink love from her eyes... he gently brushes her lips with his own, gathering her close into a kiss as gently as he might hold an armful of flowers... and he stops moving entirely in the center of the room, lost in the burning delight of savoring her. Bella's eyes slip open, watching Slate's face silently as he quotes the beautiful verses, letting herself slow into stillness with him. The kiss sweeps her away, leaving nothing but the moment and the obvious caring between the Bright and the Seraph. No worries, no stress. Nothing but the gentle press of skin and the safety of his arms.

Rosenstern bites his lip a little. It'll be impossible to hide this from the Host, I'm increasingly certain of that. He looks over to watch, entranced, as Slate dances so enjoyably and beautifully with Bella. Bacchus follows Rosie's gaze and whistles softly, "That's... interesting." His hand is still resting on Rosenstern's leg.

Rosenstern coughs once, adjusting the collar. It feels a lot warmer in here, and he has to shift the silks again a little. "To say the least!"

The satyr motions at the angels, still watching appreciatively, "Your Slate is a lucky, lucky man. It's not often I get to see beings other than the Ethereals that share so easily."

Rosenstern has not failed to notice Bacchus's hand, though he feels reasonably comfortable with him. The dance Bella and Slate share is breathtaking, and Rosie nodes a touch dazedly to Bacchus, still entranced. Bacchus glances toward Rosie as if waiting for an answer and smiles slightly as he notices the shift in posture and discreet attempt at staying somewhat decent. He removes his hand, realizing that with the Mercurian being somewhat aroused watching his lovers, touch might be inappropriate. Without another word he simply goes back to watching.

When the kiss seems to finally dissolve on its own, Bella laughs softly and fans herself, face and throat flushed, "Oh... my... I think... maybe, uhm..." She looks around and sees Rosie and Bacchus again, "Can we go sit?"

Shateishael draws a slow breath, letting his forehead rest against Bella for a moment as he holds her close. He's got that funny, too-full-in-his-chest feeling again, and his heart is hammering as if he'd just run a few miles... but he feels absolutely great. He finally pulls his head together enough to rumble softly, "Sure..." It takes him a moment, as if he's flown right out of his body and forgotten how to make it move correctly... but then he releases Bella from the hug and courteously offers her his arm. The two of them move to settle on the cushions by the dance floor.

Shateishael solicitously makes sure Bella's comfortable... although it's hard to tell if he's more motivated by that, or by the sheer pleasure of stroking her as she shifts. Once she's settled, he looks up at one point, his eyes glowing so brightly they're almost white gold, and meets Rosenstern's gaze. He smiles slowly, then pats the pillows next to him in invitation. Shateishael's wings are an almost invisible heat shimmer behind him, and the flames slither lightly across his skin, sparks flying in tiny scarlet whirlwinds upwards and away from him.

Rosenstern smiles to Slate and half-crawls over on the cushions, curling up beside him a touch sleepily. Bella smiles lazily as she watches Rosie crawl over, looking both adorably tousled and deliciously molestable. Then she just settles in, one hand lazily petting Slate's thigh as if it were a favorite cat. Shateishael draws Rosie close, leaning his head down to nuzzle gently against the little Mercurian's hair... he straightens a bit, drawing a slow breath as he gazes in silent wonder at the two people in his arms... then raises his head, still smiling as he looks around the room.

Shateishael takes a moment to adjust the cushions behind him so he can half recline, hopefully making himself more comfortable for his lovers to lie on or against. He kisses Bella's forehead, firmly reminding himself she wanted a breather -- then runs a hand down Rosie's side, his fingers trailing along the smooth leather and cool buckles, sliding past the delicate, semi-transparent silks, and then resting warmly on Rosie's hip. He smiles slowly again, recognizing the lost, almost dreamily accepting look in Rosenstern's eyes, and lets his fingers enjoyably trace the soft curves of Rosie's rear, teasing gentle gasps and quivers out of the gracile Mercurian.

As the angels settle in, Bacchus stands and makes his way over to the trio, settling down in the closest thing to tailor-fashion one can manage with goat's legs. Not far behind him, Karl makes his way with surprising delicacy through the maze of people and furniture and cushions. After a few moments of silence, Karl speaks, "It's almost interestin', watchin' ever'body so thrilled 'bout havin' angels 'round."

Shateishael looks up at Karl curiously, "How y'mean, guy?"

Karl shrugs slowly, "I mean, most o' the time the thought of most Celestials around would send this bunch scatterin' t'th' winds. Most of them remember the Purge. We got long, long mem'ries."

Shateishael nods slowly, thoughtfully watching the dancers, "Gotta admit... 's been surprisingly nice how y'all have welcomed us." He tilts his head to glance up at the centaur again, "Why's that?" He amends, "Why've y'all been so nice t'us?"

Bacchus, for once, stays quiet and listens to see how the centaur is going to explain that. Karl smiles tightly, arms crossing across his chest, making his harness jingle, "Partly b'cause the king's taken with the Flowerkin there. Partly because none of ya have made a move to be dangerous. Though if anybody'd seen that little display of form changin' out there..." The satyr's brows go up curiously at that.

Shateishael rumbles quietly, "'Tain't a secret, Smith. If'n y'want, I'll do it again here. I jus' try not t'scare folks needlessly." He adds a bit puzzledly, "An' actually, I wuz s'prised too. Usually it's just Stone, not Steel." He considers, then amends again, "No, actually it's al'ays Stone. That wuz a first. Is that how Soma sees me?" He tilts his head back again towards the standing centaur, and grins, "An' I gotta ask, now... how come you think Soma's wrong 'bout us?"

Bacchus sits up a little straighter and puts his hand on Slate's shoulder, looking worried, "Please don't..." He looks up at Karl with a slightly reproachful look and sighs, "Soma sees you as slightly dangerous, but he also sees you as being on our side. But having someone dangerous allied with you doesn't make them less dangerous. Just friendly." Karl nods, letting Bacchus do the talking. Bacchus continues, "And I haven't known Karl to actually trust anyone under several thousand years old."

Shateishael rumbles to Bacchus, "Even if Karl'd asked me to, I'd 'a checked w'you first." He grins at Karl, adding, "No offense, guy." He considers the rest of Bacchus's comments, then nods slowly to Karl, "'Kay. Cain't help y'there; sorry. 'M th'oldest of th'three of us, 'n I'm only a millennia 'r so, m'self."

Bacchus nods and Karl snorts a bit as if amused with Bacchus' description of his distrust, "Just seen a little too much t'trust easy. Though s'far ya don't seem like yer tryin' to actually cause problems."

As the Ethereals and angels watch the ball and talk amongst themselves, a small being -- shorter and more willowy than Rosenstern -- makes its way over. It looks much like the elfin-eared drummers and the voice is sweetly piping, "My pardon, worthy sirs and ma'am..." Shateishael nods ruefully to Karl -- Rosie's inclination to trust so swiftly and absolutely scares him to death sometimes! -but he remains quiet. His free hand continues to gently and pleasurably stroke Rosie's rear, but he looks over curiously and nods politely to the small entity.

The Ethereal is dressed in billowy silken pants in jewel-bright green and a tunic-style shirt of the same tone. Long crimson hair brushes the back of the creature's knees, "I would like to ask the pleasure of a dance." There's a quick motion of something between a curtsey and a bow.

Shateishael studies the entity a bit perplexedly, then rumbles slowly, "'kay... didja have someone in p'tic'lar in mind?"

Bacchus, Karl, and the little elfin creature all laugh. The red-haired being nods and smiles, reaching a delicate hand toward Slate, "I did, Warrior. I wondered if you would dance with me."

Shateishael looks surprised, "Me? Uh..." He cuts himself off before he blurts out something rude, and takes a breath. A dance... yeah, that should be okay... regardless of what gender, if any, this little entity is...? He rumbles quietly to Bella, "Wouldja mind keepin' Rosie close f'a bit, sweetheart?"

Bella smiles and shifts so that Rosie can drowse across her lap, stroking the sweet Mercurian's hair in the same softly affectionate way she was petting Slate's thigh, "Go have fun, lover."

Shateishael gets a slightly gorfy grin for a moment, watching Bella and Rosie... then remembers himself and slides smoothly to his feet. To the little entity he rumbles, "You c'n call me Slate. May I have y'- er, may I have a name f'you, please?" He politely offers her/him/it his arm, his wings quivering a bit as they shake out and flare again, from having been a bit scrunched up while he was reclining.

The creature slides its hand through Slate's arm and smiles up at him with what can now be seen to be slightly pointed teeth, "You may call me Peony." There are hints of what might be very small breasts under the silken fabric of the tunic.

Shateishael rumbles politely, "Pleasure t'meetcha, Miz Peony." He waits until they declare the next dance before pacing slowly out with Peony onto the dance floor. He hopes it's a dance he knows, or at least can fake smoothly. The next dance is stately and slow and most definitely a waltz. Peony smiles up at Slate, resting one tiny hand on his shoulder, letting the angel hold the other hand. Shateishael gives a small, relieved sigh at hearing it's going to be a waltz. He steps to the correct position to lead, taking her other hand and sliding his large palm to rest securely against the small of her back, under that lovely waterfall of hair. As they wait for the introductory ripple of music to begin, he murmurs quietly, "Y'mind if I talk w'you durin' th'dancin', ma'am?"

Peony stands closer in than might have perhaps been proper in human society, but she isn't actually pressing herself against Slate. The trill of her laugh spills from her mouth again and she tips her head, tip-tilted eyes twinkling, "Please do... I find your voice interesting, Warrior."

Shateishael's lips quirk a bit uncertainly -- he's not sure whether to smile or not -- but he simply nods and rumbles politely, "'Kay. Wuz wond'rin' what, uh... what kinda fae y'were, ma'am? An'... does m'voice sound odd t'ya or sump'n'?" He steps neatly into the dance as the music begins, finding it incredibly easy to lead someone so small. He has to be careful, in fact, to not simply move her accidentally as they dance. The soft swaying touch of her hair is a rather cool, silken distraction, and he wonders a bit bemusedly if Bella likes hair that long.

