| Logs |
2007 February 28
| Law |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
| Realms: Law Logs |
The purge.
Shateishael has been tremendously enjoying Peony's visit -- somewhat to his surprise, he recognizes the little leprechaun's exuberant zest for life, and it's a pleasure to see that flaring up again in the folks she's around. It makes him feel more adventuresome as well, in fact, and he decides it'd be fun to drive around the area some, like he did when he first arrived here and was scouting the place out. Once he does a bit of planning on where to go and what he should take, he'll ask Peony if she'd like to take a day trip on the bike with him.
Peony laughs and wraps her arms around Slate's waist when he suggests a day trip on the bike. She's been taking every chance possible to go riding with Thea, encouraging the mare to really let it all out on gallops, just as she did the first time Peony rode double with Slate. Thea's very much enjoyed the company, although she's careful to refrain from any of the happy bucks she occasionally indulges in during her dawn runs. Peony says, "Oh, that sounds like it could be fun." She pauses, "I have to wear a helmet, don't I?"
Shateishael nods amusedly, his voice firm, "Yes, ma'am, y'do. I don' take anybody onna bike wi'out pr'tective clothin'. We c'n borrow one'a th'leather jackets f'ya too -- 'm thinkin' Rosie's might be th'best bet?" He grins teasingly, "Y'ain't quite small 'nuff t'jus' stuff down th'front a' my jacket."
Peony looks at Slate and burrows her way under his shirt, though she can't actually move once she's done that and her voice is muffled against his skin, "You're right. Not a good idea."
Shateishael chuckles rumblingly, running a hand lightly down her back, "Innit hard t'breath in there, sweetheart?" He tilts his head, considering, then rumbles, "'Though... might be fun t'try... um, later." He grins.
The squirming out actually takes a little more time than the snuggling in did, perhaps because she's liking being all snugged against Slate's chest and stomach, "OK. Stretchier shirt next time. I'll be happy to strap on Rosie's jacket. But if I'm going to be visiting, I might have to get one of my own."
Shateishael blinks at all the wriggling... then continues stroking Peony's back, enjoying the touching himself as well. Once she's out he laughs, then cheerfully adds, "So, there's coupla national parks nearby, less'n day 'way, 'n thoughtcha might like t'go camp out at one overnight, see th'sunset 'n sunrise from a good spot?" He beams at her last comment, "Be happy t'take ya t'th'guys that made Bellisima's 'n th'Rosebud's jackets? Good folks." He adds with quiet pleasure, "'N we're happy t'have ya visit all y'want?"
The little leprechaun laughs quietly and nods, "I'll grab the bottle of Lagavulin and we'll spend the night talking."
Shateishael beams again, "'Kay! 'N Rosie said he'd make us a picnic basket too, so's y'don' go hungry. I c'n pack a bedroll too, if'n y'need t'sleep?"
Peony nods and smiles, "Bring a tent with us, too. Never hurts to be completely prepared."
Shateishael nods and smiles, "Figger'd's much. 'Kay, we c'n leave t'morra mornin' if'n y'want?" He grins shyly, adding, "I, um, packed already, f'jus' in case... 'n Rosie's got th'stuff f'eatin' ready inna fridge f'us."
Peony laughs, throwing her head back, "You're so funny sometimes. But sweet."
Shateishael grins again, not sure what's so funny, but happy to see Peony pleased, "Um, thanks?"
Peony smiles, "You're welcome. I'll see if I actually brought any good heavy jeans."
Early the next morning, just after sunrise, the big old BMW roars off, laden with camping gear and lots of tasty nibblies from Rosie. Peony's been carefully wrapped up in Rosie's leather jacket, and Slate's shown her how to work the helmet mike. After cheerful hugs and kisses from everyone, and Thea snortingly racing them down the driveway, the Celestial and the Ethereal are on their way, heading for a nearby National Park with both forests and cliffs available. Peony grumbles good naturedly about the helmet, but pays close attention to how it's safely strapped on and uses an extra belt to fasten Rosie's jacket more securely around herself. On the bike itself, she hugs herself as close as she can against the Seraph's back as the bike roars down the road, the desert whipping by around them.
