Burning Man -- Logs

During the afternoon, when Rosie is away helping Ayra with her mother's flowers and Bella is hanging out under Peony's jeweled dome, Soma makes his way to the angels' campsite. He's wearing the guise of a slender, pale-skinned man. His hair is still the same cobalt blue, however and the shape of his face is unchanged. He stands outside the tent for a moment, taking a deep breath. With Slate being as protective of Rosie as he is, the Summer Lord is nervous about asking time with the slight angel that is not in full view of the court.

After a moment, he scratches at the tent flap. When there is no immediate answer, Soma realizes the steady tap-tap-clang he's been hearing is coming from the truck. It sounds very much like Karl at his forge, so he moves in that direction, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand.

The tailgate of the truck is down and the back flap on the truck shell is up, with all the little windows open to catch any hint of breeze. Soma can hear a quietly contented humming interspersed with the light sounds of someone working on the anvil. Peering into the deep shadow within, he can see Slate settled comfortably cross-legged in the truck, with a tiny jeweler's anvil on a heavy chunk of wood in the space between his legs. Slate's tapping away gently at something on the anvil, and there are tools and bits of raw materials set neatly within arms' reach about him. Shateishael looks up as Soma blocks some of the sunlight, and smiles, "Hey, Summer Lord."

The fae smiles and inclines his head, "Greetings, Warrior. The day is lovely." He motions toward the anvil, "I did not realize you were also a whitesmith."

Shateishael wipes his forehead with the back of one forearm, then tilts his head curiously, "A what now?"

Soma smiles, "I'm sorry. The term may be archaic by now. A silversmith. Your tools seem over-small for blacksmithing, so I assumed it was some other metal. Among us it is normally silver."

Shateishael nods, "Ah, gotcha. Yeah, I do li'l bitta jewelry, fine work, 'ccasionally." He has a long drink from his water bottle, then sets it aside and nods companionably to the butterfly fae, "C'mon in outta th'sun. Got some lukecool water if'n y'want."

Soma climbs in with as much grace as he can, considering the space. He sits so that he can see Slate's face, legs crossed tailor-fashion, hands resting in his lap. The clothes he's wearing fit in with the rather earthy nature of several of the festival attendees: jeans so faded they're almost white and a loose white t-shirt, "My thanks, but I have a water bottle with me."

Shateishael nods relaxedly, setting his tools down, "'Kay. What can I do fer ya?" He's dressed lightly as well, in his ordinary fare: bandanna to keep his hair out of his face, sturdy hiking boots, heavy socks, jeans shorts, and the ubiquitous Thor's Hammer pendant.

Soma lowers his head for a moment and takes a deep breath. He's not exactly fidgeting, but there's a sense of nervousness around him, "I wish to ask your permission to spend time with the Flowerkin out of the view of the whole court."

Shateishael pauses in the action of reaching for his water bottle again, to study Soma silently for a long moment. After a bit he just makes a small, noncommittal grunt, and has the interrupted drink of water. He caps the bottle, then sighs softly, "Well, now... guess you feel you'n Rosie're ready for this, then?" He rubs his face with one large, calloused hand, then rumbles, "Hnh... never done nuthin' like this b'fore. Not really sure what th'proper pr'cedure is."

Soma smiles quietly, face softening as he thinks of Rosenstern, "I believe that I would like that to be so. My court are open and loving people. However, it can be less than easy to be truly intimate with so many eyes." Shateishael studies the little piece of jewelry he'd been tapping on, turning it over and over in his large hands, and nods in silent agreement. Soma watches Slate, still managing to not quite fidget. Slate's reactions have him slightly nervous, "I would be willing to agree to whatever measures you would want to ensure his safety with me."

Shateishael examines the tiny petals, the fine-veined leaves on the short stem, the hidden loop for a cord to hang it by, the... finally he realizes he's stalling and sighs again, setting the delicate piece of metalwork down on the anvil. He looks up at Soma, meeting the butterfly fae's gaze squarely as he nods and rumbles, "Sorry, 'm li'l nervous 'bout this. Um. Lemme think, please..."

Soma nods and lets his eyes move to the pendant rather than watching Slate directly. Deep thought is considered an extremely private thing among some beings. He loses some of his own nervousness looking at the delicate work, lips curving with pleasant surprise that the large and protective angel can make something so fragile. The little flower pendant isn't a rose, curiously enough.

Shateishael tries, slowly and with the occasional hesitation, to explain, "See... I never had anyone like Rosenstern b'fore. Oh, I've had lotsa hearthfolk come 'n go -- 's th'nature a' bein' amongst mortals, I guess -- but... only had few lovers over th'years, 'n he's th'first one that's quite so... um... direct about wantin' pr'tection, y'know? So... I don' wanna screw up 'n see him get hurt. Not thinkin' y'd hurt him d'liberately 'r nuthin'... jus'... tryin' t'figger out how t'do this right, y'know?" He pauses to see how Soma's taking his clumsily careful attempts at explanation.

The fae king nods slowly, lashes fluttering as he processes that Slate is saying he's never actually had a lover that was a submissive. "You are new to the sort of relationship the pair of you have... and you know that some people will take advantage of the sweet petal's proclivities to bring harm to him."

Shateishael nods, looking relieved, "Yeah. Well... no. More that I'm not sure what kinda thing's th'right thing t'ask for here, t'be sure you'n Rosebud 're all happy, y'know?"

Soma nods again, looking momentarily thoughtful, "Would you perhaps feel safer were he and I to have a chaperone for the moment? Someone to insure no harm came to him?"

Shateishael closes one large hand around the Thor's Hammer and takes a long, slow breath... then rumbles, "I... kinda, yeah. Well, no -- really yeah." He thinks, then adds firmly, "An' a safeword."

The butterfly fae continues, "I know some dominants have limits their submissives may not pass over with other lovers. I have known ones that do not allow their submissives to play alone with another dominant until they feel comfortable with that other's skills and intentions. A chaperone is quite doable. Do you have someone you would prefer it be?"

Shateishael's eyebrows go up a bit at how, ah, conversant Somhairle seems to be with this particular style of love-making, "Um... if y'don' mind m'askin'... you do this often?"

Soma smiles slightly, perhaps a touch of wryness in his voice, "This, if you mean power-exchange in lovemaking, is fairly common in both courts. I am less... free... with sharing my body than many of my people. But I have had many centuries in which to have lovers."

Shateishael rumbles a thoughtful, "Huh..." and falls silent again, thinking and absently running the Thor's Hammer through his fingers. He finally looks up again, still pondering, "Fairly common... 's that what folks're assumin' I want? 'n what Rosie 'n Bella want?" He wonders a bit idly if he's the only person walking through the Summer Court who's let centuries go by without having lovers. Is he the odd one, maybe? It's an interesting thought.

Soma ducks his head slightly, "Warrior, I had known your Flowerkin before. I was aware of his desires in that direction. I admit I inferred from there that yourself and the Seductress had proclivities similar. Was I incorrect?"

Shateishael shakes his head, "Cain't say for Bella, though'm guessin' you guessed right f'her." He falls silent then, wondering with faint amusement if everyone knew what Rosenstern wanted before he did. He finally sighs, shaking his head slightly -- he'll have to ponder this more later. Now he's got the king of the fae asking him nicely for... for... he sighs again. If he had even the slightest hint that Rosie wasn't attracted to Soma, it'd be far easier for Slate to handle this -- protection he can do just fine! It's these darned tricky social connections that drive him crazy sometimes. So... focus. Must focus. He takes another deep breath and nods once, firmly, "So yeah, okay. If'n y'don' mind, I'd like t'be there th'first time, please."

Soma tips his head as he has another realization, "Are you... unsure, Warrior? You seem tentative..." He's interrupted by Slate's acquiescence and request, "That would be very acceptable. I would offer to share it with you at any time you wished. I daresay that you and I making love to him together would be quite lovely for Rosenstern." He holds a hand up, "Not you and I making love together, but both making love to him simultaneously. I know that you do not take lovers lightly."

Shateishael sits very still for a moment... then nods once, slowly, "Thank you. An'... yeah, I'm unsure. Like I said, don' wanna screw this up for Rosenstern." He pauses a moment, considering, then nods slowly again, "Maybe... yeah, maybe that'd be easiest on us all, th'firs' time -- have you join us sometime. Wouldja be willin' t'try that?"

There's a scuffling of sand and Bella appears at the tailgate of the truck, smiling beatifically, "Hi, gu...." She breaks off, blinking as she process what she thinks she just heard. She stays very quiet as Soma thinks about that for a moment. It takes very little contemplating for him to say, "Very much so, Warrior."

Shateishael nods quietly to Bella, holding out an arm for her to join them if she wishes. He has a sudden rather strong urge to hug Bella close. She always makes him feel better, and he's really not sure he's doing what's best for Rosenstern. Bella climbs into the back of the truck and nestles in against Slate's side, not seeming to notice that it makes her warmer. Shateishael sighs, relaxing a little as Bella does so, and just hugs her silently for a moment. Bella tips her head back and asks in an almost-whisper, since being quiet enough to not be heard by Soma is impossible, "Did you just invite Soma to play with Rosie with us?" Soma smiles quietly, having relaxed slightly.

Shateishael finally gives another long, gusty sigh, nuzzling Bella's hair and loosening his arms. He rumbles quietly, "Thanks, beautiful. Uh... yeah? Is that bad?" He adds a little worriedly, "Figger'd that'd be easiest way t'see both what Rosie's usedta fer Soma, 'n fer us t'see what he's like?"

Bella laughs and shakes her head, "No. I don't object to there being multiple people around for a scene, as long as everyone's comfortable."

Shateishael sighs again, although his expression is shading into relief as he realizes he didn't mess anything up. "Uh, 'kay, then. So, um... are you comfy with this?"