There's yet another of those laughs and the green eyes sparkle, "I could make you guess, but I suspect that you are too serious for such frivolities." There's a scent around her not of peonies, but of violets. She moves gracefully in the dance, almost seeming to flow rather than to step through it, "I am a leprechaun, Warrior. And your voice isn't so much odd as entrancing..." She tips her head so that her delicately pointed ear is near Slate's chest, as if to listen to the way he resonates, "Deep and shivery."

Shateishael blinks, then studies her fascinatedly for a few graceful turns of the dance. Finally he rumbles, "Y'r lot prettier'n what's usually described as a leprechaun, ma'am." He grins at the comment about his voice, adding, "Um... thanks? Glad t'hear it's not... creepy 'r scary 'r nuthin'." Then he adds a touch apologetically, "Al'ays sucked at guessin' games, ma'am... sorry."

Peony doesn't seem to mind being studied -- in fact she seems almost to enjoy having the Seraph looking at her. At the compliment she drops her gaze somewhat coquettishly, though from the broad smile there's no actual shyness, "Oh, not scary at all!" Her feet are bare and she's actually up on the balls of her feet to bring herself slightly higher. If she were to stand flat on her feet, she would barely reach the bottom of Slate's sternum, "And it's interesting to speak with someone whose main goal isn't mischief and riddles."

Shateishael raises an eyebrow at that, then simply grins and quietly rumbles, "Mmhmm... should I be wary a' you then, ma'am? Or d'you not have that as y'r main goal?"

The leprechaun steps out from Slate and does a graceful twirl, using his hand as a pivot point, before moving back into position... perhaps a bit closer than before, "Oh, I enjoy mischief. But usually of the benign variety."

Shateishael chuckles quietly, watching the graceful pirouette, and if she seems so inclined he'll whirl her out for another at the next turn of the dance. When she's back in his arms again he rumbles ruefully, "'M not s'good at tellin' th' diff'rence, m'self... even among my folk, Seraphs're known f'r seriousness. How d'you do it?" He grins quietly to himself, amusedly noting, [For seriousness or, depending who's asking, for being sticks in the mud...!]

Peony quite gleefully spins out for another pirouette, silken clothing and long hair fluttering around her. On the next return to Slate, she's against his chest and belly, but almost deferentially, waiting to see if the big angel minds the contact, "Mmm... I'm mindful of actually causing harm, but so are most of us allied with Soma."

Shateishael doesn't even really register the change of position -- as the lead, he was taught to compensate automatically in such situations. He smoothly makes the fractional turn so Peony's more correctly in stance for the waltz (slightly offset from him, so he doesn't step directly forward on her toes), then rumbles quietly, "'M relieved t'hear that, actually. Met a coupla pranksters whiles ago that got off on hurtin' folks... never could get th'point a' that'n, m'self." A moment later he curiously rumbles, "Wait... y'sayin' that's not th'case inna Winter Court, ma'am?"

Peony strokes Slate's shoulder lightly as he continues to lead her through the dance, "Mmm... they aren't as picky about what mischief they cause. None of us can cause direct harm to the Celestials or to humans, but some of the winter tricksters are less picky about them coming to harm indirectly."

Shateishael tilts his head curiously, listening, then rumbles, "Cain't cause direct harm? How come? Does this extend t'other fae too?" He carefully keeps his wings angled close to himself, not wanting to smack anyone else in the slow, whirling turns of the waltz. His skin is currently glowing warmly from within, and flames flicker in a trailing line along Slate's shoulder, following Peony's stroking fingers.

The leprechaun lass gestures toward Karl with a subtle tilt of her head, still smiling as if what they were discussing were light trivialities, "That one could hurt you. As could the satyrs, if they weren't oathbound not to." Those tiny fingers move from the Seraph's shoulder, down his chest, to rest just on the upper swell of his pectoral muscle.

Shateishael looks puzzled again, although he keeps perfectly graceful step with the lazily drifting music, "Wait, I missed sump'n' here? When did th'satyrs swear an oath 'bout that? An' seriously, please -- does this, uhh... ban a' yers extend t'other fae too?"

Peony tips her head to the side, hair brushing across Slate's skin with that silken caress, "When Soma came to power, he oathbound all that came together under his rule... Bran did the same. But Karl isn't really of either court. He may be unique in that. He didn't need the protection."

Shateishael is silent a moment, his gaze roving slowly across everyone he can see, as he and Peony whirl together gracefully in the dance. Finally he rumbles slowly, "What's th'oath, if y'can say, ma'am?" He worries internally... is this something Rosenstern's going to be subject to? If so, what does it entail, and will it affect the other angels with Rosie?

The fae woman smiles up at Slate, laughing softly, "The exact oath? Hm... 'By my hand, shall no harm come to man nor woman nor child, nor creature of the Celestial realm. On my life I do swear.'" She's still wearing an unconcerned expression as if they were discussing nothing more important than the music.

Shateishael looks rather confused, "Uh... how does that cover humans though, ma'am?"

Peony laughs, shaking her head and doing another pirouette, "Men, women, and children are humans, Warrior."

Shateishael automatically twirls the small woman again if she wishes, and brushes his Resonance across her statements, seeking Truth. He's quite confused by this point... what they mean by certain words seems to be very different from what he means. They seem to be speaking the same language, though...? Then he rumbles slowly, "Oh -- we're th'creatures; I get it. Still, that oath... hardly seems fair, ma'am. How're y'all s'pposed t'protect y'selves?"

Peony smiles, shaking her head, "That was the oath I took, Warrior. The few warriors we have left took a slightly different one, but that is not my oath to tell."

Shateishael sighs softly, relaxing a bit, "Ah, good. Thanks, ma'am." He's silent a moment, then rumbles slowly, "Are any a' y'all's warriors here t'night, Miz Peony?" A moment later he muses aloud, "Wonder why Soma's not sendin' some 'a them t'th'Winter Court?"

The leprechaun slides her palm over the muscled plane of Slate's chest, smiling up at him invitingly, but the question distracts her and makes her look around. After a moment, she shakes her head, "Not many. Unless you count Bacchus and his boys and the swordsmith centaur."

Shateishael blinks, sorting out that information. Bacchus is Pan's sire -- and lover?! And almost more oddly to Slate -- the warriors do not celebrate with their hearthfolk? He's silent, trying to figure out how the fae think... and why, he belated realizes, is Peony being so careful to seem artless in this discussion?

Almost as if anticipating his next question, Peony speaks, "Our warriors watch the perimeter of Soma's dome. When the moon sets they will trade off with some of the sharper-eyed of the non-warriors, so they can have their chance to celebrate and perhaps steal a moment with our new champions."

Shateishael says, "Oh!" He relaxes a bit again, smiling faintly, "'Kay. Guess we should stick 'round till then, yeah?" A bit puzzledly he adds, "'Though... still makes me wonder why Soma's not sendin' some 'a them... an' who're y'all expectin' threat from?"

Peony smiles, those slightly sharp teeth sparkling for a half-moment, "It would not be amiss were you to at least stay here. I'm certain you and your companions could all find beds here should you choose." She shakes her head again, hair covering her ears briefly and making her seem for a moment to be simply a very petite human, "Some of the humans here are not simply human... the keep-away might not work as easily as on others."

Shateishael gives Peony a curious look, "Wait, y'jus' sprung a new one on me 'gain... what's that 'bout other not-humans here? An' we have a fine tent; y'don' need t' worry 'bout that, but thanks all th'same."

The green eyes sparkle for a moment, "I wasn't worried that you didn't have shelter, Warrior. I was inviting you to share mine." Before that can really have time to have impact, she goes on, "Well, if the three of you are here, mightn't there be others here as well? But what I truly meant was that some humans are less susceptible to glamour than others. Mostly the dreamers, artists, and madmen."

Shateishael considers for a few turns of the waltz, and another pirouette... then smiles relaxedly and rumbles, "Thanks, ma'am, that's real kind a' you... but I'm thinkin' if I tol' Soma we were gonna be in our tent later t'night 'nstead a' Rosie bein' wi'him... then dumpin' th'three a' us on you wouldn' be p'lite neither." He nods at Peony's later words, "Yeah, makes sense. Don' think y'all want any demons in here, after all."

Peony looks amused and interested, "I had not gotten the impression that you or your lovers were selfish, Warrior. Do you fear us?" She seems honestly questioning, then continues, "Nor curious humans, Warrior. It could be dangerous in many ways."

Shateishael gives Peony a baffled look, "Wait, what?! What was that about selfishness?" He hastily checks his Resonance again... he's not sure what good it'll do on opinions, but it does help him feel a touch more grounded, and this girl has been repeatedly confusing him!

The leprechaun tips her head the other way, saying, "I had heard that you were not averse to sharing one another with other lovers. I can think of no other reasons than jealousy or fear to keep your sweet boy from spending his night with another lover." After a moment she smiles, asking gently, as if speaking to someone she doesn't want to spook, "Do you realize that I was not offering merely shelter earlier?" She still doesn't ring of anything but Truth.

Shateishael studies Peony carefully, his eyes narrowing... then he whirls them in the steps of the dance to the side of the dance floor, so he can talk without risk of being so startled (again!) that he stumbles into someone else. Once they're safely to a halt, he shakes his head confusedly, "Awright, let's try this again. Who're you sayin' is selfish? An' why shouldn' I pr'tect Rosie? An' I take it now you were suggestin' sex, right?" He considers a second, then bemusedly adds, "Wi' me?" There's no anger in his voice -- simply bafflement.

She laughs softly again, resting her hands lightly on Slate's chest, on the flat just below his shoulders, "I didn't say you were selfish, Warrior. I said I had heard you were not selfish, so I wondered if it was fear that kept you from letting the Flowerkin stay with Soma. And yes, I was suggesting sex. With you. Or more than one of you, but definitely with you." She doesn't try to press herself against the Seraph, "But I shan't be offended were you to say no. Disappointed, perhaps."