Shateishael smiles in quiet pleasure as Peony snugs herself up close behind him, patting her arm gently and rumbling into the mike, "If'n y'han's get cold, y'c'n put 'em in m'pockets, 'kay?" He laughs softly, adding, "So whatcha got 'gainst wearin' helmet, hnh?"
Peony speaks a little louder than she means to, not knowing how well the helmet mike carries sound. "Can I put them in your pockets even if they aren't cold?" she teases Slate, answering his question, "I just wondered what it would feel like to have the wind whipping through my hair."
Shateishael laughs quietly again, "Yeah, if'n y'wan'... 'course. Nuthin' in there right now, though, since I got m'gloves on. 'N y'get th'wind in y'r hair ev'ry mornin' wi'Thea-" he grins, "-that not 'nuff for ya, greedy leprechaun?"
Peony very carefully pushes her hands into Slate's pockets, wiggling her fingers a little bit, letting Slate feel just where her fingers reach through the cotton pocket liners. "Thea doesn't go sixty miles an hour!"
Shateishael considers that for a moment, then nods, "True... but she's gotta Song a' Healin', n' I don', sweetheart." He grins ruefully, "Sorry," then adds a bit curiously, "Whatcha doin' there?"
A very ingenuous voice comes back over the mike, "Doing where?"
Shateishael chuckles lazily, "Y'really need me t'answer that, lover?" It's a glorious late summer morning, with the local wildlife just settling for the day or just awakening, and traffic is still light. Slate's on his powerful old bike, with one of his amazing lovers snugged up cozily behind him... what could be better? He's in a tremendously good mood.
Peony laughs and wiggles her fingers again, petting Slate's thighs and trying to be careful to not be too distracting, "Touching you. Your thighs move interestingly when you ride a bike or a horse." She rests her cheek against Slate's back, though it's really the hard curve of the helmet.
Shateishael smiles, enjoying Peony's touch even through all the layers of cloth, "'S all a matter a' balance, sweetheart." He's silent a moment, then adds, "Y'havin' nice time visitin', li'l lover?"
There's an obvious nod against Slate's back, Peony's voice sounding almost dreamy as it sometimes get during and after a particularly invigorating romp with Thea, "It's been fantastic."
Shateishael's smile warms with happiness inside the helmet, and he rumbles a bit shyly, "Good... 'm real glad t'hear it, sweetlin'." He hesitates, then adds almost diffidently, "Um... so, there anythin' in p'tic'lar y'wanna do we han't done yet?"
Peony laughs, "Well, this is one of them. Bike ride, watching more sunsets and sunrises. Time to talk about the Purge."
Shateishael is quiet a moment, then rumbles slowly, "Y'okay wi'that, sweetheart? Don' hafta if'n y'don' wanna."
The Ethereal pulls her hands out of Slate's pocket to hug around his waist again, "I'm very OK with that. You might have to deal with me crying in your lap a little, but I don't mind that."
Shateishael nods, one of his large hands stroking gently along her arm, "'S fine wi' me, sweetheart. Don' mind a'tall."
Peony smiles a little, thinking, [We're going to find out what happens when an Ethereal falls in love with an angel soon if he keeps up this way...] The idea doesn't frighten her in the least.
Shateishael is careful to take breaks every two hours so Peony can get off the bike and stretch her legs, and have a nibble to eat or a drink if she wants. Since he's not sure precisely how much care she needs, until she tells him otherwise he tends to follow the needs for humans -- he knows she's sturdier than a human, so that should be more than enough for her. He's happy to let her enjoy the ride as pleases her, whether that's through chatting, singing, or simply silently taking in the wild, harsh beauty of the passing desert. She is uncommonly silent for most of the ride, the way her face glows during the stops enough to say just how much she's delighting in this experience. Shateishael is rather relieved to see Peony seems to be enjoying herself -- a small part of him still worries a little that someone as vibrantly, energetically alive as she or Bella will find a big, slow, easy-going Stone angel ultimately boring.
About two hours later, the big bike pulls in at the entry gate of the National Park. Slate pays the requisite fees for the park and camping, then they roll on in. Shateishael rumbles cheerfully to Peony, "So, y'hungry? We c'n pick a spot t'camp right 'way, 'r park 'n eat, 'r park 'n hike, 'r whutever y'wanna do?"