Bella reaches a hand over, stroking Slate's leg reassuringly, "Sure, hon. The way we play with Rosie, he's the vulnerable one. But I think he likes it that way."

Shateishael nods to Bella, his face clouding up a bit at that, "Yeah, I know. But... 'm not sure how t'check with 'im 'bout sump'in' like this, y'know?" He adds a bit ruefully, "I get th'feelin' sometimes he likes bein' s'prised, but don' want it t'be a bad s'prise." Soma stays quiet, letting the two angels discuss this, getting the feeling this is as private as a topic can be with another party present.

Bella chuckles softly, "Sweetheart, I think anything involving you and Soma, and maybe me, would be just fine by Rosie." Her grin turns impish and she tries to insinuate herself into Slate's lap, unless she finds that it's just not possible without disturbing his work, "We could maybe surprise him with just how many of us are there... maybe let you start playing and have Soma and I slip in quietly."

Shateishael quickly scoops up the little pendant and carefully sets it and the tiny anvil aside, then contentedly shifts to accommodate Bella comfortably in his lap. He nods thoughtfully, "That... yeah, that might be real nice." He looks up inquiringly at Soma, "You 'kay w'that?"

Soma chuckles and his eyes take on a hint of heat that has nothing to do with the temperature, "I believe befuddling the Flowerkin with exactly who is making love to him could be quite interesting. I would offer my word to touch only him if that would also make the pair of you more comfortable."

Shateishael glances inquiringly at Bella... which gives him a chance to think again. He's a bit amusedly bemused at how many concepts Soma's casually tossed out in this conversation -- which had never occurred to him before! Bella chuckles, "I don't mind being touched, Soma, but if I'm topping I prefer it to be the bottom doing the touching."

Shateishael nods in agreement to Bella's statement, looking back up at Soma and rumbling, "Same here." He thinks a moment, then adds, "Y'all wanna try this soon?"

Bella bites her lip, then kisses the side of Slate's neck, wanting to keep her opinion to herself for a moment, perhaps seeing how the fae responds. For his part, Soma chuckles and in the semi-dimness of the truck his eyes take on just a hint of glow, "I would very much like it to be soon... as soon as you feel comfortable with it being."

Shateishael gently strokes Bella's hair as he watches the fae, and nods, "'Kay." He's silent a moment... then slowly adds, "If'n y'don' mind, we'll letcha know soonest, 'kay?" Bella is apparently enjoying the idea because she kisses her way up to nip softly at Slate's earlobe, using her hair to hide what she's doing from Soma.

The summer lord nods, the motion deliberate enough to seem a truncated bow, "I'll await your word. And I'll leave you to speak with your other lover." He slides out of the truck more easily than he got into it, disappearing back into the crowd.

Shateishael's eyes widen at the nip and he goes still for a moment in an effort to keep control -- then he grins, not shifting away from Bella as he rumbles, "Thanks, guy." He waits until Soma's gone, still slowly stroking Bella's hair... then laughs softly, "Y'r incorrigible, y'know?" His tone is quietly warm, and his eyes are bright with happiness as he looks down at Bella. Then he sighs softly, adding, "Dayum, this negotiatin' stuff is hard!"

Bella grins up at the blond Seraph, eyes twinkling, "I know. I can't help it sometimes." She rests her head against the front of Slate's shoulder, "Mmm... can be. Though the fact that he's willing to negotiate with you is a good sign that he's not a psycho top."

Shateishael nods once, then rolls his eyes, "'Kay, ejicate me, sweetheart. What's a psycho top, an' what kindsa thin's d'some doms not 'llow their subs t'try w'other doms, an' is touchin' that weird in scenes 'r what?"

Bella chuckles and kisses the side of Slate's neck again, "I think he was trying to assure you that he didn't have designs on your body. Some people would have assumed being invited to help play with Rosie meant that you were inviting them into your bed as well." Then her expression goes a little more serious, "A psycho top is someone who will trample on barriers and limits. Dangerous."

Shateishael says, "'Kay." He tilts his head to gently brush his lips across Bella's forehead, then rumbles quietly, "Bit disconcertin' t'discover somethin' y's'pposedta be familiar with... while talkin' t'someone throwin' out ideas faster'n you c'n process 'm."

Bella laughs softly, "Well, sweetie, you're so assertive and so protective of Rosie that people are taking you at face value. I think it's a compliment." The Bright thinks for a moment, "As for limits, some dominants set restrictions on types of play that are OK. Is penetration OK? Oral sex? Bruises? Marks of any kind? Wearing a collar in scene?"

Shateishael nods uncertainly, "Uhm... assertive I c'n see p'raps, but why wouldn' folks take me at face value? Not... sure whatcha mean there, Bellisima?" At her second comment, though, he blinks startledly, straightening and thinking about that.

She backtracks slightly, "I mean that people assume that you're experienced in BDSM play, love. You have the right attitude and you're playing the role well."

Shateishael rumbles absently, "Oh." A moment later he adds, "Uh. Good?" He sighs worriedly, adding, "Well, hell, Bella! How'm I s'pposedta know what's okay w'Rosie wi' 'nother dom?!" Then he frowns, adding slowly, "Don' think... someone else's collar on Rosie makes me feel funny, Bellisima... unless y'think it's 'mportant?"

Bella laughs softly, "Yes, very good. It means people will be less likely to try to convince you something unsafe is normal." She shifts until she's kneeling astride Slate's lap and takes his face in her hands if he'll let her, "You ask him. You can either do it in an out-of-scene context or you can ask permission as you go." She smiles softly, answering his latter comment, "Because some part of you thinks of Rosie as yours in a very real way, Slate. If you don't feel OK with him wearing someone else's collar, make it a limit. Rosie will probably love it. If he doesn't, you negotiate with him about it."

Shateishael nods slowly and thoughtfully in agreement with Bella's comment, then smiles down at her, relaxing a bit and sliding his arms around her to cuddle her close, "'Kay. Didja know this is almos' th' sacred position f'makin' Tantric love?" He leans forward and kisses her gently.

Bella laughs and leans into the kiss, though she wriggles around until she's got her legs wrapped around Slate, which bring her very close against his body, "It's more like this, isn't it?"

Shateishael grins happily down at her, "Yeah. Y'wanna try? Read once they b'lieve if'n y'both come at once, y'r souls intermingle f'rever."

Bella smiles up at Slate and leans in to kiss him again, letting all of her attention center on it for a moment before pulling back to answer, "Mmm... might not be the perfect venue for it, but I'd be very willing to try."

Shateishael slides his hands gently under her rump and rumbles happily, "Tent's free. Lemme give y' lift?" She's light enough to him that he has no trouble holding her close and shifting, if she lets him.

Bella wraps her arms around Slate's neck and kisses the skin just over where a human would have a pulse in their throat, "You can carry me anywhere, love."

Shateishael sighs quietly, his eyes closing for a second from the sheer sensual bliss of the moment... then he smiles down at Bella, his eyes alight with joy, "Love to." He slides easily out of the back of the truck and closes it, while carefully holding the Bright close, then slips them both into the tent, zipping it closed behind them. Bella makes sounds that are almost purrs as Slate carries her into the tent. She enjoys being with Slate when they have the time to concentrate on truly enjoying one another. The pair of angels don't quite manage the Tantric ideal of mutual climax, but their lovemaking is as intensely loving as it always is. Being with Slate always leaves Bella with a sort of contented glow that only makes her feel uneasy when she's had time away from him.

Shateishael has finally finished what he's been working on so assiduously for the past hours. He absently wipes his hands clean(er) on the seat of his (already much abused) jeans shorts, then holds the little trinket up in the sunlight: a delicate little flower pendant, complete with numerous tiny petals, fine-veined leaves on a short stem, and a hidden loop in the back for a cord. It glitters daintily in the midday sun, a rich reddish gold, and Slate smiles, well pleased with how the graceful little peony flower came out. Bella returns as Slate is admiring his handiwork, eyes twinkling, "Oh, that's nice...."

Shateishael beams at Bella, rumbling, "Yeah, think it came out okay. Wanna see?" He holds it out to her -- in his large palm it's tiny. Bella reaches out and picks up the pendant, cupping it in her palm and admiring it from several different angles. Shateishael happily adds, "It's a peony. I couldn' think a' blade in 'ssociation wi'Miz Peony, so I thought maybe she wouldn' min' this instead. She did say a gift from a frien's han's's a powerful symbol a' frien'ship." He's silent a moment, watching Bella admire the little pendant... then he murmurs thoughtfully, "Hey, Bellisima... why would Miz Peony laugh if someone said they wan'd t'be her frien'?"

Rosenstern returns as well, and perches on the edge of the truck. "Oh, that's a wonderful job, Slate! You did great!"

Shateishael grins happily, pulling off the red headband bandanna and shaking it out to wipe his face off, "Y'like it? Think she'll be 'kay wi'it?"

Rosenstern bobs his head. "I think she'll like it a lot! You put your heart into it and it shows!"

Bella wrinkles her nose thoughtfully, "I can't think why she would have laughed at you wanting to be her friend, Slate."

Shateishael grins shyly, "Well, yeah... allus do wi'stuff like this." He looks at Bella and nods, "Yeah, was wond'rin' that m'self. She said she'd 'xplain it next year though, if'n Rosie han't explained it yet." He looks inquiringly at Rosenstern, "So... why would Miz Peony giggle 'bout someone sayin' they'd like ta be her frien'?" Bella looks over toward Rosenstern with a brow raised.

Rosenstern smiles quietly. "Because she told me that she wants to be your friend too, Slate. She was taken unexpectedly by the fact that you said the same thing to her before she could tell you."