Shateishael blinks, raising his head to gaze sightlessly over her while he desperately thinks, [Okay, this is new...! What do I do?!] He takes a deep breath, collecting his thoughts to try and answer this tiny but incredibly perplexing woman. "Uhm. Okay, lemme see if I c'n get alla this... first, Rosie's kinda trustin', 'n his safety's my responsibility, 'n we've known Soma f'all of two days, ma'am. I jus' want 'em both t'take it slow 'n get t'know each other, y'know? An', uh, what was next..." He looks back at Peony, his expression baffled again, "Right. Sex w'me. Um... y'sure 'bout that, ma'am? I mean... y'don' have any idea who I am, an' y'r willin' t'trust y'self like that t'a stranger?" He hesitates, then confusedly asks, "Don' y'r warriors tell y'all t'be careful 'roun' strangers?!"

Shateishael's still reflexively, gently holding Peony's forearms from where they came to a halt after the dance, in an effort to remain polite and calm. His wings are reflecting his mood again, though -- they're shimmering with streamers of gold-sparking scarlet flame running through them. Nearby, Bella glances over, smiling with amusement, perhaps recognizing the body language of the small female that her lover has been dancing with. She finds herself feeling much more relaxed than when the cat goddess asked him to dance earlier. She doesn't stop petting Rosie.

Peony doesn't make a move to press closer or pull away, "We know to be careful around strangers, Warrior, but were you a threat to us, you would not be inside this encampment. The leprechaun's eyes move over Slate's wings with a species of fascination before coming back to his face, "And you know that we cannot harm you... and I find you intriguing. Beautiful, even. Like liquid, living gold."

Shateishael tilts his head thoughtfully at Peony, then looks over to where Karl stands, arms folded and vaguely disapproving-looking -- to Slate's inexperienced eye, at least... then he looks back at Peony, "Y'all're... really confusin' me. If threats can't come in here, how come y'all have guards set? An' how come Karl seems so untrustin' a' us? An'... y'don' hafta have sex wi'someone t'get'm t'stick aroun', y'know, yeah?"

Peony shakes her head, "I didn't say threats couldn't enter. I said if you were a threat you wouldn't be here. You would have been put outside some way or another." She glances over at Karl and arches both brows, "Because he trusts no one, save perhaps Bacchus." To the last question she laughs, wetting her lips, "I'm not trying to make you stick around, Warrior. I'm offering pleasure and a little fun." She tips her head slightly and asks with a hint of confusion of her own, "Do you not enjoy sex?"

Shateishael rumbles a bit blankly, "Oh." He's silent a moment, thinking... then blinks and looks down at Peony again, "What? Oh, no, I like sex lots. I jus'... never done it wi'someone I wasn' already in love with, ma'am. It's... kinda new thought t'me, s'all." Hastily he adds, "I mean, I heard 'a th'idea, jus' never in conjunction w'me, y'know?" He thinks, with a faint internal shiver, [And... I don't think I can fake affection like that...] He tries to pull himself together and remain courteous, offering his arm to Peony again, "Um, I kinda messed up th'endin' a' that dance. Wouldja like t'return t'th'others, ma'am?"

Peony looks surprised, but it's a pleasant surprise, "That is a sweet thing, Warrior." Her thumbs brush across the bare skin of Slate's chest, still not being lewd exactly, but holding herself in an inviting way, "I really shan't be offended if you would rather not share my bed. Though I would like to share myself with you, I understand that such pleasures are often held in different regard with different beings."

Shateishael hesitates, then rumbles slowly, "Ma'am, it's possible someday we'd be in love, 'n then I'd be happy t'help y'feel as pleasant as y'wanted. But... 'til then, please, if'n it happens, I... I don't think I'd be real comfy w'that?"

Peony smiles and nods, seeming satisfied now that she's got a direct answer. She slips her hands away from Slate's chest and gives him another of those curtsey-bows, "Then I shall let you return to your companions and I look forward to speaking with you again." Shateishael looks a bit worried, not sure if he's done something socially clumsy again, or even what he should do next... but he'll at least bow politely in return. When she says she will leave Slate to his companions, she slips back into the crowd, her petite stature letting her disappear quite easily. Shateishael takes a deep breath, relaxing noticeably when his Resonance lets him know she truly isn't offended, and does understand. He even tries a small smile as she departs... then carefully heads back towards his friends. [Deep breaths -- nice, centering, deep breaths...]

Bella and Bacchus are both watching Slate with slightly amused smiles as he returns. Karl looks as impassive as ever. Shateishael rumbles faintly to his friends, "Hi. Fascinatin' crowd here t'night..." and folds up neatly next to Bella. He just sits silently for several moments, staring out sightlessly at the dance floor and doing a simple relaxation mantra... that was weird! He wonders with a small amount of astonishment if humans do this all the time... how do they handle it?!

The Bright looks perplexed, reaching over to stroke Slate's back, petting him like she would a spooked pet, "Did the little woman say something that's got you looking all shell-shocked?"

Bacchus chuckles quietly, "If I know our sweet Peony, she may have propositioned him."

Shateishael gives Bella a ruefully confused smile, "Yeah, kinda startled me." He looks back out at the dance floor, adding in quiet astonishment, "She wanted sex with me! An' when she said she wasn' upset cuz I said no... she meant it!" A moment later he gives the others an amused glance, "Hey, it's new t'me, 'kay?"

Bella laughs, relaxing a little. She stretches up to kiss Slate, "We keep telling you you're beautiful and you don't believe us."

Shateishael gives Bella another amused glance, wrapping an arm around her and resting his forehead against her for a moment, "I know I gotta good vessel... but that's not th'same as bein' lovable, sweetheart. Rosie feels lovable. You feel lovable. Me... I don' feel lovable."

Bacchus chimes in -- well, not so much chimes, since his voice does carry that baritone note, "Why would she be upset? She offered nicely, I'd wager, and you declined -- again, I'd wager, nicely. There was no reason for offense."

Shateishael gives Bacchus a rueful look, "Y'know, if it's that easy how come no one's tol' th'humans that?"

Bella shakes her head and chuckles, "You aren't affectionate, but you are definitely lovable. And honey, sex isn't always about love. Sometimes it's about looking at someone and feeling yourself go all tight and shivery." She tips her head and squints up at him, "But I bet that just doesn't occur to you, does it?" Bella seems to catch herself and re-speaks, "Casually affectionate, I should have said."

Shateishael rumbles a bit indignantly, "I do so go all tight 'n shivery when I lookit th'folks I love!" He harrumphs softly, hugging her gently, and grins, "Sorry, sweetheart. F'me, sex is about love."

Bacchus smirks good-naturedly, "Hey, some of the humans get it. But a lot of them never have time to grow past being a child and selfish." With a slightly more mischievous grin, he says, "Though I must say very few of the people here would have said her no. She is rumored to be quite, uhm, adept."

Shateishael nods politely to Bacchus's statement, then curiously asks Bella, "So what d'y'call casually affectionate then, lover?"

The Bright snuggles against Slate's side with that air of someone pleased and affectionate, "Mmmm... you must have known you loved me fairly quickly, then." As she's nestling close, Pan moves back over and settles in by Bacchus. The older satyr puts his arm around the younger's shoulders and greets him with a kiss. Bella thinks about Slate's query for a moment, "Casually affectionate is when you're easily friendly, or perhaps more, with newly known people."

Shateishael nods as he shifts to accommodate Bella, his eyes warming as he does so. His wings are easing back to their more normal, almost invisible heat shimmer as he whispers quietly to Bella, "Couldn' resist you, sweetheart. Y'made th'Symphony sing... 'n then m'heart started singin' too whenever you were aroun'." He nods again at her explanation, speaking more normally, "'Kay... don' think I'm t'that point then; sorry, sweetheart." He lifts his head to notice Pan's arrival, and gets a curious look, "Hey, Bacchus... Peony mentioned you an' y'r boys. What's 'at mean, please?"

Bacchus hms, fingers caressing Pan's upper arm casually, "A lot of the court calls all the satyrs my boys since I am the eldest."

Slate nods to Bacchus, "Guess you're not th' sire a' alla them, though, then?"

Bacchus smiles crookedly, "And boy is sometimes a term used for a younger man who has an older dominant lover." He laughs out loud at Slate's question, "Are you asking if Pan's my son?"

Shateishael looks a bit bemused, "Um, yeah, 'though 'm not sure why it's funny t'ask?" He adds confusedly, "I thought that was catamite, not boy?"

Bella laughs softly, "Oh, baby, there are so many different words for that..."

Shateishael says, "Really? Mus' be more pop'lar than I realized then."

Bacchus smiles and shakes his head, "Because most people would be offended at thinking that I had taken my son as my lover. You just seem curious."

Shateishael sounds a bit warily uncertain, "Well, this is y'all's place, 'n we're th'guests here, so I figger'd bein' offended'd be kinda rude, 'n... guess t'me if y'all're happy, what business is it a'mine anyways?"

Bacchus chuckles and lets Pan nestle against his side, much the way Rosie often snuggles against Slate, "Open minded, but no need to try not to be offended. Pan is not my get."

Shateishael nods silently, still hugging Bella gently to him and feeling vaguely off balance. He takes a breath, then changes the subject deliberately, "So you mentioned Soma needed more folks t'get 'nuff power t'heal th'lovelorn here, Bacchus, but y'seemed nervous 'bout that. Is there somethin' difficult 'bout doin' it?"

The satyr's expression does go serious then, "Only that he could inadvertently unmake himself."

Shateishael blinks, looking confused again -- and internally reflecting that he seems to be perpetually in this condition tonight! -but simply rumbles, "Howso?'