Peony is breathing in the scents around her, "I'm not hungry just yet... let's find a spot to camp and then maybe go see what we can see."
Shateishael nods and, with input from Peony, they've soon selected a spot. The tent is put up with the ease of long experience, the bedroll and helmets tossed inside, and everything else locked neatly into the bike. Slate grins down at Peony, "'Kay, 'm thinkin' a' puttin' some food inta backpack f'just in case, 'n then we got th'whole day t'explore. Soun' good t'you?"
Peony has stripped out of the jacket and made sure to get a good sturdy pair of hiking boots on, "Sounds like you've been planning this very carefully." There's a tone of somewhat surprised approval.
Shateishael grins and rubs the back of his head a bit, "Well, uhm... t'others helped? I'll, uh, jus' go get th'backpack ready..." He's soon shed the leathers, easily shouldered the stuffed backpack -- not being sure how much Peony will need, he tends to once again overcompensate a bit -- and beams at Peony a few moments later, "Ready when you are!" Internally he blesses all his lovely hearthfolk, who take such good care of him and don't let him forget important things like water bottles and blankets for his Ethereal lover!
Peony is still seeming a little dreamy, smiling at Slate as he busies himself taking care of it. It's a surprisingly nice feeling, having someone do nice things for her because he thinks it will make her happy and safe, "Off to the west, maybe? See what kind of sunset view we can find? If you think you can get us back here in the dark."
Shateishael says, "Sure -- all th'paths here are marked, so it's a snap t'folla in th'dark." He hesitates, then offers her his hand, "C'n show ya big bluff I 'member from coupla years ago?"
Peony slips her small hand into Slate's larger one, grinning up at him, "Sounds absolutely perfect."
The rest of the morning is spent in a sort of pleasant timelessness. Slate is happy to go hiking with Peony for as long as she'd like, wandering under trees and pointing out wildlife and spoor and naming the local flora... if she seems at all interested he's even happy to tell stories about when he rode with Thea and the Comanche, "coupla years 'go, 'r thereabouts," although he ruefully notes it's a very different biome over there. The little leprechaun seems not only interested, but at times downright fascinated. She wore her human glamour on most of the ride, but once they were in the park proper she dropped it, and she scampers from one new sight to the next almost gleefully. At one point, she shinnies her way up a tree to retrieve a particularly interestingly colored leaf.
Shateishael laughs, watching with great pleasure in her delight, suiting his pace to hers and gladly offering her a hand up or over or across whatever may have attracted her attention. He's rather distracted more than once at the way the sunlight seems to turn her hair to molten copper... it's astonishingly lovely, and he tends to touch her with careful wonder when he's so distracted. Peony doesn't seem to mind the touching or the helping at all. Her wonder doesn't seem to slack a bit, but she's also not seeming to pay much attention to which way they're going, trusting to Slate to keep them on the path and headed in the right direction.
The walk eventually turns into more of a hike, and it's clear they're getting well off the beaten path as they go up the mountain. The trees become both scraggier and thicker, and at one point the two have to stop and wait for a snake to slither off the path before them. Slate points out the distinctive markings, "Not poisonous, but no harm in lettin' th'li'l guy have some space, y'know?"
Peony smiles and watches the snake slither off, bouncing on the balls of her feet slightly, "They're really interesting creatures... they've got a lot of non-venomous snakes in the Appalachians too. Rat snakes, mostly." From time to time, she stops long enough to nibble something from the backpack.
Shateishael makes sure they both stay hydrated as well, and nods at Peony's comment, "M'fav'rite's th' li'l hognose snake. They really gotta li'l turned up nose, 'n they play dead. S'jus' 'mazin'ly cute!"
Peony grins, "They play dead? Not on command, I'm guessing?" She giggles to herself about little pug-nosed snakes, swinging herself up into another tree just to see what she can see from the upper branches.
Shateishael explains to Peony about how hognoses will dramatically and artistically seem to 'die' when caught, rolling onto their backs and with their jaws falling open... and if you turn them over onto their stomachs again, after a moment's hesitation... they slowly roll right back over! He grins, adding, "Mebbe they think that's deader lookin' 'r sumpin'?"