"Oh." Shateishael looks relieved, "Well, good. Din' wanna be jus' 'nother fool beggin' f'attention." He pauses, mouth open to say something... then looks worriedly at the pendant in Bella's hands, "Um. Yeah. So. How'm I gonna give it to her?"

Rosenstern smiles warmly. "She knows you've got something for her, right? Tell her you've finished it and if she has time you'd like to give it to her." Bella hands the pendant over to Rosie to look at, grinning affectionately at Slate.

Shateishael looks sheepishly at the ground, absently scratching the back of his head, "Yeah. Well, um... she... doesn' 'xactly know I got sumpthin' f'her..." Bella leans against the truck, watching Slate squirm like a shy schoolboy and grinning like a fool.

Rosenstern gently takes the pendant, studying it in the light as the sun catches the red-gold curves. He grins softly. "Even better. Tell her you have a surprise for her."

Shateishael looks up at that, "Y'think that'd work? I mean... umm..." his voice trails off, and he wonders why he's so nervous about this. Peony did say, after all, she'd like a gift from him... what's he worried about? He frowns thoughtfully, then rumbles, "Think I better clean up bit first... 'm still all stinky a' hot metal. Y'all wanna go over t'th'Jewel camp inna bit?"

Bella smiles, stretching and yawning exaggeratedly, "I think I'll take a nap..."

Shateishael looks a bit disappointed at that, but simply nods as he casually strips and heads to rinse off. While doing so he's thinking hard about why he's feeling quite so twitchy. Finally he brightens, understanding -- he wants her to like it, and him! He beams, striding in dripping wet and nude from the shower, "'Kay, think I got it! Lemme get some clean clo's, and I'll be ready to go. Y'wanna come 'long, Rosebud?"

Rosenstern smiles and nods, having washed up himself and changed into something comparatively sedate, "Sure! I'll go with you; it's lovely there!" He thinks, But Slate, love, you are going to have to be unchaperoned with Peony when you give it to her! It's too nice a moment to have me hanging over your shoulder.

Shateishael drops to one knee to leave a gentle kiss on Bella's cheek before he quickly pulls on his hiking boots and another raggedly comfortable pair of rather short jeans shorts. He flips on his Thor's Hammer pendant, then twists up the red bandanna into a headband again, tossing his long, water-darkened hair back over his shoulder. It's gone a dark honey gold from all the water, and the cool droplets trickling down his back feel good. He pulls out a small velvet bag, tucks the pendant neatly into it, then grins cheerfully at Rosie, "Le's go, then!"

The Jewels camp is again half-full of admiring people who ooo and ahh. Peony herself is wearing her glamour, which doesn't change much about her. She's also wearing a simple sleeveless cotton shift tie-dyed in many of the same colors of glass as the dome. Shateishael slows as he approaches the dome, glancing at all the people there. He rumbles quietly to Rosenstern, "Dunno 'f I wanna make this a public thin'... maybe I'll wait a bit, y'think?"

Rosenstern grins merrily and nudges Slate gently as he takes his hand. "It's okay, Slate. I'm sure she won't mind."

Shateishael glances uncertainly down at Rosenstern... then nods firmly, "Good point. If'n I wait 'till she's alone, she might think I was like Gaelach. Don' wan' that."

Rosenstern smiles wider. "That's part of it, yes." He lets Slate get a little ahead of him as the Seraph approaches Peony; though he's still with Slate, he wants to let the big angel have some relative quiet moments with the leprechaun.

The leprechaun is again lounging, half watching people and half just seeming to soak up the colored light as if she could drink it in for nourishment. Shateishael paces up with Rosie, weaving carefully through the crowd until he can smile and nod politely to the little leprechaun, "Aft'noon, ma'am. C'n we sit whiles w'ya?"

Peony raises her head with a smile, removing the round sunglasses she's been wearing, "Sit, lounge, take a nap. Whatever you'd like, Slate." She smiles around him at the half-hanging-back Mercurian, "You as well, Flowerkin."

Rosenstern smiles and ducks his head to Peony. "Thank you, Peony!" he says cheerfully, and settles in... just a little bit away from Slate and Peony.

Shateishael beams, settling gracefully cross-legged next to Peony. He draws a deep breath, attentively watching the many dome admirers. He coughs self-consciously, then has a long draught of water from his water bottle. He fingers the little velvet pouch in his pocket. He... wonders bemusedly how people actually manage to think up things to say to each other! He takes another breath, turning firmly to Peony, and rumbles, "So... uhm. Lovely weather." Then he winces, [Christ on a flaming rubber crutch -- you moron!]

Rosenstern can't be easily seen from where Slate's sitting, but the sound of face meeting palm might be heard. He gives Slate a thirty-count before he considers nudging the Seraph with his foot. Peony turns her head to smile at Slate, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Very warm, very bright. Lovely for the playa." She stretches her legs out, crossing her arms under her head.

Shateishael sighs in relief, looking away as he rumbles, "Um, yep, 'tis." He studies all the people, then adds curiously, "So... y'havin' nice time wi'all th'folks here? No troubles from no one?"

Peony shifts and pushes up on her elbows so that she's half-sitting and looks at the very pleasant and calm crowd, "Mmm... not a lot of troublemakers in the City."

Shateishael nods quietly, looking around, "It is nice, yeah." He looks curiously at the small woman, "D'ya ever have trouble wi'Gaelach 'r his kind durin' th'day?"

The leprechaun shakes her head, still smiling, "Mmmnope. He tends to spend his time back in the encampment. He only comes to the festival because of court. He doesn't tend to like all the hippies."

Shateishael chuckles, "Convenient!" He sighs quietly, stretching out full length with his arms behind his head once he's sure he won't be in anyone's way, and relaxing. Musingly he rumbles, "So, um... Miz Peony, y'remember las' night y'said a gift from a frien' was a good thing?" Rosenstern thinks Slate's thirty-count is well up, and is about to cough when Slate finally mentions 'gift from a friend.' As it is, he decides, it's better he didn't nudge Slate -- Peony might think Slate was being coerced.

Peony stays half-sitting and smiles at Slate, one hand shading her eyes from the sun that's still bright through the shade of the glass, "Aye. And I believe it's true." The admiring glance she gives the stretched-out Seraph is probably obvious to Rosie, who might be watching for it, but otherwise it's quite covert and decorous.

Shateishael pauses, then rumbles curiously, "What does Gaelach do durin' th' rest a'th'year, when there's no court? He a passer 'r a hider?" Rosenstern wishes at that moment he had a verbal stake and a verbal set of reins to keep Slate on track. The thirty-count starts again.

Peony chuckles softly, shrugging, "I think he's sort of a professional prettyboy."

Shateishael nods slowly, looking a bit bemused, "Din' know you c'd get paid f'that... uh. Yeah. So, anyways... about frien's. So, um... you wou'n't min' then, if'n I made sumpthin' f'ya?"

Peony sits up, beaming, eyes lighting up. "Mind?" She sits up a little straighter, "Did you already make me a blade?"

Shateishael glances worriedly at Peony, "Um... no'm, sorry. Like I said las' night..." his tone is apologetic, "I don' think a' blades when I think a' you?"

Peony actually just grins more widely, "A surprise?" She looks over at Rosie, "Did he make me a surprise?"

Shateishael blinks again, "Um..." he gives Rosenstern a bemused look, "Did you tell her, Rose?!"

Rosenstern grins wider and doesn't say anything yet. Finally! He shakes his head. "I said nothing to her! It's a surprise!"

Shateishael says, "Uh... well, um..." he fishes the little velvet bag out of his pocket, holding it out on his large palm towards Peony, "...yeah?"

The leprechaun wriggles around until she can knee-walk closer to Slate and pluck the bag out of it, face lighting up. It takes her a moment or two to open up the bag, peering into it before tipping it so that the pendant spills into her hand. Shateishael sits up, looking a bit fidgety and worried. Peony beams at the pendant, moving it this way and that so that the different colors of filtered light sparkle off the tiny metalwork of the flower. "It's... it's exquisite."

Shateishael looks deeply relieved, "You like it?"

Peony nods and sits back on her heels to just continue examining the flower, smiling with pleasure, "I do. Very much... I shall wear it to court tonight."

Shateishael sighs happily, grinning and running one hand back through his hair -- and making it a mess! "Oh, good. Wuz hopin' y'd like it." He's silent a moment, beaming as he watches her admire it, then shyly rumbles, "It's... a peony, ma'am. Made it early t'day." As he notices Slate and Peony seem to be finally past the Slate-being-nervous part, Rosenstern very quietly slips out of the Jewels camp, leaving the faerie and the angel.

Peony smiles, "Mmm... I grow them around my house." She keeps admiring the pendant, not seeming in too much of a rush to find something to wear it on.

Shateishael is happily watching the leprechaun, and doesn't notice Rosie's departure. He's just sitting and smiling, his eyes alight. "Wherebouts y'live, ma'am?"

It takes a second for Peony to realize she's been asked a question, "Hm? Oh. I have a little house in the mountains outside Asheville. Very friendly place there."

Shateishael thinks, trying to place where an 'Asheville' would be... he's not sure, but he'd guess somewhere on the more eastern side of the continent? He opens his mouth to ask where that is... then pauses, curiously watching the small woman. She seems quite... absorbed in the little gold pendant. He wonders puzzledly if there's some magic, to the fae, in gift giving. He ponders asking... then decides a bit bemusedly to wait until she looks up again. Instead he sits silently, curiously studying Peony as she studies the little pendant, trying to figure out what (if anything) he's done.

After another couple of minutes Peony seems to realize she's been sort of absorbed and she blushes. Laughing a little self-consciously, she tucks it into one of the two patch pockets on the shift, "I'm sorry, Slate. Gold tends to... befuddle me."

Shateishael looks puzzled, "To... whut? Did I... wuz that a bad choice?"

