| Logs |
2010 May 09
| When The Bough Breaks |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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| Realms: Bough Logs |
Sixth Movement, First Verse
The scene slowly drifts away from the midday of Qin at the royal observatory, to late afternoon in the Babylon of the Dreamtime. Long shadows hang over the city and the orange light of the balmy afternoon suffuses the streets. From one of the minarets an imam calls the faithful to prayer, and from a Catholic cathedral -- not the Basilica of St. George, rather one closer to the airship and river docks -- bells toll the early evening mass. From where they stand in Saladin's tower, too, Mikal and Norris can see the faint wispy threads of incense smoke rising from the Temples Quarter.
Saladin does not seem to have noticed the brief departure of his guests; he is busy attempting to herd gryphkits, and apparently quite enjoying the brief respite of his usual scholarly studies and more militant organizing.
Mikal sighs quietly and smiles, leaning lightly against Jareth where he stands on the other side of her from Norris. "So... are we going to go do our best to trip up angels on the warpath again?" Her voice is teasing.
Jareth wraps his arm around Mikal's shoulders, eyes moving around the city that feels weirdly familiar and yet totally foreign.
Norris has a strange look on his face. "Just a moment, Rabbit..." he murmurs, looking thoughtful.
Norris shakes a finger. "This...this is what Sala-a-din was talking about." he says with quiet, fierce conviction.
Mikal mms inquiringly to Norris, idly rubbing her cheek lightly against Jareth's shirt.
Norris whirls to Mikal. "You remember what he said, about time being fluid. ABout being able to change what came before. I do not think the Architect sent minions into the Wheel of time back when we entered it. I think he sent them now, into the past, to try and stymie us there."
Norris says, "And that means, if they can try and change events then, then we can do the same! We can fight back!"
Mikal stares uncomprehendingly at Norris for a moment -- then blinks, abruptly straightening up. She's silent as she stares out over the city, thinking hard... then she grins with fierce delight at Norris, "You know, I think you're right -- what a fantastic idea!"
Jareth blinks at Mikal and Norris in confusion.
Norris looks far too pleased with himself. He figured something out, all on his own! But then he realizes that Jareth is not following them.
Mikal muses aloud, "So... so from this point on we should be careful to not worry about changing time -- we should do what is best for that moment and that time! That includes now, too-" she grabs a hand of both young men, hauling towards the stairs, "Come! Let's not waste time -- we have angels to defeat! Norris, explain as we go, please?"
Jareth is happy to let himself be pulled along, trusting Mikal and Norris with his life easily.
Norris nods eagerly, and as the three friends hurry along, he outlines the experience he had with Mikal in the broad strokes: they were experiencing past lives again, and coming against a stumbling block in the form of a cunning spanish missionary, asking them questions to try and bait them, cause trouble. He failed, but Mikal realized something critical - the voice, the manner, even the looks of their opponent, were similar to one that Mikal had encountered before, long before, in Inanna's past. And that was what Norris stumbled on: not that their plan to hide in mortal shells had been found out back then, but that the Architect - or his Metatron - had formed suspicions now, and sent emissaries into the past to seek them out.
Mikal calls to the retired general as they dash past, "Going to help your people delay angels see you in a bit thanks for getting the burro and stuff together for us to go spelunking under the city with bye!" in about one breath.
Jareth seems at once stunned and ecstatic. It's amazingly simple and complex all at once. His heart leaps at the idea that Norris has sussed out the truth of this moment.
Mikal grins at Jareth as his eyes light up, and tugs more, pulling both men into a quick jogtrot with her. She pulls her hood up as well, to be more anonymous.
Saladin blinks and half-raises his hand in farewell to Mikal as the mortals charge out the door; one of the gryphkittens is lolling happilly in his hands and mooching pettings, another is draped over his shoulder, preening his hair, and the third is flopped on his head. The mujahideen in the lower floors are already getting things ready for the expedition into the Basilica.