Peony hangs from one of the lower branches of the tree, swinging by her hands, "Maybe they think you just missed it the first time?"
Shateishael laughs! "Don' think they gotta real high 'pinion a' us, then!" He grins up at Peony, adding, "Y'havin' good time, beautiful? Y'hair looks so pretty inna sunlight like that..."
She drops to the leaf-strewn ground with a quiet thump and a laugh, "I'm having a great time. I haven't been hiking in this part of the country before. It's fantastic."
Shateishael beams shyly at the athletic little leprechaun, "Glad t'hear it. Thoughtcha might like it."
Peony flings herself at Slate's waist, hugging him enthusiastically for a moment before scampering away, "You'll have to go hiking with me off the Blue Ridge sometime."
Shateishael blinks a bit startledly at the sudden hug, then laughs softly and returns it for as long as she remains. He grins, shaking his head and calling after her, "Love to!" as they continue up the mountainside.
Peony's scampering and enthusiasm are something very like a very enthusiastic and affectionate puppy at times. She'll dart off to look at something new, but always comes back to Slate to make sure she's headed in the right direction. Shateishael grins amiably, watching -- he tries to keep an eye on her for just in case, but unless he notices her do something clearly dangerous he has no intention of trying to rein in that wonderful exuberance! Besides, he knows she's trekking two or three times as far as he on the way up... so he might as well conserve his energy for carrying her down if necessary. That, he realizes with a small thrill of enjoyment, would actually be rather nice!
The two non-humans eventually get to the windy top of the mountain, although it's clear there are higher mountains nearby. Slate explains this is the westernmost one still within the park, and leads her through the scraggly trees to the cliff side he remembers. There's a breathtaking view of the land spreading out before them, beyond a sheer fall of several hundred feet "Here y'are, sweetheart -- we c'n sit 'n have lunch, 'n watch th'sunset.
Peony settles herself on the cliff in rapturous enjoyment of the land spreading out, "Oh... this is fantastic. We don't have views quite like this on the east coast. The mountains are older, more gentle."
Shateishael nods, "Not s'tall in th'middle 'a Texas either. 'S nice here, though." He pulls out a blanket for them to sit on, and a nice cold pack of food. "Okay, lessee whut th'li'l Rosebud made f'us..." There's fried chicken, sliced fruit, cole slaw, corn, three-bean salad, and other tasty nibblies. Slate grins happily as he lays the food out, "Gonna hafta thank 'im later f'sucha feast! He'p y'self, sweetheart?"
Peony falls upon the food quite hungrily. Running at the pace she has been has left her ravenous when her body finally stops long enough to realize she needs to put something in it, "I'll have to give him a hug, definitely... my god, this is fantastic. If you eat like this all the time, I'm definitely going to have to visit more often."
Shateishael laughs, only nibbling lightly himself -- he finds he's enjoying tremendously watching Peony enjoy herself! He rumbles amusedly, "Rosenstern's quite sumpin', tha's f'sure! He wuz m'first hearthfolk in Ar'zona. Real sweetheart."
As the sun starts to sink, Peony nestles herself comfortably in Slate's lap, reaching back to wrap the Seraph's arms around her like a blanket. Shateishael carefully packs away any remaining food and debris, then pulls out two little plastic tumblers and the bottle of fine Scotch. He sets them and the backpack to his side, then tucks Peony neatly in with the blanket around them both. When she pulls his arms around her he smiles, happy to hug her close and quite willing to wait until she feels ready to talk.
Peony takes her glass of Scotch, breathing in the rich scent of it before taking a sip and murmuring something in a liquid, rolling tongue. The cadence makes it sound like it might be a poem. Her exuberance has faded somewhat, but she seems content to be quiet for a moment after. Shateishael listens in silent interest as he has a slow sip of the drink himself. He smiles lazily at the smoky, peaty flavor, savoring it with pleasure, then sighs contentedly at the burn as he swallows. After a moment or two, Peony translates,
"The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,She continues quietly, "W. H. Auden. The Funeral Blues. When I first heard it, I immediately thought of what it was like just after the Purge."
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good."