Peony shakes her head, laughing softly again, "Oh, no! It was a perfect choice!" She watches Slate for a moment and then asks, "You've never heard the legends about my people and rainbows?"

Shateishael rubs the back of his head again, adding, "I jus'... thought a' red gold when I thought a'you, 'cause a' y'r hair... din' think 'bout th'rainbows 'n th'gold. Um... but then I never heard 'bout th' 'ssassin legends neither, so... guess maybe y'oughta tell me, please?"

Her hand is still in her pocket as if she wants to continue touching the pendant even after she's put it away, "Well, we have something of a weakness for shiny things, sparkly things. We tend to hoard them... gold especially. It's like it sings to us."

Shateishael looks intrigued, "Whut's it soun' like? This like th'Symphony t'y'all?" He gets a suddenly pleased look, "Ah! So th'metal choice wuz a real good one then?"

Peony makes a hrming noise as she tries to explain the call, but then grins at Slate's last question, "Yes, it was perfect, Slate. Thank you."

Shateishael beams, sitting a little straighter. He adds in explanation, "Wasn't sure. On'y given gifts much t'Bella 'n Rosie, 'n they tend t'show it real clear when they're happy, y'know? So... wuz jus' checkin' with ya. They tend t'throw themselves on me wi'big hugs." He considers, then grins a bit shyly, "'S kinda nice..."

A fascinated look comes over her face as Slate talks about his gift-giving habits. At the description of Rosie and Bella's normal thanks, Peony grins and, without warning, launches herself at Slate to hug him tightly. She's surprisingly strong for such a slight creature. Shateishael blinks startledly, his arms spreading reflexively... then he chuckles softly, hugging her gently, "Whut... y'never got givena gift b'fore, girl? Hard t'b'lieve, lovely girl like y'self."

Peony smiles, though Slate can't see it because she's still hugging him tightly, "Oh, I've been given gifts before. But it's nice when they're so sweetly and sincerely meant."

Shateishael smiles, "'Kay." He'll hug her quietly, faintly surprised at how nice it feels, and eventually gently stroke her hair as he holds her. He ponders silently... then finally rumbles quietly, "Is sincerity in short s'pply at th'court -- like bluntness?"

Peony goes very still for a moment when Slate starts petting her hair, not wanting to scare him off by calling attention to it. She remembers Rosie's comments about him being very affectionate, "No, sincerity can be found more readily. But I'm not certain many people on the planet are as blunt or sincere as you."

Shateishael snorts amusedly, "Ah, I'm jus' one a' th'Stone angels. We're all pretty damn blunt, ma'am." He grins, adding, "Guess it's like gold f'you... 's jus' m'nature, y'know?"

Peony finally does let go, once she realizes that the hug has gone on for longer than might be considered a friendly duration. "Perhaps something like that."

Shateishael nods, releasing easily if a bit reluctantly. "Um, yeah." He's not sure what to do with his hands, or if he should leave, or what... although he thinks it might be nice to stick around for a bit. "So... if... if gold attracts y'all like that, how d'y'wear it safely? An'... what's it got t'do wi'bein' 'n assassin?"

Peony sits down tailor-fashion and smiles, "It doesn't burn us or anything... it's just got sort of a power of fascination. And the only thing it's got to do with being an assassin is the fact it used to be used to bribe us into things we mightn't have thought of on our own."

"Oh." Shateishael tilts his head thoughtfully at the small leprechaun, "You got that problem? I din' jus' add t'that're nuthin', did I?" He pauses, then asks a question that's been bugging him for a while, "An'... whut 'zactly does col' iron do t'fae? If'n I accident'ly brush someone wi' steel, d'they evaporate, 'r scorch, 'r whut?"

Peony wriggles a bit, as if the thought is uncomfortable, "Ever touched something so cold it burned, Slate?"

Shateishael nods, "Sure. Useta live inna northlands. Like that? Any way t'heal it?"

Peony shakes her head, "Not much, no. It's like any wound made with it... sometimes they burn so cold they seem to cauterize themselves. And the iron itself can be poison. If it gets too much into our blood, it... it's not pretty."

Shateishael frowns a touch worriedly, "How's it get inta blood, though?" He drums his fingers lightly on one knee, and muses, "Wonder if'n Rosie's Song 'a Healin'd help..." Then he blinks, going still as he suddenly understands Soma's intimidation, a small, quiet, "...ohh..." escaping him.

Peony squirms again, "I think I'm describing it wrong... touching it doesn't kill us. It can hurt. Prolonged exposure can burn, can scar. Too much wounding that gets to the bloodstream... have you heard of lead poisoning in humans?"

Shateishael blinks again, re-focusing on Peony, and nods, "Yeah. I get it now." He sighs, touching her forearm lightly with his calloused fingers, "Ma'am, 'm sorry I brought it up -- din' mean t'upsetcha. So..." he casts about for a change of subject, then repeats his previous question, "so, didja have th'bribery problem y'self with gold?" He's faintly amazed at the strength of Soma's feelings about the Warrior -- that the fae would genuinely welcome someone who he emotively conceptualizes as being entirely made of cold steel! His admiration for Soma's courage and noblesse oblige goes up a bit.

Peony smiles and lays one delicate hand over Slate's. Perhaps not so surprisingly, she has calluses of her own, "I'm fine, Slate. It's just... uncomfortable to think of sometimes." She grins impishly, "People would often try to bribe me... I didn't often give in."

Shateishael rumbles quietly, "Good f'you then. I know it c'n be hard sometimes." He wonders what she resisted, then firmly reins in that thought as being none of his business! Instead he curiously rumbles, "So... how long y'been 'round, ma'am? You older'n th'Pu- uh, Holocaust?"

Peony settles back into her lounging position, "Mmm... since about five hundred years before it."

Shateishael nods, curling his hands neatly into his lap, "Celtic 'r thereabouts mostly?"

The leprechaun turns her head to smile at Slate, not putting her sunglasses back on, "Ireland, laddie." For just a moment her voice slips into a musical brogue thick enough to spread on bread.

Shateishael chuckles quietly, "Some a' my first mortal folks settled down thataways."

Peony looks interested, "Norse, yeah? Saxony and all that?"

Shateishael shakes his head, "Norse, but all over th'northern parts a' th'islands, if'n I recall c'rrectly? They went a'vikin' thataways bunches 'cause a' th' unguarded christian monasteries, but at some point think buncha them settled?"

Peony nods and smiles crookedly, "Mmm... we have quite a few blue eyed blondes up that way."

Shateishael chuckles quietly again, "Guess they were a randy bunch... din' go a'vikin' much m'self, once I started metal-shapin' fer 'em. Too valuable t'risk... but I did manage t'talk 'em outta th'traditional method a'keepin' yer smith safe -- there's a reason lotsa th'mythological smiths're lame, after all."

Peony nods and looks thoughtful for a moment, "If they can't walk right, they can't fight."

Shateishael nods, "Cain't run 'way neither." He sighs quietly, "They wuz good folks. Got absorbed eventually though -- they all did -- by th'christian missionaries."

Peony's nose wrinkles in distaste at that thought, "Yes, they did. Though I was amused to watch the Christian church take the old holidays and shift them all around."

Shateishael nods quietly, "Well, guess if'n you're th'winners, y'get t'say whut's whut." He feels the old bitterness at the christian missionaries rising inside, and gently pushes it down again -- it's not really necessary here. He looks back at Peony and smiles quietly, "Well... don' wanna wear out m'welcome, ma'am. Glad y'liked th'pendant."

Peony smiles and reaches out one small hand to pat Slate's knee, "You're not wearing it out, and I love it. I really will wear it tonight."

Shateishael smiles again, pleased at that. He's silent a moment... then rumbles slowly, "Miz Peony, ma'am... is it... would it be rude t'ask y' someday -- not now, 'course, but someday... if'n y'could tell me... whut happened back then? Durin' th'Holocaust, I mean? Never... never quite got what Purity's attack wuz all 'bout, 'n I'd like t'make sure it never happens 'gain, y'know?"

The leprechaun's expression goes very serious for a moment before she nods, "Some night over a bottle of whiskey and when you won't mind me crying on your shoulder, I'll tell you what I remember."

Shateishael shakes his head, his expression quiet, "Ma'am, y'welcome t'lean on me whenever y'need." He adds a touch wistfully, "From whut I've heard, y'don' usually need 'ny help anyways."

Peony chuckles quietly, "Slate, I'm strong, but everyone needs a rock sometimes."

Shateishael laughs softly, "Well now, rock I c'n do." He grins ruefully, "Might say it wuz in m'nature." He sighs, stretching his arms overhead, then rises fluidly and gives a small, polite bow, "Hope y'enjoy th'pendant, 'n 'xpect I'll see ya later then, yeah?"

Peony smiles and waves to Slate as he rises to leave, again watching with that unobtrusive sense of admiration, "I enjoy it very much, and if I have any say you'll definitely see me later." With a big, happy grin, she slips her shades back on and goes back to basking in the colored light.

It's early evening at Burning Man; the sun has just started to set in the west. There was a rainsquall earlier that cut the heat and painted the sky in streaks of crimson and purple as the sun started lowering. Bella has been exceptionally cheerful all day, and once evening sets in she glances over at Slate, giving him her widest, most mischievous grin, "Love... wouldn't you say it's about time to head back to camp?"

Shateishael chuckles, sliding an arm around her waist, "Sounds good t'me, sweetheart." He glances at Rosenstern, smiling, "Comin'?" Bella slides her arm around Slate's back in turn, letting her fingers brush lazily over his skin, tracing the waist of his shorts.

Rosenstern brightens, nodding merrily. "Sure! Now's a good time, I think."