Norris is trying not to bounce around like a gas molecule as Jareth's face shows comprehension. But he does not succeed entirely - the smith is far too amusing when he's giddy as a schoolboy.
Mikal is still giggling about the kitten-enswathed general as she passes the mujahedeen, and she calls to them as well, "Back soon off to delay angels!"
Mikal adds to her companions as they trot swiftly along, "Let's take the closest bridge into the Silks Quarter, then head for the public house and Emily. Hopefully she can tell us where precisely the angels are, and if they're still in the Silks Quarter -- and then we can help slow them down most efficiently from that information!"
Norris looks thoughtful. "Perhaps I should hurry to the northmost bridge, just in case? No, we should stay together...we have no way of communicating well, when we are apart."
Mikal nods to Norris, saving her breath to trot swiftly through the city. Once she starts thinking of it as a particularly well populated forest, it's easy to navigate!
Norris looks at Jareth. "Can you stir up a ruckus at the bridge, Cat, make a crowd hard to get through? Or will you need to devote your energies subverting the angels?"
Jareth thinks about it, "Do you think you can do it without me?" He can think of several ways to create a crowd.
Norris smiles wryly. "Not with my mouth, or with my magic. I can stop a fight, but not start one. At least, not without hitting someone, and I'd rather not. Not nice, also too high profile."
Mikal murmurs softly, "I can create interference with their supernatural powers, or start fires in unexpected places, or make them either angry or really friendly. Would that do it?"
Norris ahs, pointing a finger at Mikal. "The last one! Fires are too uncontrollable."
Jareth says, "Is this for the angels for creating a crowd?"
Norris says, "Yes. Subverting them might work better if we make the way ahead too frustrating to get through, eh?"
Mikal smiles and nods to Norris, "That's fine, especially if we can get a sacred harlot or two to be coming on to them at the same time."
Jareth's eyes twinkle, "Oh, I can arrange that. I'm almost certain."
Norris coughs! "Eh...yes, of course." he mumbles.
Norris looks sidelong at Mikal. "Did you have sacred harlots?"
Mikal blinks at Norris in surprise, "Of course! How else were we to civilize men?"
Jareth looks surprised, "Of course she did. Her priestesses. How do you think..." He suddenly realizes he was about to slip up there and flushes.
Norris blushes himself. "Never really thought about it." he admits.
The Scholars' quarter is a study in austerity, the buildings made from standstone and clay that seems almost on fire in the fading light of the day. Lanterns are starting to be hung in the streets, and the merchants whose businesses last till past the dusk are getting ready for the evening work. The Scholars' QUarter has not only libraries and places of learning; this is also the quarter where the airship and river docks have their warehouses, and so most of the workers at the docks live in this quarter. Nobody is really poor here, but nobody is visibly, filthy rich, either. The clothing is simple and traditional, as has been worn for centuries in the Fertile Crescent. There are no thronging crowds except for in the easily-evaded market squares. This quarter's hallmark is austerity and a sober sort of longevity, exceeded only by the walled-in Temples Quarter.
How different things are in the Silks Quarter! The change is noticeable even as they cross the southern bridge; the noise and clamor is more audible as the cross the bridge over the Euphrates. Until finally at the archway at the eastern end of the bridge they behold the Silks Quarter in all it's loud, bright, energetic splendour.
It is loud and noisy, with people laughing and calling out and singing and shouting. The buildings are of every material conceivable, of granite and marble and stone and steel and bronze and brass and hundreds more. Banners and awnings, flags and curtains billow in the early evening breeze, of every color imaginable, proclaiming dozens if not hundreds of things. Wisps of smoke or incense drift through the streets, accompanied by the scents of countless perfumes and flowers and other scents. The people themselves seem to come from every corner of the world and more, their clothing a dizzying panoply of past, present, and future; of conventional and stylish and outre. And most of all is the sheer energy of the quarter. Strangely, while of such an intensity it is not overwhelming, as if it is possible to focus on the task at hand without having the pleasures and passtimes of all times impinging themselves on one's mind.