Shateishael draws a slow breath... then draws Peony to lean against him under the blanket, if she wishes, and gently strokes her hair. Peony sips the Scotch, letting the smoky, deep taste coat her tongue, savoring the warmth of it on her palate before swallowing, "It was shocking when it came. Some of the Ethereals had been working very closely with the Celestials, but some were also agitated at the way some of the angels were trying to put so many strictures on everything."
Shateishael sighs quietly, watching the sky turn to flaming golds and oranges and scarlets. He rumbles softly, "Whut kinda strictures, sweetheart?"
Peony's eyes are closed as she feels the tug on her heart that she gets when she thinks about the horrible realization that Purity was set on extinction. "Mostly on the humans. A lot of them saw us as divine, and that just wouldn't do if there really was one true god."
Shateishael rumbles quietly, "They put strictures onna humans, or on y'all's dealin's wi'th'humans?" He bows his head over the little Ethereal. He aches for her pain, even as he knows he can't ever really comprehend the horror she experienced... not for the last time, he wishes there were something he could do to help, to make it better, to... to do something... but for now all he knows to do is to be warm, solid, reassuring, and comfortable... and to let Peony tell the story in her own time, in her own way. He sighs softly, then quietly pours a bit more Scotch into her glass. Maybe that will help a tiny bit.
Peony takes a deep breath and sips at the refilled whisky tumbler, "On humans dealing with us. It started to cut us off from the Marches. Our tethers were fading, being destroyed. Even if we tried to flee, we were hunted. Uriel went for the strongest of us first. Mab, Titania, Oberon, Hearn, Cernunnos, Zeus, Odin, anyone else they thought might be able to put up real resistance. Some of us managed to fade in with the humans enough that we almost forgot what we really are. Some of us fled to faerie and started trying to fortify the borders. We started taking down what Tethers we had left. Which cut off the world from us, but also gave Uriel's Horde fewer ways to get in after us.
Shateishael rumbles in quiet horror, "This... this wuz on-goin'? It wuzn't one fell swoop?!"
Peony shook her head, "The first strike was devastating, but time is strange in Faerie. It seemed like weeks while we were there. We'd send people out to try and bring in lost or isolated Ethereals. Well more than half of the people that went out never came back."
Shateishael whispers softly, "Oh my dear goddess..." He falls silent, taking slow breaths and continuing to stroke Peony's hair.
She continues, "I figure they just managed to keep word from getting back for a few days, a week at most, and by the time anyone realized he was mad, it looked like it was just one huge swathe of slaughter." Peony knocks back the rest of the Scotch and reaches for the bottle, face slightly grim. The leprechaun's slit-pupiled eyes are suspiciously shiny, even in the dimming light. "It was a bit of a shock," she says wryly. "By the time it was safe to leave Faerie, we couldn't any more. Well, the ones that were back there couldn't. Not easily." The leprechaun takes a deep breath and looks at Slate very seriously as if gauging something.
Shateishael nods silently, listening. He wonders who killed the Ethereals... was it just Uriel and his Malakites, or did other angels from other Superiors join in? He doesn't know what Peony's gauging, but he's patient -- he leaves it up to her, and simply continues to be there for her as best he can. Peony licks her lips nervously, "We had some help from time to time. Beings that were... strong enough... to help some of us pass the boundaries."
Shateishael reaches into a pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, gently pushing it into her empty hand. He rumbles quietly, "Don' hafta tell me if'n y'don' wanna, sweetheart."
Peony dabs rather ineffectually at her cheeks, laughing shakily, "It's just not something we talk about much. And there's been some worry that knowing about it could cause some of you problems with your archangels."
Shateishael sighs quietly, "Dunno, lovely. But I c'n tell ya this: if'n I somehow find out whutcher True Name is, 'n y'ask me to, I'm willin' t'promise t' not tell anyone 'bout it." He doesn't say anything further... he's not entirely sure David would be pleased with a courteous refusal to give information, even if it was for an honorable purpose. However, he also knows it's possible he may find out her name without her meaning to give it... and he doesn't know any better way to reassure her. He sighs quietly, not letting himself worry about it -- Peony needs him right now.