Shateishael also seems to be in an exceptionally good mood, although he expresses it a bit more quietly than Bella's exuberance. He smiles slowly down at her, his eyes lazily inviting, then loops an arm about Rosenstern's waist as well, "Good... 'm thinkin' a lovely night like t'night's too nice t'waste." Rosenstern snugs up against Slate as the taller angel puts his arm around him, feeling warm and comfortable even if the desert air temperature starts to dip down.

Much, much later in the tent, Shateishael looks almost like a big, sleepy bear, eyes half-closed and shaggy gold bangs falling across his face, curled up under and around his lovers... but if they need the help he gives them a hand with the wipes before they all relax. He's quite willing to share cuddling Rosie with Soma, but he appreciates the care the butterfly fae is taking with keeping his promises. He wonders with sleepy idleness if Soma's brilliant glow is showing outside the tent as well... and finds he doesn't really care either way. He'll ask later about oaths and such. For now... sensual relaxation and companionable bliss.

For some time (no one really seems concerned how much) the only sounds are those contented non-words people make after lovemaking that has been more than just physical. The only movement is the occasional slow shift to ease to a more comfortable position. Eventually Bella sits up, stretching her arms over her head and yawning. Shateishael makes a lazily grumbly noise as she shifts away from him, then grins relaxedly up at her, making an incoherently inquiring noise. It's less effort than vocalizing. Bella laughs warmly and reaches across Slate to brush Rosie's hair off his forehead, "Just stretching to feel my own body, love. I halfway want to just sprawl over the three of you, like I could soak you all in through my skin."

Rosenstern is almost asleep actually, so exhausted from the emotional sensations that he still trembles a little bit. Shateishael runs his hand in a slow, warm, reassuring caress down Rosie's side when he feels the trembles. At Bella's touch Rosenstern peeks open his eyes, and smiles sheepishly and shyly up to her. The Bright grins down at the adorable Mercurian, "See what happens when you let people know what you'd like, sugar?"

Shateishael pats his side in silent invitation, still glowing with contentment... no, wait, that's Soma glowing. Slate tilts his head to see the butterfly fae, curiously studying the glow, [Now that's a darned happy fae, I'm thinking...] He grins at the thought, then rumbles lazily, "Didja getcher oath done safely, Soma?"

Soma's eyes flutter open and he raises his head to look over Rosenstern at Slate, "All is done in safety, W..." he pauses and finishes, "Slate. I would not have asked what I did without that precaution."

Shateishael nods, rumbling slowly, "Good, good..." He's not really concerned, more curious... he figured the fae would know what was necessary. He grins, reaching out an inquisitive finger but not quite touching the butterfly fae, "Man, you really light up a room when yer happy! S'kinda pretty." He wonders suddenly if his own, er, fiery luminescence changed at all in the fae pavilion while he was joyously dancing. He'll have to try and notice next time... hm... next time. Soma will want a next time, with Rosie. He's going to have to have the 'talk' with Rosie first, before he says yes to Soma.

Bella takes the invitation and crawls until she's half over Slate, one leg slung casually across Rosie. She nestles atop the two angels like a big, green-eyed cat. Her foot brushes Soma's still-glowing thigh. The light has begun to fade slightly. The Ethereal laughs softly at Slate's observation, "It is a consequence that is sometimes startling if not known." He shifts until Slate's finger does just brush him and then moves away again.

Shateishael chuckles quietly, both at Soma's friendly gesture and at the comfortably sprawled Bright. Bella is continuing her feline actions by nuzzling her cheek against Slate, just lazily drifting. He strokes her soft skin gently, savoring the heated touch of contented lovers against him. Then he nuzzles Rosenstern gently, "Hey, Rose petal... y'enjoy y'self, pretty?" Soma is spooned against Rosie, almost seeming to bracket the smaller man.

Rosenstern smiles lazily and nods against Slate's chest. "Mm-hmmm," he murmurs, squirming a little to let his body rub against everyone else's.

Shateishael nods, satisfied, "'Kay. We c'n talk later 'bout you'n Soma t'gether then. F'now... jus' relax 'n enjoy, sweet petal." He stretches out a little, making sure everyone resting against him is comfortable, and simply savors the moment, occasionally rumbling contentedly.

After one of those instantaneous eternities one only gets when savoring every last second of a finite experience, Soma's glow has faded back down to a dim shine, and he gently disentangles himself. The Ethereal pulls his glamour around him, the air around him shimmering and singing as he settles into the guise of a lanky blond human. With a kiss and a promise to see Rosenstern soon, the king returns to his encampment, leaving the angels to cuddle together and perhaps to doze. Rosenstern, after giving Soma a warm kiss farewell for the moment, returns to cuddling with Slate and Bella, just feeling very warm and contented... and a little bit sleepy, dozing comfortably now and then.

Once he's gone, Bella wriggles around until she's on the opposite side of Rosie from Slate, keeping the sweetly submissive angel surrounded by warm bodies. She knows that coming down from sub space can sometimes feel more vulnerable than being in it. Shateishael politely thanks the fae lord, then contentedly curls up with his beloveds. "Dunno 'bout Soma, but 'm a sucker f'afterglow f'as long as y'all want..." he rumbles lazily, running his hands in long, slow caresses across them both.

Shateishael lies contentedly curled up with his beloveds, letting himself come back slowly, occasionally stroking one large hand slowly over their skin and rumbling peacefully to himself. After a while, however, he remembers Bella's advice from earlier. He sorts through various elements in his head, then rumbles peacefully, "Hey, sweet petal... y' 'wake 'nuff t'talk?"

Rosenstern murrrs and stretches out a little. "Mmmm-hmmm. I think so," he says, lifting his head up and resting it on his arms to look at Slate. He looks a little sleepy still, but it's fading bit by bit as the sun progresses across the sky. He smiles softly to Slate, tilting his head a bit to the side.

Shateishael smiles peacefully, gently stroking Rosie's bangs out of his face, and rumbles, "So... y'think you'd be comfy alone wi'Soma f'a night, li'l love?" Bella just smiles, eyes closed.

Rosenstern hesitates a little, closing his eyes as Slate touches his hair, sighing softly in comfort. "Mmm. I... I think so, love. He's... he's so different from how he was in Neuschwanstein; it feels like it was like a lifetime ago. But I... I feel I can trust him, if you can."

Shateishael curiously rumbles, "How wuz he in Neuschwanstein?"

Rosenstern closes his eyes a little, and his voice grows a little dreamy. "He was... he felt young, like me at the time. Like a barely-fledged Reliever -- or the equivalent for the fae. He didn't have the... the aura of nobility. It was like we were... equals, if that makes sense. Young and curious. There were a few hours during that night when we found each other together, just before the fae tried to form the Tether, before the demons crashed the place. We found each other in one of King Ludwig's hundreds of rooms. I don't know which of us touched the other first, only that we held each other in the onrushing night on a bed nestled beneath the downswept wings of a gilded swan sculpture. Held each other, and touched each other, and made love with each other. And I don't know if it was fae magic, but somehow it felt like it was the very first time for both of us."

Rosenstern adds softly, "Maybe for both of us it was -- the first time, that is, that we were with one from the Celestial or Ethereal realm. He's different now, as king of the fae -- stronger in both form and personality, and oh Adonai, so much more passionate than he had been then -- but it's still him."

Shateishael smiles thoughtfully, his fingers still slowly trailing through Rosie's hair as he considers... finally he rumbles quietly, "Tha's lovely, Rosebud. Yeah, 'm thinkin' I c'n trust 'im with ya. Y'min' if we talk 'bit 'bout what'd make us both comfy b'fore y'go spen' time wi'him, though?"

Rosenstern nods, opening his eyes. "Of course, Slate. I don't ever want to do anything you'd disapprove of."

Shateishael chuckles quietly, "Not worried 'bout that, sweet petal... but I wanna make sure I don' go all grouchy 'n growly 'cause I din' do sumpthin' right th'first time, y'know?" Rosenstern smiles softly and nods to Slate, who is silent a moment, then adds, "Bellisima, if'n I miss sumpthin', y'll remind me, please?"

Bella nods, smiling at the two men she's been sharing with, "I'll sing out if I hear something out of tune."

Shateishael smiles a bit ruefully at Bella, somewhat worried. He takes a deep breath, then continues to Rosenstern, "'Kay. Bella pointed out it's good ta check things out wi'each other 'head a' time, 'n she listed buncha stuff like penetration, oral sex, bruises, other marks, wearin' a collar, 'n stuff like that. So... I wanna be sure you tell 'im 'bout y'r safeword right up front, 'kay? 'N I'm thinkin' penetration 'n oral sex is upta you, sweet petal, but..." He stops again, taking another deep breath, then carefully rumbles, "I... think I'm gonna ask, least'ways f'r while beginnin', no marks on you, please. Don' wanna feel I'm not pr'tectin' ya 'nuff, y'know?" He adds a bit worriedly, "You 'kay wi' that?"

Rosenstern smiles, nodding, "I understand, Slate. I'm perfectly okay with that, and he will be, too." He leaves unsaid, of course, that if by some chance Soma is not okay with that, Rosie will be back at the camp in short order.

Shateishael sighs softly in relief... then rumbles, "'Kay, good t'hear." He's silent a moment more, then adds slowly, "An'... I feel funny askin' this, but I'd feel funnier-bad if'n I din'... but unless you 'bject, I'm thinkin' no one else but Soma, 'less it's me 'r Bella... an'... an' I'm thinkin' I wanna leave th'collar on ya, lovely. I'm happy t'make 'nother one tha's not steel, but..." he sounds almost embarrassed, curiously enough, "I... think Bellisima's right, an'... I don' wan' Soma f'gettin' you got folks 'at care lot 'bout you back here, y'know? 'Zat make sense?" He rubs his face a bit worriedly, rumbling, "Don' wan' you shared 'roun' wi' jus' anyone, after all... sorry..."