Bacchus licks his lips slightly nervously and Karl breaks in while the other demi-human is trying to think of a diplomatic, nice way to put it, "Because healing that kind of damage is like rebuilding someone's soul. He c'n only do it if he has enough power to pull soulstuff out of the air. If he doesn't have the power and thinks he does, he could tear himself apart or end up investing them with parts of himself."

Shateishael nods slowly, "'Kay, that makes sense." He tries a less contentious subject then, "So... what were y'thinkin' of tradin' w'me, Bard, f'a chance t'examine yer hooves 'n shoes? No promises... jus' askin'?"

Bacchus laughs quietly, "I was flirting a bit, Warrior. But I know you well enough now to know that isn't your style. In honesty, I'll let you examine them simply for the asking."

Shateishael says, "Ah." He smiles slowly, "Thank you kindly then; 'ppreciate it."

Bacchus stretches his feet out toward Slate, "Now or later?"

Rosie seems to be rousing himself from his nap, sitting up a bit and giving a little yawn. Then he stretches out, arching his back a bit. Shateishael chuckles quietly, looking down at his lovers and lightly stroking one hand along Rosie's back, "Later'd be fine, Bard, 'n thank you. Umm... actually, gotta 'nother question I think is kinda important, if y'don' mind... what're th'duties 'n responsibilities of a Consort?"

Rosenstern gives a soft, startled sound at the touch, and grins up to Slate. He looks about ready to playfully nibble on the Stone Angel's thigh when Slate asks his question. Rosie sits up alertly at that, looking concerned and attentive towards Bacchus. Bella nestles against Slate, smiling at his tenderness with the other man. Shateishael cuddles Bella and murmurs to her, "Hey, jus' remembered... Peony might be in'rested in you too, sweetheart?" He kisses her forehead lightly, then runs his fingers slowly through Rosie's hair, smiling faintly as he glances at Bacchus.

Bacchus nods, one of his hands moving to actually stroke Pan's horns absently, "That's actually quite easy, Warrior. The duties of the consort are whatever he or she wants them to be."

Rosenstern blinks to Bacchus. "How... how do you mean?"

Shateishael narrows his eyes thoughtfully, sparks drifting lazily upwards, and rumbles, "Th'court don' look t'them f'anythin', then? They're jus' th' sweeties a'th' Court's ruler?"

The saturnine bard smiles, nodding, "That is exactly what I'm saying. If he wishes, he could attend court and be the king's escort. Some consorts have taken on the roles of co-ruler. But that is not a rule or even the most common thing."

Shateishael relaxes a bit, continuing to gently trail his fingers through Rosie's hair, "'Kay... so it's Rosie's choice then. That works f'me... wha'd'you think, Rosebud?"

Rosenstern seems a touch -- and guiltily -- relieved. "I... I think... that I'd want to consider very carefully if I do more than just attend to Soma...."

Karl smiles slightly and nods, "Smart questions, folks."

Bella arches a brow at Slate, just now realizing what he had said about the leprechaun, "Are you encouraging me?"

Shateishael smiles quietly, "Soun's okay t'me, sweet petal... y'might wanna find out what courtship entails too, though?" He raises an amused eyebrow at Karl, adding, "Why, thankee. Got any others you'd suggest?" Then he blinks at Bella, "What? Um... depends, I guess...? Encouragin' you t'what?"

Bella shakes her head and smiles, "Finish here."

Karl shakes his head and chuckles, "Nah. You gotta figure those out all on yer own."

Shateishael grins a touch confusedly at Bella, "'kay, sweetheart..." then laughs at Karl's reply. "I like you. You remind me a' m'sisters 'n brothers a' Stone."

Karl nods shortly, "Knew a few of 'em in m'time." His eyes stray for the briefest of moments over the tableau of nestled together angels.

Shateishael smiles quietly at Karl, then gently nudges Rosie, "Y'got any questions y'wanna ask, pretty flower?"

Rosenstern chews his lip a little, tapping his chin. "If... if he becomes Bran... when does that happen? When does the Summer Court become Winter?"

Bacchus smiles. Pan has wriggled down and put his head in Bacchus' lap, "On the equinoxes." The satyr continues, "He enters chrysalis at moonset the night before and leaves it at moonrise."

Shateishael rumbles quietly to Rosie, "It's early September now. Th' Autumn Equinox this year'll be mid t'late September."

Rosenstern nods uncomfortably. "A few weeks then, at most." He hesitates, starts to ask a question, then reconsiders. "So Burning Man is the close of the Summer Court then, basically? The equinox comes at about when they burn the wicker man, doesn't it?"

Shateishael says, "I thought they burned th' man at th'end a' th'festivities, in 'bout two weeks... not necessarily exactly on th'equinox?"

Rosenstern nods to Slate. "Not exactly on the equinox, I imagine, but close to it.

Shateishael says, "There's time f'Soma t'come visit th'ranch, if'n he doesn't lollygag about, 'm thinkin'. 'Less he has a ways t'go t'his chrysalis location."

Bacchus smiles quietly, "The location of the chrysalis changes. Safer that way."

Shateishael shakes his head, "'S fine, but don' wanna know, please."

Bacchus smiles kindly, "I hadn't planned on telling you."

Shateishael nods, relaxing slightly -- he doesn't want to be put in the position of having to refuse his Superior -- and simply listens to Rosie and Bacchus talk. Rosenstern nods quietly. "Neither do I. Want to know, that is." He lets out a breath. "Might not be enough time as it is, all the same." He considers his next question carefully. "How will we know when to visit the Winter Court?"

Bacchus continues to gently pet the younger satyr, "I don't change, Rosenstern."

Shateishael raises an interested eyebrow at that. Rosenstern blinks to Bacchus. "Er? I'm sorry, how do you... oh. You stay the same in the Winter or the Summer courts."

Bacchus nods, smiling, "Not my people's nature to change."

Shateishael nods thoughtfully, "So he c'n let us know when. S'cool." He stops petting Rosie, not wanting to distract him, and relaxedly runs his fingers through Bella's hair. He smiles faintly, studying the soft, silken strands, and wonders if she'd like hair down to her knees too.

Rosenstern nods quickly. "Okay, I think I understand, then." He looks like he's going to ask another question, then pauses again. "I... don't think there's anything else I can ask, right now, anyway..."

Shateishael says, "Why not?"

Rosenstern says, "Just not sure what else to ask."

Shateishael smiles, "Not curious what courtship's about?"

Bacchus nods, then arches a brow, "There was a thought in your eyes."

Shateishael says, "Diff'rent cultures got diff'rent ways a' doin' things, after all... an' yeah, think Bacchus's right?"

Karl chuckles, "I think I'm gonna step outside, folks." The centaur ducks out of the pavilion. Shateishael glances around thoughtfully, wondering when the changing of the guard will be. He figures Rosie will be popular then... is that what Karl's heading off for, perhaps?

Rosenstern bites his lip. "I was... going to ask what the Winter Court was like, but... that might be a question best asked another time, not tonight."

Shateishael nods to Rosie, "Karl said he'd talk 'bout it, but not here, Rosebud." Rosenstern nods to Slate.

Pan speaks quietly from his position snuggled against Bacchus' legs, "He's probably wise for that."

Shateishael nods to Pan, "Folks bit spooky here yet on that subject?"

The younger satyr tips his head almost upside down, careful not to spear Bacchus with his horns, "Wouldn't you be if you turned into your Id for half the year?"

Rosenstern shivers a bit, scooting a bit closer to Slate. Thinking of Soma that way... well, at the same time that it's scary, there's something in the way Soma looks at him and does things with him that makes Rosie curious and a little bit warm and tingly. Shateishael looks a bit puzzled... then rumbles quietly, "Dun' even know if we have 'em, Pan. Sorry." He thinks a bit, then shudders suddenly, "But... if that's anythin' like Fallin' f'r half th'year..." He takes a deep breath, then falls silent.

The young satyr looks fascinated, grinning, though it looks odd upside down, "You don't have baser instincts?"

Shateishael reflexively tucks Rosie up against his side, cuddling him close with his free arm, and rumbles to Pan, "Um... y'mean d'we get mad, 'r want revenge, 'r stuff like that? Sure... dunno how other folks handle it, but I jus' face it, m'self. T'do otherwise'd be lyin' t'm'self... can't do that."

Rosenstern says quietly, "Some of the other choirs are closer to humans in how they think and react. I imagine the Nephilim were the most human amongst the choirs...." What is unspoken, of course, is that the Mercurians now hold that position.

Pan sits up and wriggles his way into Bacchus' lap, leaning his head against his lover's shoulder, listening fascinatedly. Shateishael curiously rumbles to Rosenstern, "How d'you handle it, pretty flower?"

Bella chuckles and smiles crookedly, "Oh, I've got an Id. Definitely."

Shateishael looks interestedly at Bella, "What is it?"

The Bright smiles lopsidedly, "Not something I want to talk about in public."

Shateishael says, "Oh. 'M sorry, sweetheart." He looks away, wondering how to change the subject... then glances at Bacchus, rumbling, "Well, if'n y'don' mind, I wanna know... what's courtship mean f'th'fae? 'N when might we be okay t'go visit y'r Willow Lady? 'N Rose 'n Lily -- 'r they gonna be 'roun' later t'night p'rhaps?" He lightly strokes his hand along Bella's thigh, unhappy at having perhaps embarrassed her.

Rosenstern makes a quiet sound, looking a little discomfited. "Well... one part being Mother's Son, one part accepting the Id and the Shadow for what they are: part of me. You kinda have to love yourself before you can really love others, after all." He perks a bit at mention of courtship rituals, letting go of this rather discomfiting discussion of angel psychology.

Shateishael sighs faintly in relief, nuzzling lightly against Rosenstern in a silent thank you for helping shift conversational attention from his accidental gaffe. Bella doesn't seem to have any sort of lingering discomfort, stroking Slate's back in turn. Shateishael smiles in relief at Bella as well... then looks politely back at Bacchus.

Bacchus smiles and wraps his arms around Pan who has buried his face against the older satyr's neck, "Mmm, well, it honestly depends. Soma is what the humans would call a romantic. He enjoys giving his lovers things they like."