Peony pushes on a little bit, "Things were upside down and just crazy. A lot of us had helped Celestials with watching their charges or with protecting churches." She takes a deep breath, "The courts of the Celts were scattered and we were trying to pull ourselves back together. There was a lot of resistance from what used to be the High Court. Gaelach and his like. It was a while before Soma convinced enough of us to band together and help out, see what we could find out about other Ethereals. That's when we started gathering in the satyrs and the Norse and some of the Eastern beings. One day a pair of beings showed up on the borders of what was left of Faerie."
Shateishael nods, listening and hoping against hope the 'strong enough' beings weren't demons and their ilk. Peony looks at Slate's face, trembling a little, probably with nerves, "They were angels, Slate. Archangels. Two of the gentle ones." She squirms in his lap, heat rising to her face as she works against some very long-held taboos, "Eli. And the Flowerkin's mutter, as he calls her."
Shateishael carefully takes the hankie from Peony and gently wipes her tear-streaked face, smiling faintly, "They're good people, yeah. G'wan, sweetheart... I'm lis'nin'."
Peony nods, smiling crookedly as her face is wiped by the gentle angel, "They couldn't open a permanent tether, because it would have been noticed. But they took some of us back to earth; established contact with us. They couldn't manage to let us cross back and forth more than every few years."
Shateishael rumbles quietly, "Good f'them." He sighs, then adds quietly, "Hope some a'th'others helped out too, even if b'hind th'scenes." He pauses, then rumbles slowly, "Peony... whut happened t'Eli?"
Peony shrugs slightly, "They're the only two I've ever met. Eli... he still comes and goes some. No one's seen the Flower Lady in a long, long time. I think something's been keeping her away. Like she's being watched." Shateishael nods slowly again, thinking carefully as he waits for Peony (in her current slightly drunken state) to register his question. The leprechaun shrugs, "I think he got caught between trying to work inside something he felt was trying to choke creativity and not wanting to give up the power to take care of everything that is so dear to him." She considers for a moment, eyeing the bottle as if she might take her next swig straight from it, but then she pours herself a slightly smaller splash of the amber liquid.
Peony is swaying a bit, even sitting down. "It's Lui Greine, by the way," she mumbles, head resting back against Slate's chest. Shateishael smiles at Peony's reaction to the bottle, then just nods again, keeping his arms wrapped warmly about her. At her words he blinks -- was that her True Name?! He's not even sure he should ask! Does she know what she said?! She takes a moment to say anything else, then sighs softly, "Means Sunset. 'S Ir'sh Gaelic." As the whisky takes a little stronger hold, her normally very soft brogue is thickening. She smiles up at Slate and he realizes that before she said anything else, he'd known her name. Somehow, the knowledge was there before she said it.
Shateishael sits very still for several heartbeats... then, finally, he carefully strokes Peony's hair where her head rests against his chest. He rumbles softly, "'S okay, lovely... y'safe now... 's okay..." He's confused, even as he's very, very sure he's speaking Truth to her. Were their names what swapped, like the Ethereals have happen? Does she know his name? He should tell her, if not... or... was it something like one of those Songs of Tongues, where you can speak inside each other's heads?
Peony nestles in against Slate, seeming as if she's starting to doze a little bit, "Mmm, aye, ver' safe wi' ye. C'n tell. Ver', ver' safe."
Shateishael finally decides to just ask; he continues to hold her gently close as he quietly rumbles, "Y'know my True Name already too, yeah?" Then he blinks again... she repeated 'very, very' just the same as he'd thought it... maybe it is some kind of mind to mind linkage? Initially he's just shocked... but then he rapidly realizes what a boon this could be for them. If she needs him -- he'll just know!
The little leprechaun nods, "Din' realize 'till now... Sh... Sha... ateisha... el... beau'iful 'tis." She's not very awake, speaking as if she's not actually sure the words are truly forming. Shateishael closes his eyes and breaths slow, deep breaths, his arms warm and secure about the little leprechaun. He can feel her slight little body curled up against him -- can feel the Symphony Singing in gentle joy around him as she speaks his Name... very, very softly the joyous, wordless music escapes his lips -- almost a crooning lullaby to his tiny, precious lover.