Rosenstern smiles a bit wider, reaching over to take Slate's hand. "Thank you, Slate. And I would be honored and pleased to wear this collar or any other you put on me."

Bella murmurs drowsily, "Mmm... truly doubt Soma would want to share..."

Shateishael sighs again, deeply relieved, as his fingers curl gently around Rosie's small hand. He nods to Bella, "Me neither, beautiful, but y'said was best t' talk it out 'head a' time, so wuz tryin' t'be thorough, y'know?" He draws Rosenstern close and rumbles quietly, "Thanks, Rosie. Makes me feel lot better 'bout this... 'n as always, you ever need me, 'm there soon's I can, 'kay?"

Rosenstern bobs his head, crawling over to hug Slate tightly. "I've never doubted that, Slate," he murmurs against Slate's chest. "I know you've always been there, and always will be."

Even later, it's a night when the fae have managed to keep from having a celebration of some sort. Bella has made a date with the Flower Ladies to show them some basics of clay-work; she kisses Rosie and Slate goodbye, urging the men to explore Black Rock City together. It's far enough into the festival that there are going to be a lot of people wandering around and celebrating once the sun has set. Indeed, once they leave the tent they find something that looks like someone took a sampling of things people wished they could be and set them down in the middle of the desert. It's a hard guess without getting close as to whether some of these people might be Ethereals letting their glamour down in the safety of the dark.

Shateishael grins, looking around with interest, "Whatcha think, Rosebud? Wander 'roun' here, 'r try f'th'club thin' we got tole 'bout?"

Rosenstern looks around, considering. "Mmmm, well, let's take a peek at it, then we can wander if it doesn't grab us. I mean, Burning Man lasts a while."

Shateishael chuckles, "Y'got that right. 'Kay." He puts an arm about Rosenstern's shoulders, pacing along easily next to the smaller man and looking around with interest. Rosenstern leans against Slate comfortably, letting out a soft sigh of contentment at being with him.

The residents of Black Rock City seem to just be visiting in the streets tonight. There are impromptu drum circles and people dancing in the various campsites. Some of the theme camps are thronging with people, but some are quiet and empty as if the denizens have gone elsewhere for their celebrations.

Shateishael is dressed as he was when he rode with the Comanche: thigh-high, fringed leather riding boots in light blue with moccasin feet, beaded and decorated... a similarly decorated, fringed loincloth, and his bright blonde hair pulled back with some shiny gewgaws restraining it. He's very comfortable -- he lived in clothes like this for almost five hundred years, and it feels natural to him. Consequently it's not surprising a drum circle draws him in, and he heads there to dance with great pleasure, as he learned to dance with 'Our People.' The only thing that could make it better, he reflects, would be if Bella and Thea were there too.

One of the women around the circle looks as if she could be Bella's older sister -- very slightly older. Her face isn't quite as round and her eyes tilt upward somewhat more, the color of the irises impossible to tell in the light of the fires and torches. Dark hair streams down her back, so long that she's actually sitting on part of it, and she's wearing a simple sarong, a drum between her knees as she sits on the edge of a sturdy camp chair. Her fingers are wrapped with what looks to be surgical tape as her hands dance across the hide of the drum's head.

Shateishael flashes a grin at the woman as he dances by in the circle, appreciating both her generosity in drumming for them -- as well as what that surgical tape signifies! She reminds him a little of his Comanche wife, Dancing Pony. He doesn't stop the slow, stamping dance and the chant, but he does sigh a little wistfully internally, wondering if she'd have liked this. It's a half turn later around the dance circle that it hits him... for the first time he's thought of Dancing Pony without pain or anger at her death. He's quietly pleased with himself... finally he's letting go, it seems. He thinks she'd be pleased too.

Rosenstern walks closely with Slate through the camps, thoroughly enjoying what Slate's wearing. He always enjoys being with Slate, but with him dressed like this he's absolutely delicious. If Rosie weren't wearing Slate's collar he'd be jumping on Slate in a heartbeat -- in multiple heartbeats. For his part, his garb is relatively simple: light, pale rose slacks and snug, high-collared longcoat in a Moghul style, light and breezy but warm in the chill desert evening. Despite this, though, he dances as best as he can, following Slate's steps.

The drumming woman shakes her head back off her face and tiny dark-colored horns can be seen where her bangs had been hiding them before. Her face is painted in whorls of something, outlining her mouth and eyes, spiraling around the horns. Her eyes catch Slate and Rosie and she grins widely, white-white teeth gleaming in the firelight. The rhythm she's drumming shifts from the complex finger-driven beat into something deeper, more primal, driven by the palms of her hands.

Rosenstern almost hesitates in his dancing. Oh, Scheisse! is his first reaction, though he relaxes almost immediately. It's vastly more likely here she's an Ethereal rather than Infernal. That reasoning lets him continue to dance with Slate, even as the beat becomes deeper and more primal than the dance was before. Probably not merely because the drum beat is becoming more suggestive, Rosie dances a bit closer to Slate. Shateishael grins delightedly at Rosie dancing with him, his eyes and teeth flashing in the firelight, and shifts his dancing to take Rosenstern's hands and draw him into the swirling, circling steps... whirling Rosie slowly in the dance around him just as he makes his slow, stamping-step-dance circles around the fire. He raises an amused eyebrow at sight of the woman's horns, but doesn't really stop to look -- he's seen so many horned things in the last few days it's not bothering him much any more.

The other dancers slow as well as the horned woman seems to lead the few other drummers into the slower, more heartbeat-like rhythm. Voices begin to be raised around the circle, a low, wordless ululation. There is joy and celebration in it, but an undertone of longing as well. Rosenstern is a little creeped out, but so far it's only a distant, tickling worry. The chant is starting to get to him though, and he cleaves to Slate all the more through the dance, feeling the sense of longing being translated in his mind as a longing to just be with Slate. Shateishael continues his low, rumbling chant as he dances, weaving it into the vocal music he's hearing. It seems right to him: there is joy in this celebration, in the Symphony, in life... but he can still long for those he's loved through the centuries, missing them even as he still feels joy for their ascension to Heaven. He smiles quietly at Rosenstern as they step through the slow, stamping dance, continuing to hold one of his hands if he wants.

Once the wordless singing and the drumming have become self-sustaining, the woman lets her drum come to rest on its base on the playa sand. She picks up a big bottle of water and takes a huge swig before rising enough to pull her hair from beneath her rump and pull it forward over her shoulder. Her eyes follow the two angels, a grin curling her lips. It's something between impish and admiring.

Rosenstern is a little concerned, but he's cast his concerns aside for the moment. After all, he's with Slate, firmly in Slate's grasp, and here in such close proximity to his lover (and dominant) nothing at all can hurt him. He half-closes his eyes, enjoying the closeness of Slate, his touch and grounding presence even as the chanting and drumming sweep him up into some other state of mind. Shateishael is very deeply into the dance -- it's not an exact recapture of the drumming men's dances he's danced so many times with the Nemene, but it's wonderfully reminiscent, and he realizes he's been too long gone from them. He makes a mental note to try and find some Native American pow-wows to attend, so he can immerse himself in the culture again... he's still proud to have been part of a people considered one of the happiest and most joyous ever seen by the invading missionaries. He grins and runs a hand along Rosenstern's shoulders, keeping the smaller angel close enough to guide him around the other dancers while his eyes are half closed.

The woman starts braiding her hair as she watches the angels together. The motions of her hands are sure and quick, as if she's done this many times before. That huge grin is on her face still and if the angels look close enough, her canines are perhaps a little oversized. She looks actually much like Bella did the first time the Celestials crossed the barrier into the fae encampment. Shateishael gets a slightly wistful look when he notices the woman braiding her hair -- he very much enjoyed doing that with Dancing Pony. He firmly reminds himself not to stare, and continues dancing... although he does lean to rumble quietly to Rosenstern, "Y'see th'woman over there wi'th'lovely long hair she's braidin'? Don' she look kinda like Bellisima th'firs'time inna fae camp?"

Rosenstern doesn't quite notice the woman again yet, so very content to let the drum beat pulse deep... deeper... deeper into his heart, giving himself to the drumbeat. "Mmmm?" he asks in a little bit of a daze. He's certain that if the drum beats go any further he'll gladly be stripping and doing things to Slate that are probably still illegal in this county... but Slate's words bring him -- somewhat -- out of his desirous reverie, and he continues the dance while at the same time casting a glance at the woman. "Wow.... she kind of does," he murmurs to Slate. "And she's looking right at us...."

Shateishael rumbles a bit wistfully, "Useta braid Dancin' Pony's hair like that... 'n she'd do mine too." He sighs a bit, then smiles, "Maybe Bella'd let me do hers if I asked." With her watching, the strange woman can't help but notice when the angels notice her. She laughs and blows a kiss to the pair of them. Shateishael tilts his head a bit curiously at that, then nods politely to her. He looks back at Rosenstern, "Um... we met her b'fore, here, 'r sumpthin'?"

Rosenstern smiles up to Slate and puts his arms around the angel, "I'm sure she would." He blinks at the blown kiss. "Okay... it's definitely not my imagination, then. Not that I know of, no."

Shateishael grins, distracted by Rosenstern's hug, and puts his arms around the slight Mercurian, whirling him slowly and gently off his feet as he leans back and circles in the rhythmic, stamping steps of the dance. He rumbles contentedly, "Y'r awful pretty, li'l Rose." A few steps further he adds, "Wanna go meet 'er? 'M guessin' she's mistakin' one 'r t'other of us f'someone else."

She pulls the drum back up into position and starts playing again and the beat follows her lead once more, pulling down to an even earthier beat, a quickened-pulse sort of heartbeat. The movements of the other dancers slide to meet it, becoming more about hips and thighs than the stamping feet and waving arms of before. Rosenstern blushes, smiling softly up to Slate. "If I am, it's because I'm with you," he murmurs softly. He nods a little more seriously then. "Y-yes, let's. If it's a case of mistaken identity... besides, I don't think I'd be able to keep my clothes on with this drum beat much longer...."