Shateishael draws in another slow, relieved sigh. [Okay, no disasters so far... shame being a Most Holy doesn't grant most wonderful conversationalist too...]

Bacchus kisses the top of Pan's head, "Once, it was different. But this is not a mating ritual. It's a courtship. Sweet and possibly fertile as Rosenstern is, bearing the king's child isn't likely."

Shateishael chuckles, "Ah, nope... none a' us're fertile."

Both the satyrs look curious at that. "How do you reproduce?" Bacchus asks after a moment.

Shateishael says, "We don'... we come from Relievers, created by th'archangels."

Rosenstern blushes, remembering how he so enjoyed Soma's attentions that he blissed out completely at ti- wait, what? He blinks. "Ah... no, I'm afraid... I'm afraid our Vessels aren't really... uhm, designed to bear or sire children." And if they did, we'd have the Grigori all over again and we'd never hear the end of it from Dominic!

As the conversation goes on, there is a quiet change in the timbre of the group in the tent. Things are becoming a little more raucous, perhaps a little more rowdy, but still just as joyful. Shateishael glances around curiously, catching the change in tone and wondering what caused it... a certain amount of wary alertness seems only wise, all things considered. Pan nods, smiling and kissing Bacchus' neck again, "I think I'm going to go mingle a bit, honey."

Bacchus kisses his lover warmly and lets him wander off before turning to look at Slate, "As for visiting... well... we can go sometime this week, with the Tether being open. Or if you believe you can travel to the Marches through your Superior's Heaven, you can go there."

Shateishael blinks startledly at Bacchus, "Now?! Already?" He hesitates, then carefully rumbles, "Y'don' mind us usin' it?"

Bacchus smiles warmly, "I'm certain that it won't be an issue."

Shateishael says, "Oh. Well... thanks, then." He looks at Rosie and Bella, smiling, "Y'all wanna go sometime this week?" Rosenstern blinks to Slate, then nods -- admittedly nervously. The Marches are way out of his experience, or of Flowers' experience. So... yes, it would be a good thing, he thinks! Shateishael grins, gently ruffling Rosenstern's hair, "Cool. We'll ask p'mission later then."

Bella smiles and nods, somehow managing to look comfortable and decently covered despite sprawling in an evening gown, "That sounds fantastic."

Shateishael beams at Bella, then glances around again, still idly wondering what the change in timbre was caused by. He glances at Bacchus, adding, "S'okay t'offer t'try healin' Rose 'n Lily t'morra, durin' th'day when we're not inna dome? Or'd that be rude?"

Bacchus' smile falters slightly, "You're welcome to try inside the dome, but I believe that you're right that it should be done outside."

Shateishael nods, "'Ccordin' t'Soma, yeah... Songs work better f'r us outside."

When Slate looks around, he notices that there are a larger number of the moth-winged creatures and a few more satyrs than they've actually seen. Scattered in are also several dwarves. Shateishael nods slowly to himself, somehow not surprised moth-winged creatures would be more comfortable at night. He wonders if the new folks are the remaining warriors of the Summer Court... and permits himself a small, exasperated sigh at the prejudice against fae. All these unprotected hearthfolk... were they not fae, he knows warriors who'd love to find and protect them! Ah, well. He finally rumbles curiously, "Y'mind if'n I take a look at y'r hooves now, Bacchus? Think most've th'questionin's done...?" He glances inquiringly between Bella and Rosie. Bella nods, shifting to be able to see Bacchus' hooves.

Bacchus shifts and stretches his legs out in front of him as best he can, "Certainly."

Shateishael will reach out with one big hand, carefully drawing the cloven hoof into his lap and turning it as much as he can without discomfiting Bacchus, to see the bottom of the hoof. He's most fascinated by how the leg joints together, running up all the way to the bipedal hip, but he also spends some time curiously examining the silver shoes. He lightly taps along the inside and outside of the hoof, runs his nail along the tight fit of the silver nails, tugs gently on the shoe... "Y'got these done recently, yeah? Nice snug fit, seems like. 'M not a farrier, but I keep Thea's hooves nice f'her."

Bacchus just shifts to let Slate examine his hoof and the silver-alloy shoe that is nailed to it. The major difference between his leg and a goat's seems to be in the way the hip is hinged. They aren't quite as delicate either; they're more heavily muscled to hold the body in an upright position. As to the question about how recently he got the shoes, Bacchus replies, "Aye. Karl just put them on a few days ago."

As the satyr is settling to have his hooves examined, the lovely young fae with the Luna moth wings makes his way over. He smiles with a bow. His skin is a matching deep green and he wears a black velvet suit that's not quite as tasteful as Soma's was. "Evening, Friends."

Shateishael looks up from Bacchus's hoof and nods politely, "Evenin', fae lord." As he goes back to Bacchus's hoof, he tries to remember the moth-winged fae's name... didn't Bacchus say he was... Gae... Gaeli-something?

Rosenstern blinks, looking up at the man, and bows in place politely. "Good evening," he says pleasantly.

Bacchus smiles up at the sidhe, though there's just the hint of wryness to it, "Gaelach. Finally coming to meet our new friends." He motions to each of the angels in turn, but doesn't give names other than those the fae have been using as titles, "The Warrior, Flowerkin, and Seductress."

Shateishael huhs in quiet fascination, completely unaware as to how his carefully running his fingers through Bacchus's fur might be construed. He finally looks up at Bacchus and grins happily, "Thanks, man. Never seen sucha thin'... really nice t'be able t'take a close look." The satyr grins and drops a brief, friendly wink to Slate to say 'you're welcome.' It's not a flirtatious gesture, but a companionable one. Shateishael carefully settles Bacchus's hoof more comfortably back next to the goat-man, then looks back up at the fae, nodding politely again. He smiles slowly, rumbling to the fae, "Got lovely wings."

Gaelach nods and inclines his head to each of them in turn, "My pleasure. How lovely to meet you all. Soma has spoken highly of each of you." As he says that last, his eyes linger on Rosie especially, a knowing smile curling his lips. Shateishael straightens slightly, suddenly somewhat less happy, and puts an arm around Rosenstern again. Gaelach spreads his wings wide, showing them to their best advantage, "Many thanks, Warrior."

As Rosie's resonance reaches out to touch Gaelach, he feels there is lust coupled with curiosity and a very slightly acquisitive tone. Rosenstern blushes, and edges very slightly against Slate. His Resonance to the Symphony whispers to him -- Gaelach's music in the Symphony tries very subtly harmonize with Rosie's, but in a rather... possessive way; more noticeably, the fae's tonal chords sing of lust and curiosity towards him. It altogether makes Rosie feel a little nervous. "The fae lord is very kind," he says, smiling softly.

Bacchus manages not to roll his eyes, and covers his snort with a cough -- drawing the sidhe's attention, one exquisitely shaped brow arching, "Are you well, Bard?"

Shateishael's eyes narrow slightly... he can tell the luna-moth fae is enjoying himself, and Soma really has spoken highly of them... but he still has a faint uncomfortable feeling regarding Gaelach. Shateishael half-amusedly reminds himself, [If Bacchus thinks he's a dork... think I'll cue offa him...] He makes room for Rosie to cuddle up closer -- he thinks that's a good idea, somehow, around this guy. He watches the fae silently, sparks drifting slowly upwards from his eyes and skin.

Bacchus gives Gaelach a broad and utterly bland smile, "Bit of dust in the throat. The playa is a dry place."

Gaelach's smile takes on a hint of smirk, "Indeed it is." He touches his forehead in salute, "I simply wished to introduce myself to our new friends. I shall leave you to your... chat." He inclines his head again and drifts off back into the crowd.

Bella watches him go with a sour look, "He's way too pretty and he knows it."

Shateishael growls quietly under his breath at that, forcing himself not to blurt out, 'Liar!' at the comment about wanting to just introduce himself... he watches unblinkingly until the fae is well gone... then rumbles quietly, "He lies." He glances at Bacchus, his expression still cranky, and adds, "Think we'll be hangin' 'round Karl more when he's near."

Rosenstern swallows. He wants me... and not in the same way Slate or Soma want me.... He can't bring himself to say that, though, not here. Not like it wasn't blazingly obvious, anyway. I'll mention it to Slate and Bella when we bed down for the night, though. He nods at Slate's statement regarding Karl.

Bacchus mmms, mouth tightening down into a thin line, "Not outright, he doesn't. But he's very selective in what he actually says. He is constrained in the way Soma is, but he seems to revel in it."

Shateishael glances back at Bacchus and growls quietly, "He wasn' tellin' th'truth 'bout jus' wantin' t'intr'duce himself, guy. 'F he were a fellow Seraph, I'd worry 'bout his skirtin' th'truth w'such enjoyment. That's th'route t'Fallin'." He shakes his head once fiercely, trying to settle his ruffled emotions, and his bright wings slowly start to lose their flush of angry color.

Bacchus smiles slightly, "I'd bet it was part of the truth. I'm certain he did want to meet you all. And I have a good idea what the rest of that might be." His eyes cut toward Rosie and then to Slate meaningfully. Rosenstern's blush deepens, not feeling comfortable enough to confirm that.

Shateishael mutters, "Cain't stand prancin' li'l popinjays..." He looks directly at Bacchus and rumbles, "Tell y'now, Bacchus... he tries any crap w'Rosebud, 'n I'm gonna do m'best t'give him a fat lip." He looks more cranky and irritable as he glares restlessly after the fae.

Bacchus snorts and then grins broadly, "Ohhh... I would so love to see that."

Shateishael says, "Hmf." He strokes one hand along Rosie's hair, rumbling quietly, "Y'ever alone near this guy, come find us, 'kay, Rosebud? 'M guessin' he di'n' feel right t'you either, yeah?"