Peony is soon quite solidly asleep in Slate's arms, hands tucked up under her chin and head drooping. She must feel either safe, drunk, or a mixture of both to simply trust someone to get her back to an unfamiliar campsite or to take care of her until she wakes. Shateishael lets the lullaby slowly fade away once he's sure Peony's asleep. In the gently dimming light he sits and simply holds her close, studying her face in silent wonder. Finally he whispers, "Lui Greine... it suits you, beloved."
Some time later Shateishael finally sighs quietly again and starts to stir. He's still feeling that lovely fullness of wonder and amazement, but he knows the little leprechaun would probably prefer to wake up in a nice, warm bedroll in a nice, cozy tent, rather than spending the night on a cold, windy mountaintop. He gathers up the cups and bottle, tucking them into the backpack and shouldering it. He pulls out his sturdy flashlight, then carefully knots the blanket into a sling about his torso, so he can easily carry Peony while keeping his hands mostly free. After that it's time-consuming but pretty easy, for a tireless angel... he simply treks slowly and steadily down the mountain, careful not to jostle his dear cargo. Peony sleeps quite soundly the whole way down, occasionally shifting in her sleep or making a sound that's not quite a word. It takes about the same time to go down as it did to go up, mostly because he's in no rush... but eventually he's back at the little campsite, safe and sound.
Shateishael undresses himself and the little leprechaun, tucking her carefully up against him in the bedroll so she stays warm. He sets a water bottle close to hand for her... then sighs quietly, relaxing with his arms wrapped around her. He doesn't feel sleepy, curiously enough -- he's still amazed, both at what he was told and at what happened. He lies there, cuddling Peony warmly and trying to figure out what's going on... he can feel there are political wheels within wheels within wheels grinding very, very close to he and his friends, and he wants to make sure they all emerge as unscathed as possible. He wonders, as the bright stars wheel unseen overhead... what happened to Eli? And why has Novalis stopped helping the fae? And why didn't David, Lord and Architect of Community, help?
Or... did he?
Shateishael goes still, thinking very, very hard. He's quite aware that communities, like stone itself, have far longer lives than individuals of any native species on earth. They also respond more slowly to stimuli... and therefore if the Servitors of Stone want to affect communities in any meaningful fashion, they have to be willing to think long-term... sometimes really long term. And the best Stone angel Slate knows for that capability... is David -- Stone himself.
Shateishael 's eyes widen slightly in the darkness as several curious facts which have been floating around half-conceptualized in the back of his head... suddenly fall neatly into place. How could David, Bright Lord of Stone, not help the fae community -- or not know of the plans of his half-mad blood brother Uriel of Purity? How did Novalis keep from getting caught by Dominic's Hosts? How did Eli know he needed to suddenly vanish? How could David not know of the Burning Man event? And perhaps most interesting of all... why do David and Michael keep urging Laurence, Uriel's former Servitor, onwards with the War between Heaven and Hell -- rather than verifying all the fae are indeed extinct, as heavenly scuttlebutt seems to believe?
Shateishael nods slowly to himself. Who better to know Uriel's growing internal turmoil than his blood brother David? And David's not the sort to make a public issue of someone's doubts or failings -- Slate knows from both observation and personal experience there's no one he'd trust more to give all the support needed while someone troubled worked things out for themselves. Stone's love is fierce and stern, true -- but also deep and unending.
So... if David knew of Uriel's growing mental schism, and started planning ahead right away -- both to help Uriel himself as well as the fae -- but subtly, so as to not undermine his blood brother's need for help... David might even have had other Archangels in on it as well, so they could all try to help poor Uriel. Eli, perhaps? Probably -- he and David were always close. Hm, who else... Gabriel? Maybe... although she'd be more likely to be drawn in after the Holocaust, so maybe not. Michael -- quite possibly. Who better to make sure the War against the fae wasn't as tactically successful as possible? And definitely Novalis -- the Lady of Flowers has always been a proponent of peace.