Shateishael grins lazily at Rosenstern, enjoying the feeling of Rosie's slender body stretched out along his chest... he blinks, then gives a bark of laughter at Rosie's proclamation, letting his hands slide slowly down Rosie's back to cup his rear. He teasingly rumbles, "Dunno, sweet petal... not p'lite t'interrupt a drummer practicin' their craft... might be a while!" The pattern repeats itself; she leads them into the beat, lets it set itself and lets the drum rest again, leaving the woman rubbing her hands together. Shateishael chuckles, "Well, darn. Guess we can go meet her now." He grins, gently nuzzling the top of Rosie's head as he carefully whirls them out of the dance circle without bumping anyone.

Rosenstern gives a soft moan with the touch upon him, and is just getting into the drum beat, starting to press against Slate closely with the dancing, when Slate's comment and nuzzle rouses him. Blushing intensely at how close he'd come to virtually doing the Lambada with Slate, he's whirled with the Seraph out of the circle. Shateishael grins affectionately at Rosenstern, standing still and supporting him for a few moments until he's sure Rosie's able to walk okay himself.

The woman beams as Slate and Rosie move toward her, and stretches, taking time to do it properly and make sure every muscle is stretched. It's a sensual display, but it doesn't seem to be purposeful -- just that she's enjoying feeling her body move. Shateishael ambles over with Rosenstern, smiling to see the woman enjoying herself so thoroughly. It is indeed a lovely night, and dancing for a long period of time has warmed him up pleasantly. He nods politely to her and rumbles, "Evenin', ma'am. We couldn' help but notice you noticin' us, 'n we wondered if'n y'were mistakin' us f'someone else." He waves a hand at Rosie, "This's m'frien' Rosenstern, 'n I'm Slate." Rosenstern ducks his head in a polite bow and smile in greeting.

The woman laughs warmly, and it's almost tangible -- a honey-thick sound. "No, no. I'm not mistaking you for anyone, sugar." There's just the bare hint of a drawl around the edges of her words, "You just seem to stand out a bit." Closer to her, it's obvious her skin and hair are shades of green, the hair so dark green it's almost black.

Shateishael considers that, then looks at Rosie thoughtfully. Hmm... yeah, he can buy that -- Rosie often looks good enough to eat! He grins at the woman, "Thank you, ma'am; tha's sweet a' ya." He pauses a moment, then curiously adds, "An' yer name is...?" Rosenstern blushes at the woman's comment, then again at Slate's look to him, smiling softly.

She laughs again and shakes her head, "Oh, it's not sweet. I like watching pretty men being together like that." She offers one hand. It is not a delicate hand, but it is nicely formed. If either of the angels take it, they can feel that she's got calluses on her fingers and palms as if she drums a lot, "Call me Electra."

Shateishael politely takes the woman's hand and bows over it, "Pleasure t'meetcha, ma'am." He grins, recognizing the touch of someone else who works with their hands extensively. Rosenstern's blush deepens even more. He shakes Electra's hand, still feeling curious.

Electra leans in toward the two angels, breathing in deeply through her nose and laughing again. "Pretty to look at and you both smell nice."

Shateishael raises an eyebrow -- what an odd person! He doesn't mind the scent of sweaty human, but he's surprised to meet a woman who doesn't seem to mind it. He tilts his head curiously as he studies Electra, "So why were y' tryin' t'ttract our 'ttention then?" Rosenstern blinks at the curious answer and comment about 'smell nice.'

Electra smiles and shrugs, an elegant gesture, "Most people try to attract the attention of people they find nice to look at, don't they?"

Shateishael smiles a little ruefully and doesn't answer that, since he's keenly wary of being referred to as a stalker or by some other unpleasant name... but he does rumble quietly, "Y'have lovely hair, ma'am."

Electra grins, "That's a little bit of a fib, actually. You dance like you've done that before. It's not the go-with-your-heart hippie sway a lot of folks do... not that following your heart is bad. You just dance like you're praising something." Her eyes move to Rosie, "He dances like he wants to flow into you."

Rosenstern swallows, and if it's even possible his blush goes even deeper. Shateishael's eyes light up a bit at that, and his smile gets more genuine, "Yes'm, I feel that's what dancin's all 'bout." He grins affectionately at Rosenstern, sliding an arm about his waist and drawing him closer, "An' that's one'a th'thing's that's s'sweet 'bout 'im."

Electra grins, "Some of my daughters dance. They like to bring something real to the places they work." The grin edges into impish, "Though some of them I suspect just like being naked in almost public." Slate's comment makes her eyes brighten with amusement, "He strikes me as an awfully sweet one."

Shateishael says, "He is, ma'am." Rosenstern leans against Slate. Flow into him... mm, I like that, and it doesn't even sound dirty... oh, wait, that came out all wrong...! He smiles shyly, not entirely sure what comment to make to that.

Shateishael's silent for a long moment, considering as he studies the small horns... then he reaches out (slowly enough that she can lean away if she wishes) to touch one -- he's suddenly, worriedly curious as to whether they're glued on or not. Not only doesn't she lean away, she actually leans into the touch. The horns are smooth but not perfectly so, and they feel like horn rather than plastic. If they're glued on, it's a fantastic job, since there's a small ridge of flesh at the base of each of them. "Oh, and he's a toucher; how very nice..."

Shateishael goes still for a moment, and Rosie can feel Slate's torso muscles tensing up. A moment later he pulls his hand carefully back, shifts so Rosie can't look directly at the woman any more, and rumbles very, very evenly, "Ma'am, might you also be known as Lilith?" Rosenstern blinks as Slate interposes himself between Rosie and Electra, and stiffens at the question, his breath catching.

The woman's eyebrows go up in amused surprise, "And direct..."

Shateishael says, "Yes'm."

She asks, "Why would you ask that?" The woman who gave her name as Electra doesn't seem defensive, just curious.

Shateishael is no longer looking the woman in the eyes either, although he's carefully remaining polite -- he's not, for example, staring at her chest instead. He rumbles, "Real horns, y'look jus' like a Bright frien' a' ours, 'n y'jus' mentioned y'r daughters like dancin' 'n nudity." He doesn't sound angry or upset... but he is worried and wary now. He tilts his head thoughtfully, then adds, "'N y'r not 'fraid a' m'size atall. Mos' women're li'l shy 'bout me reachin' out for 'em in this culture." He hesitates, then adds even more slowly, "An'... y'c'n tell what 'm dancin'."

She leans back in her seat, folding her hands over her stomach, "Most women are stupidly defenseless when they could be powerful. But this society's done it to them. Who do I remind you of?" She's not yet answered the question. Her impish smile returns for a second, "And I tend to like my men a little imposing."

Shateishael nods in agreement with her assessment of this society's treatment of women, then politely repeats, "A Bright frien' a' ours, ma'am. Beggin' y'pardon, but 'm not sure I wanna give out th'name jus' yet." He smiles faintly, although it doesn't really reach his eyes, "'M guessin' 'm right, though, since y'din' ask what a Bright was neither." He carefully doesn't say a word about her statement regarding imposing men.

Laughing again, she nods, "Yes. But I'm Electra here." She doesn't feel like a bad note. Rosenstern is standing behind Slate, feeling very, very small and more than a bit nervous. He knows how Lilith has been portrayed in Heaven, and he sees no real reason to believe otherwise. The Princess of Freedom earned her Word -- and despite being the first mortal woman, she's still very much Wordbound.

Lilith seems relaxed, as if she's confident that she's not in any danger, or as if she trusts the angels, "I like that you're protecting one of my daughters. Though I suppose she's sort of adopted by someone else now."

Shateishael tilts his head confusedly. She just said she's Lilith... so why can't he feel any disturbance from her in the Symphony? He nods absently at her words, mumbling, "Yes'm," as he tries to sort through the impressions he's getting and still remain polite. He finally shakes his head, perplexed, and simply says what he's thinking, "Ma'am, what are you?" Then he blinks and rumbles sheepishly, "Uhmmm... that din' come out right, sorry..."

The question makes her laugh, "That's a new one, you know... well, not new, but not one I've heard in a long, long time." She leans forward, elbows on her knees, hands dangling between them, "I'm unique, Slate, except maybe for Yves. My boss calls me a Princess. Your boss might call me a demon. I've been called a bitch and a whore and a goddess and mother. I'm Freedom. What are you?"

Rosenstern leans up against Slate's back, his heart racing hard, and not in a good way... Shateishael is silent for a long moment, thinking. Finally he rumbles, "My 'xperience is th'goddesses a' conquered peoples turn into th'demons 'n fears a' th'conquerors... an' th'more patriarchal th'cultures become, th'more they fear independent women. But that's not what I'm askin', ma'am. You'n I both know th'Bible's not accurate history. You were 'live then, 'n I've talked t'an angel that saw th'dinosaurs. So... if there wasn' any Adam 'n Eve, then there wasn' a Lilith neither." He absently trails the fingers of one hand along Rosie's side, trying to be reassuring (and completely forgetting Lilith's comment about his being a 'toucher') as he thoughtfully adds, "So... y'aren't a demon, not truly. Y'r not Lilith." He grins suddenly, although it's a careful grin, asking, "Are you one a' th'angels that din' d'clare f'either side, ma'am?"

There's not a thing menacing about the woman. She sits with her drum, looking relaxed and friendly. She glances toward Rosie and smiles, "I don't bite, sugar. Not without asking first." Then she looks back at Slate, her face pleasantly curious, "No Adam and Eve? You sure about that? Absolutely sure that there isn't even a grain of truth there? Just a teeny little gleam of real in the metaphor?"