Gaelach wanders off and finds Peony in the crowd somewhere. Smiling his obsequious smile, he holds his arms as if inviting her for a dance. The leprechaun smiles and dips into one of those odd little curtsey-bows, but when she comes up she throws a glass of mead in the luna moth's face, her piping voice carrying over the music, "Not if you were the last male being in the entire universe, Gaelach."

Shateishael blinks, watching that... then laughs aloud! Rosenstern nods sheepishly to Slate, then blinks at Peony's comment. He blinks again at it, then shies away, not wanting to let Gaelach notice that they were paying atten- Slate laughs. Oh, crap. Slate's laugh was actually lost in the laughter coming from several other people in the pavilion. Peony holds her chin high and walks past Gaelach, making her way straight out the door. Gaelach is left in her wake, standing stiffly and glowering. Shateishael says, "Aww... poor kid. Why's she hafta leave th'dance, when he's th'dork?"

Peony drops a conspiratorial little wink just barely long enough to be seen as she passes by the angels. Shateishael grins again at that. His estimation of Peony goes up a little. He may not be in love with her, but he can admire her and hope she'd like to be friends! Bacchus chuckles, leaning back on his elbows with an easy smile on his face, "Because now he can't follow her out, because it would be beneath him to pursue a lowly leprechaun. He's stuck here, soaked with mead."

Shateishael chuckles again, "Gotcha. Think I like her."

Bella laughs softly and shakes her head in amusement, "Honey, I think maybe you should've said yes. I like her."

Shateishael blinks, looking at Bacchus as it belatedly registers, "'Lowly leprechaun'? Y'all have rankin's by species 'r sumpthin'?"

Bacchus chuckles, looking just a little tired, "No more than the humans have rankings by race. Officially."

Shateishael nods interestedly to Bacchus, "'Kay. Never quite got that, but'll try 'n learn fast."

The satyr shakes his head, "Wish you didn't have to, Warrior. Those that still cling to those outmoded thoughts are very, very few."

Shateishael smiles at the satyr, "Di'n' say I'd believe it, sir... said I'd try'n learn it. Nice t'know what rules y'r ignorin', y'know?" Then he blinks startledly at Bella, "I... but... that wouldn't've been honest, swee- oh! You wanted me t'say yes t'her f'you?"

Bacchus nods and smiles quietly, "The simplest way to sort it out is: the taller you are, the more noble. That's not quite the reason, but it's a side effect of what the old court looked like."

Bella arches an eyebrow, "No, Slate. For you. I think she'd have been good for you."

Shateishael gives Bella a very confused look, "Um... why would lyin' t'her've been good f'me, Bellisima?"

Bella leans over to give Rosie a 'Help me out here?' look. Rosenstern grins to Bella, then looks up to Slate. "I have to agree with Bella, Slate. She was quite taken with you, for starters. And she's honest, to boot." He adds, deadpan but a touch uncomfortably, "And she shares your opinion of Gaelach, as well...."

Bella nods, smiling, "And I doubt she was asking you to love her, sweetie."

Shateishael snorts amusedly at Rosenstern, "Pretty flow'r, 'less you mean spendin' time wi'her wi'out sex bein' involved -- an' I di'n' get th'impression that wuz what she wanted -- I'd be deceivin' her 'n m'self by tellin' her I wanted sex." He shifts, looking uncomfortable as his wings ripple a shade of scarlet, "Jus'... don' like th'idea've sex w'someone I don' feel 'motionally intimate with too, y'know?" He looks down at his hands and mutters, "Don'... quite get how folks c'n sep'rate physical 'n 'motional intimacy like that..."

Bella ahhs and stretches up to kiss Slate's cheek as his wings blush, "Relax, sugar. We're just teasing you a little." Rosenstern has a lot of theories about separation of the emotional and the physical, at least as how it applies to Celestials and possibly Ethereals... but he saves them for a rainy day.

Shateishael gives Bella a wry glance, rumbling, "Wouldn' mind bein' her frien', sweetheart. Jus'... not real good at th'sexin' stuff, I guess... sorry." He thinks a bit, then diplomatically offers, "If'n y'want, I'd be happy t'go see if she wanted t'c'mon in 'n chat w'us?"

Bella laughs quietly, "No, honey, you're really quite good at the sexin' stuff, but you're very old-fashioned."

Rosenstern adds quickly, "Which isn't a bad thing." He can't, of course, shake the rather nice mental image of Slate with Peony. They'd make a rather cute pairing, even with the height difference -- or maybe because of it.

Shateishael chuckles quietly, lightly stroking Bella's hair as he smiles at them both, "Y'r both sweet. Thanks." He smiles, "Want me t'go find her, then, 'r what?" He glances around curiously, suddenly wondering how his height measures up with the others in the court.

Bacchus shakes his head, "Let her have her exit. I'm certain she'll find you later. She doesn't actually proposition anyone unless she felt like she'd enjoy pillow-talk later." The satyr grins at Slate, lazy and friendly.

Bella makes a drowsy little sound and smiles, "Mmmm. Pillow-talk." She gives Rosie an impish little wink down below Slate's sightline. Rosenstern stifles a giggle at Bella's wink.

Slate notices he isn't the tallest person in the room, but he is as tall as or taller than many of the sidhe. Shateishael nods slowly, thoughtfully regarding Bacchus... then continues looking around the court. If, as he speculated, the dwarves were warriors, then... does that mean warrior is considered a low ranking position in this court? And the centaur, with the horse body, is quite tall... does that make Smith a highly respected profession? He curiously mentions his speculations to Bacchus, asking if he's wrong or not.

Bacchus chuckles, "It doesn't work that way any more, and it wasn't ever actually based on height. The sidhe, Soma's people, happened to be tallest and are the most gifted with glamour of different types. What actually determined social strata was your magical gifts. It just happened that the 'lesser,'" he says that word with an obvious moue of distaste, "types of the fae in the old court were almost universally small of stature."

Shateishael ahs, nodding slowly, "Okay, think I gotcha." He glances around thoughtfully, studying the brilliant crowd, "Weird. So how'd th'various pantheons fit inta that?"

Bacchus goes on, "They didn't, really. It's part of why Soma has abolished those lines since the Purge. You serve according to your strengths, not your race. Soma keeps his position by general consensus and by the fact that weakened though he is, he is still one of the strongest among us."

Shateishael gives Bacchus a slightly worried glance, "Weakened how? By what? Oh -- by a smaller court than there was b'fore?"

The satyr chuckles, "By having less belief than before. And fewer of his people, yes. We're all his people now, but even so we're less than the old court."

Bella reaches across Slate, "You two talk politics. Rosie, do you want to dance with me?"

Shateishael nods quietly, slightly saddened by that thought. He rumbles quietly to his lovers, "Y'all have fun, 'kay? Don' wanna bore y'all."

Rosenstern finds himself depressed from the thought that a lack of belief is weakening Soma. And yet the Summer King is so alive, so vibrant, so... sensual still... to lose that... he shakes himself. Adonai willing -- yes, Adonai willing, for he cannot imagine a God who would not so will it -- he'll be able to bring some joy to Soma. At Bella's sudden question he blinks for a moment, then beams. "I'd love to, Bella, thank you!"

Shateishael smiles quietly, watching the two of them happily dart off onto the dance floor, and marveling slightly at how lovely they look together. Bacchus also watches the Bright and the Mercurian move into the dance, chuckling a bit as he realizes it's Bella that's actually leading. When the pretty couple swirls through the dancers such that Slate can no longer see them, he sighs faintly, still smiling, and looks at Bacchus, "Thanks f'havin' us here. This's lovely."

Bacchus smiles quietly, still resting back on his elbows, "You're more than welcome here, Warrior." He pauses, thinking for a second, "I know I called you by name earlier, but I wanted to make sure it's OK with you if I do? I'd like us to become friends and I have a hard time calling someone friend that I use a title with."

Shateishael nods quietly, "Been bit worried we were accidentally bein' rude t'y'all by usin' y'r names. Slate's fine w'me, long as y'don' mind me 'ccasionally callin' y'Bard?"

Bacchus smiles and shakes his head, "Don't mind a bit. It's almost a term of affection."

Shateishael says, "Really? Term a' respect inna Norse colony I wuz part of, but that's okay." He grins, "Tend t'mix 'em up a bit... m'Superior's not big inta formality, but it's hard not t'be impressed by him anyways." He's silent a moment, then looks up at Bacchus again, "Um... c'n I ask if you were part a' th'group that went after th'Fenrir, though?"

Bacchus smiles slightly, "I have met others of your sort, Slate. Long ago. After all, our temples are made of stone." He listens to the question and smiles sadly, glancing around to make sure there aren't listening ears nearby. Actually, there's an unusual amount of room around the angel and the satyr, "Aye. Myself and Karl were there, but we had much help."

Shateishael nods slowly, pondering for a moment, then rumbles, "'M kinda young f'r r'memb'rin' b'fore th'Purge, sorry... but it's nice t'think my folks 'n y'rs got 'long well." He too glances around once, wondering puzzledly why there's so few near him and Bacchus... did he do something like Karl did, without realizing it? Then he shrugs slightly and turns back to Bacchus, "Well... never met th'Norse pantheon, but al'ays wondered why th'Fenrir got treated th'way he was. Doubt I'll ever find out now, but was wonderin'... is he any better now?"

Bacchus smiles lopsidedly, "He is... recovering. He is still quite angry, but Karl seems to soothe him. And, strangely, the eastern unicorn."

Shateishael thinks a bit... "A kirin?"

Bacchus mmms and nods, "I think that's the name they used, yes."

Shateishael draws a slow, wondering breath, "A kirin survived?! Wonderful..." He's silent a moment, then rumbles carefully, "Then... my speculation was right? Th'kirin's s'pposed t'only punish th'wicked... an' if he's not punishin' Fenrir..." He's silent a moment, then gives Bacchus a wistful look, "There any possibility atall a' me seein' 'em? I'd be willin' t'try helpin' out if I could?"

Bacchus chuckles quietly, "You'll have to win Karl over first."

