Through Mirrored Waters
5th of January 2007 A.D.
Well I don't want to be under-dressed, without meaning to you start to giggle, stopping in the middle of the road.
"What?" the little girl looks up frowning, perhaps wondering if she has to cure you of some mysterious miasma and to be fair, around these parts. The deeper the three of you walked into the theater' the more the walls are covered, the stone now out of sight, at first with curtains of green velvet and polished wooden screens, faux bushes and paper mache flowers. Quietly seamlessly the curtains turn to hanging moss, the screens grow into trunks of oak, ash and elm, each stately as a lord holding court among hazel, myrtle and juniper, goosefoot reaching playfully onto what had become a beaten path.
"It's nothing I just remember being invited to a sleepover at Rosie's place when we'd only just met and I obsessed over what to dress to sleep in. I was afraid I'd come off as too boring or like I wasn't taking it seriously enough and it's just so similar even though it really shouldn't be...."
"Humor is born of incongruity," she nods, a faraway look in her eyes as you kick yourself for bringing it up.
Instead of showing likely to be unwelcome pity you smile and tsk. "That must make stand up comedy a drag right?"
She sniffs. "And movies, they have scripts, plays too and books of course. You'd be surprised at how much even supposed spontaneous humor isn't. People cheat all the time. Though all that means I find the absurdities of chance all the funnier. There's a bit of a farce to anything isn't there, no matter how bloody and grim."
Kincaid gives an small nod, like a veteran ranger approving basic woodlore. But speaking of woods...
"I mean look at this." you motion at the woods, an echo of a time before the great forests that stretched from the Atlantic to the steppes had known the bite of iron. "Look at us..." Yourself, jeans and a T-shirt you had thrown on because it was clean and you don't feel the cold, the Archive in her dark green coat raspberry-red dress and knee socks and mary janes. "We look like kids lost in the woods on one of those Made for TV kids movies, you know the ones that get solved by overly complicated, potentially lethal booby traps that somehow only knock the villains out."
She pauses, tips her head and looks thoughtfully up at her bodyguard. "You could stand in for one of the villains if you were a little more goofy. What do you say Kincaid would you cut down the rain forest, or old growth deciduous forest as the case may be?"
"Only if someone put a hit on it," he answers deadpan and that tears it. The Archive, repository of all mankind's writings, giggles with a fist over her mouth for just that moment looking entirely her age.
Likely drawn by the moment of levity a handful of sprites race close, wisps of light without form in colors bright as bee-eaters and rollers, goldfinches and redstarts. One daring red bright green start even pulls at a lock of hair, the mirth given voice permission to play, not that she seems to mind.
As for you that settles that. One day you will stride into the halls of Avalon garbed in power and majesty, the queen of five great cities, patron of a world entire, but that day is not this one. A simple Christmas gift had started this and you'd been plain old Molly Carpenter when you had walked into that store, you might as well be her again this day, or as close as the company will allow. If any should doubt your seriousness, or challenge your presence beyond even such company as the Archive you'll just have to deal with them.
"I'm fine like this," you say and start again on the path, though it does not stay a path much longer, coming unmoored in knotted branches greener than green that snake though the air needing neither trunk nor root. Green is the light that flows from all around, the air humming with promise of strange and secret things such that when the end of your particular 'branch' reveals itself to be a serpentine wearing a hood of moss you do not react past a nod of acknowledgement for a job well done, not thanks, never thanks, you know the rules that bind the faerie folk more tightly than gravity binds mortal man. Upside-down mushrooms grow like pale umbrellas overhead as swift soft rains rumble good-naturally along.
Things far off seem suddenly close and and those that had looked close reveal themselves as far away but massive. Together you walk on silver carpets of mist and swing along on living vines, hands stained purple from the grapes you grasped only for one of the helpful clouds to wash them off.
This would be absolutely terrifying if I had found my way here this before I exalted, you realize suddenly. Where Winter is guarded by foreboding mountains and battlements of ice summer is guarded by twists and turns of nature that pile on each other into an alien landscape that only knowledge can chart the way though and only utter confidence can scale. At last you come onto a pond, still and silent save for the song of larks in the distance and the slow drip of tardy raindrops from the branches above.
When the Archive steps onto it and the water supports her weight you are not even surprised. "Give me your hand, things would be a little
awkward otherwise."
Seeing no reason to refuse you do so as she speaks two words you can't quite catch... because they come out as a gurgle, the three of you and your reflections suddenly reversing places. The water's only there a moment before... best as you can you can put it, it remembers it
should be somewhere else. There is a flash of heat over your skin and the lingering droplets that would have been turned to ice stay liquid.
Recovered 2 Essence from your journey though the Spirit World -> Now at 9/15
"Thanks," you whisper to the girl as you withdraw your hand, looking around. The three of you are still standing on a lake, but one far larger, you can't see the edge on the horizon, but it's too calm by far to be called a sea. In the midst of this lake an island rises covered in the green a fruit trees and upon it a castle unlike any that could ever be in the lands under the sun. It's iron age fort and Norman motte-and-bailey, it's Frederiksborg and Versailles, it's Kylemore Abbey and Schönbrunn Palace and dozens upon dozens more for which you do not know the name. It is every dream of a castle as a place of power and place of beauty made manifest.
Somewhere high high above you trumpets ring, tones of silver climbing a latter of golden symmetry, a discrete smile plays on the archive's lips, a humble-brag that needs no words as a lillypad path opens up to the shore. There waiting and abuzz a crowd of bright figures int garb as varied in style as the castle, though there is a marked preference for soft green and bright gold and then for warm colors over cold. One would have to be blind to miss the Queen among her court.
Objectively you guess one could say she looks like Mab, though rare is the eye in which any such thing can dwell as they look upon the Queen of Summer. Bright she is, vivid and terrible, a vision of life and beauty given form, a dream so strong it conquers the morning's light and in her eyes an ancient fire. Her voice when it rings out is poetry and and looming thunderstorm all at once. "What do you bring to my halls Heir of Kassándra?"
Though the command does not fall upon you you feel its weight all at once, no crude compulsion this but a manifestation of royal power which eclipses lesser luminaries without even needing to try. One might find their tongue sticking in their mouth or words spoken without meaning, elegant gestures rendered clumsy by comparison, arguments that had seemed solid crumbling to dust.
Voice of Power Detected: Reduces all Social Dice-pools by 3 unless resisted.
How do you resist?
[] By will alone, you will not be cowed (Spend a Willpower; Reduce the Effect by 1/3rd of your permanent willpower. Due to your high willpower this is countering it for the duration of the scene)
[] By the power and authority vested in you (Use Impervious Primacy Mantle to utterly shrug it off)
-[] Using Willpower
-[] Using Essence
OOC: The cost is the same, or it can be, but resisting the effect with charms is almost guaranteed to look different to any fey who are watching closely, probably including Titania herself.