The four realize that the quickest way to Emilys public house is to head north along the riverfront, to the central causeway, and then follow that to the Amphitheater.
Mikal glances at Jareth and smiles slowly... and just for a moment Inanna peeks through her eyes: She who holds the sacred me, who makes woman out of man and man out of woman.
Jareth's eyes widen eagerly and he stops for a moment to close his eyes and take several deep breaths. He has never smelled anything that smelled quite so much like home.
Norris marvels, for a moment, at the simple, elemental joy of the Silks Quarter. There is goodness here, but also uncomfortability. This tends to be his antithesis - he is all about stark plainness and simplicity. In his craft, certainly, he can create great beauty, but more important to him is felicity of form and functionality. So to be confronted with so much color and sound and smells and opulence does make him...squirm. Just a little. At least, it overwhelms him, for a moment.
Mikal turns to look at the Quarter, standing near Jareth. It's likely a good thing no one was looking at her: her stormy eyes flash like lightning as she sees her people and her ancient city -- with the dire peak of Mount Zion looming dourly over all. She hisses softly, her fists clenched in sudden anger,
"When I, the goddess, was walking around in heaven, walking around on earth,
when I, Inanna, was walking around in heaven, walking around on earth...
when I turned towards the centre of the mountains,
as I, the goddess, approached the mountain it showed me no respect,
as I, Inanna, approached the mountain it showed me no respect,
as I approached the mountain range of Ebih it showed me no respect!
Since they showed me no respect, since they did not put their noses to the ground for me,
since they did not rub their lips in the dust for me,
I shall personally fill the soaring mountain range with my terror!"
Jareth trembles a bit as he walks down the street, breathing shallow and quickening. Some dim part of his psyche is amused that the so-called Lady of Temptation is feeling so tempted herself... himself... by the city of temptation. It would be so easy to mold time and slip back to the time and place where she was First Woman instead of reviled temptress. It would be so easy here. Easy as breathing... and it would cause a delay and take him from Mikal and Norris for far, far too long. He works to bring his mind to the point in time where he is in the streets with his pack.
Norris starts, looking at Mikal in shock. "Calm, Rabbit..." he urges, gently.
Jareth feels, however that he could easily mold these people into an obstruction for the angels.
Mikal turns her flashing gaze on Norris, snapping, "Do not counsil me to calm, Father An!" She takes a furious breath -- then blinks. She takes another breath, then adds softly, "Wait... this is not Ebih. Bear is right. Calm..." She takes a deep breath, then trots after Norris. When she catches up she murmurs softly to him, "Thank you -- and sorry."
Norris fortunately, did not feel the Smith's anger this time. "I was worried only for you, Rabbit." he assures. "It takes much to offend me."
Norris squeezes Mikal's shoulder reassuringly.
Mikal smiles ruefully, slipping one small hand into the back of his belt so she won't get accidentally separated from him in the crowd. "Still, thank you, big brother." She glances around, adding, "Where's Cat?"
Norris nods, although has a strange moment, recognizing the name Inanna used...he, the sky father? Surely not. Associating the smith with Father An would be like calling him Zeus...an idea that both flusters and troubles him. But he's brought from his thought by his packsister's query, and looks about. "He was just here..."
It takes Jareth a few minutes to spot a pair of young men sitting in a doorway and pattering playful rhythms on a pair of hand drums. The music is cheerful and infectious. An idea starts to form and he steps up to them, grinning his most cheerful grin.
Norris cranes his neck. "Wait, there he is..." he says pointing the grinning bard out.
Mikal nods at Norris's comment, murmuring, "Come on! Let's not get left behind. I need to be able to see the ang- er, our targets to work on them."
Norris follows quick with Mikal...he has to! She's still holding onto his belt!
The drummers - idly practicing for another gig, apparently -- seem amenable to the opportunity, and it takes only a little convincing on Jareth's part to get them to start a particular drumbeat to dance to.
Norris slows up, though, when it seems that their packbrother is up to something, the eager beat stirring something even in him, who knows about as much about dancing as a stone golem.
