Schön W. Freund (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
u_can_have_it_4_a_song) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nexus_sages2016-10-28 10:16 pm
u_can_have_it_4_a_song) wrote in nexus_sages2016-10-28 10:16 pm
Entry tags:
Samhain Ball Redux - Second Star to the Right
Something flits through the skies of the Nexus, bobbing and swooping only to climb again, an ecstatic aerial dance. At last, mirth of the moment giving way to some other whim, the flying figure drifts groundward, turning and drifting like a falling leaf until his feet, clad in pointed-toed green suede moccasins alight. Forest green tights hug lean legs all the way up to a bright green tunic, belted with rich brown leather and a bright brass buckle. On his left hip hang a set of pan pipes; on his right, a black-handled knife. An impish grin curls his lips, his eyes sparkle with the promise of mischief, and a pert green cap sits atop his head, crowned by a lone red feather. Could this be the black-suited GQ cover model who makes himself ubiquitous in the better-traveled spaces of the Nexus? Could it be Schön?
It is. "People of the Nexus, friends, in the world from which I hail we stand on the cusp of a special day, a harvest-fest when the walls between worlds grow thin, when masks and costumes are worn to frighten away wicked spirits--or to invite them in on more congenial terms. Today we bid Summer adieu, and raise fire and song to meet the long night! Join me, for an evening to last a lifetime, and a farewell to a season well-loved." His hand rises, pointing to where two bright beacons blaze in the churn of the Nexus' heavens. "Second star to the right, and we'll keep on 'til morning!" Crowing with laughter, he soars for that distant point like an arrow, leaving a trail of sparkling, glittering motes of light for anyone interested to follow.
Perched on the border between the parklands and the residential district, the night sky is like a pillow of iridescent black velvet, on which have been scattered an embarrassment of diamonds. Like an enormous pumpkin, a harvest moon presides over the shimmering vista, orange and plump. The air is cool and crisp, punctuated by the crackling hiss of dry leaves in motion every time a breeze picks up.
At the center of it all sits a stately house of Gothic style, ivy-clad and waiting. A square tower stands vigil over the entryway, tall windows overlooking the flagstone drive looping around a fountain full of water as blue and bright as a tropical sea. In the fountain stands an island, and if one peers closely enough, one might imagine they see figures moving about--on the deck of the tiny ship anchored in a cove, or swimming and splashing in a lagoon, or even creeping through the wooded interior. Of the house, the windows of the wings seem dark, perhaps waiting, but the line of the roof is limned with some glow from beyond, and the faint throb of distant music promises that the evening holds more than surfaces. The door stands open, a silent invitation to every brave soul who passes by.
It is. "People of the Nexus, friends, in the world from which I hail we stand on the cusp of a special day, a harvest-fest when the walls between worlds grow thin, when masks and costumes are worn to frighten away wicked spirits--or to invite them in on more congenial terms. Today we bid Summer adieu, and raise fire and song to meet the long night! Join me, for an evening to last a lifetime, and a farewell to a season well-loved." His hand rises, pointing to where two bright beacons blaze in the churn of the Nexus' heavens. "Second star to the right, and we'll keep on 'til morning!" Crowing with laughter, he soars for that distant point like an arrow, leaving a trail of sparkling, glittering motes of light for anyone interested to follow.
Perched on the border between the parklands and the residential district, the night sky is like a pillow of iridescent black velvet, on which have been scattered an embarrassment of diamonds. Like an enormous pumpkin, a harvest moon presides over the shimmering vista, orange and plump. The air is cool and crisp, punctuated by the crackling hiss of dry leaves in motion every time a breeze picks up.
At the center of it all sits a stately house of Gothic style, ivy-clad and waiting. A square tower stands vigil over the entryway, tall windows overlooking the flagstone drive looping around a fountain full of water as blue and bright as a tropical sea. In the fountain stands an island, and if one peers closely enough, one might imagine they see figures moving about--on the deck of the tiny ship anchored in a cove, or swimming and splashing in a lagoon, or even creeping through the wooded interior. Of the house, the windows of the wings seem dark, perhaps waiting, but the line of the roof is limned with some glow from beyond, and the faint throb of distant music promises that the evening holds more than surfaces. The door stands open, a silent invitation to every brave soul who passes by.
((Happy Halloween! Enjoy the festivities, threadhopping is encouraged, tag back whenever you have time, and don't worry about missing out--we'll still be here when you get back.)) YouTube Playlist Visualosity Entrance Ballroom Banquet Bonfire Dark Corners  |
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Clint Barton, ladies and gentlement: pure, high-octane trouble.
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Clint's going to be a great brother-in-law.
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Somebody has to, and better if it's family. "Ooh, good stuff. I'll have to get a bottle."
Clint and Matt could make a great team-up. They're either at the top of their game, or an excellent Gene Wilder/Richard Pryor movie.
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Either way, they'd be winning. And it's about time Matt started spending time with her family, given how much he's absorbed her into his life.
"Aren't we supposed to be dancing?"
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"Wine and women's a good start," Clint counters. "Or, I guess whiskey and women. So if he likes good music, it's the hat trick."
"You mean we aren't?" No, Clint, you goon. Start dancing, dummy!
...no, not the hustle. Don't ever do the hustle.
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"If this is what you call dancing..." Or that. The hustle doesn't count, does it? She'll catch his hands and pull him into something less organized but more graceful. Rules are for chumps.
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Graceful is better than hustling, any day--and "rules are for chumps" could be translated into Latin and put on the family crest. "Well, now we've got it."
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That could well be their family motto. Are they so pretentious? What would be their crest? "Mm, yes. You're a good dancer when you let yourself be."
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They should design a family crest. It would probably have a sleepy bird on it, maybe. Or a purple background. "Let myself--?! I'll have you know, I'm damn awesome. Remember last year? And that's when I was all sore from tracksuit bros."
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Purple already is the family color, no denying that. Coffee might be a more honest heraldic symbol for them. "I do remember last year. That's why I've got such high expectations this year."
High. High expectations. It's a good thing bad puns don't defeat pixie dust.
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"Yeah, okay."
Maybe a tired bird on a coffee branch, on a purple field?
Fortunately, Clint is the sort of person who laughs at puns like that. Also fortunately, when challenged, he steps up. It's dancin' time!
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Dancin' time, finally! Verity's been looking forward to this for weeks. One benefit of dancing on air is their feet won't be so sore in the morning, but it doesn't do much to spare them from getting tired. That's a problem for tomorrow.
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Clint is the best brother (as long as you're not stealing his identity to scam the victims of crime and super-crime).
November 1st is National Sleep-It-Off Day (one of several). They can recover then. For now, it's dance, dance, dance, maybe drink a little, dance!
I made a thing... and it's your fault!
It's good to know that despite partisan gridlock, the government can manage the really important business of giving people a holiday for sleeping that isn't a guaranteed day off. Some things never change.
It's perfect!