Shateishael sighs quietly, "Crap... that'll be 'nother coupla millennia if whatcha said is true." He thinks about it... then grins slowly, "Well... maybe I c'n speed it up a bit by helpin' out w'th'bellows." Curiously he asks Bacchus, "So why'd Karl go huntin' sp'cifically f'r th'Fenrir? Oh..." he blinks, then slowly adds, "He got bound too, di'n' he, by th'Winter Court? What happened there? 'Zat sumpin' we should be watchin' out f'r too?"

The satyr looks around again and shakes his head, "We can talk more about this later, Slate. Even with as much careful room as everyone's giving us, many of us hear exceptionally well."

Shateishael nods again, "'Kay." He looks around, adding puzzledly, "Did I say sumpin' rude t'someonw w'out knowin' it earlier? Izzat why folks're givin' us such a wide berth?"

Bacchus chuckles and shakes his head, "No. They're simply being polite."

Shateishael says, "Ah, 'kay." He gives Bacchus a slightly rueful smile, "Still tryin' t'learn how things go here, sorry."

The satyr smiles lazily, "It takes a while."

Shateishael nods calmly, "Usually does f'me, yeah." He leans back, watching the dancers and letting himself relax a bit. Bacchus seems to be relaxing slightly also, despite the tension that's been in his shoulders. Shateishael rumbles apologetically, "Um... we addin' t'y'r worries? Don' mean to, if so?"

Bacchus shakes his head and chuckles, "You're taking a lot more worry than you're bringing, Slate. Believe me."

Cetan watches the dance quietly for some time, seemingly lost in thought. Every now and then he glances over at Slate sitting with Bacchus, his brow slightly knit. Moments later, he is fishing a small pouch from his belt, and taking an object out from under his jacket. Once revealed to the firelight, one can see that it resembles a traditional peace pipe. He places something from his pouch into the pipe, muttering to himself as he holds it out first in the direction of the earth and then towards the sky. Then he makes a quarter turn to the left and repeats his actions -- and then again, till he has covered each of the four compass directions in this ritual fashion.

Shateishael nods, "'Kay. Good t'hear." He glances out at the dance floor, smiling at sight of his lovers enjoying themselves, then idly glances around the pavilion. At some point he notices Cetan and smiles faintly again, remembering the old ritual. He still carries a battered roll of smokes in the pickup for when he feels the need to be a bit closer to Mother Earth and Father Sky. He relaxes on the pillows, watching and wondering what Cetan's question is. Bacchus seems to be just relaxing into things as well. He's not said it out loud, but he actually enjoys Slate's plain-spoken manner for much the same reason as Karl. When one lives among beings who actually damage themselves by talking straight to the point, it's refreshing to have someone able to be blunt.

Cetan finally scatters a bit of what would seem to be tobacco onto the ground before him... and, striking a match, he lights his pipe. His wings flutter as he inhales from it, holding the smoke inside him for several minutes before letting it out. And then, as if feeling Slate's eyes on him, he turns and mutely offers the pipe. Shateishael nods quietly to Cetan, sitting up cross-legged and accepting it. He takes a moment to reverence the Great Spirit as well as each of the cardinal directions, inhaling deeply and then letting the slightly sweet-smelling smoke trickle slowly from his lips. The satyr watches the men share the smoke, smiling quietly. This has always made him think of the Delphic Oracles and their sacred fumes. Shateishael finally hands the pipe back to Cetan, rumbling quietly, "Thanks."

Cetan watches this all intently, and the old man -- or perhaps 'old bird' might be appropriate -- smiles as he watches Slate accept his offering with the traditional honoring of earth and sky, and the four directions, as if this simple act tells him far more than Bacchus's assurances have. "You are an interesting one, Warrior," he murmurs, accepting the pipe.

Shateishael gives a small, almost imperceptible snort of laughter, "Keep hearin' that... dunno why 'zactly, though."

Cetan shakes his head. "Perhaps I speak only in ignorance. Though I had heard of your kind, I had never cause to meet one since... the Devastation."

Shateishael rumbles quietly, "Wuzn't a dig, Thunderbird. Jus' remembrin' m'Superior tellin' me once I was one 'a his most int'restin' creations."

Cetan's expression sours a little. "No titles, please. I am Cetan," he assures Slate. "Not even my people call me by that name any more." He then intercepts any question that Slate might have with one of his own, "Why are you here?"

Shateishael nods slowly, "'Kay. Di'n' know 'f it wuz proper 'r not. The Nemene di'n' call on you, so I don' have any 'xperience 'bout that." He's silent a moment... then grins, "Why does anyone come t'Burnin' Man? One 'a m'lovers wanted t'come -- said she'd heard maybe there wuz a fairy 'r two still alive here." He chuckles, looking around, "Guess so... kinda...!" He glances at Cetan and grins lazily, "Why're you here, then?"

There is amusement in Cetan's eyes at Shateishael's understatement. "Because I was asked, I suppose... but also at the urging of my followers. They think it will do me well to be among..." he looks around at all the others, "my 'own kind'."

Shateishael says, "Who're y'followers? They here too?"

Cetan smiles. "One of them. Not here, at this gathering... but here at Burning Man. He is among the others, likely taking part in other enjoyments. He is..." His brow knits, as if trying to remember. "I do not know what they were called by your people. He is Heyoka. A holy man."

Bacchus stretches his legs as he says, "He's a shaman, sorta." The way Bacchus says it, it's like he's quoting someone. 'Sorta' just isn't the sort of word likely to come from the satyr's mouth.

Shateishael nods again to both men, then rumbles, "Curious... usually they don' know they're talkin' t'non-humans." Then he grins at Bacchus, "Y'get that from Karl?"

The satyr grins, "Aye."

Shateishael chuckles, drifting sparks dancing up from his glowing eyes and skin, "Borrowed th'drawl, eh?"

Cetan chuckles. "Some call them that, yes. It does not give the whole of what he is, but it will suffice." He gets a far off look. "Few of the heyoka know who -- what -- I am. To most I am just an elder. But my case is... somewhat special. If it were not for humans, I might not be alive."

Shateishael says, "B'cause a' belief?"

Bacchus shakes his head, but lets Cetan answer for himself. Cetan purses his lips. "There might be something to that. But no... in my case, my debt is far more direct. They saved me from the one that killed my brother and sisters," he says finally, softly.

Shateishael nods, "Gotcha." He considers a moment, then grins, "I got saved by a horse."

Cetan blinks, tilting his head in a way that might remind one of a bird. "A horse?" he queries in bemusement.

Shateishael nods once, turning his face away, "Ayup. Wasn't from Uriel, though... I wasn't fledged yet when that happened."

"Uriel," Cetan murmurs, turning the unfamiliar name around in his mouth, and then his eyes light up in understanding. "The Devastation," he murmurs, more to himself than anything. "A horse you say? Or Horse?" The capitalization in his tone is clear.

Shateishael shakes his head, "She's m'lead mare. Dunno whatcha mean by 'Horse,' sorry."

Bacchus smiles a bit, "I think he may mean a totemic."

Shateishael tilts his head curiously, "Don' think I ever met one, sorry. Aletheia's a'th'Nemene line, though." A touch proudly he adds, "She's a beauty. Been runnin' w'her f'while now, 'n she runs th'ranch."

Bacchus chuckles slightly, "You may go a long way toward getting Karl to like you with that sort of organization. He's got a lot of respect for horses. Not surprising, I suppose."

Shateishael grins mischievously at Bacchus, "Din' realize he wuz bit touchy 'bout bein' half horse when we met, so I said wish't m'lead mare could be here t'meet 'im. He got that grumpy look'n said I di'n' hafta talk like folks were horses jus' f'him. Don' think he realized right 'way she was a horse!"

Cetan looks wistful. "I had hoped others might have survived... but in all this time, I have never seen any of them. I have heard rumors of Iktomi, but..." he trails off, shaking his head. "You would likely know it if you met Horse, yes. Still, if she is everything you say she is, perhaps there is something of Horse in her." His eyes get distant. "Walking in the wilds, I have seen a hawk regarding me now and then, and in their gaze I see the eyes of Hawk, whose name I took as my own after he fell."

Shateishael tilts his head at Cetan and rumbles, "Y'need t'find family a'th'heart t'fill where blood fails, Cetan."

Cetan closes his eyes as he listens to the angel's words. "The humans and my heyoka are my family now. Some days I forget I am not one of them. Even up till a few decades ago I thought I was the only survivor. It was a shock to see a spirit folk not of the Wakan."

Shateishael's eyes widen a bit, and he rumbles, "Y'were alone all that time?! Bright Lord, how'd y'get missed by..." He pauses, considering, then looks at Bacchus, "Th'fae have been actively searchin' out other fae, right?"

Bacchus nods and smiles slightly, "Aye, but Cetan was awfully well hidden. His folk were protecting him almost too well."

Shateishael says, "Ah, gotcha."

Bella actually seems to be the one doing the leading while she's got Rosie out on the floor. In fact, the Bright has an almost wicked smile on her face as the two dance, her mouth close to Rosie's ear the entire time. From the color the Mercurian's face keeps going, she's apparently saying something either shocking or teasing to him. The fact that her hand actually slides down at one point first to rest on his behind and then to tap it playfully holds that theory up. Eventually she takes Rosenstern's hand and leads him back to the small group of men. She pulls Rosie up against her back and reaches behind her, wrapping his arms around her like she's using him to hug herself. "We have to take Rosie dancing when we get home," she announces.

Shateishael grins at his lovers, rumbling, "Think so!" He chuckles, adding, "Lovely shade a' red there, Rosebud!" He pats the cushions next to him in invitation, if they'd like.

Rosenstern's blush is about the same shade of his outfit, and he seems to have a faintly dazed expression. He blinks to Slate and grins sheepishly. "I'd love to. I mean...! Dancing, that sounds like a wonderful idea!" Cetan watches the interchange with some interest, seemingly content to fade into the background as the others come near. Bacchus is still leaning back on his elbows, grinning up at the other two angels. His gaze does linger a second or two longer on Bella than Rosie, but only a second or two. Wisely, he keeps his mouth shut.