Mikal draws in her breath at the beat, her eyes lighting up again -- although this time with excitement. Her breathless voice is soft and fervent, "Oh! It's been so long. Dance again for us, Morning Star -- dance!"
Jareth takes a slow, deep breath and steps out onto the street in front of the drummers. He tugs his shift off over his head and tosses it over beside the drummers, baring his torso. The thong in his hair comes next, letting his blond locks fall around his shoulders. Flirtation is something he knows quite well, and what he has planned is going to start with that. Get some attention. Lure people to join him in the dance, whisper the Suggestion that they want to draw others in.
Mikal glances around and smiles, then tugs gently on Norris's sleeve, "Bear! Lift me up on your shoulders, please? I need to see better, and I want to help our pretty Cat if I can!"
Norris finds himself transfixed by the sight of Jareth dancing. He's seen him dance before, both as himself, and as Lilith, with the kachina. This time, though, it feels different. Jareth's power is not specifically working on the young smith...but it doesn't need to. Jareth stripping down some and flowing to the drum beat is enough to stir something in him. Mikal's insistent query only dispells a bit of that feeling, and he clears his throat and nods, crouching to help Mikal - ahem - mount him.
Mikal concentrates for a moment, then pulls a tambourine -- complete with a silver-blue, many-pointed Star of Inanna on it, and multi-colored silken streamers -- out of her flowing sleeve and hands it to Norris, "Here, play this to keep the beat for Cat!" After that she scrambles lithely up onto the smith's shoulders, tucking her toes back behind him to help her keep her balance. She's laughing and clapping along with the drummers, her light voice raised in the trilling ululation that the dancing priestesses use to salute each other. The cry is still used throughout the ages, Mikal knows -- all the way to modern belly dancers.
Norris fumbles the tamborine for a moment, looking at it a little bemusedly. Maybe it's just Mikal being in close proximity, while his - er - interest is aroused. For a moment, there, he has this mental image of just tugging Mikal and Jareth off to some perfumed bower, plying them with sweet treats, and seeing what develops. It makes him of how his wife first courted him, and how easily she enthralled him into eventual love and companionship. Aphrodite, of course, was a master of that. But he sets his feet and does his best to work the percussive intrument to a rythym, the same as he would work the iron on his anvil. And trying not to think how Mikal's pretty legs are right there, and very strokable.
It doesn't take long for Jareth's lithe form and playful banter to start drawing people into dancing with him. His dancing has more to do with pure sensual enjoyment of the music and his own body than with a particular style or form of dancing. The bard/goddess/herder/lover doesn't shy away from touching people, letting his fingers or body brush against them in the dance. He knows he'll draw attention. The question is how much? And what else might he have to try to turn this area into a small, spontaneous carnivale.
Mikal is ecstatic to see her sister-goddess coming forth again! She sways and claps with the music, seated high on Norris's shoulders, and sings along in wordless, joyous harmonies. Her hood has fallen back and her eyes are bright with happiness -- and any time she spots someone at all grumpy and official looking coming down the street, she'll grin and try to Shape their Heart to delight!
The crowd begins to gather, with almost startling rapidity -- the Silks Quarter is the city of temptation for a reason, and something new, something sensual, something entertaining is sure to get the attention of some of the denizens. Even moreso when that something is making the effort to be more than normally tempting. More and more as Jareth dances, his soul's memories of Lilith come more and more forth, as he becomes, bit by bit, goddess and deific consort and First Woman again, the mingled essence of who she was before the Babylonian Talmud and what it worked upon her afterwards. For Babylon is her city, the city she died in and the city she was born in, and its people in this Quarter are Hers.