Rosenstern isn't terribly comforted. And to his mind, awash with thoughts of the fae, he still worries. There may have not been an Adam, but the concept of Adam Kadmon still exists, so why not that of Lilith? And why couldn't that concept have a personality, a spirit, a soul? And why couldn't that soul become Wordbound? And... what does that mean for Celestials in general?

Shateishael raises an eyebrow, then grins, teasing right back, "Ma'am, d'you ever answer a question directly?"

Lilith laughs again, a gorgeous rolling sound, "Why would I want to do that?" Her nose wrinkles a little when she grins that widely, making her look less unearthly. She leans close to Slate and Rosie, close enough that she can whisper and still be heard over the drums, "That's a secret I'm not willing to give away lightly, even to two pretty angel-boys who're protecting one of my daughters. Or is it a son?"

Shateishael grins again, then shrugs, "Had t'try, ma'am... tha's a question I've been wond'rin' 'bout f'while now." He chuckles, shaking his head, "S'okay, I unnerstan' y're not gonna answer." He glances over his shoulder at Rosenstern, then adds politely, "Been fascinatin' talkin' with ya, but 'm thinkin' we're not th' folks t'be tellin' ya that either. Er, t'be tellin' ya 'bout th'Bright."

Lilith nods, grinning even wider. She seems really pleased that Slate's not tricked into giving away anything about Bella, "You must not believe all the propaganda either, if you're just standing here talking and not desperately trying to figure out how to get home and tell your boss I'm here."

Shateishael chuckles, "Ma'am, if I wuz that worried I'd jus' call 'im. An' I din' say I din' b'lieve th'propaganda... I jus' think it'd be damn 'xcitin' t'be someone that got t'help th'Word a' Freedom b'come truly free." He smiles with almost shy pleasure, glancing away for a moment as he adds, "Felt real good helpin' th'Bright too."

Lilith's brows go up and she looks amazed and amused, "Did you just make an offer to get me out from under my boss' thumb?"

Shateishael rumbles politely, "Yes'm." He curiously adds, "That so s'prisin'?"

Lilith laughs, tipping her head to the side and looking disconcertingly like Bella for a moment, "Honestly? Yeah, it sorta is." She looks to Rosie, "How about you, pretty thing? You don't look like the white knight type..."

Shateishael looks a bit unhappy for a moment, "Really? Damn shame, then, t'hear there're angels f'rgettin' we're s'pposed t'be helpin' folks come back t'heaven." He considers, then adds thoughtfully, "Think that'd be th'ultimate freedom, though -- t'be able t'go anywhere y'wanted -- Heaven, Hell, 'r th'Marches -- rather than havin' t'avoid Heaven on 'ccount a' it's s'pposed t' damage demons." Shateishael grins at the comment to Rosie, although he doesn't shift. If Rosenstern wants to stay behind him, that's fine with him.

Rosenstern stiffens behind Slate, blinking. He can't even bring himself to breathe. Some small part of his mind is realizing that even though he totally agrees with Slate, they are both now so deep into heresy that if Dominic ever finds out, Rosie has a feeling that scattering their Forces would be the least of what could happen to them... and that more than anything tells him Slate's right. He peeks out from behind Slate, swallowing and gathering up his courage. "I know, ma'am," he says sheepishly, "and Mom might not completely approve... but if you don't want to be still under L- uhm, the Lightbringer's dominion, why wouldn't I want to help with that in any way we can?"

Shateishael growls quietly, "He ain't th'Lightbringer n'more."

Lilith makes a come-closer motion with her finger, eyes glinting with amusement, "I'm. Not. A. Demon." She laughs softly, "And neither are my daughters."

Shateishael doesn't come any closer, but he does consider for a long moment... then his eyes light up and he says, "All right then, ma'am." He holds out a hand, "Come with me there, 'n show me 'm wrong?"

Lilith shakes her head, chuckling wryly, "It doesn't harm me to go there, Slate. But someone would notice. Do you want to get your forces scattered for bringing me in? Because I know I don't want to run into little Nicky or Mikey."

Shateishael is still for a moment -- then makes a choked noise as he tries to hold back the laughter! He coughs a few times until he gets himself back under control, then grins, "Ahem. Uhm... yeah. Don' think my Forces'd get scattered by my S'perior, ma'am, although he might not take kindly t'yer presence. But I'm sure if'n y'came 'cause y'wanted t'Redeem he'd be right pleased." Then he holds up a hand, ruefully adding, "I know, I know. I c'n dream."

Lilith shakes her head, shrugging, "Honey, I never fell in the first place. In his way, your boss -- not your Creator but your actual boss -- is a harsher taskmaster than my boss. And he holds a long, long grudge." She seems to remember something and looks to Rosie again, "You called her Mother. Not a lot of your folks feel that close to their Creators. You have to be one of Novalis' sweethearts."

Shateishael folds his arms, "If y'r talkin' 'bout Yahweh, 'm not christian, 'n tha's not who's th' Source a' th'Light a' Truth. But if y'wanted t'let me know whatcha'd need t'come back, I'd be happy t'see if'n I could make it happen f'you." He pauses, then amends, "Wait... tha's what geasa are, right? Crap... y'r not gonna wanna tell me that, are ya." He falls silent again, musing. Rosenstern blushes at being recognized at one of Novalis's servitors, though he remains silent, listening to the conversation with the faintest of senses of terror gnawing at his Heart.

Slate's response clearly surprises her again, "You think there's only one source of it?" Lilith chuckles, and for once she sounds a little tired, "I'd need for Nicky and Mikey and Larry to get off their high horses and quit trying to control everyone. I don't care who's actually in charge -- if they're running the big show, I'm not coming back."

Shateishael glances up at Lilith's comment about truth, then nods, "Sure. Symphony's th'Symphony." He listens to her response... then sighs quietly.

She smiles, "And just like an earthly symphony, it's not going to sound right if the music is just coming from one place."

Shateishael shakes his head, "It doesn't. Comes from us all." He adds thoughtfully, "Even you. 'N you don' soun' discordant."

Lilith nods, "Exactly... so doesn't that make everything that contributes a source of truth? And I've listened -- it's not all trumpets, so there's more than one source." She tips her head, still smiling. The resemblance to Bella is almost eerie, "Why would I be? I've not done anything to violate my own truth."

Shateishael rumbles amusedly, "Neither d'th'Liars violate their own truth-beliefs, but they're a right royal pain inna ass t'be 'roun' from alla their janglin'." He considers thoughtfully... then shakes his head, "No'm. If'n that was th'case, demons'd be addin' t'th'Symphony." He adds amusedly, "An' yes'm, we're not all trumpets 'n Cherubs."

Lilith wrinkles her nose, "Ick. Those idiots have some of the biggest damn blinders on..." She laughs, making a 'and there you have it' motion, "And since I'm not one...."

Shateishael coughs again, trying not to laugh too much -- he's startled to hear a demon prince disliking the Balseraphs! Then he nods, "Yes'm, but I was on'y sayin' I din' agree that-" he cuts off, frowning as he ponders, then rumbles slowly, "Y'sayin' demons don' contribute t'th'Symphony? So that'd mean... Ethereals do... whoa..."

The drummers and dancers have slowly been drifting away until the only people left at the campfire are the two angels and the Princess. Lilith smiles, looking almost smugly satisfied at Slate's conclusion. Shateishael frowns, fascinated by the philosophical implications, "Which means... if'n whatch're sayin' is c'rrect... we c'n fin' truth in humans, angels, 'n Ethereals..." He looks up and grins delightedly, "Cool!"

She turns her attention to Rosie again, smiling at the shy little Novalite, "Is he always this enthusiastic?"

Shateishael adds determinedly, "Well, th' on'y way I know t'get th' S'periors y'mentioned off their high horses is t'remove th'cause a'their worries, which means-" He cuts off at her comment, looking suddenly rather self-conscious, "Umm... sorry, ma'am."

Rosenstern blinks, looking at Slate slowly as it sinks into him as well. Oh, Adonai... the Crusade was even more of a sin than I had thought... if she's right... but if she's not a demon... and she's certainly not an angel (or is she?) then... that would make her.... Wordbound? Human Wordbound? Ethereal Wordbound?! He blinks at the question and smiles shyly, nodding his head. "Yes. Wonderfully so, yes."

Lilith asks, "Did I say it was a bad thing?"

Shateishael tilts his head at Rosenstern, his sheepish grin shifting to a quietly happy one, "Whoa... thank you, Rosebud -- tha's sweet a' you!"

The Princess of Freedom stands and leans over, stretching her back until she can put her hands flat on the playa sand, "Mmm. Well, boys, it's been fascinating." She stands and picks up her drum, slinging it over her shoulder by a woven strap, "But I've got a couple more circles I promised to visit tonight. Maybe I'll see you around the City?" She asks it with one brow arched.

Shateishael is silent a moment, watching the woman... then he nods slowly, "Yes'm, if you want I'm sure you'll see us 'roun'." He doesn't mention Bella being there as well. He'll warn her of Lilith's presence, but past that he's not sure what she'll want to do -- so he keeps quiet about her. He pauses, then adds, "Why're you bein' kind t'us, if y'don' mind my askin'?"

Lilith pauses and gives Slate a surprised look, "You've not offered me violence; why would I be mean to you?"

Shateishael slides an arm about Rosenstern's shoulders as the slight Mercurian peers nervously past him. He nods slowly, rumbling, "'Ppreciate it, ma'am. Very Stone a' you."

Lilith shakes her head and winks as she turns to walk off, "No, very Free of me." With that, she sways off into the night, carrying her drum to help out another circle of humans who are trying hard to embrace Freedom. Shateishael laughs softly, hugging the quivery Rosenstern gently close... and heads the other way.

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

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