Shateishael chuckles again, a quiet and comfortable sound. "C'mere'n cuddle, pretty flower. You look good 'nuff t'eat." Bella has an expression on her face that says she's been being extremely mischievous. She unwraps Rosie and urges him to go sit in Slate's lap. The grin gets just a little wider, knowing that Rosie may have reason to want to curl up as demurely as possible. Shateishael's grin says he's not necessarily going to help Rosie in that personal quest... but he doesn't say a thing.

Rosenstern swallows a touch nervously -- enjoying every moment of nervousness -- as he reluctantly untangles himself from Bella, and with an equal amount of lack of reluctance crawls over to Slate, clambering nimbly into the Stone angel's lap with a sheepish smile still on his lips -- and yes, being very conscious of the positioning of the silks that depend from his waist. Bella wriggles herself down actually between Bacchus and Slate, resting her head on Slate's shoulder, "Have you been over here being all serious and worried with Bacchus and Cetan, love?"

Shateishael raises an eyebrow and grins, watching Rosie's gracefully slinky movement. He shifts accommodatingly for the lithe Mercurian, gently snugging him up close with one arm. Once Rosie's settled, Slate will slowly and savoringly stroke along Rosie... from playing a bit with his soft hair; down along the smooth, buckled leather; trailing his fingers through the silks down Rosie's back... then lightly caressing Rosie's small, soft rear. He seems to be tracing every inch of exposed skin there, in fact, with light, almost ticklish fingertip touches. He smiles contentedly at Bella once she's settled, his other hand raising enough to lightly caress his fingertips along her cheek, and rumbles, "Not worried 'ny more, lover." His skin has darkened again to a warm glow with scarlet streamers of dancing flame, and the sparks whirl languidly up from his brilliant eyes.

Bella nods and tips her head in an interesting and not entirely comfortable-looking way to smile at Bacchus, "Thank you for whatever you did. Our Slate is sweet and protective... and entirely too seriously for his own good." Shateishael chuckles again, not mentioning the reason he's not worried is because he's been wonderfully distracted. He just grins quietly at Bacchus.

"It would seem to me that you have far more to do with his change in demeanor, lady," Cetan murmurs, his dark wings curling more tightly against his body.

Bacchus laughs and shakes his head, "Milady, if I were less honorable, I'd claim it was my doing and see if that got me something nice in gratitude, but his attitude improved when you brought yourselves over here."

Shateishael grins, rumbling, "Sorry, lover, but he's right." He looks over at the others and adds, "Figger I'll try talkin' t'Karl later... t'morra maybe." He pauses, then adds in mock-indignance to Bella, "Whaddaya mean, 'too serious'?!"

Rosenstern is, after a short while of this attention, squirming a little, his breathing becoming a bit shallow and even more distracted. The petting sees him rubbing his head against Slate's hand slowly, eyes closed as if feline rather than Flowers. The more intimate touches elicit the occasional soft sound, an enjoyable twitch and shiver as a particularly sensitive spot is brushed. Despite this he manages to keep his bright eyes relatively alert and focused on the conversation. Mostly, at any rate.

Bella squirms her way up to her knees, having to pull the elegant sheath of a dress up to her thighs to be able to knee-walk around behind Slate and drape her arms over his shoulders, "I mean that if Rosie and I didn't distract you, you'd do nothing but talk about serious things all night."

Shateishael smiles slowly at Rosie's reactions, enjoying them... then raises a hand to rest it on Bella's arms about his neck, and turns his head to gently rub against hers. His voice is absolutely deadpan, although he's grinning, "Ah, my wicked plan is workin' -- by makin' y'all b'lieve I'm too serious, I've lured y'all t' yer distractin' doom. Muahaha."

Bella rolls her eyes and ducks her head down, first kissing and then nipping lightly at the side of Slate's neck, smirking slightly, "You've not lured us very well. We're still here."

Rosenstern giggles softly, and snuggles against Slate. "I'm sorry, Slate, you don't do the 'mad scientist' thing too well."

Shateishael chuckles, his tone unrepentant, "Ah, th'pain a' rejection. How'll I g'wan. Guess I'll need more distractin'."

Bacchus is grinning and shaking his head in amusement, "Warrior, I believe your companions are saying in their oh-so-subtle way they wish to be somewhere more private."

Shateishael blinks, his eyes widening a bit... then grins, "Dayum, kids, why didn'tcha say so?!" He scoops an arm under Rosie, leans forward so Bella's laying across his back -- and then, swiftly and suddenly as Thea, he erupts upwards to his feet! He grins cheerfully at Bacchus, "Lovely party, hate ta drink'n run, must do it 'gain sometime!" He adds half over his shoulder, "You comfy back there, sweetheart?" as he's heading for the door.

Bella laughs and wriggles around, wrapping her legs around Slate, not caring that it's ruining the line of her dress, "Sure. Don't drop Rosie, though."

Rosenstern grins slowly and a touch languidly. "That's a good start, certainly... yipe!" He wraps his arms around Slate quickly as he stands, holding on for dear life even though he knows Slate won't drop him. He manages to wave to Bacchus over Slate's shoulder as he is... kidnapped? He grins to himself, snuggling against Slate. Mmm, kidnapped by Slate. I think I could like this.... Bacchus grins, watching the angels out of the tent before pushing himself up to his hooves and going off in search of other amusements himself.

Shateishael grins, rumbling to Bella, "Works f'you, works f'me! Nope, wouldn' drop th'pretty flower," as he ducks out the tent flap. Rosenstern is snuggling into Slate's chest, exulting in the exotic leather for just a little bit more, though inwardly glad that his normal clothing is easier to get out of.

Bella lets herself slip down to walk with Slate rather than be carried, letting the dress slide back into place over her legs. She's smiling lazily, almost seeming to glow, "The more I know of them, the more I like these people."

Shateishael grins cheerfully down at Bella, looping an arm companionably about her waist if she'd like, as she walks next to him. "Yeah. On'y met one guy I di'n' much care for, 'n I liked ever'one else. Met coupla folks I might even wanna hang 'round with long term, if they're in'erested. Pretty cool!" He chuckles, adding, "Kinda fascinatin' seein' how we see ourselves too."

Rosenstern nods, "They're a fascinating group of people," he says, emphasizing 'people.' I only hope the same can be said of the Winter Court, and not something like... I don't know, 'Oh god my spleen,' or something like that.

Bella lets Slate's arm wrap around her waist, sliding her own arm around his back and letting her nails trace over his back just beneath his fiery wings, "Mmm... I have a feeling the folks we aren't likely to get along with are being encouraged to be elsewhere."

Shateishael is currently lighting up the area around them with his fiery wings, but he's careful to head towards the edge of the dome nearest to where the paths back to the tent city are. Once the fire goes out, he doesn't want them stumbling around in the dark, after all. He rumbles in quiet contentment at Bella's touch... then glances curiously down at her, "How y'mean, sweetheart?"

Bella smiles quietly, "Eh, I just know any large group of people is going to have its assholes. So far the only one of them I've met just seems to be too young to control himself."

Shateishael tilts his head curiously, "You thought Gaelach seemed young?"

Bella puts her hand over her face, "Oh, I forgot about that prick. I meant Puck. No, Gaelach is just a pure ass."

Shateishael chuckles, "Ayup. Not a problem, though... think th'dragon ladies have Puck well in hand."

They pass the boundary of the encampment with that same little trill of not-quite sound and find themselves back in the clothes and forms they were wearing when they left the tent. Bella sighs almost regretfully, "I need to dress up more often."

Shateishael smiles, "Think that'd be kinda nice, sweetheart." He grins, adding, "Think we need ta dress up li'l Rosie more too!"

Bella's grin comes back wicked again and she reaches over to drag the tips of her nails down Rosie's thigh through his pants, "We were talking about that while we were dancing."

Shateishael says, "Mmm, were y' now." He grins lazily, rumbling, "What else y'all were talkin' 'bout? Wanna share inna tent?"

Rosenstern sighs a little, closing his eyes as the leather disappears, the comfortable snugness and scent and creak of it evaporating like a vivid dream. He makes a quiet, affirmative sound in agreement to Bella's comment about dressing up more often. Then he blinks, perking, and blushes still more as he looks up at Slate about being dressed up... then squirms even more at Bella's comment. He swallows nervously. "Oh, my..."

Once back to the tent, Bella demonstrates what she was teasing Rosie about by pulling out the next-best thing to a corset she brought: a red bustier. Together, the Bright and the Seraph are very gently wicked to the Mercurian. There's an element of pure glee for Bella getting to watch the two men discover new forms of play together. Once everyone is feeling warm and relaxed and limp and curled up together in a puppy pile of tangled limbs and lazy pettings, Bella heaves a contented sigh. "Thank you both for trusting me to be here with you."

Shateishael makes a peaceful rumbling noise as he gently draws Bella's head close enough for a kiss. She happily lets herself be drawn in for that. Rosenstern is curled up on the blankets, half-drowsy from the lovely feeling of the cinched bustier and the wonderful decadence and shared enjoyment of the evening. He gives a long, low purr-like sound. "Always, Bella. I trust you always."

Shateishael smiles contentedly in the darkness, cuddling his beloveds, and murmurs lazily, "What th'pretty flower said, sweetheart."

Bella smiles and laughs softly, not really caring who she's touching as she pets the two men, "Mmm... I think I may just be enjoying being the one who knows what's going on. I'm the baby, after all."

Shateishael mumbles sleepily, "Good... 'cuz I like learnin' new things..."

When the angels settle in for the night, Bella seems insistent on putting Rosie in the middle, wrapping one arm over the slight Novalite like she's hugging a big teddy bear. The night passes with the sounds of joyful celebration filtering through the tent walls, but never close enough to be so raucous as to really disturb the Celestials for long.

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

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