And they answer -- perhaps some instinctively, perhaps some entranced by the lovely, sensual dancing of the once-shepherd and having only the barest hint of the goddess behind the masque. Many by the added encouragement of the other goddess who stands there and dances. The touchs draw others into the dance, and that draws still others. The drums are joined by other instruments, but always, always it is the drums that are loudest. While Babylon is a city of sound and light and energy, it is to the drums that her pulse beats to, it is to the drums that the first inhabitants deep within the Temple Quarter danced to, and it is to the drums that the city will always return in some way. And so the latter-day qadesha and qadeshim in their robes of muslin and silk, and the Hollywood divas and leading men also in silks, cut but slightly differently, find themselves coming together in this one moment where the drums again sing the city's heartbeat.
Who can tell how long it takes -- an instant, a minute, longer -- but it does not seem at all long before the essence of Babylon is brought forth, and in a corner of the Quarter away from the Perpetual Carnivale a crowd has gathered, formed, grown, expanded, coalesced and condensed into the stamping, dancing, writhing beast.
Mikal does not notice any city officials or magistrates coming to stop the dancing -- that would seem to be counter-intuitive as to the nature of the Quarter, actually. But she does notice, a bit in the distance, a pair who are dressed casually -- almost too casually for the Silks Quarter -- watching the dancing and listening to the drum-beating as if transfixed. One is somewhat half=heartedly attempting to draw the other away, but both appear to be rnraptured with the heady, tribal, primal nature of the impromptu dance party.
Mikal's grin gets mischievous, and she lets her Heart Shaping reach out, like a gentle caress -- as sweetly insidious as the wonderful, entrancing, addictive music!
Norris is caught up in the moment himself, swaying to the music as much as he can, without dislodging his rider...poor Hephaestus may have had crooked, twisted legs, but Norris himself does not. And there are a few past selves that remember dancing...if he did not feel the surge of Mikal's will, he might give in to the urge to bring her into his arms, and lose himself completely, as this dance, like the dances of creation, making his blood pump and his mind sing.
As the dance goes on, Jareth moves through the crowd, touching people here and there, pausing to dance and flirt with someone now and then. He is mischievous and utterly unabashed, not making much difference between male and female in his teasing. His time as Jareth has taught him how to tempt women. His time as Lilith whispered to him of how to pique a man's curiousity. And his explorations in this strange fluid time and place with Norris have taught him how to do so as a man. More than once, he draws one of the other dancers into a kiss, and he is unstinting in his attention to each of those kisses. More than once he leaves his momentary partner feeling weak-kneed.
Jareth's body is gleaming a little by now with sweat and he's tempted to pause long enough to slit his pants up the outsides of the legs to bare even more skin.
Mikal cheerfully claps and cheers at that, giving a long, quavering ullulation of approval!
Mikal's Shaping of the angel's heart is more than successful. As if enraptured, the one who had been trying to draw the other away is himself drawn in, as if by some primal memory of when the universe was young and the gods danced Creation... of when there were dances around the asherah poles, long since torn from their roots... but could this one before the angel be herself Asherah....? He does not seem to be cognizant of thought, as bit by bit, with stamping feet, he too is drawn into the primal dance that Babylon demands of him.
Mikal beams at that, laughing and cheering again, then settling back into her joyous swaying, clapping, and singing! She keeps half an eye out for others -- such as Saladin's mujahideen calling them to go before the angels break out of their trance -- but past that she simply enjoys the moment.
Norris does not see, even at his height, the success of Mikal at drawing the angels in, with all else that is going on. Though he certainly can hint at it, from her pleased sound. Or maybe it's that his eyes keep getting drawn back to the sensual Jareth, ridden by Lilith, and his enticement of the crowd. Sweat forms on his brow, and he wipes at it with the back of his hand, having lost the dreamshaped tamborine at some point. But maybe it's the magic of the moment, or of Lilith's power, or even of the angel joining the dance. "Would my lady do me the honor of joining me down here?" he queries, his deep voice making itself known to Mikal, even with her all the way up there.
Mikal grins down at Norris, leaning to murmur under the cover of the crowd noise and music, "Got an angel! Moment, let me make sure the other comes along too!"