Shateishael hms thoughtfully -- so, Eli, Michael, David, and Novalis all sound right to him -- at least for now; there might be more for all Slate knows. But those four would definitely explain why Novalis knew precisely when to cut back on her association with the fae -- might explain how Eli knew exactly when to disappear too. Slate can certainly see Eli, with his slightly more individualistic focus on Creation, choosing to vanish -- where the more family- and community-oriented Novalis would most likely choose to stay and let Eli be her interface, where necessary, with the fae -- just like David and Michael are doing, if Slate is guessing correctly! And what better distraction from the fae for Laurence than two older Archangels gently urging him on in another direction?
Shateishael draws a slow breath as yet more fascinating possibilities occur to him, falling together like the shining pieces of a stained glass window, creating a beautiful gestalt. What if the publicly noted hostility Novalis has towards Stone and War were explained by this -- another smoke screen against the canes Domini! It would certainly explain why the Lady of Flowers deigned to visit the call of one of Stone's Seraphs... oh! And it would explain the behavior of Blandine and Jordi as well. Slate's eyes widen again at the realization -- Jordi loves all animals! That must surely include the mythic ones as well. And Blandine is on record as having angrily opposed the slaughter of the Ethereal results of humankind's dreams and imagination. What better way to hide such creatures as they could save from the more fervently christian ranks of heaven -- than to appear to have stomped off in a huff about some other topic entirely? -off to their own respective realms, where other Archangels' Servitors are not really welcome!?
Shateishael grins tightly in nervous excitement, wondering if he's stumbled across one of the most carefully and assiduously kept secrets in Heaven -- or if this is a huge mistake on his part! He draws a slow, steadying breath, centering himself. He can't tell right now if he's correct -- but he can at least guess that he's on the right track. Considering how many years the Burning Man event's been in place, and how many possible Words could be embodied in it... it's statistically impossible that no Celestials have yet found it, past Lilith! Admittedly, she might have made some arrangements to keep it all to herself from the demons, but the angels? No -- she couldn't do that. She'd have had to arrange with not just Stone, but also Flowers, Dream, Creation... maybe Wind, or perhaps Lightning? Maybe even Fire... although that one's a somewhat weak possible connection, Slate thinks. Wryly he notes as well -- what a coincidence Burning Man started relatively soon after the previous fae attempt at a Tether failed!
Still... it's clear the lack of Celestials at the yearly Burning Man events is not a coincidence. Which... Slate blinks slowly -- means something has been done to cause this to occur! What could it be? He ponders, trying to figure that out... well, how did Burning Man come about? So many possible answers: the Flower Children, the Grateful Dead fans, the Sustainable Living movement, a love of creativity or self-reliant communities -- perhaps of fire or art? Maybe as simple as a love of drugs or partying... Slate is quietly fascinated as he considers how the Burning Man movement grew, from a handful of friends illegally burning a wicker man on a California beach... to the huge and self-sustaining city it has become! He's not sure how the Celestials were kept out, but he does know he wants to ask Bella how she heard about the possibility of a remaining fae or two being found there.
Shateishael blinks again at an even more startling thought -- for that matter, why were three angels finally allowed to enter this fascinating melting pot of people and concepts and Words? He considers who they are: a bonded triad of a Creative Bright, and someone the fae lord couldn't resist even if he wanted to... and a Community-oriented Protector.
Shateishael pauses, considering carefully. Is this just hubris on his part? What about him makes him a useful or valid part of this equation? Well... he's seen a variety of cultures now: one that was ideologically on its way out (the ancient Norse, overcome by christianity), two in violent and ultimately pointless ideological conflict (the Europeans & Saracens, via the Crusades), one in the flush of health and creativity that was yet shockingly violent (the Japanese during Masamune's life)... and one where Slate got to participate in the entire cycle of the culture's life (the Comanche, from sporadic agricultural and gatherer/hunters, to nomadic equestrian hunter/gatherers that ruled the entire Southern Plains, to their destruction and captivity on reservations by the white European invaders). And the gentle, submissive Flowerchild has had time to bond strongly with him... for that matter, so has the Bright -- and if anyone could understand the ebb and flow of seasonal life, or understand having a dark as well as a bright side -- it'd be the two of them.
Shateishael draws a slow, nervous breath -- now he himself has bonded with one of the Ethereals as well. This is a bit too much for coincidence. He needs to learn more, much more and soon! -so he can best protect those dear to him, as well as do his duty to Stone.
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