As one of the angels -- the one who was most trying to draw the other one away from the dancing that spoke to their spirits far too clearly -- is pulled in, very little keeps the other away. And shortly he is unable to pull himself away, his steps hesitant and unsteady as he gets pulled into the dancing, steps which become more sure and more solid as the ancient rhythms, suffuse through him. He danced with David upon that one's triumphal return to Yehru'salaam, but this... this speaks to a deeper time, and soon the angel is caught in one of he vast orbits of dancers.
Meanwhile, the other angel, long since caught in the drumbeats that pulse through the streets, has found himself near Jareth; and like a Dante espying his Beatrice from afar, or an almost-man nervously approaching his prom date; the nervous attraction, the awkward, needful desire is clear to Jareth in the angel's eyes.
That shy, trembling need is familiar to Jareth. He has seen it on many faces and in many contexts. His fluid and joyful steps bring him to the face that's looking at him with such longing. He feels it like a hunger and smiles up at the angel, blond hair falling half-over his face as he reaches with gentle and accepting hands up to cup the face of one that he does not know would be his enemy. And then the kiss, Jareth's lips brushing first over the sceptre's eyebrows and then the corners of his mouth before going full to his lips. The goddess/bard is trying to whisper some of the truth to this shy one: There is beauty and desire and joy in everyone and it is the way of the universe that it should be so.
Mikal laughs aloud with joy at sight of that! She beams, patting Norris on the top of his head as she calls down to him, "Yes, my handsome man, I would love to dance with you!"
Is it getting brighter?
It is long past Dusk, and the light of the Mirror has faded in it's diurnal cycle. Babylon is shrouded by cool Night, stars overhead glittering as they spin around distant and nigh-unattainable Polaris. And yet....
The streets of this part of the Quarter have become awash in light, cast not by any lantern but seemingly by the streets, the walks, the buildings themselves. Banners flapping in the wind move and flash as if on fire, curtains seem to be lit from within by flaring light. And the wind, the wind has picked up as well; no gale is it, but it is strong and fresh, racing through the streets both narrow and wide. It is night and yet the city can be seen as clearly as in day. The incense rising from the Temples Quarter thickens. The buildings upon the streets where the drums echo and call Babylon's own to dance in the most ancient of ways seem -- no, they are now draped in glorious red banners and hangings, the scarlet silks and muslins and fabric waving and weaving over the dancers as if cladding them in crimson raiment. Babylon knows Her own.
Norris's legs hurt. Only a little, but enough to be noticeable. And yet this is not what surprises him; rather it is that he is standing, that he is dancing at all. Best not to think about it overmuch; even Athena would say not to over-analyze some things.
Norris exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding, and he surprisingly smoothly whisks Mikal from his shoulders, holding her in his arms with firm gentleness, his eyes only for her, now...Mikal, or the Queen of Passion, or whatever place in between she currently is. He has lost himself to the moment, captive of the sensuality of Lilith, and the emotional resonance of Inanna. His dance is his worship of his packmates, as he might have done for Aphrodite, long ago, were he able. He would not, cannot, let the ache he feels stand in his way, as emotion overcomes him, and he moves fluidly with his partner.
Mikal is dancing joyously, but one of those gusts of wind ruffles her hair out of her slightly sweaty face and causes her to glance around. Understanding lights her eyes -- Babylon is helping them! She nods with a smile, singing a blessing to the ancient city welcoming them home -- but also hooks a hand through Norris's belt, calling to the big man, "Time to go, Bear! Grab Cat and let's strike while the iron is hot -- let the city help us!"
Norris looks stupidly at Mikal, as she firmly, but kindly, pulls the rug out from under his need to move with the others around them, to be with his family in this joyous moment. Part of him doesn't want to stop. But the practical smith reaches back down into the core of himself, and sits firmly on that impulse - this is not the time. "Yes...of course." he mumbles.
Mikal grins up at Norris, quite understanding that look! "Later, my smith -- later we will share as man and woman share, I promise!"
Norris ducks his head - now he's more himself again, and has room to be flustered. But he goes with Mikal, to retrieve their lovely dancing brother...
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